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Teen Years

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Our barn consisted of a large central area which extended from front to back, with three stalls on either side. The first stall on the north side was the feed room, with an entry door to the front of the barn. The opposite wall from the entry was lined with three fifty-five gallon barrels for feed storage, and two more barrels on the adjacent wall to the right. The wall to the left was about five feet high and consisted of horizontal wood slats with five or six inches between them and a gate into the center area. The other stalls were similarly built.

By the time I was around twelve years of age, we converted the stall opposite the feed room into an area for our chickens. The wood slats were removed and replaced with chicken wire and the outside wall removed, allowing full access to a fenced-in corral area. One of my responsibilities was feeding the chickens when I got home from school. The chickens became accustomed to the routine and would typically gather inside in the late afternoon, anticipating their feeding time. One of my favorite mischievous activities was to slowly open the feed room door, and enter as I crouched as low as possible to keep the chickens from seeing me. Once inside, I would jump up into view and yell loudly, catching them off guard and scaring them significantly. I took great delight in watching them scatter, partially running, partially flying, bumping into one another, and squawking loudly as they fled the barn. When the feathers settled and I was able to stop laughing, I would scatter their feed in the stall and they would come running back inside to devour my offering, obviously not afraid of me. I did that on a regular basis, with the same result each time, and providing me with much laughter.

One afternoon I went out to feed the chickens, and planned to startle them in the usual manner. I crept into the feed room, and as I began to rise up, my peripheral vision caught movement. I quickly turned my head to the right and found myself face to face with a huge chicken snake stretched out across all three feed barrels, staring at me and flicking it’s tongue! I don’t know if the chickens ever saw me, because less than two seconds later I had covered the one hundred feet of lawn in front of the barn and found myself out near our driveway, with my heart pounding at, surely, two hundred beats per minute! I could have probably made the state tournament for the 100 yard dash! The next few times I went into the feed room, my head was on a swivel, and I wasn’t interested in scaring chickens! I suppose many would call that….KARMA…!!

My early to mid teen years produced additional responsibilities. For one, I became in charge of the afternoon milking of our two cows. I was old enough and big enough to handle Sissy and her cantankerous ways, and properly manage the process. Each day, when I got home from school, and daily through the summer, I filled a bucket with warm water and proceeded to the barn, where Beauty and Sissy would be waiting at the back gate. I put feed in their individual troughs and let them in. Taking my seat on the milk stool, I would wash the udder and teats with the water, place the milk bucket on the ground and begin the process of squeezing two teats at a time until the udder was empty. Often, one of the cats would come by, nosing around the bucket, and I would aim a stream of milk at its face, like I had seen Daddy do on many occasions. It was fun to watch the cat try to catch the stream in its mouth, and end up licking milk off its fur. When I was done, the bucket of milk went to the house to be strained through cheesecloth, transferred to bottles, and placed in the refrigerator.

I had a cousin who lived in Beaumont, who spent a few days with us one summer, and after observing the milking process, refused to drink any more of our milk. He would rather have the kind that they bought at the store! We could not convince him that they were basically the same. Ours just had more butter-fat that had to be stirred up before serving.

I can only remember one time that we made butter from our milk. I think the process was too time consuming when we could so easily buy it at the grocery store. We would, however, often let it sit outside refrigeration until it curdled, and then make clabber and sometimes cottage cheese. I would only eat those if they were slathered with sugar.

In 1956, the planning and acquisition phase was completed for construction of the new Interstate 10 highway that would run from Florida to California; as part of the Dwight D Eisenhower national interstate system. The section that ran from Orange, Texas to Beaumont passed just a few hundred feet behind the back corner of my grandparent’s property. There was a mayhaw thicket just outside their property, where we often picked the fruit to make jelly, so I was familiar with that area of the forest. I would often walk through those woods and watch the giant Caterpillar bulldozers as they shoved over huge trees and cleared underbrush into big piles to be burned, in order to prepare the right-of-way. It was fascinating to observe the shaping of the roadbed and ditches for four lanes of main highway with two lane service roads on either side. Huge dump trucks carried loads and loads of sand from nearby sand pits to elevate the surface above the often low lying terrain. As a young teen, I dreamed of operating one of those mighty dozers.

There was a small community called Ballville, about a mile south of our place, that consisted of, perhaps, a dozen residences. The only business was a little independent gasoline station that sold a few staple groceries and had a small lunch counter. It was owned by a young couple who lived behind the store. I would often ride my bike down there and visit with them as we watched the construction of I-10 across the road from the store. At that time, primary roads were paved with concrete, which was poured in forms made of steel, and were reinforced with mats of iron re-bar. The process required much labor, and was very interesting to observe.

One afternoon, the station owner and I were sitting on a bench under the canopy at the front of the store after a sudden heavy rain had moved through the area. The rain, of course, stopped all work, and most of the workers left for the day. A few hundred feet down the road, there were a few men standing around some trucks near the work area. Suddenly, without warning, a strong lightening bolt struck nearby, frightening both us. When we regained our composure, we looked around and saw steam rising down in the area where the men were. They were running around the area, with some jumping into the trucks and some gathered on the ground. At that distance we couldn’t tell what they were doing, but in a little while we heard a siren in the distance. Shortly, a sheriff car flew by us and pulled up to that area. A few minutes later an ambulance pulled in from the opposite direction. We didn’t know what was happening, but that evening the news on TV reported that a worker was standing next to the steel form and was struck and killed by the lightening strike.

New adventures were also a part of being a teen. At the end of 7th grade I decided to try playing baseball in the Babe Ruth League. I was able to land a spot on a team with several of my good friends. That was my first indication that I didn’t have the natural skills for sports, and the fact that my left arm couldn’t twist below the elbow wasn’t ideal for my glove hand. For three summers I spent most of each game in the dugout cheering on my buddies and playing the last couple of innings in right field. It was near the end of the third summer that I got my first and only base hit; a grounder single to right field. At least I batted in two runs, and enjoyed the cheers from the rest of the team. As it would turn out, baseball was the only organized sport that I would attempt to play.

During my freshman year, the Methodist Church in Vidor sponsored a new Explorer Scout post, which was for older boys. Several of my best friends joined and it sounded like fun, so I joined in as well. That decision opened up a world of adventures that I would never have experienced. There were only about ten of us and the adult scout leader was the father of one of the guys. He was an avid outdoors man and understood what teen boys enjoyed. We weren’t into crafts or merit badges; we wanted adventures. For three years we concentrated on camping, hiking and canoeing. We were able to canoe white water rivers in southern Arkansas and eastern Oklahoma, and paddle trips on numerous rivers in Texas, including a train ride to the Texas hill country to canoe the Colorado River from Lake Buchanan down to Marble Falls. We went to a jamboree in Oklahoma City, where I tried fried rattlesnake; “tasted like chicken”!!

The summer after my Junior year, nine of us made the ultimate camping trip for all scouts; a car trip across Texas to Philmont Scout Ranch near Cimarron, New Mexico! We spent twelve days hiking the mountains of the ranch. One night we were bedded down in our tent when we heard noises by the water hydrant and sump about a hundred feet away. One of the guys and myself got out and shined a flashlight on the area. All we saw were two glowing eyes that were wide apart raise up six or eight feet into the darkness! We scrambled back into the tent and lay as still and quiet as possible. It was bear country! After a brief time, we heard huffing and feet hitting the ground as it came our way. Needless to say we were terrified! Fortunately, it passed by us and continued into the distance. I’m not sure how much sleep we managed, but in the morning when we emerged from our tent, we found horse hoof prints in the dirt!

After our time at Philmont was over, we headed north into Colorado and spent two nights sleeping on the gym floor at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. We were able to tour the academy, including the famous Chapel, before heading back to Vidor. Three weeks was the longest that I had ever been away from my home.

Loy Callahan was probably my closest friend through high school. He lived a mile away and we spent countless hours together, riding our bikes, driving around after we got our licenses, camping in the woods behind our house, and going on dates together. One of our favorite adventures was to take our shotguns and hike to a slough in the woods near my house, where we would hunt for cottonmouth water moccasins. Crazy, yes! But we made great sport in trying to find the biggest one that we could. On one outing, as we were approaching the slough, I spotted a coral snake slithering across the mud. It was a really big one, so I used my machete to strike it about the middle of its length. All that I did was shove that portion of its body deep into the mud, such that it couldn’t escape. After it thrashed about for a bit, it caught the very tip of its tail in its mouth and began to chew on it. Fascinated by its actions, we watched as it slowly became still and lifeless. It was amazing that it had killed itself with its own venom, rather than be trapped. My Chemistry teacher was an amateur herpetologist, so I put it in our sack and took it to school the next day. He measured it and found it to be the longest coral snake he had ever seen, at over 36 inches in length. He put it in a jar of formaldehyde and it stayed on display in the chemistry lab for all to see.

During my senior year I was involved in my first and only serious auto accident. Our class chose to raise money for class events by selling magazine subscriptions. Everyone involved would canvas their neighbors, families and friends. Since I didn’t have a neighborhood, I had to reach out to other areas. One afternoon after class, my friend Joe Eddie Hanzel and I worked some outlying residential areas on my end of town in his Volkswagen Beetle. When we finished our rounds he was taking me home and on my road when a dog ran out onto the road, causing him to swerve the car. The right wheels left the pavement into the grassy shoulder and caused the car to skid as he tried to pull back onto the road. Unfortunately, we were approaching a culvert with a low concrete abutment that caught the right rear wheel, causing the car to spin to the left onto the pavement, where the centrifugal force made it roll over onto it’s top and slide off the road into the grass. Of course, there were no seatbelts in autos back then, but we both crawled out unscathed, though quite shaken. Joe Eddie was beside himself over his car that was only a couple of years old. The lady whose dog had run out heard the crash and called the highway patrol. It wasn’t long before a trooper arrived and, after a quick interview, drove me the half mile to my house. My mother and I then drove back to the scene with a wet towel for Joe Eddie to wipe the tears from his face. It was quite the experience, but the worst, by far, was his loss of the car of which he was profoundly proud. Oh….and I won a stuffed dog for the subscriptions that I sold!!!

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Vignettes from the 1950’s

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It’s February 17, 2023, it’s a cold day in Pennsylvania, so it’s time to get back to writing again.

As I have previously said, I was the youngest of four in our family, with George being six years older. So, during the school year, I was home alone with Mother each day, and living out in the country as we did, I never had a playmate outside our family. That didn’t bother me since I didn’t know any different and was quite happy with my imagination and all that I could do around the farm. I didn’t realize until many years later what a blessing I had in George, and the way he would patiently allow me to tag along with whatever he was doing. He was a great influence, and I learned so many things by observing him and his instruction. I learned to hunt with him, utilizing our .22 caliber rifle and 16 gauge shotgun. He showed me how to skin squirrels and dress robins and blackbirds for Mother to cook. He invested in oil-painting supplies, which I later used to try my hand at art painting, and led me to choose art class in Junior High. He also bought tools for working in leather craft, which I also did in my mid-teens, making and selling purses, wallets, belts, and Bible covers. The only thing that I had no desire to follow was his affinity for tinkering with automobiles.He also had a very quick wit and was always coming up with some statement or response that would have the family laughing. I remember one of his jokes on me was when we were sitting at the table and I would take a drink. As I had the drink to my mouth he would say “spoosh”, and without fail I would start to laugh, while trying to avoid spewing liquid all over the place. While I tried to regain my composure, he would simply sit there with a big smile on his face! But, I remember once when the joke was on him when we were out with the pigs and he decided to try riding one of the larger sows. As soon as he jumped on the pigs back it took off fast and immediately ran between two trees. It turned out that there was only enough space between the trunks for the pig, such that George’s knees hit the trees, scraping him off the pig and onto the ground. It was hysterical to me, but he ended up with some very sore knees! It was most rewarding having an older brother like him.

The consequences of growing up as I did became evident when it was time for me to start school. Prior to starting first grade, I had no interaction with other children my age, save some cousins that I saw three or four times a year. And I knew no other children in the area around our town of Vidor, Texas. When time came for that first day of school, I was not ready. In fact, it turned out to be one of the most traumatic days of my life! Mother and George escorted me to school that morning, and as soon as we entered the building I started to cry. We sat for quite a while outside the classrooms, with both of them trying to console and distract me, while I sobbed continuously. I was fortunate to have a very patient elderly lady as my teacher, who allowed me to quietly cry on and off throughout that day. George came by the room to get me after school and take me with him to the school bus. The next morning was more of the same until Mother decided to accompany me to school and sit in the back of the room through the day. She had to do that for a couple of days, until I began to settle in to the routine. My teacher was wonderful, allowing me to help her with various little tasks, like cleaning blackboard erasers and handing out materials to the class. I really didn’t know how to, or desire to introduce myself to other children, so I would just observe their interaction among themselves. I can’t remember how long it took to make my first friend, or whom it was. I can remember boys discussing plans for getting together on the weekend. I didn’t particularly want to join them, but I felt very much alone.

We had a large and very rural school district, so there were a lot of busses that were parked in the school lot every afternoon. I was afraid of not being able to find my bus, so I expected George to meet me and lead me to the bus. However, he was already in Junior High, and his last class of the day let out about thirty minutes after mine. His class was in a small two room building behind the elementary building, so I learned how to go to his room to wait for him. His teacher allowed me to enter and sit with George until class dismissed. There were a couple of girls in his class that thought I was so cute and would want me to sit with them as well. I didn’t mind the attention at all. Then, one day, I showed up at his room to find it empty. His class had gone to the library that day. I didn’t know what to do but sit on the steps and wait, but they never returned. Eventually, I wandered out to look for him at the busses, but the busses were all gone!! I stood around crying until a janitor saw me. The superintendent of schools had a residence on the school grounds and the janitor took me there. Of course, with four Nauck children in attendance, he knew our family well and where we lived, so he took me home. I was seriously reprimanded for causing such a situation and the next day I was taught how to find my bus! Whether I liked it or not, I was on my own at school for the duration!

