"A Little Story" by Russ Dowden - Introduction
Colonel (Retired) Russ Dowden, received a Regular Army commission in the Finance Corps upon graduation from the ROTC program at Arkansas State University in 1965. He came on active duty serving a combat arms tour as a field artillery officer with the 25th Infantry Division, in Hawaii and Vietnam. Upon completion of his combat arms tour, Russ began his career as a Finance officer. His last assignment before retirement was as Commandant, The US Army Finance School, Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana. The story that follows was his answer to an innocent question from a grandson.
This story was first published as a small book, short story format. It came about as my conscience began to bother me as I avoided answering a question from my then eight year old grandson, Peyton. Peyton and I were shooting pool in the basement of my home in Indiana when he noticed an old Vietnam era aerial photo I had placed on my bar counter in preparation for having it better matted and framed. Although he had seen the photo previously, and knew it was from my time in Vietnam, he wanted to know more. Peyton asked, “Grandpa, tell me again about that picture.” My reply was not an answer to his question, instead I said, “Peyton, let’s just shoot pool and talk about that later.” He, like most kids of eight, dropped the subject and came back to the pool table. A few days later, I was sitting at this desk when his question repeated itself in my mind. There, right behind, his question was my failure to reply. It occurred to me then that all too often “old” men, and women, fail to do a good job in answering the simple questions that are asked by our children and grandchildren. We avoid telling the story, for any number of reasons, and they are cheated from learning a little bit about their family history, and, in many instances, about American history. So, I sat at this keyboard with the intention of writing a short, three or four page, note to Peyton describing the events that are hidden in that tattered and blood stained photo from a Vietnam battlefield in an area that became know to the men of the 25th Infantry Division as “Hell’s Half Acre.”
Left to right: 2LT Russ Dowden, 2LT Chuck Burkhardt,
CPT Bill Powers, 1LT Mike Moran
(Following is published by permission from Russell Associates, LLC)
***** Preface *****
This is a short story centered around one day in the life of a field artillery second lieutenant. The day happens to have been Valentine’s Day, 1966. There were other days of combat, a few are mentioned, but this particular day was different. Similar stories could be told by countless other young men of the sixties and seventies caught up in the war in Viet Nam. I have detailed the events as accurately as I can recall them. Official accounts of the day closely follow my recollection and I have talked to others who shared some of the events as well as to some of the loved ones of those discussed in the story. What they recall, or have been told, is pretty much as I have written it. Some accounts vary slightly and the differences are understandable. Combat is most often chaotic and confused. The fog of war imprints memories in different ways. This is how I recall the events and the time.
Most Valentine’s Days are happy events. They are for sweethearts, for flowers and boxes of candy. This one turned out to be everything but that. For the loved ones in this short story, Valentine’s Day became a new Memorial Day.
***** Japan *****
The smell of jet fuel, fresh fuel from Air Force refueling trucks and the exhaust fumes of burnt fuel from hot and cooling jet engines. The noise of a very busy U. S. Air Force air base. And the taste of that fuel mixed with cold, clean air. All senses are being bombarded at the same time. Strange, but, at the same time, a little wonderful. All of that coming to the lieutenant lying on the stretcher that has been moved from the C-141 Starlifter and placed on the cold concrete of Tachikawa Air Force Base, Tokyo, Japan. But the strangest sense of all is the cold, soft feel of the snow.
Snow is falling and it lands lightly on the face of the lieutenant. He opens his mouth and tries to catch a snowflake, just like he did not that many years ago as a youngster growing up in Arkansas. It is hard for him to believe that he is here. Japan. It doesn’t seem that long ago that he was walking in the oppressive heat of Viet Nam. A strange trip and an even stranger change in what he recalls was the temperature the last time he can remember spending any time outside of a building, airplane, or ambulance.
The Starlifter has just arrived after a long flight from Clark Air Force Base in the Philippine Islands. Clark had not been the first stop on a trip that would not end for several more months. A trip that had begun, unknown to the lieutenant, in an early morning departure from the base camp of the 2nd Brigade, 25th Infantry Division, Cu Chi, Republic of Viet Nam. Clark had, though, been the first stop after leaving the combat theater.
He wonders if he has been forgotten and left on the runway apron. Other patients have been unloaded from the belly of that hospital in the sky and moved directly, more or less, to waiting ambulances and have been driven away. No, he hadn’t been forgotten. He knows that, but the sense of being left there to catch the snowflakes with his face, and a few in his mouth, is a bit different than the last several months have been. It is peaceful though and worry is really not a factor. Just relax he tells himself and you will be moved in a little while, too.
Snowflakes, can you believe it? Snowflakes! How different this place already is from the rice paddies, rubber plantations and jungle around Cu Chi. He wonders what the men are doing back there. The artillery battery he was a part of, the mechanized infantry company that he had been attached to. What were they doing? Had any of his friends and comrades been injured or killed since his last day in combat?
Snowflakes! He wonders what his wife and son are doing back in Arkansas and what the weather is like there. They had been married for only a little over two years and their son was only a month old when he left them at the division’s home at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. His thoughts are interrupted as two young men come to move him from the tarmac to a waiting ambulance and for the next leg of his journey to the hospital ward that will be home for the next several months.
The ride is without much excitement. There isn’t much to see except the ceiling of the ambulance as it travels through heavy traffic from the Air Force Base to the general hospital that has been established at North Camp Drake somewhere in north Tokyo. A US Army hospital only recently reopened to care for many of the injured American military fighting in Viet Nam.
*****
White wooden two-story buildings line the street. Inside of the building he is taken to, the walls of the ward are painted the usual Army gray-green, the general color of choice for what seems like all things in the Army at the time. There are perhaps seven or eight beds on the ward, not all occupied, and one waiting for the lieutenant. All patients, all men, all medically evacuated from the combat theater, all soldiers. Their injuries vary in the degree of severity, but all of them will recuperate and some will be returned from the hospital to the combat theater. He doesn’t doubt that he will recover from the wounds, but does wonder if he will be returned to Cu Chi from here.
The hospital is quiet, calm and clean. It smells much like a hospital back home – antiseptic. Doctors, nurses and corpsmen are all Army service men and women who have had their lives changed, too. All brought here to care for the battlefield casualties. Lieutenant Sandy Johnson is one of the nurses assigned to this “officer” ward and the first one that he meets. She is nice. Light red hair and a breath of fresh air after the all male environment each of her patients has come to her from. Several male corpsmen will come and go over the course of his recovery, but, funny, the lieutenant won’t remember their names, just that they did a good job and helped all of the men who had been brought there. They come in, do their job and go on their way. Nothing seemingly remarkable, yet remarkable in the way they care for each of the patients. Just good guys looking after their charges. The same, he will soon learn, can be said of the doctors. They are good at their jobs, but they are more distant from the patients even than the corpsmen. Perhaps it’s their own way of dealing with the heartache of treating young American fighting men and maybe keeping their distance helps keep emotional attachments from forming and becoming a problem.
The nurses, though, are special. They remind the patients of wives, girlfriends, sisters and mothers. They remind them of home. Lieutenant Figueroa is another female nurse assigned to look after them. Pretty, dark hair and eyes, a Puerto Rican girl, very exotic to a young man not long out of Arkansas, she too is a reminder of home and pleasant to watch as she goes about her nursing duties. Sandy and Figueroa are not the only nurses who are assigned to the ward but they are the ones that will remain in his mind for years to come. They seem special. They are special. They cared for these soldiers with soft touches and gentle voices when that was oh, so very important to their recovery. Florence Nightingales both, as were all the others who were assigned to this hospital in the safe haven of Japan. They tend to wounds and help them leave the horrors of the battlefield behind -- for at least a short period of time. The lieutenant’s time with them would be memorable because of their gentle care and because it would provide a solid step to recovery and life again.
***** Hawaii *****
The jet’s big wheels screech as they touch the pavement at Honolulu International Airport ending a long but uneventful flight from Oakland, California. The lieutenant and his bride, now nearly eight months pregnant, are arriving for his first assignment, the assignment of a lifetime – the 25th Infantry Division stationed at Schofield Barracks on the island of Oahu. “The reserve force of the Pacific,” his favorite ROTC instructor, Master Sergeant Nick Hunt, had told him back at Arkansas State College when he was filling out his “dream sheet” – his choices for his first active duty assignment. He added, “Because they are the reserve force of the Pacific they won’t be going anywhere.”
As they leave the plane and walk down the portable stairway emptying onto the airport concrete, they are met by the sweet smell of Hawaii. Flowers must be everywhere they both think as the exotic fragrances overcome even the jet fumes of this very busy airport.
They leave the airport for a short drive with Mike Moran, 1st Lieutenant and Fire Direction Officer (FDO) for Charlie Battery, 1st Battalion, 8th Field Artillery, and his wife, Peggy, and their new baby. The Morans are the sponsors for the lieutenant and his family. They deliver them safely to the rented apartment at Waipio Gardens outside of Schofield Barracks. Here they are spending their first night in Hawaii as they begin to settle into the new environs of this island paradise.
Up early the next day and off, under the watchful eye of Mike Moran, to sign in at division headquarters and start to become familiar with the new life as a combat lieutenant in this historically steeped division and battery. He can hardly wait to get started. All goes well and they are quickly through the “drill” of getting signed in and becoming a part of the division. Next, it’s over to the “quad” to meet the battery commander, Captain Cassius Mullins. Mullins is a West Point graduate like Moran and the other officer in the battery, 1st Lieutenant Bob Trucksa. (Bob is a nice guy and good at his job, but he will soon leave the battery on his way back to veterinary school. He has recently been selected for a full Army scholarship to veterinary school and when finished will return to active duty as a Veterinary Corps officer. He is very happy with the pending change and said, to the lieutenant, “This is another chapter in my rags to riches life story!”) A nice, friendly bunch and all seemingly happy to have the services of this new lieutenant, even if he is not a member of the Long Gray Line!
Later, as the division receives other new lieutenants he will remain the only officer in the battery not a West Point graduate, that is, until they get a new battery commander. Captain Bill Powers is another ROTC product and will take over command from Captain Mullins in a few short weeks as Captain Mullins finishes his command tour and moves to the Division staff.
*****
Training in the division is in the “off season”, if there is such a thing. The battery has only recently returned from a month long training session on the Big Island of Hawaii, at the Pochocaloa Training Area (PTA). Schofield has a small range suitable for training with the battery’s 105 mm howitzers and an orientation of the range is over in a very short period of time. It is nothing like the big ranges of Fort Sill, where the lieutenant has only recently completed the field artillery officer basic course. All of the currently assigned officers in the battery have been through the same training at the start of their careers and all are familiar with basic artillery procedures. The others, though, have been in the division and the battery for over a year and are very well qualified in all of their responsibilities. The new lieutenant will have to hurry to catch up with the others.
More than just catch up is in store for him and the other officers. Neither does he know how very important that initial training in the basic course will become, nor how quickly it will become important.
*****
Only a little more than a month after the lieutenant reports for duty with the battery, the division receives orders for deployment to Viet Nam. Surprise! The dream assignment has just taken a drastic turn and life is about to change forever. “Hey, Nick,” he says to himself, “what’s that about the division being the reserve force for the Pacific?”
Training in the division picks up speed. Qualification for each soldier with his basic weapon takes on a different air of importance. Officers and NCOs in the battery go through jungle warfare training in the rugged interior jungle mountains of Oahu. The pace of everything accelerates.
Not long after the division receives notification of its pending deployment, the new battery commander, Captain Powers, calls the lieutenant into his office in the Quad and advises him that he will be a member of the advance party for the battalion. What that means is that the lieutenant will leave, along with the battalion commander, LTC Walker, and the lieutenant’s driver/radio telephone operator, before the rest of the division. He will leave his bride, who will soon give birth to their first child in only a few weeks, alone on the island and far from friends and family back in Arkansas.
The question for him is, “when should he tell her what is going to happen?” The orders have been classified Secret. The fact they are received at the battalion on his first ever night to stand guard duty – as commander of the guard – makes no difference. He can’t tell her yet. When can he tell her? When will it be OK to let the family back home know what is going on?
Personal questions are put aside as the division continues its rigorous training in preparation for deployment.
