The Redcatcher Express

This book is a work of non-fiction. The events and situations are true.

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© 2004, 2012 By Henry Mora. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 12/20/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4184-6802-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4184-6801-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4184-6803-3 (e)

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Contents

Foreword

The Draft Notice

The Uso Tour

Basic Training And Ait

Orders For ‘Nam

Firebase Blackhorse

The Cavalry Rescue

The Band

The Standdowns

The Black Market

The Usarv Command Tour

The Reassignments

About The Author:

FOREWORD

In honor of the combat Infantrymen of the 199th Light Infantry Brigade, this book Is dedicated, and to the others who fought in the Vietnam War; the grunts, door gunners, helicopter pilots, point men, and machine gunners; to all those who survived the war as well as those that didn’t. The ones who were survivors will undoubtedly remember the Vietnam War for the rest of their life, as the images of war are difficult to erase from one’s memory.

There were many men such as myself who were drafted and sent to fight in Vietnam. We were unwilling participants, but went despite the choices available to us. Many dodged the draft by fleeing to Canada, while others disappeared into the woodwork. Others deserted the military when they received orders for Vietnam. Then there were the others, those who got special treatment because of influential connections in our government. Some of our current leaders in government belong to that category. But some of our leaders are also Vietnam Vets, and some were prisoners of war. But thirty years later, it doesn’t matter what category you belonged to, your destiny was fulfilled. For when it comes down to matters of this nature, destiny is what drives the human experience.

The Vietnam War remains one of the most controversial wars in the history of the United States military. An unpopular war, undeclared by the congress, it lingered for over a decade costing more than fifty thousand American lives, over a million Vietnamese lives, a great number women and children, and more than one trillion U.S. taxpayer dollars.

Thousands of American GIs disabled and disfigured in the war were affected. Their families and ancestry continue to suffer from the adverse and devastating effects of the defoliant, Agent Orange, while others suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. All this misery only to realize the end result of the Vietnam War was an embarrassing and debilitating military defeat for the United States and South Vietnam.

My Vietnam War experience was somewhat different. I was not prone to be any more courageous than the next guy, and was just as intimidated upon receiving my orders for ‘Nam. Like the others, I contemplated deserting and fleeing to Canada, but something told me to pray for an answer to my predicament. The idea was outrageous — that God would give me an answer — but he did. After praying for seven days I received this message when I woke up from a dream:

War is mans’ greatest sin since the beginning of time. I want you to see it and experience it. I promise that no harm will come unto you.

If you can’t trust God, then who do you trust? My friends thought I was crazy because they said God just doesn’t talk to anyone. Not that I was any kind of religious zealot, at that time I rarely went to church. You could say that divine intervention is what sent me to Vietnam, albeit my story is not about religion. After fulfilling the first part of the revelation — experiencing the war — I am rescued from combat, and as promised, no harm came to me. The outcome was an unusual extraordinary adventure in the military.

Names of some individuals in the story were changed for privacy and public safeguard. The names of individuals I don’t recall were given names similar to ones they might have had. Some of the events were dramatized and characterized to

enhance the storyline. It is based on a true story.

To save your world you asked this man to die: Would this man, could he see you now, ask why? W.H. Auden Epitaph for an Unknown Soldier

The Draft Notice

A squad of NVA soldiers broke through the dense jungle brush, swiftly appearing on the trail, looking suspiciously in the direction of the noise. Their solemn expressions revealed concern for what they suspected was imminent danger. Several of them raised their heads, tilting them slightly as if to hear better, as animals often do when danger lurks. Gripping their AK-47s judiciously, two of them dropped to one knee, while the others hunched down, waiting for what came their way.

It was midday, the early morning dew had dissipated with the rising of the jungle heat. The men in Recon Platoon sweated, not just because of the heat, but because we were the object of a hunt by the enemy. A platoon of twenty-seven NVA in pursuit had rushed past our location minutes earlier, avidly searching for us. Fortunately, we weren’t detected. The squad was probably the same one that spotted us earlier, before we made a getaway. We were in hot water and needed a miracle to get out of this mess.

