Life In The Field


by Ken Hornbeck


I n recent years, a strange phenomenon has occurred. Veterans of Vietnam proudly admit they are veterans of Vietnam. In a few cases, people who never got near Vietnam--or even the military-- are trying to cash in on an acceptance and growing tribute by claiming to be Vietnam vets.

Parallelly, it seems that all of a sudden, (all) Vietnam vets were infantrymen. What, I find myself wondering from time to time, happened to those proverbial nine men it took to support that one man in the field?

Life in the field was, naturally, the hardest life of all. There was the combat. But beyond that was the mud of the red dust; the incredible sun; rains you couldn't see through; trenchfoot and the most exotic of skin diseases; dirty clothes, and C-rations. LRRP's weren't too bad, but needed some water. Mostly used in the mountains. Lighter to carry. Lots of hot sauce (Texas Pete).

No one really wanted to live in the field. But human perversity demanded that we celebrate the agonies and discomforts of that life. And the human mind demands the rejection of memories of much of the fear and physical hardship. "Maybe we couldn't do it again, man, but we (did) it!"

Except for the weirdos and psychos and really bad-ass motherfuckers nobody messed with, no one enjoyed life in the field while it was going on. But once over, being in the bush was an event to be celebrated; to gloat over to lesser beings.


Ken Hornbeck

D/1/501: Vietnam 1969-'70