"The pedicab was a rickshaw-like vehicle pulled by an anemic motorbike or pedaled by a tough old man, and commanded almost zero respect on the streets."
NEXT WEEK:
SOG IV --
Up Country
SOG
III
by Jean d'Isle
' 
fter
that first harrowing ride 
from
Tan Son Nhut Air Base to Cho Lon, I had an inkling that
driving in Saigon was going to be a challenge. Traffic
movement through the congested streets of the city was
not controlled by lights, signs or traffic police, but by
Darwinian principles: the most intimidating vehicles, by
virtue of size and potential to inflict damage, had the
right of way, and an unwritten but strict pecking order
had evolved over time. Tanks and Armored Personnel
Carriers ruled the roads, followed by military trucks and
jeeps; civilian trucks, buses and taxis; and at the very
bottom, motorbikes and the lowly pedicab, the primary
mode of transport for the civilian populace. The pedicab
was a rickshaw-like vehicle pulled by an anemic motorbike
or pedaled by a tough old man, and commanded almost zero
respect on the streets. Every intersection reinforced the
pecking order; and woe be unto him who hadn't yet learned
it, or worse, tried to challenge it.
My first daylight ride through those streets left me in mild shock; not only had we navigated those chaotic intersections and reached our destination, but we had neither run over anyone or anything, nor had anyone run over us. I drew no comfort from the knowledge that in a very few days I would be in the driver's seat of this doorless moving target.
The streets of downtown Saigon left a lasting
impression.
Amid the honking and
shouting/swearing (I soon would be fluent in the most
useful of these phrases), a pall of dust and exhaust
fumes hung suspended. Streets were in disrepair and
world-class potholes acted as natural but ineffective
speed bumps. Many of the buildings lining the main
streets had been commandeered for military purposes. Each
of these was identifiable by sandbags, barbed wire and
manned and fortified sentry positions. Interspersed with
these drab facilities were the bars and restaurants which
catered to the growing number of U.S. personnel in the
city. These businesses were identifiable by their grenade
screens, installed after a number were decimated by Viet
Cong bombers zipping past on motorbikes. The screens
reminded me of baseball backstops, completely enclosing
the front of the building with a mesh small enough to
keep out baseball-sized grenades.
The first few days "in country" were full of briefings, equipment issue and the formalities of assuming the duties of my predecessor. I was issued jungle boots and fatigues ("tree suits") to blend into the countryside. Based on the amount of time I would spend in Saigon, I should have asked for a "fire hydrant" or "telephone pole" suit. SOG issued me a Swedish-K 9mm submachinegun for personal defense. Because SOG was a "black" operation, all of their equipment was neutral or captured from the enemy. In situations where SOG teams could not be rescued, particularly from Laos and Cambodia, U.S. weapons would have provided evidence of a U.S. operation. The Swedish-K held a 30-round magazine, and once the trigger was depressed, it was like holding onto a jackhammer until all those rounds were gone. Most preferred the Russian-made AK-47, which allowed more controlled bursts and did not have the distinctive metallic "clacking" of the Swedish-K.
MACV SOG headquarters was located in a compound in the Cho Lon suburb of Saigon. This was not an upscale neighborhood. It was primarily an ethnic Chinese area that seemed to have more than its share of VC sympathizers. Terrorist attacks on U.S. personnel in and around Cho Lon were fairly common. The week before I arrived, the regular afternoon volleyball games in an open field across from my temporary quarters ended when a VC bomber left his bicycle leaning against a nearby pole. The bicycle was rigged with a Claymore mine directed at the playing field. The subsequent detonation killed and wounded a number of Americans. It was hard to tell the bad guys from the good on the city streets, so we followed the basic rules to counter the urban terrorist: don't fall into a predictable pattern of movement or behavior; and get out of town as often as possible.
__________________________________________________
Jean
d'Isle is a retired naval officer living
in Hawaii.
During his
military career he served in a number of overseas
assignments, including Germany, England, Spain, Viet Nam
and Puerto Rico. Following his retirement, he was an
adjunct faculty member of Hawaii Pacific University and
is currently under contract with the U.S. Navy at the
submarine base in Pearl Harbor.
Jean's column, View From d'Isle, is a regular feature of VegSource On-Line Magazine.