Mike Dankert Memorabilia
Stories Written by Mike Dankert
It's Not Your War
Submitted April 15, 2015
I always thought the story of my time in Vietnam and the stories of those I knew, Glyn Haynie, Jerry Ofstedahl, Jack Lanzer, Bruce Tufts and even John Meyer were worth telling. I offer these stories as I remember them. I may be off on a few details, it's been 46 years, but I have done my best to accurately tell the stories of Glyn and me and the others.
My trip to Vietnam started at the Oakland Army Terminal. I arrived there about March 20, 1969. I should have been there earlier in March but while home for leave my father had a heart attack. My leave was extended for about 20 days while he recuperated and finally I had to report. When I checked in they noticed the orders had an earlier report date. I was told to wait while they verified the extensions. I waited outside the reception area because it was quieter and cooler. I noticed a woman, mid 20's maybe, well dressed who was also waiting. I could tell she was quite anxious as she was pacing about. I don't know if it was because she was lonely or because I looked sad but she started to talk to me. She spoke with an English accent. She asked me if I was going to Vietnam. I said I was. She said she was waiting for her husband to return from Vietnam. She said something about the "terrible war" but I wasn't listening too closely so didn't know exactly what she said. Then she came over and looked me in the eyes and said, "You take care of yourself, it's not your war." The way she said that has been with me ever since. She was so sincere and caring. Later as I left for the transit barracks I saw her and her husband, arm in arm laughing and felt glad for her.
Submitted April 15, 2015
I always thought the story of my time in Vietnam and the stories of those I knew, Glyn Haynie, Jerry Ofstedahl, Jack Lanzer, Bruce Tufts and even John Meyer were worth telling. I offer these stories as I remember them. I may be off on a few details, it's been 46 years, but I have done my best to accurately tell the stories of Glyn and me and the others.
My trip to Vietnam started at the Oakland Army Terminal. I arrived there about March 20, 1969. I should have been there earlier in March but while home for leave my father had a heart attack. My leave was extended for about 20 days while he recuperated and finally I had to report. When I checked in they noticed the orders had an earlier report date. I was told to wait while they verified the extensions. I waited outside the reception area because it was quieter and cooler. I noticed a woman, mid 20's maybe, well dressed who was also waiting. I could tell she was quite anxious as she was pacing about. I don't know if it was because she was lonely or because I looked sad but she started to talk to me. She spoke with an English accent. She asked me if I was going to Vietnam. I said I was. She said she was waiting for her husband to return from Vietnam. She said something about the "terrible war" but I wasn't listening too closely so didn't know exactly what she said. Then she came over and looked me in the eyes and said, "You take care of yourself, it's not your war." The way she said that has been with me ever since. She was so sincere and caring. Later as I left for the transit barracks I saw her and her husband, arm in arm laughing and felt glad for her.
The Flight Over
Submitted April 25, 2015
I made the trip to Vietnam twice but only remember parts of the first trip. We boarded buses at the Oakland Army Terminal and were taken to Travis AFB. Our transport to Vietnam was on a commercial airliner, maybe a 727, a big jet that sat three passengers on either side of the aisle. It had real stewardesses just like any domestic flight. As I recall the officers sat to the front and the enlisted to the rear of the plane. When we boarded the stewardesses gave each of us a playing card which I still have, an eight of clubs. Something to do with a game or raffle for prizes. That part of my memory is lost. The stewardesses were good to us: serving meals and snacks, friendly, joking, and a little flirty. They smiled a lot and posed for pictures sitting on a lap or hugging a guy - something to make buddies back home jealous and maybe support a lie about a wild time with a stewardess.
As the flight went on the enlisted section got louder and rowdy. At one point the chief stewardess came down the aisle and announced that if we didn't get in our seats and settle down she was going to have the Captain turn the plane around and land. Seriously! There was a few seconds of silence and then as if it was planned we pelted her with pillows. She stormed off. The stewardesses were on our side, they didn't care. A while later the co-pilot came back to talk to us. He said something like he understood where we were going and were entitled to blow off some steam but we had "cool It". And we did.
As I said, we sat three across and with the long flight talked to pass the time. The conversation started something like this:
What's your name? (We were wearing new jungle fatigues with no name tags or insignia.)
Mike Dankert
Where you from?
Detroit, Michigan (actually Wayne, Michigan but it was easier to say I was from Detroit which people have heard of than to explain that I was from Wayne which no one had heard of.)
What's your MOS (Military Occupational Specialty)?
11 Bravo (Infantry)
At that point the person I was talking to gave me that look. It was like I could see the wheels turning in his head, doing some strange calculation - the result being to figure out if I was going to make it or if I was going to come home in a body bag.
The scene repeated itself each time I talked to someone on the plane. Same series of questions, same answers. Sometimes they would tell me, 'you'll be alright.' Sometimes they just said, 'Good luck.' But as I was to find out, there was no way to know how to tell who was going to make it.
We passed the rest of the time with small talk about what we did before the service and what we planned to do after we got out. You could say anything, chances were you'd never see these guys again or that they would remember you if they did. I remember only that one guy was from California and he was worried about mudslides.
We made two stops - Anchorage, Alaska and Yakota AFB, near Tokyo. We got off the plane in Alaska. It was March and very cold in our jungle fatigues but it was our last chance to be on American soil. Japan was a quick stop and I bought a few postcards to send home. The only memorable part was a view of Mt. Fuji, the image used by Paramount Pictures for its movie openings.
As we got closer to Vietnam the mood inside the plane got somber. Finally the pilot announced we would be landing at Bien Hoa. The landing was something to remember. The pilot put the plane in a steep dive. It felt like we were falling out of the sky. I was told later that as we got below the clouds we had a fighter escort with planes crisscrossing our descent but I never saw them. Below the clouds we could see fires and smoke plumes coming up from the ground. I was thinking there must be fighting going on and and we'd have to run for cover as soon as we landed. But when we landed there was no rush. We exited the plane as F-4s screamed by taking off. I silently said 'go get em' as each left the runway. The heat was oppressive. I had come from winter in Louisiana and Michigan. It had to be 90 degrees with high humidity now. The air was thick and smelled of avgas and something else unpleasant that I couldn't identify. Today I'd call it Vietnam rot.
And the fires that I thought were battle signs, that was shit burning. Human waste collected in 55 gallon drums cut in half pulled from latrines and burned in the open. My first lesson that things in Vietnam were not always what they seem. Welcome to the Nam, Mike.
Submitted April 25, 2015
I made the trip to Vietnam twice but only remember parts of the first trip. We boarded buses at the Oakland Army Terminal and were taken to Travis AFB. Our transport to Vietnam was on a commercial airliner, maybe a 727, a big jet that sat three passengers on either side of the aisle. It had real stewardesses just like any domestic flight. As I recall the officers sat to the front and the enlisted to the rear of the plane. When we boarded the stewardesses gave each of us a playing card which I still have, an eight of clubs. Something to do with a game or raffle for prizes. That part of my memory is lost. The stewardesses were good to us: serving meals and snacks, friendly, joking, and a little flirty. They smiled a lot and posed for pictures sitting on a lap or hugging a guy - something to make buddies back home jealous and maybe support a lie about a wild time with a stewardess.
As the flight went on the enlisted section got louder and rowdy. At one point the chief stewardess came down the aisle and announced that if we didn't get in our seats and settle down she was going to have the Captain turn the plane around and land. Seriously! There was a few seconds of silence and then as if it was planned we pelted her with pillows. She stormed off. The stewardesses were on our side, they didn't care. A while later the co-pilot came back to talk to us. He said something like he understood where we were going and were entitled to blow off some steam but we had "cool It". And we did.
As I said, we sat three across and with the long flight talked to pass the time. The conversation started something like this:
What's your name? (We were wearing new jungle fatigues with no name tags or insignia.)
Mike Dankert
Where you from?
Detroit, Michigan (actually Wayne, Michigan but it was easier to say I was from Detroit which people have heard of than to explain that I was from Wayne which no one had heard of.)
What's your MOS (Military Occupational Specialty)?
11 Bravo (Infantry)
At that point the person I was talking to gave me that look. It was like I could see the wheels turning in his head, doing some strange calculation - the result being to figure out if I was going to make it or if I was going to come home in a body bag.
The scene repeated itself each time I talked to someone on the plane. Same series of questions, same answers. Sometimes they would tell me, 'you'll be alright.' Sometimes they just said, 'Good luck.' But as I was to find out, there was no way to know how to tell who was going to make it.
We passed the rest of the time with small talk about what we did before the service and what we planned to do after we got out. You could say anything, chances were you'd never see these guys again or that they would remember you if they did. I remember only that one guy was from California and he was worried about mudslides.
We made two stops - Anchorage, Alaska and Yakota AFB, near Tokyo. We got off the plane in Alaska. It was March and very cold in our jungle fatigues but it was our last chance to be on American soil. Japan was a quick stop and I bought a few postcards to send home. The only memorable part was a view of Mt. Fuji, the image used by Paramount Pictures for its movie openings.
As we got closer to Vietnam the mood inside the plane got somber. Finally the pilot announced we would be landing at Bien Hoa. The landing was something to remember. The pilot put the plane in a steep dive. It felt like we were falling out of the sky. I was told later that as we got below the clouds we had a fighter escort with planes crisscrossing our descent but I never saw them. Below the clouds we could see fires and smoke plumes coming up from the ground. I was thinking there must be fighting going on and and we'd have to run for cover as soon as we landed. But when we landed there was no rush. We exited the plane as F-4s screamed by taking off. I silently said 'go get em' as each left the runway. The heat was oppressive. I had come from winter in Louisiana and Michigan. It had to be 90 degrees with high humidity now. The air was thick and smelled of avgas and something else unpleasant that I couldn't identify. Today I'd call it Vietnam rot.
And the fires that I thought were battle signs, that was shit burning. Human waste collected in 55 gallon drums cut in half pulled from latrines and burned in the open. My first lesson that things in Vietnam were not always what they seem. Welcome to the Nam, Mike.
My Dad..... and Glyn, Part 1
Submitted May 1, 2015
I arrived in Vietnam March 24, 1969. After a couple of days at Bien Hoa I went up to Chu Lai to the Americal Combat Center for in-country orientation and assignment to a unit. The Combat Center was next to the South China Sea and at night I would sit in the sand, watch the ocean and write postcards home. We had talked about trying to get a hardship discharge because my Dad was ill when I left home but after arriving in Vietnam I decided that I should finish my tour. I wrote my Dad that I intended to finish my tour and that he should get well and strong and that I would come home and we would go sailing. He never read that message. He died March 29. An Army screw-up delayed the notification to me and I wasn't notified of his death until after his funeral. I was called into the Combat Center HQ and an officer told me he had some news. "Your father is dead." No "I'm sorry" or "I regret to inform you" just "I have some news". He assigned me a driver to take me to the Red Cross and Division HQ for travel orders and then to the airport. The driver said I was lucky I was going home.
Before I could leave I had to store my gear. I grabbed my duffle bag and bag of field equipment and walked over to the supply annex. There was a young GI there who looked to be all of 16. I told him I had to leave my gear, filled out a tag and was ready to go. He asked me how long I was going to store it and told him I didn't know. I was going home on emergency leave. My Dad had died and I wasn't sure when I'd be back. He told me he was sorry and I thanked him and left. I never thought about that encounter until much later.
My brothers and I all have special memories of our father. He did all the things that fathers do: kept us safe, made us laugh and taught us how to fish and hunt, play baseball and accept responsibility. After graduation my high school friends drifted away and I went to work with my Dad at General Motors. We talked everyday. I spent my vacations with him. We fished, hunted and talked. The candor of those conversations drew us closer. I talked about getting married and decided that when I did, he would be my best man. When I went in the Army we had another experience to share. My Dad was a sailor, he served in the Navy during World War II. He wrote me and made sure I had money or a plane ticket to come home when I had leave. When my Class A uniform was stolen and it looked like I couldn't come home for Christmas, he found a replacement and sent it to me. When I graduated from AIT I got a telegram that a plane ticket home was waiting for me at the airport. Even as an adult he was looking out for me.
It was the worst day of my life when I heard he died. Ironically on that same day I met someone who would become my best friend. The young GI in the supply annex was Glyn Haynie. I wouldn't see Glyn again for about 40 days, when I returned from leave and reported to the company. Neither of us would initially recall the first time we met but when we did get together as members of Alpha Company's 1st platoon we bonded and were inseparable for the rest of our time in the field. And for all that time, and for the rest of our tour, and for the 45 years since, Glyn has been my best friend and looked out for me. It's not an exaggeration to say that I would not have made it through my time in Vietnam without him. Some might say that it is too great a coincidence that I would lose one best friend and find another the same day. I don't believe, so there is no other explanation. But it would be just like my Dad to do something like that, to make sure I had someone I could rely on. Always looking out for me.
Submitted May 1, 2015
I arrived in Vietnam March 24, 1969. After a couple of days at Bien Hoa I went up to Chu Lai to the Americal Combat Center for in-country orientation and assignment to a unit. The Combat Center was next to the South China Sea and at night I would sit in the sand, watch the ocean and write postcards home. We had talked about trying to get a hardship discharge because my Dad was ill when I left home but after arriving in Vietnam I decided that I should finish my tour. I wrote my Dad that I intended to finish my tour and that he should get well and strong and that I would come home and we would go sailing. He never read that message. He died March 29. An Army screw-up delayed the notification to me and I wasn't notified of his death until after his funeral. I was called into the Combat Center HQ and an officer told me he had some news. "Your father is dead." No "I'm sorry" or "I regret to inform you" just "I have some news". He assigned me a driver to take me to the Red Cross and Division HQ for travel orders and then to the airport. The driver said I was lucky I was going home.
