60 days (2 months), 1 August ’67
More convoys today. You see a lot of unusual things along the road to Cu Chi and back to Duc Hoa. Today there was a herd (flock?) of ducks being marched along the road by a half-naked, foot high peanut, with a piece of straw.
There was a big card game today where about 3 people lost $140 each – one month’s pay. One guy collected $396!!!
Believe it or not, that’s all we did today – run a convoy to Cu Chi – sit around for 3 hours (PX, etc.) and run another back to Duc Hoa, and relax the rest of the afternoon and evening, and listen to all the riot news. Riots, snipers, bombs, etc. I think it might be safer over here.
61 days, 2 August ’67
Another day of leisure – I didn’t even go to Cu Chi today. I wasted a little film here and there and used up my third roll.
I also got some cookies and fudge from Carole Ogg. She wrapped each piece individually in Saran Wrap and packed the whole affair in popcorn. Delicious!
The word is we’ve got to Bao Trai tomorrow. Looks like more hard work and less leisure for a while. Better clean my gun.
Gotta cut it off here – I have no idea when I’ll get a chance to add to it. I’m sending a couple of ticket books from the Bao Trai and Duc Hoa clubs. We have to buy the books in either 2, 5, 02 10 dollar sizes, and use the tickets (25c, 10c, 5c) to buy drinks and sandwiches. Pretty exclusive?
[cartoon of Snoopy with flight goggles and scarf, parachuting from crashing chopper, saying :Curse you, Ho Chi Minh”]
Only 10 more months, Bob
2 Aug. ’67
Hi lo, [letter supplied by Carole Ogg]
I got your package today – beautiful. Everything was as fresh as if I had gone next door and taken It right out of you oven. Usually cookies take a pretty rough beating in the mail, but these came through in one piece; must have been the individual wrapping. The fudge was still moist and flaky – delicious.
The popcorn got stale, but a few of the guys ate it anyway (I noticed you buttered it). Maybe if you had wrapped each kernel individually, like you did the cookies, it would have come through fresh also.
I took out half of everything and then passed the rest around. They thought that’s all I got, but took it all anyway – glad I saved some out for myself.
Is it time you can’t talk again? The neighborhood must be pretty quiet again.
How do you like my camera? Don’t let Dave get a hold of it – he might break it like he did my Argus )I expect $40 in payment for the Argus by the way).
My slides I’ve taken should be there by now. I’ve sent an explanation of them all. I don’ know how clear they are (the explanations) but the pictures are good and we’ll have a big show come next June. I’ve taken three rolls, plus four or five borrowed shots, in two months. I’m going to try to have one 36 shot roll every month if possible. Maybe two for February; R&R time. Where should I go? Bangkok, Taipei, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Hawaii? That’s not all of them, but it’s the ones I’d like to go to.
Having a ball; wish you were here, Bob
62 days, 3 Aug. ’67 (written Aug 4)
Today – no, let’s call it yesterday, we were up at 5:00 tearing down our “holey” tent. I found out what happened to it causing all those little holes. I noticed that there were four spots where the pattern of holes was similar; all bunched up like a shotgun blast. The tent was folded and, “just for the Hell of it”, they had set a Claymore mine off about 2 feet in front of it – the pellets went through about 4 layers of that very heavy tent canvas.
We ran a convoy to Cu Chi and waited there for word to go to Bao Trai. Remember the picture of the Recon area at base camp? We have taken that big tent we were storing equipment in and are using that at Bao Trai. Why keep it at Cu Chi, when all the equipment is now in the field? Besides, it doesn’t leak like the other one did. It’s got a liner on the inside, plus a mosquito bar all the way around, so we can roll up the sides and get some air – and no bugs.
We had a flat tire on the way to Bao Trai – that’s the only trouble of any kind we’ve had while on the road. The jack worked fine, but we had to lift the jeep up to fit the jack in under the springs. It jacked the wheels high enough to take the flat off, but we had to lift the jeep again to get the spare on. The jack was as high as it would go. Took us about half an hour.
We don’t get to stay in the same place as before, but we’re right beside it in our tent. There are some officers in our little shed. That’s all right – their shed leaks more than our tent. We had to move a huge trailer, loaded with a generator, about 4 times. The tent wouldn’t fit in the space with the generator, so we had to move it. We managed it halfway out and some captain came over and made us put it back. No authorization to move it. Five minutes later he was back and said it was all right to move it, but he had to put it in the yard behind the tent. There’s a drainage ditch right alongside the tent over which we had to build a bridge to roll the trailer on. This was fine until we rolled it off the other end of the bridge. We hit a spot of dirt, which was covering a septic tank. The trailer sank up to its frame – took three jeeps to pull it out.
