The Days Forward

West Point Class of 1969

Suzanne Rice

9-11 – Observations from Lower Manhattan – 2001

by Doug Johnson

The day after the attack on September 11, 2001, I sat down and wrote to my family about what I had experienced. This is extracted from that long email. I tried to accurately record my thoughts and feelings, some of which may seem a little strange these many years later, but I believe I recorded them fairly accurately.

     Having ridden the train to Grand Central from Connecticut I got on the subway for lower Manhattan. Ironically, as it turned out, I then got off of the subway at City Hall, a few stops north of my usual Wall Street station stop in order to take a longer walk to work in the beautiful September weather. As I began climbing the stairs out of the subway station shortly after 9am, people were streaming back in yelling “They’ve bombed the World Trade Center.” [If you didn’t see the planes hit the building, what else would you think?] The subway public address system then began blaring that the system was shut down and to leave the station. I had arrived just after the second plane hit the South Tower. Having been underground during the attacks, I had no knowledge of their true nature. I accepted the notion that the towers had been bombed – as they had been eight years before. When I emerged from the subway, I saw the large hole in the burning North Tower.

North Tower (AP/Richard Drew)                                                                          

I thought of Steve and Jack, long-time friends with offices in the South Tower, which was also damaged with smoke billowing.

     My cell phone was unable to connect to a tower (already the system was overwhelmed) so I proceeded further downtown to my office to call my wife, Debra, and to check on my daughter, Corinne, who worked in Mid-town. I wanted to let them know I was OK.

     I hadn’t walked very far down Williams Street when I encountered a young woman standing in the middle of Fulton Street sobbing. I asked her what was wrong; she pointed at the North Tower and said her friend worked on one of the top floors of the tower. I reassured her that the fires would be put out and her friend would be OK. It seemed like the right thing to do. I moved her onto the sidewalk out of the street and we shared a hug before I moved on.

        Where Doug Was Walking on September 11
(http://uscities.web.fc2.com/ny/information/maps/lower-map.html)

     The company where I consulted was located on the 36th floor of 110 Maiden Lane, south of and across the street from the New York Federal Reserve building (to orient those who know lower Manhattan.) The floor was deserted when I arrived; everyone who had been there was already making their way home. I attempted to call family. I did connect with Corinne and while we talked, I was standing at my window watching the South Tower billowing smoke. Suddenly, its top floors tilted and slowly fell. I watched awe-struck as the cloud of concrete dust boiled down Cedar Street and slammed into my building, quickly reaching up to and past my 36th floor window. I was dumbstruck: I had assumed that the fires would be put out and the buildings saved.

     Concrete Dust Boiling Through the Streets (ABC News/Det. Greg Semendinger/NYC Police Aviation Unit )

     I have told this story many times. I describe what happened next as going into “military mode” – calmly thinking through a plan of action. I immediately went downstairs. Before leaving the building, I got two large water bottles at the deserted Au Bon Pain in the lobby. I exited, pulled my tee-shirt up over my nose and then began what became a very long walk, first east away from the Towers and then north toward Mid-town. I believe I was on Water Street – I couldn’t see that well because of being in an unbelievably thick cloud of concrete dust.

     With my tee-shirt over my mouth and nose, I could breathe but I could barely see. Still, I could tell that the folks around me were being wonderful to each other. We quietly shared water and encouragement as we slogged along in the dust. Some twenty minutes later we were suddenly overflown by two USAF F-15 Eagles. (I could see up; the sky was light pale blue with the dust.) I later learned that the F-15s were there on the chance that there might be more hijacked planes inbound. But as I dropped my gaze, I realized that I was alone in the street. Everyone around me was cowering in doorways or prostrate on the sidewalk…terrified by the sound of jet engines. I shouted “Come on, let’s go. Those are ours. That’s the Air Force.” I have never shaken the image of Americans terrified, cowering in the streets of New York. And I didn’t yet understand quite why people had reacted as they did.

