I had been set back in OCS for the third time because of my inability to grasp logarithms, and I was waiting to be dropped out of my class. The day I was to go resign I saw a black CID car pull up.
“CANDIDATE Nesbitt!” The first Sgt. Called, “Report to the Commander’s Office!”
I fantasized about an escape to the Wichita Mountains; I was going to get court marshaled anyway! Too late; they got me for murder in a war! I entered the room, and there were two plain-clothed gentlemen, one uniformed provost officer, and the commander of the Artillery OCS.
“Sit down, candidate, relax.” “I think you know what this is about,” stated the older CID agent. “The Army has dismissed the initial inquiry as to the possible charges that were alleged against you for the death of Lt. Nuk. It seems his family was of Chinese extraction, and it is known that the family was active and sympathetic to the Viet Minh. We also suspect that the ambush you were in was perpetrated by the family since Lt. Nuk was an LLDB [Luc Long Duc Biet, the Vietnamese Special Forces]. You don’t have to worry any longer.”
I was out of there like the sonic boom of a sound barrier wave. I went to see Lore in Indiana in my ‘55 Chevy.
My return to Vietnam was perpetuated by a phone call to Mrs. Alexander at the Pentagon. She assured me of my orders over the phone in November 1967. I’d graduated Operations and Intelligence training while in the 3rd SFG, at the J.F.K. Special Warfare Center, Fort Bragg, N.C., with a new Military Occupational Specialty [MOS], 11F4S, later translated as 96B10, intelligence analyst.
My best friend Michael Joseph and I completed intelligence school, ranked 1 and 2. Mike Jo and Johnny Anderson were weightlifters. Little did I know then that I would serve in the Mekong Delta w