The tank engines whirred noisily, slowly moving forward, crunching trees and foliage, upsetting the stillness of the jungle. The squad treaded forward slightly in anticipation as the noise became more pronounced. Recon Platoon surreptitiously awaited the tanks’ arrival, firmly entrenched in the bushes fifty yards past the trail behind the NVA squad.

After a few perilous moments, a single shot rang out, abruptly hitting one of the NVA in the back, taking him out. Lieutenant Dionedes had stood up and fired the opening shot, triggering the start of battle. Chaos exploded, we fired at the NVA who fired at the tanks because they thought that’s who fired at them. The tanks fired on Recon Platoon thinking we were the enemy.

On a lookout post, sprawled on the ground between the NVA and Recon Platoon, I fired blindly over my head because machine gun fire from the tanks kept my face in the dirt. Bullets flew everywhere. The Machine guns strafed the ground up to where I lay, skipped my body and continued on the other side, amazingly I was still alive. The machine gun fire returned, panning the area, cutting trees and small brush in it’s wake. Once again, it missed me completely. I prayed with my head buried in the ground, thanking God for not getting hit. As I lay there, my mind reeled, thoughts of what went on flurried in my head. This was Vietnam and we were in enemy territory. By the looks of things, we had a slim chance of getting out alive. It was incredible that I was there. I wasn’t meant to be a war hero, killing was not my thing. All I wanted to do was play music. I reflected on how this situation came about. Drafted and sent to fight in the war, I was a musician back in the world when it all began.

The summer of 1968 ended with a four-week tour backing up Glenn Campbell, whose big hit was, By the Time I Get to Phoenix, and Bobby Gentry who was foremost on the airwaves with Ode to Billy Joe. It was one of those memorable tours that I didn’t want to end, and leave my new friends I met on the tour. It was unusual playing trombone in a Country and Western band.

When the tour ended, I found another job. I worked the graveyard shift for the Post Office as a letter sorter, which put a dent on playing any gigs. I moved into a sparsley furnished, single bungalow located in a nice Hollywood neighborhood. My pad was furnished with an upright piano that had a beautiful resonant tone, a chest of drawers, and a mattress. I didn’t have a TV and my only connection to the outside world was an am fm radio. But I had a nice car, a red Pontiac convertible with white interior and a white rag top. It was a beauty.

My neighbors, Marshall and Julie were a wacky couple. Marshall studied photography and left early every morning to his class. This was just about the time I was coming home from work, tired from the Post Office routine. A couple of times Marshall and Julie came over for coffee and talked about their free love philosophy. Marshall let me know in no uncertain terms that it was okay for me to fuck Julie. I really got the hint one evening when Marshall wasn’t around. I answered the door and there was Julie, standing there wearing a large see- through scarf, bare-ass naked underneath.

She held a cigarette in her hand and asked, Do you have a light, in her best Talulah Bankhead impersonation.

She just wasn’t my type, with enormous tits, a face that wasn’t happening and a dull personality. She didn’t give me a hard-on. Later I discovered she was into making porno flicks.

Marshall and Julie had some nice friends, though. There was the time Marshall invited me and a buddy, a bass player named Jose, over to meet some girls from his photography class. Jose and I were having a two man jam session at my pad — me on the piano and Jose on the electric bass — when Marshall came over and invited us to his pad.

I got some good smoke, he said, and I want you to meet some girls from my photography class. I think you’ll like them.

The two girls were quite attractive. One was latina and the other caucasian. They seemed like a good match for me and Jose. They were dressed up and wanted to go dancing. Jose and I looked at each other and smiled when we heard that, it was promising to be a good evening.

The group smoked a couple of joints and were enjoying each other’s company, when Julie appeared out of nowhere, butt naked, serving snacks and refilling drinks.

Marshall stood up taking a toke, adjusted his glasses and said laughing, You know Julie, she’s just doing her thing.

It wasn’t amusing to the girls, though they freaked out. After seeing Julie naked, they probably thought it would turn into an orgy. They scooted out of Marshall’s pad quickly, leaving a path of perfume mixed with pot and incense, it was almost funny. But it wasn’t, the party ended, pissing everybody off.