We finally got it out and set up our house. They strung lights in it and now we’re all set. Only disagreeable thing is the drainage ditch. It’s full of stagnate water, treated with oil to keep the mosquitoes down. It smells like a sewer when the wind blows right. In the hutch behind us some of the people have a little monkey about the size of a squirrel. He was tied on the drain out in the yard in the afternoon. I took about 5 shots of him – he’d pose and smile every time I shot. A real ham!
Everything is the same here as before, only we have a schedule, so we won’t get in the way of the people who are here all the time. Showers 1 – 5 in the afternoon, plus nighttime after 8 at night; that includes shaving, etc. We now eat in their mess hall instead of driving 2 miles every meal to Gladys’s mess tent. It’s real nice – no chow lies. A gook brings you your dinner and a pitcher of iced tea. Service! We eat 6:15 – 7:15 for breakfast, 12:30 – 1:30 for lunch, and 5:30 – 6 for dinner. At 6 our movie is run an after that they run it again for their people. We can use the club anytime it’s open, as long as no one gets drunk. Wonder how long that’ll last? Speaking of the club, I had a Dr. Pepper last night – it’s all they had – for the first time. Not bad, if you like carbonated cough syrup.
I’m glad they got my slides. It’s the first I’ve heard mention of them. Don’t worry about the small, enclosed places. It’s the only way to get any privacy. Almost like having your own room. They’re not as small as they might look. I have a few of me that I took myself with the delay-action shutter; they should be back soon.
Poor Jeff! He’s better off in the Navy, of course, but four years? Jere better watch out. Buy the GTO for Marlynn – oh, she’s mentioned that already?
Maybe Dale isn’t in Viet Nam – maybe he ran off to Mexico again.
Okay Dave, it’s true there’s not much to basic and AIT. How would you like it for two years? How do you like the army in general? Guess what, because I’m over here, when I ETS (Note added: Expiration of Term of Service), I’ll have no guard or reserve obligation. I’m done after 2 years. You’ll have 6. If I make it out of here, that’s almost enough to make it worth it.
Can Jere (not Dave) paint fiberglass bodies as in Lotus Elans? I’d like mine to be dark maroon instead of bright red (with a slight metallic flake?)
I’ll try to stay out of the woods whenever possible. After all, look what happened to Little Red Riding Hood. [The part about Little Red Riding Hood was mentioned in a newspaper article about his death.]
62 days, 4 Aug. ’67
We’re back with the ARVN S-2 platoon now, for sure. I found out that four of them, including Number 10, are defected VC from the Chieu Hoi program. They are invaluable in finding VC traps and hiding places.
Something else. The VC that killed Pee Wee, the lieutenant, also got his weapon, an M-16 which Lieutenant Cito had loaned to him, so now Charlie has at least one M-16 against us – ow! I imagine he has ammo, after all we found 16 full magazines. I suppose h has more. I just hope he doesn’t know the importance of cleaning it and has it jam on him – maybe he’ll give it back or throw it away.
We’ve just been lazing around today, doing nothing. It looks like we’ll be out on a night ambush patrol all night tonight. That’s supposed to be the worst way to spend the night in Vietnam. It’s what they were doing when they got hit that one night; more butterflies I hope we don’t see a thing.
I put in the ticket books I said I put in the last latter, but forgot to. Also something my grandparents sent me. Tell you about tonight tomorrow. Back on foot, Bob
64 days, 5 Aug. ’67
They’re right about ambush patrols! Everything was all right until we left the read and started walking through the muck. It was darker than a coal mine – no moon or stars. We kept to the berms, but I’d almost rather walk in the water at night. The berms are only about a foot or less wide, and irregular and slippery; one wrong step and you get our feet wet. Occasionally you run across a little cut in the berm about 2 feet across, that the gooks cut to drain excess water from one section to another. These are no sweat in the day, but at night you can’t see them until you, or if you’re lucky, the guy in front of you, falls into it.
The patrol nearly turned into a disaster. One element of the patrol got separated from the other. The S-2 platoon and one of our squads got ahead of the Pat platoon and one of their squads (my group). They went to the prescribed ambush site and then realized that we weren’t with them. As dark as it was, it was easy to get separated from one another. – get 3 feet behind your man and you couldn’t see him. If the column stopped, you’d bump into the guy in front of you, even knock him into the creek.
We ran around in circles trying to find ourselves until we finally made radio contact and learned where they were. The only trouble was that the men at the ambush site weren’t informed where we were or that we had been separated. (I didn’t know we were lost until after it all happened.)
