Michael Lansford: Part 3: The KIA

Michael Lansford

To me, combat Medics were and are the absolute bravest people on the planet. One saved my life, too, after the Hill. No matter what, they are coming to get you.

CJ, I am very humbled to know your husband was a combat medic. They are my real heroes from over there. Medevacs were cut from the same cloth.

I remember one time, one called us for a sit-rep on our LZ. I told him it was "hot-hot-hot".

His reply, "Unheat it for 30 seconds, but I'm coming in for extraction anyway." It was some of the best flying I ever saw.

Later, little did I know, they would be coming for me, too -- and that's when we got shot down. Eight of us were in the chopper and three survived:  me, the pilot and one door gunner. The pilot calmly called for another chopper and he still got me out and I never even knew his name, nor he mine.  They were our lifelines, our everything.

Chopper Michael got shot down in

We all have so many stories to tell about everything and some do talk, some can't, and some like myself are still learning how to.

We can get lots of help, but ultimately, we have to heal ourselves in our own ways. Oddly enough, we all have most of the same experiences, yet we are all very different inside. Guess that's what makes us who we are.

I have a couple of stories on my mind today. One shows and tells the bad side of how we were treated by our own officers, at least some of them, and that's what I will write about first.

My original Captain was the best. He got out in the jungle with us, no matter what. We still keep in touch. Anyway, he Derosed back to another duty around August. I had just come back from DaNang from my repairs.

We learned our new captain hated his new duty, and us, so he took it out on us every chance he got. Naturally, I became his #1 target. So, with that mindset, here is story one:

We were out on this remote fire base one clear morning, when a chopper dropped in and set a KIA off on the pad. His body laid there all day long.  So that evening, I went up and sat with him, prayed for him, and even talked to him.

He was completely covered with a blood soaked poncho. He had no tags in his boots (we wore ours there), but that's another story also. The only thing sticking out from under that poncho was his boots.

The longer I sat there, I made up my mind that I wouldn't leave him. We chatted all night and not one person came to check on who he was, nothing.

The next morning, here comes the mail chopper, so I carried him up to it and they refused to allow a dead body on their pretty chopper. (These guys were rear echelon and they lived like they were stateside).

So, I locked and loaded my weapon and informed them that yes, they were taking him in and I would be with him to make sure he got home.

Naturally, when we hit the pad at base, I was met by the New Captain and the SGT Major who had it in for me also. For some reason, I had a knack of making the people in the rear dislike me immensely. I still have that problem today -- just the way I am, I guess.

Anyway, I told them I was taking this troop to graves registration and I needed a jeep. They denied my request and ordered me back to the chopper. I said, "Sure sir, be right there." and I took off with the body and the jeep.

Graves registration did a masterful job of caring for this man. They asked me if I was part of his unit, so I explained the situation. They were shocked that a total stranger would do what I did. It didn't seem strange to me. He needed to be home and I made sure he would get there. I never knew his name, unit, or nothing, ever.

Meanwhile, back at base, they were waiting for me. I got an Article 15, had my stripes taken away, my pay cut, and I did every rotten duty on base until I could get back in the field. As an added punishment, all of my mail was refused me, along with any supplies, clothes, and meds I needed until the day I walked out of there in December.

Even to this day, I think about that soldier that no one knew, or checked on, or nothing. I have wondered, would that have been my fate also, knowing the hatred for me by my superiors for no reason, just because I cared enough to get someone home to their family? This was one of the promises I made 45 yrs ago, to NEVER forget any of them.

My original commander is on here. He's a real stand up guy. Whenever we went anywhere, he was always with us. He backed us all the way. His name is Roger Dent retired LT CDR. I still call him "sir". He knows more about us than anyone.

One final thought on the troop I brought in. Like I said, he had no ID, unless his tags were in his teeth or shirt. We wore ours in each boot, an option that worked well for us.

When I got him to graves registration, they started asking questions that I had no answers for: name, rank, race, unit, etc. The guy at the morgue asked me if I wanted to wait and learn who he was. All I told him was, "We already know each other very well and names mean nothing to us".

