The Days Forward

West Point Class of 1969

Suzanne Rice

Rice, Suzanne: Afghanistan – part 2 – On Pins and Needles – 2016

To read part 1, go here first.

November 12, 2016 Near Atlanta, GA

      A friend’s husband was going to be out of town, and she asked me to spend the weekend with her. We had been friends for several decades and it was a chance for us to have some quality time together. I was delighted to have the opportunity.  I was at her house when I woke up on Saturday, 12 November 2016. Our son, Christopher, had been stationed at Bagram Air Force Base but was leaving Afghanistan with his unit on that day after his second tour to that war zone. The whole family was delighted that he would soon be back at Ft. Carson. It would be several days before he would land in the US after leaving Afghanistan.

     When I woke up, I reached for my phone to check the time (oh, too early!). It was 4 a.m. in Atlanta. Since it was so early, I took a look at the newsfeed on my phone. Oh, my gosh! Oh, no! The title of the first article was “Terrorist Attack at Bagram Air Force Base”. What? How could that be? Bagram was thought of as the safest post in the war zone. I was horrified, worried and immediately fully awake. What do I do next? It was too early to wake up my friend to tell her. Instead, full of worry, I got up, dressed, repacked my overnight bag and got ready for the day, still pondering what I ought to do.

      Having been around the military for several decades by this time as an Army wife and later, an Army mom, I knew that when there was some sort of tragedy in the military, all personal communication would stop and only a military spokesman would be giving out information. The theory was that the next of kin of those injured or killed would need to be contacted before the full story would go out to the public. That also gave the military time to investigate the situation. This also kept rumors from flying around. It might take a day or so to contact the next of kin. Oh…that is me.

     At six o’clock, I decided that I needed to get home as fast as possible. How could any Army representative get in touch with me if I wasn’t home? I woke up my friend and told her the situation. She was shocked, horrified and concerned. Our church has overnight Adoration on Fridays and into Saturday morning; since it was the six a.m. hour, I decided I would have time for a few minutes of prayer before anyone would come to my house to tell me the fate of our son. I was a little shaky, but since my friend lives close to church, it didn’t take me long to drive over where I found another friend there praying. I asked her to keep Christopher in her prayers. She knew him from a child and was happy to be in prayer for him, but shocked and concerned about his fate.

      Then, I rushed home where I tried to get my mind off the situation in Afghanistan, though I did check the news, but found nothing; it was all I could think of – why wasn’t there news? Where was Christopher? What had happened? Was there any additional news?  Flip on the television, again. No additional info just the Alert that there was a terrorist attack at Bagram. How can I keep my mind occupied? Should I call other family members – or will they just worry like me? I tried to keep the worry to myself, when I realized I needed to get people praying for the victims. I called Christopher’s sisters in MD and then, went back to my personal worrying.

      At about noon, out of the blue, came a call from one of my husband’s West Point classmates. I don’t believe he had ever called me before and I don’t remember now what he had planned to talk about, but in the midst of whatever it was, he asked about Christopher. “Thank you for asking…you’ll never believe what is going on.” He hadn’t heard about the attack. He reassured me that he would keep Christopher, his men and the soldiers/airmen at Bagram AFB in his prayers. I believe God inspired his call to me to reassure me.

     I was well aware that I would not hear from Christopher for some time, if ever again. What I didn’t know was where he might be. Would he still leave Afghanistan? Was he injured? Was he alive? It was hard to think of those things, but I needed to be prepared. I had to think how I would handle each of those possibilities. Among all those thoughts, I kept looking out the window to see if I would see the dreaded Army vehicle on my street.

      It was a very long Saturday – no matter that it started at 4 a.m. It was the uncertainty of the situation. Should I pack a bag to get to Ramstein, Germany where badly injured soldiers would be taken? There wasn’t much information from news outlets. All I could do was wonder and try to figure out how I would handle the situations that might confront me and my daughters. All I knew for sure was that I needed to stay home until more information came my way, so that is what I did. Eventually, since the day had gone by without any personal news, I had to give up and try to sleep. It was hard to put the difficult thoughts to bed even when I was in bed myself.