Apparently we weren’t sure where they were either. In an ambush patrol – when you’ve set up, everything that moves open game. When the first man in our element stepped out into the road in front of the other element, one of the ARVNs (guess who? Number 10) let his bolt go forward and, thinking that we were VC, opened up on us. As soon as he started, the US beside him cut loose with his ’16, and then another ’16 began firing – automatic.
I was in the rear of the column and it appeared to us that the fire was going out across the rice paddy at VC, and not at the front of our group. We started to move up but an ARVN warned us to stay back. The burst of fire, which only lasted about 45 seconds (actual count fired on that time at about 4 US and 3 ARVNs, who were unlucky enough to be in front).
The one thing that probably saved everyone’s life was the sound of the bolt going forward (which we didn’t hear in the rear). As soon as they heard this, they dropped and the first rounds went over their heads. As the firing grew more intense, they crawled behind berms and under water to get away from the bullets hitting, they said, all around them. (The Lieutenant was among those in the firing area. Said one round singed his nose. Didn’t believe him until we got back to camp, and saw a burn mark on the tip of his nose).
One of our guys got a flesh wound in his thigh from the ARVNs .30 cal. Lucky it wasn’t an M-16 – his leg would have been ripped open instead of just a clean, not-bleeding, hole (actually 2 holes, about an inch apart; in and out). An ARVN was hit in the chest by another .30 caliber slug. The bullet bounced off him! It just hit a glancing blow and at a critical angel and literally bounced off, leaving a shallow gash right about his heart! Needless to say , it’s lucky he was in just the exact position he was in, and not facing the gun. I’d like to learn that position! Also needless to say he’s lucky that it wasn’t an M-16 – it wouldn’t have bounce off. An M-16 is 5 times as powerful as the carbine.
Lieutenant Cito decided that after that, it would be wise if we called off the whole affair and we went back in.
I don’t think you could blame the ARVN and US who started shooting; the blame (it any) would fall on Captain Barkman for not informing his group that we were coming up to their position. And also for not having any form of meeting, briefing, or rehearsal before going out that might have prevented us from getting lost in the first place. We had no idea of where we were going to set up the ambush. (Compare this to Charlie who practices his ambushes for weeks at a time before trying them).
We had a whole afternoon of classes on planning and rehearsing ambush patrols in replacement school. Guess these people forgot or never had that class. We were assured that from now on there would be some preparation before going out. Lucky no one had to die to prove the need for this. As it turned out someone will get a Purple Heart.
Our guy who was hit has only 67 days left in VN.
After we were all back in, we realized how lucky we were that the people being shot at didn’t fire back. Someone would’ve been hurt. Sanchez had his #2 A.W. (antitank weapon – rocket launcher) ready to fire and the M-79 man was lading an H.E. (high explosive) round (one ARVN shot at them with his “79.
We got to bed about 1:30 am only to be woke up at 4. One of the ARVN outposts, which are spaced about every 5 miles along the roads, and on each entrance to each town, had been hit by a company of VC.
We remounted the machine guns on the jeeps and took our .50 cal m.g. on the ¾ ton truck, and the 106 jeeps, and went out to help. By the time we got there, it had been over for about a half-hour. The outpost and a portion of the little village had been pretty well ripped apart by 81-mm mortars, killing a whole family of civilians as they slept, and wounding 21 of the ARVNs manning the outpost.
We set up a security ring around the village for about 2 hours, and watched while nothing happened. Finally the ARVNs came out and started across the fields after Charlie. It looked like the whole Vietnamese army was there. There had to be at least 2 battalions of ARVNs ( approx. 200 men) going after a company of VC who by this time had probably made their way back home, and were asleep or lowing their field like normal civilians.
We left there at 6:30 or &, and got back to bed after breakfast at 8 a.m. So far that night we’d had only 3-4 hours sleep, we slept until 12:30 o1 this afternoon.
We made a floor out of ammo boxes for the tent this afternoon. It’s a mess. My side is nice and even and level. We started at one end and worked to the other, and everything came out ever. On the other side, they started at both ends and worked toward the middle, and were left with a big empty space where the boxes didn’t meet, and they had made it very uneven. The two sections failed to line up by about a foot. Also, by doing both sides separately instead of continuing our side and going toward the other, they left an aisle-way, too wide for the boards at one end and too narrow for a perfect fit at the other.
We wound up laying whole boxes down the center – not neat, but sufficient as long as you don’t slip on the unsteady boxes and trap your ankle in the space between the edge of the floor and side of the box. (The floor is made up of a box foundation with the lumber from boxes we tore apart ailed across them.)