Before I could leave I had to store my gear. I grabbed my duffle bag and bag of field equipment and walked over to the supply annex. There was a young GI there who looked to be all of 16. I told him I had to leave my gear, filled out a tag and was ready to go. He asked me how long I was going to store it and told him I didn't know. I was going home on emergency leave. My Dad had died and I wasn't sure when I'd be back. He told me he was sorry and I thanked him and left. I never thought about that encounter until much later.
My brothers and I all have special memories of our father. He did all the things that fathers do: kept us safe, made us laugh and taught us how to fish and hunt, play baseball and accept responsibility. After graduation my high school friends drifted away and I went to work with my Dad at General Motors. We talked everyday. I spent my vacations with him. We fished, hunted and talked. The candor of those conversations drew us closer. I talked about getting married and decided that when I did, he would be my best man. When I went in the Army we had another experience to share. My Dad was a sailor, he served in the Navy during World War II. He wrote me and made sure I had money or a plane ticket to come home when I had leave. When my Class A uniform was stolen and it looked like I couldn't come home for Christmas, he found a replacement and sent it to me. When I graduated from AIT I got a telegram that a plane ticket home was waiting for me at the airport. Even as an adult he was looking out for me.
It was the worst day of my life when I heard he died. Ironically on that same day I met someone who would become my best friend. The young GI in the supply annex was Glyn Haynie. I wouldn't see Glyn again for about 40 days, when I returned from leave and reported to the company. Neither of us would initially recall the first time we met but when we did get together as members of Alpha Company's 1st platoon we bonded and were inseparable for the rest of our time in the field. And for all that time, and for the rest of our tour, and for the 45 years since, Glyn has been my best friend and looked out for me. It's not an exaggeration to say that I would not have made it through my time in Vietnam without him. Some might say that it is too great a coincidence that I would lose one best friend and find another the same day. I don't believe, so there is no other explanation. But it would be just like my Dad to do something like that, to make sure I had someone I could rely on. Always looking out for me.
The Fire
Submitted May 5, 2015
Glyn has given a good account of this incident. There isn't much to add. The fire was a predictable outcome of firing tracers, high explosive rounds and rockets into dried brush and grass. The only question was which direction would it go.
We CAed in to assist another company that had engaged the VC/NVA. I don't remember whether our mission was to be a blocking force for the other company or whether we were supposed to drive the VC/NVA into the other company acting as a blocking force, or whether we were just there to do a body count.
We were usually supplied for three days - three days of water and meals. Our three days was up. We had no meals and little water. I had a can of pears, a much coveted C-ration item that I was saving for a special occasion. Glyn and I drank the juice and ate the pears.
There were a lot of ways to die in Vietnam: gunshot wound, booby trap, snake bite and even drowning. Those usually just happened. There wasn't time to think or be afraid. The fire was different. It started off in the distance but the burn moved steadily towards us chasing us across the hilltop. There was time to contemplate an awful death and what we would do to avoid it.
What started as an orderly operation ended in us running for our lives trying to get off a hill ahead of the fire. The heat and lack of water took its toll as guys suffered heat stroke. We had to carry, then drag them down the hill. At the bottom we eagerly drank water from a scum covered pond that under other circumstances we wouldn't have wanted to walk in.
Submitted May 5, 2015
Glyn has given a good account of this incident. There isn't much to add. The fire was a predictable outcome of firing tracers, high explosive rounds and rockets into dried brush and grass. The only question was which direction would it go.
We CAed in to assist another company that had engaged the VC/NVA. I don't remember whether our mission was to be a blocking force for the other company or whether we were supposed to drive the VC/NVA into the other company acting as a blocking force, or whether we were just there to do a body count.
We were usually supplied for three days - three days of water and meals. Our three days was up. We had no meals and little water. I had a can of pears, a much coveted C-ration item that I was saving for a special occasion. Glyn and I drank the juice and ate the pears.
There were a lot of ways to die in Vietnam: gunshot wound, booby trap, snake bite and even drowning. Those usually just happened. There wasn't time to think or be afraid. The fire was different. It started off in the distance but the burn moved steadily towards us chasing us across the hilltop. There was time to contemplate an awful death and what we would do to avoid it.
What started as an orderly operation ended in us running for our lives trying to get off a hill ahead of the fire. The heat and lack of water took its toll as guys suffered heat stroke. We had to carry, then drag them down the hill. At the bottom we eagerly drank water from a scum covered pond that under other circumstances we wouldn't have wanted to walk in.
Communication Skills
Submitted May 5, 2015
In February 1970 Glyn and I had jobs in the rear. He was at the Division Combat Center in Chu Lai and I was at the Alpha Company HQ in Duc Pho. I got permission to visit him in Chu Lai. When I got there he asked me to go with him to transport a prisoner back to Duc Pho. I agreed. We strapped on .45s and went to pick up the prisoner from the MPs. The prisoner was a young GI. I don't remember what he was charged with, maybe desertion since he was supposed to be in Duc Pho but was picked up in Chu Lai. He was eventually going to LBJ (Long Binh Jail) near Saigon. He was an angry guy. He didn't like the Army, didn't like the "world." Glyn and I were just the latest objects of his discontent. We picked him up, handcuffed him and took him to the airport for transport on a C-130. All the time he kept up his rant about what was wrong with the world and how things were going to change and what was going to happen to anyone that got in the way. It wasn't just the rant and threats but he would try to get in our faces as he was speaking. I decided I didn't want to listen to this all the way to Duc Pho so I told him, "Listen you asshole, I'm short and I don't need this shit. Shut your mouth while we're on that plane or I'm going to shoot your sorry ass and nobody will care." It was a bluff, but it worked. We reached an understanding and he was quiet the rest of the trip.
Also on the plane were two ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) officers sitting across from us. During the flight one of them looked at me and said something in Vietnamese. I shook my head and said "No biec," Vietnamese for "I don't understand." He then asked, "How long have you been in Vietnam?" I told him "about 10 months." He said, "I was in your country Ft. Benning 6 months and learned English." I said, "I've been in your country fighting your war, what were you doing in my country." The conversation ended.
Submitted May 5, 2015
In February 1970 Glyn and I had jobs in the rear. He was at the Division Combat Center in Chu Lai and I was at the Alpha Company HQ in Duc Pho. I got permission to visit him in Chu Lai. When I got there he asked me to go with him to transport a prisoner back to Duc Pho. I agreed. We strapped on .45s and went to pick up the prisoner from the MPs. The prisoner was a young GI. I don't remember what he was charged with, maybe desertion since he was supposed to be in Duc Pho but was picked up in Chu Lai. He was eventually going to LBJ (Long Binh Jail) near Saigon. He was an angry guy. He didn't like the Army, didn't like the "world." Glyn and I were just the latest objects of his discontent. We picked him up, handcuffed him and took him to the airport for transport on a C-130. All the time he kept up his rant about what was wrong with the world and how things were going to change and what was going to happen to anyone that got in the way. It wasn't just the rant and threats but he would try to get in our faces as he was speaking. I decided I didn't want to listen to this all the way to Duc Pho so I told him, "Listen you asshole, I'm short and I don't need this shit. Shut your mouth while we're on that plane or I'm going to shoot your sorry ass and nobody will care." It was a bluff, but it worked. We reached an understanding and he was quiet the rest of the trip.
Also on the plane were two ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) officers sitting across from us. During the flight one of them looked at me and said something in Vietnamese. I shook my head and said "No biec," Vietnamese for "I don't understand." He then asked, "How long have you been in Vietnam?" I told him "about 10 months." He said, "I was in your country Ft. Benning 6 months and learned English." I said, "I've been in your country fighting your war, what were you doing in my country." The conversation ended.
Michael (DOC) Windows
Submitted May 5, 2015
Michael (Doc) Windows passed away in October 2014. Doc was the 1st platoon Medic, A converted 11B. He arrived in Vietnam in March 1 969 as an 11 Bravo and volunteered to be trained as a Medic. Doc was a little "rough around the edges" and bore a resemblance to Charles Manson. If you excluded profanity, Doc didn't have much of a vocabulary. Doc was a crazy S.O.B. He wouldn't mind me saying that, he'd take it as a compliment.
Doc did't do so well stateside. Two marriages. Alcohol issues. His second wife Connie died about a year before him. He came to one of the Hill 411 reunions in Pennsylvania and went with the group to tour the White House. There he got into an argument with White House Security about buttoning his shirt and almost got us kicked out. That was Doc.
Doc's kind of crazy worked better in Vietnam. On the night of June 13, 1969 he left a position of relative safety, as they say in commendation speak, to help 4 guys that were wounded. Ignoring exploding Chi-Comm grenades and AK-47 rifle fire, Doc took off running with his medical bag. Reaching the wounded he fired a Claymore mine and then went to work bandaging wounds. Three of the soldiers survived. He held and comforted the most seriously wounded soldier till the end. That night Doc was crazy and compassionate.
Doc was in Vietnam about 5 months. He left in early August 1969 after an accident that almost cut his finger off. He was walking back from a latrine at night cleaning his nails with a pocket knife when he tripped and nearly severed a finger. CID came to investigate and asked me if I thought he had cut his finger intentionally to get out of Vietnam. I laughed and said, "Hell, Doc likes it here." In Vietnam Doc had a purpose and importance he would never have again. We are forever grateful for his service.
Submitted May 5, 2015
Michael (Doc) Windows passed away in October 2014. Doc was the 1st platoon Medic, A converted 11B. He arrived in Vietnam in March 1 969 as an 11 Bravo and volunteered to be trained as a Medic. Doc was a little "rough around the edges" and bore a resemblance to Charles Manson. If you excluded profanity, Doc didn't have much of a vocabulary. Doc was a crazy S.O.B. He wouldn't mind me saying that, he'd take it as a compliment.
Doc did't do so well stateside. Two marriages. Alcohol issues. His second wife Connie died about a year before him. He came to one of the Hill 411 reunions in Pennsylvania and went with the group to tour the White House. There he got into an argument with White House Security about buttoning his shirt and almost got us kicked out. That was Doc.
Doc's kind of crazy worked better in Vietnam. On the night of June 13, 1969 he left a position of relative safety, as they say in commendation speak, to help 4 guys that were wounded. Ignoring exploding Chi-Comm grenades and AK-47 rifle fire, Doc took off running with his medical bag. Reaching the wounded he fired a Claymore mine and then went to work bandaging wounds. Three of the soldiers survived. He held and comforted the most seriously wounded soldier till the end. That night Doc was crazy and compassionate.
Doc was in Vietnam about 5 months. He left in early August 1969 after an accident that almost cut his finger off. He was walking back from a latrine at night cleaning his nails with a pocket knife when he tripped and nearly severed a finger. CID came to investigate and asked me if I thought he had cut his finger intentionally to get out of Vietnam. I laughed and said, "Hell, Doc likes it here." In Vietnam Doc had a purpose and importance he would never have again. We are forever grateful for his service.
Hill 4-11
Submitted May 10, 2015
The Mission
In early July 1969 we were pulled out of the field and transported to Duc Pho. We had been working an area off LZ Debbie known to us as the Rice Bowl. It had been an area with some contact. A few days before we left the area Joseph Kelley and Bobbie Lee McCoy had been killed by booby traps.
At Duc Pho the entire company was briefed on our new mission and area of operations (AO). We were to build a fire support base in Quang Ngai Valley. The work was to be a joint effort between our battalion the 3rd/1st and the 4th ARVN regiment. The name of the new Fire Support Base was to be 4-11 recognizing that cooperative effort. We were going to do the actual building, the ARVNs were going to provide security while the base was being built. The companies took turns working on the hill. Alpha Company was first and the other companies in the battalion patrolled the new AO along with the ARVNs.
Mid-morning on July 8, first platoon boarded CH-47 (Chinook) helicopters and took off from Duc Pho for Quang Ngai valley. The joke at the time was first platoon - first in and last out. Seemed like we were always first in on a CA (combat assault) and last out, especially when transporting to standdown. I think that was because of the confidence Capt. Robert Tyson had in Lt. Baxter to secure an LZ that might be "hot" and hold and an LZ if necessary to evacuate. (After Capt. Tyson left the field he met us at the Chu Lai standdown area. We were the first to arrive. He quipped you could tell there was a change of command because for once the first platoon was the first to arrive.)
We landed about 1000 meters southeast of the hill. With cases of C-rations over our shoulders Lt. John Baxter led us onto the hill, although I think Capt. Tyson and his RTO moved ahead to "plant the flag" and they may have actually been the first on the hill. The "flag" was a sign that designated the hill as LZ Kelley-McCoy.
First platoon initially covered the east side and parts of the north and south side of the hill. Stars and Stripes described the hill as rocky and brushy. That it was. Not a single tree. The hill wasn't especially high, maybe 156 feet or less than 50 meters, but it had a fairly steep incline on three sides so it was defensible. It also had some unnatural features: mines and booby traps. We found booby trapped grenades, 2.75 inch rockets, and a cannister full of napalm with a firing device planted in the ground. Because it was the highest ground in the area and gave a good view of the AO around Quang Ngai, the hill had been used many times for day and night loggers. (A "logger" is a defensive perimeter set up by a unit, a temporary encampment.) The booby traps were planted with the expectation that the hill would be used again and that they would inflict injury. Also because of its height and visibility from a distance the hill had been used for target practice, so there were unexploded artillery rounds to be found.
