Fire Base Kathryn: RVN April 1970

Fire Base Kathryn, Vietnam War

by Byron Edgington

I’ll never forget my first girl. I’ll never forget Kathryn, either. Kathryn—the name of a fire base in northern I-Corps in the Republic of Vietnam.

The stated mission that day was to put troops on her mountaintop crag. The real mission was to educate me, a brand new Warrant Officer pilot, on the professionalism and capability of my ‘enemy,’ the North Vietnamese.

April 10th 1970. Chief Warrant Officer Ray Woods was company flight lead that day. I was a new guy, “Still pissing stateside water,” as John Lipski, my left seater, said. 

Our string of Hueys laced across the sky in a circle, like charms on a bracelet. We were waiting for the artillery prep to end, so we could land on LZ Kathryn, dump our grunts, and go home.

In the twenty-four ship formation, I tried to ignore my place in the lineup. I was right-seater in bird number thirteen. Lipski and I followed the twelve Hueys in front of us like so many sheep in a line. Careful to avoid the artillery trajectory, the GT line, Woody kept his flight a mile north of Kathryn.

Round after heavy artillery round pummeled the fire base. Its cratered surface, mangled tree stumps, and arid ground resembled a brown blister festering atop the mountain. Artillery had pounded the fire base all night, before the mission. 

It was nine a.m., and still we circled, twenty-four Hueys cutting holes in the sky, turning jet fuel into noise over northern I-Corps.

We were waiting for Willie Pete, two final rounds of White Phosphorus. When the twin marking rounds of WP popped above the fire base, their presence marked the end of the artillery prep. Only then could we land.

Minutes dragged on. We circled. Radio silence. Watching shell after shell explode atop that ridge, I couldn’t imagine anything alive up there. I almost felt sorry for the bad guys, the ones the intel people told us were there waiting for us to land. Surely, I thought, they’d all be killed, or run off. Nobody could survive that massive bombardment.

But, I was a rookie, about to learn an important lesson. I was about to see how resilient the enemy was ...

At nine-ten a.m., only a few minutes late, two ghostly clouds appeared a hundred feet above LZ Kathryn like twin thought balloons. Willie Pete; the arty prep was done. John slid his visor down and locked his shoulder harness. “Okay, guys,” he said. “Let’s go to work.”

In the rear of the cabin, the crew chief and door gunner sat up, alert. Crew chief on the left, door gunner right, they cinched their monkey straps tight and swiveled the business end of their .30 cals up. 

“Ready in the rear, sir,” they said in unison. 

As the gunners’ weapons came up and their charging rods clattered, the grunts stirred. Five GIs flicked cigarettes out. Their M-16s banged against the floor of the Huey as they adjusted their backpacks. Time for them to go to work, too.

Woody’s ship angled off, aiming toward Kathryn, and lined up for landing. Two Cobra gunships slid into position near the lead Huey, one left; one right. The Cobras would escort Woody, as he neared the LZ, then they’d break off. Together, the three aircraft flew toward Kathryn’s ragged shell-shot surface.

Woody called his approach. “Thirty seconds out,” he said.

I watched from my aircraft, a mile behind, twelve UH-1's ahead of me.

“Short final,” Woody said, the rattle and pop of Cobra suppressive fire and his crew’s sixties barking in his radio call.

Woody’s Huey touched down on Kathryn and men streamed onto the fire base. Then a radio call that chilled my arms. Woody screamed into the ether. “Taking fire,” he yelled. “On the fire base. My gunner’s hit. He may be dead.”

John looked across the cockpit, and shook his head. “Son of a bitch.”

After an all-night bombardment, a pummeling no one could possibly have survived, an enemy soldier had leapt into the open on Kathryn and shot Woody’s door gunner. And the man was indeed dead, killed instantly. 

It’s gonna be a long year, I thought.

Our turn. John steered the Huey toward Kathryn’s landing spot. I watched the gauges, called out readings. “Torque’s good; rpm’s good.” I focused inside the cockpit, from fright, or denial, I’m not sure. 

I’ll never forget my first girl. But I don’t remember landing on Kathryn. Before I knew it, the Huey was empty and John had lifted off. 

We took no fire, no hits. Still, what I’d seen gave me a lot of respect for the enemy. That respect helped keep me alive in Vietnam, that and a simple rule: never underestimate the North Vietnamese.

Byron Edgington

Byron Edgington

The SkyWriter

Website
Blog
Byron's Book

Other Articles by Byron Edgington:

Bob Hope: Christmas 1970, Camp Eagle
History/Archival Sites for Vietnam Vets
Vietnam: Arriving at the Truth
Do Guns Equal Safety?
Laotian Rescue Mission
Ho Chi Minh
Terror and Hilarity
A Return to Vietnam
The War That Will Not Let Us Rest
War: A Waste of Youth
The Right Seat is the Wrong Seat
Jim, Frank, and The Snake
Smokey, The Alcoholic Pup

“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


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

The Round Trip: by Lance Pinamonte

Some things stick with you longer than needed...

Recently, I found myself wondering why I am filled with a deep dread whenever I think of a "Round trip Ticket".

The reason finally dawned on me the other day when I was discussing prices for round trip packages with a friend.

In other posts, I have told the world what a normal day was for a flight crew in the RVN.  We started our days before daylight with pre-flight, our mission, or missions, fairly set before takeoff. On many days, our mission would change as the day went on, by changing courses, or schedules, as needed to support, or lift, troops and supplies.

This is an example of one of those days ...

It was a simple day. We were taking off from our revetment with a "Clear Left, Clear Right" from the Gunner, and Crew Chief, hovering to the main strip, calling for clearance, and quickly going into transitional lift, then climbing to 1500'. 

Our day was set:  lift an LLRP team into an area near Nui Ba Ra, then fly some resupply to various units in the field. So we flew into Lai Khe to pickup the LRRP's and dropped them without problems. We then went back to Lai Khe, and loaded C's and water for the first resupply run.

After a couple of sorties, we got a call for an emergency Medivac.  We were in the area, so we turned around, turned on the speed, contacted the unit, and realized it was the LRRP's we had dropped earlier. 