I eventually made some friends and accepted the fact that school was inevitable, but I never developed a fondness for it. In fact, I hated school until I reached Junior High School and had a number of close friends. Even so, I never liked school work or studying, and only really enjoyed the extra-curricular activities, all of which carried over throughout college. It was not until I was in the Army at Artillery School that I finally truly enjoyed the learning process!

I have previously written about my early childhood, but there are so many more memories of growing up in the 1950’s. There were many times hanging around Daddy’s shop watching him doing his auto work and observing the radiator mechanics. I could always find used parts like the auto brake cylinders, springs, and gaskets that I could re-imagine in the sand pile, and the steel ball bearings from wheel bearings, which made great “steelies” for playing marbles in the sand at school recess. Since Daddy worked on Saturday’s until noon, I would often go with him and walk into downtown Beaumont where the “Jefferson” and “Peoples” movie theaters were. Every Saturday morning was kid’s day, where for twenty-five cents, I could spend all morning watching cartoons, movie “serials” and a feature movie. And a nickel would buy a box of Junior Mints to enjoy. Daddy would come into the theater and pick me up when he was finished with work. Occasionally, the family would pack into our car and go to one of the drive-in theaters, if the mosquitoes weren’t too bad. I remember times when a truck would drive up and down the drive-in spraying a fog of mosquito repellent to make things more pleasant. The odor was a lot better than the pesky insects!! I can’t help but wonder now, what the long term health effects might have been from breathing those chemicals! We routinely used DDT and Chlordane around our home; both of which have now been banned from use.

One of the activities that I loved was going crabbing. There were several places that we would go, but my favorite spot was a sand bar on Cow Bayou. To catch crabs, we tied one end of a string around a piece of slab bacon and the other end to a stick anchored in the sand. Then the bacon was thrown into the water and after a minute or two we would slowly pull it out onto the bank, almost always with a blue-claw crab hanging on tightly. We would knock it off into a wash-tub and repeat the process over and over. With several pieces of bacon, it would only take a couple hours to collect a lot of crabs. Aside from the fun of catching them, the eating was the best! We had a brick barbecue pit in a side yard near the house where we would build a fire and put crabs in a large pot to boil them. We used plier-like pecan crackers to break open the claws and shells to get to the meat. Delicious!!

Armadillos were a scourge to our flower beds, and George and I would chase and shoot them as often as we could. Once we chased one to it’s burrow near my grandparent’s house. My grandfather told us to dig it out and he would cook it for us. We were able to find it and kill it. Papa cleaned it and cut the meat out of the shell, and Mama fried it. The meat was very white and “tasted like chicken”! It would be the only time we did that, because getting the meat out of that armor was an ordeal, and not worth the effort with all the other animals we had to eat. It was a great once-in-a-lifetime event.

There were times when one of our cows would die, as well as our horses, Buster and Snips. We had no means of digging holes large enough to bury them, so our only choice was to drag the corpses out into the big field between our place and my grandparent’s. We had a 1938 International pick-up truck that we used to drag them into place and then drive around the edge of the woods, gathering loads of dead wood and dried debris to pile on top of the animal. After wetting the pile with gasoline, we would torch it, creating a huge hot blaze that would burn for most of the day, and completely eliminate the carcass. It was kind of sad, because we grew attached to our animals, but it was part of the life cycle on the farm, and we were accustomed to it.

At Christmas, when I was eight years old, Mother and Daddy gave me a new Huffy 24 inch bicycle. I didn’t know how to ride yet because all we had were larger adult bikes. Unfortunately, my sister had given me a two-gun holster set that I had longed for, and it was the first thing that I noticed under the tree. They had to call my attention to the bike leaning against the wall, and I dismissed it summarily! I’m sure that they were very disappointed, but they didn’t make a big deal of my reaction. Time went by without my interest in riding until springtime, when Mother tried to help me learn to balance on it. After several days of trying, I eventually took a spill and ended up with the end of the handlebar punching me squarely in the stomach. And that was the end of riding lessons; I wanted nothing to do with that bike! It reminds me of Charlie Brown’s Snoopy and the folding chair!! So, during the summer of that year, one of my cousins visited on a Sunday afternoon, and rode my bike all around our driveway and yard. I was quietly ashamed that my girl cousin could ride and I couldn’t! So, on the following morning I took that bike out to our front gate and began trying to coast down the slight incline of our driveway. Holding my feet out to the sides to keep from falling over, I slowly developed my sense of balance, and by that afternoon I was riding like a pro!! Mother didn’t know what I had done until I proudly showed her. I can’t imagine how happy she must have felt. She and I would spend many hours riding up and down the highway. I had no idea of the freedom that bike would give me to roam beyond our property, and I had put many, many miles on it before I had outgrown it!

From the time I could remember, I was afraid of the dark. I would go just about anywhere in the daylight, but I would not be caught outside by myself at night. My imagination of all sorts of bad things out there was robust, but the fact that there were wild animals in the woods solidified my fears. I was willing to venture out with someone, and especially if they carried a light, but I still kept my guard up against anything lurking in the shadows! Even when I was in bed, when the lights went out, I would cover my head with the bed sheet. I suppose that I reasoned, if I can’t see them, they can’t see me. I can remember a night when a screech owl decided to camp out in a tree over our bedroom. It seemed like hours that I endured the horrifying screams, while I lay curled in a fetal position. I could imagine a black panther lurking outside, searching for an open window to leap through to devour me.

Such fears were, no doubt, reinforced by actual events, such as the evening when our family was gathered around our dining table playing games, when there was a sudden banging on the back porch door next to where we were sitting. Daddy jumped up and looked out upon a man in a tattered naval uniform, pleading for help. Daddy opened the door and ushered him to a chair. His clothes were ripped, wet, and dirty, his face and hands covered with scratches, and a look of terror in his eyes. Mother got him a glass of water and a washcloth as he told his story. He had been on leave and was hitch-hiking back to his naval base. A man had given him a ride, but pulled a gun on him and threatened to kill him. He had jumped out of the car as it slowed for a curve a mile from our house. He ran into the woods and kept running until he saw the lights from our house. At that time, there were no other houses on our stretch of road for that mile. He had made his way through some of the densest forest filled with brambles. I don’t recall what happened after that. I’m not certain if we had a telephone at that time; I was still very young. If we couldn’t call for help, Daddy may have taken him somewhere. Gladly, that was the most unnerving thing we ever had happen.

Even living so remote, on a major US route, we never locked our doors at night; I don’t recall locking them when we were away from home. As a young child, it was quite common to see men, who were referred to as “hoboes” at the time, walking along Highway 90, and occasionally have one come to the house and ask Mother for a glass of water, or even something to eat. I never saw her turn anyone away, and we never had any issues with them. Before I was born, a lady by the name of Golphy and her young daughter stopped in as they walked the road to wherever they were going across the country. They had all their possessions in a wheelbarrow and Mother took a photo of them (which I posted on my 1930’s photo page).

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The Finale

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On December 1st it was back to reality….and LZ Debbie. Things were calm while I was gone, but I sensed a mood swing among the personnel as I got back into my routine. For some reason, Col Johnson was acting strangely and had become difficult to work with. We had gotten along well, but we weren’t close friends, and the difference in rank and position made it impossible for me to inquire or intervene in any way. We just had to live with it…and he was one of the people with whom I had to work most closely. I had roughly 50 days left in country; all I needed was for them to be difficult on a relational basis!

December 8th came around and it was like getting hit with a sucker-punch to the gut!! I received notification from the Red Cross that Linda was entering the hospital that day, for surgery the next day, for suspected breast cancer!! Her doctor had requested that I be granted emergency leave, but it was rejected. I was beside myself…as if life wasn’t strained enough! I hopped a jeep to Duc Pho and requested an emergency call to the states. I was told that there would be no calls available until midnight at the earliest. In order to make a phone call, a special military radio facility had to contact a ham radio operator in the states, who would patch into a land line and make the connection. I was up all night waiting for the call to go through. It was already the day of surgery back in the states, so I had the call made to my sister, Eleanor, who also lived in Irving, and would certainly know any details. Finally, at 7:30, the morning of the 9th, they got my connection, and Eleanor was able to set me at ease to some degree. The doctor had discovered a lump in each breast and was removing them for biopsy, but they were likely benign. That set my mind at relative ease and I returned to the fire base, exhausted and drained. The next morning I felt somewhat more normal after a good night of sleep, and feeling a bit more resolved that things were going to be fine back home. But, I couldn’t completely shake the concern that lingered about the results of Linda’s surgery.


The day felt cold, with occasional showers and a continuous mist in the air. I would return to Duc Pho that afternoon to attend a big party at the Artillery HQ that night. It was St. Barbara’s Day, the patron saint of the artillery. All the Liaison Officers, Battery Commanders, and the HQ staff would be in attendance. It would be great to have some fun and a special meal to break the monotony and get my mind off everything that was bothering me. Camaraderie and laughter and some “Artillery Punch” (a mixture of champagne, wine, bourbon, gin, scotch, vodka, and a touch of 7-up) was most welcome!!

By the 17th, I was at an emotional breaking point. It had been a week since Linda’s surgery, and I had yet to receive any notification of her condition. I didn’t know when, or if, she had left the hospital, what they had found, what her prognosis was….I actually didn’t know if she was still alive!! I had called Red Cross four times over the last five days and had gotten no response. Eleanor had told me she would let them know the results, and there was no way she would have failed to do so! The weather was miserable and morale in general on LZ Debbie was very low, with the command problems. That afternoon, I went in to HQ and had a long heart felt talk with Col Gleave. He asked about Linda, and when I related my problem he put in a request for a priority emergency call for me for that evening. I had respected few people in my life any more than I did that man. He was, no doubt, the finest commander I had ever met, let alone served under. I hung around until I was able to talk with Eleanor again. I wasn’t able to reach Linda because it was mid-day there, and SHE WAS AT WORK!! My wonderful sister filled me in on all that had transpired and that all was fine. The tumors had been benign!! I returned to Debbie with a far better attitude, and a determination to make the best of my remaining thirty-odd days.

Throughout November and December there had been very little activity with the enemy. The weather had a large part in the lack of movement, with most action in our area being the occasional ambush along Highway 1. We all prayed that it would remain that way through the upcoming holidays.

Christmas Day finally arrived! All of the companies were pulled back to their firebases for the day and night so that the men could enjoy real Christmas dinner and relax in relative comfort. I went up to the artillery battery mess hall for dinner, which was a really good meal with all the fixings, and even a plastic tree and decorations. It was a beautiful day with temps in the 80’s. It just didn’t seem like a holiday, especially Christmas. I was waiting to celebrate in another twenty-five days, when I left for Cam Rahn Bay!!! It was hard to believe that I had less than a month remaining!

New Year’s Eve and we’re all going to Times Square to celebrate!!! NOT! A couple of captains and I sat on top of a bunker and emptied our 45’s into the air. Happy New Year!!…and new year’s day wouldn’t be spent watching parades and football. Instead, we would be preparing to move the battalion HQ to a temporary site on a hilltop a couple miles to the west, for a large operation involving three US battalions and an ARVN battalion. There was a huge build-up of NVA and VC forces out there somewhere, and they were known to be staging for a Tet (Lunar new year) offensive. We were going to try to find them.


It would take a couple of days to move the HQ and the artillery battery and get it all set up. At least the weather had been relatively nice. Since this operation was expected to last at least ten days, I would spend very little time, if any, on LZ Debbie before leaving for home. So much for the few creature comforts I had enjoyed.

January 2 and Whoa!! “Charlie” didn’t want us invading his area, it seemed. The lead party, consisting of an infantry company and two artillery pieces. was placed out on the new firebase the day before, and they were hit really hard that night. In fact, they were nearly over-run. I lost one of my Lieutenants in the action. He died trying to divert the NVA from the foxhole where his wounded radio operator was hiding. It was a big, sad loss…and we hadn’t even gotten started yet. It made everyone a little ill-at-ease as we moved the remainder of the headquarters out to the hill.

When we arrived at the hill and I got off the chopper, I saw the grey, stiff bodies of two Viet Cong laying in the mud, just off the landing area. I had seen plenty of death over the last few months, but this time I just stood and stared at them for a while. These were men, with families of some sort, somewhere in this country, who may never know what happened to them when they failed to return. They would be buried somewhere in the rear and that will be the end of their story. I think the fact that I had only a few days remaining made me consider my own fragile existence. This could happen to anyone at any time.

It had rained enough to make the bald hilltop a nasty, muddy mess and several men spent all day nailing together pallets and wood from ammo crates to create walkways between bunkers. I made my way to the bunker where I would be staying, and stored my equipment. This wasn’t how I had envisioned my last days on the job!

On the Fourth of January we began moving the companies out to various areas in the field, and I spent sixteen hours in the air in two days! We ran four CA’s in one day; that was four LZ preps, in a period of about five hours!! I was worn out mentally. But the operation was underway, and then It was a game of hide and seek.

