Tower Guard

by Ken DeHaas

2/1 H&S 70-71

Camp Lauer, 1970 Vietnam. Home of 2/1 Marines.

Time of the season would be early Fall from a stateside perspective. I had been in country a little over three months. Long enough to partially bury the FNG label. But seeing as I had just been transferred to 2/1 from a brief stint with 1^st Force, guess you might say that I was sort of the new guy once again. You know, same as starting a new job, or enrolling in a new school.

Anyway, soon after settling in and learning the lay of the land, I pulled guard duty on the base camp’s perimeter. Was not to be a roving sentinel at ground level, but a stationary watchman from 60 feet above.

The Guard Tower. An imposing sixty foot high wooden edifice. A crude series of steps led to my midnight lookout post on high. At the top I walked into a partially enclosed cage. Had a clear field of view east, west, north and south. Also, there was no door to my cubicle, so I could easily see any potential intruder approaching and, or attempting to climb my staircase. There was a chair in the middle of the booth for me to perch on. Seem to remember a small table too. A field phone was in place for obvious reasons.

Reported for duty in the midnight hour. Fully awake and ready to stand watch over my new family. Had my M-16, 45, flak jacket and helmet. Good to go. Some chow would be nice, but later. Non stop visual recon. No one or no thing would get by me.

I was about three hours into the stakeout when out of the corner of my eye I picked up on some movement. It was coming from my left, which would be the many steps leading up to me. It is worthy to note that this activity was coming from within the compound. Not long after the initial detection, I saw a jeep motoring to my position. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I was being checked on.

My intruder killed the engine of his noisy war horse just shy of the staircase. The sentry checker stepped out of the jeep and slowly began; what he thought was a stealthy ascent to an unsuspecting marine tower guard. To me he was like the proverbial bull in a china shop. Guard duty back in the world taught us to ask “Halt, Who Goes There?”, whenever anyone was in a restricted area or approaching a Marine guard without proper authorization. But somehow those stateside rules didn’t seem relevant to me in this particular situation.

After all, he had to of known that I saw and heard him coming from the get go. I figured my best course of action would be to sit up ramrod stiff, stare straight ahead and don’t fidget. I’d show this guard inspector that I was on the job. Vigilant till the end. Meanwhile I’m watching this guy’s every move. He’s lingering on the second step from the top, and I’m thinking I’m gonna do myself proud.

I was just fixin’ to turn and greet the gunny when all of a sudden I’m in a choke hold and being rudely yanked from my perch. Damn. I’m thinking what the F---. The gunny slowly released me after what seemed like an eternity. He lectured me on what a low life I was for sleeping on duty, and threatened me with office hours or even court martial. I attempted to tell him how I saw his approach from beginning to end. And just wanted to show how alert I was. He cut me off and seemed not to listen. But he must have, seeing as I never heard anything further about the incident. Nonetheless, “Halt, Who Goes There?”, was reinstated into my Marine vernacular.

As I resumed my surveillance duties, my stomach began to growl. Sure could go with some chow. An hour or so later, in the wee morning hours, “mid-rats” were delivered. Seeing as I was one of Camp Lauer’s guards, I expected a pretty good snack. I was handed a brown paper bag which had some substantial weight to it. In eager anticipation I tore the bag open. What a glorious sight greeted my hungry eyes. Inside were two “sandwiches”. The slices of bread were about a 1 ½” thick. In between the slabs of bread were hunks of bologna that had to be at least 2” thick. Well, maybe not that thick, but damn close to it. No cheese, no mayo. There may have been a dab of mustard, but that was probably just wishful thinking. Well after all, this was Vietnam. I wolfed them down and asked for seconds. Later found out that those mid-rats had a name. That would be “Horse C—K” sandwiches. Yum Yum!!

I recall one time when one of those towers had to be transferred to another position. A U-Haul wouldn’t do for this moving job. A CH-54 Skycrane was called in. I always thought that it looked like a giant mosquito. I was one of the lucky Marines that got to attach and detach the tower to and from the belly of the skycrane. The typhoon like wind was incredible. Imagine. The rotor diameter on those helicopters was 72 feet. The length of the blades, when turning was 88 feet 6 inches. Needless to say the sixty footers got relocated with relative ease.