Long Lonely Tunnel to War
By John Boal

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After I left home, I went through some counterinsurgency training in San Diego, California. The class was over on Friday, and I had to be at Travis Air Force Base on Sunday afternoon. I flew home to Ohio on Friday for a friend’s wedding on Saturday. Early Sunday morning, a handful of longtime friends gave me a ride to the airport to begin my journey along the long, lonely road of war.

I was entering the tunnel.

After boarding a Pan Am plane at Travis Air Force Base, I had an 18-hour journey to Saigon, Vietnam. While the plane was full of military personnel, the only people talking were the flight attendants. After stops in Anchorage, Alaska and Osaka, Japan, we landed at Tan San Nhut Air Base in Saigon, Republic of South Vietnam. I continued to the MACV headquarters to check in. I received my army-issued uniforms, combat equipment, and a brief explanation on how a M16 works. I could not help but wonder how I was going to tell Vietnamese Navy personnel how to keep and repair their weapons when I did not know how to do that myself.

I was to be at the helicopter pad at 0800 hours in the morning to catch an Air COFAT to Cho Moi. Since the COFAT was a U.S. Army term, I had no idea what it meant. I was Navy. Turns out it is a Chinook helicopter that made Greyhound bus-type runs through the Mekong Delta. I showed up at the pad at about 0730 hours, and there were six other personnel waiting to ride to their bases too. No one was talking to anyone else.

After a couple-hour flight on the helicopter with a few stops, we finally landed at Cho Moi. One of the other advisors got off the helicopter with me. He was a hospital corps man that had been on leave and was returning to the base. He must have been popular because everyone was glad to see him. I, inconsequential, had to find my own place to put my gear. There I was in a war zone, with no idea of exactly where I was, not knowing anyone in the vicinity. 

I walked around the base, not very big, on my own, trying to get some familiarity with the layout. I went down tot he piers, and some South Vietnamese sailors were working on the fifty-caliber machine gun mount on a PBR (Patrol Boat River). The sailors had a tool to measure the clearance or headspace of the machine gun. I had never seen one of these tools before but knew that using it would be important for my job. I worked with the sailors, and we eventually got the headspace set. At least I hoped it was set.

The next thing I knew, they untied the boat, and we headed down the river. The Vietnamese sailors kept saying they were going to go test fire the weapon. I kept trying to convince them that it would work. We went a few miles down the river and test fired the weapon. I was incredibly happy that the weapon worked without a malfunction, and they returned me to the base. 

The commanding officer met me when we returned to the base. He showed me the advisor team weapons that were my responsibility. There were two M60 machine guns and an M79 grenade launcher. I found the manuals for these weapons and went about trying to figure out how they worked and were put together. Later, we had a mission to help in the rescue of a downed helicopter pilot. I was not even sure if the weapon would work and worried all through the operation whether it would save our lives if we needed it.

I did get it to work eventually. That is a whole different story.

We Americans had to stand watch at night until the base became fully Vietnamese controlled. Once a week or so, we had to stay up all night and listen to the radio for any traffic directed at us. Every hour of guard duty, we Americans had to walk the perimeter and make sure the Vietnamese guards in the watch towers were still awake. You yelled a tthe guards at every tower to get a response. If there was no response, we beat on the ladder until the guard responded. As you walked away from the tower, sometimes you could hear the distinct sound of an M16 rifle being charged, and at times you heard a round buzz over your head or saw it hit the dirt in front of you before registering the crack of the rifle. Having your security in the hands of incompetent people does not inspire confidence. Since the base was going to be under Vietnamese control, we could not fly the American flag. Another sign of forgotten soldiers in a foreign country. 

Mail was another factor that contributed to the lonely feeling. We were U. S. Navy personnel attached to the U.S. Army. The U.S. Army oversaw our supply needs. Mail delivery was nonexistent. The wives of some married members of the team had written to Congress about getting our mail. One day early in the morning, two Huey helicopters flew over and dropped two mail bags and then flew away. One bag was empty and the other had a placard that said: “No Mail Today, U.S. Army.” I had written letters that never made it home, and others that people sent to me that never arrived. Some friends mailed a large box of cookies in September for my birthday in December. I received the package on Valentine’s Day, and it held only a few crumbs. We were issued ration cards and MPC money but had no place to spend them or cash them in. This made for a long deployment, not having any contact with friends. 

The advisory team was small, and there was not much chance to become close to other members because there was a constant turnover. An opportunity to go home early arrived since things were slowing down, so I decided, after some scary events, it was time to leave. The trip home was a repeat of the long journey to Vietnam—with everyone keeping to themselves. A helicopter ride to Saigon, one day to turn in equipment and collect orders back to the world. Early morning to Tan San Nhut, sitting alone in a terminal with a few Vietnamese Nationals. The plane was ready to go and loaded with U.S. Army personnel. I was the only U.S. Navy person boarding the plane. The Army personnel knew each other and were happy to be leaving. A big cheer erupted when the plane lifted off. 

Upon arrival at Travis Air Force Base, I took a cab to Treasure Island Naval Station. I was assigned a bunk in a barracks that was empty. I received a physical and separated early from the military. Within one week, I went from being in Western Vietnam to my old neighborhood and no longer in the military.

At last, I was out of the tunnel.


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John Boal grew up in South Akron and went to Archbishop Hoban High School. He worked at BF Goodrich and served in the US Navy at Little Creek, VA and as an advisor in the Mekong Delta. After serving, John was a police officer for 25 years and a University Professor of Criminal Justice for almost 30 years.