We came in high and they popped smoke, then dropped down to the tree tops and came in hot to the small clearing.  We picked up a few tracers as we cleared the trees, but nothing heavy.

Carrying an Injured LRRP

The LRRP's had two wounded.  One was serious, with a sucking chest wound.  Another had schrapnel in his leg.

I helped load them up and gave the pilots a green light to DiDiMoa!  

We cleared the LZ and climbed quickly to 1500', heading at top speed to the Lai Khe Medivac pad.

My gunner and I swung around and checked our passengers. Both were fairly stable and it looked like they would make it home.

We landed shortly, and the medics came out to the pad to help evac our passengers. I was most worried about the guy with the chest wound as his pulse was not very stable.

I then told the pilots I wanted to check the ship out, before we started back to the resupply pad, so they hovered off the pad and set down on the ready pad nearby.

After going over the ship, I found no holes, and we took off to finish our missions for the day. 

The rest of the day went smooth, except for a short message from our headquarters, saying we had night On Call, so we came in.  I finished my daily inspection, and we settled into a night in our hammocks on the ship. 

It was about midnight when the pilots woke us up. We had a Black Cross mission, Black Cross from Lai Khe to Bein Hoa.  Black Cross meant transporting our dead, and it was done at night.

We landed on the Black Cross pad in Lai Khe and helped the guys load up the body bags. I could see the tags under the marker lights of the ship. One of them was the LRRP we had Medivac'd earlier that day...

As I sat down in the gun well, my Gunner said, "He has gotten a round trip ticket today, God Damn It!"  It is the simple statements that stick with people sometimes ... 

We can watch a politician spout paragraphs of hyperbole, and maybe one sentence will hit us as meaningful. Or as my old gunner would say, "They don't pay us enough to give a shit, but many a shit has been given!"

"Cool Kid"

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30
Crew Chief/Door Gunner
Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

The CircleWhat's Wrong with Being Wrong?
Crew Chief's Memory of Thanksgiving '68
Enough
A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“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


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

The Navy EM Club and the Cattle Car

One Version of a Cattle Car

by Douglas Johnson

There were some moments in the Nam experience that can be reflected on with amusement and most of those moments were tolerated only because we were 19 or 20 and extremely resilient.

When I came down from the Cua Viet and Dong Ha area, we would go to the EM Club run by the Navy. (If you remember, Da Nang was a close city, unlike Saigon).

Most of us were not old enough to vote, and since we were under 21, we had to sit on the near beer side of the EM Club. It was the only alcoholic beverage we were allowed to drink. Only if we were 21 and over could we drink regular beer, or hard liquor. (I’m not sure, but I believe the Army regs were different in I Corp and their EM Clubs).

That just didn’t make sense ... only two days before, we were behind a 50, or tossing grenades. Now we were sitting in the only club we were allowed to go to, sipping on near beer, because the Navy decided we were not old enough to handle hard liquor ….

To liven up the story, when the club closed at 9 p.m., a cattle car was backed up to the door of the EM Club. They ordered everybody out of the club and we left via the door, walked up a ramp, and then they packed us into the cattle car. We had to stand the entire time, since there weren’t any seats in the cattle car.

Now, what you’ve got is a full load of men from age 19 to approximately 22 or 23, who are completely wasted and weaving and bobbing, since the road had numerous curves. (I still believe the driver made the trip even worse by his driving style, just to have his jollies).

Anyway, we had guys who were sick from the motion, occasional fights breaking out, and everyone packed in so tight that the 2 SP's couldn’t even push the crowd out of the way for any crowd control. Now top that off with the heat index making it stifling in there ...

When we woke up the next morning, we swore we would never go back to the Club again. But it was the only game in town, so we were back the next night, but only if we were still in Da Nang.

Another episode about the Navy EM Club in Da Nang and the cattle car express.

I was sleeping on the deck of my boat on the on the Marble Mountain side of Da Nang Bay. We had just come back from the Perfume River/Hue area and we were due to go back up North the next day to Dong Ha.

As I said, I was sleeping on the deck with a poncho liner as my blanket, when I heard a loud scream, "Look out! He has a frozen stick of Bologna!"

I jumped up from my sleeping position to see our Gunner's Mate, a scrapper from some unheard of parish in Louisiana, just as he was delivering a forceful upper cut to the crewman swinging the frozen bologna stick like a club.

The guy’s behavior while swinging the frozen stick of bologna was like a Berserker leading a frontal attack for the Vikings, thus the need of such a forceful action. He went down hard with one punch.

When we went up to him, not only was his mouth bleeding from the punch, but we noticed he had numerous cuts and abrasions on both arms, his legs, torso, and his clothing was torn and tattered.

The next morning when he woke up from his drunken stupor, he was moaning and unable to get up. We had to get him Medevac’d off the boat. He had a fracture of one leg.

One of the crew went over to the hospital in Camp Tien Sha to visit our bologna-wielding attacker later and he got the full story: the attacker was from Iowa and this was his seventh year in the Navy. While he was stationed in Thailand, (I never knew the reason why), he married a Thai woman.

We learned that on the night of the attack, he had just found out that afternoon via a Dear John letter from his wife that she was already married to a Bangkok policeman. She had only married him (our sailor), so she could get extra money. The letter also stated that her Policeman husband wanted an end to this arrangement.

So, to seek cathartic relief from the news, he went to the EM Club and got wasted. Since he was over 21, he could drink hard liquor.

Seems the club had a policy that from 8:00 p.m. until closing time, they would hit a bell and from that point until closing time, all shots were 10 cents. Those over 21 could pull out a one dollar MPC note and have ten shots put in front of them. Now you can understand why the cattle car was like a vomit comet when we were all loaded into it!

In leaving the EM Club, the Iowan bologna-wielding Viking sailor was totally wasted. Now, there were openings on each side of the cattle car and the truck pulling it would only slow down and discharge its passengers at six designated stops along the route.

Our shipmate got in the cattle car and he decided he was going to get off when HE wanted to get off -- and where he wanted to get off was at HIS own designated stop. (God only knows what his thought processes were in that condition), but he stepped off the car while it was still in motion.

