STOP! Don't throw that broken webb belt in the trash. It can be repaired and Mr. Charles is the man that knows how. Throwing repairable equipment away is worse than having it destroyed in battle, because it can and does fall into the hands of the enemy, who has the ability to repair and use it against you. THINK! Don't throw that equipment away. Turn it into the proper agency.

When we throw trash on the ground, doesn't it occur to us that someone will have to pick it up. That someone might be you. Day in and day out our post areas are policed up. This wouldn't be necessary if each person would put his trash in the provided containers. Roughly over a hundred man hours are spent each week in policing up our areas. These man hours could be spent improving bunkers, gates, vehicles, etc. It takes money away from our defenses so we can throw trash on the ground. Does this make sense??

CHUCKLES

The census taker interviewed Belly-Lou and the six tots of varying ages around her with a puzzled frown. He seemed particularily intrigued with a squirming infant in her arms. "I don't quite understand you," he admitted. "Did you say your husband died six years ago?" "Yes, Sir," she replied emphatically. "He died, but I didn't.

"The hung-over couple dawdled over a mid-afternoon breakfast. The night before they'd held an incredibly wild all-night party in their fashionable apartment. "Nancy, this is rather embarrassing," said the husband, "but was it you I made love to in the library last night?" His wife looked at him drowsily reflective, and then asked "about what time?"

Vinh Beit to the following personnel who will be leaving between now and the 1st of May: Sgt Barton, F., K-9 Section, Sgt Brandenberger, "A" Flight L.E., SSgt Doucette, L., "B" Flight Sec., Sgt Larson, M., "B" Flt Sec., Sgt Long, T., K-9 Section, SSgt Raber, L., Training Section, Sgt Thompson, W., "B" Flt Sec., and Sgt Zalewski, F., "A" Flt Sec. Hats Off to the above personnel for a Job Well Done, and good luck in your new assignment.

LIFE IN VIETNAM

Among the sky's magnitude of space, the sound of bombs strike the earth embrace. Like heavy thumps of thunder roar, small planes return and reload some more. You dodge and hide from noises heard and unseen, hoping explosives fall free of your beam. Shrapnel fill the air so thick, to avoid a flesh wound is a hell of a trick.

The weather is hot and this land is dusty, your throat is dry and the water is rusty. You try to sleep but the heat is to great, the help of an electric fan is your only fate.

Vietnam is a far away land, our replacements must come as fast as they can. To return home to those we love is a joyous day, those left behind each hour I pray.

A love so true that waited for you, is more precious than stones ever confronted your view. Maybe peace will come to many of us soon, and heaven will accept those befallen by the enemy's boom.

LATE SPORTS NOTICE (SB)