The area around the base of the hill was mostly open and flat, no rice paddies that were normally part of the countryside. There were a few bamboo stands which eventually were bulldozed by engineers. To the northeast about 500 meters was an old concrete bunker probably built and used by the French. Farther northeast was what remained of a French "fort," a triangular trench area mostly filled in. And beyond that was a flattened clay surface that had been a French airfield. That's how it was designated on our maps. The French had ceded the high ground, the hill, in building their defensive positions around the airport. Not exactly Dien Bien Bhu, but still a disadvantage.
An article in Stars and Stripes said we could hear the engineers' bulldozers and road graders as we were digging in. I don't remember it that way. Could have been. Seems like they showed up a day or two later. We cleared a temporary helicopter landing pad so we could be resupplied immediately. We used mine detection equipment to locate and clear booby traps and unexploded ordinance. When the engineers did arrive they cleared a road along the crest of the hill and created dugouts (lowered the blade on the bulldozer to create a hole and a mound of dirt) where bunkers were to be. Later they dropped off 4-6 foot culverts, initially our only shelter from occasional monsoon rain and shrapnel. Our job was to begin filling sandbags, hundreds of them, to stack and make the bunker frames.
So that's what we did. All day long. In heat that was always at least 90 degrees and sometimes over 100 degrees. Think of Charlie Sheen in "Platoon" with sweat running down his face. No shade, we literally sweated out. Unlike Charlie/Taylor we had to have a shirt on at all times and were supposed to wear a helmet, the infantry's steel pot. Bush hats that kept the sun off your head and were much cooler than steel helmets were not authorized for the 11th Brigade.
That's how we spent our days. The nights were spent pulling 2 2-hour guard shifts, that is when we weren't on alert, which was almost every night the first week or so. There was contact 6 of our first 7 nights on the hill. On the eighth day the ARVNs mistakenly called in fire on us, not sure how to count that.
Our presence in the AO was obvious. To my knowledge no unit had been working the area immediately prior to the 3rd/1st battalion so a large VC and NVA presence was to be expected. Additionally, Quang Ngai was the birthplace of Ho Chi Minh. A U.S. military presence in his home province probably was an affront to the NVA/VC. We were a stationary target. It seemed like every night there was some action that put us on alert. Nightly mortar rounds, rockets and sapper attacks. Sappers were VC/NVA that crawled up undetected on a position and threw a satchel charge, a bag of explosives. The mortar and artillery were not so effective. The satchel charges were. Three Alpha Company men were killed and others wounded.
When we weren't filling sandbags and making bunkers we were stringing concertina wire which was coiled wire with small, razor sharp, rectangular barbs intended to keep sappers out of the perimeter. Each day we laid new wire and repaired the gaps that had been cut by sappers at night.
We Are Not Alone
The rockets and probes in the perimeter were a constant reminder the enemy was near. On July 11, 1969 another incident occurred to let us know we were not alone. Just after dark, about 10 pm, I heard the song, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone", a version by Johnny Rivers. I thought, some idiot has his radio playing so loud that he'll give our position away. The song continued to play. When it was done a voice came over a loudspeaker. It was a VC/NVA speaking in English telling us that we were fighting a losing war and we should go over to their side and we could go home. It was funny and entertaining, but a little eerie. Our company's FAO (Forward Artillery Observer) called in a fire mission and shut them up for a while but later in the night they were back broadcasting. The next day a patrol searched the area we thought the broadcast was coming from and found nothing. But we never heard from them again.
Police Call
The continued alerts at night and working on the bunkers during the hottest part of the day caused some tension and frustration. Glyn Haynie, John Meyer and I shared a bunker. One day we were working on it, filling and placing sandbags and Lt. Baxter, First Sergeant Malpica and Lt. Col. George Ellis approached us. They were touring the hill. First Sergeant Malpica asked who was in charge. Glyn, John and I looked at each other. John was actually senior to Glyn and me but he said nothing. From the tone of First Sergeant Malpica's voice I figured something was wrong. No one spoke up so I thought I'd take one for the team and said I was. As I said earlier, we found the hill to be pretty much an open dump with litter from troops camping there and Chu Hoi pamphlets dropped from the air. First Sergeant Malpica started off saying what a mess our area was and that it needed to be policed up. He went on for what like seemed like 5 minutes. I got his point immediately but he kept on and it started to get to me. When he was done I tried to give some explanation about us working on the bunker and that's why we hadn't fully cleaned the area. Then Lt. Baxter said something like there was no excuse and he could take one person and clean up the whole hill in 15 minutes. I snapped and said, "then why don't you do that so we can work on the bunker." I forget all that came next, there was a lot of shouting. Malpica said something about showing respect for an officer of the United States Army and me going to Long Binh Jail. Ellis must have been in shock, he didn't say anything. Lt. Baxter finally interceded saying something like "get to it" so things calmed down and they moved on. I meant no disrespect for Lt. Baxter, the finest officer I served with. It was just the frustration of the moment. If he felt disrespected he got over it. The next month I got promoted to Specialist 4. A month or so later First Sergeant Malpica apologized to me for that "little disagreement we had on the hill." I think it had little to do with him appreciating my poor attempt to explain our priorities at the time. It may have been because I was receiving mail from my Congressman, a fact probably relayed to him by the mail clerk, and concern he might have been the subject of the letters.
No Easy Duty
Lt. Col. Ellis has explained that Alpha Company got the assignment to build Firebase 4-11 not because it was the best company in the battalion but because Alpha was the available company. Fair enough, I don't know enough about the other companies to judge. But some have said that Alpha got the "easy job" of building the firebase. To that I take exception. Perhaps working on the hill wasn't as difficult as humping the AO trying to provide security for the hill like the other companies in the battalion did. But it was not easy. As I said, we worked all day in the heat. At night we received rocket, mortar and small arms fire. The perimeter was probed and there were casualties from sapper attacks. Four men were killed and 4 wounded in the first 20 days on the hill. To us and them it was no easy duty.
In Defense of LZ Kelley-McCoy
Much has been made of our preference to call the 3rd/1st fire support base LZ Kelley-McCoy instead of the official name, Hill 4-11. We certainly know the difference. As I said it was part of the initial briefing before we moved to the hill. Capt. Tyson can probably best explain why he chose to call it LZ Kelley-McCoy but here's my take. Capt. Tyson knew that constructing the LZ would be physically challenging and dangerous. In order to motivate us and get us to do our best he personalized the mission by using it to honor two of our fallen soldiers. I didn't know McCoy but met Sgt. Kelley. He was decent and well liked. All of us appreciated the gesture. And it's in that spirit we continue to refer to it as LZ Kelley-McCoy. No disrespect to anyone is intended.
Submitted May 10, 2015
The Mission
In early July 1969 we were pulled out of the field and transported to Duc Pho. We had been working an area off LZ Debbie known to us as the Rice Bowl. It had been an area with some contact. A few days before we left the area Joseph Kelley and Bobbie Lee McCoy had been killed by booby traps.
At Duc Pho the entire company was briefed on our new mission and area of operations (AO). We were to build a fire support base in Quang Ngai Valley. The work was to be a joint effort between our battalion the 3rd/1st and the 4th ARVN regiment. The name of the new Fire Support Base was to be 4-11 recognizing that cooperative effort. We were going to do the actual building, the ARVNs were going to provide security while the base was being built. The companies took turns working on the hill. Alpha Company was first and the other companies in the battalion patrolled the new AO along with the ARVNs.
Mid-morning on July 8, first platoon boarded CH-47 (Chinook) helicopters and took off from Duc Pho for Quang Ngai valley. The joke at the time was first platoon - first in and last out. Seemed like we were always first in on a CA (combat assault) and last out, especially when transporting to standdown. I think that was because of the confidence Capt. Robert Tyson had in Lt. Baxter to secure an LZ that might be "hot" and hold and an LZ if necessary to evacuate. (After Capt. Tyson left the field he met us at the Chu Lai standdown area. We were the first to arrive. He quipped you could tell there was a change of command because for once the first platoon was the first to arrive.)
We landed about 1000 meters southeast of the hill. With cases of C-rations over our shoulders Lt. John Baxter led us onto the hill, although I think Capt. Tyson and his RTO moved ahead to "plant the flag" and they may have actually been the first on the hill. The "flag" was a sign that designated the hill as LZ Kelley-McCoy.
First platoon initially covered the east side and parts of the north and south side of the hill. Stars and Stripes described the hill as rocky and brushy. That it was. Not a single tree. The hill wasn't especially high, maybe 156 feet or less than 50 meters, but it had a fairly steep incline on three sides so it was defensible. It also had some unnatural features: mines and booby traps. We found booby trapped grenades, 2.75 inch rockets, and a cannister full of napalm with a firing device planted in the ground. Because it was the highest ground in the area and gave a good view of the AO around Quang Ngai, the hill had been used many times for day and night loggers. (A "logger" is a defensive perimeter set up by a unit, a temporary encampment.) The booby traps were planted with the expectation that the hill would be used again and that they would inflict injury. Also because of its height and visibility from a distance the hill had been used for target practice, so there were unexploded artillery rounds to be found.
The area around the base of the hill was mostly open and flat, no rice paddies that were normally part of the countryside. There were a few bamboo stands which eventually were bulldozed by engineers. To the northeast about 500 meters was an old concrete bunker probably built and used by the French. Farther northeast was what remained of a French "fort," a triangular trench area mostly filled in. And beyond that was a flattened clay surface that had been a French airfield. That's how it was designated on our maps. The French had ceded the high ground, the hill, in building their defensive positions around the airport. Not exactly Dien Bien Bhu, but still a disadvantage.
An article in Stars and Stripes said we could hear the engineers' bulldozers and road graders as we were digging in. I don't remember it that way. Could have been. Seems like they showed up a day or two later. We cleared a temporary helicopter landing pad so we could be resupplied immediately. We used mine detection equipment to locate and clear booby traps and unexploded ordinance. When the engineers did arrive they cleared a road along the crest of the hill and created dugouts (lowered the blade on the bulldozer to create a hole and a mound of dirt) where bunkers were to be. Later they dropped off 4-6 foot culverts, initially our only shelter from occasional monsoon rain and shrapnel. Our job was to begin filling sandbags, hundreds of them, to stack and make the bunker frames.
So that's what we did. All day long. In heat that was always at least 90 degrees and sometimes over 100 degrees. Think of Charlie Sheen in "Platoon" with sweat running down his face. No shade, we literally sweated out. Unlike Charlie/Taylor we had to have a shirt on at all times and were supposed to wear a helmet, the infantry's steel pot. Bush hats that kept the sun off your head and were much cooler than steel helmets were not authorized for the 11th Brigade.
That's how we spent our days. The nights were spent pulling 2 2-hour guard shifts, that is when we weren't on alert, which was almost every night the first week or so. There was contact 6 of our first 7 nights on the hill. On the eighth day the ARVNs mistakenly called in fire on us, not sure how to count that.
Our presence in the AO was obvious. To my knowledge no unit had been working the area immediately prior to the 3rd/1st battalion so a large VC and NVA presence was to be expected. Additionally, Quang Ngai was the birthplace of Ho Chi Minh. A U.S. military presence in his home province probably was an affront to the NVA/VC. We were a stationary target. It seemed like every night there was some action that put us on alert. Nightly mortar rounds, rockets and sapper attacks. Sappers were VC/NVA that crawled up undetected on a position and threw a satchel charge, a bag of explosives. The mortar and artillery were not so effective. The satchel charges were. Three Alpha Company men were killed and others wounded.
When we weren't filling sandbags and making bunkers we were stringing concertina wire which was coiled wire with small, razor sharp, rectangular barbs intended to keep sappers out of the perimeter. Each day we laid new wire and repaired the gaps that had been cut by sappers at night.
We Are Not Alone
The rockets and probes in the perimeter were a constant reminder the enemy was near. On July 11, 1969 another incident occurred to let us know we were not alone. Just after dark, about 10 pm, I heard the song, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone", a version by Johnny Rivers. I thought, some idiot has his radio playing so loud that he'll give our position away. The song continued to play. When it was done a voice came over a loudspeaker. It was a VC/NVA speaking in English telling us that we were fighting a losing war and we should go over to their side and we could go home. It was funny and entertaining, but a little eerie. Our company's FAO (Forward Artillery Observer) called in a fire mission and shut them up for a while but later in the night they were back broadcasting. The next day a patrol searched the area we thought the broadcast was coming from and found nothing. But we never heard from them again.
Police Call
The continued alerts at night and working on the bunkers during the hottest part of the day caused some tension and frustration. Glyn Haynie, John Meyer and I shared a bunker. One day we were working on it, filling and placing sandbags and Lt. Baxter, First Sergeant Malpica and Lt. Col. George Ellis approached us. They were touring the hill. First Sergeant Malpica asked who was in charge. Glyn, John and I looked at each other. John was actually senior to Glyn and me but he said nothing. From the tone of First Sergeant Malpica's voice I figured something was wrong. No one spoke up so I thought I'd take one for the team and said I was. As I said earlier, we found the hill to be pretty much an open dump with litter from troops camping there and Chu Hoi pamphlets dropped from the air. First Sergeant Malpica started off saying what a mess our area was and that it needed to be policed up. He went on for what like seemed like 5 minutes. I got his point immediately but he kept on and it started to get to me. When he was done I tried to give some explanation about us working on the bunker and that's why we hadn't fully cleaned the area. Then Lt. Baxter said something like there was no excuse and he could take one person and clean up the whole hill in 15 minutes. I snapped and said, "then why don't you do that so we can work on the bunker." I forget all that came next, there was a lot of shouting. Malpica said something about showing respect for an officer of the United States Army and me going to Long Binh Jail. Ellis must have been in shock, he didn't say anything. Lt. Baxter finally interceded saying something like "get to it" so things calmed down and they moved on. I meant no disrespect for Lt. Baxter, the finest officer I served with. It was just the frustration of the moment. If he felt disrespected he got over it. The next month I got promoted to Specialist 4. A month or so later First Sergeant Malpica apologized to me for that "little disagreement we had on the hill." I think it had little to do with him appreciating my poor attempt to explain our priorities at the time. It may have been because I was receiving mail from my Congressman, a fact probably relayed to him by the mail clerk, and concern he might have been the subject of the letters.