When he hit the ground, the speed propelled him off the road and down over a hill, thus the mystery of why he was covered with cuts and abrasions over his entire body was solved. The fracture probably came from the impact of hitting the road when he exited the cattle car.

He never returned to the boat, because his leg was casted. None of us ever heard from him again, except for the one crewman who visited him in the hospital and solved the mystery of his injuries and actions.

I went through small arms fire, rocket attacks, and numerous mine explosions on the Rivers, but that was my first and only attack by a frozen stick of bologna while in Nam ...

Douglas Johnson, M.B.A.
Vietnam 1969 to 1970 - I Corp
Engineman Third Class: U.S. Navy
Navy Boats and Front Gunner

“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


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

The Circle: by Lance Pinamonte

Lance Pinamonte

It was the fall of 1968 when I arrived in country.  I was a kid of barely eighteen.

My new unit was a small slick group of three flight platoons with seven aircraft each. I was assigned a ship within three days of my arrival.

The first thing I noticed was, we were flying a lot more hours than most of the other units around us, over a hundred hours a week on a steady basis. This gave the aircrews very little time off.  We pretty much lived in our aircraft.

I also noticed a group of aircrews that were ... different  They were cooler, kept their aircraft cleaner, took better care of their guns, equipment, and they always volunteered for the dangerous missions. In the early mornings, they would always be on time to the flight line, too.

These guys always wore sunglasses, always spoke with authority, and when everyone did find time off in the evening, they would form their old lawn chairs into a circle in the middle of the field behind the hooches.

I guess the first time I actually met someone from this group, was when he was refusing to fly with a pilot that was clearly still drunk. He did it with all the respect due this pilot's rank. The pilot finally backed down, staggered back to his hooch, and another pilot replaced him.

There was a lot of drinking in off-duty times, and a few of our pilots were flat out drunks. But you didn't see the guys in the circle  staggering back from the EM/NCO club late at night in a drunken state.  It didn't mean that they didn't drink at all, they just didn't care for being out of control.

I had been on my own aircraft for only a week, and the action taken by my door gunner (part of the circle) impressed me. He was full-blooded Indian and he had been in country four tours, three of them as 11B, a grunt.

He outranked me as an E-6, been wounded three times, refused to go back stateside, and he had volunteered to be a Door Gunner. He also called me "Kid".  It wasn't the best of nicknames, but it stuck -- I had been called worse.

Smoking Pot

My curious nature finally peaked.  One night on my way to the EM club, I stopped by the circle and I saw smoke rising from the group.

(Now, I was not ignorant of what was going on -- I knew they were smoking pot).

Everybody in the circle was a little paranoid of my joining this tight-knit group, so the pipes were put out, while they felt me out as either friend, or foe...

Finally, my gunner said, "He's cool guys.  Light up a bowl."

I decided to partake and, as I did, I heard my gunner say, "Now your cool, Kid." and it stuck. From then on, I was known as "Cool Kid" ... and I bought a cheap set of shades the day after.

Fast forward two years ...

I had gotten myself into some pretty big trouble, (another story, for another day), and I was on my way to another unit, up for a undesirable discharge.

So, I was walking through an administration building in DaNang, looking to report to a Captain there. As I walked into his office, I found said Captain wearing ... shades.  Well, he found me a safe haven for my last 90 days, and an honorable discharge ...

Over the years after that, I abused almost every drug their is, I over-drank, over-smoked, and finally, after sixteen years of abuse, I straightened my act out. But many times I think of those days, all the hard work, the danger ... and the guys in The Circle.

"Cool Kid"

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30
Crew Chief/Door Gunner
Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

What's Wrong with Being Wrong?
Crew Chief's Memory of Thanksgiving '68
Enough
A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“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


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. Only you can write the truth about the Vietnam veteran and Our War -- for America, and for history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

No Contact with Kilo 9

Russell (Russ) Wallace and "Tusky"

 by Russell (Russ) Wallace

Tracer rounds originating on Kilo 9 split the growing darkness and got the attention of the sentries in their towers.

“Bravo 2 to Base.”

“Go ahead Bravo 2, this is Base.”

“Shots have been fired on Kilo 9. There are outgoing tracer rounds.”

“10-4. Base to Kilo 9.”
.... (no answer) ....

“Base to Kilo 9.”
..... (no answer) ....

“No contact with Kilo 9.”

It was a very hot and humid August night at Phan Rang Air Force Base. The K-9 units were called to work early this night. Both the Early Flight and Late Flight stood guard mount together.

We were told the name of the North Vietnamese sapper unit which was going to attack us. We were told that the radio net was being jammed and we were only to check our radio if we thought it might have a problem. It was our routine to do a radio check as we were posted. This served two purposes; it let our Operations Center know we were posted, as well as insured the radio worked.

The Early Flight, which normally posted just after dark, was posting before dark. The Late Flight, which normally posted two hours after the Early Flight, began posting as soon as the trucks returned to the kennels.

I was on the Early Flight and assigned to Kilo 9. As instructed, I did not check my radio after being posted, because I was receiving all the radio chatter. It was just a little after 1930 hours and I passed the gate guard as I walked down towards the fence line. At 7:30, the double-gated entrance was locked and unmanned overnight. I had about 200 yards of perimeter to patrol, so I made a sweep of the area and it was secure.

Feeling happy and safe, I sat down on a rock and plugged my ear plug into my pocket transistor radio and tuned in the oldies on the Armed Forces Radio Network. Then, something I had never done before. I plugged an ear plug into my walkie-talkie, so I could still hear the radio transmissions. I felt good.  Both radios were working, not blaring, giving away my position.

I stood, and noticed Tusky was alerting towards the gate and the road towards the Strip, a village that had sprung up close to the base to service the needs of the off-duty personnel. I could hear the sounds of merriment wafting in on the gentle breeze.

I thought to myself, Tusky, you silly dog.  I can hear those sounds. too. They are nothing. True, the noises I heard were nothing, but the noises Tusky was alerting to were something. He had picked up the sounds and perhaps the scent of some people coming up the road towards the base.

