No army has ever had anything quite like it — but then there has never been a war quite so frustrating as Viet Nam.
It is the U.S.'s Rest and Recuperation program. Technically, R & R is just five days off which doesn't count against the annual 30-day leave. But its special feature is that for those five days, the U.S. Government will fly the service man absolutely free to his choice among ten of the most fascinating cities on earth, and then after his five glorious days of freedom, fly him back.
R & R has grown along with the war. Only two years ago, a modest 500 men a month were flown out to Hong Kong and Bangkok for brief vaca tions. This month, some 30,000 will wing off from the chill monsoon rains of the DMZ or the muddy Del ta for a five-day fling to a list of cities that now includes Honolulu, Tokyo, Taipei, Singapore, Manila, Penang, Kuala Lumpur and, most recently, Sydney.-It is probably something only the world's richest country could afford. To provide it, the Government pays Pan Am $23,500,000 a year for its service, which now runs 45 jet flights every month to Honolulu alone, 65 monthly DC-6 flights to Bangkok. And from many a G.I.'s point of view, no money was ever better spent.
No Rank Aloft. A ser viceman becomes eligible for R & R after 90 days in Viet Nam, but he is encouraged to take it after six months so that it will break his one-year tour in half.
Space is allotted to each service in pro portion to the total number of men it has in the country, which comes down to 65% Army, 15% Marines, 12% Air Force, 6% land-based Navy and 2% Coast Guard. A serviceman sub- mits his choice of time and city, and does not always get his first pick. But once he gets his orders, he is a coddled and happy fellow.
He is issued a cotton Class A uni form to replace his combat fatigues.
He is advised to have at least $125.
His unit transports him to the nearest of the three R & R airbases. Here he changes his scrip for U.S. dollars, is checked out for neatness, lectured on good behavior, and then, within 24 hours, he is off. The first pleasure is climbing into big Pan Am planes, complete with tilt-back seats, pretty stewardesses and "refreshments," where privates rub elbows with colonels, and all rank goes by the board.
Civilians at Heart. Pleasant as this is, the R & R-er has another reason for not caring how long the flight takes: his allotted five days and nights do not begin until the plane touches down.
When it does, he is again briefed by the local R & R center (sample from Taipei: "Keep out of the buses or you may lose your wallet. Do not purchase the company of a girl for more than 24 hours at a time; they seldom look as good in the morning."). The R & R center will also arrange to rent him civilian clothes (several countries are nervous about having U.S. personnel in uniform). And then come his five carefree days, single-mindedly devoted to the pursuit of pleasure.