Helicopter Support by 52nd Combat Aviation Battalion.
119th Assault Helicopter Company

Losses During Operation Wayne Grey ... Enemy 575 KIA 4 POW ... Friendly 106 KIA 437 WIA 8 MIA
Fighting against the 66 and 24th NVA Regiments
Click map icon to see large map of battle area.

I arrived in Viet Nam in mid August of 1968 during the Pleiku monsoon season. I have very few clear memories of my first
six months in country as first platoon leader of Bravo Company 1/8th, 4th Infantry Division, under Captain Brennan's
capable leadership. Mostly I remember being wet most of the time and covered in that red Pleiku mud, then later, around
December, when the monsoon quit and things began to dry out, being very hot, covered in fine red dust, thirsty, and
exhausted most of the time from climbing up and down the mountains with my 90 pound rucksack, in temperatures hovering
between 90 and 100+ degrees Fahrenheit, with highs above 105 degrees. We generally spent most of our time stomping around
the jungle, then setting up camp and sending out small ambush or recon patrols into the surrounding free fire zones. We
usually moved 6 to 10 klicks a day. We would move to or cut an LZ out of the jungle, every 3 to 5 days to permit a
chopper to land and take personnel out or deliver replacements, chow, mail, water, clean clothes, ammo, etc. Everyone
carried about a weeks worth of chow, 4 to 6 quarts of water, and as much ammo as they could. We would replenish our
water at every stream we crossed, putting bleach flavored purification tablets in it. Every 6 to 8 weeks, we would get to
return to the relative safety of the battalion base camp for perimeter guard duty, and some hot meals. Sleeping in a
sandbag bunker ain't much to brag about, but it beats sleeping in the rain and mud wrapped up in ponchos, fighting leeches,
mosquitoes so thick you choked on them, and ants. Mostly I remember growing up real fast. Thank goodness I had Captain
Brennan to keep me from making too many deadly mistakes, before I learned what to expect. I guess the Hill 467 and Task
Force Alpha experience began for me, when Captain Brennan left in late 1968, and Captain James DeRoos took over Bravo
company. Bear with me while I go through some of that time, so you will understand my state of mind upon landing in the
middle of the chaos and terror of TFA, wearing the starched fatigues and spit shined boots of a base camp warrior.

13 NOV 1968 Appointed  ---Appointed Executive Officer B/1/8, after only 3 months as 1st Platoon Leader.

Since taking over as XO, I have been busy scrounging up $17,000 worth of equipment that the company has lost track of,
trying to get it all accounted for and documented properly. I stay VERY, VERY busy as XO to the company commander. I get
on the average 3 or 4 letters a day from people about unpaid bills, lost records, lost mail, finance actions,
congressional inquiries, etc.  I also have to try court martial cases for the company as prosecutor, handle supply
problems, schedule choppers for Company moves, deliver payroll, supervise the company base trains staff, answer letters
from mom's and wives about soldiers, who won't send any money home, tracking down records, investigating accidents,
running errands for the CO, and answering inquiries from Captain Booth - Battalion XO, Major Prom - Battalion S2,
Colonel Olds - Battalion Commander, Battalion staff, Brigade staff and a host of  other people wanting to know the
why, when, and wherefore, of this and that. Some of the letters I get are about people and events from as far back as
early 1967, more than a year since I even got in country.

 4 DEC 68

25 Dec 68 
 

25 DEC 68

Our mess hall burned down here at Pleiku base camp last night. It sure burned fast. One of the stoves blew up and
started the fire. No one was hurt though.  We're still working in and around Dak To, Kontum, and areas just North
of Pleiku.

1 Jan 69

 1 JAN 69

I have most of the Companies inventory, morning report, payroll, and other documentation caught up and correct
now. We just had our courtesy IG inspection. They really tore the battalion up back in Pleiku, but didn't inspect
us out here at all in company trains at Forward Support Base One at Dak To, so I'll just have to keep working till
February and hope they will find B Company ready by then. I had to take seven starlight scopes, worth over $3,000
each and classified Top Secret, out to the Company today, plus I was carrying $30,000 in payroll in my rucksack.
I got stuck on a 4-day march, while paying the company because I couldn't get a chopper out because we were on the
move between LZ's.

 4 JAN 69

4 Jan 69

I'm doing pretty well as XO, so far.  My biggest flaw right now is personal appearance. I need to get my fatigues
laundered and tags and insignia sewn on, since the Colonel expects his base camp commando's to look sharp.  I
will also have a bill for my room cleaning and laundry services  in the BOQ at Pleiku. I need to get a brief
case to keep my paperwork from getting dirty. I hope to get a company when the senior lieutenants leave. There
are only four 1st Lt's senior to me in the battalion right now and they are all commanding line companies, so I might
get some command in even before I make Captain. You won't believe it, but I was assigned an engineer Lt., but the CO
said he did not really need him in the field, so I asked him to build us a shower for the BOQ.  He rigged us a system
to make 500 gallons of hot running  water a day from diesel fuel burning in a 4 inch pipe with some 55 gallon drums
forming a water jacket to feed the heated water by convection up into an old aircraft wing drop tank mounted on the
roof of the shower shed. Imagine that, a hot shower! Boy am I a hit around here. Every unit in base camp has sent
someone around to check out our setup.

6 Jan 69

Newspaper article on my receipt of the Combat Infantryman Badge.

Army press release on my receipt of CIB.

11 Jan 69

 11 JAN 69

18 Jan 69

SP4 James Daniel Holt killed small arms fire, while on patrol with B/1/8.

28 JAN 69


 28 JAN 69

I just got another Company Commander, Capt James De Roos.  Capt Brennan gave me a second good a OER before he
left. Several members of Bravo Company are in the trains area being treated for punji stake wounds.

29 JAN 1969


 29 JAN 69

The weather  is dry right now that red mud is now fine red Pleiku dust. The ground is covered with a layer of about
2 or 3 inches of a red dust so fine that you can't squeeze a hand full of it, cause it leaks out from between your
fingers, like water. It's everywhere, and it's finer than dry talcum powder. I've seen a chopper come into Dak To FSB and
the rotor blades kicked up so much dust that it covered the entire Dak To perimeter. We are now working around
VC Valley, near Fire Base Black Hawk.

5 FEB 69


 5 FEB 69

I had to take a platoon of clerks and other desk types out to cordon and search a village. It came off fairly well,
except that one guy had a heart attack from the heat and the physical exhaustion of the march, and I got a sunburned
face, eye lids and all. Wow does that smart. I am so pooped right now I can hardly think straight. After marching till
we were ready to drop in the heat, the trucks that were supposed to bring us back, got taken for another mission and
we had to walk about 10 klicks back to Pleiku. Just 5 more days to the IG. inspection and I think we are ready at last.

 6 FEB 69

19 FEB 1969

Awarded Air Medal for making 25 combat air assualt landings under enemy fire during period of
20 AUG 68 - 19 FEB 69.

3 MAR 1969

B Company providing security for 6/29th and sending out two platoon sized ambush patrols daily. A/3/8th had a heavy
contact and nearly got wiped out.

4 MAR 1969

At 0850 hours, the air strip at Polei Kleng received 14 rounds of 122mm rocket fire, which destroyed the
artillery resupply Class V waiting on the helicopter pad to be airlifted to the firebases.

5 MAR 69

Lt. George Callan was killed while attempting to get a machine gun back into action.  A true tragedy!  I was drinking with
him in the BOQ at base camp just a few nights ago.  His brother had come to visit with him.  George was worried
about leaving his troops alone in the field. He is one of those officers who worries more about his men than his own
welfare.  He is outgoing and has a great sense of humor.  Everyone feels at ease when he is around.  I linked up with him
twice in the field when my platoon was assigned to reinforce his Charlie company.  He was constantly on the move, checking
on his men and double checking everything. He stayed up most of the night checking the perimeter to make sure someone was
always awake and alert.  His men spoke highly of him.  He was the kind of officer that led by example, not command.  He
always did what needed to be done, damn the consequences.  I will always respect his memory. I am very glad to have had
those few moments to get to know Lt. Callan. The 8th Infantry motto is Steadfast and Loyal.  George was both. It is the
tragic legacy of war that such truly great spirits are lost to a generation. George was a brave young man, who will always
live in the memory of those of us who had the privilege of serving with him.    Click here to go to guest book entry from
his son.

6 MAR 69


 6 MAR 69

It has rained twice this month already, so I guess the  monsoon must be on it's way at last. I don't know whether
I'll be glad to see the  dust stop, or mad at the return of the mud. At least it should cool off some with the rain.
"Brave" Company is around TOC as perimeter guards again. I might get home by June.

8 MAR 1969

D Company joins Bravo on FSB-20 and provides local security for artillery battery, and platoon sized ambushes.

14 MAR 1969

B and D Company continue to work out of FSB-20, so far no significant activity. 

17 MAR 69

B and D Companies are on FSB-20 providing RIF and local security. I was B Company XO at this time and spent most of my time
running base camp trains and doing paperwork for the CO.  I also delivered payroll to the troops both in the base camp
trains area and to the troops in the field. Most soldiers had an allotment sent home, but received some pay themselves. Very
few had everything sent home. I delivered the pay stubs and the appropriate amount of MPC to each soldier. I also handled
allotment, saving bond, and promotion pay change documents. I would pay the base camp personnel first, then catch the next
available aircraft to the field and pay the troops there. I went to the field this time on a resupply chopper to Firebase 20,
the Bn CP, where B Company was providing security and running ambush patrols into the surrounding area.  I fully expected to
get everyone paid and return on the last bird out that day, therefore I carried only my briefcase full of payroll documents
and MPC and my .45 cal sidearm. I had no field gear. When I arrived I found that the CO had sent out two squad sized ambush
patrols, who would not be back until the next morning, so I had to spend the night at Firebase 20.  One of the ambushes
detected a large size unit moving along the trail they had setup on for their night ambush, but did not spring their ambush
for fear of being out gunned. The other ambush squad returned to the firebase and I paid them, but the Bn CO told CPT DeRoos
to send the rest of second platoon out to join up with it's ambush squad and set up a platoon sized ambush to try to intercept
the large unit that night.  Since I still needed to pay the squad out on the ambush site, and plans called for the second
platoon to move to an LZ the following day for extraction to another area for some road reconnaissance, I decided to go along
with them, make the payroll, assist in the ambush, and return to base camp with one of the choppers taking the platoon to the
road recon mission.  We made contact with the ambush squad, who had moved back from the proposed night ambush location, so as
not to give their intentions away.  I paid the remaining soldiers as we stopped for lunch and waited for late afternoon.
Our intention was to move into the night ambush location just before dark, so the chance of being discovered getting into
position would be reduced.  The ambush location was about 6 Klicks from Firebase 20.  We set out for our night ambush
location about two hours before dusk, taking almost an hour to reach it.  We were getting into position and beginning to dig
in, when the three guys assigned to the listening post, who would alert us to the arrival of the enemy, started moving along
the trail to their position.  They had gotten only about 50 meters away from the ambush location, when they ran into an NVA
unit moving along the trail.  Shots were fired, resulting in two wounded.  The platoon leader moved the platoon up and
recovered the wounded without further contact with the enemy.  A scouting patrol followed the enemy for about 200 meters,
reporting some blood trails, but no sign of the enemy.  I remember one guy had a sucking chest wound and had lost a lot of
blood.  I do not remember what the other soldier's injury was, but both had to be transported by improvised stretcher.
It solid ground fog up to tree top level, so helicopter evacuation was out of the question.  It was too far to return to
Firebase 20, which was also socked in by cloud cover, so we had to setup for the night.  We stayed on alert all night,
fully expecting an attack, which never came.

18 March 1969

At daylight, the decision was made to continue to the pick up point for the day's extraction to the road recon mission,
since it was closer than Firebase 20. I left on the chopper with the wounded and got off at FSB-Mary Lou,
when they stopped to refuel, since I found out that they were headed to An Khe and I needed to catch a chopper out heading
back to Pleiku to turn in payroll and join up with the detached platoon headed to road recon in the Mang Yang Pass. On
the way to the resupply helipad, I almost got shot by a kid who went crazy and started shooting at everyone. I was walking
down the road when he fired several rounds in my direction. He had already killed his pay officer and wounded the First
Sergeant, but I didn't know that yet. He was babbling on about his pay being screwed up. As we talked, both of us with
loaded rifles leveled at each other, I thought that one or both of would wind up dead before the conversation ended. Finally
I convinced him that things were not beyond hope, and that if he just put his rifle down and let the MP's take him into
custody, that everything would work out. Then I told him to look around at all the people pointing weapons at him and calm
down.  I started walking toward him and when I got about ten feet from him, he finally put the rifle down and raised his
hands. The MP's jumped him roughly and handcuffed him.  I told them to take it easy on him, because he had probably seen
far too much combat, and they relaxed and quietly led him to a jeep and took him away. I continued to the helipad to try to
catch a bird back to Pleiku. At our trains area, I finished payroll and joined the platoon waiting to go to the Mang Yang
Pass for the road recon. Since this platoon did not have any officer, I decided to go out on the patrol with them.

19 March 1969

We caught choppers to a valley on the Pleiku side of the pass and were let off with orders to recon along the left side
of the road, clearing the entire ridge line through the pass. As we approached the end of the ridgeline, it was obvious
that the slope was too steep to climb in the heat, so we moved up the road through the pass looking for a better way up
to the top of the ridge. We came around a sharp turn with concrete slabs to prevent erosion and landslides, with steps
up the middle. Everyone was exhausted and overheated from the march, so I had them move off the sides of the road and
take a break, while I ran up the steps and checked to see how the climbing would be from there.  It was still too
steep, so we headed further up the pass. About two klicks further, we decided it wasn't going to get much better, so we
headed up the side of the ridge.  I had spotted a tree on the top that stood out nearly fifty feet taller than any
other tree in the canopy. We headed for that tree, intending to turn left and check out the first part of the ridge, then
retrace our steps and continue towards the An Khe side of the pass. There was a well worn trail on the top of the
ridgeline, so we knew it was being used regularly.  When we got to where we could see the valley floor again, we
turned around and made haste to return over the trail we had just cleared back to the point where we had begun at the
tall tree.  Just short of the tree, we stopped and took a water and rest break.  We just moved a few meters
off the trail on either side and dropped our packs and lay down.  I had rear security out, but no point security,
except for the point man, who was facing forward. As I walked up to the front of the column checking on the condition
of the troops, I spoke to the point man, who turned to face me.  It was at that moment that Dam rounded the trail
and walked straight into us. He was very, very young. He had on a clean pith helmet and freshly starched khaki NVA
Regular uniform, which was hard to comprehend given the deep red clay mud we were all covered with. The
SKS rifle he was carrying still had storage grease around the bayonet hinge. He had just rounded a turn
in the trail with his rifle slung over his shoulder, when he saw me he and attempted to fire at me. I shouted
Chieu Hoi, the only phrase I knew to get him to surrender, but he continued to draw down on me. I fired just before he got
his rifle leveled on me. If I had not been so scared, I might have had the presence of mind to just wound him,
but in my adrenalin rush panic, I killed him with a quick three round burst, one shot through his heart. We did not want to haul Dam's body down to
the road, and did not know how far down the ridgeline we might have to go before we could get to an LZ, so we just took
his personal documents and weapon with us to send back to the Bn S-2 section for evaluation, when we reached the
next LZ.

20 March 1969

 18 MAR 69

After another days march, we were extracted from a small LZ on the ridge late in the afternoon and second platoon joined
up with the rest of B Company for the road interdiction and recon mission. I rode one of the choppers back to the trains
area and sent the weapon and documents to S-2. The road interdiction mission later led to our first MIA's and we
eventually ended up on Hill 467, where I assumed command from the wounded CPT DeRoos as part of Task Force Alpha. Back
in the trains area, I contacted the Bn S2 officer and requested the documents and rifle as mementos of the war. The
rifle was kept at Bn, but the documents  were eventually returned to me and I sent them home to my Mom to
hold until I returned home.

21 MAR 1969
  B Company joins Task Force Alpha on Hill 467. A/1/8 returns to FSB-20. One platoon marches overland from ambush location
  to Hill 467, with B Company minus joining them on Hill 467 by helicopter later in the day. Company B minus moved to place
  where A Company had contact previous day, but made no contact and instead ended up blowing up 11 bunkers at coordinate
  YB 812048.

22 MAR 1969
  Company B minus blew abatis at coordinates 815042. 

23 MAR 1969
  Company B minus conducted reconnaissance sweep to vicinity 821037, 825024.  Companies 24 element made enemy
contact 350 meters west of Task Force Alpha's location.  Mortars from TFA and Spooky gunship employed.  Result:
  1 US KIA, 8 US WIA, 4 NVA KIA

During a RIF mission thirteen miles NW of Dak To, on a road going into Laos, B/1/8 made contact and had several
  minor wounded, who stayed with the company. PFC Hicks was one of the wounded, Coordinates 144018N 1073621E (YB805235).