The sky was barely light, still outlining the tree tops, but the tree line was plunged into total darkness. I was 30 feet from the gate and I could not see it. But I could hear the sounds of people approaching the gates, even though I could not see them.

It was time to call in my dog’s alert. I should have believed him from the start. He was trained to see, hear, and smell things my senses could not discern. He did his job, so I had to catch up and do mine, by calling in the evolving situation on my radio. I called it in and received a 10-4 from Base.

Little did I know, Base did not receive my transmission.  The 10-4 I heard was for someone else’s radio transmission.

I did not hear control dispatch the Security Alert Team for my back up, because they had not done so. I did not notice the omission, because I was busy focusing on what was happening right in front of me, about 40 feet away.

The men I still could not see were shouting and rattling the gates. It was an Asian language, and I remembered the briefing at guard mount about the sapper unit that was expected to attack us. We had been told that sapper units would probably be high on something which would help them overcome their fear of the dogs guarding the perimeter. These men had no fear of my dog who was being very vocal.

I found a huge rock to crouch behind just off to one side of the road. I still did not know how many men were out there in the darkness. I felt protected, and then they started climbing the first of two gates. I needed to inform the Control Center of the changing situation.

“Kilo 9 to Base.”
... (no response) ... 

“Kilo 9 to Base.”
... (no response) ... 

“Kilo 9 to Bravo 1.”
... (no response) ... 

“Kilo 9 to Bravo 2.”
... (no response).

The men climbed the first gate and were crossing the ten feet of open space to get to the second gate. The huge rock I was crouched behind shrank to the size of a pea in my mind. I ran back 30 yards and found a rock that was twelve feet high and had a shear edge like the corner of a house. My dog was barking out of control, his adrenaline rush probably comparable to mine.

I refocused on the sounds in front of me. The men were shouting and shaking the chain link gate. Then they started climbing the last gate. I tried my radio again, but first I pulled out the ear plug. It did not matter that it would blast out radio transmissions, because my dog was louder than the radio.

I tried calling Base and the two towers that were close to me, but the ear plug was not the problem. They still did not receive my transmissions. My radio’s battery was strong enough to receive, but not strong enough to transmit. A simple radio check would have resolved that when I was posted. I could not worry about that, because there was an unknown number of men walking up the road towards me.

Suddenly, two silhouettes appeared in the middle of the road. I gave them an order to halt and they did not. My dog was barking like crazy and jumping around wanting to get to them. My warning shot was straight at them. I continued firing and they both fell. Then one of them jumped up and ran for cover, and I shot twice more at him. He fell in the ditch at the side of the road.

I thought, how many others made it to cover in the rocks? I ran from my position and took up another defensive position further up the road. Tusky had calmed down and was not barking.

The tower guard called in the shots fired and Control tried to reach me. I tried to answer, but I could not. I heard Base dispatch the Security Alert Team and then I shut off my useless radio. The base went from Yellow to Red Alert.

I finally had time to breathe and think. My dog was calm, but alert. I began wondering how many men were part of this penetration attempt. One man was lying in the ditch moaning, the other was babbling something, probably giving information to his comrades who had made it to cover in the rocks.

I wondered how many times I had fired and how many rounds I had left. I was carrying a CAR-15 with 18 rounds in the magazine. I was firing it one-handed, like a pistol on semi-automatic.  But what if someone charges me from the rocks and I run out of ammo?

 I unclipped Tusky’s leash and took hold of his collar. He was easy to control, because he had calmed down. If I run out of ammo, I could let Tusky go and hopefully get my magazine changed while the person struggled with an 80-pound attack dog.

All stayed quiet. Two dog men from the Late Flight were posted at the perimeter road and shouted out to me as they approached. I was never so glad to see two guys as I was right then.

The supervisor for the Late Flight showed up next. He drove his jeep with its lights on right down to where the South Korean non-commissioned officer was lying in the road. Fortunately for him it was not an attempted penetration of the base by a North Vietnamese sapper unit.

Two South Koreans were late returning from the bars and whore houses of the Strip. The Korean compound had a curfew of 7:00 PM, the airbase, a curfew of 7:30 PM, and the two Koreans arrived at the gates at 7:45 PM.

Both Koreans lived. They were sent to do two years hard labor in a Korean prison. I had fired 8 rounds and hit each of them twice. I found that out, during my four-hour investigation by the Korean Military Police.  I had to explain to them exactly what happened and I made sure my explanation was in line with the MACV Rules of Engagement.

If I had shot the unarmed Koreans when they were outside the fence, I would have been the one going to jail. I could only shoot at them if they shot at me first, or if I saw them setting up a crew-served weapon to be used against the base. I did my job, scared as I was.

Well they did not shoot at me, so that took me to the next scenario: penetration of the base. But I still do not have the authority to shoot them. I must give them two verbal warnings. Well, I gave them one verbal warning in Vietnamese and English -- I figured my dog barking was an even bigger halt command than my verbal one.

That did not stop them, so I gave them a warning shot -- I just did not tell the Koreans that it was straight at them. I again figured that Tusky’s bark was as much a warning shot as a shot from my gun. The two Koreans knew they were crossing a secure post and failed to halt.

The Koreans, as they interrogated me, asked a couple of interesting questions. First, “Why didn’t I tell them to halt in Korean as well?”

Let’s see, I thought it was an attack by a North Vietnamese sapper unit. Why would I even think it might be Koreans? Besides, I was so frightened, I could not remember the Korean word for halt.

Second, they asked me if I walked over and shot the guy lying in the ditch, because he was shot once through the back.

Well, he turned his back on me when he was running for the rocks and I fired twice at him. Not an easy shot, shooting one-handed from the hip, while your dog is jumping around trying to get to the guy. But they already knew the answer. All of my casings were in the one spot where I stood and fired.

After I spent four hours giving my statement and a signed, handwritten, report to the Koreans, the U.S. Air Force spent three and a half hours interrogating me. There is nothing worse than putting your life on the line and watching the justice system decide whether you acted properly, or not.

