My War - Installment 13

I must say that we of the Lift had some leisure time, too much in a way. The problem with the majority of our free time was that it was always in the field. If there is one thing that flat dab wares me out, its sitting and waiting.... sitting and doing absolutely nothing. By mess time that day, I was exhausted from my inactivity.

Jack and I sat at the mess and talked about our first day's experiences. As we finished eating, we talked over the grandiose plans for our tent, and then we returned to our digging. We still did not have any real sandbag protection, so that one aspect became our prime motivator in getting the digging restarted.

Our work continued into the darkening light of evening. We were still filling sandbag after sandbag with the soil from inside our hex tent. Things inside the tent were starting to take shape. The shelves, where we would have our recessed Rocket Box beds, were opposite one another. The center trench which ran between the beds toward the door opening was also getting deeper. We remained at our digging by candlelight, scooping, filling, carrying and stacking until it was again time for our OPs meeting. The OPs meetings were always late at night, so that the latest information could be used in planning. My guess was as good as anybody in regards to where all the intelligence information was coming from.

Our , Executive Officer, was in charge of the briefing that evening. What he told us coincided with our own theories of the afternoon. In the morning we would continue to work the same area as earlie that day. We would try to force the enemy toward the South China Sea. Then in a coordinated movement with Brigade we would close the pincer and see how many NVA we could come up with.

We were also informed during the briefing, to my surprise that we were to be on the lookout for both Russian and Red Chinese advisors. These Russian and Chinese were reported to be in the area working with the NVA and Viet Cong. If we could advise and fight for the South Vietnamese, then why could not they advise and fight for the North Vietnamese. Those facts I found rather interesting. We seemed to have started our involvement in Vietnam in much the same manner. In 1954 President Eisenhower began our involvement with Advisors being sent to help the South Vietnamese people gain independence.

Lyndon Johnson took the cake though…"I hate war. And if the day ever comes when my vote must be cast to send your boy to the trenches, that day Lyndon Johnson will leave his Senate seat to go with him." Texas, 1941

Could this conflict.... or war.... or whatever it was, carry the Russians and Chinese on a similar course? A course where they were fighting for the North Vietnamese and we were fighting for the South Vietnamese; highly unlikely, Right?



"There are those that say you ought to go north and drop bombs, to try to wipe out the supply lines, and they think that would escalate the war. We don't want our American boys to do the fighting for Asian boys. We don't want to get involved in a nation with 700 million people and get tied down in a land war in Asia." President Johnson, Eufaula, Oklahoma September 25, 1964.

The XO wrapped up the OPs meeting, Jack and I returned wearily to our still incomplete tent structure. Lyndon Johnson's old quotes still drifting around in the deep recesses of my consciousness.

I was beginning to get used to living with my pistol and other munitions at close hand, like under my pillow. I felt content and at ease as I lifted my four rocket boxes into place on the uncompleted shelf and then crawled into my mummy-bag (shape of sleeping bag). I immediately relaxed and fell asleep.

ANOTHER DAY
The night was far too short, especially with my not being entirely accustomed to the Scouts shuffling around so early. Jack seemed to be sleeping like a stone. He never seemed to be aware of the early morning noises.

We got up at the usual time and began with what I felt would somehow become a ritual. Bleary eyed, I would move to the water trailer and return to the front of the tent with a helmet full of water. We had built a small washstand with a hole cut in the top that would hold a steel helmet which acted as a wash basin.

After finishing with one of the three "Ss," that being shaving and tooth brushing, I proceeded to the next "S.”

The place where number two "S" of the famous three "S"s, "Shit Shower, Shave,” not necessarily in that order, we affectionately call the outhouse the "Shitter.” The "Shitter" was simply the lower third of a 55-gallon drum. There was a plywood top with the appropriately shaped hole. We had two, so it was an official two-holer. The "Shitter" was positioned right out in the open with no sides or anything. There was just a canvas back and roof arrangement. The rest was open. That was where the men were separated from the boys. It was said that if you couldn't sit in the open and take a dump without feeling stupid you just didn't have a hair on your butt (a ridicules expression of manliness).

After a few days in the tropical heat I was beginning to wonder where I could, if I could find the time, to partake of "S" number three, "Shower.” I began to worry so I asked around.

I found out that if you wanted to take a shower there was a truck that left the compound for the shower point at around 1900 hours each evening. Once at the shower point you would have to carry water from a rice paddy to the top of a stall and dump it into a drum, then lower a kerosene immersion heater into the drum and light it, and then wait. After heating you could enjoy a shower while the mosquitoes had a feast on your ass.

I was told that there were two basic problems with showering: "First it was a expense of time as well as a great inconvenience to go that far and to all that trouble. Secondly, when you bathed that completely the dad-gun mosquitoes would eat you up for a couple of days after you bathed."

"Thanks,” I said and I moved off to the mess for breakfast.

We moved out to the ever waiting Hueys after mess. The grunts were already waiting along the perimeter of the pad. We had done our preflight earlier and Bill and I had checked with Captain Richardson to see if there had been any changes in the day's plans. There had not.

We climbed into our Huey, strapped ourselves down and awaited orders to crank. At 0812 hours we received our orders to wind up the turbine. Methodically we began the start up procedures, and then signaled to our squad to climb in. We lifted off and as before took up the same heading we had used the previous day, which would take us to an area South of Bong Son. We were going to continue to try and push whatever enemy there was toward the sea.

