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If you know a Veteran, someone in your family,
friend of the family, neighbor, who served their
country, take a brief moment of your day to thank them.
Thank them for the sacrifice they made
for the better good of their country.
We at Free Republic, and the USO Canteen FReeper Style,
are thankful for every service member
in our military, who has served our great nation.
So, to the men and women who answered the call,
in both times of war and peace, thank you.
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Message from Snow Bunny to all those who visit the Canteen.
This is how I think of the USO Canteen Freeper Style.
It is like a cottage down a road,
a place where a weary veteran can spend the night.
Since it opened, it is magical how so many
Freepers who post here, feel it too.
It has been so dear how the Freepers
kept making it a cottage - a home-type of place
that had a huge living room
for them to visit in and a dance floor, a library, etc.
Many Veterans have written to me,
saying that the Canteen is like home
to them for the first time since they served.
This is your Canteen -
a respite from our busy
and sometimes troubling world.
Make yourself at home.
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The USO Canteen Honors FReepers
who have served, or are now serving their country.
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You may have a loved one who has served in the past.
We at the FReeper USO Canteen would like to honor each and every one.
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Thank You R.Scott for your service to our Country !
SFC US ARMY (Ret.)
United States Army Vessel LCU 1581
The first LCU I served on
I reported to the draft board office in Meadville, PA
the county seat of Crawford County, and along with
the other draftees from the county rode buses to the
federal building in Pittsburgh.
After filling out a pile of papers, the selection began.
A US Marine Corps Sergeant with two Marine
Corps MPs entered to room and barked, "I need twenty
volunteers for the United States Marine Corps!" The
Marines stick with their claim that they only take volunteers.
There is a mad rush for the back of the room, but the Marines
drag twenty "volunteers" from the room.
A US Navy Chief enters the room alone and announces,
"I need twenty volunteers for the US Navy". There is a mad
rush to the front of the room, but he only takes twenty men,
and no amount of begging, pleading, or groveling will make
him take more. A US Army Sergeant and an officer enter the
room.
The officer said, "Raise your right hand and repeat after me!"
We were in the United States Army.
I entered basic at 220 pounds. I graduated two months later
at 160 pounds. I was relatively lean, actually pretty well
muscled. No longer was I just an overweight teenager. We
received our orders upon graduation, and from over 500
basic trainees, only a dozen went infantry.
I received orders to report to Ft. Gordon, Georgia for duty
with an Army Band but first I had a thirty day leave.
I arrived at the bus station in Meadville in the early morning
of December 24, 1965. In was very cold and snowing, but I
was out of basic training!
I was a SOLDIER !
Dad picked me up and I was soon home again.
I stayed laid back for most of my thirty days. I looked up
girl friends, I went to Ohio with the guys for beer.
I did the socially mandatory "visit the relatives", but this
time there was a difference. All my uncles were WWII
vets. Heck, I don't think there was a man in my family
tree that did not go to war. This time they actually - for
the first time - told war stories. All had seen action.
I told them not to worry about me, as I was going to an
Army Band. I would do my two years and be done,
and I would never see Viet Nam!
I arrived in Viet Nam around noon, at Tan Son Nhut Air
Base, just outside Saigon, October 1966, monsoon season.
The first impressions, upon leaving the air-conditioned 707,
were - all hitting instantaneously - heavy oppressive heat,
humidity, and stench. The humidity was so bad it felt like
we were breathing water. The heat produced instant sweat.
The smell was nauseating.
We boarded Army buses, and noticed the windows covered
with chicken wire; the armed guard told us not to worry, as
that would keep the Viet Cong hand grenades out of the bus.
Welcome to Vietnam
My first night was spent in the luxury of the 90th Replacement
Battalion. Long Binh, Viet Nam was a "Replacement Center".
New arrivals to Viet Nam came there to await assignment to a
unit. Some soldiers come in and go out the same day - the lucky<
ones going to combat units; the rest of us wait and wait and wait.
Rumor has it that some troops spend their entire tour waiting.
The replacements were unarmed. We weren't issued a personal
weapon until we arrived at our permanent unit. This made me a
bit uncomfortable, as we were hit on a regular basis. The perimeter
guard force however, was armed and composed of replacements
awaiting assignment.