     Just before I emerged from the cloud, a squad of NYPD police was walking in. As they passed, I patted their very large, burly squad leader on the shoulder and said, “Be safe.” He gave me what can only be called a withering look – one tough New York City cop. I still wonder if they were on the scene when the North Tower fell.

NYPD and NYFD Going Towards Danger (The City)

     By chance, I met up with two women from my office — Mary Kay and Maureen – just after emerging from the dust cloud. I agreed to escort them to their neighborhood in the east 80s. While we were discussing plans, we saw the North Tower fall. As I remember, we didn’t really react; we were numb by this time. We did wonder if people had time to get out of the building.

     We talked about many things as we walked:  the steady stream of police, rescue workers and firemen going south into the chaos; the quietness of the city – it was disconcertingly quiet. We discussed the goodness exhibited around us as we walked. Already there were long lines of blood donors outside the hospital we passed.

Hospital Workers Waiting for the Injured  (Reuters/Peter Morgan)

At one restaurant the owner and staff gave out water to those passing. We were among the last recipients because they had given away all their glasses and cups. And, they had set up an easel for people to write the names of friends and loved ones for whom to pray. All these spontaneous reactions were quite moving.

     We picked up more and more news from radios in parked cars and store-front televisions. Once I understood that the attackers used commercial aircraft (I still thought bombs were somehow involved until I saw the television reports) I was struck by the symbolism of their choice of weapon – using a paragon of American technology to destroy iconic buildings and bring death and destruction to us on our soil. Suddenly it was clear to me why, when I was still in the cloud and the first F-15’s roared overhead, people around me ducked into doorways for cover.

     Mary Kay and I discussed our being like refugees as we walked north. The long lines of slowly walking people were eerily similar to footage from World War II of dispirited persons trudging away from the battlefield. There were no vehicles. other than police and fire, moving in the streets at all.

     We also talked about the incredible audacity of the attacks that had been perpetrated against us, how we were now at war and how many things — if not everything — would change.

     I did not share with the ladies that as we walked, in the back of my mind, I kept pondering Luke chapter 13, verses 4 and 5:

” …those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them–do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no!”

Not an uplifting scripture to remember at this time, but I thought of it within the context of knowing I had watched people die when the Towers fell. They were unlucky enough to have worked in a symbol of America that became a target. They had no warning; they had no chance – the violence was upon them so swiftly. And certainly, I was no better or worse than they.

     I learned that cell phone reception was re-established when, at 59th Street, my daughter Abby called me, more than a little frantic. (I had unsuccessfully tried to call out dozens of times.) I reassured her and asked her to get a message to her mom. I left my friends near their neighborhood and went to join Corinne at a friend’s apartment nearby. Not long after I joined her, Debra called – around 4:00pm. She said that local Connecticut news was reporting that trains were running from Grand Central, bringing people out of the City and home. So, I left for Grand Central. I rode the train home still covered in dust – like many of my fellow passengers.

    I was one of those that closed out the Army’s Vietnam experience, having left on the last day of the 1973 withdrawal. I witnessed the end of our combat role in that war. Riding home on September 11th 2001, even though I wasn’t sure of who attacked us and why, I found myself trying to grasp the implications of being present at the start of what surely must be a new war.  That war, some twenty years later, is now being closed out.

Guardian Angels – 1972

Continuation of stories about flying Hueys in Vietnam during 1972.  See part 1, “Smoke”.

Craziest thing I remember about “bombing” was one really windy day around March ‘72 when I was still flying co-pilot, or “charlie-pop.” One Republic of Korea White Horse Division company outpost on a mountain pinnacle east of Nha Trang was really hurting for water, so their battalion loaded a rubber blivet, or gigantic water bladder, in our bird and filled it from a “water buffalo” transport trailer. 

Filled Water Blivet

     We took off with maybe a ton of water in this rubber bag on the cabin floor trying to roll around, but it was way too turbulent for us to even try to land at the pad on the pinnacle.  The Korean guide on board insisted the troops desperately needed the water, so he finally persuaded the Aircraft Commander to make a really low and slow pass so they could roll the blivet out. 

