Bridges of Vietnam

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The Bridges of Vietnam
from the Journals of a U.S. Marine Intelligence Officer

University of North Texas Press

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Reviews

Proceedings of the U.S. Naval Institute.

(When Edwards was in Vietnam in 1966-67) "he found time to keep a journal, an extremely well-written, sharply observed report of his adventures. Along with contemporary postscripts and a helpful historical chronology, that journal is a significant improvement on most Vietnam memoirs."

Major Don Lohmeier, USMC (Ret), Ph.D.
Full time adjunct faculty, Piedmont College
Demorest, GA
"Compiled from meticulously kept journals, Edwards has well-demonstrated his exceptional skills as trained observer, analyst, and writer in producing an informative, insightful, intensely personal account of observations made throughout his first tour of duty in the Republic of Vietnam. ... an excellent historic and technical reference and an entertaining read, evidences professionalism and journalistic abilities of the highest order. The level and category of insight contained in 'Bridges..' easily place it in the 'should-read' category for those who served there, and quite firmly elevate it to 'should- be-required-reading' for any serious student(s) of the Vietnam war years."

Booklist
"Edwards enlisted at the age of 17 and spent 30 years in the Marine Corps, rising to the rank of lieutenant colonel. In Korea, he was repeatedly passed over for a direct combat role, despite constant pleas to his superiors. In Vietnam, he "bridged" the gap between front line and rear echelon officers by serving as a field intelligence officer in 1966-67. His journals reflect his experiences in his first tour of duty there. ... Edwards' tale is frequently riveting, especially when describing the travails of combat soldiers fighting a war that, with hindsight, can be seen as futile. One is struck by the naivete of the commanders as they tally up body counts and assume villages are "pacified." While Edwards clearly believed in the justice of this war, it is equally clear that his assertions that the fundamental struggle was political rather than military proved prophetic."

University of North Texas Press
"This book is built around Fred Edward's journals, sent home during his first tour in Vietnam in 1966-67. His own meticulous research fits his individual experiences into a larger context, through Postscripts, extensive notes, and a thorough historical Chronology. The book is formatted so that the reader can move easily between the events in Vietnam in 1967-68 and the broader context as revealed through later research. The reader can thus move between Edward's personal experiences in Vietnam and the larger historical forces that sent him there. As a piece of the puzzle of Vietnam, this book holds great significance to those who were there and for students of that war."

Commander Victor Wood, USNR (Ret)
April 1, 2006

The Bridges of Vietnam was to me a riveting historical chronology of the war in Vietnam 1966-67. I was overwhelmed by the absolute filth and living conditions in Saigon in particular, and other areas of Vietnam during this period. In my mind it took an iron will of discipline to survive under these conditions and pursue the interests of this country. Some men have an iron will and get better under most harsh circumstances. It appears that this transition happened to you! I am proud to know you.

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Chapter 1: Initiation

THURSDAY 11 AUGUST 1966 -- THE FIRST DAY

A quick goodbye to my wife in the blackness of predawn. My mind spins as I slide into a seat on the bus. The sun will never come up this day because the bus will lurch from Oceanside's darkness into the Los Angeles smog belt, and will slip from there into the fog belt of San Francisco.