The lieutenant is running an M14 qualification range for members of the battery, when he receives a call from the battery commander. Captain Powers is calling to tell him that he is sending someone to take over the range and that he should hurry back in order to take his wife to the hospital. Their child is on the way and this baby is not about to wait on an Army training program. Captain Powers says, “Now don’t be excited … now don’t be excited … now don’t be excited … just come on back to the battery … then go get Linda and take her to the hospital.” The captain is clearly a little excited but the lieutenant tries to remain composed as his driver takes him from the training area to where he can pick up his wife.
*****
It is December the 3rd and their baby is expected at any time, at any minute! Traffic on Oahu can be awful at most any time of the day. At the end of a day, it is always awful. Throw in being caught in the middle of a tropical thunderstorm, the highway being washed out in Waipio Gulch, a very expectant mom-to-be, and it can be all but impossible! As the lieutenant detours around the island, to avoid the wash out and make their way to Tripler Army Hospital, the pressure mounts with each mile. His day has been long because of the training load; hers because of the baby. Finally, with the help of a Honolulu police officer they make their way through the last major intersection on Hawaii’s H1 highway and through the gates of the hospital grounds.
Into the hospital and to the OB ward the lieutenant and bride go and, with a great deal of relief, they are happy to have the hospital personnel take over. Seated in a waiting area now, he pulls his fatigue baseball hat down over his eyes and doses. After what seems like only a very short time, he is awakened by a doctor who tells him that, although the baby is in a breech position, all will be fine. Just as the doctor has said, in a short time, a nurse comes to inform him that he has a son. He is allowed in the ward to see his wife and the new baby boy. She is tired, elated and glowing. The baby is beautiful. She takes his hand and places it on her belly. It is soft and squishy, and so different from how it felt only a couple of hours before. She is excited and says, “That was the most wonderful experience of my life.” He is flushed with a rush of emotions but mainly with a sense of happiness and relief beyond anything he has ever known before. Later that day he calls back to Arkansas to tell her mother and his parents that Kevin has arrived and that both the new mom and the baby are doing just fine.
A couple of days later, new mom, dad and baby boy go home – and shortly to family quarters on Schofield Barracks. He still hasn’t told her what lies ahead, how their future will be changed, how this dream assignment will suddenly take a much different turn. But it won’t be long now before he does tell her what is in store for them. Two youngsters from small-town-Arkansas, thousands of miles away from home for the very first time in their lives, and now they face separation and an unknown future. She is wonderful in acceptance of what is going to happen and never once complains about what is being done to them and their lives. Although the Army is prepared to take very good care of the dependants who will remain behind, they both immediately agree that she and the baby will return to Arkansas as soon after he departs as possible – and with help from the division, they do just that.
*****
The next day it’s business as usual. The training pace continues to accelerate all around the division. The Tropic Lightening, the division’s nickname, is busy preparing for war.
In the midst of that preparation, there is a continuation of all those things normal to an Army, check the arms room, check the daily training schedule, check the motor pool, check the battery mess hall, check, check, check!
Among his other duties the lieutenant is also the mess officer, which means eating in the mess hall several times a week, in order to check on the quality of the food and its service to the battery’s officers and men. The mess sergeant has a reputation as a hard-drinker, but the lieutenant has not observed that side of him and hopes that it is just idle talk. The food always seems to be well prepared and the men do not complain – at least not to him.
Only a little more than a week before taking his bride and baby home from the hospital he takes her to the mess hall to celebrate Thanksgiving with the soldiers. The Thanksgiving dinner is a traditional one just like the ones that are being enjoyed all across America - turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. The mess sergeant has done a very good job and everyone enjoys the meal he has prepared. It is her first meal in an Army mess and the soldiers go out of their way to make it a good first experience.
*****
Shortly before the division is to depart for Viet Nam, the day’s training takes place at a wooden tower that has cargo nets nailed and lashed to one side, top to bottom. The tower is about thirty feet tall, fifteen feet or so across the base, with an 8’x 8’ floor on the top and a set of ladders built down the side opposite the cargo net. The object of the exercise is to give the men confidence in their abilities to climb up the side of a Navy ship and board the vessel, as well as down the side of the vessel to disembark.
Training is moving along fine as each team moves to the bottom of the tower and each soldier begins his climb to the top. Upon reaching the top, the men will walk across the floor and then climb down using the ladders on the opposite side. All is moving along fine until one of the NCOs notices that one of the soldiers is about half way up the cargo net but no longer climbing.
Instructions are being shouted up to the soldier as the NCO in charge of the training site tries to get the soldier to move on up the net. All efforts fail. The young man is simply too terrified of the height to make it up the side of the tower. In fact, he can’t go up and he can’t go down. He is simply panic struck and no amount of shouting at him is going to change things. So, the lieutenant and one of the other lieutenants from the battery climb the net and position themselves, one on each side of the soldier. Then, by calmly reassuring him that they are all three going to make it up and over the tower, and that they are going to do it together, the young man is finally able to gain a little bit of control over his predicament. With a lieutenant on each side reassuring him that everything is going to be all right and that he can make it up the ropes, the young man begins to climb the net again. They all three reach the top and the soldier is able to move down the ladders on the opposite side without difficulty. Training continues. The panicked soldier and all of the others have a successful day.
Another training adventure ends in a not so satisfying result for the lieutenant. He is with the men of the battery as they practice rappelling in the mountain training area on Oahu. In this little adventure, the soldiers are at the bottom of a high cliff listening to instructions given by the NCO in charge of the training site. After a brief discussion of the technique used in rappelling off the cliff, the NCO asks who will be first to rappel down the side of the bluff. Torn slightly between the philosophies of leading from the front and never volunteering for anything, the lieutenant is moved to be the first to follow instructions and go over the top! After a short hike up to the top of the cliff, he finds himself on a platform built out over the edge of the cliff. The NCOs rig him with a rope harness and a couple of D rings and, with a little final instruction, walk him to the edge of the platform. It didn’t look difficult to him and he has seen plenty of training films showing the technique. It is just that he has never actually done it before –and, not for the last time in the remainder of his Army career, he wishes he had gone from the basic course to Ranger training! He leans backward over the edge of the cliff, his feet resting on the edge of the platform. The NCO in charge says, “Lieutenant just push off with your legs, as you give a little jump, let out a little rope, and let the rope bring you back to the face of the cliff. Then just release a little rope at a time and lower yourself to the ground.” It sounds easy enough, he thinks. So, off into space he goes, confident if not skilled. Everything seems to go just fine. Just fine, that is, until he swings back to the face of the cliff and the soles of his boots hit the red Hawaiian clay. What he hasn’t recognized, and what he hasn’t been told, is that the cliff face is very wet. That makes it slippery, very slippery! Hawaii’s rain and the fact that several hundred soldiers have gone off that perch over the course of the last several weeks have made the cliff wall about as slick as it could possibly be. When his boots make contact with the wall they simply slip straight down the cliff wall and he quickly, and not so politely, kisses that red clay of Hawaii! Fortunately, recovery is fast, if somewhat aided by the need to get to the ground as quickly as possible and avoid further embarrassment. He hits the ground on both feet and is happy to have the NCO at the bottom relieve him of the D rings and send him on his way.
***** The Trip *****
The plane is cold. The lieutenant is aboard an Air Force C-130 that has just left Hickam Air Force Base. This is the first leg of the flight to Viet Nam. He is seated in the jump seats that run along the inside of the fuselage of the plane. In front of him, lashed securely to the floor of the plane, is his quarter-ton truck and trailer – a nice footrest for the trip. Beside him is his driver and his battalion commander. They will share these miserable accommodations all the way from Hickam AFB to Tan Son Nhut AFB, Viet Nam.
Boring, cold flight, cold box lunches, crowded and uncomfortable seats, he thinks the flight will never end. Then a different noise comes from the engines and a sensation of slowing down. The Air Force crew chief comes around and tells the men they are preparing for a landing on Wake Island. It is to be the first refueling stop and they will be on the ground for only a short time.
Wake Island, it turns out, is a stop for a little more than originally planned. Instead of just a refueling stop, they are grounded while the base Air Force technicians address engine problems with the C-130. To kill time, the lieutenant and the others are able to look around the island. It is small, U shaped, with a landing strip down one side, and housing, administrative and maintenance buildings down the other. A coral atoll and not all that pretty of a place for a visit. The Airmen stationed here, and not busy with other duties, share tales of living on the island. They seem happy enough to be there, enjoy some fishing and wait for their time to end so that they can return to the States and get on with life after the military.
Airborne once again, the advance party is headed for Viet Nam. As the plane approaches the Philippine Islands, the party once again gets a visit from the crew chief to let them know that they will be landing at Mactan AFB. Another mechanical problem with one of the engines needs to be addressed. Nobody grumbles knowing it is better to be safe than sorry, and perhaps feeling a little bit relieved to be delaying the arrival in Viet Nam. This time the stay is for a little longer time and the party is given sleeping accommodations in temporary facilities on the air base while the mechanical problems are corrected. Finally, the problem fixed, the party takes flight again. The next landing, a couple of days later than originally planned, will be the air force base at Bien Hoa!
***** Arrival *****
Touchdown. Move to the door. Look out of the C-130 and see Viet Nam for the first time. “Well”, he thinks, “from here it doesn’t look all that different.” Down the gangway to the asphalt. It’s hot, but not that hot! Certainly not the oppressive heat he had expected. But, boy is it busy. US airmen, civilian contractors and Vietnamese nationals working all over the place.
LTC Walker has them load into the jeep and they move across the concrete to find a waiting welcoming party. A group of officers and enlisted men from the 176th Light Infantry Brigade is waiting to greet and welcome them. It is all so uneventful and really, kind of business as usual, he thinks. He wonders what it all has in store for him and when will they get to where they are to spend the next year?
The group departs the air base and heads north for a staging area near Bien Hoa, not far north of the South Viet Nam capital city, Saigon. Lunch, or is it dinner, is at the mess of the 7th Artillery. The unit has been here for about a year. Its soldiers are considered seasoned war veterans. They offer hot food, cold drink and hospitality. The rest of the day is relaxation time – everyone is bone tired from the long trip. There will be ample time to see the countryside and reconnoiter the area where the battery will be staged in the days to come, now they all just want to rest. The remaining Division troops are coming by ship (they will eventually arrive at the costal resort town of Vung Tau) but will not arrive for several more days; enough time for the lieutenant to gain a little familiarity with the country and identify the battery’s first tactical location.
The next few days pass without incident and are filled mostly with mundane chores. The battalion commander, driver and the lieutenant spend a lot of time talking to members of the 7th Artillery while they try to gather as much useful information as possible before the troops arrive.
*****
The lieutenant and driver have made trips into Saigon a couple of times in the first week or so. The city is vibrant, chaotic, and packed with humanity. It is more than a little unnerving to drive through the crowded narrow streets, teeming with people, in the open ¼ ton jeep. Every time the jeep stops in the traffic, Vietnamese children surround them. They are all pretty, all with their hands out, faces covered in big grins, reaching, asking for candy – for anything the Americans have to offer. The soldiers have been warned that sometimes the children are not as innocent as they may seem. Sometimes they have been known to toss a hand grenade into an open jeep or truck and then run into the crowd to simply disappear. US troops have learned to be watchful, to be leery of the friendly appearing children. The lieutenant and his driver are mindful of what they have been told, but also somewhat captivated by the warmth and charm of these beautiful young people. They give what little C-ration candy they have and move on slowly through the crowded streets to the dock area to do their day’s business as quickly as they can.
The city is alive, exciting and, with business finished, they return to the now more familiar confines of the staging area. It feels better there. Several trips are made into Saigon but there is never a feeling of comfort with the trips. It is too tense, too many people, too much unknown in the charming old city. Not unlike other soldiers in other wars, the lieutenant feels more “at home” away from the city and in the countryside. Strange, but it feels safer out there in the country.
A few days before the division is scheduled to arrive at the port city of Vung Tau, the advance party moves from the relative safety of the staging area for a visit to the place his battalion and battery will call home on the outskirts of Cu Chi.
Cu Chi is a town a little over an hours drive northwest of Saigon. It is a relatively small town surrounded by rice paddies and rubber plantations. It will be home base for the division’s 2nd Brigade and become famous for more than just hosting the US infantry division.
