Apocalypse Then Vietnam Stories

Chapter One
HO! HO! Ho Chi Minh
 

    Here's the first installment of
    Apocalypse Then: Fragments of a Vietnam Diary. It's a small sample
    of the journal I kept while I was in Vietnam entertaining the
    troops.



           

          May 19, 1971

          It is already dark as I put
          on my makeup in a makeshift dressing room. These Spartan quarters
          have been set up for me by a senior sergeant and a couple of
          grunts at this remote fire base. It is really a small trailer
          that feels like a sauna. It is humid and hot as only Vietnam's
          Mecong Delta can be, even though the sun has gone down an hour
          ago. As fast as I put on the makeup, it runs off my face in little
          brown rivulets of sweat.

          I hear helicopters in the distance,
          a sound as common in Vietnam as the honk of taxicab horns in
          Manhattan.

          My thoughts are back home.
          I have been here only a few weeks, but I am very, very homesick
          for my son, Perry, and my mother and father. They did not want
          me to come here and risk my life. And they could not understand
          why I insisted. I had felt that I could come to Vietnam and end
          my life in a blaze of glory. Now I marveled at the stupidity
          of my suicide mission. What was I trying to prove?

          Suddenly there is a deafening
          explosion. I am thrown from my chair. Makeup scatters across
          the room. Another explosion follows, not quite as close, drowning
          out my screams.

          The sergeant dashes in the
          door and helps me up. "It's okay," he reassures me.
          "It's okay, really."

          "Okay? What's going on?
          Is it an attack?"

          The sergeant grins. "Hell,
          that's nothing compared to the real thing. This is just fireworks.
          Charlie's celebrating Ho Chi Minh's birthday."

          "Couldn't they just send
          a card? I thought I was dead."

          The sergeant helps me back
          into my chair. I alternate between staring at my shaking hands
          and watching him calmly pick up lipstick tubes and little containers
          of rouge.

          "You get used to it,"
          he said as if reading my thoughts. "A couple of weeks here,
          and you'll just duck and go about your business.

          "Never."

          He puts my makeup table upright
          and quickly gets it organized better than before. He turns to
          leave.

          "Sergeant? Should I do
          the show?"

          He smiles at me wearily. "Why
          not?"
 

            
            
           
 

           My little band is frightened
          as we do the show. I have to keep slowing their tempos. They
          are racing to get it over with so they can get the hell out of
          here. They are Philippino and my orchestra conductor is an Aussie.

          The show goes over well with
          the boys at the fire base. They can't believe that there's really
          someone out here with them, singing and dancing. They clap and
          whistle appreciatively. Lots of flashbulbs popping...they shoot
          pictures instead of rifles tonight. After the show, boys jostle
          to come near for an autograph or a word. I pose for pictures
          with some of them as the band packs up to leave. I gather my
          makeup and change back into traveling clothes for the long flight
          back to Saigon.

          On the way to the helicopter
          pad where my two Huey's wait, the base commander falls into step
          beside me. He is a full colonel and tells me his name is Maddox...some
          relative of the former governor of Georgia, Lester Maddox.

          "Mamie," he drawls,
          "I loved your show and so did all my boys."

          I thank him and he continues
          to walk next to me as we exchange news about the states.

          Finally, when we reach the
          helopad he says, "Look, Mamie, it's late. I can arrange
          for you to get back to Saigon in short order. How'd you like
          to ride in a Cobra?"

          I give him a quizzical look.
          "I've been in a Phantom, but never a Cobra."

          He points past where our two
          Hueys are waiting, down a line of thin, angular helicopters.
          "It's the fastest, most dangerous attack helicopter we've
          got. V.C. mess their pants when they hear ‘em coming. I've
          got a hot shot pilot waitin' to take you back if you wanna go."

          "I've heard about them,"
          I said.

          My Aussie conductor overhears
          the Colonel's offer and pulls me aside. "Mamie," he
          says, "don't do it. Remember the briefing we got in Saigon?
          We're supposed to travel in pairs in case one chopper gets in
          trouble. You've got no backup if you go down. It's too dangerous.
          What are you trying to prove?"