After dinner, we were called out of the movie to go back out to the same outpost; they were hit again. Again we were too late to be any help. I’m beginning to feel like the cavalry in the movies. It was only a small force, and did little or no damage, and we left almost as soon as we got there.
These outposts are sand bag forts about the size of a gas station, surrounded by several strings of barbed wire, and protected by two .30 caliber machine guns, and anywhere for 3 to 30 ARVNs.
I hate to say this, but from the direction of the one we’ve gone to twice already, I hear, at this moment, continuous mortar and/or artillery fire. I can’t tell for sure which; it’s pretty far off, but it sounds as though it’s landing instead of being shot (outgoing rounds go off with a sharp band – incoming rounds go off with more of a “whump” sound.) After listening to it every night, wherever I am, I have learned to give a pretty accurate guess of whether they are incoming or outgoing. Especially that night at Cu Chi \when it got mortared. All night long, the artillery and mortars fired out, but as soon as the first incoming round hit, I knew it was incoming. Maybe I hear thunder right now. It has a sound probably closer to incoming rounds as heard in the distance.
I suppose we’ll go out tomorrow (I just heard some distant machine guns – hope we don’t go out tonight.) But I hope not at night – at least not like last night. Charlie’s bad enough without shooting at your own people, Maybe some on should tell these little guys that by saying we were going to fight with the ARVNs, we didn’t mean…..
Never trust a Chieu, Hoi, Bob
P.S. If you're thinking, "Captain fouls up ambush patrol at Bao Trai" would make an interesting story to print - forget it!
65 days, 6 Aug. ’67
We were supposed to go out last night but the plans were dropped so we had the night off to watch the movie, “After the Fox”, and then go to bed. When I got back to the tent there was a poker game going on at the end opposite form mine. (That’s where the light bulb is.). I finally was able to go to sleep about 3:00; I guess the game went on until 4.
Naturally, all slept late this morning. Everything was quiet and sleepy until the PX chopper came in. Didn’t know they had such animals. He came in and set several boxes on the pad and opened the store. They had a little bit of just about everything; stationery, pens (this one), razor blades, candy, etc. I guess he comes out here about every three weeks. They have a PX out here after all, only you don’t go to it – it goes to you.
After this, we had to clean up some of the junk around the tent, because General H. K. Johnson, Army Chief of Staff (4-star variety – he tells Westmoreland what to do) was coming this evening. They had 4 jeeps for the General and his party (including another one-star general – who, I don’t know). The jeeps were all freshly painted (not to freshly, I hope) and cleaned up with the red tags with stars on the bumpers, indicating “General in Jeep” – salute or you’re an automatic private E-1” All this, plus a number of ARVN and National Police Guards. He didn’t come all afternoon.
We were all going into the mess hall when we were met by Lt. Cito, who stopped us and said to go back; we were moving in 10 minutes. No dinner tonight! We got our junk together and piled into trucks. I got the impression that we were leaving just so the General wouldn’t see us. One problem – to get our truck out, we had to move the General’s jeeps. Too late to do that – here comes the ****’s choppers!!
Big deal! As soon as the choppers set down, he bounced out and strutted down the walkway to his jeeps. Everybody saluted and took pictures. (Except, guess who didn’t have his camera?) He bounced into his jeep and they all drove off in a cloud of dust – never to be seen at Bao Trai again. When he drove past our truck, we saluted (even me).
The reason they probably didn’t want him to see us? We’re rather unconventional in our dress, etc. Wild bush hats, camouflage fatigues, .30 cal. Carbines. A few of the guys, including Lt. Cito, have traded their m_16s for the .30 calibers with the ARVNs (.30s don’t jam).
Well, he did see us and the report was that as he passed through the compound gate he pointed back at us and asked our first sergeant, “What was the?” The Serge told him, “That’s the rat platoon, Sir.” No more questions.
After he’d seen us, I thought maybe we’d not go out. Xin loi. I guess they thought we’d better go out anyway. We stumbled through the river paddies and bamboo hedgerows until 9:00, searching houses, dodging artillery rounds (ours) and seeing nothing. It seemed that they knew where the artillery was going to hit and we walked down a strip of fields with artillery about a 1000 meters or so on either side, tearing up the woods. We came back in and had sandwiches in the mess hall and went to bed.
66 days – 7 August ’67
300 to go, the first goal, next is the 200th day –
Make this an anniversary issue! A national holiday! This is still morning, but I thought I’d write a little until something happens, probably this afternoon.