The lieutenant and the battalion commander walk the area where the battalion’s artillery pieces will spread their trails; a firing battery here, another one there, the maintenance battery here, battalion headquarters here. The same thing is happening at other sites as all of the advance party members survey the ground and pick out what they think will be the best location for their individual units or activities. The ground is marked with stakes showing unit boundaries and, when the tasks are finished, they all return to the hospitality of the 7th Artillery. The troops will be arriving in a day or two. Anticipation fills the night and the following couple of days as everyone awaits the closing of the division.
***** Cu Chi *****
Everyone is here at last! Batteries are spread out; guns are readied. Infantry battalions and companies are busy making their areas ready. Motor pools and munitions dumps are being prepared. Everyone is anxious to begin operations, but, at the same time, busy with the day’s chores and not dwelling too much on the combat operations that will surely come.
The lieutenant takes the battery commander on a tour of what is to be the battery area. The BC says, “Thanks, good job,” and then turns the rest of the planning over to the executive officer (XO) and tells the lieutenant to go check in with the company he will be attached to.
Back in Hawaii most of the training had seen C Battery teamed with 2nd Battalion, 27th Infantry, the Wolfhounds. Now they would support A Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry (Mechanized), the Bob Cats. The lieutenant wonders why, but does as he is told. He does not know any of the officers in the fifth-mech, but that will change pretty quickly as the battalion becomes the workhorse for the brigade in the early days of action.
Another change is to occur before he reports to the 5th Mech and A Company’s commander; he is losing his driver/RTO to the battalion commander. It seems the previous tours that the young man had volunteered for had given him more than a working knowledge of the language and the battalion commander wanted him to be moved to battalion headquarters and become his personal driver/RTO. “Oh, well,” the lieutenant thinks, “another change that I can’t do anything about.” The replacement is a young Specialist 4th Class from Paris, Texas named Bobby Joe Braswell. Not an unknown entity at all. Braswell had been the assistant armorer back at Schofield Barracks and has an excellent reputation among the men. He along with Sergeant John W. O. Groover will make up the forward observer team that will be together for their tour of duty.
*****
The team goes to meet the new guys at A Company. Captain Bill Hoos, a West Point graduate, is the company commander. He and the other officers and soldiers welcome the new artillerymen and show them around the company area. The lieutenant will share a tent with one of the infantry lieutenants, 1st Lieutenant George Smith, and the rest of the team will put their tent up in the company headquarters area, along with the infantry 4.2 inch mortar section FO team.
The ground is as hard as concrete! The days are hot and dry. It is getting toward the end of the dry season and everything is baked. Power equipment and earth moving machinery will have to be brought in to do some of the heavy digging, but the men set about digging as deep as they can in order to get some protection from anticipated enemy fire. While the other two men were able to live inside a sandbag bunkered area, the lieutenant and his tent mate are set up outside the bunker and need to improvise in order to gain some degree of safety.
Within a day or two the lieutenants would build their own “safe” sleeping and rest area thanks to GI ingenuity and improvising! Their pup tent halves are joined and lifted into place on seven-foot center poles. The two lieutenants then fill sandbags and make a wall about three feet high around three sides of the tent and attach the bottom edge of the tent walls to normal tent poles, giving them a cozy home feeling! Ventilated by the breeze that occasionally moves across the landscape, they can at least sleep in some degree of safety – comfort provided by the rice-hull filled mattresses – at least from small arms fire and maybe from mortar attacks that don’t land too close to the tent!
*****
But, on this first night with the infantry everyone is making do with what they have – tents and bunkered areas are not yet in place. Sleep will come after the long day, but it is hot and the mosquitoes are killers!
The lieutenant and his men are on the edge of the company perimeter. They haven’t had time to dig sleeping pits so they will make do by sleeping in the jeep or on the ground around and under it.
He is sitting on the front of the jeep talking with SGT Groover and SPC 4 Braswell. Earlier in the day they were looking down the incline toward the river below them and on across it to the dirt road that turned northeast along the edge of the rubber plantation. They had discussed a firing mission and thought that the next day they would register a location or two across the river and along the road.
As Groover and Braswell set about with their “anything to keep busy” chores, he looks out across the terrain. It is just starting to get dark, the mosquitoes are buzzing and biting. That part of it all reminds him of the rice fields around his hometown in the heart of Arkansas rice country. He makes himself a mental note to write to his wife and ask her to find him a lightweight nylon hooded jacket that he can wear at night for protection from the mosquitoes.
Sitting there on the front of the jeep is not unlike sitting on the front of his car back home. Or is it? Suddenly, something cracks right by his right ear! He is on the ground on his hands and knees and has both hands full of dirt! The same dirt that is so hard they can’t dig in it without power equipment – amazing what adrenalin will let you do! What was the sound?
He knows exactly what it was. He has now officially entered the war. Someone out there between him and the darkness of the rubber plantation has just taken a shot at him. Now he realizes just how downright stupid it is to sit on the front of the jeep, silhouetting himself against the ever-darkening horizon. Not a mistake that he is apt to make again, but one that a little common sense would have prevented in the first place.
*****
Life moves along slowly. The troops are getting acclimated to this new place while they take care of the business of getting ready for combat operations. The days are spent improving the base camp area: digging bunkers, building shower and latrine locations, reinforcing supply dumps and ammunition storage areas. The senior officers are planning the first operations. Everyone is anxious to do what they came here for – find the Viet Cong and defeat him.
Finally, the company is going to move away from base camp and venture out into the surrounding country. They load into their armored personnel carriers (APC) and head away from the perimeter for the first time. Red ants. Big red ants are falling on top of the APC the lieutenant is riding in as they move through a sparsely wooded area near their base camp. They are fierce little buggers! They have fallen off of the low canopy of trees the tracked vehicles are passing beneath and bumping into. He takes a piece of grass and pokes at one of the ants. It is an aggressive little thing and bites down on the blade of grass. Then, to his surprise, it holds onto the grass and appears to actually lower its body to apply more pressure as he pulls the grass away from the ant. But, after the recent nighttime encounters with the mosquitoes, it is not a big surprise that the next animal life encountered would be more than the average hometown variety!
The company nears the edge of the canopied area and CPT Hoos calls the tracks to a halt. All of the company unloads from the tracks and the lieutenant and his FO section move along with the infantry. The company is moving with three platoons abreast across open rice paddies. A small detachment of about half a dozen soldiers is scouting to the front of the company. No enemy contact is really expected today. The company is not even a thousand meters from the base camp perimeter and the area is fairly open.
As they cross the first few rice paddies, the CO calls the movement to a halt. The lieutenant and his men are in the company’s small command group: the CO, his RTO, the 4.2 inch mortar forward observers, and the company first sergeant. The rice paddies are all empty. Harvest was several months ago. Some of them are as dry and hard as the ground at the base camp. Some are still wet and the ground inside their small walls is about the consistency of jell-o. They are no more than fifty to one hundred feet square and offer only a small measure of protection from enemy fire behind the very low dirt walls intended to hold in the water needed for the rice crop.
The company is stopped near the river that runs along the base camp and the town of Cu Chi. For the past night or two, an observation team, working with a small portable radar unit, has picked up the sound and echo of what they think might be a boat running on the river. If it was a boat, it never came as far down stream as the base camp. The soldiers in the radar team aren’t sure whether it was a boat or, maybe, a vehicle moving along the opposite side of the river. Whatever it was, it wasn’t supposed to be there and the night sentry post will stay on the alert to see if they can spot it again.
CPT Hoos notices a small, rickety boat dock and pier on the opposite shore. It is about four or five hundred meters forward of the company’s position. Down stream from the boat dock is a beached boat. It has been pulled up on shore and sits upright with the flat stern end of the boat furthest up the riverbank. He calls one of his 40 mm grenade men up to his position and tells the soldier to shoot the boat. It is a pretty long shoot for the weapon and the young soldier has some difficulty hitting it. He fires three rounds and misses with all of them. The CO is not happy. He turns to the lieutenant and says, “You think you can hit that thing?” The lieutenant replies, “Yes, sir, I believe I can.” As he is about to begin to call a fire mission the CO hands him the grenade launcher and tells him to do it. Not exactly what the artillery lieutenant had in mind! Nevertheless, he takes the grenade launcher, adjusts the sights and relaxes to fire the first shot. After watching the soldier miss with his three shots, the lieutenant tries to learn from what the saw. He holds the aim a little high, aiming over the stern of the boat, and squeezes off the round. -- If you are standing behind the weapon when it is fired, the 40 mm is an easy round to watch after it leaves the barrel of the gun and easy to track on its way to the target. -- Everyone watches as the round bends upward and begins to fall in a graceful curve toward the other side of the river and the boat. When it makes contact with the boat and explodes even the lieutenant is surprised that he has a first round hit! The CO is happier and the soldier who owns the weapon is embarrassed. Mark one up for the artillery and thanks, too, for growing up in Arkansas with a Dad who taught him to shoot when he was barely old enough to ride his bike! The CO then says, “OK, lieutenant, now let’s see if you can hit the boat dock. Only this time, I think you better call for bigger guns.”
The lieutenant has with him not only the usual topographic map of the operations area, but also an aerial photo of the same area. He had gotten the photo of the area the day before and, using the map as a guide, had marked grid lines on the photo that corresponded to those from the map of the area. He has been planning to use it as an experiment in trying to make calling a fire mission a little more accurate. This will be a first try at seeing if it will work.
SGT Groover is more than a little leery of trying this new technique on an actual enemy target, but since there is no enemy contact, and they aren’t rushed for time, he agrees to give it a try. The lieutenant reads off the coordinates and they are relayed back to Charlie Battery. “Killer 10, this is Killer 64, Fire Mission, over.” The coordinates were transmitted, the fire direction center (FDC) sends the orders to the guns, and the Chief of Smoke, SFC Ray Lynch, orders the mission. “Two rounds in adjustment, Shot, over,” echoed from the radio. “Shot, wait.” The adjusting rounds are on their way. Bang, bang! Both exploded right on target. “Mission complete. Target destroyed.”
Wow! The trick map-photo conversion worked … and the lieutenant thinks that he probably got a little lucky, too. SGT Groover is relieved , the CO is happy and the LT wonders, “Is it going to work that well every time?”
They are finished with the days work and begin to move back to the tracks and return to base camp.
***** North Camp Drake *****
There hasn’t been a large number of soldiers medivaced from Viet Nam to the hospital at Camp Drake. Not yet anyway, but time will change that. The hospital staff is still figuring out how to handle the new patients and how to provide the care they need. Most of the patients, if not all, have arrived after their wounds had been treated at one, two or, maybe even, three hospitals before arriving at Camp Drake. The hospital is more of a rehabilitation stop than one of emergency care or triage. It is, though, friendly, quite and a nice place to recover before either returning to the states or back to combat.
The lieutenant’s wounds are healing nicely. He has not had any set backs since arriving in Japan. The wounds to his legs and chest are healing and the sutures were removed a couple of days ago and today they will remove the cast on his left arm to examine the arm and remove the sutures hidden under the plaster cast.
He is a little apprehensive about removing the cast. The arm had been very badly damaged and he feared for a while that he might lose it. He had seen the X-Ray pictures of the arm after it had been put in the cast and he would be amazed if it had healed enough to go without a cast. Mainly, he just didn’t want someone messing with the arm right now.
His memories of the first few days in the 93rd Evacuation Hospital in Viet Nam were still fresh and he didn’t want to go through the pain of that experience all over again. He recalled how it was difficult to roll to his side, either side, sufficiently enough to give the corpsmen a new area for a shot of penicillin in the backside. He was getting penicillin shots twice a day in order to stave off infection that could come from the dirt and particles that had broken his body. Both cheeks of his butt were bruised blue, black, green and yellow from the needles. The thought of the next shot made his stomach turn. Even knowing how necessary they were did little to make the feeling go away.
The corpsmen there had been very good, too. They had been an all male group and took exceptionally good care of their charges. He recalled when he was first asked to get out of bed in order to walk to an outside latrine. The nurse, a female first lieutenant, had told him they didn’t want him to become distended and, although at the time he wasn’t quite sure what that meant, he was pretty sure he didn’t want anything else going wrong. So, out of the hospital bed he went, accompanied by one giant of a corpsman. The corpsman said, “Take it easy now lieutenant. Just sit on the edge of the bed for a minute or two before you try to walk. It has been a while since you were on your feet and you won’t have as much strength as you might think.” After following instructions, he and the corpsman started on the short walk to the latrine. After they got out of the hospital ward and into the direct sun and heat of Viet Nam the corpsman said, “Lieutenant, if you feel dizzy or get tired, just let me know and we can rest for a while.” The walk was only a few yards but it seemed like multiples of football fields! Business finished, they began the walk back to the hospital ward but about half way there the journey became too long. “I think I am going to have to sit for a while,” the lieutenant said, and promptly was assisted by the corpsman to a sitting position on a low row of rocks. The dizzy, light-headedness passed, a little strength returned and the corpsman helped him back to his feet and into the hospital.