I paid twenty dollars to the Sargent of the Guard and was added to
the roster.
I quickly became accustomed to being a bunker guard.
Nights were interesting. Charlie could see no better in the
dark than us, and often used flashlights with a blue lens. We
would see these blue lights bobbing up and down near the wire.
One evening, as sunset approached, I watched a tiny
black scorpion crawl up my pant leg. It was only about
half an inch long, so I knew it couldn't hurt me. As the area
grew dark, the scorpion crawled further up, stopping on my side.
I began to worry it would go for my neck. That would hurt.
I wasn't too concerned about my side because I had on
two uniform shirts over my T- shirt. It gets chilly at night there.
It also gets dark incredibly fast when the sun sets. I decided to
flick the scorpion off my shirt. It was quicker than I. It stung
before it died. It felt like a bee sting and I wasn't concerned.
Now it is full dark, and the new guy with me is extremely
nervous. He sees the blue lights just beyond the wire. New
guys down the line also see them and begin to get antsy. I am
on the phone telling people to stay calm and get off the line. Do
not fire! If we start shooting, our rounds will hit the other camps
close by and they will return fire at us. Wait for orders, or until
Charlie is actually in the wire.
Then the scorpion's poison hit me. It was pain, pure and
unadulterated. My abdomen cramped and I fell to the ground.
The new guy freaked out. The telephones died at the same time.
We had no communication with the other bunkers or the guard force.
I couldn't send the new guy for help because it would leave the bunker
unmanned; I was useless. I knew there would be a lineman coming
soon to check the wire so I waited. The pain subsided in about an hour,
to me it seemed an eternity. I was back on my feet when the lineman
came around. Someone stumbling around in the dark had tripped
over the wire.
I learned something that night. Don't judge a hazard by it's size.
While I was with Hq Co USARV we had a new first sergeant
report in. He had been in Viet Nam for several years, and was
just a bit over the edge. He came to us from the 173rd Airborne
Brigade, a true Combat Happy Grunt. He had his collection of ears
and pictures of dead bodies. He had been incountry too long.
Before the Airborne assignment he had been assigned as an advisor
with the ARVN Rangers and an ARVN Airborne unit.
He came bouncing into the orderly room and announced that
he was our new 1st Shirt, and "what's my job?". We told him
he didn't really have one, the clerks handled everything. He
could sign something no and then if he wanted to. Our previous
first sergeant was a photography nut along with our executive
officer. All day long they would take pictures from their windows
with huge telephoto lenses, then rush out and develop them.
The first thing our new 1st Shirt did was inspect the arms
room. He was not happy; all we had were M-14s for the
enlisted and .45s for the officers. No machine guns, no rocket
launchers, no grenades. We explained that we were a bunch
of clerks and that's all we needed we were over a mile from the
perimeter wire.
He ordered our supply sergeant to get more weapons.
Our supply sergeant was typical of the supply types during the
early days of our involvement. He could scrounge anything
and knew everyone in the system. He left with a jeep and a pair
of new boots. Two days later he returned with a trailer for the jeep
loaded down with weapons that would make any gung-ho type happy.
He arrived incountry an eighteen year old private and left one
year later a nineteen year old Sergeant First Class.
Being a Saigon Warrior did have its hazards as we were
prime targets for VC sapper teams - what the media referred
to as "terrorist". I had several close calls with bombs, but close
ain't good enough. The first of these was after leaving the floating
restaurant.
We had just finished a superb meal, topped with a perfect and I
mean perfect chocolate soufflé. We had just stepped off the gangway
when we heard a muffled explosion close by. People started
streaming off the barge, and it started a noticeable list. No one
was hurt, but the restaurant was closed for several weeks for repairs.
A small boat came alongside and planted a charge against
the hull. The next one was at another restaurant patronized
by GIs. A squad of VC opened up on it and the bar next door
with AK47s and grenades.
I had a newbie with me, so I grabbed my steak and him and
hit the floor. Luckily for us, the place was constructed using
blast walls for partitions, and we were unharmed. Security
guards, MPs, and the local police took care of it in short order.
The most amazing thing was an old French couple beside
us and behind the same blast wall. They never moved, and
I don't believe they missed a bite. All they did was cover
their plate with a napkin.
When we got back up their comment was,
"We're not involved in your war."