      Sunday morning came and there still was no communication from Christopher or anyone. Eventually, I learned from the media what had happened. At 5:30 a.m. that Saturday morning in Afghanistan, a group of more than 100 soldiers and American contractors had gathered for a Veterans’ Day run. At about 5:38 a.m., a man approached the group and detonated a suicide vest killing two soldiers and two contractors, injuring 16 Americans and 1 Polish national. How in the world did a terrorist get into Bagram? Later investigation revealed that the terrorist had worked for an American contractor and had been making a suicide vest for some time. What a terrible tragedy. At this point, however, I still had no idea whether Christopher and his soldiers might have been a part of the group celebrating Veterans’ Day 2016.

      I tried to compose myself that morning, still trying to figure out what I ought to be doing besides continuing to pray. Should I leave home to go to Sunday Church or must I stay home? Later, that morning, the phone rang. “Mom? I’m OK. We’re in Kuwait. I can’t talk now, but I’ll tell you more when I get back home.” He told me later what a strange, chaotic day it was as his unit tried to understand what had happened and what they ought to do. At the sound of the blast, those assigned to Bagram Airfield immediately donned their full battle gear not knowing what terrorist activity had caused the blast across the flight line. In the transient quarters, the remaining members of Task Force Red Warrior realized they had no battle gear – no means of personal protection. In the hubbub of trying to figure out what was going on, they discovered their only immediate defense – one soldier still had his firearm; their unit’s defense was, oddly enough, the chaplain’s assistant.

Beginning the Long Trip Home

     Now, I could breathe again, but immediately, my mind went to the other mothers and families who didn’t get the good news I received. My prayers went out to them; I had suffered right along with them, but their news was devastating. Gold Star families suffer each day with the loss of their brave service members.

Gold Star Award

We must keep them in our prayers.  

Witness to the Fall of the Soviet Union, part 2: Capitalism – Russian-Style, 1992 – 1994

We learned that doing business in Russia requires a kryusha – a roof for protection, of which there were two kinds: the unofficial Russian mafia one, or the official government one that usually included the KGB. Our Russian partners handled relations with the kryusha, in this case the municipal government of St. Petersburg whose Deputy Mayor, Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, oversaw international business relations. He was a serious, somewhat reserved, calculating yet pragmatic Russian patriot. He hosted and participated in many international conferences seeking to improve Russia’s relations with the West.

     Starting in 1992, we got into other entertainment projects. We were producers of a Hollywood film “Russian Holiday” in which Victoria starred with Barry Bostwick and E.G. Marshall.  We were asked by St. Petersburg municipality to help organize and promote its annual White Nights Festival occurring at the summer solstice. We organized rock groups and performers for the festival to include Blood, Sweat and Tears; Salt n Pepper; Jose Feliciano; Ricky Martin; and Falco. To promote the 1993 festival, we brought Deputy Mayor Putin and his wife to New York. We held a reception at the Russian Tea Room attended by Henry Kissinger and other notables and introduced Putin to leadership of the Council on Foreign Relations. Regretfully, I have to say that we hosted Vladimir Putin on his first visit to the United States.

Vladimir Putin, Henry Kissinger, Tom & Victoria at the Russian Tea Room, New York, June 1993

     On the business side, Russkoye Video, our partner in St. Petersburg, always had  cash-flow problems. On each visit we would see new faces in the hallways, former KGB types or local investors looking for a quick buck from their illicit earnings. Strange things then happened. One of the investors was killed in a late-night car crash in the city center; two weeks after his funeral, his partner suddenly died of an asthma attack. The KGB guy then organized a Russian Orthodox priest to sprinkle holy water throughout the headquarters building and purge it of evil spirits. You can’t make this stuff up. But the lesson here is that mafias — unofficial and official – were moving into the private sector and business disputes were not being resolved by lawsuits.

