The Road to Hamburger Hill
A Novel
by
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Some fearless clunks in my platoon rode nonchalantly with their legs dangling precariously from the open sliding doors of the craft as it churned its way indomitably forward into the waiting melee. Not this circumspect G.I., however. I distinguished myself as the solitary drip amongst them, securely belted into my uncomfortable nylon canvas and tubular aluminum aircraft seat, back by the Huey’s oily-smelling transmission well. I resolved, early on in in my tour, that if I were to die in Vietnam, it wasn’t going to be from falling out of a helicopter…and don’t think that sort of thing didn’t happen. Buffeted by the wake turbulence of a departing slick’s tornadic rotor wash, our chopper settled tentatively on the landing zone just seconds after the other helicopter lifted off. Canisters of billowing purple smoke marked the designated landing spot. Our swirling blades generated dancing little vortexes of the stuff. The LZ Movement Control NCO in charge of this topsy-turvy aerial ballet of choreographed chaos gesticulated feverishly, like a third base coach frantically waving the runner home for the winning run. Discarded ammo boxes, empty tin C-Ration cans, bullet casings, and spent M16 magazines littered the area. By comparison, it made my bedroom, back at home in my parent’s house, look relatively tidy. Much to my considerable distress, I also observed five black body bags lined up in an orderly row, somberly awaiting transport out. “Go! Go! Go!” Sargent Washington barked, as our squad swiftly scrambled from the craft. “Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the Dogs of War.” “Yeah”, some anonymous trooper added sarcastically, “and my kingdom for a fucking horse.” Meanwhile, I struggled frantically with the intricately designed buckle on my government issued lap belt. It seemed to have been conceived by the creator of those mind-boggling tavern puzzles that I was never very good at. “Johnson! Get out of that helicopter right now!” Sargent Washington ordered. “I’m trying. I’m trying.” “Try harder! You’re, a Screaming Eagle, and as such, failure is not an option available to you.” His preposterous paratrooper platitudes were not helpful to resolving the perplexing situation at hand, nor something I really cared to endure just then. “Rangers don’t give up,” he persisted, nonetheless. When under the stress inherent with a “hot” LZ insertion, Sargent Washington could prove, at times, to be insufferable. This was one of those unfortunately regrettable occasions. For the most part, however, I was invariably pleased to serve under his exceptional competence and capable leadership.
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About the Book
It is the 1950s in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, as Bruce Johnson grows up in a traditional middle-class Caucasian family—a label that causes his mother to drink. When he starts school, he soon becomes the youngest student ever to be expelled from Saint Petronille Elementary School. Meanwhile, halfway around the globe, in Vietnam, Southeast Asia, the Geneva Accords effectively disunites the country at the seventeenth parallel. While on his unique coming-of-age journey, Bruce hunts for soda-pop bottles to return for two cents, ice skates on Lake Ellyn until dark, puts a male competitor in a headlock at an eighth-grade dance with the hopes of wooing his love interest, creates a radioactive science project that shuts down the entire competition, and much more. After graduating from high school by the proverbial skin of his teeth, Bruce receives a notice of eligibility for the draft, loses his appeal, and is recruited into the army where he soon finds himself charging headlong up a cursed hill into manhood. Set in chronological order, The Road to Hamburger Hill takes a light-hearted, nostalgic look at growing up during two transitional decades in America and serving in the Vietnam War.
About the Author
Bruce D. Johnson is a decorated, 100% service-related disabled Vietnam War veteran who suffers a sardonic sense of dark humor which he uses here to make a facetious anti-war statement. He promises more laughs per page than anything his readers have previously read, or his next book is free. Now retired, Bruce lives with his wife, Gail, on the north shore of Geneva Lake in Wisconsin.