That same kind of care and compassion is found in the corpsmen, nurses and doctors here at Camp Drake. They go out of their way to make life better and help their patients heal for tomorrow and keep the past in perspective.
*****
The young corpsman who came to help with the cast removal was introduced, “He is new with us but knows what he is doing, and he has a very good reputation from his past assignment,” the lieutenant is told by the nurse. “He’s going to remove the cast and then remove the stitches.” Removing the cast proves to be not all that difficult. The corpsman showed how the little electric saw worked and how it wouldn’t cut into the flesh. The reassurance is appreciated.
The lieutenant recalled another “new” corpsman at the 93rd who was to give him a penicillin injection after his butt already felt like hamburger and the very thought of another shot was making his stomach turn. On that occasion, he simply sent the young man away and asked that one of the nurses or an experienced corpsman come back and give him the shot. Now, he is going to be a little more tolerant and let the new guy do his thing.
The cast is removed without difficulty. The arm is still very tender and this is the first time that the lieutenant has seen first hand the extent of the damage that had been done by that homemade claymore mine. A scar ran from just inside the bend in this elbow to the top inside of his upper arm. A large amount of the bicep muscle had been removed and the incision was held together with thin strands of stainless steel wire – the same way the wounds to his legs and chest had been stitched. He had been told that the stainless steel was less likely to cause infection and was being used throughout the medical system in Viet Nam to treat wounded soldiers.
After cutting and removing the cast, the corpsman lays it aside and asks the lieutenant, “Do you want to keep that as a souvenir?” “Nope, not interested,” was the reply. The corpsman then takes his scissors and clips through the first half dozen, or so, wire stitches. As he removes the first one from the lieutenant’s wound, it slides easily through the flesh but upon emerging from the end of the site it causes a small cut in the arm, not much more than a scratch, and a little blood trickles down. The lieutenant watches as the young corpsman begins to remove the second stitch and wonders why it wouldn’t be better to straighten out the “hook” like end of the piece that was being pulled through the healed wound. He doesn’t say anything but simply set his jaw and waits for the stitch to be removed. Some of the other patients on the officer ward have stopped what they are doing and are watching the corpsman and the lieutenant. They, too, are interested in what is going on and anxious to see how the healing is progressing. It doesn’t take long in an environment like a hospital filled with men evacuated from combat for a strong sense of camaraderie to be built.
As each length of wire nears the end of its travel out of the wound the corpsman gives it a quick jerk. The quick jerk is probably in line with the theory of the old trick used by moms and dads across the world when removing tape or a Band-Aid from a cut or scratch – remove it in a hurry and it won’t hurt as bad! Well, this time there is little feeling but the hook like end still hasn’t been straightened and the exit causes a small cut and a little more blood pops to the surface. Then, perhaps to speed the process, the corpsman decides to apply the quick jerk technique from the beginning and, after grasping the next stitch with his forceps, he gives it a quick jerk.
The arm moves back and forth between elbow and shoulder like it was made of rubber. Clearly the bone has not yet knitted. The Lieutenant nearly passes out. The corpsman has failed to cut through the wire stitch. Oooouch! Tolerance over. Get new help in here. The lieutenant wants to fall over, but is afraid he will damage the arm. He simply says, “Your job is finished here. Go get me another corpsman.” The corpsman objects. The lieutenant says, “Go get him now and don’t come back!” He does as he is told and another corpsman promptly enters the ward to take over where the first one has left off.
He wipes the small spots of blood caused by the removal of the stitches with an alcohol swab and restarts the removal process. He clips the wire. Then he takes his forceps and straightens the trailing end. Then he gently and slowly removes the stitch from the arm. He repeats the process for the length of the wound. No more pain, no more blood, no more jerking the yet to knit arm around. The lieutenant would like to jump up and kiss him! Probably better not!
The corpsman then loads the lieutenant into a wheelchair and takes him to the cast room where he becomes the proud owner of a new cast. An X-ray of the arm shows that the bone is still a few weeks away from becoming strong enough to be without a cast. Back to the ward and to bed. Rest is needed and sleep would come easy. He is exhausted.
*****
A few weeks later the cast is removed for the final time and rehabilitation of the arm begins. The muscle loss will be difficult to overcome but what they are really working on is to regain as full a range of motion as possible. The walk to the exercise and rehab room isn’t far but the weather isn’t always cooperative.
The staff is wonderful and always agreeable to a suggestion that might make life easier and more comfortable for their charges. At the lieutenant’s request they install a simple pulley into the exposed rafters of the ceiling of the officer ward, run a rope through the pulley and put grip handles on each end of the rope. The rope is long enough so that, when gripping a handle in each hand, if the lieutenant extends his right arm all the way down his side, the left arm will be lifted and stretched into a fully extended position. That is the theory, at any rate! Actually doing that simple procedure proves to be a bit more difficult.
Nevertheless, determined to regain a full range of motion and the ability to straighten the left arm, he works at the pulley system several times each day. His ward mates are completely tolerant and never once object to the noise from the pulley system or from any disruption that its use may be causing them. Years later he will think of their tolerance and say a quiet, “Thanks to you all!” Healing is progressing on schedule. A trip home couldn’t be that far off. “Don’t even think about it,” he says to himself, “there is still a lot of work to do before that time comes.”
***** 5th Mech *****
The days are getting hotter. It has not rained since they arrived at Cu Chi. The base camp is starting to come together. Around the artillery battery, the men have been able to get some overhead shelter built. Still most operations are being performed in tents: pup tents, GP small, GP medium and GP large tents. The most sought after commodity is ice. It has to be bought from the local merchants in Cu Chi and it does not come in great volumes. The men drink mostly coffee, soft drinks and beer. Water is difficult to come by and has to be brought in by tanker. The water from the countryside is not safe to drink and the brigade medical staff has already seen a few cases of dysentery. It is water that the lieutenant is looking for when the infantry XO, a big redheaded kid from someplace north of the Mason-Dixon line, finds him and tells him that the CO wants to talk to him.
The lieutenant finds the CO at company headquarters and reports in. CPT Hoos tells him to get his section ready to leave in about an hour. They are going to do another sweep in the same direction they had last operated, but would go a little further out this time. Some enemy activity had been reported in the area and it was their mission to clear it.
Loaded back into the APCs, headed back across the perimeter, and through the small wooded area before once again reaching the rice fields, the lieutenant and his two section mates wonder if today they will actually come in contact with the Viet Cong. The battalion has yet to have eye-to-eye contact with a Viet Cong and the troops are becoming a little anxious.
As is standard procedure, the CO sends a small advance party out to reconnoiter the ground to the front before the main body of the company reaches it. After a couple of thousand meters of march, the company hears the sound of small arms fire directly in front of the company position. It is coming from a small streambed that dissects the rice fields and dumps into the river that the lieutenant had called for the fire mission on the boat dock.
Looking around the lieutenant notices that all of the infantrymen are in low hunched positions – making themselves as small a target as they could – and slowly maneuvering across the rice paddies toward the edge of the small stream. The CO calls a halt to the advance. The platoons have advanced to within about 300 meters from the banks of the stream and are now waiting for more direction from their CO.
Before long, the small advance party appears from the far left front of the advancing company where the stream empties into the river and begins moving across the rice paddies toward the company positions. They stay low moving as fast as they can, taking turns looking back to make sure that they are not being followed, to cover their advancing party mates and to ensure that a VC isn’t intent on firing on them. When they reach the command group, the sergeant in charge tells CPT Hoos that they encountered two VC in the small stream defilade. They believe they killed one of the enemy soldiers with small arms fire but the other has moved away and is thought to still be in the streambed.
Everyone is lying on their stomach and hunkered down behind low-level rice levies in order to take advantage of the scant protection available. Otherwise, the company is completely exposed to whatever the enemy might have at his disposal. CPT Hoos said, “LT, I want you to put some fire on that streambed.” Then to the sergeant he asks for his best guess as to where they had last seen the VC. Indicating to the lieutenant where that position might be, the CO moves slowly away and leaves the FO section to do their work. The lieutenant and SGT Groover check the position on the map, note the coordinates on the map and call the firing battery. “Killer 10, this is Killer 64. Fire Mission; enemy troops in streambed; over.” An immediate response comes from the FDC and the battery has adjusting rounds in the air. They are very close to the edge of the streambed and the lieutenant departs from the rule of not divulging your location when calling close fire by letting the FDC know just how close they are when he adds, “Close fire, within 300 meters, over.” This is not something that an FO is supposed to do -- based on the theory that the enemy might be listening and would know the position of friendly troops. The lieutenant thinks that since there has already been a firefight and one VC is thought to be dead and another still around, the enemy probably already has a pretty good idea where they are. Besides, he doesn’t want to be the first FO from the battalion to have a friendly fire incident if it can be helped!
The first two rounds land just across the streambed, by maybe 25 or 30 meters. Not good. He calls the battery and says, “Drop five zero, over.” The battery does as he requests and, just as expected the next set of rounds lands on the company’s side of the streambed; missing the stream bed by just about the same distance as the first two rounds had on the opposite side. CPT Hoos looks at him with an expression that says, “OK, now what are you going to do?” The stream moves in direction slightly away from the company a few meters up from where the last adjusting rounds have just landed. Maybe if he moves the rounds up that direction they will have a better chance of landing in the streambed, he thinks to himself. Then he has a second thought and calls in the adjustment. “Right five zero, add five zero; VT in effect, high angle, fire for effect; Over.” The FDC repeats the call for fire and the rounds are on their way.
VT, or veritable time, fused rounds, using a sensing device in the fuse, explode when they are a distance of approximately 20 meters from something solid. In this instance, the guns are not very far from the impact area. So instead of firing a normal trajectory, which would have come close to the ground where A company personnel are spread out behind the rice paddy levies, the rounds will have a high trajectory which will cause the rounds to pass high overhead and drop on the target in an almost straight down pattern. It takes the rounds a little longer to reach the target but the effect is what they wanted. Exploding in the air, at a height of about twenty meters, the rounds send shards of hot metal into the streambed and the fields near its edge.
The CO signals for the fire mission to end and SGT Groover relays what the lieutenant gave him, “End of mission. Target analysis to follow. Good job.” The CO is on the radio to his battalion commander. The battalion commander has been airborne in a light observation helicopter watching the company below him. After ending the call, the CO orders the company to pull back to where the APCs have been left. Apparently, the Battalion commander can see the results of the firing and has decided that there is no need for the company to advance any further. It is time to return to base camp, pull maintenance on the tracks and guns, and get ready for the next mission.
*****
A few days later, the men of A Company are out on a new search and destroy mission. They have been out since before daylight. The area they are operating in is still close to the base camp and is about the last close-in place yet to be cleared. The company has worked all of the areas around the base camp in the past several days and this mission will just about clear all of the close areas.
The objective is a small hamlet long since abandoned by its inhabitants. It consists of only three small, crudely-built houses. Each house has mud and straw walls seven or eight inches thick that stand about four feet from ground level – the walls are otherwise open to the outside. The roof is made of thatched straw and palm fronds of some kind supported by limbs cut from large trees. The floors are dirt, although worn as smooth as a linoleum floor. Inside each house is a fire ring used for both heating and cooking. The roof of each house extends out about three or four feet past the low mud and straw walls to provide its occupants with a small measure of defense against the summer sun and the monsoon rains the country is famous for.
Inside one of the houses, the men find a small hole just large enough for a small man to squeeze through. It is behind the fire ring, near a back wall and has been hidden under a mat of sticks and wood slats. CPT Hoos is called to see the find and orders one of the company’s “tunnel rats” to check it out. These guys are something else!. The lieutenant is never quite sure whether they have extraordinary courage or whether they are extraordinarily mentally impaired! Whatever the correct evaluation, they are extremely valuable in helping root out the VC.
