THE PINEAPPLE

By May the Tet Offensive was a memory and the only job remaining was mopping up the last of the Vietcong holdouts in the western approaches to Saigon. In conjunction with B-52 air strikes our unit killed 60 enemy and destroyed several base camps. Only one area remained to bring the spring offensive to an official end and nobody wanted the job. 

The operation was far from glamorous and involved a considerable amount of hard work. It was a dangerous area full of booby traps, wetlands, rivers and streams with hidden displaced Vietcong holdouts infiltrating the local population. Without hesitation Delta was sent to this surreal landscape of mud flats along with our expertise of dealing with everything from the sublime to the rediculous. Welcome to The Pineapple.

The Pineapple was nothing less than hard dangerous work. If the mud wasn't enough the landscape was known for hidden bunkers protectected by mines and booby traps and anyone that entered sustained casualties. Our mission was to search and sweep by any means neccessity which translated meant one thing, we were treking by foot. Walking a dirt path or climbing on a dyke was a death wish and the only way to get the job done was the old fashion way and that was by hard work. We humped, fought, ate, and slept in mud that was sometimes up to our thighs. It was a nightmare to complete but we added another craft to our resume. Before the operation was over 1,732 bunkers and countless caches of weapons were destroyed either by hand or by air strikes directed from the ground. 

Welcome to The Pineapple

Villages were  built on any solid piece of earth. I took this picture just before sweeping through the village searching for Vietcong.

My picture was on the front cover of a magazine and was taken in The Pinapple. Here I am being pulled out of the mud by a fellow soldier as we worked a suspected Vietcong village.

Working The Pineapple on a dailey basis was taking its toll on us. Hundred degree days infested with snakes, mosquitoes, and of course Vietcong were wearing us thin along with the occasional firefight and booby trap blast. Only the strongest of the strong would survive this grueling mission of humping the lowland mud flats. Each step was a suction-cup event straining our calves and thighs to their limits as we high stepped each and every inch of this pastey mined turf. Our muscles ached and our feet were eaten raw from jungle rot and continuous moisture. When we had down time which was rare I took my boots and socks off along with the outer layer of skin. My bleeding feet oozed blood and puss from jungle rot as my socks and skin became one. Burning disinfectant powder was the only antidote to combat this flesh eating bacteria until another pair of dry socks could be found. My new socks were a comfort and seconded as a outer layer of skin.

Headquarters knew of our pain even before we went in and so they had a soft spot in their hearts  for us. They needed us healthy for another mission so after weeks of arduous torture we set up a three day camp outside the Fish Net to regroup before the details of our next operation was revealed. 

Fish Net served as a field headquarters southwest of Saigon in the Mekong region and was well fortified by artillery units.  It was once a large manufacturing plant for marine products and supplied the local industry with needed supplies. Hidden deep within the bowls of this facility was a special new revolutionary machine. As a treat for our uncanny ability to do ridiculous odd jobs we were privy to this unique device and one of the first in the world to use it. 

The Mars Phone was something out of a Jules Vern novel and looked just as comfortable on the pages of one of his books. It was equal to, if not surpassed, any of his outlandish concoctions. Half lit tubes and wires and half plywood construction material this futuristic machine allowed me to call home from my outpost in the middle of hell. 

Motorola manufactured our backpack radios in the field and Motorola was responsible for the Mars Phone. Using a system of short wave radio transmissions a signal was bounced around the planet from tower to tower. Each time a local short wave radio tower would receive a transmission it would boost it and send it along to the next tower. Sometimes the next tower was only a few hundred miles away but off it went.  Amateur HAM operators around the world received these transmissions and began manning their headsets on a regular basis. This process would repeat itself over and over again until a signal was picked up in North America. It was then patched into the Bell System. Bell would convert the signal into its main trunk line as an incoming call. The initial contact could take as long as thirty minutes to complete depending on weather conditions. It sounded like calls made by WWII pilots to radio towers on land only this was from tower to tower. It was the future of communication.

Most of the unit wanted to eat a hot meal and get some rest but those of us willing to wait our turn were chose by a random order of selection. We were allowed entree by pairs as Dave and I stepped behind the curtain to meet the great and powerful OZ. OZ was an army radio specialist at the the helm of a dashboard lined with antiquated dials and glowing tubes. He played these dials like an electrical symphony asking us pertinent questions. I went first.