25 March 1969
  Company B minus left night position for a mission to destroy the road vicinity YB 794020, after completing mission,
  they were hit by platoon of NVA at YB795020 at around 12:15 hours. contact broken at 12:30 and re-engaged around 1413,
  resulting in 5 NVA KIA, 2 US KIA, 11 US WIA, AND 6 US MIA. B/1/8 again makes enemy contact while moving to some high
  ground.  Five men lost, PFC's Miles B. Hedglin and Phillip E. Lynch, were killed in action.  PFC's Prentice W. Hicks,
  Richard D. Roberts, and Frederick D. Herrera, missing in action.  PFC Herrera was our combat engineer.  PFC Hicks
  was one of the wounded from the engagement the day before.  It is thought, that the three became missing when Roberts
  and Herrera stayed behind with the wounded Hicks as the unit moved off the hill.  Enemy took control of the hilltop
  and no search could be made of the area again until April 5th, after the Task Force Alpha battle.  The recon team
  who searched the hill found personal effects belonging to Hicks and Herrera, but no bodies were ever recovered. All
  three were declared missing in action. Task Force Alpha on Hill 467 getting attacked by small arms and B-40 rockets.
  Attack results in 5 NVA KIA, 1 US KIA, and 13 US WIA. Company B's 21 and 22 elements located at TFA received B-40
  rockets and small arms fire at 07:00. gun ships, air strikes, and mortar fire were used against enemy in the open.
  Results of action:  13 US WIA, 1 US KIA, 2 NVA KIA, with 3 more NVA KIA believed, 1 AK-47 recovered. At approximately
  07:00 hours the LP on West side of perimeter of TFA observed 3 individuals to west.  The LP returned to perimeter and
  mortars were employed.  A recon squad was sent out to check the area.  Three to five NVA took the recon patrol under
  fire approximately 25 meters outside TFA perimeter. The point man was wounded, but the patrol could not get to him,
  so they employed fire and maneuver to return to the perimeter. A reaction force was hastily organized and sent to
  recover the wounded man, but came immediately under mortar and small arms fire, and were forced to return to the
  perimeter with their own wounded.  The area was raked by machine gun, M-79 and M-16 fire.  A small maneuver element
  was sent along the North side of the saddle, where they received B-40 and AK-47 fire from three different locations
  along the saddle while recovering the wounded man.  When all elements had returned to the perimeter, gun ships were
  employed.  They received ground fire from four different locations, NW, W, SW, and S of the TFA perimeter.  Additional
  air sorties were called in, including A1E fighters and 8 sorties of jets. Results: 2 NVA KIA and two of the enemy
  positions silenced. Medevac to Company B minus to extract wounded received ground fire, taking several hits.  Resupply
chopper also took a hit. Probing of TFA perimeter continued all night. Spooky gunship stayed on position all night in
  support of B Company. Hill 467 continued to receive intermittent 60mm and 82mm mortar fire.

26 March 1969
  B/1/8 evacuated 7 WIA vicinity 805026, then linked up with D/1/8 and returned to Hill 467. C Company secured the southern
  part of the TFA perimeter while D Company assisted B Company minus return to TFA.  On the move back to Hill 467, 3 of the
  6 MIA rejoined Company B minus. Shortly after B and D Companies returned to Task Force Alpha, Hill 467 began receiving
  intense small arms, B-40, mortar, and 105 artillery fires, which lasted sporadically all afternoon. Alligator 110 attempting
  a landing at TFA location was hit with small arms fire as he sat down on the pad.                  B-40 rockets were fired from the West
  into the vicinity of the pad. Dust-off 52 also received ground fire and the gunship escorting them received rounds as well.
  All during this time the enemy fired 5 B-40 rounds, 6-82mm mortar rounds, and sporadic small arms into the perimeter.
  Shortly after this attack, TFA began receiving incoming 105mm artillery rounds from enemy positions near the border. By
  18:45 hours, over 44 rounds landed.  Results: 1 US KIA, 5 US WIA.  D companies 23 element made contact 200 meters SE of
  TFA, while moving out on SRP.  They encountered an enemy squad at 810034.  Results: 1 US WIA, 1 NVA KIA.  Mortars from TFA
  were used and 23 broke contact, moving to a different night location.  TFA perimeter probed all night. 

27 March 1969

  Task Force Alpha still getting small arms and B-40 rocket rounds, peak during the extraction of D/1/8 to FSB-27.
  Early afternoon of 27 March 1969, my CO, Capt. James W. DeRoos, came in from hill 467 with a leg wound. I took
  the same "bird" out to the hill, but almost couldn't land because of ground fire. I found Lt James Keane,
  in charge of the 62 men left from Bravo Company on Hill 467, saddling up for a recon with his platoon and second
  platoon. I found that I would be left with seventeen able bodied men and myself, to man half of the hill. Charlie
  company was holding the other half, but refused to take over any more ground. Lt. Keane, with the company CP and
  the 22 and 23 platoons were on a recon mission East of TFA. The CP was located with the 23 platoon at night location
  822023, while the 22 platoon chose 828037 for its night location.  The recon patrol employed three SRP's vicinity
  821031, 829038, and 804036.  I also sent out a SRP near TFA perimeter. Company C left on recon in force to location
  800033, location of Company B minus contact day before, came under sniper fire from their front and left flanks,
  with B-40 rockets and snipers along their right front. Company C pulled back to employ artillery, when they started
  receiving 105 mm artillery from the enemy. A total of 15 rounds chased them back into TFA perimeter. Results: 4 NVA
  KIA with no US casualties. Artillery employed on enemy gun vicinity 725071 with one gun destroyed, confirmed by
  Hummingbird 5.  At 14:30 C Company again attempted to move to location of Company B minus previous contact. About 300
  meters outside the perimeter they received 3-82 mm mortar rounds adjusted onto their position.  They returned to TFA
  and gun ships were sent to the area of the suspected enemy FO position, one of the gun ships was hit by ground fire.
  Artillery and mortars were targeted on the area of C Companies contact, with unknown results, since there was
  insufficient time remaining before dark to permit another patrol.  While C Company was in contact, an artillery
  round was fired on TFA position, which contained leaflets exhorting US soldiers to come over to the NVA side.
  Company C 22 platoon experienced heavy movement SE of TFA around  20:20 hours. They fired their claymores and pulled
  back into the perimeter.  Mortars were employed on the suspected location of 3 NVA with unknown results. C Company 22
  element moved back to a new location near their old one and resumed surveillance. C Company deployed a total of 4 SRP's
  to SE, S, SW, and E of TFA position. This photo is the front and back of the leaflets they shot over
  our positions.

28 March 1969

After another sleepless night, everyone was suffering from exhaustion. I had to move from position to position
constantly throughout the night to keep enough people awake to maintain any semblance of guard. The next morning a B-40
rocket round exploded into the ground by a small fire I had built for destroying some used PRC-25 batteries. I was knocked
down, almost gently, by the concussion, but not hurt, all the shrapnel going behind me. It happened so fast that no
one saw where it came from, so we simply made an 81mm mortar road runner mission around the perimeter about 50 meters out.
This is dangerous, since we had to fire with zero charge, which is inherently risky because the power output from using
only the igniter only is variable and the high angle of fire required to bring the shells in so close, results in rounds
landing inside the perimeter sometimes. From 10:00 on the 28th to dark, is all kind of fuzzy. During that time, we received
127 rounds of 105mm howitzer, in addition to numerous 60 mm and 82 mm mortar rounds inside our 50-meter circle of positions.
My fighting position took a direct hit, shattering Ryan's forearm, completely deafening, SSG Bruchen, my only NCO above E-5
and completely deafening my left ear and creating a very loud ringing in both.

  (The ruptured eardrum is what later let to the award of the purple heart.)

  I had been kicked in the back, and drenched in Ryan's blood, so I ran in panic to the Task Force CP bunker, to
get someone to see if I had been hit the back and to let them know what had happened, then I left to find Ryan. He was
running around screaming and holding his shattered elbow on the other side of our sector, going into shock rapidly. I
ran to the get our Medic, Doc Gehringer, and convinced him to leave the safety of his hole to help Ryan. Then I began
my perimeter check and forced those with no overhead cover, to get out between rounds and build some sand bag
protection. I returned to my position to see if a Medevac was going to make it in to pick up Ryan, but they said they
couldn't risk one at that time. Later in the day, a Medevac was able to pick up Ryan, without incident. A resupply chopper
also made it in and out with out incident. The supplies consisted of grenades, which we had crates of already and
didn't need and some LRP's, freeze dried food, which we don't have water to prepare in the first place. I had told
my people we needed water and machine gun ammo. I later found out that the Bn CO had directed the loading of the first
chopper,
thinking the LRP's would be a treat for us. My people expected to send what I had requested out on the return trip, but
ground fog prevented it. Water critical by now. Five people in Charlie Company and one of mine now completely out of
their heads from thirst. Every one of the 4 inch bamboo left standing by the incoming has a hole drilled in every
segment, hoping to find a few drops of water. An enemy 105 round killed someone from Charlie Company. The death really
hurt morale, because we all knew we could be next and there wasn't anything we could do to stop it. Three days without
water or sleep for most of us, and it was beginning to tell in the heat. That night was no better, two serious WIA's
from grenades. Mortars got the NVA, but then we had to listen to them moaning all night until they died, one by one. We
had a serious attack all around the perimeter around midnight.  Some even made it into the perimeter. We
wound up calling in "Puff the Magic Dragon", an AC-130 ship to hose down the perimeter around midnight. With 200,000
candle power flares and mini-guns able to spit out 6,000 rounds per minute (every 4th one a red tracer) the enemy attack
came to a sudden halt. We kept getting AK-47 fire and grenades sporadically all night. I moved around our sector,
redistributing ammo and grenades, trying to keep someone awake at each position, and letting everyone know the current
situation. I tried to get some sleep around 2:30 am, but the mortar and grenades kept me from sleeping. I spent several
hours digging into the hard packed red clay and rocks with my bayonet, trying to get my fox hole big enough to stretch
out some and deep enough provide some protection against shrapnel from the tree nearby tree bursts. I remember sitting
in my fox hole for a few minutes rest around 3:00am and looking up to see a single bright star through the jungle canopy,
and realizing for the first time, that I would probably not make it off this hill alive. It was then that I prayed.  It's
true: There are no atheists in fox holes.  I still do not know exactly which of the many deities I prayed to answered
my prayers,
but am certain that one of them did.  It's the only explanation for the fact that I got off 467 alive.
Today's Results: 1 US KIA, 4 US WIA.

29 MAR 1969 

On the 29th I got two close calls that by all rights should have finished me off, both while checking the
perimeter. One time an 82mm mortar round landed about ten feet behind me and knocked me down. Not a scratch!
Later a 60mm mortar round landed about three feet in front of me, again, no wounds. The 60mm left a hole about two
hands wide, with its tail fin sitting right in the center of it still smoking. This is our fourth day without food
or water. Morgan went berserk and had to be tied up to keep him from trying to drink from a canister of diesel fuel.
On most encampments, where we stayed for several nights, the supply choppers would bring us fresh water in empty
ammo tubes, and Morgan truly believed, in his delirium, that the liquid in the diesel fuel ammo tube was water.  There
was much talk of trying to leave the hill to get water, even though it would probably be suicidal. We had heavy
movement around the perimeter all morning. Early in the afternoon, Keane came back with his two platoons and a little
extra water from a stream. Everyone got a small drink. Morale is better now, with talk of final extraction attempt
around noon tomorrow. Choppers brought in supplies and took out three wounded and the seven bodies stacked up on the
pad like cord wood.

Warning, skip beyond this section or you may never recover from the image depicted here.
The story will still be complete without it.

The bodies smelled real bad, with flies and maggots all over them. Lying around in the 95 to 100 degree heat had them
all bloated from decomposition. It made you sick when the odor first drifted your way. I was leaning back against the
stack of bodies, attempting to eat some C-rations, as I waited for the supply chopper to take out the wounded and the
bodies, prior to our final extraction. I was so exhausted from a pounding dehydration headache, that I didn't have
the strength to go somewhere else and then come running back when the choppers arrived.  So exhausted, in fact, that I
did not even think about the significance of where I had chosen to sit down. One of my guys had to be dragged off a bird
to let the wounded get on, when the first chopper landed. He was hysterical with fear, as were most of us by now. I was
helping the door gunner load the bodies onto the next chopper, when the poncho blew back, revealing the guy's head, with
maggots squirming in the goo, that had once been his eyes.  The door gunner fell to his knees and began projectile vomiting.
One of my guys helped me get the body on the chopper and then we both dragged the door gunner back to his ride.

We received an additional 19 B-40 rockets, 12-60 mm mortar rounds, and one ChiCom grenade within our perimeter
during the afternoon, from the NE, E, S, SW and W of our perimeter. With Keane back, I try to get some sleep for the
first time in three days, but I am soon awakened by more grenades and kept up all night. In the early morning hours,
we could hear bodies being dragged through the jungle. We could also hear sounds of digging very near our positions.
We used mortars throughout the night on suspected enemy positions. When we heard the digging, we called in a
Spooky 22 minigun ship to hose down the jungle within 30 meters of the entire perimeter. We used flashlights in our
foxholes to mark our perimeter.  Even knowing they were on our side, the volume of fire from Spooky, at  that close
a range is terrifying. Results: 5 NVA KIA, 3 US WIA.

30 March 1969

I am so exhausted now, that getting to my feet takes all my concerted will power and physical strength, then I
wobble around, stumbling to maintain my balance, until I get my head clear again.  The least little thing will cause
me to lose my balance and fall down, and then I have to rest up and start all over again. I have a pounding dehydration
headache, like most everyone else. You should remember that I am at least three days fresher than most of my men. We
got word the Air Force had gotten the 105mm guns, that had been pounding us and the CA to Polei Kleng would begin at 0900.
Also got word of two reinforced NVA companies headed our way about ten klicks out. Charlie Company left first, and I had
to shift my men to cover their positions, as best I could. I got shot at several times, while moving around directing
the withdrawal. The next to last bird left at 1200 hours, leaving four of us alone on the hill, me, my RTO, Sgt Larry
Hanson, Lt. James Keane, and PFC Edwin Gehringer, our medic. The last bird started in on short final, and then pulled out
saying there were NVA coming in all around the perimeter and he wouldn't come in.  The four of us opened up with all we
could find to throw and shoot, praying nothing would hit the mortar pit full of ammo and explosives, where we had set
charges to destroy all the ammo left behind on the hill.  I directed a cobra gun ship to get an especially pesky B-40
rocket position about fifty meters out and got him, but got badly burned on the neck by hot shrapnel from the gun ship's
rockets.  We decided that our only chance was to make a break for it off the north side of the hill and E&E out of the
area. Just as we started off the hill, four double deuce (the aircraft number was 422) called to say he was on his way
in to get us. He wasn't even with the lift that was extracting us, just coming back from some other routine resupply
mission and heard the radio chatter.  I'm alive today, thanks to the incredible bravery of the pilots of 422. There were
NVA all around the perimeter and they really gave us a send off, as we flew out. It looked like an angry anthill as we
pulled out. I felt pretty good until I looked at my rifle and found bullet scars in the hand guard and magazine guide,
one more through my rucksack, right through the radio, and the large crease in my steel pot. I am very proud of Bravo
Company. We were all very lucky to get off hill 467 alive.  Three choppers  and one gunship were disabled by ground fire
during the extraction. One of them was 422, who had to set down a couple of ridge lines over after picking us up.  We
were picked up by another chopper and they sent a Chinook out to pick the bird up later that day. It's now five months
later and my ears still ring extremely loudly. Doc says I'll get a purple heart for the tinnitus. Company B and C moved
overland from Polei Kleng to FSB-McNerny.  We arrived at 18:30 hours and assumed stand down status.

Newspaper article about my getting the Purple Heart.

 Click on image to read Army Times article written about Task Force Alpha.

Most of my portion of this account was taken from hand written notes, dated Sunday 19 JUN 69, Pleiku, RVN.
Sections centered and in bold are from a myriad of other sources I have collected over the last quarter century, most
of the sources, long since forgotten. I do believe they are accurate, but if you remember it differently, please sign
in to the guest book and correct me.  In the same vein, if I have stolen your words...just tell me and I will remove
them, or give you proper credit.

Pay Scale for American Participants in Action on Hill 467

Junior Officers earned about a dollar an hour and most Enlisted Men around fifty cents an hour.

This was for 16-20 hour work day, seven days a week, risking life and limb, sleeping in the dirt,
dying of thirst, and eating cold C-rations, carrying around 70 - 90 lbs of essential gear,
in rain or heat often above 100 degrees.

It has put any job I have had since then in proper perspective.

2 April 1969

 2 APR 69

It is now over thirty five years since these events took place, and I still find my muscles tensing and my
heart racing as I proof read this document.  I still have the tinnitus in my ears from the artillery shell which
hit my fighting position on Hill 467.  It is a loud constant ringing, like you get when a fire cracker goes off too
close to your ear.  It is in the upper range of speech in frequency, and about as loud as someone blowing a police
whistle, as loud as they can, within a few inches of your face.  Sometimes is causes me insomnia, but most of the
time it just makes life a little more difficult than it should be, because I have to concentrate so hard to
understand people, especially over the phone, or in noisy places like department stores or restaurants.  I am also
completely deaf in the frequencies of Cicada's, tree frogs, and many of the other sounds of nature I loved so dearly.
Most of all I miss the sheer ecstasy of simple silence, which I have not known since 1969. In recent months, I have
finally had to begin using a hearing aid, since my high frequency loss has made it almost impossible to understand
strangers over the phone and difficult to understand anyone in a noisy environment. Click Here for more details of
my hearing loss.

I have tried to recall this time as accurately as my own memories permit.  If anyone can add to the account, please
use the guest book to contact me. With your permission I will expand this story through your additions.  I would
especially like to hear from the enlisted men, who each and every one, certainly saw this action from very different
perspectives.  I am still in awe of the fact that such brave young men saw fit to let me lead them and trusted me with
their very lives.  The burden of such an awesome responsibility took a lot out of me.  That is why it has taken me over
a quarter century to gather up the courage to recall these memories and share them with others.  The deaths and injuries
incurred under my leadership still haunt my memories.  I expect that they will be among the memories that flash before
me when I lie on my death bed.  Somehow I feel guilty for having come back alive.

Robert Granger'sMemories of and Thoughts about Vietnam

He gives another view of the Task Force Alpha battle on Hill 467

First a special thank you to Homer Steedly Jr., (one of my former Company Commanders in Vietnam), for providing me with names of bases and dates of operations in the Central Highlands of Vietnam, especially in the time frame of Task Force Alpha on Hill 467!

The year is 1968. I am 22 years old and I have had three draft physicals, since graduating High School in 1964. All three have given me a 1Y 1 classification, because of earlier seizures (as a young teenager) and a motorcycle accident, that ruptured 3 disks and split a lower vertebra. I am living in Lansing, MI with my parents, working full time at a steel fabrication plant, but still hang out with my friends in my hometown of Charlotte, MI. I am the proud owner of a new 1968 Pontiac, GTO. It’s hot and a real girl getter.

