The signs were clear. We knew that U.S. advisors were already in Vietnam and we could tell by the logistics messages we processed that massive buildups of supplies and matériel were taking place in Saigon.
Arriving in Vietnam, I got accustomed to things, learned my way around town somewhat, learned about services available, etc., and little by little got to know people. I usually spent my off-duty hours killing time at one bar or another, with nothing to otherwise occupy me. The number of places we could frequent was limited, so my circle of establishments included the bar at the MACV compound, the officers club at Roberts Compound, the officers club at Nha Trang Air Base, and the Frégate Restaurant, where I went this evening.
I took a sip of my beer then turned to see whom I might recognize in the large crowd of American men and Vietnamese women seated at the patio tables. My view was through a beaded archway that led to the patio. I was turned to my right, so that I was scrunched around halfway on my barstool, with my head swiveled around all the way, while still keeping a grip on the beer bottle.
My reconnaissance of the crowd lasted all of one second when an incredible explosion mushroomed before my eyes, absolutely dead ahead of my point of vision. I was slammed into the bar very hard and felt my chest take the shock of the contact. My bottle went flying in shards, beer spewing all over the bar. It took me a second or two to shake out the cobwebs in my brain, then I reacted and dove for the corner of the barroom.
A soldier and his girl came around the corner from the patio at the same time and dived simultaneously. Military policemen yelled this warning: "Watch out for the secondary! Watch out for the secondary!” meaning get the hell out because secondary explosions were imminent.
The Vietnamese woman next to me screamed, while her companion attempted to help her. I started to reach for her hand when I discovered that I was looking at a bloody stump of a shoulder, minus the arm. The MPs came running through yelling at us to clear out. The G.I. pulled his girlfriend up, so I staggered to my feet and dashed out the side door, heading toward the restaurant’s back gate.
I heard someone behind me yell, "Hey, buddy, you're bleeding." I didn't know whom he was addressing, and kept on running, although somewhat erratically. Suddenly I felt numerous hands grasp me and lift me into the front seat of a nearby Jeep. I felt very strange and nauseated. It was when I started vomiting that I realized something was the matter with me. Hands supported me as the Jeep flew down the road, but I had difficulty holding up my head and felt the shock overtake me.