No Easy Duty
Lt. Col. Ellis has explained that Alpha Company got the assignment to build Firebase 4-11 not because it was the best company in the battalion but because Alpha was the available company. Fair enough, I don't know enough about the other companies to judge. But some have said that Alpha got the "easy job" of building the firebase. To that I take exception. Perhaps working on the hill wasn't as difficult as humping the AO trying to provide security for the hill like the other companies in the battalion did. But it was not easy. As I said, we worked all day in the heat. At night we received rocket, mortar and small arms fire. The perimeter was probed and there were casualties from sapper attacks. Four men were killed and 4 wounded in the first 20 days on the hill. To us and them it was no easy duty.
In Defense of LZ Kelley-McCoy
Much has been made of our preference to call the 3rd/1st fire support base LZ Kelley-McCoy instead of the official name, Hill 4-11. We certainly know the difference. As I said it was part of the initial briefing before we moved to the hill. Capt. Tyson can probably best explain why he chose to call it LZ Kelley-McCoy but here's my take. Capt. Tyson knew that constructing the LZ would be physically challenging and dangerous. In order to motivate us and get us to do our best he personalized the mission by using it to honor two of our fallen soldiers. I didn't know McCoy but met Sgt. Kelley. He was decent and well liked. All of us appreciated the gesture. And it's in that spirit we continue to refer to it as LZ Kelley-McCoy. No disrespect to anyone is intended.
First Patrol
Submitted May 15, 2015
I returned to Vietnam in early May 1969 following an emergency leave for my father's funeral. I reported to Alpha Company at Duc Pho and after transport to LZ Charley Brown was further assigned to the first platoon which was guarding a bridge on Highway 1. As its name suggests, Highway 1 was a main route along the east coast of Vietnam. Each day it had heavy traffic that included transport of troops and supplies. The platoon's job was to secure the bridge, make sure it wasn't blown up or booby trapped.
Lt. John Baxter was the Platoon Leader. Capt. Tyson told me he was a good officer and that was indeed my first impression of Lt. Baxter. He looked like an officer should: taller than average, neat in appearance, well spoken and confident. He was older than us. Lt. Baxter assigned me to the 2nd squad as an assistant machine gunner. An assistant machine gunner has two jobs: to protect the machine gunner and to make sure the machine gunner has ammunition to continue firing in the event of contact. The M-60 machine gun fires a 7.62 mm bullet and can fire about 200 rounds per minute. The standard is to have about 1000 rounds for a machine gun but I think we usually had close to 2000. That much ammunition is too much for a single person to carry so others in the squad carry a portion. In a firefight the assistant gunner is responsible for collecting these rounds and getting them to the gunner. Each round is attached to another with a curved clipped so that there is a continuous chain of bullets going into the machine gun. As the machine gunner fires, the assistant gunner is responsible for making sure each "bandolier" is joined to make a continuos feed. This isn't something you learn in advanced infantry training, it's all OJT and learned under fire.
Not long after I arrived we were told to patrol the area west of the bridge. It was a flat, open area that ran for some distance, maybe a couple of miles or more, to a ridge line. Didn't seem like much of an assignment to me because you could see quite a distance except for some groves and tree stands. We were going "light" which meant we wouldn't be carrying packs. We took our weapons, a bandolier of M-16 clips (about 200 rounds), a couple of grenades and the M-60 ammo. I don't remember who exactly went but believe it was less than a full squad. We were lead by our platoon sergeant and with him came his RTO (radio telegraph operator), Jerry Ofstedahl our squad leader, Bruce Tufts who carried an M-79 grenade launcher, our machine gunner Dennis Rowe (a biker from Detroit), me and another relatively new guy carrying an M-16.
Off we went. Four "Vets", guys with combat experience, and three guys with little, or in my case, no combat experience. We passed a few villagers leaving the bridge. There were always Vietnamese around trying to sell things like bush hats, (how they got them and we couldn't I don't know) Coke, ice, beer, and probably drugs if we had asked. So far so good, no problem.
We moved out in a staggered formation and I thought "this is just hiking with weapons." No big deal. As we near the ridge line we noticed movement about a third of the way up the side of the ridge off to our right. We halted and watched. We saw a line of NVA soldiers in green khaki and pith-type helmets moving along the side of the ridge on a path that would cross in front of us close enough that we could see their faces. I thought, "bad guys in the open, let's get them because this is what we came for." I don't remember how many in all. More than 10 as I recall, but I stopped counting. I was thinking ahead to the firefight. Instead of firing we were told to get low, stay quiet and let them go by. I didn't understand but I was a new guy and did as I was told. And pass us they did. Later as we waited there we saw the rest of the company and Capt. Tyson coming from the the direction the NVA had travelled. I don't know how they missed them but they had because we heard no shooting. Helicopters also flew over the area but apparently they didn't see them either.
We returned to the bridge and reported to Lt. Baxter. I don't recall anything being said about what we did then or later, but I was a new guy and maybe not part of the information flow at that time.
Sometime after that our platoon sergeant left the field and got a job working in Division headquarters, a relatively safe job. I saw him one time when we went to Chu Lai for standdown but we never spoke about that first patrol. Later I was told he had been pulled out of the field because we never fired on the NVA that day off Charley Brown. I don't know if that is true. I was asked if I thought he made the right decision. I can't say. We had cover and surprise on our side. But we were outnumbered. The platoon sergeant didn't know if the NVA would fight or run. He didn't know what us new guys would do if we got in a fight. Nor could he have known if he would have enough time to call in artillery or if gunships would arrive in time if there was an NVA assault. I don't believe he was afraid to fight. He just chose not to do it that day. It's tough to second guess decisions made in the field. You have to be there to appreciate all the factors that influence those decisions.
Later in my tour the company was on a ridge overlooking a well travelled trail along the river west of Quang Ngai City. As we watched,Viet Cong came out of the jungle onto the trail. They were probably more than 10,000 meters away, just tiny dots, when they first entered the trail but as they came towards us the column stretched out. There must have been close to a hundred VC. They had no idea where we were. As they got closer our artillery FO (Forward Observer) called in artillery. The first round was an air burst, as required by regulations. This was done so that we could see where the rounds would land as a precaution against mistakenly calling in artillery on our own position. An adjustment was called in but the first round had warned the VC and they quickly disappeared. As far as I know there were no VC killed or wounded.
Submitted May 15, 2015
I returned to Vietnam in early May 1969 following an emergency leave for my father's funeral. I reported to Alpha Company at Duc Pho and after transport to LZ Charley Brown was further assigned to the first platoon which was guarding a bridge on Highway 1. As its name suggests, Highway 1 was a main route along the east coast of Vietnam. Each day it had heavy traffic that included transport of troops and supplies. The platoon's job was to secure the bridge, make sure it wasn't blown up or booby trapped.
Lt. John Baxter was the Platoon Leader. Capt. Tyson told me he was a good officer and that was indeed my first impression of Lt. Baxter. He looked like an officer should: taller than average, neat in appearance, well spoken and confident. He was older than us. Lt. Baxter assigned me to the 2nd squad as an assistant machine gunner. An assistant machine gunner has two jobs: to protect the machine gunner and to make sure the machine gunner has ammunition to continue firing in the event of contact. The M-60 machine gun fires a 7.62 mm bullet and can fire about 200 rounds per minute. The standard is to have about 1000 rounds for a machine gun but I think we usually had close to 2000. That much ammunition is too much for a single person to carry so others in the squad carry a portion. In a firefight the assistant gunner is responsible for collecting these rounds and getting them to the gunner. Each round is attached to another with a curved clipped so that there is a continuous chain of bullets going into the machine gun. As the machine gunner fires, the assistant gunner is responsible for making sure each "bandolier" is joined to make a continuos feed. This isn't something you learn in advanced infantry training, it's all OJT and learned under fire.
Not long after I arrived we were told to patrol the area west of the bridge. It was a flat, open area that ran for some distance, maybe a couple of miles or more, to a ridge line. Didn't seem like much of an assignment to me because you could see quite a distance except for some groves and tree stands. We were going "light" which meant we wouldn't be carrying packs. We took our weapons, a bandolier of M-16 clips (about 200 rounds), a couple of grenades and the M-60 ammo. I don't remember who exactly went but believe it was less than a full squad. We were lead by our platoon sergeant and with him came his RTO (radio telegraph operator), Jerry Ofstedahl our squad leader, Bruce Tufts who carried an M-79 grenade launcher, our machine gunner Dennis Rowe (a biker from Detroit), me and another relatively new guy carrying an M-16.
Off we went. Four "Vets", guys with combat experience, and three guys with little, or in my case, no combat experience. We passed a few villagers leaving the bridge. There were always Vietnamese around trying to sell things like bush hats, (how they got them and we couldn't I don't know) Coke, ice, beer, and probably drugs if we had asked. So far so good, no problem.
We moved out in a staggered formation and I thought "this is just hiking with weapons." No big deal. As we near the ridge line we noticed movement about a third of the way up the side of the ridge off to our right. We halted and watched. We saw a line of NVA soldiers in green khaki and pith-type helmets moving along the side of the ridge on a path that would cross in front of us close enough that we could see their faces. I thought, "bad guys in the open, let's get them because this is what we came for." I don't remember how many in all. More than 10 as I recall, but I stopped counting. I was thinking ahead to the firefight. Instead of firing we were told to get low, stay quiet and let them go by. I didn't understand but I was a new guy and did as I was told. And pass us they did. Later as we waited there we saw the rest of the company and Capt. Tyson coming from the the direction the NVA had travelled. I don't know how they missed them but they had because we heard no shooting. Helicopters also flew over the area but apparently they didn't see them either.
We returned to the bridge and reported to Lt. Baxter. I don't recall anything being said about what we did then or later, but I was a new guy and maybe not part of the information flow at that time.
Sometime after that our platoon sergeant left the field and got a job working in Division headquarters, a relatively safe job. I saw him one time when we went to Chu Lai for standdown but we never spoke about that first patrol. Later I was told he had been pulled out of the field because we never fired on the NVA that day off Charley Brown. I don't know if that is true. I was asked if I thought he made the right decision. I can't say. We had cover and surprise on our side. But we were outnumbered. The platoon sergeant didn't know if the NVA would fight or run. He didn't know what us new guys would do if we got in a fight. Nor could he have known if he would have enough time to call in artillery or if gunships would arrive in time if there was an NVA assault. I don't believe he was afraid to fight. He just chose not to do it that day. It's tough to second guess decisions made in the field. You have to be there to appreciate all the factors that influence those decisions.
Later in my tour the company was on a ridge overlooking a well travelled trail along the river west of Quang Ngai City. As we watched,Viet Cong came out of the jungle onto the trail. They were probably more than 10,000 meters away, just tiny dots, when they first entered the trail but as they came towards us the column stretched out. There must have been close to a hundred VC. They had no idea where we were. As they got closer our artillery FO (Forward Observer) called in artillery. The first round was an air burst, as required by regulations. This was done so that we could see where the rounds would land as a precaution against mistakenly calling in artillery on our own position. An adjustment was called in but the first round had warned the VC and they quickly disappeared. As far as I know there were no VC killed or wounded.
FNG
Submitted June 1, 2015
FNG or "fucking new guy" was the derisive term for guys newly arrived in Vietnam. The older "Vets," the guys that had been there the longest, didn't have much use for an FNG and didn't "buddy up" with them. This was in part because it was thought an FNG screw-up could get them killed. Part of the aversion also was to avoid any personal contact. The old timers had seen friends die. That took an emotional toll and over time they no longer wanted to make that investment. To an old timer who is "short," close to the end of his tour, an FNG is just a guy to share the load carrying 200 rounds for the M-60, a claymore mine, trip flares, a Starlight Scope and a body to pull a shift on guard.
New guys weren't seen as having much value. It wasn't that they were inherently bad, it was that they hadn't been taught what was needed to survive. To have a chance at surviving in Vietnam you had to learn quickly. Training didn't guarantee survival, it just improved your chances. As one Drill Instructor put it, there's nothing you can do if a bullet has your name on it, it's the one marked "to whom it may concern" you want to avoid.
I'm sure all new guys had a pre-Vietnam training experience in their Advance Infantry Training. For me it was Peason Ridge at Fort Polk, Louisiana, a 1 week experience intended to simulate Vietnam. The temperature in Louisiana in February was in the 30's, not in the 90's like Vietnam. The "aggressors", GIs who posed as Viet Cong, used blanks in their M-16s. The booby traps that exploded were loud but otherwise harmless. We knew that in the live fire, low crawl exercise we had that the machine guns firing over our heads were set high enough so that if we stood up we wouldn't get shot. The explosions on the course were set off in concrete rings so there was no contact with us or chance of a shrapnel wound. On our practice assault with live fire we shot at targets, they didn't fire back. The one reality check we got was when we loaded into APCs (Armored Personnel Carriers) for a practice assault on a hill. We got to the hill, the APC ramp lowered and out we ran to attack what we thought was an imaginary enemy. What we met were GIs firing blanks at us. It was my first hint that this Vietnam thing might be serious stuff.
Here are some things a new guy had to learn in Vietnam.