Other than the attack on the lead party on the 1st, there was little contact and only a few sightings. They were definitely avoiding us, and hiding rather than fighting. They were surely trying to conceal themselves and their material until February and the beginning of Tet. That was fine with me. I had a week left until I headed for Duc Pho to begin out-processing. I didn’t care to see any more action. The rain and the mud on the new firebase was enough to deal with.

The last week had been off and on with rain, clearing enough to manage a few more CA’s, and the operation was winding down. It was January 17, and it would have to end without me, because the re-supply chopper would be taking me back to Duc Pho to spend my last two days at LZ Bronco, before catching a chopper to Chu Lai to process out of the Americal Division.

On the morning of the 18th, I was clean of mud and feeling very well from fitful sleep and mess hall food, and I was reporting to Col Gleave for the last time. That was bitter-sweet; he was such a great leader, and such a fine gentleman. The night that I was wounded, he had come to the hospital at 1:30 AM to check on me. I had so enjoyed serving with him. We talked for quite a while, debriefing about the operation and my last few months in general. Of course, he inquired about Linda, and my plans for the future. As we were finishing up, he informed me that the next morning there would be an award ceremony for me. I would be receiving two Bronze Stars for Valor, a Bronze Star for exemplary service, an Air Medal for Valor, the Army Commendation Medal, and the Purple Heart. He apologetically added that one of the Bronze Stars, for September 21st, was submitted as a Silver Star for Valor, but had been downgraded by the Commanding General because he didn’t want to give out too many awards of that degree. If I had planned for a career, I would have been disappointed, but at that point, I really didn’t care. Also, Col Hardy, the Artillery Division Commander would be flying in to make the presentation. I was shocked, surprised, honored, and humbled. I had expected that I would simply slip away like most everyone…no fanfare, just some tough goodbyes and handshakes, with the next day just another day for those left behind.

The ceremony was late morning, with all of Headquarters Battery in formation. It was a beautiful, sunny morning as we took our places. The battery was divided into two platoons with me in between. The staff Sergeant Major was the master of ceremonies, calling the formation to attention, and then calling me forward. Col Hardy, Col Gleave, and even Col Johnson were standing behind the Sergeant Major. Col Hardy came forward and pinned each medal on my chest and shook my hand after the reading of each citation. He, also, apologized for the one Bronze Star being downgraded. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I simply replied “Yes Sir”, while feeling a bit foolish. When he was done, Col Gleave came forward and presented me with a plaque from the 6/11 Artillery. Then Col Johnson stepped up and shared some words of thanks and respect, and presented me with a plaque from the 4/21 Infantry. I was touched; he really was a nice guy, I think. I returned to my post between the platoons and the formation was dismissed. It seemed almost a surreal moment for me; certainly nothing I would have envisioned back in June.


The rest of the afternoon was spent processing and getting all my belongings out of storage. We had a farewell party that night at the Officers’ Club (more like Officers’ hootch) and I enjoyed re-living some of the events of the past seven months. In a strange way, I was sorry to be leaving, but nothing could have kept me there. In another two weeks I would have been promoted to Captain, and Col Gleave had offered me my choice of remaining a Liaison Officer, commander of HQ Battery or commander of one of the 105 howitzer batteries. But, I would also have spent another five months there. My vision was solely on my wonderful wife waiting at home, and a promised job at Republic National Bank in downtown Dallas. It was not a hard choice to make, and I had made it long before!!!

On the morning of the 20th, after breakfast, I found myself sitting in front of the battery day-room, observing my surroundings; looking out to the beach, then out over the firebase, and then to the distant mountains. Everywhere, there were men going about their daily routines with not a thought about Lieutenant Nauck’s exit from LZ Bronco. The men in Alpha company were still out there plodding around in the mountains and valleys around San Juan Hill, and a new captain was serving as liaison at LZ Debbie. The war continued without me. I can’t explain just how I felt at the time. So much had taken place in my life over the last seven months, and now it seemed to have happened so quickly! I think that I felt very much alone!

About mid-morning, there was a “Loach”, for Light Observation Helicopter, a small two-seater. going to Chu Lai. I jumped at the chance to ride once more, and in a chopper I had not ridden before. I climbed into the seat and introduced myself to the pilot and buckled up for the long anticipated ride. It seemed odd, but I actually had watery eyes as we lifted off from the grassy lawn in front of headquarters, veered off to the coast, and sped toward Chu Lai at about twenty feet off the beach, leaving a part of my life in the unwritten history of Quang Ngai Province.

Two days in Chu Lai, processing out of the Americal Division, then on to Cam Ranh Bay for one day, and I was ready to “Leave Country”. It was amazing….seven months earlier I had arrived at the same place, full of anxiety and trepidation….now, leaving, one of the other guys had to wake me from a sound sleep in the waiting room, to board the plane. We walked out onto the tarmac, and there sat a 737 with the name “Flying Tiger Airlines” emblazoned along the body. It seemed somehow fitting…from a vicious World War II fighter plane to a civilian craft now carrying me home. The mood on that plane was quite different from the one I had arrived on!! As we climbed into the sky and banked out over the South China Sea, I took a long last look at the beaches and the lowlands filled with rice paddies and the mountains in the distance. The view was so different from up there…it belied the turmoil that still raged across that tiny land. One stop in Osaka to re-fuel and that “Freedom Bird” was headed for Seattle.

It seemed to take forever to process out at Fort Lewis, Washington, but on January 26, 1970, I was finally discharged from the military and shuttled to Sea-Tac Airport for the last ride of my adventure. It was so different to be among throngs of civilian people. Although some would look at my uniform with disgust, most were going about their lives with no idea what I, or the others like me, had just lived through.


By the time we approached Dallas Love Field it was evening, and all I could see were the unending lights spread across the landscape. It was such a familiar sight! When the plane touched down my heart seemed, literally, in my throat, and my eyes were definitely watery once again.

I had made it…I was home!


Words can’t describe what I felt as I exited the jet-way and first saw my beautiful Linda waiting with my faithful sister, Eleanor, and her husband, Ed. JOY…PURE JOY!!!

Eleanor and Ed had brought Linda to the airport, so I was able to sit back and enjoy cuddling with her and taking in the familiar landmarks along the freeway. It had been a long time since I last rode in a car and it seemed luxurious. We were dropped off at our apartment, and as we entered, my adventure was truly complete.

I awakened that night at 1:00AM…….craving a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!!!

Unknown's avatar

The New Job

by

I caught an early morning chopper to LZ Debbie, located on a hill on the coast, about five miles South of Duc Pho. The LZ had originally been built by and for the Army Engineers, so many of the structures were more like buildings than crude bunkers. It was a larger complex with a road that led down to Highway 1. The TOC (Tactical Operations Center) was a large structure made of 8×8 timbers laid horizontally, with windows and screen doors, much better than the sheet metal bunker on San Juan Hill. It was situated half way up the hill, with the artillery battery at the top of the hill. I had my own room in the TOC, with a wooden bunk-bed and a screen door to the rear of the building.

I met Captain Lewis, whom I was replacing, and he briefed me on the battalion and the current situation in their area of operation. The 4/21 Infantry worked primarily in the lowlands below Duc Pho and out to the mountains to the West, and had responsibility for the security of Highway 1 down to the southern boundary of I-Corps. He showed me around the LZ and introduced me to a number of the personnel and the commander, Col Johnson. I was amazed to find that Col Johnson was from Texas, and had graduated from Prairie View A&M, a division of the Texas A&M system for African Americans. He seemed to be a nice guy and we hit it off well from the start, sharing our commonality.


I stashed my gear in my room and set up a plywood desktop from which I expected to do a lot of my work. It was wonderful to have a “home” at last. One of the real perks of this position, for me, was the amount of time I would be spending in the command chopper. I had fallen in love with helicopters and got a charge out of every ride. I would have been a chopper pilot if not for a lack of mobility in my left arm, due to a bad break and a botched surgery as a child. At that point, riding was good enough. So, I settled in and made myself at home, looking forward to the next four months. During the following few days I was able to fly out to a couple of the companies in the field and meet my Forward Observers, and spend some time getting to know the guys up at the artillery battery.

October 7th arrived and it was Happy Birthday to me!…which was all the celebration that I got!!

Along with the activities of my first week, I was also getting to know Col. Johnson. I needed to get a feel for his expectations of me and his attitude, in general, toward the artillery. I had heard that this battalion had had some not so good experiences involving the “cannon-cockers”. I had learned that if the infantry believes you know what you’re doing, they treat you like a king; if not, they wouldn’t follow you to the latrine!


It had started to rain on a regular basis, as the start of the monsoon season was approaching. There were times when it would pour down for several hours without letting up! I was SOOOO glad that I was out of the field. I would lay in my BED and listen to the torrents on the roof, and think of trying to sleep on the ground under a poncho!!! The temperatures would fall into the seventies, yet with the rain and wind, it would feel quite chilly, especially when flying around with the chopper doors open! I had to dig into my duffelbag and pull out my field jacket for warmth. I was loving my new job more every day!!

By the second week of October, the weather had switched to typical monsoon activity on the coast; rain at night and relatively sunny during the day, with highs in the eighties and nineties. It was great weather for flying, and I was enjoying the hours in the choppers. The 4/21st was primarily responsible for securing about twenty miles of Hwy 1, particularly where the mountains came out to the coast. The area was famous for ambushes of convoys and routine military traffic, so we reconed (reconnoitered) it regularly. I realized that there was no detailed plan laid out for artillery support along that stretch, so I began devising numerous target locations in likely ambush spots to facilitate rapid response. Col. Johnson was pleased, and impressed, as was Col. Gleave. Chalk up one for the Arty!!


My comfy room in the TOC had made a character swing with all the rain. There was a twenty foot wall of dirt about fifteen feet behind the TOC, which had been dug out of the side of the hill, to level the area for buildings. The volumes of water runoff had begun eroding the bank and flushing it down against our back wall. My screen door allowed the mud to flow into my room. Every couple days I had to shovel and sweep the excess through the slats in the floor, and the wet soil underneath wasn’t smelling too good. I opted to give up the privacy of a room to myself, and move into a bunker across the road. It was comfortable enough, and I shared it with one of the Captains on staff.

Confrontations with the enemy had been light over the past weeks, largely due to the weather, but also because they were surely having to re-supply men and material after the August/September offensive. Lately we had seen more ambushes along Hwy 1, so the battalion was going to send some companies a couple miles into the mountains to search out possible base camp and reserve locations. That meant there were going to be a number of combat assaults. CA’s were one of the things I enjoyed most as Liaison Officer. For a CA, I was responsible for prepping the landing zone, which meant utilizing an artillery barrage to cover the area where the choppers would set down, and any surrounding treeline or heavy brush where the enemy might set up an ambush of the incoming troops. On the day before the assault, I would contact various batteries and set up their coordinates, plan the number and type of rounds, and set the time of barrage. For most of our area I was able to use 4.2 inch mortars, 105mm and 155mm howitzers, and 8 inch and 175mm cannons, firing as much as 100 rounds. The guns would be as close as one mile and up to ten miles from the target, and when I used the 175mm cannon, they were firing from as much as nineteen miles to our South. The 175mm projectile would be in the air for one minute or more before hitting the target. In fact, those big guns were actually located in northern II-Corps.

On October 20th we ran our first CA. I was able to utilize all sizes of guns, and I was as anxious as a child the night before Christmas. The command chopper would lead the formation of birds carrying troops into a holding pattern that I had supplied the battalion commander to insure that we were clear of the flight of the artillery rounds. Then I would start a two minute countdown to “Time On Target”, when the first round from each battery involved should strike the target area. It was so cool to speak into the headphone “…3, 2, 1, time on target is NOW!”, and then watch the instantaneous explosions in clouds of smoke and dust erupting all over and around the LZ. The barrage might last up to three or four minutes, depending on the size of the area to be saturated. It was such a thrilling sight…I often thought that not even a snake was left alive after such an onslaught. Then when the last battery would call in “tubes clear”, I would signal the pilot that it was safe to go in. The command chopper would lead the way, in a steep descent at about 100 mph, then level out and streak over the LZ, dropping colored smoke grenades, then climb back to a thousand feet or so to observe the troop choppers going in to off-load. It was an exhilarating experience, and I loved showing off the awesome power of artillery at my command.

In late October I experienced what seemed like another miracle, and perhaps it was. We were out on a recon flight when we received word that one of the companies had a soldier who had been badly injured by a booby trap. We flew to the location to pick him up and take him to the hospital at LZ Bronco. The company was located in the edge of a heavily forested area next to a large field of elephant grass. There was a small area of short grass next to the treeline, just big enough for a chopper to set down. As we were approaching the area, I noticed an empty sandbag laying in the center of the location. I thought it was odd for a sandbag to be out in the middle of nowhere, but didn’t think anything more about it; there were millions of sandbags in the country. We came in slowly and dropped straight down into the grassy area. Several men carried the wounded soldier to the chopper and loaded him in; after which, we lifted slightly, tilted, and flew forward. Within a couple of seconds after gaining flight, we heard a loud explosion behind us. The pilot made a quick climb and hard right turn, spinning us back the way we had come in, and there in the center of the small clearing was a large hole, with smoke rising into the air. Once again, I had come within a fraction of death, or at best, critical injury!! It was then that I realized why the sandbag seemed oddly out of place.

