It was late December in 1968 and my squad had just completed the last day of the three day ambush and recon mission in the Battalion Tactical Area Of Responsibility (TAOR). It was late morning and we had just returned to the company area, turned in our weapons, and were headed to the mess hall before they stopped serving breakfast. As I walked away from the Arms Room I was summoned to the Orderly Room.

     I was on the tenth month of my tour and all ten were spent living at the outpost's and working ambush and recon in the TAOR. I had never requested an R&R having already spent a year in Korea before Vietnam I wasn't the least bit interested in visiting any other Asian countries. In addition, I thought the R&R program wasn't needed for anyone that wasn't a line grunt in an infantry unit. The CO was concerned because I was stressed out and showing signs of it. I freely admit he was right about the stress but it wasn't going to be eliminated by an unwanted R&R. So.... they decided to send me on a prisoner escort detail to Hawaii with a PFC from A Company. No was not an option, it was an order. The transport was scheduled to depart the following morning. I was instructed to immediately report to the USARV Stockade to pick up the transport orders. I was never interested in an R&R and now I was being assigned to a damn prisoner shipment. I was dirty, covered with mud, very tired and hungry, and my stress level just jumped a few points higher.

     On 31 August the overcrowded stockade (also known as Long Binh Jail) was burned to the ground during a two day riot by the 700 plus inmates being held there. The riot resulted in several casualties and serious injuries to many of the MP guard staff and the prisoner population. It was just now getting back to normal operations.

     I was passed through the stockade gate by the MP's and was walking across the empty compound yard towards the operations building when it happened. A loud angry voice to my rear shouted, "MP...where they hell do you think you are going!" I glanced over my shoulder to see who the source of voice was when I saw him, a full bird Colonel. I would later discover that he was the new stockade commander. He was headed towards me in double time with his arm extended and shaking his extended hand while pointing at me.... and he looked pissed off. I looked around and realized that the approaching Colonel and I were the only people in the yard. Not knowing if he just had a bad morning or if he was one of those officers that never has a good one, I immediately stopped and stood at attention.

     When he approached close enough I rendered a proper salute holding it for his return...which never came. The Colonel, dressed in brand new freshly pressed fatigues and spit shined jungle boots, got right up in my face and let loose a tirade of profanity so fast I had trouble in understanding just what he was upset about. Sorting through the profanities I was able to make out the fact that: I was dirty... unshaved... and wearing an unauthorized uniform and hat, or as he put it..."You can't come into my stockade to play soldier in that uniform." To clarify this story I must inform you that at the time I was wearing a set of Highland camouflage fatigues with a matching boonie hat and jungle boots, all covered in matching mud. They were authorized company issue, except for the sweat and mud, we had to provide our own sweat and mud.

     When I heard the...playing soldier...line my face got just as red as his and I gave him one of those...when was the last time you spent a day in the field looks. That fired him up even more and he continued his tirade while walking a fast paced circle around me like a buzzard trying to decide where to take his first bite. I was already in double trouble in the company for two stress related bad attitude incidents, and this was the last thing I needed on my plate. I counted to myself 5...4...3...2...1, bit my upper lip and just stood there holding my salute waiting for him to stop his tirade so I might explain what I was doing in "his stockade." He stopped to catch his breath, I dropped my salute and explained I just had returned from a three day field mission and was instructed to report to the stockade to pick up orders for a prisoner shipment. Either he didn't hear me, didn't care, or didn't believe me because he continued on about my dirty unauthorized uniform and hat. He suddenly stopped the verbal tirade and out came the note pad and pen. He recorded my name, rank, unit and informed me he was immediately calling my Commanding Officer to report me. Then he left as fast as he appeared.

     I continued to the operations building, picked up my transport orders and headed back to the company to report my meeting with the Colonel. The one pleasant thought I took from the incident was the Colonel might somehow have me removed from the transport mission. As I approached the Orderly Room 1SG Warnick was coming out the door and when I started to tell him of the incident, he waived me off without a word. By the look on his face I could tell the Colonel had already been on the phone, had been properly informed, and I was still going on the prisoner shipment. I never heard another word about it.

CPL Thomas T. Watson, B Company, 720th MP Battalion, 89th MP Group, 18th MP Brigade, March 1968 to March 1969.