     To punctuate the message, ten years later, the founder of Russkoye Video ran afoul of his kryusha protectors and was imprisoned in the notorious Lefortovo prison where he languished and died. The founder of Video International later became Minister of Communications under President Putin and established the Russia Today international television network. In November 2015, he died from blunt force trauma in the Dupont Circle Hotel in Washington DC under mysterious circumstances, officially ruled an accidental death. Rumor has it that he was in DC to testify before a grand jury.

Last Gasp of the Communists – October 1993

     In October 1993, I witnessed the last gasp of the Communists as they nearly toppled Yeltsin’s Government of the Russian Federation. President Yeltsin was in the midst of a constitutional crisis with hard-liners in the Russia Parliament. On a warm, quiet Sunday afternoon of October 3, Russian Federation Vice President Rutskoy led a mob of Communist sympathizers to attack the White House housing the Russian Parliament and the Ostankino complex housing the national tv and radio channels. Fighting was fierce at Ostankino, and the mob came close to occupying it. If they had, the outcome for Yeltsin might have been a disaster. The mob did seize the White House.

     That night I walked with Nikita through the streets of Moscow and passed by the Ministry of Defense headquarters where all the lights were on. Later I learned that President Yeltsin was there striking a late-night deal with top Army generals allowing them to profit handsomely from the pending military withdrawal from Eastern Europe. Equipment and supplies were to be sold off as the troops pulled back to Russia, and the proceeds were not expected to reach the coffers in Moscow.  

     That deal brought military units into Moscow early October 4 to surround the White House.

Tom at the Russian White House, October 4, 1993

I went down there and perched myself along with thousands of Muscovites on top of an adjacent building to witness the battle.

Russian Army Tank at the Russian White House, October 4, 1993

   

Tanks were firing into the White House. Automatic gunfire was indiscriminately flying about.

Crowds of onlookers along the banks of the Moscow River were cheering as if they were at a boxing match. Finally, around 3 p.m. a white flag emerged from the White House, and the occupiers came out with hands up only to be severely beaten by awaiting soldiers. The rebellion was over.  

Time to Pull the Plug – 1994

     Major changes forced us to pull out in 1994. Russian mafias had moved into the advertising business, and we had no desire to compete against them. Then, Western media companies began to set up in Russia and no longer needed the middleman to deal with Russian broadcast entities. Russia Television did its own deal with the US distributor to broadcast “Santa Barbara”. The handwriting was on the wall, and we pulled out.

     After five years working in Russia, what did I learn? First, Russians for the most part are amoral – they have little concern for what is right and wrong. They may have heard of what’s right, but it does not influence their actions very much. That leads to the second point: Russian society is not based on right vs. wrong but on strong vs weak. Only the strong survive and anything goes to acquire and maintain strength. Third, the near absence of legal or moral boundaries leads to corruption throughout the government, business, and the military. And finally, why were we and NATO so afraid of Russia’s conventional military power? Yes, they have nuclear weapons, but otherwise to me, the country was “70 years of deferred maintenance”. Little worked well in the civilian economy outside of the Moscow subway system, and I can’t believe that the Russian military was much different. After seeing the Russia Army’s performance in the first year of its war in Ukraine, I still hold that opinion.

Witness to the Fall of the Soviet Union, part 1 – 1973-1990

Wheelock – Witness to the Fall of the Soviet Union Part 1 1973 – 1990

    One of the signature events of our time was the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1990, an event to which I contributed by awakening 180 million Russians to the prospects of freedoms and a better lifestyle beyond the Iron Curtain in the West. We harnessed the power of mass media — broadcasting on Russian state television a variety of American tv programs, and as the old song goes, “How Ya Gonna Keep ’em Down on the Farm (After They’ve Seen Paree (Paris)?” But let’s go back to the beginning of the adventure.