First, I hear an explanation of what we were doing last night. They had reports of 2 battalions of VC in the area and wanted to detain them while the general was around. Fine. Send 2 platoons after 2 battalions. Of course, we did have the artillery and they usually di di mao when the artillery starts coming in. Anyway, we didn’t see a soul.
We did get to bed late last night and had hopes of sleeping late this morning, but they woke us up at 7:30, saying we had to go in 15 minutes. Go where? Everybody got up, got dressed, and was ready to go, but they came in and said to disregard and go back to bed! Dirty #@!&*#
Got your (and Jere’s) letter yesterday. Jere, you’re ‘Beam sound beautifully hairy. 350 hp – how do you think that grabs me? It’s what’s happ’nin’. I’ll bet you run it on the strip, but if you ruin it before I get a chance to see it, I’ll contact local board #43. Your job does sound profitable; better than Hedrick’s anyway. Wish you hadn’t mentioned the mini-skirts (groan – I wanna go home). But if Columbus has any riots, I hope they’re over with by next June. I’d hate to live through a year over here and then find the same thing back in the world.
Did I read right? Marlynn has the car and I haven’t heard from her for two – almost three 0 days? Sounds like somebody pulled a (Jere) Singleton.
Okay, it’s evening now, and, banning an emergency – our day is over – except for another card game, which I hope doesn’t go until 3 a.m., but it surely will.
They seem to have a way of waiting till chow time to send us out. We went out at 4 today, and walked and sloshed and did nothing except test-fire all weapons. I fired one round, and “click” – jammed! The chamber and bore were like a mirror – clean My ammo had dirt on it! You gotta clean every single sound (bullet) regularly or it’ll jam – it would be a beautiful weapon if you were fighting in a vacuum with not dust. Our .50 cal. Machine gun wouldn’t fire either. Only one shot, then had to cock it manually, shoot again – 1 shot – cock it, etc. Capt. Barkman called it a high powered sniper rifle. I guess – it’ll shoot almost a mile and penetrate the heaviest armor.
It has occurred to me that I have never named the guys I’m with. So just in case you’re interested, here’s a list with all I know about each one:
First is platoon leader 1st Lieutenant Cito (see-toe), first name Al. I think from (?). Likes sports cars, has a Triumph, loves my Alpine pictures, the magazine you sent me, and Lotus Elans. He’s about 20 – 22, I think, and is one of the coolest guys you’d want to meet, especially for an officer. He does what he wants and is definitely not formal as far as the Army is concerned. He wouldn’t think twice about telling a Colonel what to do, and he’d expect the Colonel to di it – probably would, too. Looks like a college kid. He leaves in October.
Next is platoon Staff Sergeant Scott from somewhere in the hills – his accent shows it. He’s about the sorriest person I’ve seen in the Army, and I’ve seen quite a few. A typical career man – a dud. Glad he’s gone. He had a sore foot and is now in Cu Chi and probably will stay there, I hope. He also leaves in October.
The Scout section leader is Buck Sergeant Sammy Beasley from Texas and California. “Rock” really knows his stuff. When sober, he can be a real nice guy, but 75% of the time he’s on the beer and can be hard to get along with. Here at Bao Trai, the rules say, “no one gets drunk or they’re out of the club.” He stays pretty straight here. He’s colored, leaves in October.
The Infantry section leader is Rudy Garcia (Spec. 4) from Fresno, California. He’s a crazy, wild, Mexican – you can imagine it. I don’t really think he’s all fat, just husky and rather strong. A great guy – leaves in October (it’s a habit here).
106 section leader is Spec. 4 Luis Sanchez, form “Spanish Harlem” in New York. He’s also a crazy Puerto Rican, takes his camera everywhere, along with one L.A.W. rocket, when we go out. Says someday he’ll be able to use it. Guess when he leaves? October.
Now my section. Bruce Esterline, Spec. 4, from Illinois. Was in Recon for six months. Went to mail clerk for two months, went back to Recon and leaves in October. He’s assistant section leader to Rock.
Bruce Howater (hoe-water) Spec 4, carries a machine gun. He’s about 19 – 20, like everybody else so far except Garcia, Scott, and Beasley. Also from Illinois – dreams of a Shelby G.T. 500 when he goes home. He’s going to extend a year in Vietnam to be a gunner on a chopper. Leaves in December (non-conformist) for leave, and then comes back.
Spec. 4 Ed Culver, is from Fresno, California. He and Garcia went to the same high school about 2 years apart – didn’t find out until they started talking about home one night. He’s 24, I think. Leaves in December.
Spec. 4 Stephen Branch. Kind of an idiot, has only his back teeth – no front ones top or bottom. Thinks he’s a general, but really doesn’t know whether to twiddle his watch or wind his thumbs. Everybody picks on him, and kids him about his teeth – he brings it on himself. Leaves in October. 19 years old, but looks 25.