The men work quickly with their entrenching tools to widen the opening of the small hole. As the digging progresses it becomes obvious that the hole is the top entrance of a small tunnel. The tunnel runs four or five feet, angling down slightly, until it opens up into what appears to be a small underground room. The room is no more than six or eight feet square and does not seem to contain any hidden arms or, in fact, any thing at all. Flashlights and a couple of small Coleman lanterns brighten the room and reveal that one wall is made entirely of bamboo. The bamboo poles are three to four inches in diameter and go from floor to ceiling. Imagining that the wall is there to hide something of value, but not knowing what might be there, the infantrymen begin trying in earnest to remove the wall or break it down. Each end of each bamboo pole is embedded several inches in the floor and the top end is likewise buried several inches in the ceiling. Work to remove the bamboo is very difficult and continues for at least an hour before enough of the wall is removed to reveal what has been hidden from view and for safekeeping.
It is common knowledge that the VC like to hide arms, food and other items in tunnels and in the small hamlets around Cu Chi. Naturally then, the infantrymen work hard to discover what they might find hidden behind the bamboo. After the tiring process of breaking through the bamboo and removing it, the men are disappointed to find nothing but more dirt behind the wall. CPT Hoos tells them, “Hey, don’t be disappointed. We discovered that this place was used as a hideout of some type. The villagers probably reinforced the wall to keep it from collapsing and used it to hide from either the VC, from us or even from South Vietnamese troops.” The troops left the otherwise undamaged hamlet and returned to base camp to report the finding to battalion headquarters. The small hiding room and connecting tunnel is one of the first of many tunnels that would be discovered in and around the Cu Chi base camp as the year unfolded for 2nd Brigade.
Later in the war, the area was discovered to have the most extensive tunnel complex in the entire country. Tunnels that were used to move troops safely from one area to another, tunnels that were used to store ammunition, food and supplies, and tunnels that were wired with electric lights and had rooms large enough to serve as operating rooms – the VC were very industrious in their construction and use!
***** The Battery *****
The firing battery has continued to improve its area and the lieutenant and the other members of the FO section are happy to visit their buddies to see how things are going for all of them.
SGT Groover and SPC Braswell have been assigned to the unit much longer than the lieutenant and have many friends in the battery. They always enjoy returning to the battery area. It’s a sure way to regain the artilleryman feeling. Nevertheless, they also enjoy the persona of an “infantryman” and love to tell their buddies what they are missing by not being able to go out with the infantry like the FOs do. Not many of the men buy the story line and nobody is ready to swap positions with any of the three of them. The relative security of the battery area is far more appealing than the adrenalin charge the FOs and infantrymen get from closer contact with the enemy. Nope, base camp was just fine! In fact, when Mike Moran told the lieutenant the story of a soldier who had been giving him a hard time, the lieutenant said that Moran could tell the young soldier that if his ways didn’t improve immediately he could replace Braswell for a couple of days. He told him that Braswell could use the time away from the FO team to recover from taking two gamma globulin shots in the same hip at the same time. The offer is too good to refuse and a day or two later the young soldier replaces Bobby Braswell for one day as the lieutenant’s RTO. The experience ended without incident, but turned the once problem prone soldier into a much more cooperative one around the battery area.
*****
As they went around the battery greeting old friends and sharing their stories of life with the infantry, the lieutenant recalls a previous visit with his artillery brethren. On that occasion he had been called to report to the battalion command post for a meeting with the battalion commander and the BC. The battalion had scheduled some reconnoiter and familiarization flights in a light observation helicopter – an OH 23. The pilot was an artillery aviator by the name of Captain Bob Roberts. CPT Roberts was scheduled to take each of the battery’s three FOs up for a short flight around the area outside of the base camp and over the rubber plantation and rice paddies the three lieutenants would be walking in the not too distant future.
The lieutenant was the first to take the ride. He was the only lieutenant of the three who had been to artillery officer basic course and, presumably, the only one who had been instructed on the procedures to adjust fire from a helicopter. Nobody bothered to ask, and he didn’t volunteer the information, but the basic course had only briefly covered the topic back at Fort Sill and then only in the classroom, never from the air. He was completely inexperienced in adjusting fire from the air. It didn’t really matter now because he and CPT Roberts were soon lifting off and heading for the rubber plantation.
The flight was fun. It was a change of pace and the perspective it offered of the terrain below was much different than what could be seen on foot. As they flew northwest away from base camp, the lieutenant and the captain exchanged small talk as the captain pointed out different landmarks. It was relaxing and the lieutenant sat examining the ground with his right foot resting on the support structure just outside the cabin bubble of this small helicopter. As they flew low over the canopy of rubber trees and palm trees below CPT Roberts suddenly pulled the stick in order to gain elevation. At the same, time the lieutenant thought he heard the sound of a rifle shot. Roberts said, “We have someone shooting at us. Let’s see if we can find him.”
About then two VC, in the traditional black pajama outfit, ran across a small opening and into one of the small thatch roofed houses in the small hamlet they were just passing over. The captain asked the lieutenant if he wanted to call fire and, not having confidence in adjusting fire from the air, he replied, “You go ahead, Sir.” The truth was he hadn’t paid enough attention to their flight route and too much attention to having the fun a tourist might have. He didn’t know for sure where the guns of the battery were located and their position relative to the target was key to the kind of mission the lieutenant suspected the pilot had in mind. He had never fired a precision mission either and that is exactly what type of mission that CPT Roberts had just called in to the battalion FDC!
The fire mission was handed down to a battery of 155mm howitzers. They had recently been added to the battalion’s strength making it the beginning of an artillery group. The first round was short of the target and off to one side by a couple of hundred meters. The captain adjusted the fire and the next rounds were still short but much closer to the house the VC had disappeared into. One more adjustment didn’t move the impact much and the round was still short and off to one side of the house. As the captain was beginning to make an end of mission call; the lieutenant, now oriented, interrupted him to ask if he could try an adjustment. “OK, go for it,” the captain said. The lieutenant added a few more meters and called for a little adjustment hoping to move the impact of the round a little more to the right. This time the round hit right next to the building, maybe as close as about ten feet. The building had suffered significant damage, but was still standing. Now he was confident in what he was doing. One more adjustment and a direct hit would finish the job! But, the captain said, “Call end of mission. We are out of here.” And with that he took them out of the area in a hurry. He looked over at the lieutenant and said, “Not much protection up here in one of these little things. It is always better to live to fight again another day, as the saying goes.” Lesson learned and back to base camp they went.
LTC Walker was there waiting when the lieutenant exited the helicopter. It had been the first genuine enemy engagement for the battery and the battalion commander was excited to find out more. The pilot had called in a target evaluation estimating two VC killed or wounded and the BC wanted to know exactly what they saw and exactly what happened. The lieutenant told him what had occurred; told him the two VC disappeared into the hooch; and, told his Battalion Commander that he couldn’t give a more complete target assessment than what CPT Roberts called in at the end of the mission. He also gave the captain credit for initiating the fire mission. The Battalion Commander said, “Lieutenant, target assessment is an important part of the fire mission. It helps us all know what good the men and their guns did and it helps build the morale of the gun crews. They need to know what is happening on your end of the business. Keep that in mind in the future.” It was clear to the lieutenant that he should pay closer attention to that part of the procedure from then on. It was the closest to a butt chewing he ever got during his artillery tour and it struck home.
Remembering that lesson he headed over the FDC to see what LT Moran and his crew were doing and find out if there was anything that Mike needed from him. They visited for a short while and it was time to find his crew and head back down to the 5th Mech’s area. It was nearing evening hours and there would be things to get ready for tomorrow. But, before heading back they took a trip by battery admin to check on the mail.
*****
Mail is there waiting! The most important part of the days seem to be the letters from home. They bring a sense of reality and remind everyone of the loved ones that they long to see, to hear, to touch. When a day or two goes past without mail the men get edgy, agitated even though they are very aware that the mail system has yet to be smoothed out. Some of the mail is still being addressed to their homes in Hawaii where it has to be forwarded to the Army in the Pacific, then to Saigon, they to the 25th Infantry Division, on to 2nd Brigade, and finally to the soldier’s unit of assignment. The process is slow and the soldiers are usually not patient men. But, when it finally arrives, when they have that little envelope in their hands, the feeling is great. It brings immediate relief and, again, a sense of normality.
The lieutenant reads about the progress the baby is making, how the trip home had gone for his wife and child. He is surprised to read that her dad had met them when they arrived in California. Her parents have been divorced for longer than he has know her and her father had moved to California before the lieutenant and wife married. She told of arriving back in Jonesboro after stops in California and Memphis, Tennessee. The Army had organized things very well for the dependents who opted to return to their mainland homes instead of staying in quarters in Hawaii. An Army representative met her in California, someone there to help her with her bags, the baby, and to assist her in catching the next flight. He is pleased to learn that she is being taken care of and that she is, at last, back home, safe and staying with her mother. Man it is good to read news from home! He makes himself a promise to write to her more often and to be sure to try to write a letter that evening before turning in.
*****
Back with the infantry, things are moving along quietly as the XO comes to find him and tells him that there will be a meeting of the company officers at the company command post (CP) in an hour. He is expected to be there along with the rest of the officers. No big deal, just another meeting and mission briefing. The CO often calls these sessions to let the guys know what is going on in the rest of the brigade area, or what might be in store for them in their next operation.
CPT Hoos opens the meeting with his usual calmness. He describes briefly what the other brigade units have done in the last couple of days. Then he tells the men that one of the companies from the Wolfhounds had been in action that day and a couple of days before. They had suffered some casualties. He said at least one infantryman was killed by small arms fire when the unit encountered moderate VC opposition. The other company had been operating in an area slightly northwest of the brigade location and across the river in the rubber plantation. The area was near where the lieutenant had flown in the helicopter mission and was thought to harbor a number of VC. The CO describes for us tomorrow’s mission. The company will move on foot, leaving the tracked vehicles behind, cross the river and proceed to clear an area north and west of the base camp. The company objective is a small hamlet in the rubber plantation that the lieutenant had flow over several days before. It is a search and destroy mission. The indigenous personnel had been warned to clear the area because of expected combat action. Consequently, anyone we encounter in the area is to be considered hostile. The area has been declared a “free fire zone.” “The only non-US people we will see tomorrow will be VC,” CPT Hoos said, “So everyone stay alert.” “Based on intelligence sources covering the area, enemy contact is expected,” he said.
He asks, “Any questions or comments?” There are a few from the infantrymen. The lieutenant asks if they have any aerial photos of the area. They do and he takes one so that he can draw grid lines on it from the topographic map he has of the area. One of the platoon leaders, 1LT Jim Gavin (son of World War II, General James Gavin) asks if the troops should wear flak jackets for the operation. There is a little discussion about wearing or not wearing them – it is getting hotter, they are heavy and uncomfortable. The CO decides that flak jackets could be left at base camp. The daytime temperature is expected to be pretty high and the entire operation will be on foot. Also, VC activity in the area was expected to be light. His decision was to balance the expected low risk of enemy contact with the discomfort of wearing the cumbersome flak jackets in the oppressive heat anticipated for the day. The direction and decision is not completely in keeping with reported intelligence, but all agree with the decision to leave the vests at base camp tomorrow. The lieutenant reminds the CO of the secondary explosions he observed when he registered rounds on the bend in the road a few weeks prior. The CO thanks him and says that the operation will be further west than that site, but adds “we all should be alert for the possibility of booby traps and land mines.”
Back at the tent after briefing his section, the lieutenant copies the grid coordinates off the map and onto the aerial photo of tomorrow’s operation area. Then he tries to write a quick note to his wife before turning in for a little sleep. Time of departure was 0500 and he has to get his men ready and to the rendezvous point by 0430 hours.
***** Valentine’s Day *****
It is dark and cool as the company begins to move out away from the perimeter and security of the base camp. They snake along slowly, a security screen set up along each flank of the advancing company, with a small section of point men leading the way. Above, the sky is clear and filled with millions of stars. The moon glows but is beginning to fade and doesn’t provide a great deal of illumination. All in all, it is a very pretty night and the only sounds are the quiet rustling of the men as they move about and the tinkling of the water as the stream slides past.