The VC were very wily at setting up many and varied traps to cause death and mayhem. In this case, they first set up a trap to kill or injure a person, and knowing a helicopter would be called in, they cleared the tall grass in an area just large enough for landing. Then they buried an explosive, which was likely an un-spent artillery round, in the middle of the space and attached a detonator, by wire, to the sandbag. The obvious intent was for the prop-wash from the helicopter rotors to blow the bag away, setting off the explosion, as the chopper was about to set down; quite ingenuous!! Apparently, the way we came in kept the bag pressed in place with the prop-wash circling around it, and only when we tilted forward did the airflow catch it so as to blow it away! So close, so very close!

Before I knew it, another month was off the calendar, and the days seemed to blend together, as my work became even more routine. There was very little activity in our area, largely due to the daily rain that could crop up at any time, and the occasional downpour that shut down everything. Much of my work still involved recon by helicopter; in one month I had logged better than fifty hours in the air. And I was loving it!

In mid November, I had a very difficult day! For a couple weeks I had been dealing with a 2nd Lieutenant FO, attached to one of the companies, who just wasn’t cutting it. Lazy, inattentive, and arrogant, he had the Company Commander ready to shoot him (figuratively speaking). After consulting with Col Gleave, we determined that I had to relieve him of his position and send him back to battalion HQ where they could deal with him. There was no way his attitude could affect the lives of the many men that might count on him. It was very difficult for me, because I didn’t like conflict. After relieving him, I had to write an Officer Efficiency Report for him, and although I hated to put it on his record, I had to be honest about his attitude. Then, after turning in the paperwork, one of the captains on staff told me I couldn’t be so negative in my report because I could ruin his career!!! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; I told him to write it up and I would sign it. One more reason that I knew I couldn’t be career military! Later that day I confided in one of the captains with whom I had a close relationship. He told me that I was too independent, and that I needed to keep my mouth shut and just go with the flow. I knew that, but I couldn’t accept it…seventy more days, and I’d be a civilian again!

Friday, the 21st…What a day! We ran a CA at 1:00PM, after which I took the chopper back to Duc Pho, grabbed my suitcase out of storage, and caught a plane to Chu Lai. I arrived just in time to meet with Col Hardy, the Artillery Division Commander, who knew that I was coming and had invited me to dinner. It was a nice private meal, and I felt honored by his invitation, but I spent much of the time listening to him speak of the benefits of a career in the army. He was very complimentary; telling me that I exhibited the knowledge and leadership traits needed in the military, and that I would rise through the officer ranks rapidly. He mentioned how highly I was respected by Col Gleave, and that I could likely name my future position in the battalion, or even promote up to division level. I have to admit that thoughts of grandeur flashed through my mind as I listened. In the end, I kept my mouth shut, went with the flow, was gracious, and couldn’t wait to get to bed! The next day I would be on a flight to Danang, where I would proceed to a week of R&R in Hong Kong!!!!

Fortunately, my tour in country was long enough to qualify for a week off, and I was able to plan to spend Thanksgiving week in Hong Kong. The largest cities I had ever been to were Dallas and Houston and they paled in comparison!! The numbers of buildings and people were amazing. It was most impressive. I planned to spend my time resting, sightseeing, and shopping. Captain Monday had planned his R&R for the same time. He was a day ahead of me and met me at the airport. He had reserved rooms for both of us at the same hotel. We spent my first evening sitting in the 12th floor bar overlooking part of the city, drinking “screwdrivers”, and sharing experiences. It was such a change over twenty-four hours and a few hundred miles. The next day would begin a whirlwind of shopping and tours of the city, and the “new frontier” on the out-skirts of the city with a view of the border with China, with the fence and armed guard towers.

The British had established a huge shopping mall right on the harbor, called the Royal Fleet Cub, with only reputable and well scrutinized vendors for the military to buy without fear of being scammed. It was amazing purchasing custom, tailor-made suits for $40…cheap even in 1969 dollars, and they did it all, from measurement to completion, in four and a half days. I bought a full wardrobe of dress clothing, a stereo component system, and silverware, and a wristwatch, cashmere sweater, and pearls for Linda. I had a blast! It was a great respite from war, and I found that I really liked real Cantonese food (or some of it)!! And, I was able to eat at the famous Tai-Pak floating restaurant in the harbor. The Hotel where I stayed even had a huge Thanksgiving buffet…complete with all the items I would expect back in the USA. It was a fun and interesting time!

Unknown's avatar

The Worst Was Yet To Come

by

The end of the month saw a change for Alpha company, as Captain Carnes finished his tour and was headed back to Texas. He was replaced by Captain Schweibach, a West Point graduate. He was a professional and dedicated officer and easy to talk with, and also disappointed that he had missed so much action! We got along well; he had previously served with and respected other officers from Texas A&M.

September had arrived with combat activity similar to what we had experienced throughout July; we searched, they hid, or moved away when we came close. Intelligence was that the NVA and VC had sustained significant casualties during the August offensive. A captured NVA soldier had reported that his battalion was less than half strength. They were surely needing time to replenish personnel and material. We were fine with that, because August had been hard on us, both physically and emotionally; we had lost nearly a dozen killed and even more seriously wounded.


The weather was being more cooperative with more moderate temperatures and occasional rain showers. But then, on September 8th we spent the most miserable night that I had, or since have, ever experienced! Searching the side of a steep mountain, we spent the night in a rocky ravine. Just after nightfall the skies opened up, and the rain came in torrents. There was no flat ground, and before long the water was rushing across the ground throughout our position. I placed my helmet upside down and used it as a stool to sit on, covered myself with my poncho, and leaned back against a boulder. I stayed in that position for the entire night, feeling the rain pounding on my head and shoulders, and swirling around my feet. Eventually, it actually leaked through the poncho, providing a slow soak of my entirety. It was impossible to even drowse off, let alone sleep!! By first light, the rain had stopped, and I uncovered, chilled and soaked, with my hands and feet looking like prunes, and every joint in my hips and legs aching from hours in one position. Although the sun rose brightly, the jungle canopy kept us shaded and wet! Trudging down the remainder of that steep ravine was tough on long soaked feet!! We spent most of the day resting in the sunshine, drying out and getting our feet in better condition, and tending to other issues. During the first few weeks in country, scrapes, scratches, and cuts would rapidly heal, but after a couple of months, a minor cut would soon fester, and if not treated properly, would lead to infection.

On September 10th, we returned to San Juan Hill for our week of rest and guard duty. My boss, Captain Monday, was scheduled for a three day R&R and I was to fill in for him as Liaison Officer for the Infantry Battalion. I was thrilled to be granted the responsibility, and to sleep on his cot in his bunker! On the first day, I had to plan the artillery preparation for a combat assault for one of the companies. The “LZ prep”, as it was called, required coordination of several artillery batteries to blow the crap out of the location just prior to the choppers going in to drop off the troops. It was such a cool thing to watch from the command chopper. Later that day, I was on the command chopper as we did reconnaissance, when one of the companies was ambushed in a riverbed. They had some badly wounded men, so we went in to pick them up. As we set down to pull the men aboard, the battle continued, and a lot of fire was placed on our bird. The sound of bullets hitting the metal skin of the chopper, or the whiz as they fly past you, is unforgettable. The door gunners were spraying the forest with their M-60 machine-guns, and the battalion commander and myself were adding return fire with our M-16’s, as the wounded were frantically dumped, bleeding and groaning, onto the floor of the chopper. We weren’t on the ground more than ten or fifteen seconds, but it seemed like an eternity before the bird lifted slightly, tilted forward, and sped away down the river. Thankfully, none of us were hit, and we were able to give what comfort we could to the men we had just rescued, as we headed for the medical facilities back at Duc Pho. Only afterwards did I feel the chill along the spine from the close call that we had escaped. I gained an increased respect for the chopper crews who routinely went in to hot LZ’s.

On the 18th we went back into the field, and were CA’d farther into the mountains, to search a series of valleys that hadn’t been patrolled in several months. We were dropped off in a wide riverbed and had to ford the river to check out some “hootches”, typical bamboo shelters used by the mountain people, known as Montagnards, but also built by VC and NVA. When we emerged form the chest deep water, one of the men discovered a leach on his arm. We made certain the area was secure, then practically disrobed, to check for them. I had two handsome ones about and inch and a half long on my abdomen and a small one on my back. We used cigarette lighters to burn them so they would turn loose. The river was apparently teeming with them. Once they were extracted, it would take a minute or two for the bleeding to stop. Afterward, thinking about them caused more chills up the spine. We spent the night in that area, after destroying a number of hootches and some corn crops and bags of rice that we found. We had to deny the enemy as much food supply as we could.

The next day we moved a few hundred yards to a small hilltop and set up for reconnaissance. While the platoons were out, we noticed a couple of VC rummaging around where we had spent the night. Captain Schweibach told the mortar platoon to drop a few rounds on the position. When the VC heard the sound of the rounds firing from the mortar, they began running back toward the jungle. And, that is when I witnessed another remarkable sight. I was watching through my binoculars as a couple rounds landed behind them. The second man was running a ways behind the first when suddenly there was an air-burst (an explosion before the round hits the ground) and the man disappeared!! At first, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but then I realized that the mortar round had actually hit him on the head or shoulder, vaporizing him in a split second!! I turned and asked if everyone saw what I had seen. We simply stared at each other for a few seconds before the mortar platoon broke into cheers. What were the chances?! We joked about what the first man must have thought after he reached the cover of the trees, and his buddy was nowhere to be found!

We continued our rampage through the small valleys, destroying food sources, killing pigs and chickens, and tearing down shelters. We roamed out to the farthest reaches of our artillery support. I made sport of firing “Willie Pete”, a nickname for white phosphorous rounds that exploded and burned at very high temperatures, at distant structures and corn fields. We saw no one, but we could guess that we were being watched from afar.

Then came September 21, 1969…”a day that would live in infamy” no doubt, for many of us!! We were picked up from our distant location and dropped on a ridge about two miles from San Juan Hill. We were to search down the side of the ridge into the valley below, looking for a supposed base camp. It wasn’t there…so, we moved farther down to a large flat area of abandoned rice paddies, where two valleys converged, hardly more than a mile from our fire base. We set up for our night defensive position and received our re-supply and our evening meal. It had been nearly a month since the heavy action of late August, and everyone was in a good mood and managing the day to day life as we knew it. As the sun dropped behind the distant ridge, men began ambling back to their foxholes to prepare for the night. I had just noticed a tiny leach on the back of my hand and was about to burn it off when there came the familiar “whump, whump” sound of mortar rounds leaving their tube. “Incoming” was yelled all around as bodies were scrambling into foxholes!


I ran the short distance to the command foxhole, then paused to listen…the mortar was somewhere in the tree line directly between us and our fire base. How wonderful!!! The most dangerous position in relation to artillery is in the line of flight, because the most likely failure of a round to hit a target is to fall long or short! With the enemy between me and the guns, I couldn’t be as confident in bringing it in close without risking a long round that could fall on our position. I slid into the foxhole and found that the rice paddy dike in front of us was too high to see over. Scrambling back out, I crouched on my knees behind the dike, just as the first rounds landed outside of our perimeter. The mortar was still pumping out rounds, and the next ones were landing at the outer foxholes and then inside the perimeter. I knew right away that these guys were good…they were pretty accurate to start, and were “walking” the rounds straight across our position!! As they were falling closer to me, I felt, for the first time, that I might not live through that.

I was already on the radio, calling for fire on one of my defensive targets closest to the sound of the mortar. Then, just a little beyond the dike, I saw dirt fly into the air…and then I found myself laying on my stomach against the dike. My first sensation, as I pushed myself back upright, was a burning feeling in the small of my back, and as I picked up the radio handset, I felt stabbing pains in my gut. I knew that I had been hit!! I started to reach around to feel my back, but I stopped, realizing that I didn’t want to know how bad it was. Instead, I concentrated on making adjustments to our rounds behind the treeline, and we needed flare rounds as well, because it was getting dark. The commander was trying to communicate with the platoons, and one wasn’t answering. The mortar rounds had stopped falling, and there was a moment of almost silence…broken by multiple screams for the medic. I looked behind me and saw that our mortar had been hit and was likely inoperable! One platoon called in direct hits on foxholes! My next fear was a ground assault, and we were vulnerable. I remember wondering if I had the nerve to call the artillery on our position should we be over-run.

Shortly, I was working four of the howitzers, one for flares and three as close as I could to the treeline on three sides of our position, hoping to dissuade any attempt to attack us. At times it was hard to concentrate over the pain in my gut…I had never felt anything like it! My callsign on the radio was Lancer two six; Captain Monday at HQ was Lancer six. My only communication with him came while I was involved in adjusting fire when he radioed “two six, this is six, are you hit”, and my response was simply “roger”. He had suspected so because of the strain in voice that was different from any time before. I eventually asked my radio operator to take a look at my back. Just a small hole was his analysis. I felt somewhat better…I had imagined a gaping gash!


By now, there was controlled chaos…seriously wounded were being brought to the center of our position, and we were getting an assessment of the situation. Within an hour the Air Force had “Puff, the Magic Dragon”, also called “Spooky” (an AC-47 with three mini-guns mounted on one side) on site to give suppressing fire and drop flares, and I was able to shut down the artillery. A med-evac chopper started a series of round-trips to carry the wounded to Duc Pho. There was no attempt at an assault by the enemy. We had been very unfortunate for their accuracy with mortars, but yet, very fortunate that they had not been more aggressive. By midnight, the worst of the wounded had been dusted off, the dead had been collected to the command area, and the perimeter re-established with troops in every position. The final count of casualties stood at eleven killed and twenty-six wounded. One third of the company had been hit in a two minute barrage. It was hard to look at all those black plastic body-bags laying on the ground. I knew that one of them contained a staff sergeant in his late thirties, with six children back at home, and for whom I had taken a great liking…I cried for the first time! They wouldn’t be collected until morning….


