The Warmth of the Sun

Camp Pendleton California is a HUGE base, made up of several smaller camps tied together by miles and miles of lonely stretches of road. All camps are numbered and named. For the remaining time of my enlistment, 33 Area, better known as Camp Margarita, would be my home.

There were about a dozen of us 'Nam Vets who had recently returned to Pendleton, and we were being assigned to 3/27, an outfit made up mainly of new guys, that were scheduled to go over there in a few months. It would be the task of us "seasoned dozen" to help "combat train" the new guys, and it was even HOPED that maybe a few of us might "ship over" for another 4 years and go back over there WITH them.

To "sweeten the pot", there'd be a $3,500 bonus and another stripe for anyone who DID. That was a lot of money in 1969, but no good to a dead man, so each one of us turned it down and opted to run out the clock and drive out the gate. Every one of us had seen or at least HEARD of the "first aid kits." Every one of us had been home on leave and had been "adequately welcomed" in one way or the other by an "adoring public,".....and the old boys of Barracks # 33326 collectively decided TWO things---------

1. We would do our jobs to the best of our abilities to help train these new guys to survive and WIN if possible. (A year earlier, somebody had taken the time with US!)

2. This wasn't World war II with Rosie the Riveteer, and "johnny comes marching home" under the tickertape and confetti. We were branded and despised, and would NOT re-enlist, only to give "Luke" another go-round at any of us.

I cannot to this day, speak for the other 11, but 10 minutes with Sgt Ackers on 861 kept ringing in MY ears! THIS wasn't for "Mom's Apple Pie", and I wasn't willing to bleed anymore for somebody else's war. (I'd taken a shrapnel wound on 861----nothing serious, but an inch or two lower and I wouldn't be writing this).

The 12 of us were in a prime position here. Vietnam was a 13-month tour, and after our customary "6 months back in the states," there wouldn't be even ONE of us with enough enlistment time left to get sent back over.

I had taken an oath in 1966, to protect and defend OUR country----------not somebody else's. General Wallace M. Greene was Marine Corps Commandant at the time. I worked for HIM, not the U.N. ALL twelve of us were pretty much in accordance on that......if we were gonna get shot at by ONE side, then SPIT at by the OTHER, let 'em find somebody ELSE to do their dirty work.

And so the days rolled by, we spent a lot of time out in the "sticks" playing wargames, honing the skills of the "next generation" and before you knew it, they'd been pulled out from under us, sent to Mainside for final training and pre-staging, and suddenly, Barracks 33326 looked like a ghost town with a dozen "has-beens" walking around the dirt paths.

About that time, the Marine Corps enacted the Early-Out Program, designed to get rid of the guys who weren't going to re-enlist ANYWAY, thus clearing the troop number levels to bring in more recruits. It would take awhile to work out the details, but all twelve of us qualified for it.

For awhile, we had virtually nothing to do. We couldn't leave camp or go into town during the daytime, but we were pretty much free to roam around Margarita during the day. We'd often just sit around, play cards, listen to the radio, write letters and B.S. about what we were gonna do when we got out.

Hey-----this was gonna be OKAY! For us, it had been a hard life through boot camp, ITR, Vietnam, and we were FINALLY gonna be able to kick back a little before they freed us...........

Wrong.

There was an administrative First Sergeant who sort of presided over everything on Margarita. As a rule, he left us alone except for an occasional inspection to make sure we were still "spit & polished/high & tight" as they say.

One afternoon, he came into 33326 and let us know that the brass was in-FACT aware that there were some "crusty old salts" still hanging around up here. We weren't going to be allowed to just "screw off all day." All twelve of us by now, had been given the 8th of July as a discharge date. It was now almost APRIL.

Well, it'd been nice while it lasted, but what purpose could they possibly have for us NOW? There weren't anymore new guys to train at Margarita, and none of US were going back to 'Nam or anywhere else............

And we were really getting "calendar SHORT!"

Not a problem. They'd keep us busy, but it turned out to be fun. Once or twice a week, they'd load us us in a 6x6 very early in the morning, and drive us way over to the outskirts of the ITR complex at Camp San Onofre, where we OURSELVES had trained long ago.

Our job would now be..........to be the BAD GUYS, lay along the trail with blanks in our rifles, and ambush new platoons of trainees! We'd just jump up out of nowhere, open fire, and then the field judges would hang "dead" and "wounded" tags on the "casualties." After the judges briefed and graded everyone, the 6x6 would come back, load US up and head back over to Margarita. If it was a morning ambush, we'd have the rest of the day to ourselves. At night, we'd go into town for a beer or two. On the weekends, we might pool-up and go into Tijuana.

Sometimes it was nice to just kick back on the far end of our "ghost town" barracks and just nap in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Those were "dog days" at Margarita. Although there was plenty of activity going on at the various camps at Pendleton, we were almost forgotten about, as the clock ran down the final couple of weeks. We packed only the bare necessities in our seabags, pre-loaded the trunks of our cars, and waited for the final whistle.

We'd sprang our last ambush with about a week or so to go, and we could do WHATEVER we wanted to. I think they were just as glad to get rid of us, as WE were to be going. I remember walking off the perimeter of Margarita with just a canteen of water and taking afternoon hikes over some of the roads and trails we used to hike on with ALL of our gear. No reason to now, but I actually enjoyed the solitude, just walking along by MYSELF for a change-----not breathing the dust of an entire platoon-------and not weighed down by pack & rifle either! It's quiet out there in the "boonies".......gives a guy uninterupted time to think, and to reflect.

Three years ago, I swung over to Pendleton from a Chino trip, drove back up to Margarita and parked the truck behind 33326, which is STILL DESERTED, and STILL shabbily run-down. On the east side of the Camp there are now a few two-story dorms for the troops that are training there now............a MARKED improvement from the old days. The mess hall is now run by civilians and the food is MUCH BETTER!

But............I left the truck, walked through the vacant 33326 once again, and took a short hike on one of those SAME well-travelled dirt roads again.

It felt strangely "good to be home", even if only for awhile. INCREDIBLY, not all that much has changed, even after four decades........ANYWHERE on Pendleton.

8 July, 1969, the twelve of us lined up single file at a warehouse door, to turn in rifles, packs and other stuff, pick up our final paperwork, "muster-out" pay, and then just "go away."

One of the twelve, Randy Mapel, had been in "K" Company with me in 'Nam. Today, we still call each other occasionally, and meet up when a re-union site is handy enough for both of us.

A moment that sticks in my mind to this day...........I'll never forget it...........we're all in line, getting ready to out-process, and this Corporal from admin comes running up and down the line, waving some papers. I'll never forget his exact words----------------------

"LAST CHANCE GUYS..............LONDON, ENGLAND!"

"You gotta be %#(&^$^^$!!! ME!..........the recruiters had ALREADY gone THROUGH that spiel---------FOUR YEARS AGO, in the office with the color portfolio!

But NOBODY "bought it" THIS time!

I rolled out the front gate at Mainside just before noon, got onto the freeway and headed north toward San Jose, and an unclear future.

But BEHIND me were three years that changed my life forever, and molded me in an eternal brotherhood, the likes of which I've not seen since.