I decided to get out of Saigon, primarily because I hated
the "Saigon Warrior" attitude towards the grunts in the field.
When setting in a Saigon bar a couple of field grunts
came in for a few 33s and a break. They were in jungle
fatigues and unshaven. Some of the Saigon Warriors didn't
think they should be in town, and made their feelings known.
I went off and helped the assholes leave the bar.
I gave a personal officer two bottles of Johnny Walker Black,
he handed me a catalogue, and I picked an MOS.
I would be in the Army's Navy.
Floating Restaurant
We were berthed along side a pier near Saigon.
The pier pilings were protected with chicken wire to
prevent mines or swimmers from getting under the pier.
I was stepping over from the pier to the boat with several
cases of beer in my arms when I heard a warning yelled
"STOP!!",
and people were pointing below me.
I looked down and saw a beautiful cobra between my legs.
It's body was intertwined in the chicken wire, and about
three feet of it's working end was up and swaying. Some
fool threw a pipe at it. That only made the snake mad.
It's hood flared open and it started to look for someone to
strike. It's head was now between my knees. A cobra ready
to strike is indeed beautiful. I saw how the story about the
cobra hypnotizing it's prey got started. An MP came over,
borrowed a rifle and took a shot - it grazed the snake's neck.
Now it's really mad. I told him to use his .45 for close work.
I was told to mind my own business!
It was my business!
After several more shots - all misses - the snake went on it's way.
On that day I decided to look under as well as on the piers.
Me returning from R&R in Japan
Cargo in Delta
South China Sea sunrise
Thanksgiving 1967
We worked out of Dong Tam (9th Division) in the
Mekong Delta on a regular basis. One night while
we were there they showed movies. The "theater"
consisted of a truck with a bed sheet hung on the
side in front of the projector. This night they were
showing movies of the "Combat" TV series. American
Heroes fighting the Germans.
We were heavily engrossed in the movie.
A scene of heavy combat came up.
Damn the sound was realistic! That really sounds
like machine guns and mortars!
A line of holes appeared in the screen. A pile of
lumber became airborne behind us. A little too realistic.
We made a scramble back to the boats; the grunts
hit their bunkers. We were being hit by a ground
assault at the best possibly time for Charlie.
During a war movie!
There was an incountry R&R center near Vung Tau, complete with
a fine beach and recreation center. Between the R&R center and
the town was a strip of beach with two or three beachfront bars that
were posted "off limits" to American soldiers. Of course I had to
patronize them on occasion. The owners and employers welcomed
us, and while at first I thought it might be because they wanted our
money of they were seeking classified information, that turned out not
to be the case. We spent little money and the beer was cheaper than
in the "GI" bars, and we never talked shop. They were just friendly people.
We had one very educational and entertaining afternoon at
one of those bars. Because of changing security conditions
in the area we were at times required to carry weapons.
This was one of those times.
Two of us entered the bar and immediately noticed the
subdued atmosphere. Something was wrong. We looked
around but nothing was obvious, just some people setting
in the corner drinking beer. We sat down, leaned our rifles
against the table and were served by a very nervous waitress.
As our eyes adjusted to the dimness I saw that the "peasants"
in the corner had AK47 rifles at their table. They were
Viet Cong soldiers taking a break, and like us were in an off
limits bar. The situation was a bit tense until I told the waitress
I wanted to buy them a round of beer.
Everyone relaxed, and I asked them to join us. The newbie with
me looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere, but
stayed cool. One of the VC was actually from Hanoi and had
"volunteered" to go south and join the Viet Cong. He had taught
English at the University of Hanoi but his position had been
eliminated. He served as the group translator. By the end of the
afternoon we were all a bit drunk but happy.
After our good-byes they went their way and we went ours.
They were on R&R at the nearby VC rest center.
We were taking a load up the coast during a typhoon.
Very High Winds and seas - green water breaking
the conn (bridge - the highest part of the boat). We
weren't riding too badly, as the wave length was about
150 - 200 feet, and we were 115 feet long; we road between,
or up, or down, but seldom tried to do more than one of those
directions at once. We would ride up a crest, slide down the other
side and bury half our length in the sea, shake like a wet dog and
pull up to climb the next one. I looked worse than it was.