A good friend, Mike Hill, was turned into the Draft Board by his ex-wife in June. In early July, the young lady that I was dating was killed in a car accident, along with another friend. The two other passengers were hurt quite badly. My world was a bit topsy turvy. I had no direction in life, so I decided to enlist in the voluntary draft on the buddy plan with my friend Mike. In late July we went to the induction center in Detroit for our physicals. Mike had no problems passing. I knew that if I told them I had been there three times before, they would not pass me, so I lied through my teeth to pass, although I think they were just looking for warm bodies by that time.

We entered into the Army in Detroit, MI in August of 1968 and had a long bus ride to Fort Knox, KY. There were two young cousins from Detroit on the bus (they joined the Army to avoid going to jail). They tried their best to disassemble the bus on the trip down. These two hoodlums eventually became decent individuals, with the help of SSG Lund, our Basic Training Drill Instructor (5’ 3” tall and 3 tours in Vietnam as a LRRP).

Mike Hill, Larry Small, Tony Flora and I were made squad leaders. We had our own room on the second floor of the old wooden barracks. We were given an arm band with Corporal Stripes, to indicate we were squad leaders. Larry had a hard time getting up in the morning. Once four of our biggest guys carried Larry, bunk and all, down the stairs into the shower. Larry didn’t wake until the cold water was turned on.

Some of the guys that stick in my mind, Larry “Tiny” Gerou, they wanted to cycle him through the fat farm, but he convinced them he could lose weight better with us. Tiny had a severe stuttering problem, except when singing cadence. An identical set of twins, Bob and Bill Moyer, who went into tug boat training after Basic on the east coast, not far from their home town. Another unique person was Ivan Ivanovich Korobeinikow. The DI’s couldn’t pronounce his name, so they called him alphabet. He was born and raised in China. Of Russian descent (his father worked for our government and was finally able to get his family here). Ivan could write and speak Chinese, Russian and English. He told of growing up in Northern China near Russia, going to school during good weather and cutting wood all winter. Ivan looked exactly like what you would picture as Russian, red hair, square jaw and a barrel chest, great guy. I would imagine he went to work for the government after military training. Tony Flora, a good guy, all business, when it came to training. Steve Ware, young black kid, well spoken, good upbringing, wouldn’t shower, because he was too embarrassed to get naked around all the guys. He was allowed to shower after everyone went to bed. Another fellow was Max Tait from Lansing, MI. Max would pass out at the thought of getting shots from the air powered injectors. He was fine until the guns touched both arms. When he dropped, the guns cut both arms. The medics injected him, while he was out. What a great mix of people, most all of them great guys. Wonder how many are still with us?

SGT Lund was a unique person. He was only 5’ 3” tall, had a huge nose and extremely long legs for his height. All of the other DI’s hated him for some unknown reason. Our old barracks had to have the floors polished on a regular basis and our buffer didn’t work. The other instructors would not let us use theirs, so we used blankets to polish with. When we went to the range or into the field for training, the other platoons rode a bus back to the barracks. We had the pleasure of marching back. SGT Lund told us to not give it a second thought, as a LRRP, I’m sure he knew those long marches would do us well. We did get justice one hot afternoon. We had been to the range for practice. The other platoons had taken the busses back, but we humped back, singing cadence songs and joking about how there was never any bus for us. When we came to the Company Street, the other platoons had cleaned their weapons, showered and changed and were ready for evening chow. We formed for formations; SGT Lund reported to the Senior DI, that we were all present and accounted for. The Senior DI called everyone to attention and announced that the other three platoons were to clean and guard our weapons, while we had an extended evening chow. That was a great feeling. We never complained, just followed our DI and were recognized.

I only had KP twice during Basic. Long days, up at 4:00 am and in bed by 10:00 pm, almost non-stop work. After KP one night the cook told me to take one of the extra pies, for me and the other squad leaders. I returned to the barracks and everyone was sleeping, so I put the pie in the top of my metal wall locker. The following morning we had a surprise barracks inspection. I was sweating bullets. The inspecting officer was either hung over or drunk, by the smell of his breath. SGT Lund entered our room and we were all at attention by our bunks. With the inspecting officer in the doorway, the Senior DI behind him, SGT Lund opened out foot lockers for inspection, then our wall lockers. He looked at the pie and without batting an eye, turned to the inspector, saluted and said, “Everything looks fine to me sir.” The inspector and the others left for the first floor. SGT Lund turned and said, “Granger, get rid of the f___ing pie!” “Yes, Sergeant!” We ate the pie later.

One morning about three weeks after arriving at basic, one of the cousins from Detroit decided to slit his wrist sown in the latrine. SGT Lund found him when he didn’t show for formation. SGT Lund asked me what the hell he was doing. The kid told him he couldn’t take it any more and wanted to die. The SGT told him to cut his jugular vein, it would be over in minutes and slitting his wrist would only screw up the use of his hand. The kid started crying and said he didn’t want to die. SGT Lund told them to get his ass over to the aide station and get bandaged, then report back for duty. The kid and his cousin eventually became good men. They did a lot of growing up and actually had some direction in their life. A lot different than growing up on the streets of Detroit.

The military tried to court martial SGT Lund. On the live fire assault course, he was motivating a trainee, the trainee tripped and fell, SGT Lund was yelling at the trainee to get up and get moving. The trainee pointed his M-14 at him. SGT Lund snatched the weapon, pointed it at the trainee and as he pulled the trigger, the Range Officer pulled his arm to the side. The round hit the dirt about one foot from trainee’s head. Three tours in Vietnam were apparently what convinced the court to lessen his punishment to an Article 15.

Our Company Commander, 1st Lt. Sessoms, called me to his office after about four weeks. He said I had scored extremely well on the AFQT tests and that he was certain that he could get me into West Point. He said it would be four years for the school and five years for the Army. I said that I really wanted to fly helicopters and that nine years was a long time. The following week I was sent to take the written test and take a Class A flight physical. I scored the highest of our test group. I was feeling pretty good and looking forward to flight training at Fort Rucker, AL. Several weeks went by and I still had heard nothing. The CO said he would check on it. Graduation came and my parents came for the ceremony. That was great. My stepfather was a WWII Veteran (a great man and father figure). Still no word about flight training. I was told the paperwork would catch up with me in AIT. SGT Lund informed me that I would be Infantry. I asked how he knew and he said that most smart people were put in the Infantry. I later found out how true that statement was. Basic Training was completed on October 11, 1968.

From Fort Knox we were flown straight to Fort Polk, LA for our Advanced Infantry Training. As with Basic Training, my friend and I were still together. Pretty intense training, survival, different weapons and explosives, escape and evasion, (At night in the Louisiana swamps and my friend and I managed to not get captured, cool.) Still no word about flight training. Top said that the paperwork was probably lost and he would check. I had a gut feeling it was never going to happen. I concentrated on my current training, because we all knew that we were headed for a vacation in Southeast Asia. The Army’s motto at the time was Fun, Travel, and Adventure, (In Vietnam we had our own definition for FTA). Most of the guys in AIT were a good bunch, lots of professionals, drop outs from flight school, one fellow was a professional photographer, and we were looking at his portfolio of pictures, (nudes that included some of his wife) all very well done black and white pictures. The DI found his portfolio and said pornography wasn’t allowed. My friend argued his case, but lost. I don’t know if it was ever returned.

We are housed in the same type barracks as Basic Training, two story wooden structures. We have a fire watch inside and out at night. Late one night one of the other barrack’s outside fire watch was beaten to death with an entrenching tool. We never heard whether anyone was charged with the crime. Several weeks later one of the barracks a couple of buildings down caught fire late at night. Everyone made it out fine. The fire department would only hose down the adjacent buildings to protect them. From the start of the fire, the building was completely consumed and down in less than ten minutes. Steel lockers and steel pots were just molten globs of metal.

Our barracks was infested with cockroaches. We would damp mop the floors just before lights out to keep the dust down. If you waited five minutes and turned the lights back on, thousands of roaches would scramble back to their hiding places. The NCO Quarters on the second floor developed a leak in the shower and when maintenance pulled up the linoleum in the room, there were millions of roaches, from adult to tiny babies. The ideal spot to raise a roach family.

The weather in Louisiana at that time was hot and humid. I didn’t think it could get any worse, until I arrived in Vietnam. We had an insane PT Instructor, a former surf bum, long bleached blond hair under his Smokey Cover. He loved to run us every morning for 6 miles before chow. Light up a smoke after that and you would almost pass out.

I met some local guys in our Company. They lived in the area. One guy was Billy Qualls, short black kid, lots of fun. Went to Waynesville on a three day pass. Went to one bar and they refused to server Billy, because he was black. Billy invited us to his part of town for some fun. Billy, Mike, and I with two other guys were walking up the main street on that side of town, when we heard a gun shot. Billy had us go with him to a neighbor’s porch. There was a woman lying dead in the street. The police and ambulance came, loaded the body, and asked if anybody had seen what happened. No one spoke, the police left … end of investigation. This scared the other two guys and they left for the white side of town. They were robbed at gun point on the way back. Billy, Mike and I partied all night, had a good time, and went back to the motel room, where we heard the story of the robbery. The next day I went to the local gun store and purchased a pistol to carry. Apparently the gun laws in Louisiana are a bit lax, no ID or address were needed. That purchase came around to bite me several days later. After we returned to our barracks, I locked the pistol in my foot locker. Several days later I was called to the First Sergeant’s office. I had left my foot locker unlocked; anything unlocked was inspected for contraband. Top asked why I had the weapon. I explained the robbery and said that wouldn’t happen to me. Top said he would put it in the Company safe and I would get it back later. I figured that gun was history. After graduation, getting on the bus to head home for a short leave, Top brought me a package, wrapped in brown paper and string. He told me not to open it till I got home. He was a man of his word. Another guy in our AIT Company, Mike Hebert (pronounced Abare), was in D Co, 1st of the 8th, 4th Inf. He was also from Louisiana.

Home on leave after AIT is mostly a blur. The drastic change in weather from Fort Polk to Michigan left me a little sickly, along with too much partying. Mike and I were scheduled to go to Fort Lewis, Washington the first week in January, 1969. We had separate flights booked, but said we would meet up once there. Traveling in my dress greens, waiting at the airport in Lansing, MI, I met another young soldier in uniform. He was from the Lansing area. His name was Dick Roberts and he was heading to Fort Lewis on his way to Vietnam. Dick was a likable guy. On the long flight to Ft. Lewis we had plenty of time to get acquainted. We found out that we both had dated the same girl.

After arriving at Ft. Lewis, Dick and I were put in the same barracks. No word from Mike yet. The day before leaving for Southeast Asia, Mike shows up and tells me that he had gotten a hardship discharge. He had three children, two had minor health issues. Mike apologized for leaving me to go alone. After my return from Vietnam, I told him that it was better that he didn’t go and not to feel bad about his leaving and everything turned out fine. Don’t know why, but our friendship drifted apart after a couple of years. It may have been his lifestyle or my change in attitude towards life, maybe both!

Dick and I were loaded on the same flight to Vietnam, ten hours with a stop in Hawaii to refuel. The flight was pretty quiet. I’m sure that most of the soldiers were thinking the same as me, not knowing what was ahead. We landed in Cam Rahn Bay in the dark. The only lights on the ground were small fires. Unloading we were hit by the terrible smell, heat and humidity. We were taken to a set of barracks, no lights, told to find a bunk and get some sleep. I was awakened at O-dark thirty, handed an M-14 and told that I was on guard duty. I was taken to a poorly lit area that looked like an old town from a cheap western movie and told that was my area to guard and someone would pick me up. Never said when and the M-14 wasn’t even loaded. God what an introduction. I didn’t have a clue.

After a couple of days Dick and I and some others were taken to Camp Enari. Dick, Mike Herbert and I were assigned to the 4th Infantry Division. Mike Hebert was assigned to “D” Company 1st of the 8th, Dick to 4th Platoon “B” Company and I got 2nd Platoon, “B” Company. I was given an M-79 and a whole bunch of stuff that I thought we needed and trucked off to FSB Blackhawk. There I was assigned to the weapons squad as a Grenadier and later as the assistant machine gunner. My gunner’s name was Chuck, a short, stocky, black guy from New Jersey. Great guy, kind of quiet. He taught me probably most everything I knew about Vietnam; culture, combat, etc … I owe him a huge thank you.

After a couple of days, the weapons squad, along with a dog handler, a squirrelly little dude with a huge German Sheppard and sporting a CAR-15 loaded with all tracers, was to set up a night ambush location along the highway to Blackhawk. An APC dropped us off along the highway about dusk. We humped awhile, and then finally set up at out designated location between the highway and a small village. There was a small berm between us and the village. It was dark, the claymore mines were set on the back side of the berm and I had guard duty in a couple of hours, so I lay down with my poncho liner to get a little sleep. A while passed and I was shaken awake. There were four Vietnamese carrying what appeared to be weapons. A call was made over the PRC-25 radio to see if we were in a free fire zone. We were given clearance to engage the men. They were out past curfew. John Wilcox blew the claymores and we all headed for the ditch by the road. The dog handler was running, when his dog caught up to him and tripped him. The little squirrel sprayed his entire 30 round clip of tracers on his way to the ground. We moved to a different location to set up again. The dog handler crawled into the weeds to heave his guts out. His dog decided to lay down right on top of my head. Things were quiet the rest of the night. A little humorous for my first real action.

The following morning a tank picked us up to take us back to the compound. I chose to sit on the right front corner of the unit and enjoy the breeze on the ride back. As we entered the compound, the tank turned hard left and hit the brakes. It threw me right off into about 8 inches of superfine dust. That was my initiation into riding tracks. The tank crew had a real good laugh on me, all taken in good humor, but that dust got into more places than I knew existed.

Hanging around Blackhawk for a few weeks, doing a few ambushes and patrols let me get to know the guys in my squad a little bit better.
Lt. Mac was our Platoon Leader, good guy about my age and a good leader.

SGT Mack was our Platoon Sergeant, older guy, by looks, a little on the heavy side and a heavy smoker, but another good guy.
SGT Oakley was the Squad Leader, from Tennessee, heavy southern accent, skinny, thin hair. Later when in the field, he would stand on the bunker first thing in the morning, pound his scrawny chest and give a Tarzan yell. Good squad leader.

Chuck Austin, New Jersey, I believe, my M-60 gunner, stocky black guy, kind of quiet. He and I were the only two in the company that smoked Camel regulars. I learned a lot from him, being is assistant gunner. Great guy.

John Wilcox, West Covena, CA, tall guy, easy to talk to, later tried to get religion to get out of combat. Didn’t work. Another great guy.

John Zambella, New Jersey, short guy, great sense of humor, lots of fun.

John ?, red head, always wore a train engineers hat, never shaved a day in his life, peach fuzz, big dude, lots of fun.

Mike Jones, good guy. He became weapons squad leader, when SGT Oakley left country later, kind of quiet, good guy.

Dick Roberts came around several times, finally settled into his platoon.

Arly Short, Kentucky, really tall and lanky. We later acquired him from Ron Coker’s squad. Ron didn’t like him, said he was dumb and didn’t want him in his squad. I was squad leader at the time and Arly and I got along great. He was quiet. One of the best point men ever, 6’ 3”, eyes like a hawk, went through the jungle quiet as a mouse.

Ed Gehringer, Pennsylvania?, good sense of humor, good guy. We both applied for the medic job later, he was chosen, more time in country … better choice.

Hutchins, “Hutch”, San Francisco, real good guy, we all signed a 5 dollar bill he carried.

I now wish I had recorded more names of those great guys!

One day in late January we were doing a patrol in VC Valley. Early in the day we encountered some punji stakes. A few guys were wounded and taken back for treatment. Moving on through a dry wash with high ground on both sides felt uneasy, as this was a prime spot for an ambush with no place to go. Later in the afternoon, the platoon was moving over a small hill, when one of the guys tripped a spring spear trap. The spear punctured his ammo pouch, penetrating his metal M-16 ammo clip. We all froze in place, looking around. There were at least a dozen more set to be tripped. No one was injured and we disabled all the traps and moved off the hill. Later in the same afternoon, we were taking a break in the middle of a large clearing, joking around. John, the red head, was doing his best John Wayne imitation with the M-60. After we returned to base, we were told that there was a group of VC set up about 50 meters from our break area, while we were there. Hump’n the hills in the area, staying on the mountains, cold at night, lower 30’s, hot in the day, middle 80’s, not much happening, listening to what the guys talked about, some went through TET, tried to glean any information I could.

We get convoyed from Blackhawk through the Mang Yang Pass to an airstrip, don’t recall where, for a ten click hump, as the crow flies, to some hill to set up a base to work from. Hump’n that 80 pound rucksack, through heavy brush, elephant grass and hills in that heat and humidity, is probably the most difficult thing I have ever done. We reached the base of the hill just before dusk. I had straggled to almost the last man. I had no more energy or will to climb that last hill. Fortunately for me, a couple of guys pushed and pulled and encouraged me to finish the climb. Reaching the top, I dumped my ruck, spread the poncho liner on the ground and collapsed. I didn’t wake until the next morning. I have never been that completely exhausted in my life. At the base of that hill I told the guys to just leave me till morning. Thank God and those guys for not listening to me. We had to Medevac one guy about half way there, due to heat stroke. The hill was an ideal site to work from. Clear view on all sides with a clear cold mountain stream about 300 meters from the base of the hill. I have never seen a stream that clear anywhere. We could bathe every couple of days and refill our canteens. They later brought a water blivet, which someone forgot to secure and it rolled down the hill, knocking one guy into an open bunker and really messing up his back, another Medevac. One other instance of the crazies, two guys and I went to the stream to bathe, had finished and were headed back up the hill, me tagging along last. The other two had reached the top and I was about 50 meters down hill. Someone had fallen asleep smoking and caught their hooch on fire and all his ammo and grenades were starting to cook off. An engineer with a shovel started flinging M-79 rounds over the edge of the hill. Most all were about 25 meters to my left, then a white phosphorous grenade lit about 25 meters, near me and went off. I started screaming my head off and made it to the top in record time.