So he flew us in, about six feet up, just barely in translational lift, maybe ten knots ground speed, with the bird gyrating wildly in the turbulence.  When they rolled the blivet out, the sudden change in center of gravity almost caused a blade strike on the ground, but the bird lurched upward once the load was gone.  That blivet hit the pinnacle pad like a one-ton water balloon, drenching about 40 ROK troops who wanted something to drink, not a shower. 

We didn’t try that again.

Another mission after I became Aircraft Commander [callsign “Ghostrider 8”], we were carrying a ROK Regimental Commander out to see one of his companies on a pinnacle outpost.  The company had taken a 4×8 sheet of ¾” plywood, painted it white, then in red Korean script painted “Welcome, Colonel Whatever, to 7th Company, home of the best troops in Vietnam.”  The heavy plywood was nailed to a tree, but as we landed, the rotor wash ripped the nails out of the bark and it went flying up into the whirling rotor blades.  BAM!! 

Terrified, I was certain we had severed a rotor blade or worse, so we shut it down on the spot to inspect the damage.  Miraculously, one rotor spar had hit the plywood sheet absolutely flat, slicing it diagonally as if it were cut on a saw.  Along nine feet of that blade’s leading edge was a line of white paint, interspersed with flecks of red.  Still shaking, I called it a day, flew the commander back to his Regimental headquarters, and returned to our airfield.  When the Ghostrider maintenance section inspected the rotor blade, they pronounced it perfectly safe to fly. 

That episode convinced me for certain that there was a Guardian Angel protecting us from our own stupidity. Funny, though, but that Regimental Commander never flew with us again.

(Another “Guardian Angel” story is called “Pigs and Corn.” You can read that here.)

The Guardian Angel was certainly on duty another day.  Our company airfield was almost adjacent to the White Horse Division command post.  Every day we had one bird assigned on stand-by for the two-star ROK commanding general, in case he wanted to go somewhere.  Usually, it was a completely boring day, doing nothing but sitting around waiting.  Even when the generalactually had us fly somewhere, it was a VIP flight, so we had to fly very smooth and gentle, with no maneuvering.  It was usuallyto some other headquarters, so we always had a large landing pad in an open and level area.  Boring!!

The layout was like a large inverted letter L, with the division headquarters at the tip of the lower bar [a couple hundred yards long]and our airfield aligned with the upright.  At the end of this mind-numbing day-long mission, the only fun part was returning to the airfield.  We called the maneuver a “triple-60.”  The bird took off eastfrom the pad, gaining enough airspeed and altitude to cross the extended centerline of the airfield at 60 knots and 60 feet altitude, whereupon we yanked the birdover left 60º and flew a tight 270º turn to roll out south,aligned for landing on the airfield strip.  That was really fun.

Unfortunately, there was a 155mm artillery battery located in the center of the loop we had to fly. 

155 mm Howitzer Ready to Shoot

Before taking off, we always had to get clearance from the airfield control tower to fly near this end of the airfield, and in particular to be cleared for the “left 270” maneuver, since the tower had communications with the artillery battery and could ensure there would be no firing.

So late one afternoon the “command” birdgot “mission-release” and called the controltower for permission to return to the airfield.  Tower replied, “Ghostrider one-four, you are cleared for left 270, landing south straight in.” 

Somehow, and the investigation never got an explanation why, during the triple-60 maneuver, one of the artillery pieces fired.  Miraculously, the shell shot straight through the open doors of the steeply-banked Huey, not touching a thing. 

Right through the Open Doors

However, the sonic boom from the supersonic shell did rupture the eardrums of all four crew members, getting them grounded for several weeks.

Many people question whether there is a God, or whether angels are guarding his earthlings, but I can assure you of this: 

Those who have survived a miracle such as this one, they believe!!!