That incident had to be one of the most frightening things to happen in my life. An almost equally frightening event occurred two nights later. The Koreans I shot belonged to a White Horse Division artillery battery.

The following night, I did not go to post, because I was up all day being investigated for any wrongdoing by the Koreans and the U.S. Air Force. I had the night off. The post I should have been on was shelled short by the Koreans. Occasionally, they do make an error in their co-ordinates.

The second night after the incident, I was back on duty protecting the base from intruders who wanted to blow up our planes and I was taking cover from the artillery rounds which shelled my post short for the second night in a row.

As was normal, I heard the howitzers firing, but unlike normal, they were not hitting a point 1500 meters, or more, off base. The three rounds were whistling in on my position. It was too late to get to a bunker, by the time I realized I was the target.

I hit the ground and tried to pull my dog down -- he wanted to stand up and howl at the whistling. We survived unscathed as the shrapnel whooshed over our heads. I could hear it pepper the tin that surrounded the sandbags in the tower close to my position.

The tower guard did not have time to get to his bunker. He ducked behind the sandbagged walls of the tower and escaped injury.

Our Operations Officer visited the Koreans the next day and told them, "Once might be a mistake, but twice is not."  He let it be known that it must not happen again. Thankfully it stopped.

My wife and I are campers. There is a firing range just over the hill from the campsite our trailer is on. I guess hearing shots being fired can trigger long hidden memories.

One evening, I had the most frightening nightmare I have ever had. I dreamed we were sitting in front of our fire pit enjoying a drink, when some rounds started whistling in on top of us. My struggle was not to get my dog down, but to convince my wife to get out of her chair and lie prone.

I awoke before it concluded, but it seemed as real as the event in Nam. I was shaken and did not sleep well that night. Every now and then, I get a crazy dream like that. I am thankful it does not happen often.

Russell (Russ) Wallace
USAF - Security Police
Sentry Dog Handler
Vietnam - February 1968 to February 1969

Author Note:  Memoirs From Nam inspired me to write this story about an event that happened in Nam. I was further inspired to begin my own blog, writing about my life, while I was in the U.S. Air Force.

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“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


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable  sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Combat Memories Last Forever: by Michael Lansford

Michael "Surfer" Lansford

As always, thank you, Ms. CJ --

Strangely enough, by reading others' writings, it brings up lost or hidden feelings I've had all these many years. Things like we've talked about that are very personal and hard to say, but must be told for us all. 

Hopefully, others will read and remember their inner thoughts that lay hidden from long ago. There are so many, and words can't begin to describe them all. They are just small snippets of memory, remembrances from my heart and my soul that I have kept inside.

Every day there was something that happened, or someone who affected us, all remembered for a lifetime. 

If our medics, doctors, and nurses could tell us how their lives were affected day and night in country, I don't think people could possibly fathom the reality of what they experienced -- the combat injuries, casualties, and war. I can't imagine how horrible their world was, except maybe for the nurse I already wrote about, the one who held my bloody hand and arm, telling me I would be okay. 

I think about what they lived daily and know how hard they tried to save us all, but couldn't. Combat medics especially, as they were what is now called 'first responders' in a crisis. They did amazing things to save us as I mentioned earlier in another post. 

Seeing them first hand do what they did gave us the will to live. Of course, some didn't live, but a medic would never tell you that you wouldn't live. They always told us we would be okay. Anything to keep us going. 

When one of our own went down, we felt so helpless. We were trained in basic combat trauma, but not enough to do much more, like medics knew how to. All we had were morphine injections, 1 shot only, rubber tubing for tourniquets, bandages, and always someone to hold each other together and say the same thing, "You're gonna be okay."

Medevac Chopper

The hardest part was keeping someone from going into shock. That was Priority One.

Then we had to try and stop the bleeding as best we could, and all the time maintaining what we called a circle of life to protect whoever was down, suppressing enemy fire, and always someone tried to draw fire towards themselves and away from our hurt comrade. 

Whenever possible, someone would find a way to flank the enemy and get them in a crossfire like they did to us. It kind of leveled the playing field, if you will.

We did whatever it took to save someone who was hurt, so the Medevac could get in and out fast. It was just part of our every day life out there. 

Sorry, I got to rambling a little. I just remember almost every day and night there, every mission. You try and forget and put it behind you, but in reality, it never leaves us, ever.

There are those that can't talk about it, and I completely understand. The pain and suffering they went through is too great for them, so they do what I did -- withdraw. But at some point in our lives, things will bring it all back -- a song, a movie, certain sayings, even words.

For me, even now, as I watch anything on TV that has any weapon being fired, I still count how many rounds they fired with that particular weapon. It's something you learned early on. You always knew how many rounds you fired, how many you had left, and most importantly, you made every round have a target. You just didn't waste ammo out there. That's all you had. That is one reason I carried an AK. It's a better weapon and it always worked. 

The bad guys had extra parts, etc., and best of all, they carried ALL the extra ammo I needed, so I could carry other things we may, or may not, need.

More importantly, out in the jungle we made sure we always walked with our weapon ready to use.  We were looking for trouble everywhere. We never strolled around, period. A sniper would get you every time with the element of surprise, because you wouldn't know where it came from. If you were watchful, you could locate the sniper and end that fear, even if for only a short time.

I've reread what I wrote and it still makes me cry and hurt inside. There is no escape, but I know I'm healing by writing about it. Like we used to say, "Don't mean nothing", or "Sin Loi", which meant, "Sorry about that."

Other Articles by Michael Lansford:

Life Changed Forever

Reflections

Promises Made, Promises Kept

Pilots and POW's

Remembering Comrades

The Last Firebase

Sayings and Poems

A Couple of Stories

The Last Road: A Vietnam Vet's Perspective

Holidays in The Nam

Dear Civilians

FNG Initiation and Humor

Life Prepared Me for Vietnam

Leavings at The Wall

Coming Home

Honoring The Wall

Life in the Jungle

In My Own Words: Part 1

In My Own Words: Part 2

Part 3: The KIA

Hill 937: Part 4

“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


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Terror and Hilarity: by Byron Edgington

Warrant Officer 1 B Edgington 3rd from the left

War is filled with opportunities to get yourself killed. 