The company moves down from the base camp area and approaches the small river that runs along the north and west sides of where 2nd Brigade calls home. As they approach the stream, the long, thin line of soldiers stops. One of the advanced party of point men wades slowly and carefully out into the stream and across to the far shore. The stream is only twenty or thirty meters wide here and the current is not very strong so crossing is not difficult. However, caution has to be taken to make sure that booby traps are not hidden along either shore or under water. Also, since this is the first time the stream has been crossed by A Company, they don’t know how clear of obstacles or how firm and solid the streambed will turn out to be. Caution is the by-word.
CPT Hoos is satisfied that all is well and gives the word for security to be set up across the stream as the rest of the company begins to make the crossing. The lieutenant and his men are with the CO. In fact, the CO has told the lieutenant that he will be responsible for all of the “camp followers” today. “Just keep up with them and keep the photographers out of the way,” he said just before they left the perimeter. The group includes his own section (Groover and Braswell), two forward observers from the 4.2 inch mortar section, a soldier armed with an M79 grenade launcher, two soldiers comprising the 90 mm recoilless rifle team, two combat photographers – one from the division paper, The Tropic Lightening, and a free lance photographer working for the Associated Press, an M-60 machine gun crew of two. Counting the CO, his driver and his RTO, the total in the little group reaches fifteen.
As the last elements of the company make the crossing, the company is spread out along the riverbank in platoon formations. As they begin to move across the open area of dry and hardened rice paddies, the company formation is established with two platoons moving abreast and one providing flanking cover, with a squad in reserve. They move quickly across the open rice paddies and close into the cover of the rubber plantation without incident. Visibility begins to improve as nighttime slowly recedes and the sun begins to rise.
The CO calls the lieutenant over and tells him to call artillery fire on locations ahead of the company’s planned avenue of advance. They have talked about this previously and the lieutenant and SGT Groover have picked several spots along the route of advance as likely places to drop artillery rounds. They send the word back to the guns and they are immediately answered. “Shot, over” comes in loud and clear, followed by the sound of rounds in the air, passing overhead as they head for the target and impact. “Woof, woof, woof.” The exploding rounds are muted by the rubber trees as they impact five hundred meters, or so, to the front of the company’s position. “ I wouldn’t want to be a VC sitting around up there,” the lieutenant thinks and orders, “End of mission.”
*****
As the company continues to move slowly through the plantation they see signs of previous combat activity. In several places they come across large craters, the obvious left overs from bombs dropped by USAF B-52s that have been used to “soften” the area prior to the arrival of the 25th ID. Forward progress of the company is slow and cautious. CPT Hoos is in constant contact with the battalion commander, LTC Tug Greer (later to retire with the two stars of a major general). Progress is being made and the company is approaching the first of several small hamlets scattered throughout the plantation.
Soldiers of A Company move slowly through the small collection of houses, huts really, the same construction that the company has seen several times now – low mud and straw walls with thatched roofs supported by timbers that are hardly more than tree limbs. Still no enemy contact but the infantrymen stay alert as they search the small houses. What they find is not people but a good supply of rice. Several large bags of rice, probably weighing as much as fifty pounds each are discovered in one of the houses. The rice is brought out and some of the bags are cut open and the rice is scattered on the ground. Then one of the men discovers a water well near the center of the collection of houses in this small hamlet. What they have discovered, they think, is a small supply point for the VC. CPT Hoos orders the rice destroyed. As two of the men cut open the bags of rice and scatter the contents on the ground, he says to them, “Take those bags that you have left, cut them open and pour them into the well.” He is hoping to destroy the rice and, at the same time, contaminate the well water. He wants to leave nothing for the VC should they return to get the food stash.
That job done and the hamlet cleared, the company moves on. Not far from the first small hamlet one of the platoons – the one to the left of the two lead platoons – comes under small arms fire. They return the fire and report VC contact. As they continue moving forward, shrapnel from a booby trap hits one of the soldiers. With wounds to his legs and backside, he is the first casualty from A Company; unfortunately, he will not be the last of the day.
The CO and the lieutenant move their group over to the platoon that has been engaged with the enemy and where the wounded soldier is. The wound is not life threatening, but he will need to be evacuated from the area. The CO asks the lieutenant to give the coordinates of the location to the platoon leader’s RTO so that they can call for a dust-off. He does as asked and within a matter of minutes the sound of a helicopter is heard approaching from the direction of the base camp.
The infantry forms a circle of security around the landing area, marks the spot with a smoke grenade and waits for the dust-off pilot to sit the chopper down. Moments later the chopper hovers above the tree canopy then drops quickly into the marked landing area. Corpsmen (medics) from the chopper jump to the ground and run to where the wounded soldier is waiting. They quickly treat the wounded soldier and signal for a litter from the chopper. The soldier is lifted onto the litter and, just as quickly, loaded into the helicopter. In a matter of hardly more than a couple of minutes, the soldier has been loaded aboard the chopper and it has left the area heading back to base camp where he will be met by division medical personnel. His friends are happy to see him lifted out to the care he needs, confident that he will be alright, and now a little more concentrated on the mission of the day. Now, for perhaps the first time, some of the soldiers recognize the real and certain danger in what they are doing. This mission is different from those others they have had. This one is more real, filled with more danger – they become more alert.
The company regroups and begins to move once again. The objective is still in the distance and the day isn’t getting any longer. The company clears one more small hamlet without incident and moves on.
CPT Hoos receives a radio call from battalion advising him that the medicevac helicopter has arrived back at base camp and medical personnel are caring for the soldier. The first report is that he will recover just fine. Still, he is the first casualty and the troops are now clearly moving with a little more caution.
*****
Another call from the left most platoon causes the CO to once again move in their direction. The platoon leader has spotted what appears to be a makeshift tree house. At least some sort of platform built about halfway up one of the rubber trees. He and the CO discuss the situation and the CO calls the 90 mm recoilless rifle team over to where he and the platoon leader are huddled in conversation. A little more discussion and the platoon leader takes the team forward with a squad of riflemen as the rest kneel down and wait.
The lieutenant notices that the freelance AP photographer has also moved a little closer to the recoilless team. He keeps an eye on the photographer but since he stops after only a short distance, and doesn’t move any further away, he leaves him alone. The photographer has attached a telephoto lens to his camera and is taking pictures of the tree house.
“Voom-wooish,” goes the recoilless and the tree house, or whatever it was, disappears from the tree! The photographer gets a picture of the results of the 90 mm team’s work and moves back over to be near the command group. As the recoilless team rejoins them, the command group moves back to its original location – generally, between the two advancing platoons – and the company continues to move forward. The team has done a job on the tree house, not exactly what they have been trained for, or what the weapon is designed for, but very effective!
*****
Everything is more intense now. Every movement is suspect. Two more dust-offs have been called to take away wounded soldiers. Each of the wounded has been the result of either land mines or booby traps. The small arms fire they have received seems to be only a form of harassment. It is hard to fight the enemy when he can’t be seen. It seems like there are booby traps everywhere. The few VC who have been encountered seem to disappear either into a hole in the ground, or into the tree cover, as quickly as they appear.
Movement is slow and deliberate as the company makes it way toward the objective, another small hamlet still a few hundred meters away. The command group is back in its center location, between the two advancing platoons, and the CO is talking to his platoon leaders on the radio. They reach the top edge of what appears to be a ditch dug in the middle of the plantation. “What is this for,” wonders the lieutenant “maybe a way to irrigate the trees?” No, he doesn’t think that could be it. Maybe a fighting trench? No, probably not that either. It seems too wide and wouldn’t offer enough cover in a firefight. Maybe it is there as an impediment to slow advancing infantrymen? Whatever the purpose, the last thought is one that certainly fits. He watches the first of the infantrymen move down the nearside banks of the ditch and begin to climb out the opposite side. Nothing happens. No enemy fire, nothing. Then he sees a low strand of old rusty barbed-wire fence strung between half a dozen short posts no more than six or eight feet from where he is standing.
Why a fence here, he wonders? Why? Just another impediment, maybe. Then he sees it. Attached to one of the short posts is a World War II era pineapple hand grenade. The post doesn’t quite reach the ground and will swing freely away from its upright position if a hand is placed on the top of it – the way someone might do if it were used as a support to cross the fence and go down into the ditch. A wire has one end attached to the pin in the grenade and the other is solidly attached to a small rubber tree. If the short post moves away from the tree, the pin would be pulled from the grenade and it would explode. He stops everyone around him and points out the grenade to the CO. Everyone backs slowly away and one of the infantrymen, trained in the removal of booby traps like this one, comes forward to examine it. After a short discussion with the platoon leader, the CO instructs everyone to move away while the grenade is made safe. The young sergeant does his job. The grenade is safe and the group moves forward. That grenade is most likely one of the kind that has already injured several soldiers today. They are thankful they saw it in time and disarmed it without anyone being injured. Now, with continued caution, the group moves forward.
“Lieutenant,” called the CO, “over here.” The lieutenant moves quickly to the captain’s side to see what he wants. “I need someone to run this map back to the rear platoon. Do you think that one of your guys can get back to the last place we called a medivac and get it to the platoon leader?” “Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied, “we’ll get it to him.” With that he takes the folded map and calls SGT Groover over to him. “SGT Groover, do you remember the last place we called in the medivac, about 200 or 300 meters back?” Groover remembers and, anticipating what the lieutenant is about to tell him, begins to take off some of his equipment. He removes his web gear and lays his M-14 down on top of it and, taking the map, starts to leave. The lieutenant stops him and tells him to take the weapon along. He grumbles a little saying that he will be moving through our own troops and doesn’t need the rifle, then before the lieutenant has time to counter the argument, Groover is gone, as he starts a low run back in the direction they have just come from. They wait for the CO to decide what he wants to do next. Only a few minutes pass, with the CO on the telephone talking to his platoon leaders and to his BN Commander. While the CO instructs his platoon leaders on the next movement, SGT Groover returns from his mission, red faced from the run but otherwise just fine – a relief for the lieutenant and the team! Mission accomplished. Without apparent concern for his own safety, he has run through the enemy areas, alone and unarmed, to get the much-needed map to one of the platoon leaders.
“OK, let’s move on,” the CO orders and the command group moves forward another hundred meters or so before they stop again. He is talking to the platoon leader on his left again, and they are reporting seeing VC movement forward of his platoon’s position and in the direction of the company’s objective – no more now than half a grid square away. The CO orders a halt to the movement and calls the lieutenant over once again. “Let’s go ahead and fire a preparation on the objective area now.”
The preparation fire is designed to weaken or kill the enemy at the site of the objective. It is most often preplanned and is fired just before the ground attack commences. The lieutenant’s team has planned the fire previously and has it marked on the map and the aerial photo. Several potential targets have been planned, numbered and coordinated with the battery already, so it is just a matter of picking the one the “old man” wants and then calling it in. After a short discussion with CPT Hoos, the preferred targets are selected and the fire mission is called to the battery FDC. “Killer 10, this is Killer 64, fire mission, over.” “This is 10, go ahead 64.” “Preparation fire mission, enemy hamlet, target number 318, one five minutes, over.” The call is returned by the FDC, but for some reason the time is changed to five minutes instead of the fifteen requested. The FO advises the CO of the change and the CO thinks about it nods his head and says to leave it at that, “Five minutes should be enough,” CPT Hoos says.
They all wait and listen as the rounds pass overhead and land to their front. The muffled sounds, “woof, woof, woof, woof,” roll through the rubber trees and back to the waiting infantrymen. The artillery is doing its job. It is softening up the target and with a little luck actually killing any bad guys who might be there. The preparation ends and the CO gives the word to his platoon leaders to move out. The command group follows the CO, as it has all day, and begins to move toward the day’s objective.
It is mid-morning by now and the sun is beginning to bake the place. They are thankful for the overhead cover that the rubber trees provide, but it has already been a long day. Moving forward and with every eye peering through the trees for any sign of danger, they all have the same thought, “Let’s clear this objective and get back to base camp.”
*****
As the lieutenant is calling the fire requests back to the battery, he notes for the second or third time that day that the young Tropic Lightening photographer is taking shots of him – he had also taken some of Groover as he stripped down and ran off on his map delivery mission earlier.
He recalls having met Specialist Fourth Class Terry Reed back on Oahu in December. As timing would have it, Terry Reed’s wife was in the hospital at the same time as the lieutenant’s wife, and they had even shared the same room for a while. Just like the lieutenant’s wife Terry Reed’s wife was there to deliver their first child. Little did either of the soldier-dad’s expect that they would soon be trudging through Viet Nam together. Terry’s daughter was born ten minutes before the lieutenant’s son, both mom and baby were well and happy.