Smoke – 1972

     I spent the majority of my tour in Vietnam flying in the 60th Assault Helicopter Company [AHC], callsign “Ghostriders,” under the 7th Squadron -17th Air Cavalry, a composite unit. We had around 25 “slicks,” which is what we called our lift UH-1H

Helicopter Nose-cover Art

Hueys that carried troops and cargo, plus a gunship section of six AH-1G Cobra attack helicopters, the “Gunrunners.” 

     Our mission was to provide helicopter support to the Republic of Korea [ROK] White Horse and Tiger Divisions.  Our company was configured for combat assault

Shoulder Patch of the ROK Tiger (Mang-ho) Division
ROK White Horse Division (Peng-ma) Shoulder Patch

operations, where we inserted or extracted ground troops in landing zones, under gunship cover.  However, the majority of our missions were direct combat support, what we called “ash and trash,” usually routine single ships supplying troops in the field with food, ammunition, water and mail.  We got a lot of flying time on these missions, since they typicallylasted eight hours or more, with several dozen individual sorties.  Occasional missions included medical evacuation of wounded troops, and aerial reconnaissance for upcoming operations.  From time to time on all our missions, the bad guys took offense at our presence, and indicated their displeasure with gunfire, usually AK-47.  The ones shooting at me were mostly bad shots.

     The aircraft crew consisted of two aviators and two enlisted crew.  The Aircraft Commander was an experienced and battle-tested pilot who usually flew in the left seat, and his “charlie-pop,” or co-pilot, usually a new guy, flew in the right seat, gaining experience to become an Aircraft Commander himself one day. 

      In the left rear well, or cabin corner, sat the crew chief, who was the owner of the helicopter, in charge of its maintenance, who always flew with his bird.  In the right well sat the door gunner, who assisted the crew chief and was responsible for the machine guns.  Both the crew chief and the door gunner had pedestal-mounted M-60 machine guns, each with an ammo can holding a belt of 1,500 rounds. Their duties were to watch for enemy fire and to advise the pilots about the tail rotor in tight spaces. On direct combat support operations, we also carried an English-speaking ROK soldier, who relayed to us our missions.

UH-1H Huey “Slick” Inserting American Troops in a Combat Assault Landing Zone.*

     Since our airfield was located just a couple of miles inlandfrom the South China Sea, whenever we took off in the morning for a mission, the first thing we did was to fly “feet wet” (over the ocean), where the door gunners could test-fire their weapons.  Many troops volunteered to bedoor gunners just because they knew at least once each day they could fire their machine guns.  On routine missions, we sometimes let cooks fly gunner on their days off, and we even had a chaplain who loved to fly and shoot the gun.

     During test firing, the door gunners always wanted something to shoot at, and their favorite target was the sharks that swam near the surface in the South China Sea.  Since a shark is mostly cartilage, machine-gun bullets don’t do any damage, but they surely do annoy the shark.  Most sharks were small, but there was one Great White as big as our helicopter tail boom.  He roamed about 200 miles up and down the coast. After I made

Great White Shark in the South China Sea

Aircraft Commander (callsign “Ghostrider 8”), I absolutely refused to let my gunners shoot that shark when we saw it.  I figured if our engine quit, I did not want our crew to be breakfast for an angry giant man-eating shark.

     Whenever we took fire, our crew’s priorities were to

1.  Advise us where the fire was coming from. 

2.  Drop a smoke grenade to mark the target for the gunships.

3.  And only then, return fire with the machine guns. 

Our good ones could do all three simultaneously.  Before the mission, they would pull the pins on smoke grenades and reinsert them backwards to hang on the edge of the ammo cans.  They cruised with their little finger through the pull ring, so when they engaged with the M-60, it automatically pulled the pin and dropped the smoke.

     Sometimes out horsing around at the end of a day’s mission,we would practice dropping smoke grenades from altitude to see whether we could marka specific point on the ground.  The Aircraft Commander would fly straight and level and call the crew chief when to drop the smoke, then wing over to see where it went.

