I remembered when at the processing station in Long Binh a clerk had noted that I was underage for drinking and we had gone up the chain of command to a Captain who instructed the clerk to issue me the coupons for the full year (this was in December), even though my birthday was in February. He exacted a promise from me that I wouldn’t use any until after I was 21 years old. I was the only under aged officer he had ever dealt with. I hadn’t used any of these coupons because I drank little booze while in the service.
Sgt. C. was elated when I presented him with the six or seven coupons (each was for a particular month, if not used in that month, it could be used after that month). He asked me if I had any idea how valuable these coupons were? He would need a three-day pass to Long Binh and a ¾ ton truck. I arranged for both, with the warning to him that if he were picked up drunk somewhere, I’d be in a lot of trouble. He needed to wait a few days for a convoy.
The next morning, I was awakened at about 0400hrs by the section chief for one of the guns. He stated that his gun was out of action due to a hydraulic problem. This was probably caused by some sending unit valve that my section chief knew we were having problems with. I told him I’d get right on it.
I went to the motor pool personnel bunker and found my Sgt. C. asleep, but had disturbed enough of the guys so nearly everybody was awake by the time I got him awakened. I reported the problem as related to me. He checked the time and told me that it was too dark to get anything done; they would attend to it after breakfast. I was surprised by this response, and considered my options. I informed him that it was ok by me, but I would go out to the gun myself to get things started. I left amid more comments about first light making for better working conditions.
I hurried to the motor pool shed and secured the gun maintenance manual, and various tools, loading my pockets with wrenches, pliers, screw drivers, mallet, and other items that were lying about. I struggled to the firing pad where the gun was parked and placed my collection down in the dust settling in with my flashlight laying on my stomach reading the manual like a kid with a comic book.
I was able to find the valve, studying the system in an effort to remove it, I heard a disturbance behind me. The mechanics, led by the Sgt. C. gathered around me, in awe, their worst nightmare was realized. I was a do-it-yourselfer, loaded for bear with their prized tools! My selection baffled them, causing further dismay. Sergeant C. asked my intentions? I responded, “It looks pretty easy to replace the valve, but I didn’t know if we had a new one”. He indicated it might not be the valve, test procedures needed to be followed before we started disassembling the gun. I replied, “I could replace the valve, but if they wanted to run through the procedures, that would be helpful”. He responded that if I wanted to be helpful, I could go over to the mess hall and scare up some coffee for the crew. I happily attended to this request, cementing my place in the crew as a go-fer, amid comments from other crewmembers to give me a chance, how much damage could I do? Sgt. C. wouldn’t take that bet, he knew I was capable of causing real damage and told them so.