When the final dust-off was on the way in, Captain Shweibach told me to go in to the hospital. I didn’t think it was necessary, and I really hated to leave the guys at a time like that. But, when he made it an order, I had no choice. It was a very lonely ride in the dark.


It turned out that my wound was not at all serious, but the concussion had done a number on my insides, causing all the pain. It would be well over a week before I was back to normal. As I reflected on the incident, I realized that I had experienced a Miracle!! The mortar round had landed about twelve feet behind me, well inside the 25 foot 100% kill zone. My rucksack, less than sixteen inches square, had been laying on the ground beside my left knee, and had over twenty holes in it, and my four water canteens were punctured. And yet, with me upright on my knees, I was hit by one small piece of shrapnel. I was largely agnostic at the time, but that horrific night brought me to a realization that God did truly exist, and, for whatever reason, He cared enough about my existence to spare me certain death!! It was the saddest of all the days that I spent in Vietnam, but one that had a huge bearing on the remainder of my life.

I spent four days at LZ Bronco before returning to the field for a couple of days before the company was due to go to Chu Lai on stand-down for four days of relaxation. The commander told me that the word from intelligence was that we were hit by a NVA battalion moving through our area. They stopped to harass us with some mortar action before continuing their march to the South. My neck hair stood up at the thought of roughly 500 NVA against one depleted infantry company with no mortar. Had they not been on their way to bigger things, I could likely have had to make that decision to call fire on our position!!

Stand-down was like a mini-vacation of four days away from the war. Two Chinook helicopters carried the entire company up to Chu Lai where we were housed in barracks near the beach. There were volleyball nets, horseshoes, table tennis, footballs, frisbees, and USO shows, all on the beach. There was a thatch-roofed shelter with a long charcoal grill made of barrels cut in half. That was the First-Sergeant’s domain, where he spent all day, each day, grilling meat for the men to grab as often as they wanted. We were supplied with 200 cases of soft drinks…200 cases of beer…100 quarts of hard liquor…several hundred pounds of steak, chicken, and burgers…all for 135 men over two and a half days. It was quite a sight to see the men laughing, letting off steam, and enjoying life as much as possible, especially after what they had been through just a week prior. I spent the time relaxing (much of the time around the grill) and observing the goings-on, and letting my brain clear from what had passed and what remained.

On the 30th we returned to San Juan Hill. As soon as we arrived, Captain Monday met me and instructed me to report immediately to Artillery Battalion HQ at Bronco. I caught a mid-afternoon flight and as soon as I arrived I was sent to see Col Gleave. He informed me that I was relieved of my position as Forward Observer, as of that day. I wouldn’t be returning to San Juan Hill!! He was assigning me to the Fourth Battalion, Twenty-First Infantry as Artillery Liaison Officer, reporting the next day!! WOW, getting out of the field was fabulous news, but this was more than I could have expected. “LNO” was a Captain position. The battalion had two excess Captains and four open Lieutenant positions, yet he had selected me to handle such an important role! There had been suggestions that, at some point, I might become Executive Officer for the battery on San Juan Hill…this position was far, far better. I would be in charge of all fire support for the infantry battalion, working directly with the battalion commander, and reporting directly to our battalion HQ. It was the best news I had received since I arrived in Vietnam.

Unknown's avatar

The Real War

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As July progressed we continued trudging through the jungle and the open valleys, climbing and descending hills and mountains, as the days went by slowly, with seldom any combat activity. There were small skirmishes, and distant sightings, but most everywhere we went, they were gone, as if avoiding contact. We were almost wishing for some action, but why would we complain? Our biggest complaint was generally the heat and humidity, and the lack of clean clothing. The four companies in the battalion rotated guarding San Juan Hill, spending three weeks in the field, then one week on the hill. Re-supply of socks and towels was pretty much all we saw during those three week stents. The lightweight jungle fatigues were designed to dry quickly, but they stayed wet with perspiration all day long and dried only partially at night. Everyone wore their fatigue trousers and a T-shirt, with a towel over their shoulders to wipe the sweat from their face. After a couple of weeks, the trousers could almost stand on their own when dry, due to the amount of salt and dirt embedded in the fabric. We all smelled horrific, but it was something to which we became accustomed. Occasionally, we stayed the night by a stream and could wash off somewhat, but the smelly clothes remained, and by the end of another day it really didn’t matter. A lot of the streams were infested with leaches, so any bathing required immediate removal of the little suckers (pun intended)!! When we finally returned to the fire base, a shower (below a 55 gallon barrel), shave, and fresh clothing was the first thing on everyone’s mind. Eating three cooked meals per day was also a treat!

In late July, intelligence pointed to a build-up for a late summer offensive by the North Vietnamese Army. We may have been feeling bored at times, but we hoped it was wrong. However, the situation around San Juan Hill was changing. The NVA had managed to set up two 51 caliber anti-aircraft guns on the high hills to the south and north of the firebase. They were shooting at the choppers coming in with supplies. It appeared that they wanted to “starve” us out so that we would be more vulnerable without enough ammunition to defend the hill. Our Artillery battery had to fire directly at both hills to try to keep the gun operators under cover as choppers came in. The rear supply was putting our supplies in big cargo nets that were slung under the choppers, which came in low and up the side of the hill, hovered for a second over the landing pad, dropped the load, and then sped down the opposite side. They were bringing mainly water, food, and ammunition at the time. We were pretty happy to be in the field!

On the 29th of July we climbed a high hill overlooking two valleys to the East of the fire base, where we were to spend two days sitting and observing the area. I didn’t fire DTs for our location because it could be a tip-off that we were there. Down one side of the hill there was a view into a narrow ravine filled with forest and a large banana grove near a wide stream. The Garden of Eden must have looked a lot like that, green, serene, and unspoiled. The second day we noticed NVA bathing in the stream and entering the banana grove. They were about 300 feet below us and probably a half mile up the ravine, which was too far for small arms fire. Captain Carnes radioed headquarters and briefed them on the situation. Then someone with binoculars noticed three women bathing. Women weren’t part of small NVA units, and with the cover afforded in that area, it was considered that there could be a battalion with nurses hiding there. The final word from headquarters was to blow it away! That was my job!

As I set up the fire mission I was in a quandary about killing women, and made my concerns known.

I was reminded that, given the chance, even those women would take my life…so, just do it!! I gave the order to fire. The first round was a white smoke air-burst to verify the coordinates. The bathers looked up from the stream when the shell burst high above them, and began scrambling from the water. My next command was “fire for effect”. They were entering the banana grove as the first shells impacted. Ten minutes and twenty or more rounds of high explosives later, the area had been changed dramatically. Gone was the serenity, the unspoiled was transformed into a scarred landscape, the banana grove was less than half its size and lay in disarray. Smoke rose all around the area as some smaller explosions echoed up the hill, likely indicating ammunition cooking off from their armaments. We weren’t allowed to leave our position to inspect the area, so we never knew what had become of our adversaries.

“It was probably the one time that I failed to celebrate the effect of my actions. By my sole volition, with my willful calculation, and my voice through a radio, I had rained destruction on the garden, and on other humans, including women. It stuck in my mind for the rest of the day, until I relented to the idea that it was them or me. It’s a well worn phrase, most often spoken abstractedly, but…WAR IS HELL !!!”

We descended the hill through the jungle on the other side, and as we were moving I noticed several men ahead of me weaving to the left and turning to speak. As the RTO ahead of me weaved left around a large bush with crisscrossed branches and very little foliage, he turned his head and said “two-stepper”. And there, laying atop some of the branches, was a Krait snake, one of the deadliest snakes in Vietnam. It’s curare-like venom attacks the nervous system and paralyzes the lungs, causing suffocation. It was called two-stepper from a myth that one is dead in two steps. Without anti-venom, It doesn’t take a lot longer than that, and I had no intention of testing the timing. I shivered at the thought of how many times I could have come close to one in some of the denser jungle!

July had passed and we continued our fruitless attempts at finding the NVA or any Viet Cong. On August 5th, we made our way back to San Juan Hill for our week of rest and defense. It was an interesting week, being cautious moving around the firebase while knowing that those AA guns could fire at any moment. They were well hidden in the jungle, so we couldn’t detect muzzle flashes when they fired. Fortunately, it seemed they were only interested in shooting at choppers. They had managed to hit one Chinook chopper that came in with a big load, but it was able to limp back to Duc Pho. While on the hill, we saw some amazing things. The Cobra helicopter was a heavily armed attack chopper that was designed to be very difficult to defend against. The body of the chopper was only 36 inches wide, making it difficult to shoot at from underneath, and particularly difficult from the front, as it made a pass at a target. Cobras were being used to hit the areas where we thought the AA guns may be located, and one day, one of them took a hit in the bottom of the body near the engine. Fortunately it was able to land in a valley nearby, from where a Chinook was able to lift it up and rescue the two-man crew. We felt that the AA gunner was either very good or very lucky to make such a shot! However, that was nothing compared to what I would witness a couple of days later.

The Infantry battalion had decided to bring one of the companies on a combat assault to the top of the south hill, where they could search downward to attempt to find that gun. The CA flights of six Hueys were flying in single file along the ridge to our west. I was sitting on the edge of the command bunker watching the flight when one of the birds suddenly fell from the sky, straight down about a hundred feet or so, crashing onto the edge of the ridge, exploding in flames, and rolling down the side of the grassy hill, leaving a fiery trail behind it. In that moment of astonishment, Captain Carnes yelled to look above the ridge. There, in the air, were the rotors from the downed chopper, spinning alone, still in balance. As we watched in disbelief, they slowly tilted and began a slow descent down the ravine below our hill until they finally crashed into the jungle a half mile away! It was like some eerie epitaph to the burning wreckage that had taken at least ten lives in only a few seconds. We had heard the AA gun fire just before the chopper fell, and afterwards, we knew that we were spectators to one of the luckiest shots ever fired. The round from the gun must have hit somewhere at the base of the rotor shaft to cause it to separate from the bird like that. I doubt that anyone has ever seen anything like it. We were all in a state of shock for the rest of the day, but found some solace in the fact that the company was successful in finding and capturing that gun.

What a week we were experiencing! We were still taking in-coming from the gun to the north, but air strikes were called in on that hill and they managed to silence either the gun or the crew manning it. Our last night on San Juan Hill provided more evidence of the anticipated offensive.

“During the early evening of August 12th, our last day on the hill, our radar picked up a large number of enemy advancing on one side of the hill. I was called to the Operations Center and shown the location, then instructed to bring fire on that area. I called in a fire mission from the eight inch guns at LZ Liz on the coast. Those big guns were the most accurate of all artillery, and I had to bring them in fairly close. Shortly, activity was noticed on other areas of the hill, and I found myself bouncing around in the relative dark, adjusting fire in other areas. They retreated amid the defensive onslaught, and as I finished my work and hopped off my perch, I realized that I had spent the last half hour or so atop the….INFANTRY AMMUNITION BUNKER!!!”

The next morning, a platoon did a sweep of the sides of the hill, and found a wounded NVA soldier. Upon interrogation, he revealed that there were large numbers of NVA in several base camps around our area, and that they had been probing us to see how well defended we were. That afternoon we walked off the hill, into one of the valleys below, wondering what we might encounter during our next three weeks in the field.

By the 15th of the month, there were increased sightings of enemy units, and skirmishes had picked up all around the province the last few days. Bravo Company of our battalion had been hit hard near the base of San Juan Hill, and after that fight they had confirmed 30 enemy killed. It was obvious they weren’t playing around…and, likely, the summer offensive that we had hoped was a rumor, had begun.

On the morning of the 16th, at 5:00 AM, we were attacked in our night position. We were hit with small arms, hand grenades, and RPG’s (Rocket Propelled Grenades). The action lasted for less than fifteen minutes, and I had barely gotten the Artillery ready to support us. We had no casualties, but found blood trails where they had dragged away bodies. This was the most serious attack we had experienced since I arrived.

The next morning at 3:00 AM we were hit again, but harder. For nearly an hour we were besieged in the same way. This time I was able to work Artillery in fairly close behind them and maybe do some damage on their retreat. When they attacked in this manner, they could be within 100 feet of our perimeter, or closer. I needed to keep the Artillery rounds about 600 feet away from us to prevent an errant round from hitting our position. We had two wounded during this fight, but after daylight we found several bodies, weapons, ammo, and lots of blood trails.
I was amazed at their tenacity in facing the firepower of an infantry company, especially when dug-in in a defensive position, with Artillery back-up.

At 1:00 AM on the 18th we were at it again, this time for an hour and a half, with the same results!!
Except for a lack of sleep, I was strangely beginning to almost enjoy the action. I believe I was experiencing the rush of being able to utilize my expertise in adjusting the artillery around our position, bringing it in close to the enemy, but managing that safe buffer from ourselves. We had several wounded this time, but we hadn’t lost a man as yet.

By the about the fifth night of action I found myself and Captain Carnes sitting on the edge of the foxhole, with a warm beer or soda, and our radios, and a better view for directing our side of the action. I can still remember the zzzzz sound of bullets as they passed very near to us. It was foolish not being down in the foxhole, but it had almost become sport!

