Your In The Army Now

I was taken totally off guard when I received an invitation from Uncle Sam. Induction is when you are drafted, which hasn’t happened in the US since Vietnam. It used to be for 1 or 2 years. Inductees go where they are sent; they have very little choice, if any. Enlistment is voluntary. It is generally for 3 or 4 years, depending on the service. There is a lot of choice for them. First came a few days of processing: the haircut (you had to pay the civilian barber), the shots (lots of them), the uniforms (“your waist is kind of big,” a snarky corporal who handed me my fatigue pants said), the aptitude tests, the offers to go to Officer Candidate School or get the enlisted school of my choice, both of which involved more time in the Army than the two-year draft commitment. I decided two years in uniform was plenty for me, even though I would have no control over what job the Army would ultimately choose for me.

I distinctly remember thinking to myself that I’d made the biggest mistake of my young life taking my chances with the draft. I could have used my exemption because I was classified 4-F (not qualified for military service). More than three million people are diagnosed each year with flat feet. Also known as “pes planus,” flat feet refer to a foot shape that does not have a normal arch. 

I survived the eight weeks of basic training, shedding 25 pounds in the process. Then came the day in early September when I received orders for advanced training. I marched from our company area to some office building at Dix with a few of my new basic training buds. We sat down in a classroom. A clerk handed out our personnel files. He said, “Men, do not open your 201 Files.” Every one of us immediately did, knowing we would find our fate inside the manila folder. It was the first time I’d seen an Army order, complete with a confusing series of coded numbers and mysterious abbreviations. Then I noticed a line underlined in red pencil: my name, rank and service number and the words assigning me for training in MOS 70A-10. The only MOS (military occupational specialty) we knew was 11B, infantryman.

I met First Class Private Ralph Johnson while attending the Army sniper school training in the beginning of the Vietnam War. You probably aren’t aware that the U.S. Army Sniper Course trains selected military members assigned to sniper positions in the skills necessary to deliver long-range precision fire and the collection of battlefield information.

The school is limited to Soldiers in the 11 and 18 series of Military Occupational Specialties (MOSs). The 11 series covers 11B Infrantry and 11C Indirect Fireman. The 18 series are jobs in Special Forces. Your SSG or the Unit’s Scout platoon holds competitions to test soldiers’ land navigation, marksmanship and physical training to determine which soldier gets to go to the school, which lasts 42 days with no breaks and many 18-hour days. Only 160 Soldiers are accepted to sniper school per year. We received training in fieldcraft skills, advanced camouflage techniques, concealed movement, target detection, range estimation, terrain utilization, intelligence preparation of the battlefield, relevant reporting procedures, sniper tactics, advanced marksmanship and staff subjects.  

Ralph and me hit it off right away. It wasn’t just because the two of us were the only black soldiers. We had common likes such as the movie Sergeant York a 1941 an American biographical film about the life of Alvin C. York, one of the most-decorated American soldier of World War I, hominy grits, the song Chain of Fools by Aretha Franklin and surfing, just to name a few likes. It just so happened that we both once surfed at Trestles (San Onofre State Beach), San Clemente.  The only difference between the two of us was the fact that he would truly learn to enjoyed blowing human targets heads off from a few hundred yards away and I didn’t have to.

We laughed our way through the eight weeks of training, calling the barracks “the ghetto,” the base “Harlem” and the mess hall “the Potluck Cafeteria.”

When sniper school ended on Nov. 14, 1963, every one of us received orders for Vietnam. They gave us a 30 day leave to visit friends and family before shipping us out to fight in a war that I knew we could never win. Ralph joined me for some reason, (he said that he didn’t have no  family or friends to visit), eventually marrying my baby sister.

After our leave was up, Ralph and I and a couple hundred of us went through out-processing, then spent the night on cots in a giant room; it felt like a soulless airplane hangar with buzzing fluorescent lights. Early the next morning, Feb. 14, 1964, we piled into buses for the ride to nearby Travis Air Force Base, then boarded leased commercial jets (with army flight attendants and airline food, but no booze) for the trip to the war zone.

The first stop: Anchorage. We deplaned for a few hours. I remember it was warmer in Alaska than it had been in Hawaii. Then something like an 18-hour flight crossing the International Date Line over the Pacific Ocean to Tachikawa Air Base in Japan for a short layover. Then on to Vietnam. After deplaning at Bien Hoa Air Base, near Saigon, we were herded onto buses for the drive to the giant 90th Replacement Battalion not far away at Long Binh, where we would be assigned to our units. My only memory of the bus ride was that it was oppressively hot and humid and that Vietnam smelled like raw sewage.

Me and Ralph got our assignment to Da Nang, Quảng Nam Province, Vietnam. The hill was located 3 km northeast of the confluence of the Yen, Ai Nghia and La Tho Rivers, there we spent four long days at the 90th Da Nang Post, rumored to be the largest American Army base on the planet. We were put in rudimentary barracks, then marched to a few orientation sessions. “Men, you may have heard that most of the prostitutes in Vietnam have some kind of venereal disease,” the guy giving the V.D. lecture said. “That’s not true Grunts, they all do.” I believe he actually recommended for us Bullet Catchers to use a body condom but that may be a false memory. We also filled sandbags and did guard duty (without weapons). Mostly, though, we had to endure three shipping formations each day held on a giant parade ground.

Five months after being drafted. I reported for duty at the 527th Personnel Service Company. I worked in the personnel management section as a redeployment sniper clerk. For the next 12 months I sent people home from the war.

Ralph on the other hand became a member of the Fifth Marine Sniper Unit. Like the other sniper team members, he was fully equipped with the art of jungle warfare, the patience required to accomplish a mission, combat marksmanship and last but not least, the most valuable quality of courage. The Fifth Marine Sniper was the most decorated platoon in the Vietnam War. Although there are quite a few achievements to his credit, but he is best known for preserving the achievements of his fellow snipers. He also became a famous Vietnam War author, particularly for preserving the history of Vietnam snipers from 1964 to 1968, including the unforgettable Tet battle.

It wasn’t until years later that I discovered why Ralph was so hell bend on serving his country until he told me that when the assassination of John F. Kennedy, the mortal shooting of the 35th president of the United States in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 1963. By the accused killer, a former sniper U. S. Marine Lee Harvey Oswald. That happened 8 days after he joined the Army.

He said Breeze, (that was the nick name I was given  while attending sniper school, because it was said that I would do something easily and without worry. I appeared to Breeze along in a carefree and simple manner. Like a Breeze, I was someone who breezes along as if propelled by nature, not stressing or caring about where his path ends. People like me who are said to breeze along through something who have no concerns). I excepted that nickname without fanfare although that was far from the truth about me.

Anyway, Ralph eyes were filled with tears recalling how he felt when President Kennedy was slain. He said that he was laying on his bunt when he first heard the news. Ralph always spoke highly of President Kennedy all through sniper training and through the many letters he wrote my sister, even though she nor  I could never figure out why. One day he admitted to us all his reason was that he truly believed that President Kennedy was good for black people. When he got killed Ralph vowed to himself to become the best American Soldier possible.