Things were pretty quiet around there, except for SGT Oakley’s morning Tarzan yells. We were going out on 3 man ambush patrols, 2 to 3 days at a time. Doing some recon patrols. Never found anything significant. Had a new guy join the platoon, Don Cris, Hamtramyk, MI. He was deathly afraid of bees and such. Late one afternoon, we were sitting on the bunker and I heard a loud droning sound nearby. I told Don to freeze and not make a move. Seconds later we were in the midst of a swarm of jungle bees. They were headed for their night colony location. Don immediately broke into a sweat. In seconds the bees were gone. Don asked why I didn’t tell him the bees were coming. I said, “You would probably have started swinging, then we would all be in deep shit.” Don’s fatigue shirt was soaked with sweat. In the early evenings, we would hear the sound of the FU lizards. This was my first encounter with these little critters. I asked one of they guys, is that the VC yelling. He said no, those are lizards. Had a large centipede crawl across my face one very dark night that startled the bejeezers out of me. I couldn’t sue a light to find it in that tiny hooch. I think I’m finally getting used to the gnats flying in front of my face, inhale 10, exhale 5, chew the others. Get a little extra protein just from breathing.

Around the middle of February, we arrive at Fire Support Base 34. We are running patrols and ambushes. Pretty quiet area, although one of the deuce and a half trucks lost a left front tire to a land mine in the road. One of the guys in the company found a WWII 45 cal Grease Gun stashed under a log near by. The gun was clean and loaded. I headed out with two other guys on a tree day ambush and had gone down the hill from the perimeter about 500 meters, when we heard the Howitzers going off in our direction. The guy with the radio was quick to call back and have them stop. Apparently no one told the artillery unit that we were in front of them. One of the rounds that went over heads made a loud whooshing noise. I asked what that was and was told it was a beehive round. We looked across the valley and could see tree leaves dropping. I told the guys I didn’t know what they were. We crossed the valley and found thousands of little finishing nails with fins stuck in the trees. I dug several out to keep as souvenirs. I still have them. Things were pretty easy around there. I found a very small stream close by and decided to treat myself to a cold bath. I stripped down, laid my clothes on a large rock and lathered up. Right after rinsing off, two young local females stopped by to chat. One of the young ladies picked up my camera and snapped a picture of me in the buff. I was a bit embarrassed, but they weren’t. I later found out that nudity in Vietnam is not as big an issue as it is Stateside.

Around the first of March we made a combat assault to FSB-20, the Tactical Operations Center. We are to provide perimeter security for the 6/29th Artillery. The first few days we are pretty busy building bunkers, filling sand bags, cutting trees for roof supports, digging trenches and perimeter guard at night. The company is sending out platoon size ambushes and patrols. Second Platoon is kept back as the ready reaction unit. We all heard about “A” Company nearly getting wiped out, March 7th, my 23rd birthday. Some of the guys are getting together to celebrate my birthday after I got off guard duty. As I ducked low enough to get under the roof support, I caught the end of a log right square in the forehead, which knocked me right on my keester. As I went in the guys asked what the hell that was. I had to show them the know on my forehead; kinda hard navigating in that darkness, with only starlight to go by. One of the guys had taken a C-ration pound cake and frosted it with jelly for my birthday cake. It was really good. Fruit cake and pound cake are my favorite. The next day I was sent to the rear to be checked by the doctor for a possible concussion. I had a screaming headache and nausea. Two days later I was back in the field.

“D” Company has joined us at FSB-20. They are sending out more platoon size ambushes and sweeps. One afternoon, we are visited by Gen Abrams. He entered our area from the chopper pad. When he approached, I properly saluted him and immediately had a gentle ass chewing from him. He had his aide take my name and said he would send a letter to my mom letting her know I was OI. The letter was sent to the other Granger’s mother from our company. He was a tall black kid. We always joked about whose father was whose. Listen to a lot of music at night or play cards, matchstick poker, when anybody had money. SGT Mack likes to play poker, but is a famous loser. Listened to Hanoi Hannah on several occasions. Music was good, but she is filled with so much crap, she and Jane Fonda are a real pair. Several guys have frag Fonda written on their helmet covers. One night one of the new guys was on perimeter guard. I got into the trench leading to his bunker and started grunting like a wild hog. He didn’t know what to do. Later I thought what a stupid thing that was; he could have shot out of panic.

One other afternoon we were visited by three young starlets from Hollywood. They were dressed in go-go boots with mini skirts. Boy, talk about a real morale booster. Every guy in that camp was wet with drool. I had been carving short timers stick for Jonesy. I gave the stick to Lt. Mack and asked if he would give it to the girl with short hair, she played on the TV Western Cimarron Strip. The Lt. gave it to her and she asked who had made it. I raised my hand and she called me down to the area, where all the officers and girls were. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and a hug. Boy was Jones pissed. Another afternoon a sky crane was dropping off a damaged chopper, so it could go refuel. We were warned to tie or weigh everything down. The crane had just unhooked the bird and was powering up to take off, when through the air came sailing a red nylon mail bag. It got sucked up into the main rotor and that big bird dropped like a rock. There was an immediate inventory of gear. All our guys were in the clear. No damage was done to the crane and it was back a short time later to get its load.

March 15th “a” and “C” Companies moved onto Hill 467. March 21st “B” Company second platoon humped to Hill 467, through the triple canopy jungle, hot and humid, no direct sunlight and all the steep hills a person could ever dream of, before arriving at our destination. We came across an old set of tunnels filled with spider webs and growth. Some moron decided to throw a CS grenade into one of the tunnels. We all had to put on our gas masks. We arrived at Hill 467 and set up on the North perimeter. The perimeter is only about 50 meters in any direction, with an LZ in the middle. The trees are about 60 feet tall and the choppers have to land almost straight down. The bunkers are already dug, 3 feet deep x 5 feet long and 2 feet wide, with several rows of sandbags above. Hooches were set up behind. The remainder of the company CA’d to the hill later in the day. “A” Company retuned to FSB-20.

March 23rd “B” Company 2nd Platoon is supposed to go on a recon sweep west of Hill 467. Late morning we gear up and set out on the west trail. We move about 50 meters and are called back. There is supposed to be an ARC Light in our destination area later in the day. We return to the hill. Around noon we are told the ARC Light was cancelled and we gear up and head out again. We get about 100 meters out and again are called back, ARC Light on, we return to camp. Later in the afternoon we are once again heading back out the same trail to the same location. Everyone had an uneasy feeling about using this same trail 3 times. We get to our location and are up for the evening, when we get a call that the ARC Light is still on and we have to leave ASAP. Everyone is grabbing gear and hading back up the trail. I got separated from Chuck, my gunner. There was small arms fire about 50 meters ahead of me. Lt. Mack called for me to get with the gunner. I ran up the trail, jumped a downed tree and made it to Chuck’s location. I threw my ruck in front of me and started firing. Our M-60 wasn’t firing; it’s evening and light is dim. Chuck starts disassembling the gun, while I lay cover fire. Total chaos, M-16’s, AK-47’s, grenades going off, men yelling they have been hit. The Medic with squad leader Ron Coker is at my feet. Ron has a sucking chest wound, dying and calling for his mother. Chuck got the gun apart and found that the AK-47 round hit the B3 can that the ammo rolls over, had ricocheted into the receiver, also chewing up his thumb. We grabbed Ron’s M-16, so Chuck was now armed. Several Chi-Com grenades land within 5 feet of us and explode. Neither of us is wounded. Our squad leader fires a LAW at a tree covering one of the NVA. Finally there is silence. Ron has died. We all help carry the wounded and Ron’s body back up the trail to the hill. It is kind of hard making your way in triple canopy in the dark.

Back in the safety of our perimeter, we hear the details of the encounter. Four NVA were spotted setting up an ambush in a bomb crater, when the point man spotted them. On the way down the point man was firing. Ron was behind the point and on his way down, he took one AK round straight down near his collar bone. That rocked him back, where he took the second round in the chest. That was the only wound the Medic could find. I didn’t know till I got back Stateside, that I had been awarded the Bronze Star with “V” device, for my action that evening. I was asked 35 years later by a high school student, if I thought I deserved the award. I told the young lady, that I appreciate that someone thought I earned it, but I was just doing what needed to be done, the things we are trained to do.

The following day we were sent out a patrol to recover the remainder of our gear we had been unable to carry the night before. I had a funny feeling about that patrol. I told the squad leader my feelings and he said it was going to be quick and easy, out and back. I said it still didn’t feel right to me. He told me to stay back and take it easy. Later a gunship fires on the guys, thinking they were NVA. One guy got wounded by the gunship. We hear about the other platoons that went to blow a road block in the Ho Chi Minh Trail. They had run into a large force and 6 were MIA. My friend Dick Roberts is one of them. A couple of days later, 3 of the MIA linked back up with a unit of ours. Dick was not one of them.

We have been taking 105 Howitzer rounds, mortar rounds, B-40 rockets and sniper fire for days. An NVA sniper just outside our perimeter is firing at anything that tries to land. A jet is called in to strafe the area. He unloads his 20 mm guns on the south side and as the jet makes his break and starts climbing, the sniper fires his 3 rounds again. Patrols were sent to locate the sniper to no avail. Water and food are getting low, with no re-supply birds getting into the LZ. Three guys make it to a so called stream, as shown to be nearby on the map, and brought back several ammo containers of water. We were given two canteens each. I filtered the leaches and algae out through the top of a dirty sock, then added the iodine tablets. Later in the day, one of the guys from another platoon offered me $480 for a canteen of my water. I turned him down. I thought to myself how many times in the real world have you gone to the sink and drank a glass of water and never gave it a second thought. I thought, if I ever get home, I will never take a drink of water for granted. To this day I can not pass a drinking fountain without remembering how thirsty we were.

One morning I was just beyond our bunker, towards the concertina, digging a small hole for the morning ritual and had just squatted with my pants down, when I heard the two enemy Howitzers near the border go off. That meant you had just seconds to find cover. I pulled up my pants and dashed for the bunker. As I lay there covering my head, I heard two loud pops in the air. I quickly scrambled inside for cover, expecting more rounds to be fired at us. After several minutes, papers came floating down. I picked one up and read the propaganda. If we gave up and went to their side, we would be treated well and fed and the world would be great. Later in the day our squad leader, from Texas, and I were our hooch, behind the bunker, when we heard enemy mortars go off. We dove for the bunker and got inside. One of the 60mm rounds lit right in the middle of our hooch. It shredded my rucksack, punctured my shaving cream can, and ruined a roll of exposed film. Stateside I found the pictures of the starlets were almost ruined.

March 24th with two other guys, I was assigned to a listening post on the west perimeter. We set up about half way between the bunkers and concertina. CPT DeRoos wanted listening posts outside the wire, but with all the enemy probing at night, no one would go that far out. Not much happened that night, just the usual probing and our guys throwing grenades at the probes and the occasional claymore going off.

March 25th I woke up at daybreak. I was winding up my claymore wire, while the other two headed for the bunkers. About halfway to the claymore, I spotted 4 NVA setting up about 5 meters outside the wire. I crouched down and froze. When the enemy had gotten down below brush level, I made tracks to the bunkers and reported what I had seen. As our M-60 was out of commission, another gunner and assistant were called to spray the area. I showed the gunner where they had set up and he sprayed the area until his barrel got to hot and his assistant had to change barrels, and then he hosed the area down some more. How or why the NVA never saw me is a mystery. I was out in the open, no cover or concealment at all. The weapons squad was selected to go sweep the area. Arly Short said he would walk point, Phil Lynch, new guy, said he would go, but I had an uneasy feeling at the time and told the new guy to wait here. He insisted on going, so we had him in the middle. We went out the trail to the west and were going to sweep north. I was third from the point, when Arly froze in mid step, about 25 meters outside the wire, turned to his right and fired his M-16. I saw one man running down the trail and sent an HE on his tail. The second man from the point and I advanced past Arly. Lynch was now to Arly’s right. We saw movement behind a log and the other guy fired his M-16 at the movement, but couldn’t get enough angle. I loaded a shotgun round, moved forward and fired. There was a huge explosion behind the log. The concussion knocked me backwards on my butt. The area behind the log was devoid of any vegetation. At this point we had made a huge military error. We had no one watching our backsides. A B-40 rocket was fired from behind us, exploding between Arly and Lynch. The concussion blew me from a crouched position up and back about 2 meters. It blew my web gear and helmet off. I swear I watched this happen from above. When I came to, everyone was gone, except for Lynch. The dust was still in the air. I grabbed my helmet, web gear, and gun, then stopped by Lynch. He had large holes in his forehead and they were steaming. I beat feet to the wire, where the squad leader was waiting. We moved inside the wire. We were crouched down and I was relaying to him Phil’s condition, when a Chi Com grenade landed about 3 feet to my right, exploded and knocked me down and knocked my helmet off again. The SGT on my left gets shrapnel in his right side. I do not get a scratch. I am a firm believer in Guardian Angels. The platoon leader is informed of Phil’s condition and a Medic, not Gehringer, armed with only his 45 crawled to Lynch’s position. Several guys from another platoon are sweeping the area from north to south and encounter more NVA. It took quite a while for them to reach the Medics location. They brought in Phil’s body. The Medic said later that he had tried to give Phil CPR 3 times, but there wasn’t enough of the brain to sustain Phil. While the guys were recovering the body, I was sitting in the back entrance of a bunker. The upper half of my body was exposed, Lt. Mach standing to my right and slightly behind. A B-40 was fired at us and struck a tree near the bunker; the concussion blew me out of the entrance, wounding me in the right shoulder and center of the back. Lt. Mach also received shrapnel wounds. I went to the Medics bunker. Arly Short was there bleeding from multiple areas from wounds sustained in the earlier B-40 that hit between him and Lynch on our sweep. The Medic wiped my shoulder wound with alcohol and cut that piece of shrapnel out. He checked the wound in my back, which just missed my spine, said it was too deep to remove at this time. I rejoined the squad. Gunships worked over the area pretty good. After a while things quieted down, but everyone was still on edge. Haven’t had any sleep to speak of in days. The lack of water and food and constant shelling is taking its toll on everyone. A five minute nap is about all I can get at one time. The night time probing and hearing the digging, moaning of their wounded and movement just outside the wire, with it dark enough not to be able to see a thing keeps everyone alert every minute.

Several mornings the weapons squad was called to sweep the area between the bunkers and the wire. We were to police up any equipment, weapons, etc from the bodies that were there. You could see where some of their bodies had been dragged out. The remaining bodies were all bloated from the heat in the sun and our own men’s bodies wrapped in ponchos, stacked like so much cordwood, by the chopper pad, filled the air with the smell of death. Usually the enemy bodies would be gone by the next night. The Vietnamese have very strong beliefs regarding their dead. It is not a bad thing.

We continue to get pounded by 105mm Howitzers, 82mm mortars, 60mm mortars, B-40 rockets and small arms fire. Their mortar FO is very good. He has our coordinates down pat. It starts in the morning and continues into the evening, when the probing begins. Almost everyone is wounded. We have one guy in the platoon that hasn’t been hit. He has already passes his ETS date, but can’t get a bird out. He still volunteers to go on ambush or patrols, but none of us will let him. He’s not allowed outside the wire.

March 26th “D” Company has left the hill, extracted to FSB-27. That leaves what is left of “B” and “C” Companies. I don’t know how many men are left, but we are terribly under manned. The exhaustion is wearing on everyone. I had on guy from another platoon jump into my bunker during one afternoon shelling. The guy was unarmed, crying and blubbering about going over to the enemy and surrendering. I told him to get the hell out of there. I didn’t want to hear that bullshit. He left running to some other bunker. I probably shouldn’t have been so cold to him, but I had more pressing things on my mind, like survival.

March 28th the heaviest day of shelling yet. Later reports indicate over 120 rounds of 105 Howitzer, along with the 60mm and 82mm mortar, B-40 rockets, grenades and AK-47 fire. No one has had any sleep in over three days. That night the NVA assaulted our perimeter and some made it inside. They were killed. We are still losing men. The gunship “Puff the Magic Dragon” is called in to work the area outside our perimeter. Grenades and mortars are going off all night long. Although we are all worn our from fatigue and the heat, no one sleeps. Everyone is peering at the wire, waiting for the next assault.

March 29th and we haven’t had food or water in fur days. I drank about two tablespoons of liquid from a tree vine that I had cut. It wasn’t bitter, so I swallowed it. The things you will do when that thirsty are amazing. We are told that everyone would be extracted the next day around noon. We have heavy movement all around our perimeter all day. We are getting rockets, mortars and grenades from all directions. That night the gunship “Spooky” is called in to work the area just outside the perimeter. Hearing the hum of the guns and the solid red line of tracers was somewhat comforting. It is another long sleepless night.

March 30th we get word that the Air Force has taken out one of the 105’s that has been pounding us every day. We are told to get our gear together. The extraction would start in the morning. “C” Company would go first, leaving what was left of “B” Company to take over the entire perimeter. As the choppers were coming in, they had to come in a tree top level and drop down to the chopper pad. They were taking fire from the enemy. The pilots informed us that the enemy was at our wire. Gun ships and Cobras were working our perimeter as the extraction went on. “C” Company is our, “B” Company is maneuvering to cover the area left by their withdrawal. We are all firing our excess ammo at anything that moves outside the wire. The birds continue to come in and the enemy continues to fire at them. It’s finally my turn to leave. When I get to the bird, I dropped something. As I bent over to pick it up, I was grabbed and thrown into the ship. While we were taking off you could hear the AK-47’s firing at us. When we cleared the area, the door gunners leaned outside to access the damage. They reported to the pilot that we had taken 13 rounds. We landed at Polei Kleng. Upon landing, our chopper died. We were listening to the remainder of the extraction. Several of the other birds had been hit and had to make emergency landings at other locations. We heard from the RTO, who was relaying information to us, that no birds were left, the four remaining guys couldn’t be picked up, and the enemy were coming through the wire. Our pilot, I wish I knew his name, God bless those guys, motioned to his crew that the Battalion Commanders bird was sitting and running. The pilot and crew mounted that bird, the Battalion Commander was having a “hissy fit”, that was his bird and they shouldn’t take it. The bird took off and we finally heard from the RTO, that the four men left on Hill 467 had been picked up. A roar of cheering went up. Someone was collecting money to buy that crew a case of beer. When the bird finally landed, a case of beer was given to the door gunner. We are all loaded on deuce and a halves to be convoyed to FBB McNerney. As we were all loaded ready to depart, CPT DeRoos was called down off the truck by another officer from Polei Kleng. We couldn’t hear because of the roar of the trucks, but apparently the CPT was getting an ass chewing, with a finger being poked in his chest and the look on the other officer’s face. We start our convoy to McNerny for a long and well deserved stand down.