Behind the curtain was an eight foot square plywood room. In the middle of this Jules Vern masterpiece wias a seat and telephone which I was not permitted to touch until I was given the signal. I waited a full thirty minutes knowing the process had to be completed and carefully explained to the recieving party of what to expect. There was a five to ten second delay between transmissions and the word "OVER" had to end each short sentence like a period. At that point all parties involved knew it was their turn to speak. I sat and waited until I got the signal.

"Hello who is this, Over," I asked?   

"Frank is that you,  Over, the voice answered.    

Suddenly I froze, it was my beautiful mothers voice speaking to me in the middle of hell. I choked back the tears knowing I had to pull myself together for her sake. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all but I was already committed. I had to choose my words carefully knowing I had the delay working in my favor. I reassured her I was in a good place and out of harms way with an easy job. I asked about the rest of the family. She spoke softly as mothers do when they're nurchering their children and with each passing word my heart broke. A firefight would have been easier as I broke down in tears and the call ended.

Trading places with Dave I waited with him for the allotted amount of time. He got the signal and shouted his greeting and sat down as I left the booth. Suddenly I was thrown towards the middle of the room with shattered splinters of wood dusting me. Dave was lying face down. Scrambling towards each other we knew we were under attack and our first priority was to get back to our unit. 

The greeting to his mom and the easiness of her voice relaxed this inner city kid from Chicargo just enough to allow him to sit and enjoy the moment. It was that moment that saved our lives and brought us back to the reality of survival. A moment in time changes the course of history and everything must work out just right to complete the journey. If one thing changes then everything changes as events meander through time and history fulfilling a destiny. Although Dave never made his call his mom will never know the role she played in todays events and completing a cycle we will never understand.

I took this picture from our camp, this was The Fish Net. Within the confines of this makeshift tomb lie Jules Vern's futuristic magic talking machine.

"Hello who is this, Over," I asked?   

"Frank is that you,  Over, the voice answered.    

For the second time in my life I called my mother from The Mekong Delta and for the second time I had tears in my eyes. My beautiful mother's voice immediately brought me back to a time and place when times were hard. She went through the war with me as do all parents and suffer along with their children. I tried to put myself in their shoes but didn't know how. How do families especially parents cope with the reality of war and the loss of a child. They dedicate blood sweat and tears to raise a child for eighteen years only to have them taken away for the needs of others. In hindsight it doesn't equate and that goes for both sides. War is a demon that encompasses and strains not only soldiers but societies as well. Todays society is stretched to its limits and cannot take anymore. 

I caught myself in deep thought and snapped back to reality to continue my conversation. My youngest brother Nick reads my Blog to Mom everyday. She is 90 years old this year and I'm blessed to share my journey with this beautiful women again. She was with me then and she is with me now.

I love you mother, thank you.

Welcome to The Pineapple.

The lush growth of the Mekong Delta allows fruit bearing trees to produce an abundance of delicious fruit. The temperature was close to 100 degrees and the lanes created by orchard rows makes for an inviting walk. I'd forgotten how hot it was here but the heat coupled with the musky jungle aroma immediately brought me back. Some things you never forget.

Simple quaint houses are nestled in jungle settings like props in a movie. Everything, right down to the sleeping dog, seemed to be placed in position like on a movie set shooting. Once a battleground of egos and madmen this simple style living is now a paradise and as far from the reality of war as possible.

Cocoa ready for harvest.

Watching the crops grow.

Jak fruit on the vine.

Mangoes

I was treated to a luncheon of Jasmin Tea and fruit. Front left-Dragon Fruit, Front right-mango,

Left rear-pineapple, Back middle-mini banana, Back right-Rambutan

Raising bee's for honey is a profitable business. Sticking my hand into a swarm of bees 

is a very scary proposition.

This 8 foot Python is raised for food. As I held the Python I could feel his power wrapping himself around me and when it got to strong I asked for help.

   

Ok I'm on an adventure but this is rediculous. Tarantulas are a delicacy in this part of the world. They are deep fried and sometimes covered in chocolate. 

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