No Fortunate Son - You can always tell an FNG. He's the guy that goes around to anyone that will listen, and mostly those that will not listen, to complain about being in Vietnam - the U.S. shouldn't be here because it's a civil war and not our problem, communists aren't going to invade San Diego, the domino theory isn't valid, and he in particular shouldn't be here because Vietnam didn't fit into his plans. He should be in college or he has a family or he's just too important to have been drafted. Like a puppy snipping at an old, bored dog. He tries to get someone to pay attention to him but they're not that interested.
Here's the deal - The discussion was over when we landed in Vietnam. We weren't sent here to debate the question. No piercing logic or cogent argument was going to get MAC-V (Military Assistance Command - Vietnam) to call us and say "pack the tents boys we're going home." Me and everyone that came after me were sent to Vietnam after President Nixon announced he was withdrawing troops. He wanted us there. We were sent there to serve for a year or until we got sent home wounded or killed. The task at hand was to make sure it's the former, not the latter. Staying alive is what Vietnam was all about. Doing what it takes to make it out. The sooner an FNG got that and started adapting, the sooner the "F" part of his title could be dropped and the Old Guys would accept him. Getting your head straight was the first and most important adjustment.
Heat - When I left Louisiana it was February and the temperatures were in the 30's. When I left Michigan in March it was about the same. When I got to Vietnam the temperatures were in the 80's and sometimes 90's. Big difference and big adjustment. The heat and humidity sapped my energy. With the heat came the need to stay hydrated. Stateside you could get by with something to drink at every meal. In Vietnam I started carrying 2 1-quart canteens and went to carrying 4. Think about all the water you use on a daily basis. In Vietnam you had to carry it. Three days worth - that was the time between resupply. Water to drink, brush teeth and occasionally wash with. Because we were in the field the water was never cold, never refreshing. It might be cool first thing in the morning but plastic canteens heated up as the day wore on so a drink was never thirst quenching. The taste wasn't much either. If we filled canteens from a stream we put iodine tablets in the canteen to "purify" it. Potable water from the rear wasn't much better. It was stored in huge rubber blivets and picked a rubber taste. That's why most guys added pre-sweetened Kool-Aid to their canteens. Although I was a new guy my reputation for toughness was enhanced because I put un-sweetened Kool-Aid in my canteen. It wasn't that I preferred the taste. My well-meaning girlfriend heard that guys in Vietnam liked Kool-Aid, she just never heard the part about needing it to be pre-sweetened. We lived in the field, there was no mess hall or nearby store to go to pick up sugar. I didn't want to hurt her feeling by throwing it away so I drank it plain.
Walking - Or as we called it "humping." In training we rode by truck or bus to each training site or firing range. The Army would have liked to make us march everywhere but there was so much to cover in training that it was more efficient and less time consuming to transport us. In Vietnam we lived in the field. Most days we woke after daylight, ate quickly and then started humping as soon as possible. It didn't pay to stay too long in one place because bad things could happen. The VC could mortar a fixed position or set booby traps on a trail we were likely to take. We walked all day until just before dark. We set up late for the same reason, to give the enemy less time to fix our position or plan an attack. Stateside training didn't prepare new guys for miles and miles of walking carrying a 40 lb pack in the hot sun all day.
C-Rations - Hot meals (real food) in the field were rare in the field during the first part of my tour. Life in the field meant eating C-rations each day, three times a day for as long as we were in the field, usually a couple of months at a time. C-rations, in Army speak Meal Combat Individual (MCIs) came in a small, light brown cardboard box about 1/2 half the size of a Kleenex box. The meal elements came in attractive dark brown cans. In each box was also a packet containing salt, instant coffee, cream substitute, matches, cigarettes, toilet paper, a plastic spoon and an ingenious device called a P-38 for opening the cans. The P-38 was about 1inch long that folded flat and had a pointed edge for inserting into cans. It opened the cans with an up and down hand motion as the can was rotated. You carried the spoon in its plastic wrapper and the P-38 in your pocket until the spoon started to turn brown and the P-38 rusted then switched them for a new set. C-rations had three components: an "entree" (using that term generously) or meat "unit," a cracker unit, and a fruit or cake unit.
A case of C-rations included 12 meals, only 4 of them were edible. Meat units had all the flavor you would expect of something called a "unit." The crackers of course were dry but each B-2 unit, as they were called, came with either peanut butter, jelly, or cheese spread - the consistency of Cheez Whiz. Beans and franks, boned chicken, spaghetti, and barbecue beef were good. The pork loaf, ham loaf, turkey loaf and beef loaf looked like Spam and all tasted about the same. I even tried sugar on them but couldn't keep them down. Literally. There was a ham and eggs unit and a ham and lima beans unit known as ham and motherfuckers because it was known to cause severe gastric distress for anyone eating it and for other unpleasantness for anyone else nearby.
When we could, we tried to heat up the meat units. The heat tablets given us didn't always provide enough heat to cook the units fully so we ate them lukewarm. That is unless we had C-4, the plastic explosive that was specifically not to be used for making fires. Sorry taxpayers, we used lots of it that way. There wasn't any mystery about what we were going to do with it when we ordered bars of it with our resupply. The guys in the rear knew were weren't using it blow things up.
The cheese and crackers were okay as is. Lots of guys didn't like the cracker units and just threw them away so I collected them and was able to make a reasonably satisfying breakfast meal crumbling the crackers and mixing them with peanut buttter and jelly. I had this each morning with a fruit unit and was ready for the day. I learned the cracker, peanut butter and jelly trick from my Dad.
The cake and fruit units were the real treat. There was pound cake and a cinnamon swirl cake whose name I have forgotten. The fruit units could be applesauce - most common, fruit cocktail - fairly common, and pears - rare. The applesauce was bland but mixing it with Kool-Aid could kick it up a notch. I liked fruit cocktail but we had a lot of it and it became to be treated with some disdain. Even today, 46 years later I have to be careful not to call it fruit-fucking cocktail. Pears were a special delight and I saved them to eat when I had time to savor them and enjoy the experience. I've told the story about saving them and eating them during the fire. Not exactly a special occasion but I was not going to die and leave them behind.
New guys were at a disadvantage because they didn't know which meals were good (again using that term loosely) and because they got to choose last, unless the squad leader made sure each person got to pick their first meal before all the good meals were taken.
Lukewarm water, lukewarm meals. Until a new guy got used to the Vietnam diet he suffered. Most like me, lost weight and had little energy. But over time I adapted and actually did quite well. Sometime later we received LRPs, dehydrated meals given to long range reconnaissance patrol soldiers, which we enjoyed and came to think of as a treat. Funny the things you place value on. Beef and rice, chili and the other meals were a change even though they could cause serious heartburn. Each came with a candy bar - chocolate and coconut was my favorite.
Walking Point - Walking point was dangerous. Not surprisingly Vets didn't want to do it and the job fell to new guys. There are two theories about walking point. The first, and this applies to pulling guard at night too, is that you're there as an early warning device. You're not expected to do anything other than take the first bullet or step on the booby trap. Your sacrifice puts everyone else on alert and they can engage or withdraw as is appropriate.
The other theory is that you can learn to spot an ambush or booby trap and the platoon can take action before anyone gets hurt. I was with guys who talked about how to walk point. Jack and Jerry talked about how they did it. I listened. You walk slow, deliberate. Your eyes are moving all the time looking straight ahead, then down and close, then side to side, back down again, and then side to side again. You repeat this over and over again. You're looking for something out of place like freshly dug dirt or a mound on the trail or along side of it, or a trip wire. Could be explosive booby traps or a punji pit. You listen as best you can. Use all your senses. Americans smell like sweet milk. Vietnamese eat a lot of fish, you find the cans along the trail all the time. They like it with nuoc mam, fermented fish juice. Some of walking point is instinct. If it doesn't feel right get off the trail. Nothing wrong with going around or over to feel safer. On occasion that's just what Jack did. He didn't care where the company was going. He made his own way.
I walked point some during the day, but mostly that job fell to Glyn. For some reason I got to do it at night. That takes away a lot of the searching with your eyes. Listening is the key. Day or night, you feel alone. Being a target, that's what you have to get used to.
Pulling Guard - The closest stateside experience to pulling guard is barracks fireguard duty. That's a one hour shift in a barracks to make sure there isn't a fire and to wake everyone if there is a fire. With 40 guys in a barracks, you might get fireguard once a week. Guys fall asleep and sometimes you don't pull fireguard at all. Once you're in the field in Vietnam you can forget about a good night's sleep. If we were lucky there were 4 guys to a position so we had at one two hour shift or two +1 hour shifts. If there was only 3 we had two 1 1/2 hour shifts. It's wasn't likely anyone could stay awake for 3 straight hours. Keep in mind guard comes after humping all day in the heat. It's hard not to be exhausted.
We usually stopped for the night late so there wasn't time to dig a foxhole. We tried to find some cover behind a wall, rock pile or brush but sometimes we were just sitting in the open. Unless there was a full moon it was tough to see anything. So guard was just sitting, trying to stay awake, and listening. The early warning theory applied. The worst time was during monsoon season. The rain was so steady you couldn't see, couldn't hear. I passed the time playing songs in my head.
One of the most important awards to us was the Combat Infantry Badge. It was the one medal that only infantrymen could earn. Unlike the ribbons that represented other medals, a CIB was metal. It was about 3 inches long and was a blue rectangular bar with a silver musket superimposed on the bar and an oak wreath behind the bar. Blue is the Army color designating infantry. A CIB was earned when a soldier engaged in active ground combat, a firefight. Glyn and I got orders awarding the CIB August 30, 1969, but we had earned it much earlier. We earned it but did not actually receive the medal. The CIB was a nice looking medal but not something to be warn on jungle fatigues. But being proud of having earned it I wanted to come up with something that I could wear on my fatigues. M-16 rounds come with cloth bandoliers with a strap connected to each end of the bandoliers and a large, black safety pin on the strap. We filled the bandoliers with M-16 magazines. You could wear the bandolier like a sling or pin the strap to the middle of the bandolier, stick your arms through the holes and wear it to protect your chest. I thought that pin because of its connection to the M-16, the weapon of choice for the infantry, could be the symbolic CIB. So I started to wear a safety pin on the pocket flap of my fatigues. It caught on and others who had earned CIBs did the same.
Submitted June 1, 2015
FNG or "fucking new guy" was the derisive term for guys newly arrived in Vietnam. The older "Vets," the guys that had been there the longest, didn't have much use for an FNG and didn't "buddy up" with them. This was in part because it was thought an FNG screw-up could get them killed. Part of the aversion also was to avoid any personal contact. The old timers had seen friends die. That took an emotional toll and over time they no longer wanted to make that investment. To an old timer who is "short," close to the end of his tour, an FNG is just a guy to share the load carrying 200 rounds for the M-60, a claymore mine, trip flares, a Starlight Scope and a body to pull a shift on guard.
New guys weren't seen as having much value. It wasn't that they were inherently bad, it was that they hadn't been taught what was needed to survive. To have a chance at surviving in Vietnam you had to learn quickly. Training didn't guarantee survival, it just improved your chances. As one Drill Instructor put it, there's nothing you can do if a bullet has your name on it, it's the one marked "to whom it may concern" you want to avoid.
I'm sure all new guys had a pre-Vietnam training experience in their Advance Infantry Training. For me it was Peason Ridge at Fort Polk, Louisiana, a 1 week experience intended to simulate Vietnam. The temperature in Louisiana in February was in the 30's, not in the 90's like Vietnam. The "aggressors", GIs who posed as Viet Cong, used blanks in their M-16s. The booby traps that exploded were loud but otherwise harmless. We knew that in the live fire, low crawl exercise we had that the machine guns firing over our heads were set high enough so that if we stood up we wouldn't get shot. The explosions on the course were set off in concrete rings so there was no contact with us or chance of a shrapnel wound. On our practice assault with live fire we shot at targets, they didn't fire back. The one reality check we got was when we loaded into APCs (Armored Personnel Carriers) for a practice assault on a hill. We got to the hill, the APC ramp lowered and out we ran to attack what we thought was an imaginary enemy. What we met were GIs firing blanks at us. It was my first hint that this Vietnam thing might be serious stuff.
Here are some things a new guy had to learn in Vietnam.
No Fortunate Son - You can always tell an FNG. He's the guy that goes around to anyone that will listen, and mostly those that will not listen, to complain about being in Vietnam - the U.S. shouldn't be here because it's a civil war and not our problem, communists aren't going to invade San Diego, the domino theory isn't valid, and he in particular shouldn't be here because Vietnam didn't fit into his plans. He should be in college or he has a family or he's just too important to have been drafted. Like a puppy snipping at an old, bored dog. He tries to get someone to pay attention to him but they're not that interested.
Here's the deal - The discussion was over when we landed in Vietnam. We weren't sent here to debate the question. No piercing logic or cogent argument was going to get MAC-V (Military Assistance Command - Vietnam) to call us and say "pack the tents boys we're going home." Me and everyone that came after me were sent to Vietnam after President Nixon announced he was withdrawing troops. He wanted us there. We were sent there to serve for a year or until we got sent home wounded or killed. The task at hand was to make sure it's the former, not the latter. Staying alive is what Vietnam was all about. Doing what it takes to make it out. The sooner an FNG got that and started adapting, the sooner the "F" part of his title could be dropped and the Old Guys would accept him. Getting your head straight was the first and most important adjustment.