Sometimes these opportunities arise in seconds, unanticipated, their outcomes something not even Hollywood could manufacture. 

I suppose if I’d died on this mission I never would have felt a thing. It would have been a classic case of one second alive, chuffing one breath out, another in, then zap... I suppose that’s the way it always is. 

It seemed like a routine mission, an easy LZ in a place as serene and green as the bucolic fields of my Ohio childhood. I suppose if I’d been killed that day it would have been as good a place as any to fulfill life’s ultimate function.

 
The mission was to insert a special operations team onto an LZ in Laos ten kilometers west of Khe Sanh. I was flying lead ship that day. The escort plane marked the LZ for me, and three other Hueys to follow, and then the Air Force ‘covey bird’ zipped away. The marked spot was a half-acre field covered in elephant grass six feet deep. 

My crewchief, Gil, was behind me in the well of the aircraft.  John, the door gunner of whistle fame, was once again on the right side. I briefed them for landing, slid my visor down and entered final approach. Down I went, the LZ a hundred yards ahead. Soon I was over it, and ready to land.

As I hovered above the deep grass, the Huey’s rotorwash blasted it flat. And there he was. Forty feet away, a lone North Vietnamese soldier, gray-green fatigues, jungle hat, as surprised to see me as I him. His AK swiveled up, aimed directly at me. 

The next three seconds were a blur to me then, and they are now. I turned my head slightly left at the anomalous item in my peripheral view and wondered what it was. It was the enemy soldier, of course. 

Then a shriek of M-16 fire exploded directly behind me, and I jerked so hard I locked my inertia reel. Hot rounds snapped out, a burst of six, or perhaps twenty, I cannot say.

The enemy soldier crumpled like a burst balloon, his lifeless body a heap of gray-green camo. His hat flew off. His weapon clattered away. The man was dead. One instant a breath chuffing in, then out, and then...

But I wasn’t dead. Somehow I’d escaped. Not my time? Coincidence? I don’t know. Yet another dodged bullet, this one literal. 

The GI who fired had anticipated the scene. Because of his training, or instinct, or a sixth sense, he knew that the NVA soldier would be there, and before the enemy could pull the trigger, he caught a hail of hot ammo. 

The guy who saved my life leapt off the aircraft and never looked back. I had no chance to say thanks, or ask how did you, or holy crap.

I lifted the collective, took off, and ceded the controls to my rookie right seater. My knees shook like a dog passing busted glass. I remember this part so well that years later I’m still ashamed of myself: I had to fight an urge to laugh. Terror and hilarity. 

It wasn’t the only time in Vietnam that I saw the ugly truth of 'what the hell we were doing there', in the unvarnished part of war that Hollywood won’t touch. 

Friendly and enemy alike, we were just a bunch of kids playing with fire, trying to kill each other, while joking around to get through it, or trying to stay alive, or wondering, who decides? 

That day I was twenty-one years old. The other fellow was as old as he was ever going to get ...

Byron Edgington

Byron Edgington

The SkyWriter

[Excerpt from Chapter 12]
The Sky Behind Me: A Memoir of Flying & Life 

Other Articles by Byron Edgington:

A Return to Vietnam
The War That Will Not Let Us Rest
War: A Waste of Youth
The Right Seat is the Wrong Seat
Jim, Frank, and The Snake
Smokey, The Alcoholic Pup

Byron's Website

Byron's Blog

“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


Add your opinion, thought, or comment, about this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog.

Scouts, Dogs, and Booby Traps

Dog Handler - Vietnam War

by Tony Chliek

Many times when we went out on patrols from FSB STUART, a Kit Carson scout led our patrols. 

Kit Carson scouts are former Viet Cong or North Vietnamese soldiers that were our guides and interpreters. 

The scouts walked point with one or two of the regular point men and because of his first hand knowledge of enemy tactics, he was able to locate mines, booby traps, ambushes and snipers long before we ever could.

Other times, a dog handler and his German Shepherd would accompany us on patrols. 

The dog was great because he could smell trouble, literally. He could pick up the scent of the enemy and lead us right to them. We captured numerous VC because of both the Kit Carson scout and the dog.

One day we were patrolling through a heavily wooded area around a village and the Kit Carson found a suspected VC hiding. He gave up without any difficulty. We made him walk point with the Kit Carson and our point man. 

We figured if he lead us into an ambush, he would be the first to go. As we walked along, the VC started pointing out a lot of freshly dug punji pits right on the trail we were following. (Maybe he knew where they were because he dug them).

Punji Pit Trap - Vietnam War

Punji pits like the ones he uncovered are extremely nasty booby traps. The simplest pit type was a hole about 20 to 30cm deep. 

The floor of this trap was then set with punji stakes, which could easily pierce the canvas and leather jungle boot. 

For added misery the spikes could be smeared with poison or human excrement to induce blood poisoning, or worse. 

There were many variations, which allowed the spikes to attack the sides of the leg. This was particularly favored after the introduction of the reinforced-soled jungle boot.

On another patrol one day, I stepped into a small punji pit. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack because I knew exactly what had happened. Fortunately, the bamboo stakes were old and rotted so they just crumbled when my foot and leg hit them. I didn't even get a splinter.

Another booby trap I encountered was a trip wire. Trip wires were connected to all types of booby traps like the hand grenade in the picture below.

Trip Wire Booby Trap

One day we were dropped off in the Ho Bo Woods for a “Reconnaissance In Force” (RIF) patrol with one other company. Enemy activity had been spotted so we were sent there to see if we could find them.

Ho Bo Woods weren't exactly what you would call woods any more. The area used to be a stronghold for the VC and NVA so the woods had actually been leveled to eliminate hiding places.

While patrolling the area, my foot got caught on something. I looked down and saw it tangled in a wire. I froze and called out that I was tangled in a trip wire. 

Now you figured the guys would back up, since there was the possibility of an explosion, but no, a couple of guys immediately came over to check it out. They followed the wire and discovered that it wasn’t connected to anything.  It was probably an old trip wire, or maybe a piece of wire that was just lying around. I spent a lot of time looking down after that.