Neither soldier appreciated the coincidence of these two happy events at the time and only long after the events of the day ended did the lieutenant recognize and appreciate them. Before she got to the hospital, the lieutenant and his wife had, like most new parents, spent many hours picking the name for their new baby. If the baby was a boy – something that they would not know until the birth – he would be called Kevin Reed Dowden. A coincidence not recognized, or perhaps appreciated, even now as the specialist and the lieutenant did their work this Valentine’s Day in the rubber plantation outside of Cu Chi, Viet Nam.
*****
The company begins to move forward toward the objective area and, they think, the end of the day’s operation.
Light contact continues to be felt by the platoon on the left and CPT Hoos is constantly on the phone monitoring their movement or instructing the platoon leader on how he wants the ever-changing situation handled.
The lieutenant notices something he thinks a little out of the ordinary in one of the trees about one hundred meters to their front and calls it to the attention of the CO. He, the lieutenant, thinks it might possibly be a sniper perched on a branch of a tree. The thought goes through his mind to fire at it with his own M14 but decides against that notion since he will be firing over the heads of several infantry on the ground in front of the command group – as well as a part of the small command group itself. The CO looks at what is pointed out to him and decides that it is just the tree growth and not a sniper position. He thinks it is too small for it to be a person, even a small VC, and too far out on the limb to support the weight of a person. He’s probably right, the lieutenant thinks. So, the “target” is by-passed by the command group and forgotten as they continue their advance.
The CO is called by the platoon on the right. They have contact and are engaging the enemy with small arms fire. The CO and the command group begin to move in the direction of the right-most platoon. The platoon leader is reporting resistance that seems to be the heaviest the company has felt that day and CPT Hoos wants a closer look at what the platoon is encountering.
As the command group approaches a small, over grown cart path in the trees, the CO receives a call from someone – one of the platoon leaders or the battalion commander – the lieutenant isn’t sure which. He takes the call as he is reaching the far side of the cart path and stops momentarily to talk to the person at the other end. The lieutenant is close behind and his FO section trails him. In front of the CO is the 90 mm recoilless rifle team and the AP photographer. Close behind the FO section, the rest of the command group follows. The objective area is now only a few hundred meters to the front and it sounds like the action is getting a little more intense.
The pause is just momentary, but long enough for the enemy to react. They have undoubtedly been watching and have planned their next action well. Good planning by the VC, and some bad luck on the part of the men of A Company.
A gust of hot air rushing past is the first thing the lieutenant senses, as a muffled explosion occurs very near to where he has stopped. A rush of dirt filled air bursts past him. The CO, standing and talking on the radio only seconds ago, now collapses to the ground. Injured it seems from whatever has caused the blast. The lieutenant’s first thoughts are, remembering that he last saw the recoilless team in the direction the blast came from, that the team has inadvertently triggered a round and that the rest of them have been caught in it’s back blast. He imagines that the AP photographer, also last noticed moving near the recoilless team, was trying to complete a “series” of photos of the team blowing down the tree house. He had taken a picture of the tree house before and after the team fired. He still needed a shot of the team in firing position as if they were aiming at the tree house in order to complete the “series.” The lieutenant is steamed at the thought that the team could have made a mistake like this and caused injury to their own men and the CO.
The lieutenant moves to see how badly the CO is injured. With his first step he feels a burning pain in his right leg, looks down and sees that he is bleeding. Then he notices that other men are down, too. Several have been hit and wounded. This isn’t the result of the 90mm team making a mistake. A booby trap or some other weapon has hit them and it is no accident.
Now his thoughts are becoming more focused. He has to protect the CO. And he has to get the troops off the path and into the tree line. He moves to cover the CO and to protect him from whatever else might be happening. He orders the men to move off the path and, places himself between his wounded commander and the direction he thinks the enemy fire might be coming from. He kneels down near the CO to see what he can do. To protect him from anything else and help with his wounds. SGT Groover and SPC Braswell are helping the wounded as much as possible. SGT Groover notices the lieutenant has been hit and stops to help him. The lieutenant waives him away saying, “It’s not bad, see what you can do for the others. I’ve got this.” With that John Groover moves across the path the blast has made to help other downed soldiers.
The CO was probably killed instantly by the blast. He has taken the hit fully in the chest. “Damn it, no flak jackets,” the lieutenant thinks. It is way too late now, but the thought that one might have saved this life slams into the lieutenant’s mind with the force of a car wreck! He thinks, “Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” Captain Bill Hoos might well have survived the hit if he had the protection of the jacket which was left back at base camp. A sad and costly mistake.
As John Groover reaches the area where wounded soldiers are laying, he stops to help the first one he reaches. Bobby Braswell is right beside him. He and Braswell are not concerned about their own safety, they are reacting to their natural instincts to help their friends and comrades, to move them off of the cart path and to some cover. Both of them are working feverishly to help the wounded. They are in the open, on the cart path, and are working without any concern for their own safety. They are soldiers doing all they can for their injured fellow soldiers. They work bravely.
Then a second, and perhaps, more powerful explosion occurs. This one takes an even greater toll on the infantrymen on the cart path. There has been, probably, less than a minute between the first and second blasts. Members of the command group that were not injured in the initial blast become victims of the second. The lieutenant is hit again and this time thrown a few feet in the air by the second blast. This hit is more serious. This time he feels wounds to both legs, his chest and his left arm. Every member of the command group has been hit! All fifteen members are down. As he will learn later, the lieutenant is among the lucky. Of the fifteen members of the group, the final tally will be eight killed and seven wounded. The VC have waited just long enough for those not badly hurt in the first blast to come to the aid of their comrades and then they triggered a second one. (Something that US forces later learned was a common tactic of the VC.)
*****
By some miracle the lieutenant hasn’t lost his grip on his M14 in the explosions. He is seated on the path with wounded soldiers all around him. Still at the place he landed when the second blast took its toll, he props his M14 on the toe of his boot and, with the selector switch on fully automatic, fires a burst of rounds down the edge of the cart path and into the trees. The recoil of the weapon knocks it off of his boot toe and he doesn’t have the strength to get it back into position. Probably a good thing, he thinks, since he doesn’t know what he is shooting at and he might very well hit one of his own men. The thought causes him to stop trying to fire his weapon.
The CO is down, killed, he thinks, by the first blast. He doesn’t see SGT Groover or SPC Braswell, or know how they are. He sees Bobby Braswell first. He is down and not moving. He spots John Groover, also down, and not moving. They are on the ground near each other not far from where he had been when he was trying to help Captain Hoos and where they were aiding those injured in the first blast. The CO’s RTO is still standing. He is wounded in the left hand but he can still be of help, the lieutenant thinks. (Later he learns that a home made claymore-like mine had been detonated and a fragment had hit the RTO in the hand, exploding the bone and pushing it out the top of his hand.) The lieutenant calls the RTO over and tells him to call in a medivac using the coordinates they used for the most recent dust-off. Seeing that the soldier appears to be close to shock, the lieutenant tells him, “Make the call and just tell them to come back to the same location as the last dust-off, they will know the coordinates.” The young soldier, although painfully wounded, brings himself out of a stupor and does as he is told and makes a call for the medivac. Next the lieutenant orders those who can move to get off of the cart path and into the trees of the plantation and to set up some protection for those still on the ground. They try. Although most are too badly injured to move very far. The M60 machine gunner had been standing nearly on top of the two claymore-like mines but is only slightly wounded. Seconds ago he was shaking his right hand like he had just missed the nail and hit his finger with the hammer. Now he is standing in the middle of the cart path, feet spread apart, firing the M60 as fast it will fire! Spraying the wooded area in front of, and along the sides of, the area where the command group has fallen. He is running long belts of .30 caliber ammunition through his gun as fast as he and his assistant, also lightly wounded, can do it. He is a magnificent sight! He may well be saving our lives, the lieutenant thinks.
The lieutenant calls out to the trailing platoon for them to get a platoon leader up to his position. There is still much confusion around the site of the two blasts, so he gets himself off the ground and walks back a few yards toward the trailing platoon. He has established a ragtag perimeter and the M60 continues to fire, but he needs someone else up here to take over. The urgency of that need is making him move back down the path looking for one of the infantry lieutenants. As he walks, it is only a few yards when he realizes that he, is badly bleeding heavily from his wounds. Then remembering that this is exactly what he would have wanted a wounded deer to do on a hunt back home – walk until it bled itself to death, that is – he sits down again. This time he will not be able to regain his feet. He is now simply too weak. “Get me a lieutenant,” he calls again. Then he notices the captain from the battalion S2 shop standing in the middle of the cart path twenty or so meters behind him. The captain appears to be stunned, not wounded. He was too far from the blast to have been hit. Nevertheless, he seems to be in shock, in a daze. Clearly, he will be of no help. So, again he calls out to anyone who is within ear shot, “Get me a lieutenant, and get him here now.”
As he sits on the road waiting for the platoon leader, members of one of the platoons begin to carry and pull wounded and dead soldiers past him. One of those brought past him is his RTO. Bobby Braswell is being pulled by two infantrymen and is badly wounded, but alive. The lieutenant reaches out, pats him on the leg and says to him, “Hang in there, Braswell, the medivac is on its way.” Braswell doesn’t respond and the sound of labored breathing and soft gurgles deep in his chest eerily reach the lieutenant’s ears. This is bad, he thinks, then Braswell disappears with the two soldiers. He will be on the first medicvac chopper to take soldiers back to the medical station. But, would it be in time?
Then two more young soldiers pass by him pulling someone in fatigues with a camera slung around his neck. It’s the AP photographer. He is dead. He has a severe wound to the top of his forehead. The lieutenant can’t help thinking that it looked like the forehead area has been removed with an ice cream scoop. Later he is told the young man had been seriously wounded by one of the blasts. They thought the first one. The wounds had been to his groin and midsection. The soldier relaying the events of the day said they assumed that, either the fear of being captured, or simply because of the degree of pain, the photographer had taken someone’s .45 caliber pistol and ended his own life. Another sad ending to a promising young life.
After several more shouts of, “Get me a lieutenant up here,” one of the platoon leaders is here. With a sense of relief that someone can take charge of the situation, he tells the young officer as quickly as he can what has happened and that he thinks that the CO was killed by the first blast. He also tells the platoon leader that all of his section and the four-duce team have been wounded. He asks him to let his battery know that there is no artillery support on the ground for the company. The platoon leader says that he will then very quickly takes charge and begins to consolidate the company forces.
The welcoming sound of the helicopters can be heard as they make their approach to the landing zone the young RTO called in. Soldiers are being triaged and loaded aboard the choppers as quickly as possible and the choppers are lifting off and heading for the brigade medical station.
The lieutenant can hear the sound of small arms fire from the leading platoons and the air is heavy with the smell of spent powder. The other smell that is almost overpowering is the smell of blood. Never has he smelled so much blood. It is a sweet, sticky smell. He realizes that the smell is of his own blood. He has lost quite a lot of blood, but he has refused morphine and wants desperately to remain awake.
Another medicvac lands and a corpsman is checking out his injuries. The arm appears to be the most serious, however, the corpsman is concerned that the chest wound might be worse. The lieutenant has kept his map, covered in plastic, tucked inside his fatigue shirt – along with the aerial photo he has doctored up. He is using the map to stop any bleeding from the chest wound and, if it has penetrated the rib cage, to prevent what the soldiers refer to as a “sucking chest wound.” With the same hand he is applying pressure to the pressure point in his left armpit in order to stop or, at least slow, the blood loss from the wound to his arm. The corpsman takes an empty 40mm grenade launcher bandolier and makes a field-expedient sling out of it for the injured arm. Within minutes the lieutenant is loaded onto a chopper and evacuated out of the rubber plantation and back to the brigade medical station.
*****
LTC Walker meets the helicopter and speaks to the lieutenant as he is moved to the medical station. The lieutenant asks about his two men. Had Groover and Braswell made it? Were they going to be OK? His BN commander said, “Sergeant Groover was killed in the action and Specialist Braswell is currently on the operating table.” Hearing that John Groover is dead is like a knife wound to the heart. He was responsible for his men and now one of them is dead and the other is badly wounded. The sense of loss is great and tears fill his eyes as the battalion commander touches him and says, “For now let’s just worry about you. I will check on Braswell and let you know how the surgery goes.”