We saw a US Navy destroyer off to our starboard side (right) and it
appeared she was having a very bad time. Every time she hit a
wave she would disappear under water. We contacted her on
the radio and offered our assistance - at the same time that she
was using blinker light to offer us assistance!
Part of operation Galleger was a almost a total waste of time.
Sau Nguyen was a small coastal fishing village North of
Quin Nhon. It was also strongly Viet Cong, and was a
major source of their salt, fish, and rice. The Americans
thought it would be a good place to set up an over-the-shore
port for an upcoming operation if the sand bar guarding the
entrance could be dredged.
A force was assembled. Our LCU with a clam scoop crane
onboard, a Mike boat, and a LARC LX. We had an Engineer
Colonel in charge. He might have known about construction,
be he nothing about the sea.
We would start our dredging operation at first light;
picking up sand from one side of the boat and dumping
it on the other side. At the end of the day soundings would
be taken, and it was declared that the channel was ready for
use. We would try to get through the next morning, and wonder
of wonders! The channel had filled in with the tide!
This we did for a week. We also had to put up with pot shots
from the village. One soldier was hit, but the Colonel would
not medivac him by air, it wouldn't look good. He called in a
Navy patrol (Swift) boat to take him back. He died enroute.
Time was getting short, so the Colonel decided to see
if we could make it over the bar. If we succeeded in
getting over and entering the village harbor, the operation
would be deemed a success. We waited for high tide, pumped
out all ballast, and forced our way across with the help of the surf.
The Colonel ordered us not to fire any weapons no matter
what happened, as he had orders not to anger the villagers.
Even if he was killed, we were not to fire. We stood by our gun
positions and locked and loaded before entering the village.
No one fired on us. They threw rocks, they threw rotten veggies
and fish, but they did not fire.
The operation was declared a success, and the Colonel
received another medal.
Before we left the area, we had one more thing to do.
We painted "LCU 1581 was here" on a large rock near the entrance.
We returned to Quin Nhon and found several boats
loading up. The crews told us they were going to a
village called Sau Nguyn, it was a Viet Cong Village
and they were the first Americans to go there.
We smiled and made a few bets.
The long awaited radio message came - my extension leave had
finally been approved. All I had to do was present myself to the
clerk at Long Bien and pick my orders. My problem? I was on a
Coronado mission with the Riverine forces, and we would not be
returning to Vung Tau for several days.
Time was wasting. My skipper told me that if I could get - get.
I waded through a freshly fertilized paddy at the French Fort
to reach the helipad and hitched a ride to Long Bien.
I would be home for Christmas!
I arrived at Long Bien Headquarters and thought I was Stateside.
Spit shined boots and starched fatigues. Air-conditioned buildings.
Paved roads and sidewalks. I found the right building, found the
right room - and there was a line stretching out and down the hall.
I stood patiently at the end of the very long line. The GI in front
of me sniffed the air, looked at me, and decided to get a beer.
The next man sniffed and left, and the next, and the next.
I soon found my self at the clerk's desk.
He sniffed and decided to take a break. I told him to go ahead,
I'd just set in his chair with my boots on his desk, and patiently
await his return. He changed his mind and cut my orders.
I was off! I hit Bien Hoa, stuffed my fertilized fatigues in a
laundry bag, changed into Class A, and headed home to
snow and ice, cold draft beer, real cow steaks, and no sudden load noises.
I had to go through Ft. Dix for my return flight to Nam.
Several of us were pulled for KP. I pulled my unwashed
fatigues from the bag - as did several others - and the mess
sergeant sniffed, and excused us from KP. The SP4 lackey who
had assigned us the detail pulled KP, along with several
permanent party NCOs.
Paddy mud had it's uses.
Tet '68 had seemingly erupted all over South Vietnam
while I was returning from leave. The 707's radio carried
the news and all 220 of us paid rapt attention.
The flight was composed of returning veterans -
I don't think there was a newbie aboard.
We had learned not to put a lot of faith in America's
news media the big time reporters dug up their stories
in the bars and hotels, and checking for accuracy was
unheard of.
If it sounded bad for the Americans it was sent out.
If it made us look bad it was sent out with a rush.
But with all the reports we heard, we knew there had
to be something to it.
We made our final approach to Long Bien and suddenly
pulled up hard. Looking out the window I could see aerial
flares floating around the airport. Tracers - both our red
and their yellow - could be seen crisscrossing below.