We arrived at FSB McNerney in the evening. Everyone is quiet, not much talking at all. It takes several days to unwind from the chaos of the last couple of weeks. It’s great to get a real shower, food and water. I don’t recall how long we were there, probably a week, not long enough. Doing a little whittling to pass the time. A few out door movies, some cold beer and music. I could have taken that for the rest of my tour. The next few weeks are quite uneventful. I think we went to an artillery base and were just doing routine patrols. At some point we stop at Camp Enari for a couple of days. Lt. Mack, another Lt. “Chicago” and I are going to the PX. The two of them decide to buy me a new baseball cap. They have it embroidered with “Captain Crunch” on the back and Captains bars in front. I did a good voice impression of Captain Crunch from the radio. I asked if I would get in trouble wearing it. They laughed and said they would take care of it. It was a hoot, having people salute you. Those two were having a ball. I saw one of my hometown friends there. Graig Olmstead, didn’t get a chance to talk, or maybe I just didn’t want to talk. While at Camp Enari we have to do our turn at perimeter guard. The towers were only being manned every other one. All those spare M-60’s just sitting there not being used. Needless to say, with Chuck’s gun out of commission, we did some parts swapping and were soon back in business as a weapons squad.

Around the middle of April we moved to An Khe. We are at the main base there, Camp Radcliff, and are allowed to go into town for the day. This is my first experience in a Vietnamese town. The local beauties trying to get some business. Several guys and I want into a bar for a few beers. I had to use the bathroom. That was a bit of a shock. Beautiful tiled walls and floor, but no toilet in sight. Just a stream of water running in a trench from one side of the building to the other. The two tiled foot prints straddling the trench made it easy to get the idea. No hookers for me thank you very much. Several days later we are humping up this lonely hill in the middle of a great expanse of flat land and rice paddies. We clear the top and start building our bunkers. We have another new guy in the platoon, a big, burly, black guy. I have been given the rank of Acting Jack SGT, as there are no promotions available. I was given the task of building a new bunker. I asked the new guy to help the other guys with the job. He became hostile and combative. He called me a prejudiced honkie and we were toe to toe, when my gunner Chuck stepped between us, pushing us apart. He faced the new guy and let him know that there was no one prejudiced in this platoon, the N word flew. Chuck informed him that any more trouble, Chuck would deal with him. Never had any more problems with that man. Several weeks later, he and I became friendly. He commented that he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone dying and he would rather spend his tour in Long Bien Jail. I told him that we all look out for each other. He became a pretty decent guy, carrying the machine gun on numerous occasions.

We are in this area to work with the locals and one ARVN compound just up the road. I believe it was called OP Tom. We are still running some patrols and ambushes, as there is suspected VC activity in the area. CPT DeRoos is not with us, I don’t remember why. We have a new CO and he wants everyone wearing helmets. Our squad has camouflaged berets made. We stash our helmets when we go out. Meeting with some of the locals, they give us a ride on their tanks up the road to their village. Dozens of kids wanting handouts, one little girl with a deformed foot was always at the back of the crowd. I don’t know if the deformity was natural or caused by the war. I made sure she got her share of the goodies. We all helped with the construction, mostly muscle work, of the Outpost Commander’s new home. It was absolutely amazing to watch the Vietnamese carpenters, with their primitive tools, chisels, bow saws, planes and hand augers. Their craftsmanship was impeccable. The windows and doors were the finest I have ever seen. When the house was finished later, my SGT and I were invited to stay the night. The Commander’s wife offered me her hammock. She and her baby would sleep on a mat on the floor. I told the SGT, I didn’t feel right about that. He told me it would be a disgrace t her, to refuse sleeping in her bed. Reluctantly I slept in the hammock. We had several meals with the family. They were very gracious hosts and it was a pleasure eating home cooked Asian meals. I learned a lot about Vietnamese customs and traditions. What a great people.

The new CO is mad about us buying cold beer and pop from the locals. He orders their coolers be shot up and says he will provide the beer and pop. We get the beer and pop, but because of flight priorities, the huge block of ice couldn’t be flown and sat on the chopper pad all day. By the time the 300 lb block of ice got to us, it weighed only about 25 lbs. Just not enough to satisfy an entire company. Eventually he gave in and we bought cold refreshments locally again. We finally get a mini mess set up on the hilltop. The cook provides a pot of hot soup and coffee to the night guards, what a treat. I always hated split pea soup Stateside, but had a cup one pitch black night and it was delicious. The coffee was always good, unless someone stirred up the grounds.

Thanks to the RJ Reynolds Company, who sent out cases of Winston, Salem, and Camel cigarettes. Chuck and I are the only two in the company, who smoke Camels and made out like fat rats. Most of the black guys smoked Kools, white guys smoked Marlboros. We saved the Salem to trade to the Vietnamese. They liked the menthol. Chuck and I had cartons of Camels. We found out the cook smoked them and gave him several cartons. The next morning the cook made sure we had steak and eggs. The rest of the crew didn’t have that pleasure. The old saying is that if you keep the cook and supply sergeant happy, life in the military is a breeze, is absolutely correct.

During the day, when we are not on patrol, we are at the base of the hill, clearing the brush away for a track unit to setup. We have been working for days and not making much progress. Suddenly we hear the loud roar of tracks coming and through the brush comes a track with a huge blade on the front. It had a pair of water buffalo horns mounted on it. That track cleared the entire area in no time at all. The rest of the tracks came in and set their perimeter. We were now building bunkers in the center of the area and providing perimeter security.

It has been over a month since getting the shrapnel in my back. The heavy rucksack has caused the wound to swell about the size of a gold ball. I asked Doc to cut it out. He had me sit on the bunker and arch my back. He cleaned the area and proceeded to cut it out. It was quite deep, jut to the right of my spine. We both could tell when he found it, the scalpel hitting metal. He pulled it out with tweezers and asked if I wanted it for a souvenir. I told him no. He put some salve on the wound and bandaged it up and I was good to go. It was really tender for the next few weeks, but felt better than the gold ball under my skin.

I acquired a few things from the tracks. They had a dog that followed them around. They had given her some Greek Goddess name. The little dog decided she liked us better. Someone said, “That’s a bitch dog.” and the name stuck. She went with us everywhere. She would chase the water buffalo away, even when they kicked her and knocked her ass over applecart. She would also chase snakes. I saw her chase a cobra about 50 meters into a bamboo grove. What a great dog, rarely barked. I wish I could have brought her home with me. The other thing I acquired was a Colorado Bowie Knife. I swapped a survival hatchet for it. I liked passing the time by throwing the knife and sticking it into trees. Our new platoon SGT Pete told the CO of OP Tom that I had killed 27 VC by throwing that knife. The CO had me show him how it was thrown. He had a nice K-bar. After about 15 minutes, he was sticking it in the outside of his heavy office door at about 20 feet away. The man was really good. Curse Pete for his white lie, although I may be legend in that area.

The platoon spent several nights at the ARVN compound with the mortar crew showing them how to setup and aim their tubes. At the end of the day, the ARVN’s would break out their Marijuana, hashish and opium and they all got stoned. I don’t think they could find their butts with both hands if needed, let alone fight a war. Became quite friendly with the Commander and his right hand man Vinh. Some 20 years later, I was watching a major documentary on the Vietnam War and they were showing how some of the South Vietnamese were being re-educated in the North. They were interviewing Vinh and apparently the re-education was working. Those two guys were really great people. I wonder what happened to the Commander. I hope he is safe and well.

As I put these thoughts and memories to paper, each memory triggers another. Although some happenings are a little out of sync with time, they are true to the best of my recollection.

We have gotten to know quite a few locals. A pleasant older woman with hair that reaches the ground, which she later had cut and sold to a wig maker, and her three pretty girls. One of the guys in our platoon fell in love with Hong. He went AWOL for three days. He was not punished for it, but promised not to let it happen again. These girls were a real pleasure to be around. The locals that I have gotten to know are really great people, if you observe their customs and traditions.

One young lady, a prostitute from An Khe who I befriended, when she wasn’t plying her trade, would fix lunch and share with me. We would talk and she told me she made more money in one month than her family made all year. Early one afternoon she told me she had to leave. When I asked why, she said “VC may come today.” We returned to the base of the hill and in late afternoon, the VC fired mortars and recoilless rifle rounds on our position. Fortunately one of the 50 cal Gunners was sitting in the turret of his tank. He saw the back blast from the recoilless and opened fire on the enemy position and the firing stopped. The weapons squad formed up to sweep the area. After crossing the rice paddies, we swept the area and found the mortar base plate, several mortar and recoilless rounds, numerous blood trails and a bloody backpack. We followed the blood trails for a short distance, but didn’t pursue any further. We returned to base with the rounds and the base plate. About a week later the young lady made the same comment as before. Gunners waited for the start. Several more mortar and recoilless rounds were fired at us from the very same spot as before. Not too smart on their part. Both 50’s opened up on them. Again the weapons squad went out and we recovered more rounds. They were firing the mortar with not base plate. We called back to base to ask if they wanted the rounds. They said to blow them in place. SGT Pete told one of the guys to dig a hole in a termite mound. We had no C-4, so he said to put a claymore in the hole and place the rounds on top of it. I told the SGT that was not a good idea, because the ammo would be blown into the air and go off. He said I was wrong. I said just give me five minutes to get the hell out of there. He finally agreed and put the claymore on top. We moved to the rice paddy dike and blew the ammo. We all survived. We never had another attack on the base. Apparently those two 50’s were very convincing. I’m grateful for the young lady’s warning. I hadn’t picked up on her first warning.

Another humorous event occurred, while we were sweeping a wooded area outside of OP Tom. We were all riding on the tanks, rucksacks off and set against the turret to use as a backrest. We were plowing through the woods, knocking down trees as we went. We suddenly hear machine gun fire; the turret starts to s wing in my direction. I bail off the side and hit the ground. The turret continues to swing. No one seems to know where the shots came from. It is finally determined that one of our gunners fell off his ride and accidentally fired the gun when he hit the ground. We had a laugh over that, until I saw that my ruck had been wadded into a ball by the turret.

An unfortunate event took place near one of the other outposts, can’t recall the name. We had a new guy in the company. We were told to keep an eye on him. He was only in country a few days and apparently while doing perimeter guard at the main base on night, he opened fire with the M-60 on some fireflies. He thought they were VC flashlights. He had been with us for a couple of weeks and accidentally shot himself in the foot with his M-79. He was carrying it through the brush with the safety off and not covering the trigger housing. A branch hooked the trigger and it went off. He only received a nasty bruise on the side of his foot. In another of his moronic moves, he was assigned to carry the radio transmission scrambler/decoder. About half way up out hill he threw it down and said it was too heavy and he wasn’t going to carry it any more. All this leads up to the unfortunate event. The company was going to cordon a village at night. The village had an Outpost in the center and ROC’s at the entrance and exits to the village. We were all in position, when the OP started their nightly ritual of throwing mortar shells into the jungle. None of them were even remotely close to us. Mr. Moron decided to fire his M-79 at the outpost. The tower observer at the OP saw his muzzle flash and opened up with everything they had. Our new black, the one I had the problem with, Bitch and I are hiding behind a big termite mound. Rounds are hitting the ground around us. One of their grenadiers lobbed a round that lit between the legs of one of the other squad members. He was from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, can’t recall his name. He was going to buy a new Z28 Camaro, when he went Stateside. Our company commander finally gets the firing stopped. Our man has both legs shredded pretty badly. A Medevac is called. The squad leader wants to shoot the Moron, but the Lt. stops him. Another bird is called in to take the Moron out. He was transferred to “D” Company. We let them know of this guys problems. The cordon was a total bust. We found out later that our guy was going to be OK, except for the use of his legs.

While working off the top of that lone hill, I had the privilege to buy a Monkey from our Mess Sergeant. It was a young female, indigenous to the Central Highlands. He kept it tied to his bunker. A few of the guys would pick at her and she was known to bite. I think I pad twenty five dollars for her. I named her Suzie, after a former girl friend, and took her back to our hooch. I tried to make friends with her and things went well the first couple of days, then she bit me over a food issue. Without thinking, I backhanded her, knocking her about ten feet outside the hooch and splitting her lip. I immediately felt absolutely terrible about what I had done. She sat on a bunker and looked at me, tears in her eyes, for about 30 minutes. I was finally able to coax her back to the hooch. I apologized, petted and cuddled her. She never bit me again and would rarely leave my side or should I say my shoulder. There was a food issue between Suzie and Bitch. I sat both down with the food in between and wouldn’t let either ear for about ten minutes. That cured the food problem. Suzie and Bitch became playmates. She would keep the fleas and ticks off the dog and me. She did have a few bad habits. One was getting into my shaving kit and taking a pack of menthol cigarettes, breaking off all the filters and chewing them. She would also get into my sewing kit and load her cheek pouches with buttons. When confronted, she would look at you with big innocent eyes, like what are you talking about, with cheeks bulging with buttons. She did have a hate for Vietnamese children and some black guys and if allowed she would chase and bite them. Any of the guys that were rolling left hand cigarettes, she would run over and pick all the seeds out, put them in her cheeks and eat them. Then she would start her crazy act, dangling by her teeth from a string tied to the hooch and spinning. Then she would crawl inside my shirt and crash for a while. Every night she slept inside my shirt. Every evening she would find SGT Pete. She knew he would have a beer and she would perch on his shoulder and Pete would share his beer with her. She was incredibly intelligent, loving and curious. I would have brought her Stateside, if it weren’t for the long quarantine period. Instead I left her with Pete.

I had to travel back to the base at An Khe, don’t recall why, and the only bird available was a LOH. That was just fine with me. I love flying. The pilot “Crash” lit the bird on the hilltop, told me to get in up front as he had to take the Battalion Commander on a short recon, then drop him at another hill, then drop off some paperwork at another base, then we would go to An Khe. Crash asked if I was comfortable flying. I told him I was and he lifted off, went forward to clear the hill and dropped the bird down, skids barely skimming the tree tops. When he leveled off, he looked at me smiling and asked how that was. I told him that was better than a roller coaster. We did the short recon, dropped the Battalion Commander and his aide off a “D” Company’s hill, flew to another base, he got out and delivered the paperwork and returned in minutes. He then flew straight to the base at An Khe. He asked where I needed to go. I told him the barracks at the base of the hill the radar station was on, in the middle of camp. I said he could drop me at the air strip and I would catch a ride. Crash said, “I can get you closer than that.” He dropped the bird in the middle of an intersection, a block from the barracks, trucks and jeeps coming to a halt. I get out with my ruck and weapon, everyone that is stopped is saluting me. They must have thought I was some high ranking officer. Top is standing in the company street when I get there. He asked me, “What the hell do you think you are doing?” I tell him that it was Crash’s idea. He just shook his head and walked away.

While in An Khe I was given the task, along with a group of guys, of clearing the brush and trees from the side of the radar station hill. It is steep and rocky. We have only one chain saw, a couple of axes and a few machetes. There was one very tall tree, probably 100 feet tall and five feet across the trunk, too big for the chain saw. The engineer in charge, packed two cases of C-4 into the roots around the base, ran detcord down the hill to a vacant barracks by the wire and when everyone had cleared the area, he ignited the detcord. In a flash the C-4 exploded. The huge tree went straight up into the air like a rocket in slow motion. As it reached its apex, it slowly rolled on its side and came crashing down. It was such a huge explosion, that there were many complaints and broken windows. That brought our clearing project to a halt.

Several days later, I’m back on the hill with the rest of the guys. One of them has acquired a puppy from the locals, cute little bugger. He follows Bitch every where she goes. Bitch was following some of the guys going out on patrol and no one grabbed the puppy, so he ran out through the concertina, hooked his belly and ripped it wide open. The intestines were hanging out. We asked the platoon leader what we could do. He said that we might be able to get a bird to take him back to a veterinarian. All the choppers were committed to other missions and we wouldn’t be able to get one for days. The pup was in agony, so I asked for permission to shoot the pup to end it’s misery with an M-79 shotgun round. I felt so terrible having to do that.

On one of our three day patrols, we stopped at an abandoned French farm house. It was a pineapple plantation and I picked one of the fruit and ate it, what a treat. One of the guys decided to stay stoned the entire three days. Glad we didn’t see any action. We were visited by some of the local kids. I had them fill our canteens and gave them a few dollars for their work. I had taken off my boots and socks to let my feet air out for awhile, when the kids saw my bare feet. They were amazed, pointing and smiling. I don’t know if they had never seen feet that white or that all my toes touched each other, not being spread out by paddy mud.

C-rats and humping the hills must be agreeing with me, I have put on 35 lbs, mostly muscle in the legs and back. Had a bad bout with walking pneumonia, that lasted a couple of weeks. No one would let me go on ambush or patrol with them. All that hacking and gacking might give them away to the VC. What a miserable climate to be in with that crud. I thought I was going to die. The medics couldn’t do anything for me. I finally got better, but it sapped the energy our of me.

We spent a few days with another ARVN Outpost. It is the first time we have gotten to use a starlight scope. Kind of strange viewing, reminded me of early TV pictures, all green and fuzzy, but they really did work. Most of the ARVN’s were pretty good guys. They shared a few meals with me. Had one jerk that thought he should work his martial arts on me. I threatened to shoot him if he did. He left me alone after that. When the company left the OP, there wasn’t enough room for me to fly out, so I had to stay for another day. It was a pretty boring night. My Vietnamese is poor. I understand more that I can speak. I finally get a ride out the next day, back to camp and English speaking friends.