Man, I told Jose, that fucking Julie spoiled it. She probably wanted an orgy just so she could get fucked.

I didn’t have a girlfriend at the time and since I got off the tour, I hadn’t been out with any women. That was my big chance, but it turned out to be a big let down. My last girlfriend Alma and I broke up a couple of months before going on the tour. She was my college sweetheart and we had a big fight over getting married. She was ready for marriage but I wasn’t. I really loved her, but thought we were too young for marriage. She thought differently, so I was back to being a single guy. That is until one day, my luck changed.

Coming home from a rehearsal band in Hollywood one afternoon, I drove down the Sunset Strip when I noticed a female in a mini-skirt at the bus stop on the corner of La Cienega and Sunset Boulevard. She was sensational — small, petite, cinnamon-colored skin, gorgeous legs, a beautiful face framed by a page boy haircut. She resembled Betty Boop, except she was Latina. She was quite a vision and instantly captured my attention.

My eyes riveted on her sexy legs, taking them off the road for just for a few seconds, when the two left wheels of my car went up on the center divider of the road. I drove around the curve with two wheels on the center divider and two wheels on the street. I maneuvered my way back on the road, catching a glimpse of her giggling, with a hand over her mouth. I drove around the block and came up alongside the bus stop. Just as I was about to drop one of my best pick-up lines, she sauntered over and without saying a word, got in my car. She sat there with an alluring smile on her face.

I broke the ice by saying, You know that pair of legs almost got me killed.

She smiled saying, I don’t speak English good, in her beautiful Spanish accent. I am sorry, but you are okay? You are funny. Is that how you say?

Yes, that’s how you say. I wasn’t trying to be funny, it’s just that you’re so beautiful, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.

"Gracias. I am trying to learn English. I am from Nicaragua and I just been here a little time. I just coming from my English class. My name is Sonia, and your name?"

I’m Henry.

I am pleased to meet you. Is that how you say?

Yes, and you say it so beautifully.

The entire time we talked I checked out Sonia’s sexy body. She sat with her legs close together, but her mini-skirt was so short you could almost see her panties.

I discovered she had recently arrived from Nicaragua and was living with her sister. We talked and joked around about my near accident and got along splendidly. As I drove her home, I asked she would like to go out sometime, and she said yes. She gave me her phone number and we made plans to go out.

On Saturday night I picked up Sonia and we went salsa dancing. I knew of a club on the corner of La Cienega and Beverly Boulevard called Casa Escobar. There on the weekends you could dance to the hot latin sounds of Johnny Martinez and his orchestra. It was the in spot for salsa dancers. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but I could do a step or two. Besides, I thought Sonia would like the club since she was from Nicaragua. I had to impress her.

Sonia was breathtaking. She wore a short celestial blue mini-dress, and occasionally you could peek at her white panties underneath as she sat or moved around, she was delectable. I was enraptured with her, and she seemed to like me as well.

As the evening wore on, I realized she was really sweet and innocent despite her sexy allure. She was only twenty-one years-old and hadn’t seen much in her country except poverty. Being from a third world nation, Los Angeles was a big change for her, she was in awe of the city. Her innocence combined with her sexiness drew the attention of the guys in the band, they stared at her shapely legs. I can’t say I blamed them, because her sexiness was also driving me up the wall.

We danced all night and during a slow romantic bolero I stole a kiss from her. It was nice and juicy. The evening was turning out to be quite romantic.

Afterward, I took Sonia for a drive down the Sunset Strip. We drove with the the top down, listening to the radio and enjoying the sights. The warm August night was clear and full of stars, adding to the intimate mood and the forecast of good things to come. Driving back home, I knew I had to get her alone. I was somewhat embarassed about taking her to my pad, but I had no choice. I asked her if she’d like to go to my place for a drink, she said yes.

Once inside my pad, Sonia was unaffected by my sparsely furnished apartment. It may have just been that she was used to seeing a lot worse in her country. Her beauty and charm brightened up my pad. The moment was pure and unspoiled.