Not a good sign. The field was under ground assault; we
could not land and were short on fuel.
Fortunately the firefight was brief or I would not be
reminiscing today. We landed safely and caught the first
available transportation to our units. My helicopter ride to
Vung Tau was uneventful and there was a jeep waiting for
me at the field to whisk me to my boat. It was ready to head
for Beria and load some tanks for the Vinh Long area.
As we approached the landing site at Vinh Long, we
listened to news reports of the battles. We watched over our gun sights as we listened.
"Heavy fighting along the river near
the Defense Ministry in Saigon and
light scattered sniping around Vinh Long."
We watched as enemy mortar shells exploded in the city.
Buildings were afire and much of Vinh Long was rubble.
If this was "light" I would hate to see Saigon!
After offloading the tanks we received a radio call asking
if we could go along side the city bulkhead and rescue some
German medical missionaries. We agreed.
As we approached the seawall we could see a couple
Europeans running down the street towards us with the
Viet Cong regulars right behind and shooting. We supplied
cover fire and they safely boarded; we wasted no time pulling
away. It seems that medical personnel were number one on
the VC hit list. We headed for Saigon to deliver the missionaries
and take on another load. Saigon appeared undamaged; we saw
a few bullet scars but no damage.
So much for the integrity of the reporters.
Medical Missionary
Vinh Long
We were sent "Up North" when we returned to Vung Tau.
A messenger was waiting for us on the pier with a set of
sealed orders. We packed our bags, left our boat and were
trucked to the airfield. We had no idea what was happening.
After the C130 was in the air the skipper opened the orders.
We were going to Da Nang to assist the US Navy.
We arrived at the pier in Da Nang and found our new boat.
There was one man setting on his duffel bag waiting for us.
He was the sole survivor of the LCU 1580. We were the
replacement crew.
After stowing our gear we busied ourselves getting
ready for the next mission and listening to "Hanoi Hannah"
on the radio.
Remember that we had left Vung Tau the night before
under secret sealed orders.
Now, about ten hours later Hannah was reading a list
of our names, service numbers and our hull number.
She announced that there was a "dead or alive" reward
on our heads, and that our fate would be the same as that
of the previous crew.
Welcome to I Corp.
Burned out LCM 8
LCU sunk in River
Most of our Cargo in 1Corp consisted of 200 tons of ammo
Hoa Beach
Beach at City of Hue
Bridge connecting Hue City with The Citadel
The missions in I Corps were "exciting".
They were continual firefights, an ambush lasting several
hours. The North Vietnamese Division along the Cua Viet
River to Dong Hoa used a rolling ambush against us;
our top speed of five mph made it easy for them.
They would have several teams along the riverbank,
when we encountered the first team they would engage
us, after we passed them the second team would engage
and the first would move up the river ahead of us and wait
their turn again. Our slow speed and need to stay in the river
channel also made us easy targets for mortars.
Ordinarily it is nearly impossible to hit a moving target with
a mortar. It is a slow moving artillery shell, the 60 mm round
takes seven seconds to travel from the tube to the target.
The North Vietnamese would set up their mortars to hit in
mid channel, then set up aiming stakes pointing about sixty
or seventy feet in front of that point. When an LCU crossed in
front of the aiming stakes the mortar would be fired, and the shell
and the boat would meet at the same point at the same time if the
mortar crew were on their toes. We would fire at anything that
appeared to be able to hide a mortar team in hopes of making them miss.
Our basic load of ammo was 1,400 rounds for the .50 caliber
machine gun, 2,000 rounds for the M-60 machine gun, about
20 rounds for the grenade launcher and 100 rounds apiece
for the individual rifles.
Our first trip was into the City of Hue, and we expended
nearly all ammunition just going in. We had nothing to fight
our way out with. It was about a three hour running battle
both in and out.
We watched as our sandbags appeared to melt.
They were taking so much incoming metal that the
sand was running out the holes. We started with
chest high protection, when we arrived in Hue it was
knee high, and composed mostly of empty bags with little sand.
The missions into Dong Hoa were - bad.
Dong Hoa River Mouth
They were continual firefights, an ambush lasting several
hours. The North Vietnamese Division along the Cua Viet
River to Dong Hoa used a rolling ambush against us; our
top speed of five mph made it easy for them.