PFC Roy Raye – colored, Mississippi. Rock calls him “Crow”, because that’s how he sounds when he talks, crazy coon! About 10 ½ feet tall and 10 inches at the waist; his legs are 5 feet long themselves. Can’t see him unless he smiles in a dark room. Leaves here in April (me soon afterward).
PFC Eugene Wallace. Colored, 19, Leavenworth, Kansas. Wouldn’t know he was colored unless you saw him. A number one guy. Also leaves in April.
PFC Robert Hughes – we’ve met. Form your own opinions. Leaves in June (groan) 10 months from now.
Infantry: all 19-22 except Garcia. All leave in October.
Spec 4 Burbidge (first name?) from Kentucky. Crazy person.
Spec 4 “Gomer” Jones. Also crazy. He’s the only one in all Recon besides me with a Recon MOS (?). He was at my training company at Knox as a permanent part and left the week I got there for Nam. Leaves in April. North Carolina.
Spec. 4 Russ Hampton (the one who got shot in the leg). A Tennessee Rebel, also crazy – everyone in the infantry is crazy.
PFC Dave Clarke, from our neighborhood – Cincinnati. Our M-74 grenade man. HE can keep 5 rounds in the air at all times (it’s a single shot like a shotgun) and hit the same spot with all of them.
PFC Bobby Vance. Tulsa, Oklahoma – sawed-off midget. “Short Rock” (not really a midget, just short). Leaves in April. The Lieutenant’s radio man. Real buddies without little Number 10. Trade his M-16 for No. 10’s carbine.
Spec. 4 Clayton Farr – colored, 24, drives and fires our ¾ ton truck and .50 caliber machine gun.
106 Jeep section – all around 20-22.
PFC Frank Marabello – Connecticut; Slightly Italian. Leaves 12 days before me.
Spec. 4 “Fuzzy” Felciano – Portuguese. Leaves in October. Commo (?) lineman MOS. What’s he doing in Recon?
PFC Eugene Harris, colored, from ?, leaves I believe, sometime in April or May Always has a pipe.
Here’s the guys I like the best:
PFC Frank [Pete] Sabatino, from ? Leaves in July – next July! Don’t know much about him.
PFC Donald Marlar from Mississippi. Scared to death of being here – don’t blame him, really. Being trained for RTO for the Lieutenant to replace Vance. Also leave in July, ’68.
PFC Jim Clark (how about that – Dave Clark (Dave Clark 5 – ha) and Jim Clark, (world champion Indy winner? – ha) from Tennessee. 24 years old. Been in the Army 4 ½ years (Korea, Germany, and now here). Still a PRC. Leaves before Sabatino and Marlar, but still in July ’68. Exactly one month after me, July 2, ’68.
We have a few more. Out Doc Brooks, colored, real nice guy, leaves in April. 23 years old. Sped. 5 medic. From California.
Our Spec.4 artillery forward observer – e calls in the big stuff. First name? Bellamy, last name. Colored. If he had a goatee he’s pass for Sammy Davis, Jr. – acts like him, a cool guy. From North Carolina. Leaves soon, let’s say October.
Our jeep “combat” mechanic. Here’s a guy with an infantry MOS and is a mechanic. Also a sports car man, from California. “Smitty” Smith, great guy, leaves in October, goes to the field with us and goes out on operations even though technically he’s not supposed to. 23 years old.
That’s it. All real good Joes, except for maybe Branch and Harris and definitely Sgt. Scott.
Oh, I forgot, Captain Barkman, the S-2 ARVN platoon advisor, and the rest of the ARVN mob, including No. 10, or Little Joe, as Vance calls him (I got a friend, too, “Kirby” the B.A.R. man) and of course, “Pee Wee, the Lieutenant who was killed.
How’s that for a long two-volume letter?
Almost out of ink. Bob
67 days, 8 Aug. /67
Whew, What a day! Poker game until 4:30 a.m. last night, then up at 6:30 to go out on an operation. These guys had better cut out this poker game every night. It’s awfully hard trying to sleep while about 8 guys are yelling at each other over a card game, radios and light on full blast.
We left for the chopper pad at 7 and sat there until 11:30, waiting for the choppers, thereby missing both breakfast and lunch.
We went to an area along the Oriental River with the S-2 and “B” company of the 1/27th infantry, searching for Charlie. We walked, if you can sue that word, for 3 hours in a grass, bamboo, and vine mixture about 6 feet tall, and so thick that you couldn’t see 3 feet in front of you. The under grass and vines were worse than the mud. I found myself lifting my feet almost waist high to mash down the grass with each step. It was impossible to drag your foot through the grass and vines; they hold like tentacles of a multi-armed octopus.