I have been sent back to Camp Enari on two different occasions; don’t recall the exact time frame, once to work with a Kit Carson Scout. I was there about three days, when I was informed that the Scout had died from Malaria. Shot that plan in the butt. At that time Top was going through the barracks informing all the slackers that they would be on the next convoy back to the field. Those guys were selling everything they could, stereos, tape recorders, what ever they had. Some tried arguing with Top, but it didn’t work. They were all loaded and trucked out. My second trip back to Camp Enari, was to learn to be a sniper. Someone decided we needed a sniper and I was volunteered. After being in the rear for a few days, they changed their minds and back to the field I went. Another plan shot down. Guess I was destined to be a grunt.

We were going to a hill near Dak To, to work for awhile. We were taken to an air strip for a helicopter ride up. It was raining a little bit, not heavy, just a light sprinkle. We were loaded onto dome old Sikorsky birds with Vietnamese pilots. We sat in those old vibrating machines for nearly an hour, waiting for the rain to let up. We were finally told to unload, because the pilots couldn’t fly in the rain. We were reloaded onto a Chinook. By then it was getting dark. When we reached the hill, it was dark and the LZ was so small, that the Chinook could only touch its rear wheels down and hover at an angle. The ramp was lowered and we started to unload. I was given 2 cases of PRC-25 batteries to carry off, plus all my gear. About half way down the ramp, I stepped on a spot of hydraulic oil. My feet went out from under me and the batteries and I both slid out the back and hit on the ground. The batteries, both cases, went bouncing down the side of the hill. One of the SGT’s told me to go get them. I told him I would get them in the morning, when it was light and I could take a couple of guys for security. He reluctantly agreed. Several days later, an extended LP was set outside our perimeter. About ten o’clock at night one of the guys in the LP, not sure what unit he was with, decided to return to the perimeter. He was shot and killed by the perimeter guard. He had not radioed in and did not announce himself, so he was mistaken for a VC. A couple of weeks later, we were visited by some USO Donut Dollies, friendly ladies, playing games, chatting, trying to boost morale. Recall one who’s last name was Sellers. Ran into her at the hospital at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri in 1970. I thanked her for her work with the USO.

Back at the lone hill near An Khe, we read in the “Stars and Stripes” about three soldiers in the jungle at night set on an ambush. While two slept, the third was on guard, being stalked by a tiger. The tiger grabbed the guard by the head and was dragging him off for a late night snack. The guard had the presence of mind to hold onto his M-16 and put it on automatic and fired in the direction of the tiger. The animal dropped him and ran. I must have been a long night after that.

If it weren’t for the mosquitoes trying to give you Malaria, the water buffalo trying to run you over, the snakes trying to give you your last three steps, spiders, centipedes, scorpions, trying to make life miserable, tigers trying to make a meal of you, and the enemy trying to maim or kill you, we could have had a pretty good time in Nam.

Almost the entire company came down with amoebic dysentery. It was thought that it came from washing our mess trays in old water, that hadn’t been changed or heated properly. The heater that went down the sides of the metal trash cans we washed trays in, didn’t work very often. What a miserable ordeal that was. There wasn’t enough fuel to burn the barrels off, so a pit was dug and the barrels were emptied into it and covered with lime. Anything we ate would either come up and out or go down and out almost immediately. About the only thing that would stay down was the C-ration crackers and cheese or peanut butter. I don’t know how many pair of shorts I had to cut off, just by trying to squeak out a fart. Wound up losing about 35 lbs. in three weeks. We all looked like death warmed over. I never regained any of that weight I had put on.

I had made the decision to re-enlist, to get out of the Infantry and be a door gunner on the choppers. I went back to Camp Enari one last time to sign my life away. I signed the papers for another two years, got an Honorable Discharge after the paperwork was done and a thirty day leave back home. I was told that the orders would be sent to my home. The next day I was taken to Cam Rahn Bay airstrip for my trip home to the real world. I had to wait for two days for my flight, but that was OK. Sitting at the airport with nothing to do, I remembered I had an AK-47 round in my gear from Hill 467. I decided to wear it on a chain, so I took my pocket knife and bored two small holes in the sides of it and dumped the powder in the trash. There was a young Vietnamese man sitting at an engraving machine in the airport. I asked if he could etch some words on the side of the round. He said he would try. I had him etch “War is Hell, but actual combat is a son of a bitch.” I still have that round. I was surprised to find that the casing of the AK-47 round was steel, with a copper or brass plating. Must be cheaper to make than our brass casings.

While sitting in the airport, I met a young Buddhist Monk, dressed in yellow robes. What an intelligent young man. He had some seminary training in California. He could speak French, both North and South Vietnamese dialects, Chinese, German and English. He noticed that I was wearing a St. Christopher medal and asked if I was Catholic. I told him no, that I just wore it for good luck. He asked if I was Protestant or Baptist. I told him no. He then asked what religion I was and I told him maybe a little of all. That we all have a God, but they may look differently. He paused for a moment, and then nodded agreement. The young man took two Vietnamese 1 Dong coins from his purse, put them between his thumbs as he held his hands in prayer, said a low prayer, and then placed them in my hand. He said he hoped they would bring me luck. I still have one of the coins. He was one of the greatest people I have yet to encounter.

The trip home was an exciting event. We had a stop in Japan of about an hour. I was able to purchase a Cannon 35mm camera and a genuine Rolex Oysterdate wrist watch for less than a quarter of the Stateside cost. A short stop in Hawaii to refuel, then off to Fort Lewis. Arriving at customs, my duffle bag came down the belt. The customs officer asked it I had any explosives or weapons in the bag. I replied no, that I had left all that back in Vietnam. He said you’re clear to go. I thought, if I had known it was that easy, I would have brought back a hundred pounds of weed and gotten rich. We were bussed to Ft. Lewis, where we turned in all our jungle gear and were fitted with a new set of Dress Greens. There was some rude SOB working in supply, who gave me a pair of pants that were about 8 inches too long. When I asked if he had a shorter pair, he just said take what you get. I snatched a stapler from his counter and stapled the cuff hems up to a decent length so I would at least look presentable. The flight home was by military standby. On one of the layovers I had spent too much time in the bar across from the waiting area. When I was finally called to bard the plane, I had had a bit too much to drink. As I boarded the plane I could hear this loud pitched voice calling, “Robert.” As I sat in my seat and buckled up, I was approached by a former girl friend from Vermontville, MI, Dorothy Marshall. She was one of the stewardesses on that flight. We spoke briefly. She said that her older brother was on the plane also returning from Vietnam. I was exhausted and went right to sleep and didn’t wake up until we landed in Lansing. I hadn’t told my folks that I was coming home, so I was hoping to surprise them. I called my friend from Charlotte, Brian Fernster, for a ride home. He and his wife and daughter picked me up and took me home. I was so happy to see them again. Needless to say, the folks were surprised to see me walk through the door. Maybe a little scary, I had lost so much weight in such a short time, dark circles around my eyes and not much color. Sleeping in that comfy bed was a real treat. I slept like a rock, until morning. Mother came in to wake me up. She grabbed my shoulder and shook me. I came up suddenly with a fright. The look on her face and probably mine said it all. I told her next time to just tap me on the foot and I would wake right up. Several days went by and I visited family and friends. The folks gave me a large manila envelope form the Army. When I opened it, I found the Bronze Star with “V” device award. Not much was said. I returned it to the envelope and put it away. The awards I would like to have are the Purple Heart and Combat Infantry Badge. Those are the closest to my heart and experiences in Vietnam.

I had decided to go to Charlotte about 20 miles from my folk’s home. I didn’t have any civilian clothes that fit or a car to drive, so I put on my Dress Greens and decided to hitch hike. The two lane dirt road that leads to the main highway back to Charlotte was only about 4 miles long not much traffic. That 4 miles was easy walking. When I got to Lansing Road, there would be plenty of traffic and catching a ride would be easy. As I walked with my thumb sticking in the air, the cars would just blow right past me. A few of the kind people would raise their hand and show me their IQ. I continued to walk, thumb in the air and a smile on my face. I was a patriotic individual. I was sure somebody would give me a lift. Boy was I wrong. I walked the entire distance. I swore to never wear that uniform in public again. I was so proud of what we had been through. That was a tough lesson to learn, but the public had shown me more. You didn’t dare mention that you had fought in Vietnam. There would be all kinds of comments against you and your fellow soldiers. I never mentioned my service to anyone and never put it on a job application.

Several weeks went by, my hair was looking better and the mustache I started in Vietnam was looking pretty good. My friend Mike Hill and I decided to go to the Ionia Free Fair. I was up for that. We stopped at one of the shooting booths. You had to cut out a star with an automatic BB gun and 100 BB’s. I cut that star out cleanly and got this great big teddy bear, which I shortly gave away. We walked up the midway, stopped at another shooting booth like the first. The carnie told me I was not allowed to play the game. Apparently he had been told I had won at the other stand. It was getting late as Mike and I walked the midway. The crowd and ride noise kept me from hearing the mortar that shoots the aerial grenade signaling the start of the fireworks. When the grenade exploded, I was in the middle of the midway, laying face down with my arms covering my head. Mike asked if I was OK. I nodded yes, but my heart was pounding and the adrenalin was pumping. Everyone looked at me like I was some kind of weirdo. It took quite a while to get back to a reasonable state of mind.

Check out the photo gallery from Bob....

4 APR 69
4 APR 69




8 APR 69
8 APR 69

17 APR 69
17 APR 69


We just finished moving to An Khe where we are going to start a pacification program. We will search and clear the area, then help the people with medical and dental teams, schools, relocating small villages into larger ones in more easily defended areas, etc..

19 APR 69
19 APR 69

24 APR 69
24 APR 69



I'm in An Khe again. I have to go to the field for a few days to get some papers signed by Capt. De Roos. I will have to come back then to pick up the payroll. After payday I will be staying out in the field most of the time to give Capt. De Roos a break and get used to running the company. We are set up on a patrol base on the only hill within 12 klicks, sending out patrols and ambushes. Not much work, but a real chore trying to keep up with all the patrols and their locations. I am trying to get my 30-day leave set for the middle of June to the middle of July. I'm still not sure about the R&R to Australia.

1 MAY 69
1 MAY 69


The monsoon season is here again. It rains almost everyday now.


12 MAY 69
12 MAY 69

20 MAY 69

Appointed CO HHC 1/8th.

24 MAY 69
24 MAY 69

29 MAY 69
29 MAY 69



Well I am now Headquarters Company Commander. I will keep it until I get my leave. This photo was taken while Lt. Owens and I were visiting a nearby village, trying to win their "hearts and minds".

1 JUL 69
1 JUL 69



The monsoon rains have hit in full force at last, and it has rained continuously for the last four days. The fine dust that was all over the ground is now in the form of a liquid mud that manages to get all over everything and into open or closed containers. The fog is creating problems, because we have to keep people on the bunker line on guard duty all day now. Other than the fact that the weather is miserable, things are going pretty well. I am enclosing some pictures  I took when I was XO of Bravo Company, just out of Polei Kleng. I found them in my rucksack when I went to turn it in. In one of them you can see how dust it is during the dry season by the dust on my face.


This is a booklet put out by the Public Information Officer about the Fourth Infantry Division's role here in Vietnam.

Click on the image above to page through the pamphlet.

8 JUL 69

800 men from 9th Infantry sent home. First stage of phased troop withdrawals.

Newspaper article about my receiving Bronze Star for Meritorious Service.

Army press release about my Bronze Star.


 12 AUG 69
 
 Newspaper article on my receipt of Air Medal.
 
 7 SEP 69

This is the 4th Infantry Division quarterly publication for Fall 1969. It provides a record of the action for the Division. I would like to get other official in country publications to put on the site.

Click on the cover image to page through "Esprit" Fall 1969.

Orders cut for Captain. This is the local newspaper article on my promotion.

16 OCT 69
16 OCT 69



I got here safe and sound (obvious since I'm writing this letter). I am Delta Company Commander and will be impossibly busy from now till March.  Letter addressed CPT Steedly, Pleiku. I inventoried Delta Company's property here in base camp, and spoke with the company clerk. I then packed my rucksack and got a CAR-15. Will go forward tomorrow.

17 OCT 69
17 OCT 69

18 OCT 69

I came out to LZ Pat to see the Colonel and stayed since my company came here also. I am now in charge of Delta Company 1st Bn 8th Infantry. My XO is 1LT. John Hines, 1SG Madden is our "top NCO". TOC is located up here with us, and the usual problems of being on the same firebase with the boss. Sent second platoon to secure a tank for 1/69 armor. Had to borrow some rations from Capt Gold of A Company to give them. Third Platoon is on ambush. Lt. North  is 20 klicks from help of any kind. I hope nothing goes wrong. First impression of Lt. Holder is,  plenty of potential, but needs to be motivated. Top is calm and efficient. We are going to get along just great I think. Mortar section needs some work.

16,17,19 OCT 69
16,17,19 OCT 69



Ran Mang Yang Pass with mail truck to get to An Khe. I am going out to take over Delta Company tomorrow and will be very busy till the 7th because we are moving 30 miles north of here to "Bong Song" near the coast.

19 OCT 69
19 OCT 69



LZ Pat---Expect 2nd & 3rd platoons back tomorrow with 1st on 15-minute standby. Required daily rations of Dapsone visually verified by squad leaders and once a week rations for Chloraquine-Primaquine visual verified by platoon leaders . Also by Sunday a report on protective masks and steel pot needed. Daily by 07:00 weapons cleanliness status report. Briefed RTO on my radio policies. Put out word about grenades double pinned, taped & in pouches. Got in Beer & Soda today 56 cases. Finally got my rucksack. In about 3 or 4 days I will be moving Delta to take up road security along QL19 (14) from An Khe to the Mang Yang Pass. Around the 1st of the month we are going to move the entire Bn. to Bong Song, 30 Kilo's North of An Khe, near the coast. It's still raining off and on so things get pretty bad every now and then, but no enemy action yet.

20 OCT 69

Finally got orders cut making me CO D Co. 1/8th.

22 OCT 69
22 OCT 69



I am acting as a "switching station" right now. Sending my 4 platoons here, there, and yonder as Bn CO directs.

27 OCT 69

Charlie hit the oil pipeline around noon, we sure keep very busy here at LZ Pat.

Inside An Ambush Killing Zone

28 OCT 1969

I need help sorting out this story.  I am not sure of the dates or the names of many of those involved.  It is a prime example of the easy mission that can suddenly become a life and death nightmare.  It is the story of an ambush seen from inside the kill zone.  I was Delta Company Commander and we had just been put on perimeter security duty at Camp Radcliff, in An Khe. The local sapper battalion was attacking the perimeter several times a week. It was serious duty, but my troops looked on it as party time, sneaking out through the wire at night to go down to the local village.  Keeping everyone alert to security was a real chore. Just in from LZ PAT on pipeline and bridge security, we had been on perimeter duty, with occasional duty as a ready reaction force for several days, when I got the mission to locate the firing positions of a mortar that had been shelling the base camp. We trucked down QL19 highway to just the other side of An Tuc and began climbing up hill 674.  We climbed up the finger nearest the road, but it got really steep towards the top. The view from the top was breathtaking.  We could look down on Radcliff, QL19 and the local villages.   We then proceeded to cross the saddle to Hill 684.  On the back side of Hill 684 we found a mortar pit dug into a lower peak. It was shielded from An Khe by Hill 684 itself, which made it very hard to see or hit from Camp Radcliff.  We noted it's location and carefully misadjusted their aiming stakes before returning to base camp late in the afternoon.  We were attacked along the bunker line again that night.  On our side of the perimeter the bunkers were so far apart, that line of sight observation between bunkers was impossible even in the day time.  The sappers who came into the perimeter probably were probably coming in through our sector.  I had complained about the lack of coverage to battalion the first day we took over the bunker line and they promised to look into it.

29 OCT 1969

The next morning, still exhausted from being on alert all night along the bunker line, we were given the mission of conducting a reconnaissance along another ridge line a little further down QL19 and on the other side of the road.  We trucked to a field about a hundred yards from the ridgeline. The ridge was covered in hundred foot trees with bamboo and vines thickly filling in the under story.  The few small clearings were filled with  waist high elephant grass and saw grass. As we unloaded and got assembled to move out, we took sniper fire from multiple positions along the ridge.  Since we were out in the open field, we were sitting ducks.  Luckily no one was hit seriously and our initial "mad minute" gave us enough time to find what low spots were available for cover. About that time a Duster and a Quad 50 pulled off the road on their way to An Khe to escort a convoy. The track commander came running over and asked if we could use some fire power. I said hell yes, pointed him toward the ridge line and told him to blanket the area. After about five minutes of the most intense demonstration of firepower I had ever witnessed, they came over and asked if I thought that was sufficient. I said that I thought that would do, and thanked them profusely. I remember sending the walking wounded back to An Khe on the Quad 50 deuce and a half. As the duster and quad continued on their way to An Khe. We dug in and set up a perimeter for the night.

30 OCT 1969

Early the next day we moved into the jungle and had to use machetes to get on top of the ridge line.  On top we found a crude trail headed back in the direction of An Khe. As is frequently the case, Delta Company only had one platoon leader who could be trusted to read the map well enough to get us to our destination without having to back track and climb ridges and hills for nothing.  His platoon was therefore given more than their share of point man duty.  It was unfair, but better than having to climb hills unnecessarily.  Since this promised to be an easy route to navigate, I decided to let one of my less experienced platoon leaders take the lead.  As you will soon find out, that was a fatal mistake.

As usual, I traveled with my headquarters group about a third of the way back from the lead element. The lead platoon had just finished crossing a small waist high saw grass clearing between two small hills along the ridge line, when I began to notice indentations in the red clay, where small rocks had been removed.  It made me think of someone collecting stones to put into overhead cover for a bunker.  I was about fifty feet into the clearing. I reached for the radio I carried hidden in my rucksack to call the lead platoon and warn them to be on the lookout for bunkers and a possible ambush. Suddenly the far tree line lit up with muzzle flashes and mortar rounds started exploding all around me. The soldier in front of me hit me in the chest hard, knocking me to the ground. I lay there, stunned, the word AMBUSH !!! exploding into my mind.  The noise was incredible. I grabbed the radio handset and called the lead platoon, but got no response.