OCTOBER WAR, 1973

     As a young Army captain in November 1973, I was deployed to the UN Truce Supervisory Organization (UNTSO) to help oversee a cease-fire between Israel, Egypt and Syria. After initially losing ground, Israel had counterattacked to capture large parts of the Golan Heights and had trapped the Egyptian Third Army in Suez City prompting the Soviet Union to begin mobilizing airborne divisions to intervene. When the United States responded by elevating its nuclear alert level, a compromise was reached to bring Soviet and American officers together to oversee the so-called cease fire.

     While Israel refused to accept Soviet officers (all either GRU or KGB), both Egypt and Syria accepted American officers to serve on their sides of the cease-fire lines, and this was the first crack in the door away from the Soviet Union and toward the West. I was one of four Americans deployed to Egypt, and for the first time, US officers were paired with Soviet military officers in a UN operation.

KGB Major with Tom in Cairo in November 1973

We patrolled between the two armies and got caught in the middle of tank and artillery battles. At night, we’d share my bourbon and their vodka, and have great philosophical discussions.

     The Russians – not owning automobiles at home – always wanted to drive our jeeps on patrol in the Sinai desert. Remembering from Vietnam the danger of mines, I gladly allowed them the privilege of being the lead vehicle and then closely followed in their tracks across the desert sand. One day we travelled to the site of the Battle of the Chinese Farm, the largest tank battle since Kursk in WW II, where Israeli Defense Forces counterattacked across the Suez Canal. The fighting had been so intense that destroyed Israeli and Egyptian tanks were closely intermingled with each other across the battlefield.

     When I left in early 1974, one of the Soviet officers (let’s call him Nikita) gave me his contact address in Moscow (his mother’s apartment) which I tucked away unused for 14 years because I didn’t want the FBI knocking on my door (as they did to one of my Army colleagues). But then in 1989, I had been out of the Army for 5 years, was in the private sector living in Los Angeles, no longer had any security clearances, and saw President Gorbachev pursuing glasnost (openness) policy in the Soviet Union. So, I sent a letter to his address in Moscow and a month later received a 12-page letter that basically said: ‘great to hear from you, things are changing, come see for yourself.’ So, in September, Victoria, then my fiancée and now my wife, and I flew to Moscow and the start of our Russia entrepreneurial venture.

ENTERING THE SOVIET UNION, 1988-90

     After resigning from the Army, Nikita had become a program host and director at GOSTELERADIO, the Soviet television and radio network. So, he had a lot in common with Victoria and her experience as a film and television actor in LA. He explained that as part of Glasnost, opportunities in media were emerging as state-owned production studios were being broken up and equipment sold off. Slava introduced us to Russkoye Video, one of these new entrepreneurial entities based in Leningrad, now St. Petersburg. And they were very interested in accessing Western programming for broadcast in the Soviet Union.

     We returned to Los Angeles and put together a company “Comspan” to pursue media business in the Soviet Union. My partner was Larry Namer, who had founded and sold to Warner Bro. what is now called E! Entertainment network. Larry had the media business expertise, and he put together a package of ‘public domain’ movies, for which copyrights had expired and hence there was no acquisition costs. The most famous of these movies was “It’s a Wonderful Life” starring Jimmy Stewart. We brought the tapes to Russkoye Video who did the technical and voice-over work, and then distributed them to LenTV, the main station in Leningrad.

Comspan Logo

     Our business model was to have in place US television programming that Western companies entering the Soviet Union knew and understood the demographics that their products would appeal to. So, how did we make money? Revenues had to come from advertising because GOSTELERADIO could not purchase programming but would permit 6 minutes/hour of commercials to be sold by Comspan. So, we sold advertising time, at first to Russian companies, then to the likes of Marlboro, Lucky Strike, Jim Beam, etc.as they entered the Soviet Union and began to market their products. Then we split the revenues according to a formula with the television network, Russkoye Video, owner of the programming, and Comspan.

     Over the next 2 years, Comspan acquired the rights to distribute high-quality US television programs like “Crime Story” and “Wall Street Journal Business Report”. And we established a business relation with a growing Russian media company in Moscow named Video International that had strong ties with the two national television channels as well as Moscow television.  In summer, 1991, we signed a deal to distribute “Santa Barbara”, the long-running American daytime drama, in the Soviet Union and hosted the creators/producers of “Santa Barbara” in St. Petersburg to celebrate.

