I came to B Btry sometime betweeen Dec 9 and Dec 10. B Btry was located on LZ Satan. It was a short stay becasue they arrived on the 8th and we moved to LZ French Fort on the 12th. My first move. I was green, real green as I had come from an Honest John Rocket Unit in Fort Hood TX. It was my first learning experience. At the time I was pretty much worthless except to fill sandbags. I couldn't even use the radio becaue all my training was by the book in TX and nothing like how it was used in the reality of VN.

Robert Alexander 'Alex' was the Section Chief. He had been with B Btry from the beginning, knew his job well and was a good leader. He helped me with everything from working with Charts, Maps and, yes even the radios. I was taught how to 'shackle' (encode) messages. I have to add that the entire FDC crew was made up of 6 personnel at the time. Three all came together only a month before me. All were PFC's named Gregrory Lee from Denver, James Cameron from Chicago area and Charles P. Smart. One other person was from the gun crew on a tempory basis. His name was Barr from Las Vegas. He would cover radio watches and do a little chart work when called upon. These guys were great and also helped in my education.

After LZ French Fort we moved to what we called LZ (Grizzly Bear) Ski Lodge. The move took place from 4 Jan to 6 Jan because of the fog on the Ski Lodge. Duriing that time we were able to shoot from both loctions, which was another facet of my education. By now I was setting up radio's and antenna's (which I soon began calling aiiming stakes), show proficiency on the radios and was working my way up and through the many various talents that were required of Computer Operators. We didn't have computers but rather the name referred to us computing the various data down to something that the guns could use. Things like 'drift', logarithims, MET corrections, fuze types, type of rounds, deflection, altitude, powder charges, quadrant, all needed to be known by the computer operator and how to use the various munitions information and configurations to shoot accurately. One thing that was not lost on anybody was that a small mistake could kill the wrong prople. Exactness or accuracy in computing the data was ever present in everyones minds, but the watch word was also speeed. Normally, whoever called the "Fire Mission" wanted it there NOW.

We learned quickly to have our location in degrees and nautical miles from a given location such as Dak To or Kon Tum. This was for medvac's and is the only time we gave our exact location out in the clear. The directions were posted right in front of the radios so no time, not even seconds, was wasted in calling a medivac in. Day or night and all kinds of weather. Night time was the worst obviously because we had to light up the hill so the medivac pilot could spot us and then guide in to the hill with one of the FDC crew with a radio talking him in and letting the medic or others know where and when to go. With the hill lit up it sometimes gave the NVA a nice target. I am proud of everyone involved from the pilot to the gunners carrying the wounded on board, to everyone else who risked their own safety to get the wounded back to the evac hospital as damn quick as humanly possible. On occassion one of our own would have to ride in to the evac hospital applying direct pressure to a wound. fter Ski Lodge we moved to LZ Hambone on 14 January. Our introduction there was receiving NVA incoming rounds.

Now, as a HHB person I was issued all my gear. Along with everything else, I was issued my clothing and my weapon. Neon green fatigues and the M-16. They were very good about all this and being as how I had never even handled an M-16 rifle they even took me out to a range somewhere and I qualified with it, along with a .45 and a 'Dummy Thumper' (the M-79 Grenade Launcher was not exactly a complex weapon to use or maintain, hence 'dummy,' and it made a 'thump' when fired so . . . ). They were good about everything, even giving me an apology when they said they didn't have a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' to give me. But not to worry, they promised they'd get one to me as soon as they got one. What did I know . . . I actually believed them.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, my finance records had also disappeared somewhere between Ft. Lewis and the 1/92nd. Now this is just a theory you understand, but I believe I was a member of HHB and they in turn lost my finance records and seeing a big problem with that . . . bang, boom, twang, a few days after my arrival I'm in a 2½ T. truck headed north, attached to B Btry. The 'if they ain't here, no problem' principle.

I convoyed up to the Dak To area (without my 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was'), and caught a slick out to LZ Satan to B Btry. It was around the first part of Dec '67. I was actually very content with B Btry. The FDC crew (Alexander, Barr, Cameron, Lee and Smart at the time) were great guys and the FDC Lt., Allen, knew what he was doing. I liked it there. But somewhere on the paperwork I still was only 'attached' to B Btry. The first time this became a minor annoyance was when we were on LZ Mile High north of Dak To. It was cold. Especially at night. The B Btry personnel got some warmer clothing sent up to them (long johns and field jackets), when I went to acquire some of that warm stuff I was told I had to get mine from HHB, and HHB had more or less ceased to acknowledge my existence at this point.

After the first two 'pay days' I did notice that I wasn't getting any (that too, but I'm talkin' bout pay here). Its noticeable, I mean you couldn't miss the fact that you weren't getting paid. Not that I had a lot to spend it on but sometimes it's the principle of the thing that's important. Getting shot at for low pay is better than getting shot at for no pay. We really couldn't walk down to the local pub and buy a few rounds or anything, nor did the B Btry personnel have ready access to a PX, but I had to borrow money to go on R & R. Even then I was broke in Hong Kong for the last day or two. That sucks. I made efforts to contact Base Camp and inquire about my pay but was largely ignored. I didn't get paid at all for about half my tour and when I did get paid it was only partial pay at the E-4 grade and I was an E-5 for the last month or two. PFC's were probably paid more.

I was a Bastard. I didn't seem to belong anywhere and nobody wanted to claim me. Don't get me wrong, I did feel a part of B Btry, and from the Captain on down, I felt accepted, but I remained only 'attached.' When it came to resupply, pay and don't forget the 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' that I never got, I didn't seem to belong to nobody. I was one place and the paperwork said I was in another.

