• Complain

Michael Duffy - From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War

Here you can read online Michael Duffy - From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War full text of the book (entire story) in english for free. Download pdf and epub, get meaning, cover and reviews about this ebook. year: 2020, publisher: Indy Pub, genre: Detective and thriller. Description of the work, (preface) as well as reviews are available. Best literature library LitArk.com created for fans of good reading and offers a wide selection of genres:

Romance novel Science fiction Adventure Detective Science History Home and family Prose Art Politics Computer Non-fiction Religion Business Children Humor

Choose a favorite category and find really read worthwhile books. Enjoy immersion in the world of imagination, feel the emotions of the characters or learn something new for yourself, make an fascinating discovery.

No cover

From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War: summary, description and annotation

We offer to read an annotation, description, summary or preface (depends on what the author of the book "From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War" wrote himself). If you haven't found the necessary information about the book — write in the comments, we will try to find it.

In the early hours of January 31, 1968, eighty-thousand North Vietnamese and Vietcong combat troops attacked every major city and military base in South Vietnam. The perimeter of the massive Saigon Airbase, Tan Son Nhut, was breached, and fighting raged all morning.

Both gritty and intimate, From Chicago to Vietnam tells the powerful story of the ensuing epic battle, the Tet Offensive, from the perspective of one brave American soldier, Michael Duffy, whose life, like so many others, would forever be changed.

Duffys war experience begins when he exits a C-130 cargo plane onto the Tan Son Nhut tarmac-a chaotic scene of blasts, explosions, and small arms fire. Sprinting to a waiting helicopter, he is lifted up and over the city, where he gets a birds-eye view of Saigon under attack. The helicopter lands on a road outside Bien Hoa Base Camp, and Duffy crawls in under enemy fire, tumbling into a fox-hole under cover of two GIs. Later, he meets up with his younger brother, Danny Duffy, in an ammunition convoy driving up Highway 1 to the village of Xuan Loc.

After his brutal one-year tour in Vietnam, Duffy returns to Chicago, where he enjoys a Christmas dinner with his family before enrolling as a freshman at Colorado College. Like many vets, his return from the war would be met with curiosity, indifference, and, at times, scorn. This harrowing memoir was thirty years in the making.

Michael Duffy: author's other books


Who wrote From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.

From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War — read online for free the complete book (whole text) full work

Below is the text of the book, divided by pages. System saving the place of the last page read, allows you to conveniently read the book "From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War" online for free, without having to search again every time where you left off. Put a bookmark, and you can go to the page where you finished reading at any time.

Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make
From Chicago to Vietnam A Memoir of War Dedication This book is - photo 1
From Chicago to Vietnam:
A Memoir of War
Dedication This book is dedicated to my deceased brother Dan Duffy who served - photo 2
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my deceased brother, Dan Duffy, who served his country in Vietnam with the 82nd Airborne Division, 1967 to 1968. It is also dedicated to the anonymous three Vietnamese women and one young Vietnamese boy who risked their lives by helping me carry a wounded American soldier from a battlefield in the early morning hours of June 7, 1968.
This book is also dedicated to the officers and enlisted men of C Battery 7th Battalion 9th Artillery. These men, some draftees some volunteers and some career Army, served their country in Vietnam. They didnt run to Canada to avoid the draft or go AWOL to avoid Vietnam. They, like me, were unremarkable men who came from every part of the United States and every ethnic background. They performed the job the United States of America asked them to do. They did not deserve the bitter unwelcome reception most of us received upon returning home.
I also wish to dedicate this work to my late wife, Peg Duffy, my human spellcheck. I love you, Peg.
Authors Note
Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.
Contents
Chapter 1
The Arrival
My plane arrived at the Cam Ranh Bay Airbase in South Vietnam about 2:00 a.m. The air was muggy and hot. We disembarked and were herded onto olive-green buses; wire mesh and thin metal bars covered the windows. I thought the wire and bars were odd. Why do they have to worry about us escaping from the bus? Where could we go? I was quickly told by the driver that the wire and bars were used to keep hand grenades from being thrown into the bus, not to keep us on the bus. Oh, I said.
The military base at Cam Ranh Bay sat between two bodies of water, the South China Sea on one side and the bay of Cam Ranh on the other. I scanned the night sky. I saw flares floating down above low mountains just west of the bay. The flares were shot from artillery cannons and fluttered down, hanging from small parachutes. I was scared one moment, then I talked myself into a state of calm the next. No one on the bus said a word; we were tired from the long flight and anxious about fighting in this Asian war.
The bus made a short run and dropped us off at a large building. We walked into a great room, where our green, look-alike duffle bags were being piled. The bags formed a small hill. Men began clawing through the bags, searching for theirs. As the bags were being picked up, we were told to form a line, where, we were informed, bedding and a barracks assignment would be issued. Once in the barracks, we would spend the night in a fitful sleep, filled with fear and a human clock still ticking on U.S.A. time. I stood and watched as each man found then pulled his bag off the pile. The end came when I was alone standing next to the luggage drop without a bag. I mumbled to myself, The fucking army lost my bag. Now what do I do?
I asked the private on duty about any other bags that might
be arriving.
Nope, thats it, sir, he said.
What do I do? I asked.
Sir, walk down to the lost bag office, about a block from here. Maybe your bag fell off the luggage cart. If they find it on the tarmac, they send it to the lost bag office.
I made the short walk to the lost-and-found bag office, my small attach held tightly in my hand. My attach held the orders directing me to Vietnam and to my new unit in Pleiku. Purchased in a Chicago stationery store, my attach was made of heavy Kraft paper, and it had two side gussets, a flap, and a brown, shoelace-type string to secure the flap. I used this attach as my mobile file cabinet. It also held a letter from the Department of the Army appointing me as a reserve commissioned officer, my army vaccination record, a paperback copy of John Steinbecks East of Eden , and a small book filled with the addresses of friends and relatives back home. We were told never to pack ones orders in checked luggage for fear our luggage could get lost. They were right.
Yes, sir? said the private on duty at the lost-and-found office.
My name is Lieutenant Duffy. I got off the flight from McChord Air Force Base in Seattle.
Yes, he said.
I have no bag.
We may have it. They come in at all hours. Do you want to look?
Yes.
This green duffle bag had everything I needed for a year in Vietnam. It held two sets of jungle fatigues, a lightweight jacket, two pairs of green combat boots, socks, underwear, a toothbrush, and a green jungle hat, the kind with a floppy brim. These were all issued at McChord Air Force Base. It even held the illegal switchblade knife I purchased in Coln, Panama, during our jungle training. The knife was black with a four-inch steel blade. It had a silver button in the middle, and when pushed, the blade switched out and was held rigid by a locking device. I pictured myself in combat, fighting hand to hand. As the enemy was getting the best of me, I would ask him to wait a minute as I reached into my pocket, pulled out my switchblade, and found and pushed the silver button, and then Id finish him off, just as they did in those black-and-white war movies my brother, Dan, and I watched on weekend nights. I just hoped that Charlie, would cooperate with my ridiculous fantasy and wait until I was able to find my knife. But now it was gone.
Charlie is short for Victor Charlie, or VC, the Viet Cong insurgents fighting the U.S. forces in Vietnam.
The private at the desk showed me through a set of double doors into a huge metal building the size of a high school gymnasium. The room was filled, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, with lost bags. It was a sea of green duffle bags, and every bag looked the same. My God, I mumbled. How do I find my bag? The private looked at me, smiled, and calmly said, Sir, no one ever finds his bag.
I thought for a moment as I faced the wall of green duffle bags. Then I turned to him and asked, Can I take someones bag that didnt get claimed, maybe a bag that has been here a month or two? I need a change of clothes.
No, sir, he said, then he shook his head back and forth. What if I give you someones lost bag tonight and then the owner of that bag shows up tomorrow? Ill lose this job and be out in the field walking in the muck that very day. Sorry, no dice. I cant risk it, sir. This is too good of a job. Plus, I go home in forty-six days and a wake up. Nope, cant risk it, sir, sorry. Then he turned and marched away.
I walked over to get my barracks assignment for the night and thought about the socks and shoes I needed. I was clothed in dress khakis with shiny black oxford shoes. I wore a short-sleeved shirt with a glossy black nametag that read DUFFY. I couldnt function in Vietnam like this. I needed green fatigues and combat boots like everyone else.
I entered the barracks, found my bunk, hung up my khakis, and fell into a fitful sleep. It was about 4:00 a.m.
The next morning was oppressively hot and humid. I awakened with a throbbing headache, pulled myself out of bed, put on my dirty khakis, and then walked to the headquarters building to report for duty. As was, and still is, military custom, each arriving officer reported to the Officer in Charge, or OIC. The OIC reviewed orders and then arranged transportation to ones new unit. My new unit was the Fourth Infantry Division in Pleiku, Vietnam. An indifferent company clerk glanced at me and told me that the OIC would be at his desk in about an hour. I walked out of the office and toward the front gate of the base. Off in the distance, I saw hills, the same hills that I had seen as dark silhouettes the previous evening. The hills were now a soothing blue-green in the soft, humid morning light.
Next page
Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make

Similar books «From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War»

Look at similar books to From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War. We have selected literature similar in name and meaning in the hope of providing readers with more options to find new, interesting, not yet read works.


Reviews about «From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War»

Discussion, reviews of the book From Chicago to Vietnam: A Memoir of War and just readers' own opinions. Leave your comments, write what you think about the work, its meaning or the main characters. Specify what exactly you liked and what you didn't like, and why you think so.