Winter Palace and St. Isaac’s Cathedral, St. Petersburg

Little did we know that the Soviet Union was about to fall apart and give us both opportunity and problems.

FALL OF THE SOVIET UNION, 1991

      Sunday August 18, 1991, Victoria and I had spent a quiet summer day with Nikita in the Moscow countryside and were driving back to Moscow when we passed the country estate of President of the Soviet Union Gorbachev and saw armored vehicles at the entrance. Something was afoot, and upon arriving in Moscow, we learned that the old guard Communists had put Gorbachev under house arrest at his summer residence in Crimea. The Putsch of 1991 was underway.

     The next morning August 19, Victoria woke me up saying, “You hear that ‘squeak’, squeak’ sound. This place has mice.” I quickly said, “ F— no! That’s not mice, it’s tanks”. We hurried to the window and saw a long column of tanks and armored vehicles driving down Lenin Prospect as the Soviet Army was coming to seize important political and communications locations. We taxied to the White House where the Russian Federation was housed. We got there as Russian President Boris Yeltsin climbed on a tank and gave his famous speech that rallied thousands in Moscow and across Russia to resist the putsch.

Russian President Yeltsin Speaking from Atop a Russian Tank (Source: Times of Israel)

I had to keep reminding Victoria, who was taking photos, to only stand at the edge of the crowds so we could get away if a rumored attack by the KGB took place.

Supporters of Yeltsin at the Russian White House, Aug 19, 1991
 (Source: Victoria Barrett)

    That Monday evening in Moscow was depressing. We watched Soviet television as the putsch leaders justified their arrest of Gorbachev. But they made two mistakes. First, Soviet Vice President Yanayev was drunk and slurred his words on live television. Second, they rebroadcast Yeltsin’s speech on top of the tank in order to portray him as a traitor, but instead, thousands of Russians heard Yeltsin’s call to come out to the White House to protest against the putsch. The next day, we witnessed the huge crowd gathered at the White House to hear Yeltsin, and many protesters with flowers and peace signs peacefully talked with the soldiers in their tanks.

Russian Protesters on Soviet Tank at the Moscow White House; August 19, 1991 (Source: Victoria Barrett)=

That night, vehicular barricades manned by protestors blocked access, and the rumored KGB attack did not take place, maybe because the unit commander allegedly refused the order. On Wednesday August 21, the coup plotters yielded, and Soviet Army units started to withdraw. President Gorbachev was released that night and flew back to Moscow.

     Yeltsin was now the major power broker in Moscow, and Gorbachev rewarded him in many ways including giving the Russian Federation control over Channel Two that covered all of Russia. But Channel Two needed programming, so our Russian partners and we seized on the opportunity to broadcast “Santa Barbara” three nights/week in prime time across Russia. The show was an instant hit so that when the Director of Russian Television peremptorily took the show off the air because he didn’t like the Western content, viewers’ protests — including phone calls to his home — brought the program back on air three days later. The soap opera was seen on Russia television for many years, and even today, middle-aged Russian adults fondly recall watching “Santa Barbara” and recounting the impact that it had on their country.

American Soap Opera That Influenced Russian Viewers

     On December 26, 1991, Soviet President Gorbachev resigned after failing to hold the various republics of the Soviet Union together. The Soviet Union existed no more, and the Russia Federation became the principal center of military and economic power in Eurasia.

A Grandson’s Question, part 2: The Chaplain Wins the Silver Star – 1971

The Chaplain Wins the Silver Star

At this point, I got more control of myself and went from being a rifleman to being the LT.  I scurried over to our other positions.  Behind me, I heard a great deal of commotion and spotted the platoon sergeant, SFC R.C. Henry from our other engineer platoon going over the top.  He was following the chaplain who had heard the infantry guys yelling and was going to help if he could.  Apparently, the attack was at my platoon’s front along the road (from the north-east) and from the west at the infantry positions.  Our second platoon was not hit.  That was good because behind them was the one mortar tube the infantry had on the hill. 