I took Sonia into my arms and kissed her, pulling in her beautiful body up close. She responded fervently, embracing the back of my neck as we kissed. I picked her up and carried her over to the bed, she was light and petite. I laid her down and continued to kiss her pretty Nicaraguan face. We lay there hugging and kissing, then I reached down between her legs and felt a hot, wet love mound. I reached under her dress and removed her white lace panties which had been mesmerizing me all night. She opened her legs and raised her body to help me, simultaneously darting her tongue in and out of my mouth. I pulled her dress up high above her waist, unveiling a beautifully sculpted body. I didn’t waste time in removing my pants, I just pulled them down. I was hard and she was sultry hot. I opened her legs and viewed a gorgeous pouting slit. I trembled and shuddered as I entered her body, feeling the inner slippery folds of her aperture, and smoothly spreading it open.

She moaned, uuh, uuhh, aayy, as I entered her love chamber.

Ooh fuck, I said, feeling velvet completely engulf my tool.

I raised her legs up slightly and she responded by encircling them tightly around my back. We kissed feverishly and she bit my lips and ears and scratched my back with her red nails. I kissed the nape of her neck and licked her beautifully formed breasts. Then things really got wild. She bucked hard as I rammed her full of my stuff. I came, filling her with my hot fluid. She shrieked when she came. Her head dangled over the side of the mattress when her ecstasy subsided. She was exquisite.

I knew Sonia for a short while, as a matter of fact, I never saw her again. We’d talked on the phone a few times, when this happened. Coming home from work one day, I opened a letter from the United States Department of the Army which read:

YOU ARE TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION INTO THE UNITED STATES ARMY ON SEPTEMBER 17, 1968.

The letter instructed not to bring anything except the clothes on your back. The time and location of the induction station was indicated at the bottom of the letter, it was in downtown Los Angeles.

I was shocked. I stood there in disbelief. Drafted! I was drafted! It was difficult to believe that it happened. Even worse, there was a war going on. The Vietnam War was big news in the global community. A few months back, television stations reported that North Vietnam orchestrated a simultaneous attack on dozens of cities throughout South Vietnam. Called the Tet Offensive, it caused major damage, not just to the military, but to our intelligence as well. It had a damaging psychological effect on the troops in Vietnam. The U.S. suffered the defeat along with South Vietnam. I was being drafted and would probably be sent to fight in the Vietnam War. Draft! That word echoed in my mind. I was twenty-six years-old and thought I had beaten the draft. The Army doesn’t draft you after twenty- seven years of age. I had six months to go before I turned twenty-seven, and now this happened. I called Sonia.

Mamita, I have some bad news, malas noticias.

Dime mi amor, que te pasa, what is wrong?

"I’ve been drafted, amor."

"Que es drafted, what is it?"

I’m going into the Army.

Oh no, she said dismayed.

"Amor, if I go to Vietnam I want you to wait for me, please," I pleaded.

"I’m sorry for you, but I can’t. I don’t want to be girlfriend of soldier. What if you die in the war? No, no puedo," she blurted, and hung up on me.

I had to get out of this. There had to be a way out. I’d heard stories from friends saying they knew of someone who had gotten out of the Army by faking insanity. One way or another, you could get out of the draft if you really wanted to. Another option was to dodge the draft by going to Canada, as many did. I thought carefully about the situation when an idea came to me.

A few weeks back, I got a call from a fellow musician, Ron Finney, a tenor sax player and leader of a jazz group, the New Scene. He offered me a gig with the Army USO, a six-week tour to Japan, Korea, and Thailand, with stop-overs in Taipei, Hawaii, and Vietnam. He wasn’t sure whether we would perform in Vietnam, but we would stop there. I turned the gig down because of my job with the Post Office, knowing that six weeks later I’d be out of a job if I took the gig.

But now that I was drafted, what the hell. Besides, I thought, what if I take the gig and then later tell them I’ve been drafted, maybe the USO could somehow postpone my draft notice. Maybe it would be postponed long enough that I would turn twenty-seven and I wouldn’t have to go. It was worth a try.

I called Ron, Hey man, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take the USO gig.