They would have several teams along the river bank, when
we encountered the first team they would engage us, after
we passed them the second team would engage and the first
would move up the river ahead of us and await their turn again.
We had no air cover or gunboat support - we were on our own.
Several boats were lost, and crew causalities ran about 40%
each mission; that worked out to a life expectancy of two and
a half trips.
We hit the beach, put the engines at full ahead, and because
of the heavy incoming artillery barrage left the boat and ran
for the bunkers. These were hastily constructed of metal conex
shipping containers surrounded with sandbags. I hunkered down
against the back wall and watched the fireworks, feeling safe from
the shrapnel that was flying around outside. A Navy corpsman
(combat medic) was near the entrance smoking a cigarette,
watching for causalities outside.
"I wouldn't set there if I were you."
"Why not?"
"We haven't sandbagged that wall yet."
I moved to the front wall.
As soon as the last forklift load left our boat we ran
back aboard and pulled off the beach. If the boat had
taken a direct hit the entire beach would have been
wiped out our cargo was 200 tons of ammo. There were
several shrapnel scars on the superstructure, and large
jagged pieces of metal lying around the deck. We waited in
mid stream for the remainder of the boats, and fought our
way back to the ocean.
"News reporters" often talked about
"The Siege of Kha Sonh",
which was a figment of their imagination
made for good copy.
The Marines were never cut off or surrounded.
We brought cargo to a small beachhead on the
Cua Viet River near a village called Dong Hoa.
The supplies would then be trucked up to the Marines.
It was a very small beach just large enough for two of
our boats at a time to squeeze in. The actual area for
cargo operations was about 100 feet wide and maybe
100 yards deep. It was well within range of North
Vietnamese 130 mm howitzers setting North of the
DMZ. The Soviet made 130 howitzer is a very effective
and accurate piece of artillery. I'm very glad and fortunate
that they had no spotters in close.
Our normal routine was to hit the beach,
put all engines ahead full to hold us in place,
lash the wheel and head for the bunkers ashore
until we had been off loaded.
Our cargo was always 200 tons of ammo or fuel,
sometimes with a small amount of C rations.
If one of the North Vietnamese shells had hit the
cargo I don't think the bunkers would have been
much help; but they were protection from the shrapnel
that filled the air. I counted one round every 30 seconds
hitting that small beach.
I learned respect for the US Navy Sea Bees
and Navy Corpsmen on that beach.
They were all volunteers from Da Nang a nice safe quiet city.
I would cost about Dozen Sea Bee forklift operators for every
boatload of cargo. The artillery was blowing them away on an
all to frequent basis. One would fall from the forklift, a corpsman
would run out and carry him to "safety" as another Sea Bee
climbed up to finish the unloading.
Our LCU is setting on the beachhead at Hue City during
the '68 Tet offensive. Our load, like that on the other four boats,
consists of 200 ton of ammo. There's not much the crew can do
but watch.
We receive small arms fire from across the Perfume River
and occasional mortar fire - a very good spotter is in a tower
near the East side of the Citadel. We can see him now and
then with glasses, but direct fire weapons are ineffectual, and
every time someone gets lucky with a rifle, a replacement takes
over in a few minuets. That tower has been shelled and bombed
to no effect - centuries old stonework is pretty strong.
I discovered a way to make extra money - and to help our
supply system. I take pictures of combat when I'm able (like now),
and sell or trade them with the Remington Raiders at Da Nang.
They in turn send them home in letters to prove that they are
really in a war.
There have been times in my life when
I haven't acted all that bright.
This is one of those times.
I'm on the Starboard .50 when 60 mm Mortars start walking down
the beach toward the boats. The first one hit near a Marine guard
post, the rest hit about every 10 yards, walking toward us.
I take pictures. If I can capture the blossom it's worth more.
I get a very good shot of the round that hits 30 yards away.
I figure to get the next one a 20 yards, than duck. I hear the
round leave the tube, count to eleven and click the shutter.
The world turns black, then yellow, white, red, and black.
I come to on my back in the wheelhouse where I was blown.
I see white, then red. My vision clears slowly and I make out
white cloth coming down to my face and going away red.
Something is very wrong here.