By the 24th, we had been attacked eight out of nine nights! Lack of sleep was wearing on us, and the mid-summer heat was exhausting as well. The temperatures were running 110 to 115, with humidity in the eighties and nineties. The jungle fatigues designed to dry quickly, stayed wet from sweat most of the day. Even hot water, laced with the taste of iodine, was guzzled continuously. It was miserable enough without warding off pesky North Vietnamese. Some of the men were becoming worn psychologically, as well, because the ferocity of the fighting had resulted in several deaths among us over the last couple of days. Some of them had lost longtime friends. When it hits so close, we tend to reassess our own vulnerability, and anger can more quickly feed the hatred of the opposition. It is amazing how we mourn for our own, while literally rejoicing as we count the numbers of the dead on the other side!

The morning of August 25th, orders came down to stay in place and do nothing, because the weather forecast was dangerous. In fact, by midday the temperature hit 125 with humidity near 100%!!!

Not even the NVA were moving. For two days we stayed in the same location, remaining in the shade, sitting still, drinking and sweating. It was the most miserable I had ever felt, and there was no way to escape it. The jungle was truly like an oven. There were times when it was an effort to take a breath of the heavy air. I had been out there long enough to forget what air conditioning felt like, but I promised myself that, if I made it home, I would never again complain about the heat. To top it off, re-supply was curtailed to a minimum, because the air was too heavy for helicopters to fly safely, if at all!! During the last ten days, re-supply was held to a minimum. Food, water, and ammunition were the highest priority during this period.

We had four days without action and were feeling as though the offensive may be winding down. Then on the 29th, they showed us that they weren’t done yet. We had a hell of a fight that night, lasting better than two hours. We suffered more dead and wounded on our side!!


You see a lot of unforgettable things in war, many of which you might try to block out, but some are simply astounding. After the heaviest part of the attack, we had some seriously wounded that needed dust-off. A med-evac chopper came in and set down in the center of our position, even as the fighting continued (which they often did, God bless them!!), loaded those in worst condition, and lifted off. The doors were always left open for the gunners on each side. Just as it was becoming air borne, I saw an RPG fired from nearby, and fly through the cabin of the bird, leaving its trail of sparks as it flew off and exploded beyond us. God had to have been with those men, the crew, the medics, the wounded, as they came within literal inches of death. If it had been a foot or two in any direction it would have found its mark and there would have been pure mayhem on the ground with the chopper crashing and exploding inside our perimeter. It would have been no more than thirty feet from where I was watching!

We assumed that this attack was their last gasp, because we saw no more action for the next two weeks.

Unknown's avatar

Into The Field

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Late in the afternoon I got word that a supply chopper was on the way in and I needed to get down to the pad. I grabbed my pack and M-16 rifle and made my way down to wait for my ride. Shortly, the Huey set down on the pad and I scrambled aboard. We lifted off, spun around and dropped down the side of the mountain into a narrow valley and quickly set down in the middle of Alpha company’s location. As I jumped to the ground, several enlisted men ran over and began unloading the cargo of supplies and the evening meal. I spotted some radios near a group of men in the center of the position and figured that must be the command location. I walked over and spotted the Captain insignia on the commander and reported in by identifying myself. He had a big smile as he welcomed me to the unit.

They had been informed that I would be arriving and he was happy to have a Forward Observer, or FO, after several weeks of not having one. He introduced me to a couple of Lieutenant platoon leaders and to my two radio operators. About that time, the chow call was made and men began forming a line to be served.

I hadn’t realized that the infantry kitchen back at Bronco cooked hot meals to be delivered to the companies that were in the field on every day that it was possible. The food came out in insulated canisters and thick plastic bags. We would be eating whatever the menu was back at the rear headquarters, although maybe not as hot and definitely not as fresh! It wasn’t bad though and I would grow to appreciate it more as time went by. Soda and beer were usually sent out as well. Nothing like a warm Coke, Pepsi, or Bud! If we were lucky to have a stream nearby we could cool them off a bit. Morning and mid-day meals would consist of c-rations or LRRP (Long Range Reconnaissance) packs, referred to as “lerps”, which were freeze-dried meals that were re-constituted with hot water, and were generally quite tasty. We heated water using C-4 plastic explosive, which came in small blocks about the size of packaged cheese from the grocery store. A very small piece of it could be lit with a match or cigarette lighter and burned at a very high temperature, so it only took a few seconds to boil a small amount of water.

It turned out that Captain Carnes, the commander, was from Midland, Texas. He and one of the Lieutenant platoon leaders were in the National Guard and had been called up to active duty. Once again I had come across someone with whom I had a lot in common. He was a big Dallas Cowboys fan and although he had graduated from Texas Tech, I felt a sense of camaraderie that made me feel a little more at ease. He had already called in the DTs for the location, so I was able to visit and just observe the routine of an early evening on the ground. Each day the company would move to a new location and set up the mortar, then send two of the platoons out to search or reconnoiter the area, while one platoon stayed behind with the command party to guard the site. When the platoons returned, foxholes were dug in a large circle for the defensive perimeter for the night. Trip wires for flares were strung outside the perimeter, with claymore mines located strategically. Claymores were directional explosives that were detonated by a wire connected to a clicker device which would be on the edge of the foxhole. If a trip wire was bumped and set off a flare, it would pop and light up the area, which served as an alert and made it possible to see what was there. If it was the enemy, the soldier on guard would smack the clicker, setting off a significant explosion that would bring the whole company to attention and, hopefully, eliminate the enemy. Foxholes were dug for the command party, but we slept on the ground near them in case anything happened. While the perimeter was being set up, six targets were established around the position for the Artillery to be able to immediately fire on if we came under attack. These were actually fired upon to confirm their locations, then the coordinates stored for use. This would be my responsibility every evening.

At dusk, men would begin moving to their foxholes and preparing for the night, and as dark moved in all activity stopped. On the perimeter, one man would take his place in the foxhole to stand watch for a determined period of time before waking the next man to take his place. There were usually three men per foxhole, with two sleeping on the ground next to it. If anything happened, they would slip into it and be ready for action. I hadn’t slept on the ground since camping as a teenager, but it would be my bed for many nights to come. We slept with our clothes and boots on with a poncho liner as cover to keep the dew from getting us wet and a rolled up towel had to suffice as a pillow. My helmet, rifle and ammunition bandolier were right next to me. The radio was on the edge of the command foxhole, ready to call in a fire mission if needed. My first night “in the field” didn’t provide a lot in the way of rest. After all the training and briefings, I still didn’t know just what to expect, and I was a little concerned with what might slither or crawl under my cover, and there was the certain possibility that war could break out at any moment!

Morning of my first full day with Alpha company, after a quiet night, began at daybreak. As soon as there was light, men began to move about. I arose a bit stiff and needed to relieve my bladder. I asked if I needed to go outside the perimeter and was told to just go anywhere away from other people; simple enough, as I noticed that I wasn’t alone. Breakfast was C-rations and warm soda or iodine laced water. Big plastic jugs of water and jars of iodine tablets came out with re-supply daily. Hydration was extremely important in the high temperature and humidity and iodine was necessary to help purify the water. I had four canteens attached to my rucksack to be filled. Within an hour Captain Carnes and his Lieutenants had finished their morning briefing and were ready to start the day. We were heading uphill into a forested area to be on a nearby mountaintop by the next day.

The three platoons took turns as the lead platoon each day, and men within the platoon took turns as “point”, the very first man in the long line of soldiers. In most cases we moved in single file. Each platoon was made up of 30 to 35 men, the mortar platoon was 6 to 8 more, and the command party was roughly 10, including myself and my two RTO’s (radio telephone operator). We walked six or more feet apart to prevent grouping and creating a larger target in case of ambush or attack. That made for a very long line of troops! The command would usually follow the lead platoon so that the commander could be closer to the point when we became engaged with the enemy. I followed the commander’s RTO’s. Depending upon the terrain and the brush, forest, or jungle through which we passed, we generally moved slowly. The point man had to be extremely alert for movement ahead and for trip-wires or other signs of booby traps. It was a perilous position!

For writing this memoir I will be including some quotes from my notes that I had made during my time there.

We had moved perhaps a half mile or so when the lead platoon came in contact with the enemy. Our first indication of this was the eruption of gunfire.

“Hiking through a ravine, gunfire erupts up ahead. Everyone hits the dirt. I had never before tried so hard to become “one with the earth”. The company commander asked for a “fire mission”… where the heck was I supposed to fire?!…”Gimme the damn radio” was all he said. My first lesson…don’t freeze, communicate and react!!
I realized why I was an “FNG”…f***ing new guys…no amount of training can prepare you for the real thing…and this was life & death!!”

Captain Carnes never finished the fire mission call because word came back that the point man had seen only one man who had run away after the first shots were fired. A squad of men went forward to check the area, and after an all clear was sent back we proceeded with our movement. I was somewhat embarrassed and definitely upset with myself for being too startled and fearful to automatically follow my training. I vowed that it wouldn’t happen again!

Later that morning we were at the base of the mountain and stopped to set up for the night. We were in light jungle, among rocky terrain with large trees and considerable undergrowth. Platoons were sent out to reconnoiter while the third platoon began preparing the night defensive position. In terrain like this it was not possible to dig foxholes, so trees were chopped down and rocks stacked to build cover. Mid-afternoon, one of the Lieutenants was bitten by a millipede…so large that the mandibles pierced his finger on either side. In a matter of minutes his finger had swollen to twice its size, and within an hour or so he was feverish and vomiting. A “dust-off” (a Huey med-evac chopper with medics on board) was called and he was carried to a clearing where the chopper could set down.

“Dang…there were thousands of guys in that jungle intent on killing us, and nature was an enemy too? Nasty spiders, cobras, green tree snakes, tigers!! I really wondered if I would survive. I spent the next couple days scanning every inch of my surroundings…Useless!!!”

The next morning we headed out to make our ascent to the top of the mountain. As we moved along the valley we came to a place in the trail with a vertical step up of about four feet. The men ahead would stop and reach down a hand to help the man behind make the steep climb. After I had been helped up I started walking away, completely forgetting about my RTO behind me, and after I had taken a few steps I realized what I had failed to do. As I turned around I saw the second RTO shoving on his butt as he scrambled to the top. I felt badly for my omission and apologized as he got to his feet. I certainly didn’t want to appear too superior to help an enlisted man. Once more I was embarrassed, and had learned another lesson. If I became self-absorbed, I could fail to notice what was happening around me, and that could have deadly consequences in the heat of a moment.

When we started the climb to the top we were moving up a dry stream bed littered with rocks and boulders. It was a long, steep, and difficult climb that taxed our physical condition. We were well on the way up when the lead platoon radioed back that they had come under attack, but there was no gunfire! It turned out that the attack was from Rock Baboons or Rock Apes, a medium sized primate that defended its territory by screeching and throwing rocks at intruders.

“Was there no end to the adversaries?
I wanted to be in Dallas!!!”

The platoon had alerted us because they would be firing some shots to chase them away. It was dangerous to proceed while being pelted with fist sized rocks.

The next morning found us waiting atop the mountain for a flight of Hueys to transport us about two miles to a ridge just East of San Juan Hill. This would be my first Combat Assault, or CA. This was a method of inserting a full company size unit into a target area within a relatively short period of time, which provided an element of surprise against the enemy. Of course, it saved potential days of time moving troops from one area to another. In most cases CA’s were utilized to put troops where the enemy either was or was suspected to be, and that was the scary part. The landing zone would almost always be a large open area where five or six choppers could set down at one time. We wouldn’t know exactly where the enemy might be when we arrived, and if we dropped in very close, they could hear the choppers coming and have time to mount an attack as we were arriving. A “hot LZ” was everyone’s nightmare.

We were using six choppers for this CA, which would move an entire platoon at one time, since each bird could carry six to seven soldiers. Our LZ was a clear, grassy area as big as a couple football fields. The command party went in on the first wave (GULP!!) so that Captain Carnes could be on the ground with the first troops, in case we ran into resistance. I still see that ridge and the grass and scattered rock outcroppings, and at the edge, the tops of trees that covered the slopes down to the valleys below. Thankfully, everything was peaceful as we bailed out of the chopper and lay down in the grass with our eyes on the surrounding ground. Once the birds had lifted off, the platoon moved toward the edge of the ridge and took positions to defend the LZ for the remaining flights. It took less than 10 minutes for the next flight to arrive, and in about half an hour the entire company was on the ground. It was a tense, yet oddly exhilarating, experience!

There was a very narrow and steep ravine that ran down through the jungle covered mountainside. That was our target because intelligence said there may be an NVA base camp somewhere in there. Once we were all together, the lead platoon started down into the ravine. We had not yet reached the edge of the ridge when a high volume of gunfire erupted down below. Someone was at home!! The situation was that the platoon couldn’t proceed down and it was too steep and narrow to move around to flank the area. After some discussion, Captain Carnes pulled the platoon back up and requested an air-strike. There happened to be a Forward Air Controller, or FAC, flying a few miles away. FAC’s flew Cessna O-2 Skymasters in our area and were the on-site command for fighter jets. They communicated with ground troops to determine the target location and fired rockets at the target to show the jets where to attack, as in this case. In a matter of seconds an F-4 Phantom jet was streaking down toward the ravine and let loose two rockets. Then a second F-4 followed the first with more rockets. We could hear AK-47 rifle shots coming from the ravine as the second jet approached. We notified the FAC and shortly the F-4 made another pass while “Charlie” continued firing back. This time it made a lower pass and dropped bombs, followed by the second jet doing the same. We were close enough to the area that a cigar sized piece of bomb shrapnel landed on the side of my boot where I was laying. After the jets headed back to their base, the platoon went back down the ravine. This time there was no resistance and the rest of the company followed. We found evidence of their camp with some discarded items, fish and rice and some blood stained leaves and rocks, but they were nowhere to be found. It seemed that they could vanish into thin air. We continued down the ravine to the valley below and prepared to set up for the night. It was July 3rd; we had our fireworks a day early! The next night the Artillery on San Juan Hill shot some flare rounds high into the night sky; Happy 4th of July!!