Mortar

It just happened that they were set to fire a random flare round as was SOP during the night when the enemy attacked.  The enemy must have been dumbfounded to be lit up like that!  

     The chaplain was screaming, and the sergeant was running after the chaplain.  Just over the ridge, the chaplain came face to face with a North Vietnamese Army sapper.  According to the sergeant, the chaplain grabbed the gook’s AK rifle and belted him with it.  Then, he shot him several times.  Jumping down into the infantry positions, he confronted more sappers and greased them all, using some profanities at them all the time.  He was protecting “his flock” and in doing so apparently retook the infantry positions the North Vietnam Army (NVA) had overrun. 

     (In the morning the chaplain was awarded the Silver Star on the spot by the Division Commanding General for his action that night.

Silver Star Medal

But because chaplains were non-combatants and unarmed, it was written up supposedly that he led the charge “directing suppressive fire” on enemy positions. He actually did this by shooting them. To make things kosher Sergeant First Class Henry also got the Silver Star for the actual shooting and moving with the chaplain to take back that portion of the hill.)  

     After this, I tried to move over the hill with one of my NCOs to find out more of what was going on.  Behind us near the crest was the spot where a German Sheppard scout dog, assigned to the infantry to sniff out booby traps, and his handler were staying the night.  The poor thing was barking incessantly and lunging at anyone near him, although he was restrained by a leash.   His handler was down in his hole and would not come up.  We shouted to “get up and take care of your dog.”  He said “f*%# you.”  My NCO pointed his M16 down at him and said, “Get up and take care of the dog or you’ll get it right now.”  The handler got up and pulled his dog down into the hole with him. 

Military Scout Dog

     At this point, we were firing at anything that moved and lobbing grenades into the areas we could not get direct fire on. The adrenalin rush was amazing, and I was really wide awake.  The infantry commander tried to get artillery fire on the enemy but again they had attacked from a side of the hill away from our supporting FB and they were too close, but he did get the artillery to fire larger, longer lasting flares.  He then called in cobra gunships (unusual at night) and we all got the word “nails.” This meant that the gun ships were making a run that would include spraying flechette rounds (little nail-like pieces) over the area of the hill from where the NVA was attacking.

Flechettes

We got down, but one of my squad leaders was really into it firing his squad’s M60 from the waist and standing up and apparently did not hear the warning.  The rounds of “nails” hit below us and one ricocheted into his face and took out one of his eyes.

     Several more of my guys had shrapnel wounds.  One specialist was bleeding especially badly from the face and had lost his hearing.  He had a bad case of jungle acne before this.  An RPG had apparently hit the wall of his position behind him, with the majority of the blast going into the hill (these were after all shape charge rounds designed to penetrate a tank and most effects went forward).  The debris had splayed back at him in the face.  I remember thinking they would take care of that acne now.  All in all, my platoon had eight wounded.

     The enemy had apparently pulled back, but the ground was littered with unexploded charges.  They had thrown mostly plastic explosive blocks with point detonators and when they bounced and did not land exactly right — they did not go off.

     The infantry Captain in command called me over and said, “We have to clear the hill, but my guys are engaged.” Yeah, right, I thought — so were mine, although we had not seen any more of the enemy for some time.  He told me to form some of my guys and sweep the hill in a line and forward to the end of the hill where the enemy had retreated.  I did and we “charged” in a very slow walk toward the sappers’ retreat route which led down the hill under a shower of flares.  As we swept forward, we went over the guy I had hit.  His body was riddled with hits now.  We also came across a head and evidence the sappers had pulled some other comrades’ bodies with them – like the headless one body was not to be found.  We did not encounter any new fire.  But I sure puckered up going forward toward their last positions.

