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Home is where you find it, sometimes it's not what you think. Here are some memories: 14Jan69- Green Beret Captures Chris at Altar Pacific Stars and Stripes CHU LAI, Vietnam (Special) MIAMI BEACH (AP)-Chris Noel, the leggy disc jockey who went to Vietnam as the U.S. answer to Hanoi Hanna, was married Saturday to a Green Beret captain who proposed in a helicopter. The girl whose miniskirt was her trademark wore a floor length wedding gown when she became the bride of Capt. Ty Herrington, a native of Mullins S.C. Chris, of West Palm Beach, Fla., went to Vietnam several times to promote her twice-weekly show on Armed Forces Radio, "A Date With Chris." "I never really listened to her," said Herrington. "I wasn't in an area where I could hear much of anything on the radio." But the captain maneuvered to have himself assigned as Chris's escort and on her second trip, proposed to the singing blonde while flying to an appearance. They were married by the Rev. Jonathan Aho of the Bayshore Lutheran Church in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Rauthbord. "I knew we'd be married the second time I saw him," Chris said. Herrington, a paratrooper, was wounded three times during his 18 months in Vietnam. The couple will honeymoon in the Bahamas and live in Los Angeles. Chris said she would continue her radio program for the troops. -This was placed here because there is a large following for Chris Noel among the Vietnam Veterans community- 31Jan69- Pfc. Named Brutus is GIs' Best Friend Pacific Stars and Stripes CHU LAI, Vietnam (Special) -Caeser had his Brutus and so does a company of "Chargers" from the 196th Inf. Brigade. This Brutus is far from being a Roman statesman, however Brutus is a 95-pound part German Shepherd who is a familiar sight around LZ West, home of the 4th Bn., 31st Inf., located in Que Son Valley. Brutus was born 14 months ago on "Purple Heart Hill" near Chu Lai, when Echo Company was located there. His mother was a pet Vietnamese dog called Short Round and his father was an army scout dog. Brutus, once a short clumsy pup with very large feet, is no longer awkward. He is a combat veteran with numerous combat assaults by helicopter to his credit. He has also been awarded the Combat Infantryman's Badge and the Purple Heart. The chaplain of 4/31, Cpt. David H. Lovelace, said that Brutus leads all personnel at LZ West in church attendance. Brutus shows no discrimination, attending both Catholic and Protestant services regularly. Brutus' plans for the future are somewhat indefinite at present. He is already in his second tour of duty in Vietnam and is thinking of extending to take advantage of the 150-day "early out" program. Now he is happier than usual - he just received his orders for Private First Class. Prior to this he had more time in-grade as E-2 than any other enlisted member of the "Charger" Brigade. Perhaps the chief reason everybody gets along with Brutus is that no one would take a chance on making him mad. Reminds me of Boom Boom, our mascot, a Vietnamese dog who was always pregnant, she hung around the mechanics but if she headed for the bunker you had better follow her lead. 'Home' was on a hillside in the elephant grass and brush amongst the snakes and other critters, there was a ridgeline above, some 100 meters at best to the top and on the backside of the ridge there was a long trench line with an observation tower at each end, compliments of the United States Marines where we often spent the nights before going out each day. Bad things happend back there. Out front there was a dirt road that went to the Seabee detachment on a small peninsula that jutted out into the South China Sea some three miles away. Across the road to our South there were Marines, then just to the East there was an assault helicopter pad on a bluff some 100 feet above the sea. West of the camp there was nothing for at least two miles but jungle in various states of defoliation on a lowland that ran to the sea North of my home behind that ridge and West up into the foot hills about 4 miles distant, LZ Fat City was just a few kilometers NW. Some 75 meters West of my hootch was a bactracking radar unit set in below us on the west side of the hill facing the foothills in the distance where a small trail from the road led up to it. At the time it was of no significance. My job was to keep the rolling stock up and running, often go out as support for the convoys and fix the inevitable breakdowns. Not all by myself, I had a squad of my own to run in addition, sometimes the entire platoon, all top men, the best, some of us would go North and some would go South, split amongst different convoys. We were at 75% strength at best, so it was all hands on deck 24/7. Being their appointed leader I was first to rise and often the last to hit the sack at night. Sometimes you get too lax, now my penchant was whiskey, I've been known to tip a jug, it was no exception the night before, I'd been sipping a few brews and had downed a few boiler makers. I rolled out at 4AM nearly every morning, so there I was feeling like shit, hungover and nauseous. So I did my routine, dressed, before shaving I headed down to the latrine some 30 meters away and plunked down. I'd only been there for a moment when off to the West maybe 500 meters or so there was this magnificent fireball, brilliant white expanding to yellow then red, I remember in my addled brain thinking 'what is that?', then it dawned on me about the same time as the shockwave and shrapnel hit. It was a 120MM rocket and it weren't alone, I didn't bother to pull up the fatigue trousers, I just dove out the door as 7 more of those nasty bastards hit all around us and two more landed on the helipad, somehow I did that low crawl that they taught us in boot camp, up the hill and into the bunker, my sorry white ass shining in the moonlight with my fatigue trousers trailing behind me where my guys were already ensconced inside. Geeze, everything around the latrine was shredded as was the latrine, I remember hearing the shrapnel hitting all around me but all the scratches I got was a severe 'rash' from crawling around buck ass naked. With blood everywhere from the scratches I searched frantically for wounds but nary a one, the only holes I had were those that God gave me. The helipad lost a Cobra that was fueled, armed and ready to go sitting out just waiting for a call, we lost two vehicles, totaled with several more damaged, our living quarters were 'holy' from the 4 ft high sandbags on up but no casualties, only a lot of pucker factor. I remember we cancelled all missions and sandbagged everything that we thought was vulnerable before going back on the road. That morning was the beginning of many a long night of being attacked with rockets, usually starting between 2AM and 6AM in the darkness, the enemy had a habit of following up with satchel charges so it was a tense time. It did wonders for me, I stayed sober, I wore all the battle dress and packed my rifle everywhere for the rest of my tour, I only gave it up reluctantly to board that freedom bird when I left. That was just one of the nasty things about 'home' while there. I figured out that they were after the backtracking radar and the assault helicopter pad, we were simply located in the middle.