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Off To War

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As the plane made it’s descent over the South China Sea, most of us tried to get a view of the coast and our first sight of the land. Except for the few who were returning, we had no idea what it might look like. I had thought that I might see flashes from explosions and smoke rising into the sky, and all of us having to make a mad dash from the plane to the nearest bunker. After all, it was a war zone! But, as we got closer, all seemed calm, with the only smoke coming from what looked like some small burn areas.

Cam Ranh Bay was a large installation, spread out along the sea-coast. There were rows and rows of single story structures and all along the airstrip were the usual hangers, fighter jets, helicopters, large transport planes, service and storage areas, vehicles, and everything that I had seen at military airfields in the States. As the plane taxied to the terminal, some of the men got out of their seats and started grabbing gear from the overhead bins. I expected the stewardesses to start barking orders to remain seated, but they just ignored the commotion. I suppose they knew, as well, that this was not your typical domestic flight. I stayed in my seat and wondered why the rush to get to a place no one really wanted to be in the first place! As the crowd began to clear, I pulled my briefcase (everything else that I had brought was in a suitcase and duffle-bag in the belly of the plane) out from under the seat and stood to take my turn. A couple of enlisted men behind me stopped, gestured ahead, and offered “After you, Sir”. I thanked them and made my way up the aisle toward the front. The stewardesses stood smiling and nodding, without speaking, as each man reached the door. I guess it would have been less than appropriate to give the usual “Enjoy your stay” comment! What would you say to people about to face death on a regular basis?

Approaching the door, I could feel the heat invading the coolness of the cabin, and as I stepped out to the top of the stairway the full blast hit me. It was HOT!! Growing up on the Texas Gulf Coast and living in Dallas, I was accustomed to hot weather, but this was different. Over 100 degrees and very high humidity, in addition to the sun drenched dark steel tarmac and hot jet engines, was rather extreme compared to the air-conditioned airliner. However; what was very familiar were the odors in the air, which most all soldiers recognize. The smell of diesel and jet fuel, hydraulic fluids and oil, exhausts, and oiled canvas all blended together was unmistakable. There were other odors that I had never before experienced, but I had never been in a place like this.

The terminal was an unassuming single story building of masonry with large glass windows, not unlike many small airports back in the U S. It was air-conditioned to a degree; still warm but much better than outside. We were directed to a larger building where we were assigned sleeping quarters, given maps of the installation, and instructions as to how to proceed with in-processing. Just beyond this building were a row of long structures with wood siding halfway up and insect screening up to the metal roof, upon which sandbags were laid out. A doorway at the end opened to a line of metal cots on each side. A thin mattress and a locker made up our sleeping quarters. Nearby was a latrine with wash sinks. Behind one row, and overlooking the beach in the distance, was the Officers Mess, a minimal cafeteria where I could eat at mealtimes. It was all very basic, with no amenities, but incoming personnel were only there for a day or two, before moving on to their permanent assignment. There were quite a number of Lieutenants arriving along with me, and I recognized one of them from my class at Fort Sill. It was somewhat comforting to not be among all strangers. We claimed cots next to each other and reminisced until time for dinner.

The next morning we walked to the Mess for breakfast. I was not a big eater in the morning and was having a hard time deciding what looked best. I had just about decided on cereal when there was a sudden deafening blast that shook the building, rattling dishes and utensils, and sending most of the occupants diving to the floor. It only took a short moment for me to decide to follow their lead. Shortly, a siren went off from nearby, followed by a lot of shouting outside. When we got up from the floor and looked out we saw a fire and scattered debris around a partially destroyed structure near to the mess. Most of us went out to see what had happened, only to learn that a rocket had hit the Dental Clinic next door. There were medics, fire fighters, and other personnel on scene immediately and we were ordered to continue as we were. I had no desire to eat anything at that point. Feeling quite a bit shaken, I went back to the quarters until time to report to the processing area. Sixteen hours of normalcy had been broken in an instant, bringing about the realization that at any moment my life could change significantly, no matter where I found myself. Of course, that is true at any time and anywhere during our lifetime, but it can be anticipated in war. I felt a real sense of trepidation, but I also knew that it didn’t matter, because I was there and nothing could change that. As I began processing in I found out that several people had been killed and more were wounded in the earlier explosion.

After all the paperwork was finished I was issued my jungle fatigues, underwear, and boots. I would receive the remainder of what I would need when I got to my final assignment. Late that afternoon, I learned that my new orders were sending me to I-Corps, the northernmost part of the theater in South VietNam, with II, III, and IV Corps extending south to Saigon and the Mekong Delta. I was assigned to the Americal Division, headquartered at Chu Lai, on the coast, 60 miles south of Da Nang, and 100 miles from the DMZ. I knew that the Marines were working out of Da Nang and Hue on the DMZ. Obviously, there was no safe place anywhere, but the Marines were always highly involved being so close to North VietNam. I had no idea what I was facing, but going up that way made me feel even more wary.

The next morning, June 21, I loaded onto a C-130, a twin-engine cargo and troop carrier that could hold about 60 men, and made the flight up to Chu Lai. It was a really large installation with concrete runways, some large concrete buildings, and even some concrete roads. I was told that the Americal was the largest division in VietNam. There was a big Infantry reception and training area there, where all incoming personnel spent time learning what to expect and how to operate and survive in VietNam. I found that most all personnel structures were built the same as I had seen in Cam Ranh Bay. After arriving I was processed in and assigned my quarters where I would spend the next seven days. As I was going through processing I noticed several more of my classmates from Fort Sill. I couldn’t imagine how so many of us were arriving here with well under a year left in our tours. On my way to my quarters I ran into a classmate from Texas A&M. He had already promoted to Captain and was assigned there with the training center and was actually staying in the same barracks as me. It was good being able to visit with someone that I knew well. I asked if he was aware of why so many of us were there with only seven months active duty remaining. He told me that so many Junior Officers had either finished their tours, been killed, or seriously wounded, that there was a huge shortage of Lieutenants, especially in the Artillery!! Now, that really gave me pause for concern!

The next day, June 22, was Linda and my first anniversary! What lousy timing! I spent the next week going through briefing and instruction and practicing calling in Artillery fire missions. We were told how to interact with the people and what to expect from the Viet Cong, who were the non-uniformed communist sympathizers, and the NVA, or North VietNam regular army. We learned about the various deadly traps that would be set up and pungi-stakes used to debilitate those who stepped on or fell on them. And of course, there were the many types of deadly snakes, including cobras and green tree snakes. I was probably as worried about them as the human enemy! And spiders…don’t even think about it!! During that time I received my orders to the 6th Battalion, 11th Artillery Brigade located at fire base Bronco at Duc Pho, some 40 miles to the South, near the southern line of I-Corps. At least I wasn’t going farther North!

On June 28, I caught a helicopter to Duc Pho and reported to Battalion headquarters. I was welcomed in, given a place to spend the night, escorted to the Battalion Commander’s office, and introduced to Lieutenant Colonel Gleave. I was immediately put at ease by his professional, yet friendly demeanor. He briefed me on the responsibilities of the battalion and the current situation in the field and told me that I was being attached to Alpha Company, 4th Battalion, 11th Infantry Brigade as a Forward Observer. My role was to be at the Company Commander’s side at all times and deliver fire support at his request, or as I deemed necessary. Each battalion had a headquarters, “in the rear”, at Bronco and a “forward” or “field” headquarters on a remote fire base, from which the combat troops operated. The 4/11 Infantry was located on a mountain top about eight miles to the West, named San Juan Hill.

In this part of the country the mountainous areas were usually within five miles of the coast and often extended close to the beach. Most of the flat land between the mountains and sea was devoted to rice paddies managed by the local people. Hedgerows and trees around the populated areas were the main vegetation until reaching the foothills where the jungle began. After years of conflict, virtually all civilians had migrated to the coastal areas, with the exception of some mountain people known as Montagnards, so, much of the previously cleared or farmed areas were overgrown. Once into the mountains, there were valleys of flat, relatively open land, often filled with abandoned rice fields. Most mountaintops were covered with tall grasses or rocky surfaces, while the slopes downward were most often covered by the dense jungle, a lot of which was triple-canopy, that blocked out all sunlight to the ground. San Juan Hill had mostly grassy and rocky slopes, which made it easier to defend, and was surrounded by mountains as high or higher than it. A couple of small valleys, through which streams ran, were located on two sides at its base.

In the northern part of the country, all roads into the mountains no longer existed, and the only paved road through most areas was Highway 1, which ran along the coast from Saigon in the south up to North VietNam. This was the reason that the helicopter became the primary means of transportation and supply, and the Bell UH-1 helicopter, the “Huey”, was the workhorse. It wasn’t long before I truly fell in love with flying in choppers!

The next day I flew out on a Huey to San Juan Hill and reported to my boss, Captain Monday, who was the Artillery Liaison Officer to the infantry battalion. He seemed like a nice guy, pretty laid back, and easy to talk to. He briefed me on the current situation around our area of operation and said I would be catching the re-supply chopper out to Alpha Company in the late afternoon. The mountain top had two crests with a saddle in the middle. The infantry was on the East crest and the Artillery on the West crest, with the saddle used for the mortar squad, chopper landing pad, supply area, and the mess kitchen. I spent the rest of the day up at the Artillery battery, meeting the battery commander and the Lieutenants who worked the Fire Direction Center, or FDC, were I would radio in my fire missions. They gave me more pointers on setting up defensive targets, called DTs, and other procedures that would help with my responsibilities.

Unknown's avatar

The Next Phase – Active Duty

by

On January 28, 1968, I made the drive from Irving to Fort Sill to report for active duty and my three months of schooling. Upon arriving at the incoming processing offices, I received my new orders and my accommodation assignment. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the single officer billeting was in a fairly new and modern multi-story building. My room was nicely furnished with a private bath. It was like living in a nice hotel with a cafeteria. So far so good! The classroom for indoor instruction was also quite modern and well equipped. The instructor was a First Lieutenant from South Carolina, and a very good presenter.

After the first week I realized that I had found a course of instruction that I loved. I found the design and mechanics and hydraulics of artillery pieces, the variety of projectiles and fuses, and the materials and processes for aiming to be extremely interesting, and I actually enjoyed reading about it all! Aside from the frequent cold and wind of an Oklahoma winter, the outdoor instruction was also fascinating. Hands on operation of the howitzers was exciting and the process of adjusting the landing area of the rounds fired was challenging. I performed so well in all areas of instruction that my instructor suggested that I consider applying to the commandant for a position at the school.

When I had received my initial orders I had been surprised and somewhat perplexed at my assignment. Upon completion of Artillery school I was assigned to the Reception Station at the Army Infantry Training Center at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. I knew that training centers made use of Artillery, but what would I be doing at a reception station? And I had no further orders beyond that, meaning I could likely spend the remainder of my initial two years there. I was not pleased with such prospects, so I decided to make the application for an instructor-ship. After an interview with the commandant, he approved my application and made a formal request to the Pentagon for a change of orders. I couldn’t believe my ears when I was later informed that the request had been turned down! This was the first time that I questioned whether I wanted to be career military.

I didn’t have any prospects for marriage when I finished college, but I had already decided that I wouldn’t pursue it going into the Army, since the chances of going to Viet Nam loomed heavy. I wouldn’t risk not coming home alive and leaving a young widow. Linda and I had developed a strong relationship over the Fall and Winter, but we never discussed any type of commitment. After several weekend visits back to Irving to see her, I began to realize how much I cared for her and missed spending time together. When I saw that my two year commitment in the Army was going to be at Fort Bragg, I made the decision to pop the question. On my next visit, in late March, I asked her if she would consider being my wife. I’ll never forget the moment; I didn’t have a ring and I didn’t get on my knee. We were sitting on her sofa talking, and when I asked, I caught her completely by surprise. She had a shocked look on her face and her response was “you’ve got to be kidding!!” Then I was caught off guard, and I thought that I had blown it! I assured her that I wasn’t kidding, and then she said “yes”! I had probably never been so let down in one moment and then happy in the next in my life. We went shopping for a ring and made plans for a summer wedding, after I had gotten settled in North Carolina. I finished school at Fort Sill in late April and had a week of leave before reporting for duty at Fort Bragg. I spent several days in Irving before heading out across the South to the East Coast.

It was a long drive from Texas, and after stopping for the night near Atlanta, Georgia, I arrived at Fort Bragg by late morning. I was processed in and received my billeting assignment. It was nothing like Fort Sill; a small cramped room in an old barracks with well used furniture and a typical steel bunk bed. I determined that I would immediately begin a search for something – anything – better. The following morning I reported to the Reception Station and met Major Tompkins, the Commanding Officer. After a brief overview of what we did there, I was introduced to another Lieutenant who was in charge of the testing branch, where all the inductees and recruits were tested for aptitude before shipping off to the training center. I would be the assistant director of that branch. This was disappointment number two of my short time in the Army. I had just finished a comprehensive school in a complicated and technical combat branch, and now I was shuffling papers in an administrative role that had nothing to do with my chosen field. Another strike against career military…what a waste!!