It seems that sneaky SOB was watching me, and as a
practical joke, skipped 30 yards. The round hit our M60 – blew
it to bits (we saved the bits, and a Marine armorer actually fixed it!).
That was about 10 feet from my head. That round also killed a
sailor two boats down and wounded another of our crew.
I had been wearing a flack vest and steal pot. I had several
holes in my face, left arm, and left leg, but nothing really
serious. I was evacuated from the soccer stadium and
rejoined the boat about a week later - AWOL from the hospital.
Oh - the camera was totaled, the film lost.
I made it off the boat and to the aid station. I had to leave
my rifle onboard and felt very vulnerable. I was given a shot
to guard against infection, had the shrapnel that was sticking
out removed, and was bandaged up.
The aid station was located in a building of the University of Hue,
and the soccer stadium was the heliport for medivac. The soccer
stadium was built like a bowl high sides all around it. It was the
equal of any football stadium in the US. The aid station was filling
rapidly, and some of us were readied to move to the stadium. The
NVA had taken some of the ground between the stadium and us
so it would be a little chancy. All the ambulances had been shot up
so civilian trucks were used to transport us.
We made it to the stadium without too much trouble all the
vehicles picked up a couple more holes but they did make it.
Inside the stadium there was nothing to do but wait for a chopper.
The LZ officer was on the radio trying to get one to come in, but
we had been declared a hot LZ no medivacs were allowed in until the
area was cleared. The stadium was surrounded by the NVA, and any
helicopters attempting to come in were fired on. The officer would call
in the number of dead and wounded that were waiting, and plead for a chopper.
The number of dead would rise and the number of wounded would drop.
Finally two Marine Corps pilots couldn't take hearing it anymore.
They could not do a normal approach because of the surrounding
NVA, so they came straight down. Hard. When they flared up just
before impact (landing) it looked like the rotor blades would come off.
We loaded the stretchers aboard and took off straight up. They were
Marine CH46 Chinooks. Twin rotor cargo carriers. The pilot hit full
RPM full cyclic and rose straight up. This is not recommended procedure.
These birds need forward airspeed to fly.
After climbing a thousand feet or so, the nose was put down,
and the dive gave us airspeed. Up again in a hail of small arms
and automatic weapons fire, some of it hitting us. A couple of the
stretcher cases took hits, and a few hydraulic leaks appeared.
One of the gunners made it back with a roll of duct tape for repairs.
We flew into the hospital at Phu Bai.
Nice and safe. Rear area. No more worries!
The surgeons had been up for close to twenty four hours
operating. The OR was a scene from MASH. As I lay on
the table I over heard this conversation between the doctor
working on me and another surgeon:
"OK, I found a track, now what?"
"Follow the track with a probe and take out what ever you find."
"OK"
Me: "Ah, you are a doctor, aren't you?"
"Yes, but I'm a dentist, I haven't done this kind of stuff before."
Oh well, whatever works.
That night was to be spent in a mortar proof ward. The hospital was shelled.
A corpsman ordered us to leave the safety of the ward and go to unfinished
bunkers. No roof, very low sides, and foot deep mud for a floor.
After his butt was reamed by a more intelligent person, and we returned to bed.
Not much damage to the hospital, but our idea of being in a "nice safe rear area"
was shattered. Being unarmed when under attack was not a good feeling.
I only met one nurse that needed a lesson in war.
She was brand new to The War. Starched and tailored
skintight jungle fatigues. Fine looking - I think.
We had just come off the medivac chopper a Marine CH 46.
Several of the men were in a bad way. They were on stretchers
and bad off. One of the men was a burn case his clothes were
burned and cut off, he was wearing only his shirt.
He was in pain, but fully conscious.
This newby nurse walked over to us, and started going off;
it seemed we had not come to attention, and she was a
lieutenant. We had no idea what she was yelling about,
I was still deaf from the shells, as were most of the men
I was with. The burn case on the stretcher had the audacity
to become sexually aroused when he saw her.
It was very obvious. She started yelling and screaming at us
until a captain came out and took her away to explain the facts of war.
I only encountered one Chaplain during my entire time in Viet Nam.
This was at the Phu Bai hospital after I was medivaced from Hue City.
I was walking from the ward to the latrine after surgery. This brand new,
first time in Country Sky Pilot stopped me and asked,
"Is there anything I can do for you, my son?"