The Scouts had, long before, finished the first light patrols and were working the area around the LZ before we arrived. At least that is what we heard on our radio. From the reports and chatter that we had heard they had not drawn any fire in the immediate area of the LZ and deemed it safe for us to come in without any problems.

"Where were the Scouts yesterday, Bill?" I asked.

There had been no Scouts around the LZs yesterday at any time during our flights.

Bill replied, “It’s not unusual for the Scouts to work another area while the Recon platoon is checking something out, more closely than the Scouts may did the previous day. Typically, though, the Scouts worked with the recon platoon when they are on the ground. It’s hard to know for sure what's going on when we just drop the grunts off and then pick 'em up later."

"Yea,” I said. "That's started bothering me already; all the waiting and all the not knowing."

"Well, why don't you go visit the Scout team's club tent some evening and have a chat," said Bill.

"Now why didn't I think of that," I replied.

We finished our chat on the intercom and prepared for our descent and landing. The LZ was very similar to all the others which I had seen the day before. It was lined by the hedge rows of trees and shrubs, which always appeared to be six to eight feet wide.

"Boy! They sure could hide an awful lot of people in those hedge rows,” I thought to myself again.

We landed without incident, off loaded the troops and headed for the lager area near Bong Son to sit and grow still older. We wiled away the morning hours watching the children ply their wares to any passers-by (that is American passers-by). Sitting in small groups we talked about what we thought the outcome of the push toward the sea would be. We really did not come up with anything of any substance, since we knew little of the details of the operation.

About 1145 hours we were called to lift the grunts from one LZ and immediately put them into another. Charlie was supposed to be on the run and they wanted to block any movement away from the coast.

It seemed to Bill and me that they were trying to move the enemy toward a small fishing village on the coast. The village was about eight kilometers east south east of Bong Son. That did not make much sense to us, but what did we know?

Perhaps just south of the village and its small sheltered bay was where the blocking force would be put in. We again strapped in and cranked up the turbines. If they were being picked up and put back in, to block movement in one direction, who would be there to keep them from moving back to where we were just about to land? Again, it was not my problem, "ours was not to question why, ours was just to fly or die."

We came in over the area at the usual 1500 feet in a tight formation. We remained at an altitude for quite some time. The Recon platoon was not working too far away. What was going on? My concentration was broken by Bill's voice coming over the intercom.

"Sam," he said.

"Roger," I replied.

"It looks like Cap's going to have the formation peel off and regroup at low level for the touch down." He continued.

“Sounds like a good time to me." I replied. "Let's get it goin'."

Within a minute or so Captain Richardson gave us the word.

"Red flight, prepare to take 'em down."

With that brief statement he hauled off into a very steep descending left bank, followed close behind by the rest of us.

Our banking dive was steep enough to point the doors straight at the ground. The feeling was exhilarating as we zoomed toward the ground and rapidly reformed into our "V" shaped pattern just off the edge of the Landing Zone.

The grunts were crouched along the edge of the LZ, it being interspersed between the brush and trees of the hedgerow. As we set the choppers down the GIs immediately recognized their ships and ran directly to them.

In less than one minute we were loaded and collectively pulling in power to get light on the skids for takeoff in formation. We took no fire, to my knowledge, and we were thankful. Our new destination was about three kilometers south of the present LZ. Maybe the brass thought that the NVA would be stupid enough to believe that we were putting another unit in and leaving the men we had just picked up in place. Fortunately I was smart enough to leave most of my opinions to myself, locked inside my head. Fat chance, I thought. They'd not only have to be stupid as heck, they would also have to be blind, since the old LZ was so close to the new one.

The new LZ was so close in fact that it was pointless to try to gain any altitude. We remained in close formation flying a few feet above the tree tops. It was a matter of only a minute or two until we broke over the line of trees at the new LZ. We quickly pulled back on the cyclic control, increased collective pitch, and flared to a halt then gently settled the ships into the tall grass.

Right after the flare movement, as we were starting to settle in, we started to pick up some fire. Most of the firing seemed to be coming from the right side of our formation. A few bullets passed through the canopy very close to my head, a real thrill to be sure; pucker time (that is the involuntary action of the sphincter muscle in the rectum). I was thankful for the chest protector, but wished we had bullet proof helmets. I was only hit by some shattered Plexiglas. Perhaps I would stay lucky.

"Red one, Red tree, (three pronounced this way for radio clarity) receiving automatic weapons fire. "Let's haul ass," Bill remarked over the ship’s intercom.

The grunts, definitely aware of the report from the enemy weapons, hit the deck and started to move cautiously to the hedgerows, away from the fire. They apparently planned on making their stand opposite the enemy hedgerow.

We took off immediately, still receiving an occasional burst of fire, evidenced only by their tracers, and kept flying at low level. We remained low picking up speed then hauled back, hard, on the cyclic control while pulling in collective pitch, climbing rapidly in formation before heading for the lager area.

"Well, we had a little excitement there, Bill," I said as we shut down and pulled off our flight helmets.

"Yea,” Bill replied. "Such excitement I can do without. I just don't see how those silly-assed Scout pilots handle getting shot at so much, their just sitting ducks the way they fly."