Lying there with bullets mowing the saw grass down like a giant lawn mower, I found myself looking directly into the moist, waxy, pink cavity that had held the brains of the soldier  who slammed into me seconds before.  He had been hit by a single bullet in the forehead which blew the top of his skull off spraying his brains all over the place.  His eyes were wide open, but they were like doll's eyes, lifeless.  I knew him well, but did not know his name.

Suddenly a bullet hit the ground inches from my face and sprayed dirt into my eyes stinging like bees.  I blinked furiously to get my vision cleared.  I had every muscle in my body tensed to the point of pain.  I was afraid to lift up and look around, because the bullets were cutting the grass off less than a foot above the ground.  As the initial bursts of gunfire subsided, I could hear the screams of men getting hit as they lay in the open clearing. I realized there must be snipers in the trees picking us off one by one.  I wanted to get up and run to the concealment and safety of the jungle, but standing would get you mowed down like the saw grass and even movement might attract the attention of one of the snipers.  Staying put was also certain death.  I was frozen with fear. I closed my eyes and began to sob as the sounds of battle faded away.  I knew I was going to die. I don't know how long I lay there paralyzed with fear, withdrawn deep inside my own mind. Eventually I opened my eyes again, amazingly detached, having somehow forgotten about my imminent death.  I felt the warmth of the sun on my cheek and  noted the two inch layer of mulched saw grass covering everything. As I took my first deep breath in quite awhile, I could smell the wonderful fragrance of fresh cut grass.  Then suddenly the sounds of battle came rushing back with startling reality and frightening loudness.

 About that time I noticed that a few inches from my face a line of carpenter ants were marching along in a solid column, carrying bits of vegetation, beetle bodies, grasshopper legs, and some glossy pink chunks of fungus to feed their colony.  I was amazed that life was going on as normal as ever for these creatures in the midst of my personal chaos. As I lay there deciding what to do next, I slowly became aware of a large chunk of the ham and eggs luncheon meat I had eaten for breakfast still lodged in the corner of my mouth.  I chewed it and swallowed, puzzled how such a large chunk could have remained in my mouth undetected until now.  While I lay there assessing my situation, I felt safe as long as I did not move.  I still heard the crack of bullets breaking the sound barrier inches above my head, still heard the mortars and grenades exploding, still heard that distinctive crack of the AK-47's, but somehow it didn't seem to connect with my own mortality.  Once again I focused on the chain of ants, carrying their large, moist, waxy, pink...CHUNKS OF BRAIN!!!! OH MY GOD  !  NOooo...ooo...ooo !!!  My whole body contracted in a painful convulsion, as reality sank into my consciousness.  Horrifying total reality...it was not ham and eggs, but a chunk of the dead soldiers brains that I had idly chewed and swallowed!  I have never, ever vomited like that.  It was very painful, knocking the air from my lungs, as my whole body contracted in an effort to expel the entire contents of my stomach.  The solid stream of vomit shot over four feet through the air.  The contraction lasted until I began to see spots dancing in front of my eyes, about to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen. With my last once of strength, I forced myself to inhale, taking only a small gasp, before the second convulsion began.  So it continued forever, it seemed.  Eventually I had no more fluids to expel, so I just dry heaved, struggling to get enough air to remain conscious.  I don't know how long it continued.  Eventually I found that if I inhaled very shallow and slowly, I could prevent the heaves from coming back.  As I knelt there, the total fear that had consumed me before, was now replaced with a soul consuming anger.  The gunfire had settled down to sporadic outbursts and the occasional single sniper shots.  I suddenly realized that I had gotten up on my hands and knees during the vomiting.

When I reached the perimeter, Doc said we needed to get two people out now or they would be dead before we reached the road.  I called battalion and requested immediate Dust-Off, asking for the jungle penetrator, explaining that the two wounded would not make it to the road.  I also asked for a standby Dustoff for the other four wounded, when we reached the road.  I checked in with the FAC and he said they had expended all their ordinance, so I thanked him and said I was turning on the artillery, so they needed to keep clear of the gun target line.  I contacted the artillery and asked for a road runner mission all along the ridge line from my position back 500 yards towards An Khe.  We started moving back towards the field beside the road and had descended the ridge line to the valley floor, when the Dustoff called. We popped smoke and they hovered overhead lowering the jungle penetrator.  They pulled the machine gunner, out.  The second man was not conscious, so they sent a man down with the penetrator to assist in hauling him up. We got them hooked onto the penetrator and they moving up through the trees.  At about thirty feet, AK47 fire started from the ridge line. I saw the wounded man and the rescue man both take hits.  My men started shooting like it was the end of the world.  The penetrator finally cleared the canopy and the chopper moved away, with both men dangling below on the cable, looking unconscious.  I called for some artillery on the ridge line and began walking it down the hill as we began moving towards the road again.  Twice I had it so close that shrapnel was whizzing over our heads, but it definitely made the NVA get their heads down and stopped the AK-47 fire.  When we reached the edge of the jungle, I called for the second Medevac.  None were available, so one of the battalion C&C birds came in to pick up the wounded.  One of our injured had died in route and there was the one who died in front of me.  We loaded the four walking wounded and began to loading the ponchos with the dead, when the officer from battalion tried to tell us he would not take our dead.  I don't remember what I said, but I do remember drawing my 45 with full intentions of shooting him dead.  He backed off with his hands in the air and we loaded the bodies.  About that time a ready reaction unit from Radcliff linked up with us.  I briefed them about the two missing KIA's and described the terrain.  They moved out to attempt to find the bodies and engage anyone left.  We moved across the field to the road and were convoyed back to base camp a short time later.

KIA
Thomas Clark-Pointman
James Herin-Assistant Machine Gunner
Perry Hopkins-Rifleman
Wesley Vermeesch-Rifleman

WIA
There were also 7 wounded that day, but I don't have their names.

Verification of the KIA and naming of the WIA would be appreciated.

I have only four pages of this issue, but I think the article on page 2 refers to these actions.

Click on picture to read.

31 OCT 69
31 OCT 69



LZ Pat. I have been real busy since Charlie decided to hit the pipeline again. 12:00 noon on the 27th he began blowing roads and pipelines, and we've been busy ever since. Time sure is passing fast. We haven't been paid yet. I spend most of the time in the air or on the ground chasing Charlie, so I don't get much time to write. Got a real bad morale problem, because they have had so many different Company Commanders in the last 6 months. I hope to get them working as a team again.


7 NOV 69
7 NOV 69



The weather has turned just terrible, rain and wind all day and all night. Really miserable living out here in the field. Mud gets on everything. Freeze at night and sweat all day, soaked with rain most of the time.

10 NOV 69
10 NOV 69



LZ Pat. I just finished a night combat assault. When I jumped from the chopper I sank over my head into the soft mud of an old rice paddy.  The only thing that saved me was my RTO, who saw my hand sticking out of the water, holding the radio handset from the PRC/25, that I carried in my rucksack.  It took him and two other guys to pull me out of the mud.  Some fun.   Turns out the LRRPS we were sent to rescue, just got spooked.  There was no enemy around, that we could find.  I sure do keep busy as a line company Commander! You just wouldn't believe it. From 01:00 at night to 04:30 in the morning for sleep, if I'm lucky, but I don't even notice it. It has turned rainy and cool with high winds here, and anything hot sure is good. Got to run, they just blew the pipeline again.

11 NOV 69
11 NOV 69



LZ Pat. I just can't possibly explain how busy I am as a commander. I have over 100 people who look to me for everything and that's a full time job.   We captured an NVA soldier and a chopper came in to take him back to base camp for interrogation. On the chopper was an American NCO, a Captain, a "Civilian "Interrogator" (introduced as a member of the Phoenix Program) and one Vietnamese soldier. They took the prisoner and headed back to the chopper pad. About five minutes later, one of my men came to my CP and told me that they were torturing the prisoner down by the helipad. I grabbed my pistol, and headed out. My 1SGT followed, bringing along a machine gunner and several other soldiers. When I got to the pad, the "Civilian" had my prisoner, with his hands still tied behind his back, on the ground, the two American soldiers standing on his upper arms, pinning min to the ground. They had wrapped a towel around the prisoner's head and the "Civilian" was pouring water from a canteen onto the towel, choking the prisoner. The Vietnamese soldier was shouting questions to the prisoner. I ran up drawing my 45 cal pistol and chambered a round pointing it straight at the "Civilian" telling him to stop or I would shoot him dead on the spot. He laughed, then started to reach for his own weapon, when the machine gunner let out a long burst over our heads. I turned around to see nearly a dozen of my men drawing down on the scene. The "Civilian" brought his hands up slowly and started backing up. I told them to take the prisoner back to my unit trains area, where they would be met my supply sergeant, who would accompany them to the Provost Marshall's Office to turn the prisoner over to the proper authorities. I assured him that if the prisoner did not arrive at the trains area, or if anything untoward happened to him on the way, every man in my unit would make it their personal mission to find and execute them all. Since I had two men going back on the chopper for sick call, I was certain they would not chance any more mischief. The "Civilian" looking quite terrified at this point, turned and got into the helicopter. The other American soldiers and the Vietnamese soldier loaded the prisoner and left, without any of them making eye contact again. I called my trains area and told the supply sergeant the situation. He returned my call a couple of hours later, stating that the Provost Marshall had taken charge of the prisoner and assured him that no such interrogation procedures would be tolerated within his perimeter. I never saw any of the people involved again. I have never quite gotten over this incident. To hear that we still employ "water boarding"...and do not consider it torture is very upsetting. Perhaps we should tie the president down and pour water up his nose for a half hour and let him see if he still thinks it is not torture! If my sergeant had not taken the step of backing me up with the machine gunner, I do not know what might have happened. I know that at that moment, I definitely would not have hesitated to shoot and I would not have backed down under any circumstances.

My first platoon made heavy contact a few weeks back and lost 4 people. We counted 37 NVA dead. Sure hated to loose those 4 though. Hate writing letters to wives and parents. Things have been pretty quiet since then. We made one combat helicopter assault at night to help a long-range patrol, but that was no problem.  It has turned cold and windy and wet all of a sudden.

19 NOV 69
19 NOV 69



Dong Cha. Col. Haas is leaving the 15 of December, and things sure are in turmoil right now. I have a lot of new people, and they are real jumpy. I am running at about half regular authorized strength, but that is normal, and better than last week.

23 NOV 69
23 NOV 69



Still in Dong Cha. Our battalion is moving to somewhere near Pleiku, no one knows where or why just yet. I will be real busy until the move is complete, so I thought I'd drop a line to let you know.


25 NOV 69
25 NOV 69


Camp Enari for 48 hours stand down before we go out again.



2 DEC 69

Lt. Russell Pickering died tonight. He came to the company in early October, just a few days before I took over the company. His platoon was on an overnight platoon sized ambush just outside the wire at Camp Radcliff. It should have been a relatively safe mission. Around 2200 hours I got a frantic call over the radio that they were in heavy contact.  Lt. Pickering was very frantic and asking for everything I could get him. He had been hit in the leg and was bleeding very badly. I called Bn for artillery, but the Lt. could not see the illumination and marker rounds to adjust. Then I asked for gun ships, but was turned down, because it was too dark to see anything. Finally I succeeded in getting a spooky, AC47, gunship to support him with it's mini guns.  It helped, but a few minutes later another voice of a very frightened NCO came on the radio calling it off, because it was coming too close. Lt. Pickering had passed out from blood loss by then and the NCO was now in charge of the platoon.  We assembled a quick reaction force to go to their aid, but Bn would not let us go outside the wire. They were probably right. In the darkness, uncertain of the platoon's actual position, we would have probably wound up shooting each other. I sat there helpless all night, waiting for dawn to get them inside the wire. By then Lt. Pickering had bled to death. It was the most frustrating, helpless feeling to hear them in such need and so close and not be able to help. I completely repressed that night, until an email from Carl Nagel, who remembered the incident after talking with Gary Lysne over the phone.  Lt. Pickering, mortally wounded and probably acutely aware of that fact, continued to work to get help for his people until he passed out.  His courage will not be forgotten. He is one of the many unsung heroes this site is dedicated to. I wonder how many other stories like this I have repressed in self defense? Thanks to Gary and Carl for bringing this memory back.

More details are in the email from Carl.

Email from Carl Nagel about death of Lt. Pickering.

4 DEC 69
4 DEC 69



LZ Hip Shoot. I am 15 miles south of Pleiku on a small firebase we built our self. It is used for two 155mm howitzers as a firebase. We were given the job to secure it. A real easy job and a nice break for us. The only draw back is the dust. The monsoon is over here and we are on a plain of fine red dust. It gets into everything. The wind blows 24 hours a day and keeps it stirred up. At night you freeze to death and in the daytime you roast.

6 DEC 69
6 DEC 69



I have finally have Delta Company on its feet again. We built firebase Hip Shoot from nothing, and everybody is real proud of the speed and design used to complete it. Even General Wheelock liked it. The Colonel is just tickled pink of course.

9 DEC 69
9 DEC 69



We got the word today that we would move to Division Base Camp at An Khe on the 11th. The last unit stayed on bunker guard for a month, so maybe we might get to spend Christmas in An Khe. I got my stateside assignment  today, Ft. Campbell, Kentucky. We ran into some punji stakes during a firefight a few days back. I got a stake through my wrist, when I dove off the trail to get out of the line of fire, nothing serious, just through my left wrist. It was just enough to require a bandage and drainage tube. Went right through the old scar I had there, but the Bn Surgeon said it would heal just fine.


10 DEC 69
10 DEC 69



We are at Camp Radcliff-An Khe for a stand down (rest). We will probably be here until after New Years. Got a new Battalion Commander, LTC Mark. He is real competent  and very easy to work for. Delta Company is right now the best company in the Battalion. The morale is really high again after LZ Hip Shoot.

20 DEC 69
20 DEC 69

25 DEC 69
25 DEC 69


Sending out night patrols on perimeter security for Camp Radcliff.

9 JAN 70
9 JAN 70


From calm perimeter duty to fire fight 42 Kilo's away. Got two enemy in a bunker complex. Back now at LZ Hard Times. Met "Crash" when he gave me a recon ride up the hill in his LOH.

15 JAN 70
15 JAN 70


Just got in from a 7 day search and destroy. It rained day and night. Found lots of bunkers, but no enemy.

21 JAN 70
21 JAN 70


Been out in rain over a week now. Starting to see signs of trench foot.  Began daily feet inspections by medics.

24 JAN 70

Assigned Bn S-3 Air.

31 JAN 70
31 JAN 70


Back  at FSB-Hard Times.

6 FEB 70
6 FEB 70

Now OIC for the Battalion TOC. Heard that two hours after I left, the new CO forgot to send in an updated location and got two people killed from artillery fire.

9 FEB 70

Awarded my second Bronze Star medal for meritorious service for period Aug 69 - Mar 70.

14 FEB 70

Awarded second Air Medal for completing another 25 combat assault landings into LZ's under enemy fire, for a total of 50 hot LZ's total during my two tours.  This award was for the period of 12 OCT 69 - 15 JAN 70.  Seems hard to believe there were that many.

19 FEB 70
19 FEB 70


Settling into TOC. Everyone from Delta who passes through, stops by to wish me luck.

25 FEB 70
25 FEB 70

11 MAR 70

 Left Cam Rahn Bay a little after 8:00 am and after just under three hours later we landed at Narita Airport in Japan.  Due to electrical problems, we stayed on the ground for over an hour.  Then the seven and a half hour flight to Alaska for refueling and finally about three and a half hours to Seattle Tacoma International Airport in Washington State.  The out processing center in Cam Rahn Bay gave us these magazines as part of our outprocessing.




This magazine was published semi-annually by United States Army, Vietnam.  It is given to returning veterans upon completion of their tour of duty in Vietnam to help them tell the story of their role in the war.

Click on the image above to leaf through it's pages.



This is the Fall 1970 issue of "UPTIGHT" a quarterly magazine providing timely information to the troops in Vietnam.

Click on the cover image to read this magazine.

10 MAR 70

We landed in Seattle Tacoma International Airport about 0200 hours (2:00 am for you civilians), the day before we left Vietnam, thanks to the international date line. It was snowing, windy, and very cold. on the teens. Since we were all dressed in light weight tropical tan uniforms and had just come from the heat of Vietnam, we really felt the cold. It is about 45 miles from the civilian airport to Ft. Lewis, Washington, where we would get processed in and receive new clothing and some US currency. They had taken all our MPC script in Vietnam and made us send the money home in a money order, so we had no money on us. There was supposed to be a bus from the Ft. Lewis to pick us up, but our plane arrived late and the bus had left for the night. There we were, no money and no way to get to the Fort. As we all wandered around the nearly deserted airport trying to figure out what to do, we became separated from each other. I was walking to the baggage pickup section to look for a cab to see if they would take me to the Fort on the promise that someone there would pay for the fare, when this really beautiful young teenage girl, with long dark hair below her waist, dressed in a mini skirt and tube top with bare midriff, carrying flowers, approached offering me a flower and asked if I was returning from Vietnam. I said I was and she smiled sweetly, then screamed baby killer, spit into my face, and began hitting me with her fists. I grabbed her wrists in shock and restrained her as she continued to struggle, kicking at me and shouting obscenities. Suddenly two airport security personnel appeared and drug her off. As I stood there, totally shocked, another man came up and apologized and asked if I was OK. I said I was fine. He asked me if I needed help, so I told him my dilemma over transportation. He took me to a coffee stand and bought me a cup of coffee and told me to relax and he would be back in a couple of minutes. When he returned, he grabbed my duffel bag and told me to follow him, saying he had found a taxi driver willing to take me to the base. It turned out that the taxi driver was an ex Vietnam Vet himself. When we got to the base, neither of us knew where to go. I finally told him just to let me out and I would go to the nearest building and find help there. As he drove off, I felt the biting wind chill and had second thoughts. As it turned out, the barracks in this area were all empty and locked. I started walking down the road to find another area with some people in it, and the cold really started to hurt. I began shivering violently and my hands were so cold that I could not hold onto my duffle bag. I rigged the shoulder strap and began to run, hoping to generate some body heat. I guess hypothermia must have set in, because the officer in the jeep had to get out and shake me. He asked me who I was and what I was doing out in this kind of weather in summer uniform. When I told him I was just in from Vietnam and looking for the processing center, he took me with him in the jeep to the Post Headquarters. It turns out he was the Officer of the Day and had been checking guard shacks. After some hot coffee and warm blankets, they took me to a bachelor officers quarters room and told me to take a hot shower and someone would be by in the morning to pick me up for processing. On the way, he had stopped by his quarters, where he picked up a TV dinner for me to heat up after I showered.

