|
Here
is a little bit of my recollections of AB8AJ's history for you regarding
my assignment to that MARS station. I was in country in March 1967
following Advanced Infantry Training at
Ft.
Gordon. I was assigned to Co B, 125th Signal Battalion but began
volunteering at the MARS station as much as I could before being sent out
to a forward location for several months. Upon my return I volunteered to
extend my stay in
Vietnam
for a reassignment to the MARS station, going there some time in early
1968, after the Tet offensive.. In May 1968 I was promoted to Sergeant,
E5, the rank that I held for the remainder of my enlistment.
I
remained at the station, serving as the NCOIC for several months in late
1968 and early 1969. I was home in San Diego on leave escorting my best
friend's body when the station was hit by mortar rounds. Several of the
guys got slight wounds because they were outside watching the action.
The quad on the water tower in the background had
aircraft warning lights on it. They appear as a larger bulge above the
mast. One day Ron Hubbard decided that he needed to go up and replace the
bulbs. No sooner had he left the station, but he was suddenly back inside,
his face white as a ghost. I asked him what happened and he said that
while he was on top of the water tower a bullet flew past his ear -- and
he wasn't ever going back up that tower.
Jim
French was not a ham so I trained him on the procedures. After a few
weeks I put him on the radio and had him talk to the operator at AB8AT.
In the meantime I went to the waiting area and called the operator at
AB8AT on the phone. I had him patch me through his station and began
talking to the unsuspecting Jim via the phone patch. I asked him how he
liked working at the MARS station and what he thought of his NCOIC (me).
He replied favorably to both questions. Then I told him to go to the
waiting area at the station to speak with the NCOIC (me). When he arrived
he saw me holding the phone with the biggest grin I could muster for
having successfully played that practical joke on him.
During my tenure I rewired the phone booths to streamline their
operations. We had these phone booths set up for privacy for the
servicemen to be able to talk with their families.
One
amusing phone patch that I will always remember was through the Hawaiian
MARS station, AB6USA. I submitted two listings for two different captains,
I will refer to as Captain Smith and Captain Jones. Unknown to me the
operator at AB6USA reversed the names of the two listings, getting Captain
Jones' wife on the line first. When he advised me that he had the first
captain's wife on the line I instructed Captain Smith to enter the phone
booth and begin the patch, which he did, unknowingly talking to Captain
Jones' wife for the three allocated minutes.
A
couple of minutes after completing the patch the operator at AB6USA
advised that he had the second captain's wife on the line. I then
instructed Captain Jones to enter the phone booth and begin the patch.
Almost immediately both parties realized that they were not talking to
their respective spouses. Interrupting the patch the operator at AB6USA
asked me who I had in my phone booth. I replied that I had Captain Jones.
He replied that he had Captain Smith's wife on the line.
I
told Captain Jones what had happened and he thought that it was a hoot.
The operator at AB6USA explained as best he could what had happened to
Captain Smith's wife, all the while assuring her that all was well with
her husband. He then called Captain Jones' wife back and gave her the
opportunity to talk to her real husband. While she sounded clearly
embarrassed by the event, her husband good naturally told her that it was
all right by him that she spoke tenderly to another man for all the world
to hear.
One
of the nicest memories I have was thanks to a colonel who was at the
helicopter company. Every night he had a schedule to run a patch with his
wife who was living in Okinawa during his tour of duty in Cu Chi. At the
end of the tour he wrote a very kind letter to my battalion commander,
telling him how much he appreciated my handling his nightly phone patches.
This was something that I never expected from this very kind colonel.
The
saddest memory was when I learned that my best friend had been killed in
Pleiku. Upon learning of his death, I ran a patch with friends of mine at
the church where he and his wife were members. I advised them of his death
cryptically by saying to them, "Pray for Brenda because according to the
Bible, Dana has gone home." They immediately knew what I meant. I then
advised them to have Brenda ask for me as the body escort, which she did.
When the request came through my battalion commander, he asked me why an
enlisted man was escorting an officer. I said, "Sir, he was my best
friend," whereupon the CO immediately cut the orders for me to go home to
be Dana's body escort.
We
learned later that Dana was the pilot of a helicopter that had to set down
due to mechanical failure caused by poor maintenance, only to do so in the
middle of an ambush. He was gravely wounded and died the next day at the
hospital from his wounds. I have a sheet from the Vietnam Memorial Wall
where I penciled the name of 1st Lt. Dana R. Barker onto it. Dana is
buried at Ft. Rosecrans, in San Diego, on the bay side of the peninsula.
Ironically, he lies in the direction that has him looking somewhat down
on North Island Naval Air Station, where we met several years earlier when
we both worked there as summer aides following high school in 1965.
It was there we became fast and best friends.
The
bunker in the left of the website picture was an above ground bunker that
guys would go inside during mortar attacks. To the left of the Quonset
hut (out of the picture) was a bunker dug into the ground. We were
absolutely convinced that it would survive anything that the VC would
throw at it. Trouble was that the water table would rise during the rainy
season to about two feet above the floor in the bunker. We had a station
in the bunker that we used a couple of times when it was dry.
During my last two
weeks in country I practically lived inside that bunker. I left Vietnam on
May 6, 1969, meeting my drill sergeant from basic training at the
processing center as I was waiting for the bus to Bien Hoa. I kidded him
about being my replacement, as he was on his way in country. He was not
happy with me for my kidding him.
We
were under strict orders to not get on the ham bands and operate, although
some of the guys did so at some of the other stations. Even though I heard
people I knew I resisted the temptation. I learned later that my call
sign, WA6PDE, had been used in country. It seems that my former next door
neighbor's son was in the Marines and would get on the air from the nearby
MARS station and talk to his dad. Not wanting to get in trouble for using
his own call sign, he chose to use mine. How I never got in trouble over
that situation I will never know.
Joe Lynch, Sgt
AB8AJ, 03/68 – 05/69 |