I forget where I was when I got gassed the first of two times. Middle of the day, somewhere west of Polei Kleng, someone yells 'GAS!' and I get a little tiny panicky feeling in the pit of my stomach. Two things crossed my mind. One, I don't have a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was,' and two, you don't suppose that the NVA has just imported something nasty down the Ho Ho Trail just for my own enjoyment and personal pleasure. Far fetched? Maybe, but when you don't have a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was,' some strange thoughts come to mind when someone yells 'GAS!'

It was CS. Irritating? Yes! A pain in the butt? Yes! But other than that . . harmless. I was told that a chopper had inadvertently set off a trip wire on the perimeter which was attached to a CS grenade. This brings up a little sidebar question I have. Why would you use a CS grenade right up close on the perimeter? Wouldn't that just piss 'em off . . . and you and yours too? Why not just replace it with a flare, even a smoke or an HE grenade (moved down the hill a little farther of course). They would do the job just as good as, and in my opinion a helluva lot better than, a CS grenade wouldn't they?

In all fairness to the others, a few guys got gassed that time besides me. If you ever moved around with an artillery unit back then, you may have noticed that they don't exactly keep that kind of stuff real handy. They were all issued a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' but some of them just didn't know exactly where it was. I wasn't the only one looking for a towel or something to put over my face. A few of the guys experienced the effects along with me but it was a warning to them. They were a little more conscious of the location of their 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' the next time. And there was a next time. A few weeks later, the same thing happened on another LZ . . the yell of 'GAS!' . . the little tiny panicky feeling . . the irritating CS . . the 'I wonder why they use that stuff?' question . . and a 'damn HHB' for not issuing me a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was.' I did notice though that most of the guys knew where theirs was this time.

So, getting back to the paperwork, in due time my tour of duty was up and I was to process out of the 1/92nd FA. Another E-5 named, Dan Anstine (a member of B Btry FDC at this time), was to leave the day after me and we would drive a ¾ T. truck into Base Camp during the day for processing and beers, then drive back to B Btry before night (two or three clicks away). Everything went okay up until the end when I was to turn my equipment in.

I went to the supply shack and presently was across a counter from an E-5 type. He made busy checking off different parts of some paperwork with my name on it and as I turned in my armored vest, M-16, helmet, etc., he came to a question that stopped the process. He said 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' . . . . . so I calmly went into the HHB/B Btry explanation and of how I wasn't issued one . . . he informed me that according to the paperwork I was issued one . . . I said the paperwork is wrong . . . he said it wasn't . . . I said it was . . . and he said if I didn't turn in a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' that I'd have to pay for it . . . I said . . . . . !

I'm not a mean, tough guy. I believe in using diplomacy, logic and reason. If that fails I maybe . . . lie, but only when those efforts don't work will I smack the other guy with a 2x4. Something seemed to go wrong with my normal game plan when he said I had to 'pay' for the 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was,' Diplomacy vanished . . logic and reason . . never came to mind, not even lying. I reached across the counter, grabbed the E-5 (I was also an E-5 so it was okay) by the collar and explained to him, in great detail, why I wasn't going to pay for a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was.' I explained the effects of CS when you don't have a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' and described the the little tiny panicky feeling you get when all you hear is the word "GAS" screamed out and you know you don't even have a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was.' I also told him how cold it was on LZ Mile High and filled him in on how the Army had lost my finance records and how I had to borrow money to go on RR. I finished up with providing him the details of how I was an E-5 and I was only drawing partial pay at the E-4 pay grade which was probably less than a PFC made. I finished with ' . . . and I'll be go to hell if I'm going to pay the Army for all that pleasure and enjoyment!!!'

Then I relaxed, unhanded him, let him slide back down the backside of the counter and he calmly reached over, picked up his pen and, as he marked the paperwork, he said 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was . . . . returned.'

I would like to publicly apologize to whoever that E-5 Supply type was at this time. I know he wasn't the guy who didn't issue me a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' in the first place, and he probably wasn't the guy who replaced the first guy and marked it down that I had my 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was' so he could keep all his files nice and tidy, nor was it likely that he was the guy who lost my finance records. He was just the guy trying to do his job and get the government back its equipment or reimbursement for it (which I find silly anyway. Hell, I could have brought him back a spare M-16, a couple of claymore's and a basket full of grenades or something, would I get credit?). So please accept my apology . . . it wasn't really my fault . . . the paperwork made me do it.

I processed out of the Army at Ft. Lewis and was given travel pay home. That's it. Travel pay. Nope, I didn't get any back pay. Just travel pay from Seattle/Tacoma to Minneapolis. Had to swing down to 'Frisco to see my Dad on the return trip so that meant I had to borrow a little from him to make up the difference to buy a ticket the rest of the way home to Minneapolis. When I got home I was flat broke and I owed people money. Has anyone else ever come home from a war broke and in debt?

I learned about one of life's little rules that nobody told me about before. It goes 'in order to fix existing paperwork you have to create more paperwork.' No really! Its a rule or a law, or something. So, after my discharge when I learned about this rule, I first tried writing to the US Army Finance Center in Indiana somewhere, TWICE. No response. A year and a half and I still hadn't received my back pay let alone an acknowledgment of my correspondence or existence. So I created more paperwork . . I wrote my Congressman. Boy! That works! Within two weeks I got a check for part it and an apology from a CO at the Finance Center to boot. A month later . . I got the balance, and another apology. Thank you Congressman Frazer! I wished I had written you earlier. I think you could have got me a pair of long johns when I was on LZ Mile High, and I wonder if maybe you could have wired me some cash when I was on R & R?, but I'm damn sure you could have gotten me a 'Mask, Protective, M dash whatever the number was.'