To add to the under (and over) growth, there were ditches and holes every now and then – some ankle deep, some chest deep. They were all hidden and you didn’t know they were there until you were in them. The area was scattered with huge, water-filled artillery-made craters; but they weren’t much problem – you could see them.
We walked to the river – about the size of the Scioto – and contemplated crossing it (are they kidding, or what?). but decided to turn around and go back. I think I would have rather swam the river!
We sat in a rainstorm for 15 minutes, waiting for the choppers. Wet, tired, dirty, and now cold. When it rains and you just sit there, it feels like about 20 degrees. Then we got up in the chippers – ice cubes! That wind was like a blizzard on our wet clothes.
We got as far as the Bao Trai airstrip, only to get another group of choppers to Cu Chi, to refuel and then to a wooded area filled with supposedly 100 VC (Only us and the S-2 now, - no infantry). We stumbled around in the woods for a couple of hours, and found only a punji pit. Branch stepped right into it, one step ahead of me. Lucky person – put his foot right in the middle of the stakes, but missed them all! It was camouflaged so well, there was no way of detecting it. We found 3 others already uncovered.
Number 10 (only 18 years old) saved a number of us. We started into a wooded area, but he stopped us – pointed into the woods, and made an explosive gesture with his hands. “Boom”, he said. Then he took his M-16 and shot 3 grenade booby traps he had spotted along the wood-line. How’s that for a good testimonial for the value of the Chieu Hoi program?
While we were waiting for the choppers along the edge of the woods, the gun-ships killed two VC with M-60s and M-74s out in the rice daddies, as they (the VC) tried to get away from the area.
We had a full 12 hour day in Charlie’s territory, and I’m a very tired and hungry ground grabber.
Think I’ll go to bed (it’s 8:00). Tune in tomorrow.
68 days, 9 Aug. ’67
The laundry woman came today. She comes once a week and does laundry. Every day, she comes into the tent and “makes the beds” – straightens the air mattresses and blankets, and mosquito nets – and sweeps the floor. If you want her to, she’ll shine your shoes. All this for only 500 p ($5.00) a month per man. We have a maid!
I found out by a letter from Biddle’s parents that Mike has gone to Germany to work in a hospital. I don’t know how he got out of Vietnam. They didn’t send any address, so I still can’t write him. I’m sure he’ll end up here soon. Germany is probably just more training and/or experience before he is sent here to be a field medic like he was trained for. I hope he stays in Germany, but he surely won’t.
I went to Cu Chi today on a re-supply run. Right in the middle of the street, in the city of Cu Chi itself, there was a lady rhinoceros – sorry, water buffalo – literally having a cow. All the villagers were gathered around, cheering and laughing – probably making bets on the exact time of birth or something. That’s something you don’t see every day back in the world.
Again, I didn’t have my camera! That makes five times I have wished I had brought it along. The others were when Clark (Dave) rolled the jeep; when General Johnson came; inside the club at Bao Trai (too dark – rats!) and I wanted one of “Pee Wee” but he was killed before I got the chance – too bad.
Little Joe came in today with a couple of his friends for a visit. (Vance calls him Little Joe now instead of Number 10). They were looking at a large 1650 page Sears & Roebuck catalog that Vance got in the mail. They were thrilled to death with it, even though they couldn’t read. Almost like Snuffy Smith, when the mail-order catalog comes in the mail. They got a real kick out of the lingerie section.
We left at 6:30 for a mission going after a village chief and bodyguards – all VC. The little hamlet was located in a clump of jungle and hedgerows. We approached the hedgerows and Lt. Cito sent the scout section around the other side to set up an ambush for any VC (anything not American) that moved, planning on having some run out while they swept through the village and jungle.
We set up and waited until the rest of our men came through the brush – no VC. All were about through when 5 ARVNs started back into the hedgerow. That’s when the nightmare began. The third man thru hit something – anti-personnel, anti-tank mine, Claymore, hand grenade – and when the smoke cleared all 5 were lying in the paddy or in the hedgerow, moaning and bleeding. The fragments missed several US people who were all around the area; I don’t know how – it was a huge explosion.
Doc Brooks used every bandage in the two platoons – everyone carries one, plus about 20 in his aid bag – and still had several wounds left open. It was pretty bad. It began to rain – so hard you could not see 3 feet ahead of you (it was pitch dark by this time). The Med-evac choppers were called, but refused to come because of the rain. We had 5 men very critically wounded and put in an urgent call for help, but they couldn’t or wouldn’t come because it was raining too hard!