Another day we were patrolling around one of the villages close to our FSB. We were walking on the berm that separated the rice paddies like the guys in the picture.

All of a sudden I dropped straight down into a hole in the water that was over my head. Since I was carrying all that equipment, I sunk like a rock. 

Walking the Berm

I reached up to try and grab something to pull myself out and someone grabbed my hands and pulled me up. My head went right back into my helmet which had been floating on the surface of the water. 

With some help, I was able to climb back out of the hole. 

It seemed I had fallen into a small well that was overgrown with the grasses that grew on the berms. Since it was overgrown, I just didn’t see it. 

This incident got quite a laugh from everyone ...

About Tony Chliek:

Tony Chliek

I was drafted into the United States Army on May 6, 1968 at the ripe old age of 19 years, 6 months and 2 days. 

Government policy at the time was to draft all men into the military at 19 ½ years of age if they hadn’t already joined, or had a deferment of some kind. 

I almost joined earlier that year, but backed out to take my chances with the draft. Well, that was it, I became the property of the United States Army.  

I graduated from AIT with the rank of PFC, issued my orders for Vietnam.

I was assigned to the 25th Infantry Division at Cu Chi. After that week at Cu Chi, I was assigned to the 2nd platoon, Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, 12 Infantry, 25th Infantry Division; B 2/12.


Also by Tony Chliek:

A Hot LZ

“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


Add your opinion, thought, or comment, about this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog.

The Marine and The Cure: by Frank Fox

Frank Fox

It doesn't hurt to include a little humor from the days during the Vietnam conflict.

I remember when we were stationed at Kaneohe Marine Corp Air Station in 1967-68, we had this Marine who wanted out of the Marine Corp -- and he most definitely didn't want to go to Vietnam.

He would go to the library, look through some medical books, and then show up at sick bay, trying to convince the Doc that he had some exotic malady.  Doc easily saw through it and showed him where he was just fine. 

One night when I was was on duty in the emergency room, I heard someone running up the sidewalk. A Marine came in the front door, sat down on the stairs to the clinic and he was gulping large breaths of air. I recognized him right away from the stories the other Corpsman had passed along.  

At first, he wouldn't answer any of my questions about what was wrong with him (this time). Then finally, he told me he had seen a ghost in the barracks squad bay the last two nights in a row. 

Well, I took him back to the emergency room, told him to relax and I would be right back.  I said we had a new drug just for that and I would get it for him. 

In Corpsman school, the nurses would watch to see if we were paying attention when we practiced giving each other shots in class. 

When it was necessary to reconstitute an injectable medication (some came in powder form), we were taught to use sterile saline, since sterile saline doesn't hurt when injected.  We were to inject the sterile saline into the powder, shake it, then we could inject the patient.  (This isn't done as often these days). 

Anyway, the fun-loving Nurses would mix vials of sterile saline in with vials of sterile water, just to see if we were paying attention and reading labels. Sterile saline doesn't hurt when injected, but sterile water will hurt like the blazes. 

So in class every now and again, you would hear someone holler, and the Nurse would admonish us all about not reading labels. 

So anyhow, I figured if I could make his visit uncomfortable enough, we would stop seeing him and his list of symptoms as often -- some of which were female-related, if you catch my drift.  (This was no rocket scientist).

I woke up the duty MD and told him what I wanted to do. He said, "But Frank, that will be painful."  I smiled and he caught on to me and said, "Don't make it too painful."  I told him I would give him 1/2 cc ... in each arm. 

So I went back to my Marine and told him this was a specific new drug for people who see ghosts. I gave him the first injection and he started to wiggle against the needle a bit. "Damn Doc, is it supposed to hurt like that?" 

I said, "Unfortunately, yes. Just rest a bit and then I will give you the other injection."  His eyes dilated in anticipation. 

Ten minutes later, I came back.  He said, "I think it's working, Doc." 

I said, "Okay, that's good.  But I still need to give you the other shot for good measure, you know, to lessen the likelihood of a recurrence." 

After the second injection, I had him rest a moment to let it all sink in.  Then I turned him loose, and said, "I think that will do it. Come back in, if it happens again." 

That was the end of his visits to our medical facility.  He was cured.

Frank Fox
Combat Medic
Sea/Air Rescue
US Navy with USMC
August 1964 – August 1970 (6 years 1 month)

More Articles by Frank Fox:

More Thoughts on War and Youth

Opinions, Thoughts and Feelings

A Different Perspective

“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


Add your opinion, thought, or comment, about this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Send it to me and I will be proud to post it for you.  E-mail CJ

Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog.

Michael Lansford: In My Own Words, Part 1

Michael Lansford  [Vietnam '68-'69]

Note:  This personal memoir is the first of several shared by my friend, Vietnam Veteran, Michael Lansford. 

With my deepest respect and his kind permission, here is Michael Lansford, through his own words.  Thank you, Michael.

CJ, Thanks for doing what you do for us. It is most appreciated.

My picture shows me at The Wall. It was The Moving Wall. A vet friend of mine finally got me to go with him after about 35 years and it was very hard.

I know I will never see the real one as I can't fly. I got shot down in a chopper, so that ended that, except for the flight home. Getting home overrode my fears, at least for then.

It has been pointed out that ironically the shadow showing to the left of me looks exactly like the POW-MIA shadow flag. It just happened that way. The picture was not edited, or scripted, and I'm still amazed.

Like most of us [Vietnam veterans], I withdrew most of my life. We never told anyone about who we were, what we did, nothing.  I'm just now teaching myself to speak more, but it's still hard to do. I understand counseling does help, but ultimately we have to heal ourselves.

I still can't go out at night, no crowds.  I live alone. They made night lights just for me.  I have lights on in every room, even closets, and the TV is on 24/7.  My two dogs are my eyes and ears now.

Even though I live out in the country, I still have a clear field of fire.  I know the exact yardage completely around my house, outside security lights, and cameras with night vision. I have it all. I still kind of live inside my perimeter, so to speak.