          I have no more answer for him
          than I did for myself earlier in the evening. But I am not one
          to turn away from adventure, even if I don't know why I'm doing
          it. Am I in Vietnam to prove something? Or am I here because
          I have nothing to lose?

          

          "I'm tired and I want
          to get back to the hotel. I'm going."

          The sergeant helps me into
          the front seat of the insect-like Cobra and buckles the safety
          harness around me.

          "Put on this helmet, Mamie.
          You can hear the pilot behind you."

          The Cobra's seating arrangement
          has the Weapons Officer up front, practically on the nose of
          the ship, and the pilot behind and above looking over his head.
          My pilot is a tall, good-looking youngster who grins and gives
          me a thumbs up as he climbs into his seat. I feel vibration as
          the big rotor begins to turn. I hear through the helmet the faintest
          whine of turbines as the Cobra comes to life.

          I am used to the sensations
          of flying in a Huey, the ubiquitous workhorse helicopter in Vietnam.
          The Cobra gives me a new set of sensations. It is so quiet, there
          is little hint of its power. When the engines warm up sufficiently,
          without warning, we go straight up like an elevator. In seconds
          the helopad disappears below and we are enveloped in the dark
          night sky. We make a turn and I watch as the stars pivot around
          us. 

          

          "Mamie," the pilot's
          soft voice says in the earphones,
          "You can hear the
          radio traffic as we make the trip. By the way, my name is Bo."

          I laugh into the intercom microphone.
          "Well, you're the second Bo in my life."

          

          "I know. I'm a big baseball fan. I followed you and Bo Belinsky
          all the time. I'm a big fan of yours too. Thanks for the great
          show."

          

          "Thank you, Bo. And thank you for the ride. It's beautiful
          up here."
 

            
            
           

            
            
           
 

          The sharpness
          of the stars and Bo's soft voice make me temporarily forget my
          homesickness. I feel remote and safe, invisible and invincible.

          I am shocked
          out of my reverie by a red flare arching out of the darkness
          below. The radio immediately crackles with frantic voices calling
          for air support. The voices of helicopter pilots report in as
          they make their way toward the scene of the action. More flares
          go up, and, as the helicopters reach the scene, rockets and machine
          gun fire begin pouring into the trees. Explosions light up the
          night and tracers etch a path down to the action. The jungle
          glows angrily. It is eerie knowing that death and destruction
          are so close below while it feels so safe and calm and dark in
          this metal cocoon of an airship.

          "It's
          all right," Bo says calmly. "We're safe. We're headed
          for Saigon."

          I feel the
          sensation of turning as the scene slides out of my view.

          Bo radios ahead
          to Ton Son Nhut that he is inbound to Saigon with priority cargo:
          Mamie Van Doren. The air controllers answer that he is full of
          bull.

          "Hey,
          Mamie," Bo says in my earphones, "say something so
          they'll believe me, okay?"

          "Hi, boys.
          Bo's telling you the truth. He's got such great hands. If I could
          just get him to keep them on his joy stick."

          Laughter over
          the radio. "I'll be damned," says one controller, "he's
          got a girl up there." "Hey, Mamie," another one
          pipes up, "how ‘bout coming to the tower for a good
          night kiss?"

          "Boys,
          I'm just too tired. Bo's going to take me straight home."

          We land and
          Bo helps me out of the Cobra. I am exhilarated by the flight
          but exhausted. I have arrived hours before my entourage in the
          slower Hueys. Bo and I linger for a few moments in front of the
          Cobra. He is uneasy not knowing what is next. I know. I kiss
          him gently and walk away. I look back at Bo standing next to
          his Cobra and wonder if he will live to go home.

          I did not have
          an answer that night for what it was I had to prove. It would
          be years before I realized that the ride into the night in the
          Cobra with Bo was really affirmation: Show me that I am chosen.
          I suddenly realize that I want to live. Show me that I will.

          I came to Vietnam
          wanting to die. But I had seen enough death. Young men were taking
          my place in coffins, unwillingly. Now, what had begun for me
          as a suicide mission, would be a desperate struggle to survive.

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