He was fresh and healthy looking. He was wearing brand new
jungle fatigues. He looked NEW.
It took me a few seconds to recognize the cross on his collar.
It had been a while since I had seen them.
I told him,
"just around this building there are some
people that could use you."
Just around the building was where the bodies were stacked.
The ones that could not be saved.
Some were not yet dead but they had no chance.
As I returned from the latrine, the Sky Pilot looked up from his
retching as if to ask, "why did you send me there?"
While working out of Da Nang there were benefits
to go along with the dangers of having people trying
to kill us. We had an important job keeping supplies
moving to the Marines in Hue and Dong Hoa.
Because of this mission we had a special dispensation
from the Command; The Armed Forces Police
(a combined Army/Navy MP force) had orders not
to detain us (short of serious charges) past our sailing time.
We also developed a tradition drink as much booze as
possible between missions. This led to a couple of incidents,
both to our benefit and one somewhat humorous.
After one particularly rough mission we started at the beer
tent on our beach and were kicked out. We then went to the
Navy Chief's Club. We cleared the bar and drank. Sailors
were impressed that we would just walk up to the bar and it
would empty for us. Sometimes we had to remind people of
our determination to drink together at the bar.
The AFPs were called and we were kicked out of there
and headed for the Officer's Club. Same drill, only this
time a whole lot of Military Cops showed up and "detained" us
with a liberal use of clubs and cuffs; not hard for them as we
were pretty well plowed.
We were dropped into a conex box that was buried in the
sand with the door facing up. We were told we would stay
there until we had a hearing. This occurred at about 4:00 AM.
We were to sail at 5:00 AM. At about 4:45 AM we were pulled
out and put into jeeps for a very fast ride to the beach; the AFPs
were worried we wouldn't make it in time for sailing.
We didn't.
We arrived on the beach and watched our stern lights disappear
around the island. The police commandeered a high speed patrol
boat and loaded us aboard. We caught up with the convoy as it
left the channel for the open sea.
Many of the sailors at Da Nang were
envious of our treatment and wanted our status.
This was a good thing because we were running out of
crewmen the replacement system couldn't keep up with
our causalities. We were more then happy to accept them
as volunteers. These volunteers were always surprised
when they found out why they were needed and often would
try to un-volunteer after their first mission.
A1 Skyrider
I witnessed an amazing display of courage by the RVNAF while
heading into the city of Hue.
We were approaching the Strawberry Patch when we saw
a flight of A1 Skyraiders overhead. We had been taking heavy
fire from the Citadel our beachhead (at the University) was
directly across from it.
There were 5 or 6 planes in the flight. One at a time
they peeled off and made their run on the Citadel. As
each plane pulled up after the run it was hit by ground
fire and burst into flame. We knew the last plane would abort he had watched the
entire flight ahead of him die.
He did not abort but followed his flight in and he too died.
We were really rooting for him to make it out safely.
My last two days incountry were the most memorable of my life.
We had just returned to Da Nang from Up North, and
I made straight for the personnel tent to try and get
another R&R that I was owed.
It was a mess.
A direct hit with a mortar round does that. Papers and file
cabinets everywhere, and a clerk trying to reconstruct files.
He asked me for my DEROS (the date we were to leave Viet Nam).
I told him it was yesterday. He typed up my going home orders on
the spot no questions asked. I actually left only a week early because
I had lost track myself.
I stopped by the company clerk's office to spread the good
news and "borrow" the CO's jeep to aid my departure. By
the time I got back to the boat to pack, my replacement was
waiting pier side. He was a fresh young US Navy sailor.
Our causalities were so high we could not keep up using Army
replacements, so occasionally rear area Navy people would volunteer.
He had no weapon, no steel pot, and no flack jacket.
I gave him mine. He looked at the bloodstains on the
flack jacket and the scars on the steel pot, and tried to
bolt. The crew pulled him aboard. I explained that the
blood was mine, and it was very good blood and the flack
jacket and helmet worked for me and should work for him.
I handed him my M14 rifle. It too had shrapnel scars.
I warned him that it was converted to full automatic,
so take it easy on the trigger. I made a beeline
for the airfield and caught a
hop to Camn Rahn Bay.
I was going home!
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