     Early in my tour (I wasn’t present for this incident), one of our young warrant officers chose as hissmoke bombing targetan old Vietnamese fisherman out in the Tuy Hoa River, about 10 miles in from the coast.  By the third smoke grenade whistling out of the sky obviously aiming for him, old papa-san finally got mad.  He pulled an antiqueFrench flintlock musket out of the bottom of his boat, hung it under his arm and fired, almost knocking himself out of his boat.  The Huey was pulling a steep left turn when the lucky musket ball punched through the plexiglass roof canopy and smashedthe Aircraft Commander in his helmet.  The ball embedded in the Styrofoam over his forehead, but it shattered his plexiglass face shield, driving shards into his eyes.  Since plexiglass doesn’t show up on X-ray, no one in-country had the technology to safely locate and remove it from his eyes, so they had to air-evacuate him to Japan to take it out.

Aviator Helmet with Plexiglass Shield Lowered

     My most memorable smoke story happened a few months into my tour.  As co-pilot, or “charlie-pop, I was at the controls flying a ROK regimental commander out to inspect one of his company compounds, located on a pinnacle back in the mountains.  I flew in at 2000 feet above the terrain, and when the company popped a red smoke grenade to indicate the winds at the helipad, I began my spiraling approach down to the company position.  As I was rolling out at the bottom approaching touchdown, the smoke grenade ran out, so the conscientious private on helipad duty popped a fresh smoke.  As I settled into a hover to touchdown, I thought to myself, “That’s strange.  I’ve never seen white smoke before.” 

     Just as the white smoke began getting sucked into the open Huey, the Aircraft Commander screamed, “Holy shit!” and yanked the controls out of my hands to go around.  I had just rememberedthat white smoke is CS, better known as tear gas.  As the aircraft gained airspeed, the choking tear gas in the Huey eventually dissipated, but all aboard were coughing with teary eyes.  The angry Aircraft Commander told the ROK interpreter that we were done for the day and turned back toward our base. 

     In a moment, the ROK came back forward and shouted over the noise, “My regimental colonel say, please, we go back.”  The Aircraft Commander declared there was no way he would take us back to that company.  The ROK repeated, “My commander say, please, please, please, we go back, just for one minute.” 

     Finally, the Aircraft Commander relented, and agreed to land us back at the pad, but this time he insisted on keeping the controls in his hands all the way.  When we touched down, the colonel steppedout of our aircraft and issued a command in Korean.  The ROK private who had popped white smoke snapped to attention on the pad.  A moment later his sergeant appeared and came to attention beside him.  A few seconds later, the lieutenant arrived and assumed the position of attention in the growing rank.  Finally, the captain company commander ran up the hill, still tucking in his blouse, to join the formation.

     When they were all assembled, the colonel gave another command, and all four soldiers removed their helmets and held them upside down in front of them.  Another ROK soldier appeared at the commander’s side, holding the case of CS grenades.  The colonel took one grenade from the case, popped it and dropped it in the helmet of the private, then sidestepped to the sergeant and did the same thing, and moved down the line, dropping a tear gas grenade in the helmets held by the lieutenant and captain.

     As soon as our helicopter’s rotor wash was blowing the concentrated cloud of tear gas directly into the faces of all four of the soldiers who had displeased him, the colonel climbed back into our bird, and his interpreter told the Aircraft Commander, “We go now.” 

     As we lifted off, I had learned a lesson – never fly into white smoke.  I’m sure the entire White Horse Division learned a variant of that very same lesson.

*Same type of aircraft flown by the Ghostriders supporting the ROK troops.  Behind the soldier on the left is the right-side cabin well, post of the door gunner.

FB Rifle – Work Continues – 1971

On Fire Base Rifle and along its access road work continued at a fair pace. 

