I served a 12-month tour with the Army in Vietnam, and can fully relate to everything this Marine said. What say you all?
By An Unnamed Marine
Most Marines Arrived In Vietnam Alone. Each Facing At Least 13 Months. If They Survived That Time, They Simply Packed Up And Left…, Leaving Just As They Had Arrived…, Alone!
During the Vietnam War, the U.S. military abandoned the long-standing tradition of deploying and returning entire cohesive combat units, instituting a flawed “individual replacement system.” For the first time in American military history, service members—including Marines bound to a grueling 13-month tour—were dropped into combat as isolated substitutes and pulled out the moment their personal calendars expired. This revolving-door policy severed the essential bonds of unit brotherhood, turning a collective military effort into a deeply personal, solitary struggle for survival.
In the following account, an unnamed Marine reflects on the profound psychological toll of being forced to fight—and return from—a war completely alone.
I remember the day. I got off that transport plane feeling completely alone. In every war before ours, Marines trained together, shipped out together, and fought beside the guys who knew their names and had their backs from day one. Not in Vietnam. I arrived alone, not part of a unit; I was just a number filling a slot on a replacement sheet. When I reached my new assigned unit, I was processed in and given a cot. A few asked my name. To the guys that had been there, I was just the new replacement. I was seen as a liability—an untrained kid whose rookie mistakes might get them killed, or worse, someone they’d get attached to right before he caught a bullet. I learned real fast that MY thirteen-month clock started the moment MY boots hit the dirt, and I was going to have to survive every single second of my time in this war based on a date that belonged to ME alone.
That individual rotation system used in Vietnam stripped away the one thing that keeps a Marine sane: real, unbreakable brotherhood. Because everyone’s calendar was on a different schedule, our squad was in constant, chaotic flux. Guys were killed, wounded, or rotated out on their own personal departure dates, replaced by new faces I couldn’t bring myself to look in the eye. You stop making friends when friendship just means guaranteed grief.
Soon enough, I built my own emotional walls. I stopped caring about the overall mission, or about the command. The war ceased to be a shared fight for a cause and turned into a cold, selfish, solitary math problem—me against thirteen months. Every day was just a tick mark on a private calendar, an exhausting, paranoid grind where you couldn’t afford to trust anyone completely because nobody was staying. They were just coming and going. Some went home, some were wounded, some died.
When my 395 days were finally up, there was no victory parade, no troop transport ship carrying our company home together to decompress and make sense of what we’d done. They just pulled me out of the dirt, handed me my papers, and put me on a commercial flight by myself. One day I was ducking fire in the jungle; thirty-six hours later, I was sitting in an airport diner back home. The military just dropped me back into the “World.” Where I was surrounded by civilians who often did not support the war and frequently had a contempt for the men that fought in it. There were no brothers beside me to split the weight, no one to look at and say, we made it.
Decades later, the Vietnam War remains part of me—because when you are forced to fight a war all by yourself, you carry the ghost of it alone for the rest of your life.
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Gale Fechik/ 1st ANGLICO
I was pulling camp guard at Camp Hansen in Okinawa 7-71. Easy duty but boring and allowed too much free time to possibly get into trouble. Already had done a float to somewhere off the coast of Vietnam. A quota came through for a radio operator my MOS 2531, so I volunteered. Sent alone to Saigon and in a couple of days I was geared up and sent to Da Nang, alone. Trucked down to Camp Hoi An and then jeeped over to a camp outside Dien Ban serving as a radio operator for a company of ROK Marines. Just myself and Nate Turner of Saginaw,Michigan. Anything that involved working with English speaker support and the ROKs went through Nate and I.
My duty was to rotate for ten days up to a hilltop/LZ with around 12-15 ROKs in the Que Son Mtns. Alone, I watched and sometimes called in gunfire but mostly helped secure the LZ just calling in resupply choppers. After ten days I’d chopper back to Hoi An, (sort of decompress by eating warm chow, bread/cold milk, sleeping in a sheeted bed, taking a real shower) and maybe spend time swimming at China Beach.
