As I was cleaning up my mess after eating, our fire team leader came up and told us to pack up our gear, and to be ready to move out by 12:00. He didn’t know where we were going yet, but as soon as he did, he would tell us.
Two hours later, we got word that we would be flying to Camp Carroll by helicopter. our platoon would be the second platoon to leave after Third Platoon and CP, second platoon would set up a temporary perimeter around the Landing Zone to provide cover from the ground for the choppers.
Af the fourth chopper took off, our squad headed up to the LZ. After we got up there, a couple of helicopter came and covered us in about a half inch of red dust and dirt particles. When our chopper came in, we held our helmets on our heads andean on board with all our gear and personal belongings.
I was glad we were flying instead of walking to Camp Carroll. We landed on an open flat red dirt landing zone about 200 meters long by 75 meters wide. The country side was green rolling hills with mountains on the horizon to the North. We waited at the LZ for about an hour, just sitting on the ground in small groups talking. Then a convoy of trucks pulled up and we all got on board, sitting down on the wooden benches along side each side of the truck. This seemed dangerous as hell to me, having all those men crowded on one truck. But the time we left for the Rock Pile, which is where we were going, it was dark. Here we were, a resupply convoy of about twenty trucks, speeding north on a dirt and gravel road in the dark with no headlights on. I was expecting us to get ambushed any minute.
Ten minutes later the trucks stopped. The guy next to me said that we weren’t at the Rock Pile yet and he didn’t know why in the fuck we were stopped next to a cliff. He said it was da maned good place to get ambushed. After about five minutes of over hearing these kinds of conversations, we go word that the Rock Pile was being hit by 122 rockets. We sat there for about an hour, then started out for the Rock Pile again. We were there in about twenty minutes.
We got off the truck and were told to walk over towards the sand bag bunkers on our right. These bunkers were about twenty feet long and five feet high inside. The only part that was visible above ground was the sand bags covering the roof of the five bunkers. I got back together with my fire team, and was told to get into one of those bunkers incase of incoming rockets or mortars.
Our fire team leader came over and told us to go over to the first bunker and get our beanies. I thought to myself, are the going to give us speed? When I got to the bunker, I found out that beanies was short for benefits, such as cigarettes, soap and candy that the infantry go every now and then.
While our squad leader was handing out our beanies, he told me to find a place to sleep close to the bunkers because we were spending the night her and not standing lines. After we found a place to crash, PFC Anderson, whom I had become good friends with, asked me if I wanted to go get high. I said, “fuck yeah, man.” I followed him to the last bunker and crawled inside. All the people in the company who smoked pot were in there. There was Beatle music playing in the back of the bunker. The bunker was lit by candle light and was filled with marijuna and tobacco smoke. I met some of my closest friends in that bunker that night. I got so stoned after about fifteen Vietnanese pin joints, I could hardly walk back to my pack. I dropped my rifle, bandoleer of magazines and helmet on the roof of the bunker where I floated off to sleep.