The driver lets us out for lunch and I sip a glass of orange soda. Before returning to the bus, I buy a paperback book titled The Lost Command about a group of French paratroopers operating in Indochina, and later in Algeria. I spend the afternoon reading about a war the French lost, and about the warriors they abandoned. Confident we will do right what they did wrong, occasionally I doze.
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Nearing San Francisco, the bus passes several wineries that advertise complimentary tasting rooms. My wife and I had spoken of stopping at one of those, but never did. It hits me that we and our families should do what we want when we can, because we might never have another chance.
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I reach San Francisco in time to make the connection for Travis Air Force Base, but a mob of humanity has crowded around the baggage claim counter because of a redcap strike. I hear my bus to Travis being called away, and jump the line to get my Val Pak suitcase and footlocker from behind the counter. I volunteer a sharp-looking Army sergeant who has the time to help, and we reach my bus just before it pulls away. My words to the sergeant are the first I've spoken since saying goodbye to my wife back in Oceanside.
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On the bus to Travis, I sit next to a Marine second lieutenant ground officer named Ed, who was just commissioned at Fort Meade, Maryland, and transferred to WestPac Air Forces. He is one of the hundreds that the Commandant declared we would commission from the ranks to fight this war. Ed, straw-haired and pale-eyed, has two roles to learn at once how to be an officer, and how to fight a war. He looks like a small, scared, skinny kid, but he's going out to do a man's job.
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Travis at ten o'clock at night is like Grand Central Station on a holiday weekend. Through the throngs, I see a short, skinny Army private at the head of a check-in line who needs shots. He pulls off his shirt and undershirt, gets painted with Merthiolate from shoulders to elbows, and gets needles popped into both arms and both shoulders. A shiver goes down my spine and I swallow twice. You can't look more vulnerable than him. He's going to get sick and sore from those shots, and this is just the beginning of his year.
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I commence last telephone calls. My father tells me he is proud of me, and speaks of new orders mailed special delivery to his house telling me to report to Commander U.S. Military Assistance Command, Republic of Vietnam, whatever that is. Saying goodbye, I search out the Marine Corps liaison counter and hand my orders for WestPac Ground Forces to an Air Force sergeant on duty. I ask if he knows of a change to my orders. He raises his eyebrows, and points at an empty desk nearby bearing a nameplate, "Marine Liaison NCO."
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"All I do is process passengers," he says. "If you think you have a reason not to carry out your orders, we will assign your seat to somebody else and you can present your case to the gunny during regular working hours after 0800 tomorrow." As a senior captain, I have no intention of telling a gunnery sergeant that I don't think I really am supposed to go to Marine Corps Ground Forces WestPac, so I decide to just carry out orders I have and fly to Okinawa for staging.
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After I complete my phone calls, I meet two other Marine captains. One is Chuck Dawson, returning from a Marine Barracks tour in Iceland, where he was with his family.¹Chuck, five-foot eleven, blond-haired and blue-eyed, looks like he hasn't seen the sun in three years. He had thought he was going to Okinawa for duty and was surprised to see his orders modified to the 1st Marine Division (lstMarDiv) in Vietnam. He complains that he has had no time to get into shape, and has received no updated training.
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The other captain is Don Lohmeier, coming from Fort Meade, and also going to the 1stMarDiv. Don, five-foot nine, slim and dark-haired, is an ex-enlisted man. He is a serious talker who is as ready for war as any Marine can be who is jumping off for the first time into the unknown.

Young Ed, the second lieutenant I had met on the bus, joins us. Smiling guardedly, he informs us that he has learned he will go to Iwakuni, Japan. His future will be quite different from ours.

With a couple of hours to pass before flight time, we head to the Air Force's nearby slop-chute, called the "Long Branch Saloon." Jammed with some 200 empty wooden chairs and tables, and dimly lighted, it looks more like a barn than a saloon. At this time of night its only occupants are the bartender, who is leaning on the bar talking to an off-duty Air Force sergeant. The clock hands point straight up, and at midnight of the first day I eat the first food since breakfast back home in Oceanside-a toaster-heated sandwich-and follow it with a sixteen-ounce schooner of beer. Outside, it is as dark as it was when the day began.

Footnote
Chuck Dawson's attitude surprised me, because I had thought that all Marine officers on duty outside of the Fleet Marine Force (the Marine Corps' operating force)kept in shape, physically and professionally, on their own initiative, particularly with the Vietnam War buildup. Note the difference between Chuck and another professional. Almost seven years later, in January of 1973, Marine Lieutenant Colonel Gerry H. Turley and I clasped hands at the Vietnamese Marine Corps Division Command Post at Huong Dien (see sketch map 1). My long-time friend spoke with excitement but without bravado about his part in a heroic defense against the North Vietnamese Easter offensive during March and April of the previous year. "Fred, this is what I learned. Plan for the moment that may never come. Prepare yourself for a higher level of courage than you think you'll ever need. Your time may never come, but if it does, you'll be ready, and you'll carry it with you for the rest of your life."

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