FB Rifle Under Construction

     As time went on, we started to find some explosives along the road during sweeps and took harassing fire.  Usually an RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) or a few AK (communist rifle) rounds would be fired at the sweep team and the NVA would quickly disappear.  It was suggested that I “vary our times” for clearing the road by battalion.  It took an hour and half to sweep the road each day and it had to be open by 0900. 

Sweeping the Road

BMNT (Beginning of Morning Nautical Twilight – when the first signs of light occur in the sky) was early but good light was about 0700 so we really could only vary by 30 minutes.  The NVA knew we would be at a point sometime within a 30-minute span – I did not get how that would help.  Division did get us some aerial support from the FLIR (forward looking infrared) aircraft.  It could tell if the earth had been disturbed (different temp) along the road.  Problem was we got the news rather late in the day – long after a sweep.

     In any case, the harassment fire continued.  One day when the other platoon was taking the sweep, the fire continued and did not break off.  We could hear the firefight about a click (km) away.  I went to the infantry support commander and asked that he help our guys out.  He told me he had orders to defend the hill and could not spare a man but would call for air.  My guys grabbed weapons and ammo and jumped in a ¾ ton dump truck and started down the hill on their own.  By the time they got to the sweep team, the enemy had broken contact and a pink team (LOH and Cobra Gunship) was overhead.

     We decided that the situation could not continue, and we needed to clear area away from the road.  We asked for and received one Rhome plow D7 dozer and operator from Corps.  It initially cleared jungle and trees back over 50 meters on each side of the road.  It unearthed some RPG rounds and plastic explosive.  The harassment stopped.

      Then, we started to get sniper fire on the hill.  As I walked with an NCO across the saddle one afternoon, I heard a loud pop above our heads followed by another from the ridge across from us.  Turns out we were taking some rounds.  A very weird experience to hear the double pops – explains why civilian witnesses often confuse the number of rounds fired.  The first is the sound of the round’s sonic wave as it passes; the second the sound of the weapon firing. You never heard the one that got you.  Again, a red team’s appearance silenced the enemy.

      The infantry inserted a platoon on the ridge to clean out the harassers. They worked down a finger of land on the ridge and came to a steep cliff.  When they started to go back, the point man hit a booby trap that blew off his legs. Apparently, what we called “trail watchers” (NVA who followed US units and harassed and wounded guys) were stalking the patrol.  A MEDEVAC bird lowered a jungle penetrator hook and cable to get the wounded guy out.  Then the cable would not retract.  The pilot had to fly him daggling on the end of the cable to our hill and land next to him to pick him up.  He was a sight and he bled to death in front of us from the stumps that were his legs moments before, even with the tourniquets.

MEDEVAC Helicopter

     The “watchers” had apparently placed more traps along the finger.  We were asked to send a couple of guys over to rappel in and cut out a small Landing Zone to get the platoon out.  I sent three of my best guys.  They got enough cleared so that when the wind shifted in the afternoon a slick could get in and take everyone out in shifts.  It made for a long afternoon.