After a couple of days of familiarization with the processes of testing, and meeting most of the personnel, I decided that I would make the best of the situation and began the search for alternate housing. I was lucky to quickly find out about three Lieutenants who were looking for a roommate to share a four bedroom house in Fayetteville, which was the town adjacent to Fort Bragg. That solved my housing conundrum and before long I would be looking for a house to rent with my forever roommate! The days went by slowly, even as I became more involved in the processes, and took on more responsibility. The testing branch was experimenting with a new program to expedite the test results using punch cards for a computer system. That was somewhat interesting, but the director was mostly involved with it. He was definitely on the “nerdy” side, so it was right up his alley. We didn’t have anything in common, so I spent my days doing my job and my evenings hanging out with my roommates, and counting the days until Linda would be joining me.

We had set our wedding date for June 22, so in late May I began to look for a place for us. In military towns there are always lots of houses being vacated because of personnel moving to new assignments, especially during war-time. I was able to find a nice furnished brick home in a suburban addition of Fayetteville, and quickly moved in. That made a huge improvement in my living conditions and I had an opportunity to get to know the next-door neighbors. We had a Staff Sergeant with the 82nd Airborne on one side and a Warrant Officer with the Army Air Corps on the other side. They both had young families, so it provided a homey feeling to the surroundings.

On June 15, I took two weeks leave and caught a plane to Dallas to prepare for our wedding. We had a busy few days getting our marriage license, spending time with friends and family, and packing all of Linda’s belongings into a U-Haul trailer before the big day. After the wedding we had our reception at my sister’s home, then started our honeymoon by driving to Shreveport, Louisiana. The following days were spent in New Orleans, Fort Walton Beach and Jacksonville, Florida, Savannah, Georgia and then to Fayetteville and our first home. It had been a bit of a whirlwind, but fabulous, time. I returned to work and Linda soon found a position with a local insurance company in Fayetteville.

The late 1960’s was a time of turmoil in the United States, largely due to the Viet Nam war. There were many people who were against the war, for various reasons, but young people were especially vocal. Some young men of draft age, 18 years and up, were even fleeing to Canada to escape induction into the Army. It was also the time of the “hippies” with their open lifestyles and “free love” mantra. Anti-war protests were common-place, particularly on college campuses. Marijuana and a few other drugs had become prevalent among many of the young, especially among the hippies. Fort Bragg, as one of the major Infantry training centers, was the receiving point for much of the East Coast and many of the draftees came from Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington DC and surrounding areas. There were some very interesting characters among them. Busses full of draftees would arrive regularly throughout the day and night. Every evening, when the headquarters offices closed, an officer and a couple of enlisted men would man the office as a point of contact for any reason that might arise. This was known as OD duty, for Officer of the Day. There were nights, when I was serving as the OD, that I would be called to the receiving point, where the busses unloaded, because of an unruly draftee. They were generally loud, obnoxious, and belligerent characters who didn’t want to accept authority. Fortunately, they usually would quiet down when an officer with a side-arm showed up and threatened jail, or worse. It was always amazing how a shaved head and a uniform, where they all appeared the same, changed their demeanor. A few were truly hard core and caused enough trouble to actually end up in the brig.

In the Fall of 1968, we received notice that a U. S. Senator by the name of Ted Kennedy would be visiting Fort Bragg and touring the training center. That meant that he might come to the reception station. I couldn’t believe the amount of hoop-jumping that commenced in order to impress this potential visitor. Since there were many hardwood trees in our area, there were always lots of leaves on the ground. An order went out that due to the potential of the Senator’s visit, processing would be held to a minimum, so that most of the personnel could be involved in clearing the grounds of all the leaves and debris. Truckloads of leaves were taken to the dump. Then someone made the comment that the Senator was from Massachusetts, where the leaves were considered a thing of beauty in the Fall of the year. Trucks and personnel were then frantically dispatched to the dump to gather leaves and scatter them around the grounds!! I was dumb-founded…reason number three to doubt being career military!!

In late Fall, I was relieved of duties in the testing branch and assigned as Commanding Officer of one of the four companies of personnel assigned to the reception station. The previous Lieutenant had done a poor job of managing affairs and I was charged with getting things under control. I finally had a position that somewhat fit my training through the Cadet Corps and Artillery School! After a long talk with the First Sergeant, I found that the previous Lieutenant had let his ego badly affect the chain of command. I shared a large piece of “humble pie”, explained what I would like to see done, gave the First Sergeant my blessings, and watched things turn around. It was a good feeling.

On January 28,1969, I received my promotion to First Lieutenant, and shortly after was made Commander of one of the other personnel companies, for much the same reason. My first year of duty was done and I began thinking seriously about leaving the military when my two year obligation was complete. Springtime came, and in late April everything suddenly changed, when I was told to report to the reception station Executive Officer, a Major. I entered his office and there was no exchange of pleasantries; he sat at his desk, and with a quizzical look, simply said, “Lieutenant Nauck, you’ve been tapped for Viet Nam”. I don’t know how long it took for those words to soak in, or just what I replied, but he acknowledged that I had only nine months remaining in my tour and would have only seven months left when I arrived in country. It didn’t make any sense, because a combat tour was twelve months. Regardless, my orders were that I would have four weeks leave to move my family and get things in order to report to Fort Lewis, Washington by June 16. I wasn’t sure just how to tell Linda.

I can’t remember just how we dealt with the sudden news, but we wrapped things up in North Carolina, reserved an apartment back at the King’s Square, and headed back to Irving in mid May. We spent the next few weeks enjoying friends and family. We made a trip down to the Gulf of Mexico for a little family reunion at the beach. It seemed odd to be renewing friendships and relationships while also saying good-byes, that could be for the last time. We didn’t think about it that way, but the thought lingered in my mind. Linda had landed a job at her previous employer and she would be well taken care of by my sister and all the close friends that we still had in Irving, The morning of June16 arrived, and I had to say good-bye to my love, just six days before our first anniversary. As I entered the jet-way at Dallas Love Field and took my last look at Linda, I experienced the worst feeling of loneliness that I had ever felt. I wasn’t thinking that I wouldn’t come back, but seven months without even hearing her voice seemed like an eternity!

I arrived in Seattle by early afternoon, was shuttled to Fort Lewis, and began the processing for “over-seas combat duty”. I was finished by the next afternoon and flew out of Sea-Tac airport on the morning of June 18. The 737 plane filled with soldiers landed in Honolulu to refuel, and we were able to de-plane for an hour to stretch our legs. I was fascinated by the waiting area at the gate with no glass in the window openings and the view of Diamond Head in the distance. From there we would start the long flight to the Philippines where we would refuel, before completing the last leg to Cam Ranh Bay in the Republic of South Viet Nam.

Unknown's avatar

Texas A&M and the Military

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I was seven years old when my oldest brother, Kurt, left home to start college at the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, better known as Texas A&M. It was founded in 1872 as a military school, but due to the significant engineering and research facilities developed over the years, and the large number of World War II veterans, by the 1950’s it had a large civilian population of graduate and under-graduate students, many of whom were from foreign nations. However, the military Cadet Corps still comprised the majority of under-graduates, so there were uniformed cadets everywhere on the campus. As a young boy, I was fascinated by this presence.

On our first family trip to visit Kurt, in 1951, I remember traveling up Highway 6 from Navasota toward College Station, cresting a small hill and, across open prairie, having the first glimpse of the cluster of buildings in the distance. It was a sight that I would eagerly anticipate many times throughout my childhood. The main entrance to the campus was a long Live Oak lined boulevard with a mowed field

to the right and a golf course to the left. At the end was the iconic two-story colonnaded System Administration Building; a majestic sight. To the left were located twelve four-story dormitories, six on either side of “the Quad”, and the huge “Duncan Dining Hall” at the far end. We would occasionally buy meal tickets and eat with Kurt there, and I would be mesmerized watching the endless parade of cadet companies marching up the Quad to the hall; the sounds of various called out cadences reverberating off the buildings. I don’t think that I ever witnessed that without chills running up my spine.

We would make those trips several times each year until 1960, when my second brother, George, graduated from A&M. From that very first trip, I had set my mind firmly upon joining the tradition of becoming one of those cadets on that hallowed ground.

I was really immature when I graduated high school; probably more so than most of my peers. Years earlier I had blindly decided that I would become a Chemical Engineer like my brothers, and to excel to an even higher degree than they in the Cadet Corps. Throughout my school years, I never liked reading and studying, and only did what was necessary to achieve good grades. Fortunately, I had the innate intelligence to do very well. It wasn’t until around the eighth grade that I began to appreciate friends and activities that were a part of school. There were a few subjects that I enjoyed, but I never established good study habits and continued my disdain for reading. I also never considered what were my natural talents, or what I would be best suited to pursue educationally. All of my concentration was focused upon getting to Texas A&M and beginning my adventures as a cadet.

In September of 1963 I finally reached my goal of being enrolled as a “Fish” in the Cadet Corps. Freshmen were so called because fish live in the sea and thereby have the “lowest position on earth”. So began the process of indoctrination into the Corps. All Fish received a “buzz” hair cut, such as US Army inductees and recruits when entering basic training. This was the first part of the process of removing one’s identity and individualism. We were to become “one” with our peers. The mental and physical hazing that would follow throughout our Freshman year would create a level of cohesion and brotherhood that lasts a lifetime. The only people we could call by their first name were other Fish or an upperclassman with whom we had a special relationship, and invited us to do so. All others were called “Mister” so-and-so, and we were required to meet and remember upperclassmen. The entire process was intimidating and difficult, and quite a few could not handle the rigors of Fish life and chose to leave school, and continue their education elsewhere. Traditions at A&M were many and strong, and I fed on all of it, as hard as it was at times.

I devoted myself to fitting into the cadet life and what was expected of me. I soon found that I greatly enjoyed military drills and marching, intramural athletics, and classes of military science and engineering graphics; however, I had little interest in most classes and soon realized that I had no desire to study history and chemistry and physics and calculus. So, after semester break, I changed my major from Chemical Engineering to Undeclared. I had to have a major field of study in order to continue in school, and decided that Business Administration seemed the best of what was offered. I changed my major to Accounting the first semester of my Sophomore year and switched to Finance the next semester. Outside of the military, I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, so education was simply a means to an end, and I looked toward to pursuing a military career. It would turn out that my lack of attention to my studies would lead to scholastic grades that would prevent me from attaining some of the goals that I had set for my Cadet life.

At the end of my Freshman year I was awarded Best Drilled Freshman for my company and was selected to be Guidon Bearer for the company for my Sophomore year. The Guidon was the company flag that was carried on a staff in front of the company formation, beside the Commanding Officer. These were the crowning events of my Fish year as a cadet!

All of my life I had wanted to play sports, but I just didn’t seem to have those abilities, so I was always nothing more than a spectator. As Fish, we were all to be involved for our company in Freshman Intramural athletics. It turned out that one of my best friends in our company and I were very good at horseshoes and we went undefeated throughout the season. I also found that I greatly enjoyed singles handball and I excelled at it, going undefeated for the season. I played as much as I could, and there was a special feeling about winning when I happened to play an upperclassman!

My Freshman year was a scholastic disaster, but, between the military and sports, it couldn’t have been much better. I didn’t receive any awards for my athletic endeavors, but I had found a new level of confidence and self-esteem. I had also achieved something as a Cadet that my brothers had not done.

At the end of my Sophomore year I was awarded the Best Drilled Sophomore award and was selected to serve on Battalion Staff as Sergeant Major for my Junior year. Sergeant Major was the highest rank a Junior cadet could hold and was the logical step for Battalion Commander, a Lieutenant Colonel rank, as a Senior.

As my Junior year began, with all of the promise that it held, my grade point average once again reared it’s ugly head! I was short of qualifying for invitation to join the Ross Volunteer unit; a prestigious drill unit for Junior and Senior cadets. And, at the end of the year, I was by-passed for Battalion Commander because of my grades. I was, instead, offered a position as a Major on Brigade Staff. Although it was a good position, two more of my goals to rise in the Cadet Corps were crushed.

At least I had sufficient credits to receive Senior status and was able to order my Senior Ring and Boots. I served on Brigade Staff in the fall semester, but at semester break one of the members of the Corps Staff got married and had to live off campus. I was asked to take his place for the spring semester. I was over-joyed to be able to serve on the highest staff and promote to a Lieutenant Colonel position.

Regardless of my set-backs, I had a fabulous Cadet Corps experience and finished on a high note, and I had learned some valuable lessons along the way. Having dreams and goals and pursuing them is wonderful, but one must always be willing to put forth all of the effort required to achieve them. Otherwise, one will usually fall short.

Although I had accomplished so much during my college experience, there was one more instance in which I fell short. As I completed my Senior year I found that out of one hundred and thirty-five credit hours taken, I was six required hours short for graduation. I would have to return for one more semester to receive my diploma. My sights at the time were to be career military and I wasn’t really concerned with a “sheep-skin”, so in June of 1967 I applied for my US Army commission as a Second Lieutenant without degree and planned for the next phase of my life.

I had chosen Field Artillery as my Army combat specialty and received orders to report to Fort Sill, Oklahoma for my Officer’s Basic class to begin in January of 1968. With eight months between finishing school and reporting for active duty, I had to have interim plans. During the many visits to my sister’s home in Irving, Texas, I had always been impressed with the King’s Square Regal apartment complex. I decided to take up residence there and find work around the area. I was able to land a short term position as a billing clerk at American Petrofina offices in downtown Dallas. So, throughout the summer I spent my week days in an office and every evening and all weekend around the swimming pool. I made some great friends there, and that is where I met a young lady by the name of Linda Alece Bumpus from the Childress, Texas area, and the rest of that story is history!