| It was during the last few days of July or the first few days of August 1969 that I went to post for the first time at U-Tapao. I well remember watching and listening to the
K-9 posting truck (deuce and a half) as it pulled away, gravels crunching under the tires, the sound of the diesel engine, dogs on the truck barking. I watched until I lost sight of the taillights. Here I was, alone again, out on a perimeter, with my dog. Nothing new about that to me, since I had been doing the same thing at Columbus AFB MS (SAC Base) with my very first dog, Max . I had gone through dog school with Max and took him to Columbus AFB MS. And, right now I was certainly wishing that I had him here with me. Because, I knew his capabilities and he had never once failed me in anything. He had a great nose, was fierce on attack and always so very alert to movement and/or sound. But, here I was with Smokey (see my story of Smokey elsewhere on this site) and I was confident of nothing with him.
My first night was not starting out well at all. My fatigues (inside thighs) were totally soaked with slimy, dog saliva. Since, as soon as you put Smokey on the truck, he started barking and did not stop until you got to post. As a result of all this barking, he salivated badly, and since you ride the truck with the dog between your legs, all the drool, saliva or whatever you want to call it, gets all over you. However, none of the other dogs kept their barking up for the whole duration of their time on the truck. But, Smokey was so different. I never was able to get him to stop all that barking. And, for the two months that I had him, I started post every night, soaked in dog saliva. It was not a pleasant experience. But, nonetheless, here I was, out on a post, to do a job and I had to make the best of it, regardless of what I thought about Smokey or the slimy stuff all over my legs.
The night was amazingly calm and quiet (the B-52's and KC 135's were not revving their engines at the time). My ears were filled with the nighttime sounds of the jungle. Sounds I had never heard and could not identify. It was a strange and eerie feeling to not know what those sounds were. But, I would come to grow used to them and be able to identify many.
Smokey and I started our patrol of our section of the 18 miles of perimeter surrounding U-Tapao. We had not traveled very far until I heard the words, "@#$% you." I froze, stopped dead in my tracks, squatted down and listened intently. A second or two goes by, there it is again, "@#$% you." My eyes try to pierce the darkness, my ears trying to locate the direction from whence this obscenity came. Thoughts are racing through my mind, "Could this be "Charlie?" "Am I already in the sights of the enemy?" "Is he trying to sucker me in for a closer and better shot?" "Could it be another handler on an adjacent post, just messing with me?" "Who or why would anyone be saying, @#$% you to me?" I recall a bit of history and a movie I once saw, concerning how the Japanese would call out words in English to get American GI's to give their position away. "Could this be what is happening to me?" The voice saying those words, "@#$% you", almost sounds like Donald Duck saying it. Finally, I pinpoint the direction and decide I am going to check it out, regardless of the consequences. I, as quietly as possible, jack a round into the chamber of the M16. Cautiously, Smokey and I approach the direction from whence those words are coming (Smokey doesn't appear to be concerned but I don't trust him). The words are getting louder. We are right on top of him, why can't I see an outline of him? Why has he not fired? Is this a prank? There, up in the tree, that's where he is!!! No wonder I could not get his outline, he is to well hidden in that tree. A sniper? Couldn't be. He would have already nailed me. What was it then? I hesitantly pull out my flashlight and turned it on (did not like using flashlight since it gave your position away) shining it up into the tree, after a few seconds I spotted him, perched on a limb. It was a large lizard. Thus, within my first two hours of patrolling, I had come face to face with the now infamous, appropriately named and affectionately called, "The @#$% You Lizard."
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