Eventually we wound up carrying all five 2000 or maybe 3000 meters through the rain and rice paddies to the nearest road, where they were picked up by choppers (it stopped raining). That 2000 meters was the nightmare. For a while it was impossible to see where you were or who or what was in front of you – stumbling on berms, falling in bottomless wells, trying to carry an injured man on the verge of death, and not injure him any more than he was.
A few guys carried weapons – some had 4 M-16s and a machine gun. The rest helped carry the ARVNs. The mud and water was so deep in spots, and we were trying to move so fast, I thought I’d never make it. There were no stretchers, we just grabbed where we could, trying not to touch any wounds – impossible – it was like carrying a sack of potatoes; the only way to tell if he was still alive was to listen to him moan. We dropped ours head first down a well when the two guys carrying his head and chest fell into it.
I never realized how heavy these little guys could get after about 200 meters, through the water and mud – 800 to go yet. About halfway there, one of the ARVNs died. The other two weren’t too bad, but there were two more – the one I helped with and another – that might not be alive tomorrow.
The choppers really went out of their way, and came about 100 meters or so from the road, and some of the crew carried stretchers out to meet us. What a world of difference a stretcher made! So much easier to carry him with his weight distributed over the stretcher that last 100 meters to the chopper wasn’t too bad.
We waited for about 5 minutes in the cemetery where the chopper landed, and then moved on the last 100 meters to the road and the trucks to take us back. It’s a good thing we didn’t have to carry them the rest of the way – the water and mud got worse – waist deep in places. I don’t think we could have done it.
Three or four of the guys collapsed from exhaustion on the road. I don’t know how I kept form it myself. It was all I could do to stand up so I sat in a puddle – too tired to find a dry spot.
A few after-thoughts. What if there had been US guys hit? Would the choppers have come in? We never could have carried a 150-pound American out; we had a rough enough time with the 85 pound ARVNs. With all our weapons concentrated on about 5 people and the rest carrying the wounded and with the rain, etc., what if Charlie had followed up his booby trap by hitting us on the way back? That’s why we were moving so fast. Even if we had been able to get to our weapons, would they work? They had been dragged down well, rained on, and dropped in the mud. Mine was so clogged when I got it back later, that I couldn’t take it off safety (had to hit it with a rock). I couldn’t pull the lever back to clear the round out of the chamber, and I could see no daylight when I looked through the barrel.
And here’s the big part – yes, there’s more – besides the choppers refusing to come out (that was, in a way, excusable. The rain and especially the wind would make it almost impossible for the pilots to locate us and to even fly. They did come in after the worst of the rain had stopped and we had sent in our new position.) But the ARVNs who weren’t hit were the big letdown. If we hadn’t been there, they would have left the wounded lie there, and have gone back. They didn’t have any desire to help at all.
Our guys had to drag them out of the bushes; our doc did all the work (with help from our own men). The ARVNs were reluctant for a while to even give their first aid packs to Doc to help patch the wounds. When we got back, I saw several that still had theirs. We needed them. One man had at least 15 bandages on his body from head to toe, and still there were several ugly gashes and holes left open to the weather and infection. They wouldn’t even set up a security perimeter around the area while Doc did his work; we had to do that.
Did they help carry their wounded? Not a chance. The ARVNs walked, and offered us no assistance. I tried to get one to carry, at least, my two one hundred round belts of M-60 ammo; he wouldn’t even do that. The ammo kept sliding off my shoulders and getting in the way, besides weighing about 10 extra pounds. Finally Lt. Cito told me to get rid of it. Charlie now has 200 machine gun rounds – if only he had a machine gun (provided he had an aqualung to dive for it at the bottom of the paddies.)
One ARVN refused so much to help I hit him across the face and knocked him off the berm into the water. I’ve never hit too many people like that, but I felt the situation called for it.
Many of the original S-2 platoon had left after Pee Wee was killed, and most of the ones refusing to help were new and typical ARVNs, not the hard corps S-2 we were with before. The old S-2 members did help (there were only 3 out with us at that time). It was like they were afraid of the wounded. They would get nowhere near them until we was the chopper and got the stretchers – then they helped.
Somebody had better straighten these guys out before we go out again. I’m beginning to think the UIS-ARVN experiment might not be such a good idea after all. Also, the choppers should have at least tried to come in and the ARVNs should have helped their own wounded. One of our 11-month veterans said it was the worst experience he’s had in Vietnam. Hope I never see it as rough again.
War is Hell!
Bob
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