Heat - When I left Louisiana it was February and the temperatures were in the 30's. When I left Michigan in March it was about the same. When I got to Vietnam the temperatures were in the 80's and sometimes 90's. Big difference and big adjustment. The heat and humidity sapped my energy. With the heat came the need to stay hydrated. Stateside you could get by with something to drink at every meal. In Vietnam I started carrying 2 1-quart canteens and went to carrying 4. Think about all the water you use on a daily basis. In Vietnam you had to carry it. Three days worth - that was the time between resupply. Water to drink, brush teeth and occasionally wash with. Because we were in the field the water was never cold, never refreshing. It might be cool first thing in the morning but plastic canteens heated up as the day wore on so a drink was never thirst quenching. The taste wasn't much either. If we filled canteens from a stream we put iodine tablets in the canteen to "purify" it. Potable water from the rear wasn't much better. It was stored in huge rubber blivets and picked a rubber taste. That's why most guys added pre-sweetened Kool-Aid to their canteens. Although I was a new guy my reputation for toughness was enhanced because I put un-sweetened Kool-Aid in my canteen. It wasn't that I preferred the taste. My well-meaning girlfriend heard that guys in Vietnam liked Kool-Aid, she just never heard the part about needing it to be pre-sweetened. We lived in the field, there was no mess hall or nearby store to go to pick up sugar. I didn't want to hurt her feeling by throwing it away so I drank it plain.
Walking - Or as we called it "humping." In training we rode by truck or bus to each training site or firing range. The Army would have liked to make us march everywhere but there was so much to cover in training that it was more efficient and less time consuming to transport us. In Vietnam we lived in the field. Most days we woke after daylight, ate quickly and then started humping as soon as possible. It didn't pay to stay too long in one place because bad things could happen. The VC could mortar a fixed position or set booby traps on a trail we were likely to take. We walked all day until just before dark. We set up late for the same reason, to give the enemy less time to fix our position or plan an attack. Stateside training didn't prepare new guys for miles and miles of walking carrying a 40 lb pack in the hot sun all day.
C-Rations - Hot meals (real food) in the field were rare in the field during the first part of my tour. Life in the field meant eating C-rations each day, three times a day for as long as we were in the field, usually a couple of months at a time. C-rations, in Army speak Meal Combat Individual (MCIs) came in a small, light brown cardboard box about 1/2 half the size of a Kleenex box. The meal elements came in attractive dark brown cans. In each box was also a packet containing salt, instant coffee, cream substitute, matches, cigarettes, toilet paper, a plastic spoon and an ingenious device called a P-38 for opening the cans. The P-38 was about 1inch long that folded flat and had a pointed edge for inserting into cans. It opened the cans with an up and down hand motion as the can was rotated. You carried the spoon in its plastic wrapper and the P-38 in your pocket until the spoon started to turn brown and the P-38 rusted then switched them for a new set. C-rations had three components: an "entree" (using that term generously) or meat "unit," a cracker unit, and a fruit or cake unit.
A case of C-rations included 12 meals, only 4 of them were edible. Meat units had all the flavor you would expect of something called a "unit." The crackers of course were dry but each B-2 unit, as they were called, came with either peanut butter, jelly, or cheese spread - the consistency of Cheez Whiz. Beans and franks, boned chicken, spaghetti, and barbecue beef were good. The pork loaf, ham loaf, turkey loaf and beef loaf looked like Spam and all tasted about the same. I even tried sugar on them but couldn't keep them down. Literally. There was a ham and eggs unit and a ham and lima beans unit known as ham and motherfuckers because it was known to cause severe gastric distress for anyone eating it and for other unpleasantness for anyone else nearby.
When we could, we tried to heat up the meat units. The heat tablets given us didn't always provide enough heat to cook the units fully so we ate them lukewarm. That is unless we had C-4, the plastic explosive that was specifically not to be used for making fires. Sorry taxpayers, we used lots of it that way. There wasn't any mystery about what we were going to do with it when we ordered bars of it with our resupply. The guys in the rear knew were weren't using it blow things up.
The cheese and crackers were okay as is. Lots of guys didn't like the cracker units and just threw them away so I collected them and was able to make a reasonably satisfying breakfast meal crumbling the crackers and mixing them with peanut buttter and jelly. I had this each morning with a fruit unit and was ready for the day. I learned the cracker, peanut butter and jelly trick from my Dad.
The cake and fruit units were the real treat. There was pound cake and a cinnamon swirl cake whose name I have forgotten. The fruit units could be applesauce - most common, fruit cocktail - fairly common, and pears - rare. The applesauce was bland but mixing it with Kool-Aid could kick it up a notch. I liked fruit cocktail but we had a lot of it and it became to be treated with some disdain. Even today, 46 years later I have to be careful not to call it fruit-fucking cocktail. Pears were a special delight and I saved them to eat when I had time to savor them and enjoy the experience. I've told the story about saving them and eating them during the fire. Not exactly a special occasion but I was not going to die and leave them behind.
New guys were at a disadvantage because they didn't know which meals were good (again using that term loosely) and because they got to choose last, unless the squad leader made sure each person got to pick their first meal before all the good meals were taken.
Lukewarm water, lukewarm meals. Until a new guy got used to the Vietnam diet he suffered. Most like me, lost weight and had little energy. But over time I adapted and actually did quite well. Sometime later we received LRPs, dehydrated meals given to long range reconnaissance patrol soldiers, which we enjoyed and came to think of as a treat. Funny the things you place value on. Beef and rice, chili and the other meals were a change even though they could cause serious heartburn. Each came with a candy bar - chocolate and coconut was my favorite.
Walking Point - Walking point was dangerous. Not surprisingly Vets didn't want to do it and the job fell to new guys. There are two theories about walking point. The first, and this applies to pulling guard at night too, is that you're there as an early warning device. You're not expected to do anything other than take the first bullet or step on the booby trap. Your sacrifice puts everyone else on alert and they can engage or withdraw as is appropriate.
The other theory is that you can learn to spot an ambush or booby trap and the platoon can take action before anyone gets hurt. I was with guys who talked about how to walk point. Jack and Jerry talked about how they did it. I listened. You walk slow, deliberate. Your eyes are moving all the time looking straight ahead, then down and close, then side to side, back down again, and then side to side again. You repeat this over and over again. You're looking for something out of place like freshly dug dirt or a mound on the trail or along side of it, or a trip wire. Could be explosive booby traps or a punji pit. You listen as best you can. Use all your senses. Americans smell like sweet milk. Vietnamese eat a lot of fish, you find the cans along the trail all the time. They like it with nuoc mam, fermented fish juice. Some of walking point is instinct. If it doesn't feel right get off the trail. Nothing wrong with going around or over to feel safer. On occasion that's just what Jack did. He didn't care where the company was going. He made his own way.
I walked point some during the day, but mostly that job fell to Glyn. For some reason I got to do it at night. That takes away a lot of the searching with your eyes. Listening is the key. Day or night, you feel alone. Being a target, that's what you have to get used to.
Pulling Guard - The closest stateside experience to pulling guard is barracks fireguard duty. That's a one hour shift in a barracks to make sure there isn't a fire and to wake everyone if there is a fire. With 40 guys in a barracks, you might get fireguard once a week. Guys fall asleep and sometimes you don't pull fireguard at all. Once you're in the field in Vietnam you can forget about a good night's sleep. If we were lucky there were 4 guys to a position so we had at one two hour shift or two +1 hour shifts. If there was only 3 we had two 1 1/2 hour shifts. It's wasn't likely anyone could stay awake for 3 straight hours. Keep in mind guard comes after humping all day in the heat. It's hard not to be exhausted.
We usually stopped for the night late so there wasn't time to dig a foxhole. We tried to find some cover behind a wall, rock pile or brush but sometimes we were just sitting in the open. Unless there was a full moon it was tough to see anything. So guard was just sitting, trying to stay awake, and listening. The early warning theory applied. The worst time was during monsoon season. The rain was so steady you couldn't see, couldn't hear. I passed the time playing songs in my head.
One of the most important awards to us was the Combat Infantry Badge. It was the one medal that only infantrymen could earn. Unlike the ribbons that represented other medals, a CIB was metal. It was about 3 inches long and was a blue rectangular bar with a silver musket superimposed on the bar and an oak wreath behind the bar. Blue is the Army color designating infantry. A CIB was earned when a soldier engaged in active ground combat, a firefight. Glyn and I got orders awarding the CIB August 30, 1969, but we had earned it much earlier. We earned it but did not actually receive the medal. The CIB was a nice looking medal but not something to be warn on jungle fatigues. But being proud of having earned it I wanted to come up with something that I could wear on my fatigues. M-16 rounds come with cloth bandoliers with a strap connected to each end of the bandoliers and a large, black safety pin on the strap. We filled the bandoliers with M-16 magazines. You could wear the bandolier like a sling or pin the strap to the middle of the bandolier, stick your arms through the holes and wear it to protect your chest. I thought that pin because of its connection to the M-16, the weapon of choice for the infantry, could be the symbolic CIB. So I started to wear a safety pin on the pocket flap of my fatigues. It caught on and others who had earned CIBs did the same.
Donut Dollies, Postscript
Submitted June 5, 2015
Glyn has told the story about his rudeness to a Donut Dolly. No question, that was wrong. But some context might help to understand why he reacted the way he did. Not excuse, but understand.
For those that don't know, Donut Dollies were young female volunteers, probably early 20's, working for the USO. Usually they were stationed in large base areas like Chu Lai, Da Nang and Saigon, places where troops could go and hear music and write letters - that kind of thing. There were refreshments - coffee and soft drinks and yes sometimes doughnuts. The Donut Dollies were doing their bit for GIs trying to raise morale. They could not do the one thing that most GIs who saw them wanted, but that was understandable.
So on occasion they would come to Hill 411 to, as Glyn said, try to make us forget the war for a couple of hours. It was a task doomed to fail. Hill 411 was a huge rock pile in the middle of Quang Ngai valley with bunkers all around. There was an artillery battery so every so often the guns would fire. The mess hall was a tent. There were no other women, no civilians. Everything was olive drab - tents, bunkers, trucks, clothes. And we were dirty and smelly. There were no showers. We washed in a helmet. Shaved as little as possible. We got clean clothes about every two weeks, not neatly pressed fatigues but wrinkled and sometime torn fatigues. Look at the pictures on this site, you get the idea.
Donut Dollies were annoyingly perky. Maybe they were genuinely made that way, or maybe they were good actors for their two hour gig. I believe their hearts were in the right place but no one wanted to associate with them. We saw very few round eyes, our term for American women (sorry for the unpolitical correct reference but that's what it was) and seeing them made us miss home more.
One time we were on the Hill and a message came over the radio that the Donut Dollies had arrived and were in the mess hall and all were welcome. About 15 minutes later we got another message. This time we were told each platoon had to send some guys to the mess hall. This was one of the few times I pulled rank. I "ordered" Pete Zink, Gary Morris, Manny and a couple other guys to go see the Donut Dollies. They came back laughing telling me what a "good time" they had had making paper whales and singing songs - not Motown or anything popular but traditional songs like "Oh Sussanah." The Dollies had cake and punch to drink. The guys probably had flashbacks to sixth grade.
My point about the Donut Dollies is that their whole presence was artificial and flashing a smile didn't do anything for us. We just didn't feel like playing along. Glyn reacted out of frustration and a little while later the Donut Dolly got on a chopper and probably went back to her air conditioned room, bed with clean sheets and TV. As we used to say, no big thing.
Submitted June 5, 2015
Glyn has told the story about his rudeness to a Donut Dolly. No question, that was wrong. But some context might help to understand why he reacted the way he did. Not excuse, but understand.
For those that don't know, Donut Dollies were young female volunteers, probably early 20's, working for the USO. Usually they were stationed in large base areas like Chu Lai, Da Nang and Saigon, places where troops could go and hear music and write letters - that kind of thing. There were refreshments - coffee and soft drinks and yes sometimes doughnuts. The Donut Dollies were doing their bit for GIs trying to raise morale. They could not do the one thing that most GIs who saw them wanted, but that was understandable.
So on occasion they would come to Hill 411 to, as Glyn said, try to make us forget the war for a couple of hours. It was a task doomed to fail. Hill 411 was a huge rock pile in the middle of Quang Ngai valley with bunkers all around. There was an artillery battery so every so often the guns would fire. The mess hall was a tent. There were no other women, no civilians. Everything was olive drab - tents, bunkers, trucks, clothes. And we were dirty and smelly. There were no showers. We washed in a helmet. Shaved as little as possible. We got clean clothes about every two weeks, not neatly pressed fatigues but wrinkled and sometime torn fatigues. Look at the pictures on this site, you get the idea.
Donut Dollies were annoyingly perky. Maybe they were genuinely made that way, or maybe they were good actors for their two hour gig. I believe their hearts were in the right place but no one wanted to associate with them. We saw very few round eyes, our term for American women (sorry for the unpolitical correct reference but that's what it was) and seeing them made us miss home more.
One time we were on the Hill and a message came over the radio that the Donut Dollies had arrived and were in the mess hall and all were welcome. About 15 minutes later we got another message. This time we were told each platoon had to send some guys to the mess hall. This was one of the few times I pulled rank. I "ordered" Pete Zink, Gary Morris, Manny and a couple other guys to go see the Donut Dollies. They came back laughing telling me what a "good time" they had had making paper whales and singing songs - not Motown or anything popular but traditional songs like "Oh Sussanah." The Dollies had cake and punch to drink. The guys probably had flashbacks to sixth grade.
My point about the Donut Dollies is that their whole presence was artificial and flashing a smile didn't do anything for us. We just didn't feel like playing along. Glyn reacted out of frustration and a little while later the Donut Dolly got on a chopper and probably went back to her air conditioned room, bed with clean sheets and TV. As we used to say, no big thing.
Good Luck Charm
Submitted June 15, 2015
Most guys in Vietnam had a good luck charm. Hey, anything to give you an edge. Glyn's was a handmade Peace symbol given to him by another soldier. Glyn will always cherish that gift. My good luck charm was a lot less special. It was an AK-47 round that I had found. I carried it in my pocket everyday. I even took it on R & R. The thought behind this good luck charm was that this might be the bullet that had my name on it. As long as I had it and not the VC/NVA I would be safe. In hindsight I didn't think that through. It didn't account for rockets, grenades, mortars, booby traps and other ways to be killed. Nothing I could have done about it anyway. Carrying all that stuff around would have been a bit much.