Ron said, Groovy, man. I’m relieved, because I’ve been having trouble finding a good bone player, much less one that can write charts like you. I’m glad you can make it. I knew you’d come to your senses sooner or later. What’s a trombone player doing in the Post Office anyway?

I leveled with Ron about being drafted and discussed the prospect of getting my draft notice postponed through the USO. Ron said he’d be glad to help. He sent my personal information to the USO office as one of the members of the group going on the tour. It would be a six-piece group with Ron on tenor sax, Jon Hartmann on piano, Michael Carvin, on drums, a brother named Richard on electric bass, a fine sister, Avery Sommers, on vocals, and me on trombone.

After rehearsals began, Ron and I spoke with the USO officer in charge and discussed getting my draft notice postponed for the tour. He said it was not a problem, just leave it up to him.

A few of weeks later I received another letter from the Department of the Army stating that my draft call was postponed until further notice. Maybe by the time the tour was over, and with a little luck and bureaucratic red tape, I would turn twenty-seven and wouldn’t be called to the draft again. It seemed that lady luck was back on my side. I called Sonia, but she wouldn’t talk to me.

The USO Tour

The New Scene was a funky, spunky, energetic pop jazz group performing standards like Song for my Father, All Blues, Milestones, Maiden Voyage, and jazz renditions of pop tunes like Eleanor Rigby. Some of which were my arrangements. Avery, our vocalist would render tunes like I Say a Little Prayer for You, Respect, and other pop tunes Ron and I would arrange in a jazz style. We practiced hard for a month before we were ready to go on tour. Everyone in the band was excited. We knew it was going to be an enjoyable and interesting tour. I quit the Post Office gig before leaving on tour. I was a musician again, thank God.

Our first stop was Japan. This was an intriguing place to visit during that era. A modern country, hi-tech, far advanced of other countries in business, technology, and industry, the Japanese quickly adapted to Western cultures, high rise buildings, business suits, soul music, rock and roll, and jazz. The band immediately took a ride on the bullet train. We heard that in Shinjuku, there were jazz clubs where you’d sit and listen to jazz and the clientele would request the DJ to play special selections for them. Their libraries were enormous, with thousands of jazz albums on hand. We played a couple of short gigs in Tokyo, one in the afternoon and another the following night. Not too many GIs were at those concerts.

Our escort officer explained, Most GIs are out in the clubs, there’s a lot to do in Tokyo, a lot of action going on. These guys are not starving for entertainment. You’ll have bigger audiences in Korea.

Soon thereafter, we flew to Korea. When we arrived at the airport, we were ushered past customs to the VIP room where we waited while our bags were checked. We were happy because we were going to play for bigger audiences. And we were told Korean women were really beautiful. After our arrival at the airport, we were driven to our quarters on a military bus. On the way to Seoul, the driver pointed out all the points of interest to us. The outskirts of Seoul were fairly rural. Then the driver drove by a strip of nightclubs — a red light district — sexy call girls were everywhere and they looked very foxy.

The driver announced, Over on the left is the Chicken Farm, famous red light district in Seoul. If you come here, don’t come alone, it’s very dangerous. We continued on to our hotel.

Walker Hill Resort in Seoul was a military compound where the U.S Military were quartered. We stayed there because we were traveling with a rank equivalent to that of a Colonel. Our billets at Walker Hill were nice. It was like staying at a posh hotel and it was close to downtown. Located in a hilly part of Seoul for security purposes, Walker Hill was very safe. It was guarded by Military Police, both U.S. and Korean, twenty-four hours a day.

We arrived at Walker Hill and made the rest of the day a comfortable hang. We didn’t do much except eat at the hotel. Jon was rooming with the escort officer, but they didn’t have much in common, so Jon hung out with me and Mike, my roommate. He came by our room later. Mike was casually laying in bed watching American television programs dubbed in Japanese, while I was trying to get my clothes organized.

Henry, we’ve got to find out where to get some smoke, said Jon. They must have some dynamite shit here in Korea, let’s try to find some.

The problem is we don’t know anyone here. How are we gonna get some if we don’t know anybody?

"What you’re gonna do