     All communications had been handled by the infantry – calling in support.  About this time, I thought I had better report to my company in base camp.  My Commanding Officer would be upset to have missed this.  We used a 292 antenna but got no response from C Co TOC (Tactical Operations Center).  So, we went up on battalion frequency and reported to the 326th Engr TOC.  My CO was informed of the action by his boss, the battalion commander, — ouch.

     Just then we had to take down all antennas, as we were getting slicks (UH-1s) in with reinforcements, but more importantly the same birds would take our wounded out.  This happened and I never saw those guys again.

     We spent a watchful next few hours until dawn.  As we sat around the adrenalin wore off and a deep fatigue set in.  Earlier, my feet really ached and when I looked down, I had seen my boots were on the wrong feet.  We all were a bit giddy and so glad to be alive. 

     Dawn came. That’s when more reinforcements arrived to “chase” the enemy.  They moved slowly down the hill trying to find their trail, but without a lot of enthusiasm.  We cleaned up the unexploded charges and surveyed the damage.  The enemy had gone right past the equipment and for the bunkers with people.  The object was to kill as many of us as possible apparently.  The intelligence guys later said that they had probably been on the hill several nights before the attack to locate everything.  That spooked us a bit, but now we had an explanation for the trip flares.  We were so lucky the illumination round was set to be fired at the moment of attack – it changed the whole fight. 

Illumination That Changed the Battle

     We used our grappling hooks to move the bodies in case they were bobby trapped somehow or had unexploded armed charges.  They were safe.  These guys were wearing only loin cloths with their bodies darkened and heads shaved on the sides.  Some had tourniquets already in place on their arms and legs.  They had only one weapon each — a folding stock AK, an RPG launcher, or pistol, but had apparently carried a lot of explosives.  They were the real thing – NVA sappers.  I remember thinking how motivated they must have been to make such an attack.  Their lifeless bodies did not seem real.  They were already turning dark as the blood congealed in them and swelling a bit as I remember.  

     We laid out their gear for G2 (intelligence) photographing and the CG’s inspection – weapons, medic’s stuff, web-like gear.  In a few hours, most of the gear disappeared into a GI’s pack as souvenirs.

     We used a backhoe to dig a deep hole and we buried eight NVA soldiers in a common grave.  (The G2 guy gave us credit for seven kills since someone else might find the headless body and claim a redundant kill.  Division was very aware of charges in the press of inflated body counts.)   I remember one of my guys dragging the guy I had shot to the hole. 

     It started to hit me that these NVA soldiers would never take another breath, never see their families, never do anything ever again – and we were responsible.  I had not really wanted to take a life – I really only wanted to keep my guys safe and get them home unharmed.  Now that goal was over for sure, and killing these men was part of the price to get us home.  I felt a bit sick inside in a way, but so very happy it was them in the ground.  I felt bad about my guys who were disfigured and wounded, but glad it was not me.  I still to this day feel a bit guilty at times that I walked away, and others did not.  What was the reason?

     We moved to the new positions on the west hill of the saddle that afternoon – and that’s all we did.  My platoon sergeant thanked me for making him stay.  Chaplain Young held a thanksgiving service – and ALL attended.  

A Grandson’s Question, part 1 – 1971

     It hit me when one of my young grandsons asked me about the time of Veteran’s Day, “Pop, did you ever shoot or kill anyone?”  A completely innocent question for an old soldier that I answered very poorly with “That’s something I do not wish to talk about.”   The “something” was that while war is terrible thing, it is a defining experience for most men who live through one – yet most all try to put the violence, fear, guilt, and reality of it behind in a small corner of our lives. We usually grow too old to remember or we pass on without the telling.  I wrote this years ago as an attempt to answer his question better at the request of my son, his Dad.

     I was back in-country from my late in tour R & R trip to Hawaii in May 1971.  We had been on FB Rifle for some time with a rotated infantry company in support – no US artillery as this base was being built for ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) troops eventually.  The road to QL1 was open and fairly quiet as the Rome plow had cleared the brush for almost 100 meters on each side and harassing enemy fire had apparently disappeared. 

