The new white and blue outhouse 50 yards from the airstrip at An Khe is notably different from all the others in the combat area of South Viet Nam. The men of the 1st Air Cavalry who carved the half-moon on the door have painted the inside blushing pink, and they have even equipped the little building with porcelain and plaster conveniences. "For lady correspondents," the troopers proudly explain. Their handiwork is eloquent testimony to the growing presence of Viet Nam's female press corps. From a total of two women last year, the roster of regulars has grown to nearly a dozen. As many more have passed through on two-or three-month tours.
Newcomers or old hands, the women are frequent visitors to the front lines, where reaction to their presence is varied. When one of the women turned up at the headquarters of a Marine fighter squadron in the Mekong Delta, the C.O. gave her a curt order: "You'll wear fatigues all the time. We don't want women with legs down here." Out in the boondocks, another one of the girls was greeted by a battle-weary Army sergeant who asked quietly: "Will you please just say something? I haven't heard an American woman speak in five months."
As far as the men of the Saigon press corps are concerned, on any military operation, the girls inevitably become a hindrance. "Still," admits A.P.'s Peter Arnett, "it's a delightful change to have them around." A few of the more delightful of the species:
Betsy Halstead at 24 is one of the youngest and most experienced female correspondents in Viet Nam. A Temple University graduate, she arrived with her husband Dirck two years ago—he to run U.P.I.'s photography desk, she to report for the bureau. Since then, the fast-moving Philadelphian has scored an impressive number of beats. She was the first reporter to witness and photograph a B-52 raid, and she was first to interview the mayor of Danang after Premier Ky called him a Communist and erroneously announced that he had fled the city. In her tailored sage-green flight suit, the pert, 5-ft. 2-in. redheaded veteran of the Air Force's Okinawa survival course is well known throughout the country. "I've learned to keep quiet and not to argue," she says. She knows that "you can always sweet-talk someone into doing something for you." Perhaps more important, "when telephone operators hear a female voice, they always try harder to get a connection through"—an incomparable asset when fighting the fouled-up communications of Viet Nam.