SEAL Doc

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Chapter One

The Military Air Transport Service (MATS) flight had left Travis Air Force Base outside San Francisco three days earlier and now was on the ground at Tan Son Nhat airport outside Saigon. Crew changes and rest stops at Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii and the Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines were required, causing delay of the flight.

Lieutenant (junior grade) Bill Evans, USNR, gathered his gear and headed for the forward exit of the C 133. The C 133 was easily converted to cargo or passenger transport as the mission required. It had no windows. The primitive canvas and metal frame seats, in tight rows, facing aft, make an irregular seat arrangement. Bill hoped that the rest of the men in his new unit would be able to make better flight arrangements.

The "transfer immediately" wording in his orders left him little choice but to take the first available flight from San Diego, the nearest commercial airport to his home base at the Naval Amphibious Base (NAB), Coronado, California. Bill was an Ivy League graduate and the product of the Navy Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC) program. He completed his degree in math under the navy's scholarship program. Of slim but muscular build with dark hair and blue eyes, his first assignment after graduation from college had been at the Naval Submarine Base in New London, Connecticut. This first tour of duty was uneventful and, after a few months, Bill found himself wanting more action and activity. He volunteered for UDT training at NAB Coronado, CA.

Although physically demanding, he completed the basic phases of the program and when it was available, requested additional training that would qualify him for duty with the soon to be formed SEAL Teams. Early deployment scheduling placed him as the Commanding Officer (CO) of MTT 10-62, the first SEAL unit assigned to Vietnam.

The ramp leading from the aircraft door was wet from a heavy rain and, as Bill stepped out of the plane, the press of heat, humidity, and stench in the air hit him like a brick wall. This climate will take some getting use to, he thought, as he walked to the terminal for check-in and transportation to Military Advisory Command Vietnam (MACV) headquarters in Saigon. A disinterested US Air Force airman, after stamping his orders, directed him to a blue bus in front of the terminal. Bill took a seat directly behind the US Air Force driver as he threw his gear under the seat. A heavy metal grid covered all the windows in the bus making it resemble a bus for transporting prisoners; it made him uncomfortable. He leaned forward and asked the driver the purpose of the window coverings.

"Bombs," was his response. "The locals throw grenades and home-made bombs into busses on a regular basis. Last week, a kid on a bike rode up alongside a cab and threw a loaf of bread into it; the bread had a hot grenade inside. The two army personnel in the cab are in the morgue. The driver bailed out before the kid threw the bread ... knew it was coming."

In a few minutes the last passenger boarded the bus. On the way out of the terminal area, Bill noticed several commercial aircraft and a few military transports. Considering the hour, 1500, the airport was relatively quiet. Passing through a chain link gate, the bus emerged onto what appeared to be a city street jammed with cycle cabs, small automobile taxis, and pedestrians. A throng of activity the likes of which Bill had not experienced. The street the bus traveled was narrow and the driver was constantly blowing the horn to avoid running down bicycles and foot traffic. Small sidewalk front shops crowded one another like chickens lined up at a feeding trough ... people were everywhere. The heat in the bus was oppressive, in spite of the pounding rain, there wasn't a breath of fresh air. It appeared to Bill that everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere but the rain did not seem to play a part in the haste. Hundreds of young women moved along the sidewalk dressed in long white sarong type attire with blue and green shirtwaists on top. They were the only group who carried umbrellas and most carried an armful of books.

Near the center of Saigon, the bus passed the presidential palace that showed severe structural damage to the wing furthest from the street. Bill had read in a newspaper in Hawaii that a renegade South Vietnamese Air Force pilot, with strong ties to the North Vietnamese cause, had dropped a bomb on the palace the preceding week in an attempt to assassinate the president. The president wasn't home that day!

As the bus entered the heart of Saigon, Bill was surprised to see the array of large modern buildings, a sharp contrast to the structures in the less urban portion of the city. After several turns, the bus approached a large walled enclosure covering several blocks. Atop the wall were rings of barbed wire and a steel entry gate guarded by an armed U.S. Marine. On the wall next to the gate was a primitive painted sign identifying the enclosure as Military Advisory Command and in block letters below that sign appeared the abbreviation "MACV". The marine waved the bus through the gate, the bus proceeded to the center of the compound, stopping by a central flagpole.

The driver turned to Bill telling him the Navy section was to the right at the first corridor. The interior of the compound looked like the inside of a fort. The only thing missing was a cannon. At a door marked Navy Personnel Office, Bill saw a large counter with a Chief Petty Officer seated behind it.

The chief got to his feet as he entered and asked, "checking in, Sir?"

Bill responded by laying his bundle of paperwork on the counter.

"Lieutenant Evans, yes, Sir, we've been expecting you. Go down the hall three doors, to check in with the commanding officer's office, in the mean time I'll get your paper work in order and assign you billeting in a nearby hotel. Come back here after you check in with him."

Bill followed the chief's directions and found the office of the commanding officer of the Navy section. A navy Wave, the CO's secretary, informed him that the CO was in a meeting and would meet with him at 0900 the following morning. Bill returned to the personnel office as requested. The chief gave him directions to a nearby hotel and the MACV Armory for a weapon issue.

The only weapons available were old Smith and Wesson revolvers in caliber .38 Special, not the weapon of choice. He received six rounds of ammunition in addition to the revolver. The Sergeant at the armory told him to keep track of each round fired so he could account for its use when he turned in the weapon.

"That's a ridiculous rule, Sergeant. If I shoot someone, I'm going to run back to my quarters and record their name, rank, and service number in my diary along with how many of your stupid .38s it took to do the job?"

"I don't make the rules, Lieutenant. You might want to take it up with the Commanding Officer of MACV. However, the General is in Washington at the moment but I'm sure he would be glad to hear from you when he returns."

Bill picked up the weapon and cartridges and headed for the door saying under his breath, "horse shit system."

After checking in at the hotel front desk, it was time for a long nap. It had been over twenty hours since he had slept.

* * *

Bill awoke to another...