Free Abandoned in Hell : The Fight for Vietnam's Firebase Kate (9780698144262) by Joseph L. (FRW) Marvin; Galloway William; Wolf Albracht Page A

or Navy. I could volunteer for the draft, or wait to be drafted, which meant only two years.
    Joe and I decided that the Marines offered the biggest challenge and the most possibilities for adventure.
    I idolized my brother Bob—and he wouldn’t hear of me joining the Marines. After completing a four-year Air Force hitch, instead of returning to Rock Island, he re-upped! Reenlisted in the
Army
,
spent eight weeks in advanced infantry training, then went to jump school and
volunteered for Special Forces.
    Bob was a paratrooper! In the entire eighteen years of my life, I had never even
met
a paratrooper! So when Bob said, “Forget about theMarines,” I listened. In the Gospel According to Brother Bob, Special Forces was where the action was. He laid it out for us: Enlist in the Army, volunteer for airborne infantry, then ask for Vietnam.
    This was the summer of 1966. Nearly half a million American men had already been drafted for Vietnam service; by the end of that year, some 385,000 US troops would be serving in Vietnam or its waters. Twice that many were in various stages of training for deployment to the war zone. Across America, millions of young men about my age were going to extraordinary lengths to get into perennially understrength National Guard and Reserve units that almost overnight had filled up and grown waiting lists. Men with family, business, or political connections, or with relatives serving in Guard units, proved far more successful in their quest for an honorable, or at least legal, way to avoid the draft and the hazards of combat.
    Those lacking such connections—tens of millions of them—began applying for student draft deferments, enrolling in divinity schools or other graduate programs where they would find shelter from the monsoon of draft notices falling on America’s youth. Thousands more had fled the country or faced prison by declaring themselves conscientious objectors. Navy and Air Force recruiters were swamped by a flood of highly qualified applicants that allowed them to pick and choose, while their opposite numbers in the Army and Marines struggled to meet monthly quotas.
    Many, perhaps most, of those who approached Army recruiters were seeking to do better for themselves than simply waiting to be drafted. Often accompanied by a parent or older brother, potential enlistees came prepared with pointed questions and lists of Army schools. They demanded a written guarantee of training as a dental technician, electronics repairman, military policeman, radar operator, aircraft mechanic, chaplain’s assistant, finance clerk—schooling in any military occupational specialty that might offer safety from the danger and privation of a wartime combat unit.
    But Joe and I lived in Rock Island. Our parents, our uncles, our older brothers, had all served in the military. As bored as I was with life along the Mississippi, I knew that I lived in the greatest country on earth. I was proud to be American. That we were at war in Vietnam meant that I
needed
to join up, get trained to fight and get to the war zone before it was over. I was almost desperate to do my part for America.
    Right after graduation, Joe and I found Rock Island’s Army recruiting office and asked about signing up for airborne infantry. The sergeant questioned us for a long time, until he was convinced of our sincerity. Then he smiled.
    â€œThis is your lucky day,” he drawled. “I’ve got exactly
two
quota slots left for airborne infantry. If you’re
truly
interested in a life of adventure, in joining a military
elite
, so prized that most who volunteer are turned away or wash out of training, you’ll have to sign up right away. Today. Right now.”
    Before some friend or relative could talk us into changing our minds.
    On October 2, 1966, Joe and I took the train to Chicago, where we reported to the Armed Forces Induction Center. After a physical and a battery of tests, we were