He knew I was there, God knew I was there, and he is in my heart forever, along with all the rest that I lost.  As I stated before, I will always remember them all and I NEVER will forget them. Promise made, promise kept 45 yrs., so far.

I did write a little note for his family simply saying how sorry I was for their loss and that he didn't die alone. I signed it simply, "SURFER, Vietnam '69". I got a nickname like we all did, and mine was from always talking about living on a beach and surfing.

I'm sure they had a hard time making sense of how someone from Texas would have a beach and surf, instead of having horses, cows, oil fields, ranches, etc. Funny stuff, I guess.

My story about the unknown troop was so very hard to write about.  It's just one of those things I have kept with me all these years. It has no political meaning, no real value, nothing to gain from it.  I just want people to know we lost many, many people out there the same way.

I felt he deserved better treatment than what I was seeing. I never left his side all night and until I got him home. Nothing heroic, just compassion for the loss, but I catch myself now days when I see pictures of The Wall and I wonder which one he is, where he was from, and did his family know he was taken care of?  Things like that. 

They are questions that will never be answered in this lifetime.  I know I'll see him again some day, along with everyone else we lost.  I hope I am remembered in the same way.  

Thanks again for listening.  Just old stuff from an old guy.


Other Posts by Michael Lansford:

In My Own Words: Part 1

In My Own Words: Part 2

Hill 937: Part 4

Coming Home

Remembering The Wall

"Leavings at The Wall"

Life Prepared me for Vietnam

FNG Initiation and Humor

Life in the Jungle

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

Michael Lansford: In My Own Words, Part 2

CJ, I have another story I want to share with you. No one has ever known this, except me and my people. It's one of those "being at the right time and in the right place" kind of things.

I used to make hot chocolate for my team at night to keep them awake. So one friend, his name was Danny Mc Grady from North Carolina, wrote his wife all about it.

This one day, on fire base Currahee, I was at the front of this 155 that had armor plating on it to block shrapnel.  I was talking to a friend beside me named Michael Allen Hawk (His name is on panel 20w row 20) from Black Diamond Washington. You know, just chit chat.

Then Danny called my name from behind the armor plating.  He said his wife wrote me a letter thanking me for keeping everyone alive [with hot chocolate].

As soon as I walked around to the other side of that plate, Michael took a direct hit from a mortar and he was gone. All we found was one boot. I had just been there, standing right beside him.

All these years, I have thought about that moment and wondered about that letter, how it arrived from North Carolina exactly at that moment and saved my life. What if it had been earlier, or later?

Just one thing in my world I deal with. There are many other stories like it. We all have them, but I'm still amazed at the timing.

I told Danny that his wife and he save my life -- another debt I can never repay. We were blown away from the blast, but not a scratch.

My grandmother always said there were 2 angels watching over me 24/7. She was right. I still live with that now along with other ironic things.

No one has ever known this until now. Guess I'm doing better on here.

I made my promise to all my team to never forget them. There are other stories like this also, just different people.

I remember one time we were getting mortared, so I barely had time to jump into a small fighting hole someone had just started to dig. The mortars were walking in straight to me, when I heard the last one swish in and go thump right there in the hole with me. It just didn't go off. That was the last one they fired that day. I was too scared to be scared. 

Same fire base in Ashau Valley, Currahee. This was strategic as it blocked off the Ho Chi Minh Trail so if the NVA decided to overrun us, no one would come into the valley at night to help. Ironically, Da Nang called for sit-rep. 

Our reply was that we were surrounded and 155's had tubes pointed straight out with 1/2 second delay on rounds. We had about 150 on the fire base and we were low on ammo, etc. 

They sent us Puff the Magic Dragon. I never saw him til then -- heard, but not witnessed.

We were down to hand to hand when he came in, circled the base, and put rounds up close and personal. The war was over then for that night. 

The body count the next day was over 7000.  We lost five, but there were lots of injuries, me included.  I got stabbed in the side from behind, but a buddy saved me again. We all did that though. I did too. I never forgot that either. We were goners except for one airplane from 70 miles away. 

Thanks again for listening. First time I have ever spoke of any of this, but like I said, we all have the same stories, just different A.O.'s

CJ:  Michael,  Your writing is good. It's clear, crisp, and factual. It's so hard to believe you haven't shared it before now.