My cameras also have sensors that I can set to beep, letting me know where and how far away anything is around me. They are fully adjustable to boot. This is kind of a part of my world, but it's my best way to deal with my fears. It's kind of like over there.  As long as I was inside my perimeter and had backup, I felt safer. No one lives very close anyway, but I like it way out here. It's just like the old days. Again, some things will never change. 

Thanks again for listening. These are pretty long stories but there is no short version to most, and like I said, I remember everything and I am 65 now. All the things are still there and as I get older, they just seem to be more out front again. I remember every day and night there. We all do.

My daughter just saw my pics this past year and told me, "Dad, I never knew anything about who you really were and what you did. You never ever spoke of anything." Now she sees me in a different light, a good light.

Can't put into words to a daughter the brutality of war or the reality of it. It's something I hope she never knows. Seeing my pictures was enough for her and with all the pics I have, I never took one with a weapon. Don't want to be remembered that way.

 
Even now, about all I told my daughter was I prayed and promised if I could walk out of that jungle I would never hurt another living thing again and I promised to never forget anyone or anything. It's a promise I have kept every May for 45 yrs. 

Told her all I wanted when I got home was a daughter and I told her I loved her even before I knew her mother. Just a personal thing.  I love her more than words can describe. She is my life and my beautiful granddaughter, even with how I am, they are close by to check on me every day.

My Father was the same way as me. He served in the Pacific and no one ever knew anything, except my Grandmother, who gave me all his medals and told me he was at Iwo, Saipan, Okinawa, and Tinian. He was with Sea Bees and built the airstrip for the Enola Gay. He got the Navy Cross and became a Naval Aviator and never said a word, ever. Grandmother said he didn't do it for recognition, but to save America and that's all that mattered. I guess I inherited that also.

For me, being a Viet Nam Vet, I didn't want to say anything. One reason, as you know from knowing all of us, is that if anyone even remotely knew we were Viet Nam Vets, we were degraded, shunned, harrassed, ignored -- you name it, we got it.

I too still feel the hurt from my first day back and seeing all those protesters. I wondered what they were so mad at and why they were so mad at us. All questions that will never be answered. I still wonder how their lives turned out and did they make a difference either?

I'm sorry to be so long. I have so much to tell, but I really don't know how, or where, to begin. All of us have our own combat stories that probably need to be told.  I guess I am just ready.

One of mine is Hill 937, "Hamburger Hill" -- just one of many in our A.O. in the Ashau Valley, but it just stands out more for me, as we lost nearly everyone. That story is for another day, though.  Like all of us on here, we are just survivors, not heroes.

To this day, we would lay down our lives for someone we don't even know, just because their life is in danger. Just something we all had inside of us. If someone was down you never even thought of consequences. You just did whatever it took to save them. Especially combat medics. They were that way, always first in, last out. Fearless. To me, they all should have the Medal of Honor.

I had a chat with my Doctor about the definition of a Combat Veteran. My answer was, "How many jobs are there where you know you will probably have to give your life to save someone? Would you be willing to do that?" Opened up his eyes on that one and he's a great friend and my Doctor.

Anyway, didn't mean to be so long winded. My apologies. Maybe at some point I can discuss our world at the "HILL". Again, others have the same battles, just in different places over there.

Again, I salute you for all you are doing for us.


Other Posts by Michael Lansford:

In My Own Words: Part 2

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

The Lantern: by John Puzzo

John Puzzo

I didn’t even realize until I was doing it. It was just my turn, I guess.  I found myself inspecting the new guys’ rucksacks and weapons load prior to a 3-day mission up to the north and west of Kontum.

By summer, 1970, the NVA were pouring down the Ho Chi Minh trail at the rate of about 22,000 soldiers per month and thousands were crossing the border into South Vietnam from their base sanctuaries in Laos and Cambodia.

We were sending some teams up there to pick a few of them off. The weather was bad, so I told everyone to pack rations for 7 days. I think we were there longer than that.

When we got there, the weather on the mountain closed in right away and it stayed that way, so it was a good thing we packed extra rations. We were also at altitude, which affected the weather. It rained a lot and there was thick fog all the time.

We were pulling radio relay for several Hawkeye teams hunting NVA in the valley below. Because of where they were, we had to be in a line of sight to get their radio transmissions, which meant we couldn’t move much. The enemy would know that.

At about day three after nightfall, we heard voices in the darkness and movement coming our way. We thought they had found us.

I got Zero on the net for support and so the good guys could come get us the hell out of there, knowing that finding us at night and in all that soup would be difficult. We were on the outcropping of a ridge line facing the valley below and had nowhere to go but down, or to fight our way out if they hit us, and there were a hell of a lot more of them.

Then they were right on top of us -- and they were noisy. One NVA soldier had a lantern that he shined at us through the thick foliage. He was looking between the rocks and trees right at us but incredibly, he didn’t see us.

Saunders, who was on his second mission with me, I think was on one knee with his M-16 about a foot away from the guy’s face while I whispered in his ear not to shoot unless he came through. I was hoping he wouldn’t smell us.

For what seemed an eternity, the NVA soldier, whose face I could see in the greenish light his lantern reflected off the leaves, peered through the dense foliage right into Saunders’ and my face, and the rest of the team behind us.

The other NVA were talking behind him and poking around everywhere. One of them gave a shout and they started to move away. The guy with the lantern just backed off.

I had Grau and Gomez with me on that mission. It was their first mission as Rangers. They were killed later that year while serving on other teams.

A few days later the weather cleared, the mission was over, and we were alerted that the choppers were coming to get us out. The Black Jack slicks and Gambler gunship escorts of the 4th Aviation Battalion were in the air.

We didn’t just think they were the best chopper pilots and gunship crews in Vietnam -- we believed they ate at God’s mess hall ...

John J. Puzzo
K Company (Ranger)
75th Infantry (Airborne)
United States Army 1968 - 1971

[Excerpt from the book, "The Highlanders In the Vietnam War", which was written by my good friend, John J. Puzzo. If you haven't read John's book yet, I suggest that you do.].

Other Articles by John Puzzo:

Poem, "Waves"
Humor in Vietnam

“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

Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.