I wonder if that young girl remembers the skinny, freckled faced, red headed soldier she attacked that night. She had the right motive, stopping the war, just attacked the wrong person. Hope she doesn't feel too guilty. I forgave her years ago, although I was pretty traumatized at the time. It was only the beginning of my re-introduction into the society, which had left me behind during my two tours in Vietnam.   I never got the chance to thank that taxi driver, but will be forever grateful.

By mid afternoon, I had new clothing uniforms, a pocket full of cash, and a plane ticket home for thirty day leave with orders to report to Ft. Campbell, KY.  Just over 24 hours after leaving Vietnam, I was asleep in my own bed at home in Bamberg, South Carolina, USA.  It was all so surreal...

I would love to hear from the taxi driver and the young girl.

27 APR 70

Assistant Training Officer G-3 Ft Campbell, KY.

21 AUG 70

Awarded MOS 2162 Operations and Training Staff Officer.  Awarded the Army Commendation Medal for service at Fort Campbell as Assistant G3, Training Officer and Chief of Unit Training, Headquarters, 101st Airborne Training Division for period of service of April 1970 through May of 1972.

11 SEP 70, Friday

I routinely left Ft. Campbell, Kentucky and drove the 500 miles to my home in Bamberg, South Carolina for the weekend, leaving around 6:00 pm Friday and being back on duty by 6:00 am Monday morning. It should be an 8 to 10 hour drive, but the Opel GT automobile I drove and raced back then would do 150 mph and I often did it in just under 6 hours, averaging 90+ mph in the dark, rain, sleet, snow, on two lane roads with peak speeds of 120-150 mph. I was of course fueling my adrenalin junky needs and I think perhaps playing with a death wish. PTSD???? Anyhow on one such trip I was stopped by one of Tennessee's finest, who had clocked me at over 130 mph, although I had been approaching 150 when I saw him pulling up on be from behind. I don't know why, but when he approached my car, he unsnapped his holster and drew his gun. When I saw that in my side view mirror, I came to within a heartbeat of pulling my loaded 357 magnum, which was never far from my hand in the first few months after Vietnam, and shooting first. He never saw the weapon and to this day does not know how close to death he came. I was in uniform, and he was a veteran himself, so we got to talking and he seemed quite impressed by speed I had been going.  He eventually suggested that I join the patrol if I liked speed. He said he gets to drive flat out all the time, and it's perfectly legal and someone else maintains his vehicle for him. I wanted to get out and kick his self righteous ass, but I thanked him for letting me go with a warning for going more that 5 miles over the limit. Later I thought long and hard about the incident and realized that with my uncontrollable combat instincts, keeping my weapons might result in my killing someone before I could stop myself. I sold all the weapons that same month and have not owned anything by a small single shot 22 caliber varmint rifle since then. I wonder how many other vets shot someone out of reflex and spent significant parts of their life behind bars as a result? I wonder how many died chasing that adrenalin high on the highways? Wonder how I got so lucky as to survive myself.

13 MAY 72

Left for Ft Benning to attend the Infantry Officer's Advance Course.

29 MAY 72

Company 72, 7th Student Brigade TSB, Ft. Benning, GA on temporary duty, waiting IOAC start.

2 JUN 72

Assistant S-3 USA Marksmanship Training Unit

27 AUG 72

IOAC 73-2 36 weeks.

18 JUN 73

Student Officer attending Columbus College, GA.

6 JAN 77

Last 201 personnel file upon leaving service from 3287th USAR School, Columbia, South Carolina.

9 AUG 87

Legend of The Drag Hole …

A Carolina Black Water Fisherman’s Right of Passage.....a work in progress...suggested corrections welcome.

Before I begin this tale, let me set the stage properly. I had punctured my right hand with a rusty nail on Saturday, while salvaging timbers from my uncle’s old home place. By late Sunday afternoon the Tetanus shot had not only made my left arm sore, but had given me a killer headache and a slight fever.  George, my brother Tony’s fishing buddy, called shortly after noon to ask if we wanted to go to a killer bass fishing hole he knew of on the Coosawachie River. Although I felt like death warmed over, the chance to see George’s secret fishing hole was too much to pass up. George was one of about dozen truly legendary Black Water fishermen in the South Carolina low country. These guys knew if a minnow died in a mud puddle anywhere in the low country within 50 miles of the Hampton County Courthouse. Like my brother and I, they fished almost every day, before work in the morning, during lunch break, after work, often well past midnight and almost all weekend, every weekend, all year around, regardless of weather. I had first noticed them cooking fresh fish and hush puppies on the river bank in an old cast iron skillet. Most of the fishing holes they frequented were deep in the swamp with dozens of trees felled across the channel, often deliberately by them, so that you had to get out of the boat, balance on a slippery log and haul your boat across to the other side. Later we learned that only one or two of the half a dozen logs down across the run would be out of the water like that, the rest were partially submerged so you could just run up fast, let the nose of your Jon bloat  ride up over the log, cut the throttle and pull the boat motor out of the water, as the boat jumped over the log, then drop the prop back into the water, hit the throttle and continue on your way. A 14’ Jon boat with an 18 horse Johnson outboard was ideally suited for such rough treatment. We had seen them coming out of these dead end runs and attempted to travel up them ourselves on several occasions. The first time George accelerated towards a partially submerged tree across the run, I panicked. After the jump, the adrenalin rush was delicious. These were no ordinary weekend fishermen. These guys were the real thing. They had apprenticed at the heels of their fathers and grandfathers, graduating from earthworms, night crawlers, red wasp larvae and catalpa worms on the end of cane poles to artificial lures and spinning reels. They were deeply attuned to the rhythms of nature and had a deep abiding respect for the magical black waters they loved to fish.

My brother and I had been fishing all our life, but had become serious Large Mouth Bass and artificial lure fishermen over the last decade. Gradually we had begun to recognize these rough, often hostile black water fishermen as they came out of the places we thought impossible to get into with a boat. Over time they began to realize that we were serious about our fishing and now we had finally been invited to join their secret club. They had talked with us and observed our skills and decided that we were ready. Our tenacity, fishing all day long without a single bite, in rain, sleet, freezing weather, casting thirty, forty feet to within inches of the bank, under ten feet of overhanging limbs only a foot off the water, bouncing lures off the bank and back into the water, deftly flicking the rod tip to retrieve a lure caught up in a branch, pushing a rod tip into the water to dislodge a lure with it’s treble hooks buried deep in a submerged dead tree limb, feathering the line with the button on our closed face Zebco Classic reels, so that the lure landed on the surface, gentle as a leaf, hitting a three foot opening in the lily pads then walking the lure back across the twenty yards of weeds and pads without getting caught up, walking a bass across the top of the vegetation back to the boat, and other even more subtle nuances and skills that can only be learned by thousands of hours of trial and error. We had to be at this level in order to even perceive the knowledge George and his pals would now impart to us. We were now entering the top levels of Southern Black Water fishing education: an educational program that can be entered by personal invitation only.

When George finally pulled up with the 14 ‘ Jon boat in tow, it was nearly 1:30pm. He then proceeded to take us by the most incredibly circuitous back road route to his secret fishing hole. He deliberately tried to keep us from being able to find our way back without him, crossing from one unmarked paved country road to the next by dirt roads and sometimes driving across farm fields. In fact it took me half a dozen entire weekends of hunting to relocate his secret spot. It was so well hidden, that I passed the road that led to it at least half a dozen times without recognizing it. As we crossed a bridge over the Coosawachie and then turned left onto a side road, neither Tony nor I had a clue where we were. After a few miles of hairpin turns, the two lanes changed to a one lane, pot holed, crumbling asphalt then gravel road, finally making a 180 degree turn into a paved parking area, grown up with weeds. On one end we could see the decaying remains of an old bait shop and store partially collapsed. You had to drag your boat down to the water’s edge and wade out knee deep to pull it out far enough to float. This was due to the fact that the water level was extremely low. We were in the third year of the most severe drought I could remember. I would later realize that the low water level was why this fishing hole was to be so productive. Like most of the black water fishermen, George’s vehicle was old enough not to be worth stealing. He had taken the knobs off the radio/tape player and jammed the butt of a cigar into the tape slot before he locked the doors. The tires were nearly bald retreads and the truck badly needed a paint job. The closest it had been to a washing was the last rain storm. The idea was to let any thief know that it wasn’t worth the effort of breaking into or stealing. I had already learned these tricks, the result of having seen far too many Sunday fishermen’s shiny new sport pickups sitting up on blocks with stereo, wheels, doors, hood, sometimes even the engine and transmission missing, when we returned from a days fishing. Once Tony, his friend Marion, and I had settled down in the boat, George took two steps into the water pushing the boat in front of him and then deftly stepped onto the back seat and sat down, water running out of the holes in his boots. He took the paddle and silently moved us out into the run. We drifted lazily down stream as George adjusted the trolling motor, arranged the battery and tackle box, and hooked up the fuel tank to the outboard. We naturally began casting towards the shorelines for bass. George soon told us to reel in and started the outboard. As we slowly trolled down the creek, George threw his lure over his shoulder and let about 25 yards of line out, then told me to do the same thing. He said that getting the line moisturized would make it cast better. That was lesson number one and quite a valuable one. After only a hundred yards, we began up a side creek to the left about 10 feet wide and 3 feet deep, but were soon forced out of the boat to drag it across the Cyprus knees jutting above the water line. George seemed surprised. It had been a navigable channel the last time he had been here only a few days before. In the 95 degree August sun with 100% humidity, we were quickly soaked with sweat. Marion carried the battery walking along behind the boat, while Tony pushed and George and I pulled on ropes up front wading knee to waist deep in the run, the boat reluctantly bouncing along over the Cyprus knees jutting two to six inches out of the water. My head was pounding from the fever caused by the tetanus shot and after about half an hour, I was reduced to concentrating on each step as if I were climbing Mt. Everest. Tony and Marion switched off on the battery several times and both looked about ready to fall out. Every time we asked George how much further we had to go, he would say just a little ways more, or just around the bend. After an hour of dragging the boat down the run and dozens of just a little farther, we were convinced George was lost and were ready to lynch him to the nearest tree. Finally, with my temples pounding, I could not go any further. I stopped and told George that I thought we should leave the boat and find the lake on foot first, then come back for the boat. Everyone else chimed in unanimously. George insisted it was just around the next bend. We said fine, then it won’t take long to find it and we can come right back for the boat. He said the run curved back to the right, so we took off cross country to locate the dead lake. What had been submerged swamp was now mostly dry land because of the drought. As we all walked single file, in lock step, we set up a harmonic rhythm that none of us were aware of until George stopped suddenly. That’s when we all felt the ground moving up and down under our feet a good six inches. It was very unsettling. George just laughed and explained that the ground we were walking over was normally covered with dense aquatic vegetation in about four feet of water. The main channel we had been dragging the boat along had actually been a creek 5 to 10 feet deep only last weekend. The reason the ground moved in waves beneath our feet was because we were actually walking on a layer of decaying vegetation floating on top of a deep pool of water. He said to be careful because if we broke through we would drown. About that time we heard something snapping twigs as it ran through the vegetation. George quickly reached down and removed a .38 pistol from his tackle box and told us that if we were attacked by the wild boar, we should find a tree and get up it really fast. Visions of a dozen large boars, with scythe like, razor sharp tusks thrashing at our legs filled out exhausted minds. That really boosted our morale, not! On the verge of heat prostration, dehydrated, the sun sinking low on the horizon in the middle of a swamp from which we could not find our way out of even in the daylight, let alone at dark without George, near total exhaustion, and the fabled honey hole still nowhere in sight, mutinous thoughts flashed through our minds. If we hadn’t needed George to show us the way back out, we would certainly have hung him from the nearest tree. After another 100 yards or so, we finally came upon the deep hole that had been an oxbow bend off Coosawachie River and now was a land locked lake nearly 300 yards long. We had our reels, so of course we all started casting from the bank. George tried to get us to go back for the boat, but no one listened. The sun was getting low on the horizon, so I asked George about when we would be heading back. I had been forced to spend the night in a swamp on several occasions because I got lost as darkness hid the landmarks I needed to find my way out. He only said in a little while, then casting into the top limbs of a tree that had toppled from the bank, he hooked a four pound largemouth. As he manhandled it across the top of the water, whooping and yelling at the top of his lungs, we all stood there with our mouths hanging open. In the first place, no one in their right mind would deliberately cast into those limbs and risk losing their favorite lure. In the second place, most of us considered a two or three pound bass something to brag about. None of us had actually caught anything close to a  four pounder before. We all redoubled our efforts, of course, as George made a stringer from a briar vine and strung up his catch. It wasn’t five minutes later that the whooping and hollering started up again from the opposite side of the lake. Of course all of us casually, but quickly moved down to where we could see George pulling in another huge fish, this time a nearly two foot long chain pickerel. By now we were all getting frantic. I climbed out onto the trunk of the tree George had caught first fish from and tossed my green immature crawfish lure at the base of a tree stump 30 feet further down the run. Marion was fishing about 15 feet just this side of where I cast and was watching as a three pound largemouth jumped clean out of the water and swallowed my lure in mid air. I nearly lost my balance when he took off. Leaning precariously with one leg wrapped around a tree limb, the drag singing on my reel, I held on for dear life. Finally he tired and I began to reel him back in. It took me nearly ten minutes to get him to within reach as I lay down on the slippery tree trunk and reached into the dark water to grab him by the gills. I recovered my lure and with the rod in one hand and the struggling bass in the other I started down the tree trunk towards the shore, bragging like a fool. Suddenly the bark peeled off the dead tree trunk in a sheet and bass, reel, and I all took a bath. I came up still holding onto my reel, but without the bass. I was soaked and everyone was laughing their hearts out, but at least I had caught a respectable fish and no one else except George had even gotten a strike. About then my brother Tony let out a whoop and began hauling in an 18 inch pickerel. By now Marion was really feeling the pressure and crossed to the other side and followed George step by step, often casting into the same spot George was fishing, a real breach of fishing etiquette. Finally George must have taken pity on him and told him where to cast, because he stopped and talked to Marion, then moved on and within minutes Marion was hauling in a 2 1/4 pound largemouth that was dancing on top of the water from nearly 20 yards across the run. So it went for over an hour, each of us catching a large fish every ten minutes or so. By then it was getting so dark that you could hardly to see into the shadows to cast. I removed my lure, tied off my line and grabbed my stringer of fish and headed off to round everyone up. I knew that if we didn’t get out soon, we would not be able to find our way in the dark and would have to spend the night. I found George and pointed to the encroaching darkness and asked him if we shouldn’t head back out before it got too dark to see. He agreed and then looked at his stringer and began to pull fish off and toss them back into the water. He told me to do the same. He pointed out that the nine fish I had, each several pounds, would be too much to haul out, especially considering we still had to drag the boat and battery back to where the run was deep enough to navigate. Once we had our stringers ready, George went one direction around the lake and I went the other gathering up the Tony and Marion along the way meeting at the head of the lake where the channel leading to the boat joined the lake. As we began the trek back to the boat, everyone was talking at once. The adrenalin was pumping and our excitement was obvious. After about 45 minutes of stomping through the mud and murky water, all conversation had died out. We had come into the lake by cutting across country, taking only about a half hour. The channel was nearly three times a far and walking thought the cypress knees and mud was much slower. It was also getting very dark. We all realized that night was closing in very fast. The weight of my fish stringer became too much to carry, so I dropped another two fish into the water and everyone else also lightened their stringers. We were all beginning to get worried. Nearly an hour after leaving the lake, we finally came upon the Jon boat. It was now so dark, that we had to use a penlight to load the boat. By then the run was only visible by looking towards the skyline in the distance. We began the long haul back to deep water. In spots where the water was deep along the sides of the channel, we had to look for trees where the flow had eroded the bank causing them to lean towards the run to keep in the channel and not wander out into the swamp. As we stumbled along in the darkness for what seemed like an eternity, falling down, getting stabbed by dead limbs, torn by briars, inhaling the thick fog of mosquitoes, each one of us realized that we were in serious trouble. At least a dozen times I felt something as big as my forearm and very muscular wriggle against my leg under the water. A fish I prayed. We kept hearing large objects splashing into the water of the run ahead of us. We tried very hard to avoid acknowledging the fact that it sounded like snakes, very large snakes dropping from the bushes into the water. In truth I did not see how we could possibly make it out without getting someone snake bit. The only reason we made it out at all, was that we were all so totally exhausted we had past the point of thinking about anything except taking just one more step. The Lord must have had a soft spot for us fools, because we all made it out without getting bitten. As we loaded the boat on the trailer and climbed into the truck, no one said a word. It was only after we were back on the main highway, that we began to come round and the wonder of our adventure began to rejuvenate us again. It was quite an experience but only one of many I shared with George, my brother Tony and others in the Black Water Swamps of South Carolina. Getting that close to nature is a truly religious experience. The bonding that took place during the Drag Hole adventure was my graduation exercise into the society of Black Water fishing. It will always be a part of my character. It taught me a lot about life and what I was capable of doing. I suggest that everyone take the time to reconnect with nature. It is worth more than a hundred thousand dollars in psychological counseling. It will keep you centered. I think that our loss of a personal connection with nature is the primary cause of most our social problems. Go fishing…go hiking…go mountain biking, even a quiet walk through the woods with a camera will do wonders to reduce stress and the health problems associated with it. If you can, visit a Black Water Swamp…it is truly magical.



30 JUN 2001

Retired from University of South Carolina College of Liberal Arts Information and Technology Center, Assistant Director.

The Legend of Drag Hole

 

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