Vietnam War

While pilots thought they were more important than the rest of us, their job—air superiority and ground attacks—was only possible with us.

I was mostly interested in Navy underwater demolition. I didn’t know much about it, but I loved Lloyd Bridges in Sea Hunt and wanted to be a frogman.

William (Mac) McKissick was a technical sergeant responsible for the security of the northern perimeter of Tan Son Nhut Air Base north of Saigon, Vietnam.

Soldiers got what they needed in Vietnam, from cold Pepsis to American-made lumber to a three-quarter-ton truck, often trading with Jack Daniels.

Few days pass when my mind doesn’t return to something I learned during that year in the sun, mud, and rain.

Dealing with still-drunk combatants who often outranked me and wanted a second round with the bouncer was never easy.

When a deafening roar woke me on the morning of Dec. 18, 1972, I raced outside and watched in awe as wave after wave of KC-135s headed off the island.

I wondered whether the lighter bags held small soldiers or only body parts. I kept no count of the work. I still don’t know how many we carried.

The ships with our 437 helicopters would reach Qui Nhon harbor in about four weeks. They needed a place to land.

As I brought the jeep to a screeching halt in front of the terminal entrance, I noticed the colonel’s face had drained of color.