The lieutenant thanks LTC Walker and then confesses that he has lost his weapon. Well, at least it hadn’t come back with him. The reason for the confession is that he had not followed the colonel’s orders that been issued a week or so previously. That order was to remove the automatic selector switch from any M14 that had been modified with the switch. Braswell had modified the lieutenant’s weapon and they “hadn’t gotten around to removing it yet.” Braswell was the battery assistant armorer back in garrison; consequently, he had the know how when it came to weapons. (Their jeep - a quarter ton truck - had also been modified by Braswell with a floor mounted 60mm machine gun and he was proud of it being the only one like in the brigade.) “It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” LTC Walker replied, as the lieutenant’s stretcher was carried into the aid station, “we’ll get it back.”
A quick triage and the doc in the aid station orders him sent immediately to the evacuation hospital at Bien Hoa. Surgery is required and a trained orthopedic surgeon will be needed to attend to the shattered left arm.
Back into another medical helicopter and away to the next stop. They had asked about the pain at the aid station and offered morphine. Again, he declines. He wants to remain conscious and alert so he can speak to the surgeon. His only thought now is that the doctor has to save the arm. Without other things and people to worry about, he is suddenly fixated on his own well-being and is afraid that he will loose his arm. Speaking to the doctor is an absolute necessity.
Loaded on a litter above him in the helicopter is another member of A company. He can’t tell who it is and nobody is talking. You can’t, in fact, talk over the noise of the chopper without a headset and the “patients” were not provided them, of course. Who ever it is up there has suffered a head injury and is probably much worse off then he is, the lieutenant thinks.
They are landing after what seems like such a short trip and being removed from the chopper. Hospital personnel are there and waiting. Everything is very efficient. Straight from the landing pad to the operating room. These folks are wasting no time! As the corpsmen run carrying him on the stretcher, every step jars his body and sends bolts of pain through him. It is difficult not to scream out. He knows the men carrying him are doing the best they can, so he just grits his teeth. The pain from the jarring around is worse than the actual wounding. Every step they take brings agony, but he stays quite.
Transferred from the litter to an operating table, the lieutenant talks to the medical personnel in the room. “Are you the surgeon,” he asks one of the men working on him. “No, I’m the anesthesiologist” he replies, “he will be here in a moment. Just relax. We are going to take good care of you.” “I have to stay awake to speak to the surgeon,” the lieutenant says. Again, the doctor says, “Just relax. Everything is going to be alright.” “Yes, but I have to tell him to save my arm,” the lieutenant says. Then the lights start to dim and he is away to never-never-land.
When he finally comes to, he is out of surgery and has been moved to a recovery bay of the hospital. The first sensation he recognizes, as he comes out of the anesthesia-induced sleep, is that of a female hand. Her soft, oh so gentle touch, is holding onto his right arm just above the wrist. His reaction is to try repeatedly to turn his hand so that he can hold hers. She is trying to take his pulse and when she succeeds with that chore she holds his hand momentarily, wipes his forehead and tells him that he is out of surgery. “Everything went just fine,” she said. “You are going to be OK, but right now you need to rest.” As she is leaving his bedside, he notices that the sheet on his bed has been pulled up under his chin and he can’t see any of his body. Nothing hurts. It is just covered up. Then he notices sitting on the bed across the aisle from him is a South Vietnamese soldier. The soldier is wearing US Army government issued pajama bottoms and no shirt. One of his arms is bandaged above the elbow and there is nothing below it. The arm has been amputated! Just what he has feared! The lieutenant pulls his sheet down with his right hand, despite the tubes and needle running to it, and looks at his left arm. He fully expects to see a bandage just like the one on the soldier across the aisle from him. What a flood of relief to see his left arm, apparently fully intact, and wrapped in a plaster cast! The doctor has done a great job and he really would recover!
*****
LTC Walker and CPT Powers come to visit the lieutenant the day after surgery. They are both grave looking and tired from the events of the previous day. The battery had fired almost continuously in support of the company as it tried to extract itself from the rubber plantation and return to the base camp. There had been even more casualties and the fighting had been intense.
The lieutenant asks again about John Groover and Bobby Braswell, maybe what he remembers just isn’t the truth. He is told that SGT Groover died in the field from wounds that he received and that SPC Braswell died on the operating table as brigade medical staff tried valiantly to save him. They are all saddened by what happened but knew, too, that it was the consequences of war and that more of the same could be expected. Colonel Walker told the lieutenant that although he didn’t know where he was going next, he would be medivaced from the theater. The wounds would heal somewhere outside of Viet Nam. The war, at least for now, was over for the lieutenant.
*****
The staff is wonderful, the nurses beautiful, and the corpsmen absolute gifts from God! Healing will be just a matter of time. They check on him every hour and start immediately giving him penicillin injections to prevent infection. Oh, how he will come to hate the hour when the injection is due. With his restricted movement, there is only so much area he can get exposed for the injections in the hip and the sites on both sides soon become unbelievably sore.
On his second day in the hospital, one of the nurses asks him to try to sit up on the edge of the bed so that they can change the sheets more easily. The bed is already cranked up to a near sitting position, so it is not difficult for him to sit up completely and slide his legs over the side of the bed. He does just that and then he feels himself slowly sinking to his right. He is going to pass out and there is nothing that he can do to stop it! When he comes to, only seconds later, the nurse and two corpsmen are getting him back fully into bed. “Bad idea,” the nurse says. “You don’t have enough strength yet for that. We’ll change the sheets with you in the bed.” They do and all is well in his little corner of the world.
It is a day later and its time for the trip to the latrine with the giant corpsman. Recovery is moving along fine. As the doctors make their rounds checking on the injured that afternoon, the one rounding on the lieutenant tells him that he is to be medivaced in the next day or two. However, he is not going home as the lieutenant has expected. He is, instead, going to Japan to a field hospital there, after a stopover at Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines.
***** Home *****
He is lying on a blanket, under a Mimosa tree in full bloom, looking up through its branches, at a clear blue Arkansas sky. He picks up the baby and holds him up against the sky and canopy of blossoms. It’s peaceful here and quite. The baby is happy and he is so happy to be able to hold him. Recovering the strength in his arm and legs will take a little longer, but it is just a matter of time now and life will return to normal.
He got here after a little more than an hour drive from Memphis. They met him at the airport in Memphis, his Mom and Dad, Linda and Kevin. He was anxious and so were they. The trip from Japan had taken him through Oakland, California, and Brooke Army Hospital in San Antonio, Texas, and Oklahoma. He is currently an inpatient on convalescent leave from Reynolds Army Hospital, Fort Sill, Oklahoma.
When he saw her waiting for him, his heart skipped a beat. You know how it sometimes is when you grow up with someone? When you just get used to their looks and their ways? Apparently, that is how he had been with her. He hadn’t seen her since leaving Hawaii, he hadn’t forgotten how she looked, but now, at the Memphis airport, it seemed like he was seeing her for the first time. As Yogi would say, “For the first time all over again.” She was what people call, “Stop and look again, drop dead gorgeous!” That first-again kiss was wonderful. Then hugs and kisses from Mom, a handshake and hug from Dad, the baby in his arms, pick up the luggage and head home, at last!
Now in the front yard on the blanket he wonders what is happening on the other side of the world from here? What are the men of C Battery and A Company doing now? How many more have been wounded? How many killed? His friends, he thinks to himself, still at war while he is here enjoying life far from the war with his son and family.
“Sunny,” his mother calls from the front door of his parent’s house, “do you want to bring Kevin in now and have some lunch?” Not so much a question, but an announcement that she has made lunch and it is time to eat. Life really is moving back to normal.
Thankful for his many blessings he takes the baby and goes inside. In only a couple of more days he will have to return to the hospital at Fort Sill, the place his Army life had started not all that many months ago. Yet life had nearly gone full circle in that time and he was thankful that, for whatever reason, his has been allowed to continue. Thankful for having know the men of the 8th Artillery and 5th Mech, hopeful that he will someday see them all again.
In the meantime, Fort Sill can wait. Lunch is ready and he can relax for a little while longer.
**** Epilogue *****
As I write these concluding thoughts, it has been over forty-two years since I last saw most of the men of Charlie Battery and I have, to the best of my recollection, never again seen any of the men from Alpha Company. That does not mean that they have not been in my mind. A Valentine’s Day never passes that I do not think of Bobby Joe Braswell, John W. O. Groover, Terry Reed and Bill Hoos. They all died that day and I did not. I was lucky, simply lucky.
After recovering from the wounds of that day, I spent the next twenty-nine years in the Army. I tried each day of each assignment to honor those men who were there when my Army career began. They were all honorable men and could have made a positive impact on this world had they lived longer – not that they did not in their tragically shortened lives. I have visited with them at the Viet Nam War Memorial in Washington, D. C. and, as trite as it may sound, felt their presence. As a student at the US Army War College, I visited the memorial with my wife, Linda, and daughters, Leigh Ann and Stacy, our son was on a visit to Germany. It was not my first visit to the wall, but this time it affected me more than it previously had. It was because of the presence of those I loved. Two lives were with me that would not have been except for the fact that I had survived when the others did not. Again, simply luck, my very good fortune. I touched the names of my friends, etched in the black face of the Wall, and one of the girls came to me to ask about them. I tried to explain that this was my panel, too. It was only simple luck and a mere inch of movement, as I leaned away from Bill Hoos to place a bandage on my right leg, that kept me from being killed that day; otherwise, my name, too, would be etched in this black granite. As many others have done during a visit to the Wall, I had to turn and move away in order to maintain composure. Some losses are too great to speak of and some wounds are hard to heal, if they ever truly do.
I have written this short story because, for the most part, I never shared the details I write about with anyone and want my children and grand children to know a little bit more about my experiences as a young combat soldier and those of the good men whom I have been honored to know. It most likely would have never been written had I not received a call from Tommy Townsend, a soldier from Charlie Battery, one night in the spring of 2007. We had not spoken or seen each other since Viet Nam. He told me he had just returned from a reunion of some of the soldiers of Charlie Battery and that they had talked about Groover, Braswell and me, and he had decided to see if he could find me. Thank you, Tommy, I appreciate your efforts and memory. Of the discussion we had that evening, the most touching comment he made to me, the one that meant the most, and will last in my memory, was when he said, “I think of you every February 14.” Soldiers remember soldiers, and I am blessed to have been remembered by a battery of very good men.
Finally, if you visit the Vietnam Memorial page on the Internet you can look up the names of individuals who gave their lives during America’s involvement in that war. I did so one day, shortly after writing this short story. I visited the space devoted to Bobby Joe Braswell, John Groover, Terry Reed, Bill Hoos, and others. Each visit left me with water filled eyes and a deep, aching sadness in my heart. It was, however, the visit to the page set aside for written messages, memorials, if you like, for these fine young men, that caused the greatest emotional stirring in my heart. There on the pages reserved for notes to John Groover was a note from Alan Groover, the grandson that John Groover never had the privilege of knowing. A note that starts, “John Groover was my grandfather …” Up until then I had accepted the fact that many children of soldiers killed in combat grow up missing their fathers but not until reading the words of Alan Groover had the notion of a missing grandfather crossed my mind. Once again my eyes blurred from the tears pooling in them. Why was the emotion so strong? The answer to that question is most clearly without doubt, because I am a grandfather now. I am pained to know that he, and countless other young men listed on that memorial, never enjoyed the voices of their grandchildren. Never knew the thrill of watching them grow. Never saw them in a school play, on a Little League baseball field, a soccer field, or a football field; never attended a school honors or graduation program; never held them and heard them laugh or cry. Once again, I come to the realization of just how fortunate I was on that Valentine Day in 1966. I have been privileged to see my children grow to adulthood and, unlike John Groover and so many, many more young American soldiers, I am seeing my grandchildren grow; two privileges for which I am eternally grateful. God rest you John Groover along with all of the other’s whose names are inscribed in the black granite of that once controversial memorial in our nation’s capital.
Post Epilogue
For their actions on that day in 1966 the following awards were bestowed by the Department of the Army:
SGT John W. O. Groover, posthumous award of the Bronze Star Medal with Valor Device and the Purple Heart Medal.
PFC Bobby Joe Braswell, posthumous award of the Bronze Star Medal with Valor Device and the Purple Heart Medal.
The Lieutenant, the Silver Star Medal and the Purple Heart Medal.