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 8^th 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 10^th, 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 18^th 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 30^th 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.

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 29^th 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 5^th, 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 12^th, 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 15^th 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 16^th, 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 18^th 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 24^th, 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 25^th, 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 29^th, 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.

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 3^rd; 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 4^th of July!!

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 6^th Battalion, 11^th 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, 4^th Battalion, 11^th 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.