Letter to Terrie, 18 November 1970 — back out to 'really hairy' action, half drunk in the rear

What the letter is

18 November 1970, written half drunk in the rear on what Charlie calls his last drinking day before the unit goes back out. It is one of the franker combat-news letters in the corpus: faced with the action Terrie has probably read about, Charlie doesn’t minimize it — “all kinds of action,” people killed in the past few days, “really hairy” — and notes that even the base he is writing from has taken rocket fire. The candor and the alcohol run together; he catches himself (“Well enough serious stuff. (I’m half drunk now.)”) and turns to the practical: the leave home that’s looking too expensive, and a set of stainless steel ware in the mail for the two of them after the war.

Transcription

Nov 18

Dear Terrie,

I’m fine and everything with me is fine. You probably have heard of action around this time in the area. All kinds of excitement and action. We are going out to a [____] area where all kinds of action has taken place. There are quite a few of our people killed in the past few days. Really hairy. But this base wasn’t safe either since it has been hit by rocket (nothing close) and a few enemy have been killed trying to get in. Well enough serious stuff. (I’m half drunk now.)

[The Army wanting] me to take a 2 week leave and come home, I’m beginning to think will be too expensive. I have the money here so keep that $30 [I meant].

I’m slated to go to a “school” [page 2:] Dec 28 - Jan 2 so that would be [extra] time that I would forfeit if I come home then.

I bought some stainless steel ware and am sending it to you but it is not a Christmas present. Use it if you want but keep it for us too. It is 39.30 so don’t worry about losing any of it. Enclosed is all the paperwork.

Well there are very [things] I would like to say and will in my next letter but it is my last time to drink today so I guess I’ll relax & enjoy myself.

I love you

Love Charles

What the letter records

Combat news, told straight. Most of Charlie’s field letters keep the war at arm’s length from Terrie. This one doesn’t: “quite a few of our people killed in the past few days. Really hairy.” The lowered guard is tied to the drinking (“I’m half drunk now”), and he pulls back as soon as he hears himself — “Well enough serious stuff” — but for a few lines the actual danger is on the page. The same reassurance-by-procedure that the 25 November letter would give in detail is here only as the bare fact that the base, too, had been hit.

The scratched-out place name. Charlie starts to name the area they are moving to and then scribbles it out — the small act of self-censorship a soldier performed knowing mail could be read, and not wanting to put a location in writing. The redaction is his own, on the page.

The leave, cooling. The rumored 2-week leave home that the 15 November letter had floated is already losing to arithmetic: “too expensive,” and the 28 December–2 January “school” would be forfeited time if he came home. It’s the same calculation that, by late November, settles toward meeting Terrie in Hawaii on R&R instead.

The stainless steel ware. “Not a Christmas present” but “keep it for us too” — a $39.30 set of flatware mailed home for the household the two of them would have after the war. The small domestic purchase, made from a firebase, is Charlie planning the peace while writing about the action.