Army Workhorse – Rome Plow

We were just about to finish the “new” Fire Base portion and perimeter on the west hill of the saddle formation for the ARVN.

Fire Base Rifle Under Construction – West Hill of Saddle – May 1971

     There had been some disquieting events in the previous nights – trip flares going off around our positions at odd hours, but our guys on the guns had seen nothing.  In any case, we had been in place on the east side of the saddle for quite some time and things had gotten routine.  We were unfortunately lax.

     My two platoons of combat engineers had a part of the northern and most of the eastern part of the perimeter on the east end hills of the saddle.  The infantry company had the rest – about two thirds of the hill.  My platoon’s M-60 (machine gun) position was just below my bunker with another foxhole firing position just to my left.  Over the crest of the hill were infantry bunkers and positions.  Our bunkers were temporary structures consisting of a hole dug by dozer or backhoe with a large metal half culvert as a roof.  The roof was covered by at least two layers of sandbags to handle 61 mm mortar rounds that the NVA normally carried.  Each end was open.  My platoon sergeant and I shared one of them and actually had room to put in two cots.  The protective barbed wire was really a joke on this part of the hill as we were planning a move shortly – no more than single strands of concertina razor wire.  We were pretty vulnerable.

     The day of 21 May was a bit tense between my platoon sergeant and me.  We were about to move the next day to the “new” bunkers and fortifications on the west end of the saddle we had constructed.  They were dug in deep and built out of sturdy lumber and covered by many inches of sandbags and soil.  A first class set of positions if I did not say so myself.  That was going to be a big day for the job.  There was a monthly NCO call in the rear the next night and my platoon sergeant had wanted to go in a day early to kick back, but I had told him I needed him.  Besides if he left the next day, he would still make the NCO call and get together. He missed the last logistics bird flight to the rear, but he really was annoyed at me for missing an extra night of clean clothes and a shower – not to mention the drinks.  

     We also had our battalion’s Protestant chaplain visiting us, CPT Jimmie L. Young. He had held a small “service” that day.  He was a very gregarious man and a bit old for a new chaplain.  I think he was some sort of universal Christian denomination. 

     I checked the guard assignments, checked the men and equipment and went to sleep with few words spoken.  It was hot so I removed my shirt and boots and slept in my jungle fatigue pants on my cot.  This night has returned to me in different forms many times after I got home, and once when coming out of a surgical procedure and sedation – Mary Ellen was there to wake me most times.  However, I have not had flashbacks for some time and decided to actually write about it several years ago.

     About midnight all hell broke loose.  We were awakened to loud explosions all around and men yelling.  For some reason, the sky was lit by a flare.  We lay there for a moment and my platoon sergeant said, “I sure do not want to die in here,” and crawled forward.  I was scared and stunned.   I agreed in my mind with him and had that same thought as mortars, explosives, or RPGs (Rocket Propelled Grenades) exploded on the hill.  I pulled on my boots, threw a bandolier of ammo over my shoulder and grabbed my M16 putting on my steel pot (no shirt – quite the “Rambo” look, I guess).

Wayne’s “Rambo” Look

My sergeant dove to the right and into the M60 machine gun position.  I dove to the left and into a two-man firing position as a third man – a bit crowded.

     In the light of the flares, we could see the enemy running all around.  My heart was beating like crazy, and the fear was driving my adrenalin through the roof.  The sergeant was shooting the M60 with the soldier supposedly on guard at that position crouching down in the hole — passing him ammo as fast as the belt could go into the breach.  He was yelling “Get ‘em, Sarge!”  This was strangely ironic and significant because this particular guy had some resentment towards the sergeant the weeks before for riding him hard.  It was the old “hate the ‘lifers’ syndrome” – but not under fire, it turned out.

     I saw a gook dive behind a log about twenty feet from me.  I emptied a clip at him, and his head split open. Later, we would find his body hit by at least 40 rounds.  I was not the only one firing at him, so I really do not know if my rounds actually killed him to answer my grandson’s question – but in my mind I have always felt and, in a way, feared I did.