I guess like most of us, I have kept quiet and withdrawn, due to the negative world we came back to. We couldn't and wouldn't talk about anything for fear of people lashing out at us.  For the most part our country thought of us as failures and losers. 

I had many a job I applied for and was turned down because I was a Vietnam Vet. I remember going down to the local VFW back then and I was turned away because, as they said, "We don't let losers in here."  And that was from WWII people I had, and still have, the utmost respect for. I still have the denial papers.

Even in my little town, most hated me -- and I grew up there. My Mom showed me a letter from townspeople who wrote her letters telling her they hoped I never came home and I deserved to die there, as I was all the bad things they heard about and not a good example for their community. 

She was smart enough to never tell me who said it though. I guess that hurt the most. Out of our whole town, only four of us went. All came home. Three of us were hurt pretty bad, but all we had were each other to call friends.

I am still close to one of them. I love him like a brother. He was a door gunner/crew chief and flew air support for the 9th infantry at Bear Cat in the Delta. I saw the documentary on it and what they went through made my world seem trivial. They had it bad, same as other hills, valleys, etc. 

My answer to that, I moved away and I never went back, except to bury my folks. We're talking about a very small town here.  There were 23 in my class and the whole school, from 1st grade to seniors, had a total of 200.

Yet through it all, I never was mad at anyone for how we were treated.  In my mind, they had no clue as to what we lived. I didn't even get a chance to breathe after high school.  I was drafted the day after I graduated.  There I was, 18, naive, scared, lost, and suddenly thrown into a world that defies description. I learned to grow up and live things unheard of.  

I was home at 20 and the first thing my Mom said was, "You've changed.  You look old and tired."  I felt it too, and lo and behold, I was told by people right away that I was too young to buy beer. I didn't drink anyway, but it was the principal of it. 

I was also told flat out that I couldn't vote, because I was not mature enough to make decisions that would affect my future life. All I thought was, how could I be mature enough to do what I did every day and be immature and not responsible? For the record though, I have never drank, smoked, or done drugs. It was and still is everywhere, but I just never wanted to.  Just options we have, and those are mine.  

I never, ever was a baby killer. I hate that term. It took me a long time to decide how to respond to that question when it got asked, but I had to deal with it, even to this day.  If there are any issues with anyone I am around, that's the first thing out of their mouth.  Some things will never change, and I'm sure it will always be in the back of peoples' minds about us.

My response is, "Put yourself in a hypothetical situation, one that we all lived.  Here comes a small child, (you pick the gender), and they have 40 lbs of lit dynamite, or C4, strapped to them and they are running straight to you and everyone that is either your best friend, family, or anything else you care about.  

So now what do you do?  You have ten seconds or less to make a decision.  Either way, the child dies.  Each one responded, saying they would kill the child.  So then I tell them, "Now you're a baby killer for the rest of your life." 

You know more than any of us, we had to make choices right then about life or death, (pick one), but either way, one choice will be made. I can't even count how many tuff guys came into our group talking trash, being bad, and I told them, "After today, when you are out in the jungle, you will find out who and what you are made of and what you're willing to do." 

Most turned out to be just that:  all talk, no walk. If you had ever seen any of my people, you couldn't pick out what they could do. Each one was always there and would give their life for you and do whatever it took to eliminate the enemy. 

Most of us looked like we wouldn't hurt a bird, but when the chips were down, we were all business. I think I am writing a book here, sorry. 

Now talking to you and knowing your sacrifice, I can talk to you in peace. All Vets feel this way. We can talk to anyone that lived in our world, as each truly understands what we are saying from our hearts. We don't brag, we just know each of us paid our dues and like I told you, CJ, yours are paid in full.

Thank you, Michael.  Thank you so much. ~CJ


Other Posts by Michael Lansford:

In My Own Words: Part 1

Part 3: The KIA

Hill 937: Part 4

Coming Home

Remembering The Wall

"Leavings at The Wall"

Life Prepared me for Vietnam

FNG Initiation and Humor

Life in the Jungle

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale