by Charles Jacobson
“We take this action not for the purpose of expanding the war into Cambodia, but for the purpose of ending the war in Vietnam and winning the just peace we all desire.”
—President Richard M. Nixon, Address to the Nation on the Situation in Southeast Asia, April 30, 1970
Out in the unending jungle, away from the gaiety of modern life, one perilous day bred another in Vietnam, a confused and horrible country that I had zero interest in. Imagine my delight, my joy, when Charlie Company’s CO, Capt. Martinez, interviewed me for a job I never saw coming. I listened attentively.
“Sgt. Andrew Barclay is going back to the world. We like your background, McClish. You’re high on our list. You can be the new company clerk if you want it and think you can handle it.”
“I, uhm, think I want the job. Yes, Captain. Yes, sir!”
What would life be without fetid water, oppressive heat and rain, random bouts of violence, maddening insects, flies everywhere, loathsome diseases, and beefy loads, where any moment could be my undoing? I tossed my M79 grenade launcher, Claymores, and ammo belt to the guys and left on a resupply chopper amid a glowing send-off, to step into a new world of possibilities ten miles away—scruffy, half-bunkered Tây Ninh, situated in the southern, hot part of Vietnam, twenty-five miles from Cambodia.
Barclay was waiting in his dusty office. “They said you were coming. I assume you’re not here for the view.”
The minute he began making the rounds and saying his farewells, Charlie Company was squarely on my shoulders and the misgivings I concealed from Martinez about a job sight unseen began to surface: an old steel typewriter to pound on, ancient file cabinets, a desk from the Battle of the Bulge, a crank phone on a crackly party line, no radio in sight. It was time for the little grey cells. But, where? Melted down in the field? My head hurt. I couldn’t spell the simplest of words. I was an elephant riding a bicycle.
“I’ve got so many questions,” I said to the elusive Barclay.
“They did the same thing to me,” he replied in his breezy manner, nodding like he cared. “Come, come, you’ll get it.”
The right letters in the right places, A, S, D, J, K. L, and a few words came back; a few more, and then the rest slowly wandered in.
While I was reinventing myself and keeping the routine going, a rumor floated that Charlie Company would be invading Cambodia. I would be stuck here, but I was curious how it was gonna go down, since 1st Cav bragged it could be anywhere in the world in twenty-four hours—HI-LAR-I-OUS. Charlie Company was already in Cambodia. Fuckin’ hallelujah , the chopper lifting my old squad was the second one in Cambodia when President Nixon surprised the nation with the invasion on the evening of April 30. Not that it was earth-shaking. About all that happened was that they ran into a cache of Chinese SKS carbines in an enemy bunker, enough genuine war trophies for each man in the company—me included.
***
A week after Charlie Co. invaded Cambodia when I first heard about the Kent State riots and saw the picture of the girl kneeling over the dead kid, it was hard to find the right words. Like everyone else, I was confused. On May 4, after four days of angry, violent demonstrations in Kent, Ohio, against the Cambodian incursion (which the students saw as illegally escalating rather than deescalating the war, as Nixon had promised), the National Guard and tanks surrounded Kent. Guardsmen fired sixty-odd live rounds at a mixed bag of unarmed Kent State students, protesters, pedestrians, and spectators.
Four dead, nine wounded. Claims and counterclaims were flying everywhere. The students either attacked the guard—or not. Outside agitators and Communists were in Kent to destroy the university and the town—or not. The guard knew they had live ammo—or not.
A hundred colleges reported student strikes. A fire burned down a ROTC building in St. Louis while the students chanted, “Remember Kent!” Five days later, Nixon made an impromptu 4 AM visit to the Lincoln Memorial to debate the merits of the war with a small group of protesters. He came away convinced that all war protesters were bums or commies. Later that day, a hundred thousand protesters turned D.C. upside down. Nixon dispatched the 82nd Airborne and fled to Camp David.
I concluded the United States was at war with itself. Tây Ninh felt safer.
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Charles Jacobson is a vet with an abiding interest in philosophy and the arts, and lives in Alton, Illinois, with a cat who doesn’t like him. He is published in Proud to Be, Fleas on the Dog, Military Experience and the Arts, Poets Choice, Drunk Monkeys, Wingless Dreamer, Kallisto Gaia Press, Gabby & Min, Free Spirit, BarBar, Quibble, nine others, radio, and Story Collider.
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