My Office in Vietnam

The personal reflection below of his Vietnam experience was sent to me by a Marine A4 combat pilot who flew over a hundred close air support (CAS) missions in the war during 1968/69.

He was awarded two DFC’s for his heroic service. We played golf together for years before he told me that fact last year. CAS missions were not for feint of heart.

For those unfamiliar with what CAS missions entail please read my blog post about them. This blog explains how forward air control (FAC) coordinated combat missions before “smart bombs”. . Communication was critical to avoid collateral damage. In my historical narrative, RECALL, and in my “Bird Dog” blog , I dramatize an example of a typical CAS mission interacting with FAC.

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MY OFFICE IN VIETNAM

It’s a different kind of office. There is no name on the door, no pictures on the walls, no curtains at the windows and no room for visitors. It’s my office, and I’ve spent as much time there as any office manager who has worked eight hours a day, five days a week, for over three months.

It isn’t a very glamourous place. There is only one piece of furniture in the tiny enclosure, an aluminum chair mounted on a rocket motor. The walls, the floor, and even the chair are painted a dull, flat gray. This drab decor is broken only by a somewhat jumbled appearing arrangement of gauges, switches, handles, buttons, signs and lights. From the chair, everything is at my fingertips.

The continuous use of the office for the past four years has taken away its once-bright appearance. The sharp edges of the knobs are worn smooth and the switches are rubbed clean of paint. Here and there a dent or patch indicates some rough treatment or perhaps an unfriendly piece of lead.

It is air-conditioned, but the rush of air from the vents, added to the creaking walls and vibrating floor, makes noise a constant companion.

To enter my office, you must climb an aluminum ladder, swing over a ledge and carefully fit yourself into the executive chair. Once you wiggle into place, you will find yourself in solitary confinement, no sext secretaries, no fellow workers, no boss peering over your shoulder — you are it. Except by radio, you are isolated from contact with the world around you.

All over the office are danger signs and warnings. “Fire,” “Emergency Use Only,” “Pull To Eject” and more indicate trouble close at hand. There are the signs of business only also: “Speed Brakes,” “Fuel Transfer,” “Distance Nautical Miles” to name a few.

There are no coffee breaks and no strolls to the men’s room. If you need the former, better get it before you come to work. If you need the latter, it’s stowed on the wall at your right. Seal after use.

The view from my office surpasses that from the largest picture window in the tallest skyscraper. You can choose a panoramic view of the horizon from seven miles high or a closer look at your surroundings from treetop level.

My office is not a place for conferences or clerical chores; it is a place of business, deadly serious business. Though it isn’t very glamourous, and certainly not very comfortable, I have never walked out early to beat the evening rush hour.