Submitted June 15, 2015
Most guys in Vietnam had a good luck charm. Hey, anything to give you an edge. Glyn's was a handmade Peace symbol given to him by another soldier. Glyn will always cherish that gift. My good luck charm was a lot less special. It was an AK-47 round that I had found. I carried it in my pocket everyday. I even took it on R & R. The thought behind this good luck charm was that this might be the bullet that had my name on it. As long as I had it and not the VC/NVA I would be safe. In hindsight I didn't think that through. It didn't account for rockets, grenades, mortars, booby traps and other ways to be killed. Nothing I could have done about it anyway. Carrying all that stuff around would have been a bit much.
Bush Hat
Submitted June 15, 2015
When I returned to Vietnam in May 1969 following my emergency leave I had a hard time adjusting to the heat. We humped all day in the heat, sometimes around the flat lands and some days up and down the hills in the area around LZ Charlie Brown. When we stopped to rest Sgt. Plummer would check on me for signs of heat exhaustion or heat stroke. I was usually low on water because I drank a lot and made the mistake of taking only two canteens to the field so Sgt. Plummer also shared his canteen with me. And he would let me wear his bush hat. The ripstop cloth hat was much cooler than a steel helmet and kept the sun off my head and neck. Later when we were working near a ville the locals approached us to buy their usual ware: Coke, cigarettes, lighters, silk clothing. I didn't want any of that but asked if they had bush hats. One of the vendors went away and came back later with 2 bush hats. For $6 MPC (Military Pay Currency) I bought two hats. I kept one and wore it my whole tour. It kept the sun off my head and was also good during monsoons to keep the rain off my head and neck. The other hat I sent home to my brother Jack. Mine has been stored all these years. I think Jack's wore out long ago. It was ironic that the Army wouldn't issue us bush hats and we couldn't buy them in the PX but the Vietnamese had them to sell.
Submitted June 15, 2015
When I returned to Vietnam in May 1969 following my emergency leave I had a hard time adjusting to the heat. We humped all day in the heat, sometimes around the flat lands and some days up and down the hills in the area around LZ Charlie Brown. When we stopped to rest Sgt. Plummer would check on me for signs of heat exhaustion or heat stroke. I was usually low on water because I drank a lot and made the mistake of taking only two canteens to the field so Sgt. Plummer also shared his canteen with me. And he would let me wear his bush hat. The ripstop cloth hat was much cooler than a steel helmet and kept the sun off my head and neck. Later when we were working near a ville the locals approached us to buy their usual ware: Coke, cigarettes, lighters, silk clothing. I didn't want any of that but asked if they had bush hats. One of the vendors went away and came back later with 2 bush hats. For $6 MPC (Military Pay Currency) I bought two hats. I kept one and wore it my whole tour. It kept the sun off my head and was also good during monsoons to keep the rain off my head and neck. The other hat I sent home to my brother Jack. Mine has been stored all these years. I think Jack's wore out long ago. It was ironic that the Army wouldn't issue us bush hats and we couldn't buy them in the PX but the Vietnamese had them to sell.
Best Friend
Submitted June 28, 2015
Glyn Haynie has been my best friend for 46 years. We met when I was leaving Chu Lai for an emergency leave. Glyn was at the Americal Division Combat Center waiting for reassignment. He and his brother Wayne arrived in-country together. The Army's rules allowed only one brother to serve in combat at a time so they remained at the Combat Center pending what would be Wayne's transfer out of Vietnam. Glyn was working in a supply hut and I turned my field gear over to him before I left on leave. I had no way of knowing then that I would ever see him again.
I next saw Glyn when I joined the first platoon guarding the bridge on Highway 1 near LZ Charlie Brown. I didn't recognize him as the guy I had "met" briefly on my way home. The young, clean cut guy from Chu Lai was just another GI with loose fitting jungle fatigues, nothing about him stood out. Glyn was in 1st squad and I was assigned to 2nd squad. The squads didn't interact much so neither of us was aware of our "history."
Sometime later, about the middle of June, I overheard a conversation between Lt. Baxter and the two first platoon squad leaders. I can't recall the exact words but the conversation was about a guy in first squad that was a problem. The squad leader didn't think much of the guy and was frustrated having to deal with him. As a result they agreed to move Chuck Council to 1st squad and we got the "misfit." Chuck was told of the move, got his gear together and moved over to 1st squad. From the way Lt. Baxter and the others talked I expected the guy we were getting was some big, belligerent S.O.B. What we got was this skinny, no-hip kid with an easy smile, Glyn Haynie.
The bond was almost immediate. Whether by design or by chance we started being assigned things together. "Dankert and Haynie" became one word "Dankert-Haynie." OP, LP, unloading choppers, or following an order "to check it out" we did things together. When Glyn walked point I was second. I wasn't looking for a buddy, but we just clicked. We ate together, pulled guard together and on standdown we partied together. We got each of our promotions at the same time. On August 13 we did our Audie Murphy thing together and got citations on standdown in Chu Lai standing next to each other. If you believe in such things it was my question to Lt. Baxter about Glyn, saying his name, that guided him back from that long tunnel on August 15. From June to December 1969 we seldom never far apart.
I'd like to say that I would have done anything for Glyn, but that's not true. There was the time we were working the mountains and stopped along the trail to rest. Glyn laughed at me and the other guys picking leeches off our legs and boots until he undid his fly to relieve himself. He held out a bloody hand and screamed for someone to help him get the leeches off his privates. Sorry, this time my best friend was on his own.
I wouldn't do "anything" for Glyn but I would have given my life for him. On August 13 I thought that might happen. We were hit hard, something had to be done. I couldn't let Glyn go where 3 others had been killed and 1 seriously wounded. He had already done enough. So I took a risk and it worked out. Later during the monsoon season we put our ponchos together each night and made a hooch. Glyn joked that I had to sleep in front so that if anything came into the hooch I got it first. Joke or not, that's what I did.
I've been asked how I made it through Vietnam. The answer is Glyn. I learned from Lt. Baxter and Jack Lanzer and Jerry Ofstedahl but Glyn was with me each day and night. Glyn picked me up when I was feeling down, put up with my moods, kept my excesses in check and watched my back. He became my brother. I looked out for him too. I would have been very sad if something had happened to him. Ok, he let me down by not going on R & R to Hawaii with me to entertain my mother so I could be alone with my girlfriend but I have forgiven him. A guy saves your life you have to cut him some slack.
Glyn left the field before me for a job at Division in Chu Lai. I missed him, but was happy for him. I eventually got a job at Duc Pho. We talked on the phone and I visited him on my way to R & R and when I could get up to Chu Lai. I had planned to see him in March 1970 before his DEROS. I got to Chu Lai just in time to see him before he left. He had an early out so our last meeting was cut short. The night he left I sat in the same spot I had sat almost a year earlier. Looking out at the South China Sea I cried wondering if I would ever see him again.
After we got back to the "world" we stayed loosely connected. We talked on the phone a few times. I saw him in South Carolina at Fort Jackson. At that time, and for a while after, both of our lives were in transition so we didn't meet again until the first Hill 4-11 reunion in St. Louis in 1985. It had been a while but it was like we hadn't been apart. My best friend was back. A little grayer, maybe a pound or two more but the same guy who became my brother. Since then we've stayed in touch seeing each other every other year. I've been fortunate enough to attend two of his sons' wedding. A few years back we decided to meet each year. And that's the way it will be until we share our last drink of Makers Mark.
I have been lucky in my life to meet people who I have admired and who have become the standard by which I judge others. Lt. Baxter is the standard by which all the officers I served with are evaluated. Glyn was the top troop. There was never any question in my mind that he could soldier. His Silver Star is proof of that. On August 15th he could have left the field in a Medevac but stayed. My biggest regret is that I did not stay with him.
Glyn was, and is, my best friend. I always knew I could count on him to watch out for me then, and know that if needed he will be there for me and my family now.
Submitted June 28, 2015
Glyn Haynie has been my best friend for 46 years. We met when I was leaving Chu Lai for an emergency leave. Glyn was at the Americal Division Combat Center waiting for reassignment. He and his brother Wayne arrived in-country together. The Army's rules allowed only one brother to serve in combat at a time so they remained at the Combat Center pending what would be Wayne's transfer out of Vietnam. Glyn was working in a supply hut and I turned my field gear over to him before I left on leave. I had no way of knowing then that I would ever see him again.
I next saw Glyn when I joined the first platoon guarding the bridge on Highway 1 near LZ Charlie Brown. I didn't recognize him as the guy I had "met" briefly on my way home. The young, clean cut guy from Chu Lai was just another GI with loose fitting jungle fatigues, nothing about him stood out. Glyn was in 1st squad and I was assigned to 2nd squad. The squads didn't interact much so neither of us was aware of our "history."
Sometime later, about the middle of June, I overheard a conversation between Lt. Baxter and the two first platoon squad leaders. I can't recall the exact words but the conversation was about a guy in first squad that was a problem. The squad leader didn't think much of the guy and was frustrated having to deal with him. As a result they agreed to move Chuck Council to 1st squad and we got the "misfit." Chuck was told of the move, got his gear together and moved over to 1st squad. From the way Lt. Baxter and the others talked I expected the guy we were getting was some big, belligerent S.O.B. What we got was this skinny, no-hip kid with an easy smile, Glyn Haynie.
The bond was almost immediate. Whether by design or by chance we started being assigned things together. "Dankert and Haynie" became one word "Dankert-Haynie." OP, LP, unloading choppers, or following an order "to check it out" we did things together. When Glyn walked point I was second. I wasn't looking for a buddy, but we just clicked. We ate together, pulled guard together and on standdown we partied together. We got each of our promotions at the same time. On August 13 we did our Audie Murphy thing together and got citations on standdown in Chu Lai standing next to each other. If you believe in such things it was my question to Lt. Baxter about Glyn, saying his name, that guided him back from that long tunnel on August 15. From June to December 1969 we seldom never far apart.
I'd like to say that I would have done anything for Glyn, but that's not true. There was the time we were working the mountains and stopped along the trail to rest. Glyn laughed at me and the other guys picking leeches off our legs and boots until he undid his fly to relieve himself. He held out a bloody hand and screamed for someone to help him get the leeches off his privates. Sorry, this time my best friend was on his own.
I wouldn't do "anything" for Glyn but I would have given my life for him. On August 13 I thought that might happen. We were hit hard, something had to be done. I couldn't let Glyn go where 3 others had been killed and 1 seriously wounded. He had already done enough. So I took a risk and it worked out. Later during the monsoon season we put our ponchos together each night and made a hooch. Glyn joked that I had to sleep in front so that if anything came into the hooch I got it first. Joke or not, that's what I did.
I've been asked how I made it through Vietnam. The answer is Glyn. I learned from Lt. Baxter and Jack Lanzer and Jerry Ofstedahl but Glyn was with me each day and night. Glyn picked me up when I was feeling down, put up with my moods, kept my excesses in check and watched my back. He became my brother. I looked out for him too. I would have been very sad if something had happened to him. Ok, he let me down by not going on R & R to Hawaii with me to entertain my mother so I could be alone with my girlfriend but I have forgiven him. A guy saves your life you have to cut him some slack.
Glyn left the field before me for a job at Division in Chu Lai. I missed him, but was happy for him. I eventually got a job at Duc Pho. We talked on the phone and I visited him on my way to R & R and when I could get up to Chu Lai. I had planned to see him in March 1970 before his DEROS. I got to Chu Lai just in time to see him before he left. He had an early out so our last meeting was cut short. The night he left I sat in the same spot I had sat almost a year earlier. Looking out at the South China Sea I cried wondering if I would ever see him again.
After we got back to the "world" we stayed loosely connected. We talked on the phone a few times. I saw him in South Carolina at Fort Jackson. At that time, and for a while after, both of our lives were in transition so we didn't meet again until the first Hill 4-11 reunion in St. Louis in 1985. It had been a while but it was like we hadn't been apart. My best friend was back. A little grayer, maybe a pound or two more but the same guy who became my brother. Since then we've stayed in touch seeing each other every other year. I've been fortunate enough to attend two of his sons' wedding. A few years back we decided to meet each year. And that's the way it will be until we share our last drink of Makers Mark.
I have been lucky in my life to meet people who I have admired and who have become the standard by which I judge others. Lt. Baxter is the standard by which all the officers I served with are evaluated. Glyn was the top troop. There was never any question in my mind that he could soldier. His Silver Star is proof of that. On August 15th he could have left the field in a Medevac but stayed. My biggest regret is that I did not stay with him.
Glyn was, and is, my best friend. I always knew I could count on him to watch out for me then, and know that if needed he will be there for me and my family now.
Vietnam Crazy/For a Whopper
Submitted October 23, 2015
In May 1969 we were working off LZ Charlie Brown near an area we called the "Rocket Pocket." It was flat land near the South China Sea bordered by hills to the west. We spent time working the villes in the flatlands during the day and spent a few nights in the area near the sea.
One night that I recall one of the platoons, or at least a squad from the platoon, went out on ambush while the rest of the company night loggered. If I remember it right, the ambush was a ruse. The ambush team went out one side of the perimeter but as prearranged came back after dark and shared positions with another platoon. They helped pull guard and in the early morning hours went back out and came back in as if they had been out the whole night.
