Some of them still have bad dreams all these sheaves of years later, and those dreams are the subject of REMFS, a serial nightmare here on E2 about
a rock n roll band in a world of hurt.
It is comprised (so far) of:
"The Big Deal is that we were REMFs. Rear Echelon Mother Fuckers. To the guys in the bush--the 11 Bravo 10's who did all of the killing and most of the dying--we were lower than dog shit. Because we were lucky. Our numbers hadn't come up. "For every dirty wet grunt in the jungle there were eight happy REMFS in the rear. We were the clerks and cooks and typists and mechanics and doctors and linguists and lawyers and morticians who never saw the war except in the eyes of those who fought it. "Call it Support. Call it Bureaucracy. Call it what you like--REMFs slept in beds with sheets and got laid. We broke starch in the morning and spit-shined our boots at night. We had one thing in common with the foot soldier though: we hated the army too. "And you thought Vietnam was just heroes, 'rock n rollers with one foot in their graves....'" --REMFS, how to brush your teeth in a combat zone.
"For every dirty wet grunt in the jungle there were eight happy REMFS in the rear. We were the clerks and cooks and typists and mechanics and doctors and linguists and lawyers and morticians who never saw the war except in the eyes of those who fought it.
"Call it Support. Call it Bureaucracy. Call it what you like--REMFs slept in beds with sheets and got laid. We broke starch in the morning and spit-shined our boots at night. We had one thing in common with the foot soldier though: we hated the army too.
"And you thought Vietnam was just heroes, 'rock n rollers with one foot in their graves....'"
--REMFS, how to brush your teeth in a combat zone.
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