Then jeeped back to camp outside Dien Ban to await my next ten day hilltop duty. On that hilltop I learned the definition of loneliness. The ROKs were friendly but naturally there was the language barrier. A reprieve was late at night someone would come over the channel, without authorization, and say “go gold or go silver”, meaning spin the frequency dials to highest frequency or lowest frequency, respectively. Other hilltops would also be “online” and other ANGLICO guys would share news/stories to pass time.
I rotated out of Vietnam 12-71. Sent back to Saigon, alone. Caught the freedom bird back to the “world”, alone. Arrived at Treasure Island, exited the jet by ramp and kissed the tarmac glad to be home, alive in one piece. What surprised me was there was no one to greet me (even a protester(s)) not even a “donut-dolly”. So I grabbed the cab first in line and went to San Fran’s airport and caught the first available flight to Detroit, alone.
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My whole training unit flew to Vietnam together, but when we landed in Da Nang we were put in a big warehouse/hanger building and names were called out and those guys were given their new assignments. It was usually 2 to 4 guys would leave together. I was the only name called out for 1/3/3 H&S company 81 mortars. I seen one of my friends that I trained with at Quang Tri for a few mins but that was it.
But didn’t really feel alone and these were my fellow Marines I was with and yes it was hard as so many people would come and go for a number of reasons. I did make friends and some were killed and that sucked and some rotated home and a new Marine replaced them. I lasted 9 months before a 82 mm mortar round took me out of the action.
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Well, I was in Danang with a Naval Air Squadron . I had it much better in country than most grunts Marine or Army, but none the less I agree. I couldn’t keep a short timers calendar because I rotated in and out according to the needs of the Navy. All toll I spent 28 months in country from 70-73. Coming home was the same as described in the article . I couldn’t tell anyone where I had been or that I was even a vet. the VFW and DAV were little to no help and also the VA. I reenlisted and did another 4 just to adjust. I worked nights after that so I didn’t need to deal with people. I ended up in the VA Hospital after 3o years as a resident patient in a PTSD Ward. “Rocket City” was no picnic even was being in the rear. My first trip there I had to stand watches in those towers overlooking the runway and watch for those who might sneak up the drainage ditches ! Alone, rain , rain and more rain, then drier that a popcorn fart !!
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I went and returned alone but was non-combat, medivaced back in a Lockheed C-141 Starlifter. I spent nearly twelve months in country in four different Companies and no time to form any lasting relationships….
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Thank you for serving. I have never seen this ever mentioned. Thanks for sharing.
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Longest war fought by US military was against the American Indians.
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Well said Marine, I might add an observation on the loneliness; when you were assigned a unit, sent to the bush, you only learned last names or nicknames of the men you fought and slept beside. I remember my squad leader came to the NAS Hospital in DaNang. I recognized his face didn’t know his name. A guy that flew in with me, knew him through staging always called him by a nickname; died beside me. The Vet Center helped me after years of grief from nit knowing my brothers name lead me to the fact that his nickname was a derivative of his last name. It’s still very difficult to get to know others.
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Agree, well done. My Ghost still sits beside me every day of my life. My attitude developed into, I have to be in control, because there is nobody else. Just me and my Ghost friend. O.K., bad attitude, but true. I can’t explaine it any better. There is no medecine I can take to change all the things I’ve done, said, been & the places. Those things only my ghost knows, the others are blocked out and dealt with on a personal basis.
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I guess I was less cerebral during my tour. This was my one and only war. I accepted the way the military sent me over and brought me back as the SOP it was. I think I felt that all of us shared our “aloneness” if that makes sense. Yes, we each arrived and left on our personal schedules, but we all understood that was how it was going to work from the start and wished one another swift returns to the “World” whenever those returns might be.