What was more memorable that night was me waking up to Jack Lanzer furiously kicking me. Jack claimed to have seen a scorpion crawl into the poncho I was sleeping on. I never saw a scorpion, dead or alive. Jack figured as long as I was awake I might as well pull guard. Jack was a Vet and I was an FNG so I said nothing and took my turn on guard.
Highway 1 ran along and near the coast in our AO. Not far from the "Rocket Pocket" there was a section that had two high hills on the east and west sides of the highway. We spent time on the western hillside and named it LZ Terror after "Tyson's Terrors" the nickname we had for our company derived from the name of our company commander, Capt. Robert Tyson. The hill was brushy with some small trees. We dug a few shallow fox holes for cover in the days we spent there.
One of the missions I went on from this hill was to man an OP (observation post) on the hill opposite us. Probably our whole squad and an RTO went on the mission but I recall Jack Jurgensen, Dennis Rowe (our M-60 gunner), Bruce Tufts (M-79) and Jerry Ofstedahl. We went down our hill, crossed Highway 1 and climbed the hill to take our positions and observe the flatlands. A couple of nights before Bravo Company had been on the OP hill. From our hill across from them we watched as they were attacked, by Viet Cong. We could see the flash of the grenades (and probably satchel charge) explosions and the tracers from the M-60s fired by B Company. B Company's hill was pretty barren. No trees or brush and not much grass. There were holes and trenches that had been dug some time before, possibly when another American force occupied the hill. The hole and trench edges were now sloped and half filled in. Monsoons had eroded the bare ground and had started to fill in the holes. We guessed that the Viet Cong used the trenches as cover to get close to B Company positions and from there fired and lobbed grenades on B Company. We could see dried blood on the ground near the trenches and the center of the hill.
The day on OP was uneventful. We saw no VC or NVA moving in the flat land. What excitement we had came later in the day when Dennis Rowe jumped up and started yelling. He sat in a nest of ants and was covered with them below the waist. Dennis dropped his pants and we used the water in our canteens to wash them off. That took care of Dennis but caused a problem for us.
With no trees for shade or cover we spent the day in the sun. As the day wore on we got bored and started talking about home and what we missed. Not so unusual, but on this occasion things started to get a little crazy when we started talking about Whoppers, the Burger King sandwich - a flame broiled hamburger with lettuce, tomato, pickles, onions, ketchup and mayo. It was the favorite of everyone. A single Whopper was okay but a double was better. We started to obsess about them. We could remember exactly how they tasted and how good they were with french fries and a Coke. That led to a serious discussion about writing home to have Whoppers sent to us in a package. Dennis was sure we could get enough for everybody and if wrapped carefully would taste as good as we remembered them to be. As we talked we got hungrier and more thirsty. What we wanted were ice cold Cokes. What we needed was water. Thinking about what we didn't have made it worse. We were starting to feel desperate. About that time Jack took an entrenching tool and started to dig a hole to find water. It didn't occur to him he'd have to dig through a "mountain" of rock to find water. He just kept digging. Finally Jerry took charge and had us all sit down and "cool it" to avoid heat stroke. We finished our OP duty and went back to LZ Terror for much needed resupply.
I can't remember the last time I had a Whopper must be years. I don't remember it as being that good. I don't have any interest in having another.
Submitted October 23, 2015
In May 1969 we were working off LZ Charlie Brown near an area we called the "Rocket Pocket." It was flat land near the South China Sea bordered by hills to the west. We spent time working the villes in the flatlands during the day and spent a few nights in the area near the sea.
One night that I recall one of the platoons, or at least a squad from the platoon, went out on ambush while the rest of the company night loggered. If I remember it right, the ambush was a ruse. The ambush team went out one side of the perimeter but as prearranged came back after dark and shared positions with another platoon. They helped pull guard and in the early morning hours went back out and came back in as if they had been out the whole night.
What was more memorable that night was me waking up to Jack Lanzer furiously kicking me. Jack claimed to have seen a scorpion crawl into the poncho I was sleeping on. I never saw a scorpion, dead or alive. Jack figured as long as I was awake I might as well pull guard. Jack was a Vet and I was an FNG so I said nothing and took my turn on guard.
Highway 1 ran along and near the coast in our AO. Not far from the "Rocket Pocket" there was a section that had two high hills on the east and west sides of the highway. We spent time on the western hillside and named it LZ Terror after "Tyson's Terrors" the nickname we had for our company derived from the name of our company commander, Capt. Robert Tyson. The hill was brushy with some small trees. We dug a few shallow fox holes for cover in the days we spent there.
One of the missions I went on from this hill was to man an OP (observation post) on the hill opposite us. Probably our whole squad and an RTO went on the mission but I recall Jack Jurgensen, Dennis Rowe (our M-60 gunner), Bruce Tufts (M-79) and Jerry Ofstedahl. We went down our hill, crossed Highway 1 and climbed the hill to take our positions and observe the flatlands. A couple of nights before Bravo Company had been on the OP hill. From our hill across from them we watched as they were attacked, by Viet Cong. We could see the flash of the grenades (and probably satchel charge) explosions and the tracers from the M-60s fired by B Company. B Company's hill was pretty barren. No trees or brush and not much grass. There were holes and trenches that had been dug some time before, possibly when another American force occupied the hill. The hole and trench edges were now sloped and half filled in. Monsoons had eroded the bare ground and had started to fill in the holes. We guessed that the Viet Cong used the trenches as cover to get close to B Company positions and from there fired and lobbed grenades on B Company. We could see dried blood on the ground near the trenches and the center of the hill.
The day on OP was uneventful. We saw no VC or NVA moving in the flat land. What excitement we had came later in the day when Dennis Rowe jumped up and started yelling. He sat in a nest of ants and was covered with them below the waist. Dennis dropped his pants and we used the water in our canteens to wash them off. That took care of Dennis but caused a problem for us.
With no trees for shade or cover we spent the day in the sun. As the day wore on we got bored and started talking about home and what we missed. Not so unusual, but on this occasion things started to get a little crazy when we started talking about Whoppers, the Burger King sandwich - a flame broiled hamburger with lettuce, tomato, pickles, onions, ketchup and mayo. It was the favorite of everyone. A single Whopper was okay but a double was better. We started to obsess about them. We could remember exactly how they tasted and how good they were with french fries and a Coke. That led to a serious discussion about writing home to have Whoppers sent to us in a package. Dennis was sure we could get enough for everybody and if wrapped carefully would taste as good as we remembered them to be. As we talked we got hungrier and more thirsty. What we wanted were ice cold Cokes. What we needed was water. Thinking about what we didn't have made it worse. We were starting to feel desperate. About that time Jack took an entrenching tool and started to dig a hole to find water. It didn't occur to him he'd have to dig through a "mountain" of rock to find water. He just kept digging. Finally Jerry took charge and had us all sit down and "cool it" to avoid heat stroke. We finished our OP duty and went back to LZ Terror for much needed resupply.
I can't remember the last time I had a Whopper must be years. I don't remember it as being that good. I don't have any interest in having another.
Memorial Trip
Submitted October 27, 2015
In the mid 90's when I was the State Wage and Hour Division Chief I visited my counterpart in the Kentucky Labor Cabinet in Frankfort, KY. While I was there I visited the KY Vietnam Memorial. It is a large sundial on a base that includes passages from Ecclesiastes and the names of KY men killed in the Vietnam War. The gnomon, the upright part of the sundial, was placed so that it casts a shadow on the name of each soldier killed at noon on the anniversary of his death. On August 15, 1969, James Anderson, a young guy I served with was killed. James was a likeable guy with a wife and an infant daughter. In August he was new in-country so I was trying to look out for him. I told him I was going to teach him so he could take my place. On August 15 a command detonated mine exploded and killed him and three others and wounded several more. After seeing the memorial I decided I would come back and honor him on the anniversary of his death. I kept putting the visit off but this year (2015) I decided I would do it. On August 14 I drove the 6+ hours to Frankfort to spend the night so that I could be there at noon on the 15th. And I was there early on the 15th, about 11 am CDT. It was a beautiful day; clear blue sky and sunny. Temps in the 80's. The sun did cast a shadow on the names. I found James' name and placed a small flag in front of it so I could track the shadow as it drifted toward the name. I took pictures to track the path of the shadow. As I watched the shadow and the time, it became clear the shadow would not be in place over the name at noon. I talked to someone on the KY Memorial committee who was there and he told me the memorial was on "God's time", not daylight savings time, so it would be past noon before the shadow was in the right place. He also told me the original gnomon got warped and had to be replaced. So I waited some more. One o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock I waited for the shadow. I had planned to drive to Illinois for another memorial for Danny Carey, also killed on the 15th, but decided to stay there for James. Finally just before 4 o'clock the shadow was inching toward James' name. At that time a large cloud pattern appeared in an otherwise clear sky and blocked the sun. It stayed that way for about 20 minutes casting a shadow on the entire base of the memorial and darkening the whole memorial site. When the cloud moved away the shadow was past James' name. I had missed the effect I came to see. After 6+ hours of driving dodging orange barrels and lane closures due to construction and 5 hours of waiting and anticipation all I could do was laugh. I thought about what had happened and joked that the experience proved there was a God and He didn't like me much. I was there, James was there (in spirit) and God didn't do his part.
When I thought about it later it occurred to me that it was sunny at noon, God's time. The engineers must have made a mistake installing the second gnomon and if they had done it properly the shadow would have pointed to James' name at noon. Another thing, the mine that exploded on August 15, 1969 was detonated in the afternoon probably around 4pm. When it exploded there was a gray, gunpowder and dirt cloud that darkened that area in Vietnam before the cloud of smoke drifted away. I hadn't planned it but I was there for the actual anniversary of James' death. Just coincidences, I know.
I stayed in Kentucky until about 5 pm then headed west to Illinois to see Danny's memorial. It took another 6+ hours and driving through road construction to get to the motel near the memorial. I checked in, no restaurant nearby so had a snack and went to sleep. The next morning I headed to North Utica, IL and Mather State Park. Searching for information on the web I found Danny Carey Memorial Park linked to the state park. I looked around several locations in the park but did not find the memorial so I went to the Visitor's Center and got directions back to town and Danny's memorial - not connected at all to the state park. The Danny Carey Memorial Park is a nice little city park - a baseball field, pavilion, covered picnic shelter and a monument to those that have served. All are well maintained. Nice way to remember a small town guy. Having paid my respects I headed home.
Submitted October 27, 2015
In the mid 90's when I was the State Wage and Hour Division Chief I visited my counterpart in the Kentucky Labor Cabinet in Frankfort, KY. While I was there I visited the KY Vietnam Memorial. It is a large sundial on a base that includes passages from Ecclesiastes and the names of KY men killed in the Vietnam War. The gnomon, the upright part of the sundial, was placed so that it casts a shadow on the name of each soldier killed at noon on the anniversary of his death. On August 15, 1969, James Anderson, a young guy I served with was killed. James was a likeable guy with a wife and an infant daughter. In August he was new in-country so I was trying to look out for him. I told him I was going to teach him so he could take my place. On August 15 a command detonated mine exploded and killed him and three others and wounded several more. After seeing the memorial I decided I would come back and honor him on the anniversary of his death. I kept putting the visit off but this year (2015) I decided I would do it. On August 14 I drove the 6+ hours to Frankfort to spend the night so that I could be there at noon on the 15th. And I was there early on the 15th, about 11 am CDT. It was a beautiful day; clear blue sky and sunny. Temps in the 80's. The sun did cast a shadow on the names. I found James' name and placed a small flag in front of it so I could track the shadow as it drifted toward the name. I took pictures to track the path of the shadow. As I watched the shadow and the time, it became clear the shadow would not be in place over the name at noon. I talked to someone on the KY Memorial committee who was there and he told me the memorial was on "God's time", not daylight savings time, so it would be past noon before the shadow was in the right place. He also told me the original gnomon got warped and had to be replaced. So I waited some more. One o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock I waited for the shadow. I had planned to drive to Illinois for another memorial for Danny Carey, also killed on the 15th, but decided to stay there for James. Finally just before 4 o'clock the shadow was inching toward James' name. At that time a large cloud pattern appeared in an otherwise clear sky and blocked the sun. It stayed that way for about 20 minutes casting a shadow on the entire base of the memorial and darkening the whole memorial site. When the cloud moved away the shadow was past James' name. I had missed the effect I came to see. After 6+ hours of driving dodging orange barrels and lane closures due to construction and 5 hours of waiting and anticipation all I could do was laugh. I thought about what had happened and joked that the experience proved there was a God and He didn't like me much. I was there, James was there (in spirit) and God didn't do his part.
When I thought about it later it occurred to me that it was sunny at noon, God's time. The engineers must have made a mistake installing the second gnomon and if they had done it properly the shadow would have pointed to James' name at noon. Another thing, the mine that exploded on August 15, 1969 was detonated in the afternoon probably around 4pm. When it exploded there was a gray, gunpowder and dirt cloud that darkened that area in Vietnam before the cloud of smoke drifted away. I hadn't planned it but I was there for the actual anniversary of James' death. Just coincidences, I know.
I stayed in Kentucky until about 5 pm then headed west to Illinois to see Danny's memorial. It took another 6+ hours and driving through road construction to get to the motel near the memorial. I checked in, no restaurant nearby so had a snack and went to sleep. The next morning I headed to North Utica, IL and Mather State Park. Searching for information on the web I found Danny Carey Memorial Park linked to the state park. I looked around several locations in the park but did not find the memorial so I went to the Visitor's Center and got directions back to town and Danny's memorial - not connected at all to the state park. The Danny Carey Memorial Park is a nice little city park - a baseball field, pavilion, covered picnic shelter and a monument to those that have served. All are well maintained. Nice way to remember a small town guy. Having paid my respects I headed home.