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They invent a new form of technology, not much different than the army. We arrived alone, not knowing anyone. Got sent out to places we never knew. Outfits we’ve never been in. Got to know guys. Very close. Then pulled out of the jungle. And sat on a plane back home. Only. Wind up a day later. On the streets. And traffic of California. Now that wasn’t much fun. Every time somebody honked a horn. Car backfired. Any sort of noise went Off. You hit the ground. Wasn’t easy for any of us in Vietnam. Coming home. Was miserable. With all the protesting going on.
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100% true and heartbreaking. I was lucky because at the 10th month and 15th day of my “tour” (I never understood why it was called a tour because it wasn’t like any kind of tour I ever heard of) I was sent home due Nixon’s “Vietnamization” of the war. So I have to say: “Thanks Dick you old prick for getting me out sooner rather than later.”
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I never thought about this before, but it was the same in the Army. Out of 300+ in my AIT, Advanced Infantry Training Company, everyone except two of us were National Guard. The two of left on separate planes and each landed in the bush with no one else and we came home separately 366 days later. No one showed us how to pack our rucks, it was definitely OJT.
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It really was a lonely war.Came home wearing my birthday suit. After spending months in different hospitals. Including QuangTri tent hospital like (NASH) ,Danang tent hospital like (Nash),Sanctuary Hospital Navy ship, off the coast of Danang, Guam Navy hospital , Okinawa ?,Hawaii?,San Fransisco Air Force hospital and finally flew in a small medical plane that carried maybe 8 stretchers to Camp Pendleton Navy hospital Where I spent a few more weeks, before being in a daily rehab treatment that lasted a few more weeks. It was a lonely ride. Mail never came because of frequent hospital address changes.Mail arrived after being discharged from U.SM.C (INCONVENIENCE TO THE GOVERNMENT)
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The unnamed Marine wrote: “That individual rotation system used in Vietnam stripped away the one thing that keeps a Marine sane: real, unbreakable brotherhood. Because everyone’s calendar was on a different schedule, our squad was in constant, chaotic flux. Guys were killed, wounded, or rotated out on their own personal departure dates, replaced by new faces I couldn’t bring myself to look in the eye. You stop making friends when friendship just means guaranteed grief.“
I know what he’s talking about but I think his statment about the rotation system strippin away brotherhood is too extreme. I was in the jungle for a year with the army. We learned early on to protect ourselves emotionally but the bonds were there, and when we came home the grief for those fellow soldiers we’d lost hit home hard and stayed with us.
I’d also like to add in that we had another cause for grief. When we left the field many of the guys who’d shared our hardships and losses were left behind. All of us had a role in the squad, platoon, and company and we knew we’d be missed. We didn’t know if the hole we’d left got someone killed, but we knew it was there. Guaranteeing our survival by leaving was part of the deal but it was painful, especially since many of us never knew whether the men we’d left behind had survived.
Ed Mann, 1st Air Cav 69-70.
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Spot on point of view. I arrived at my advisor unit only to be greeted by two NCO’s I never served with and a Major who was my immediate boss that I ended up never meeting. No transition. No mutual training. Just thrown in to start combat operations; wounded in Laos several moths later and medevaced to a hospital ship. My wife asks if I have any contact with those in my old unit. NO – I barely remember their names. We were all just a replacement number.
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that is what happen to me. one week i was killing people and with in two weeks i was home driving as if nothing had happen. i was sitting inmy car with a “new” girl friend and talking about something i don’t remember now. as she was talking to me i sat there looking at her and thinking she doesn’t know i was killing people two week ago .
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Excellent read. I wonder whether the experience of serving in a combat infantry unit differed from that in a rear unit.
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So true! And the loneliness never goes away. First tour I deployed with my unit. Second tour, under the individual replacement system. Very different experiences.
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Spot on. I was Army so my tour was 12 months. Even as part of a so-called “elite” unit (5th Special Forces Group, I-Corps 1969-70) we were all just piece parts.
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Well said!
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