     We tightened security and reviewed our defensive positions.  We did the usual “mad minute” to check fields of fire.  A “mad minute” had every soldier on his weapon with tracer rounds included. (They lit up through trajectory as a coating burned off. Machine guns had every fifth round a tracer in their belts to adjust fire onto a target.)  This would give a visible check of interlocking fires and show up dead spots in ravines, etc. where we would set claymores (These were a surface mine that was a sheet of plastic explosive under a layer of ball bearing like pellets.  They gave quite a kill pattern.)  We also used “fugas.” This was a thickened diesel fuel drum with an explosive charge behind it and a thermite grenade or flare (heat source) in front.  It shot homemade napalm down the ravine when detonated.  A final check for a blind spot was a hand-thrown grenade, and I carried a few.  A soldier’s final protective fire line was usually to his right or left, as your front was covered by the guys next to you.  This way you were not exposed to enemy direct fire, but you had to rely on your neighbor to clear your front.  This “mad” practice also served the purpose of rotating ammo.  We carried 21 or more loaded magazines for the M16 in ammo belts.  Over time the magazines might rust, so they had a shelf life.   Mad minutes were actually quite fun.      Soon the next level of harassment started – mortar rounds.  As I walked near the side of the hill a large explosion went off on the far side of our hill.  The Infantry Captain yelled “incoming” and we all dove for cover.  It was what amounted to a registration round to help adjust the enemy’s mortar attack.  It was a rough technique to adjust fire, but sometimes effective I was told.  I dropped into the nearest hole which turned out to be a garbage sump only a few inches deep.  We heard the sound of several rounds going off and puffs of smoke from the disputed ridge. And then I picked up the most frightening sight, the actual mortar rounds in a long parabolic arch coming at us – like a fly ball to center field.  The rounds got larger, and we lay as close as we could to the ground hoping they would miss.  I felt like my buttons were keeping me too high off the ground.  They landed on target, the hill, and the shrapnel crackled in the air and the ground shook, but miraculously nobody was hit.  I had heard another attack described by an NCO when a Major was hit directly by a mortar and all that was left were his boots with some jell coming out – mortars could be very lethal.  We were very lucky.  Almost immediately the artillery on Fire Base Brick fired on the ridge.  And as soon as possible, a Pink Team (LOH and Cobra gun ship) appeared.  The LOH (small helo) pilot flew at treetop over the launch site trying to draw fire. Those guys were quite brave, to say the least.  No fire was returned, so the accompanying Cobra shot up the area and took out what he could. Next, someone called in Air Force F4s and they fired rockets and dropped napalm and explosives.  It was quite a show.  We did not receive fire from the ridge again while we built FB Rifle.  

FB Rifle Rebuild – 1971

In early April or so, I took on new mission.   We were to enter a “new” AO (area of operations), reopen a road and build a first-class permanent firebase for the ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam).  It was the consummate Vietnamization mission.  The base was to be far enough west to be in the mountains but accessible by ground.  The site selected was an old US FB Rifle between FB Anzio (occupied by ARVN) and FB Brick (2nd Brigade 101st) and the new site was south of Phu Bai off of QL1 – the main north-south route in I Corps.

Wayne’s Area of Operation for FB Rifle

My Commanding Officer at the time, a UMSA 1968 grad, wanted me to take over as his executive officer.  But LTC Rodolph, my battalion commander, wanted me to take on this job – quite a compliment.  LTC Rodolph prevailed.

The S-3 (operations officer) would design the bunkers and base and my guys would build it.  I would have under my command two platoons of my company, C Company, plus the Headquarters equipment – literally, all but one platoon of the company.  The planning phase was kind of fun.

First, I had to recon the area and what was left of the old road by helicopter.  To do this, I was to ride as observer in a LOH (small bubble-like chopper).  My pilot was an 18-year-old warrant officer that loved to put the LOH through her paces.  First thing he did was show me how to use the stick and pedals to try and set it down in case he was hit.  I did not do very well.  We took off and surveyed the area.

 

A LOH Chopper Used in the Observation of the Area Phase

     Neither U.S. nor ARVN troops had been on these ridges or valleys for several years.  As we flew the road, my pilot made like a roller coaster ostensibly to make us less of a target – but he just liked scaring the hell out of me.  We would dive down at high speed and come within a few inches of the ground at high speed and then pull up.  My stomach felt like the worst roller coaster ride ever.  The road was narrow and overgrown and would require some clearing, new culverts, and fill.   On one pass we saw what seemed like a very large lizard crossing the road as well as some real tiny deer (local “mule deer” species).

     After the aerial recon, we did the next phase. We landed in on top of the saddle ridge we were to use for the base.  We assaulted in and the S3 NCOs started doing a topographic survey.  There were two hills with a lower ridge in between.  The road would approach the near hill at a very steep incline.  When we landed and secured the hill, we recognized that neither was large enough for a battery base and that the two and saddle were too large.  We stayed for the remainder of the day and were lifted out at dusk.

     The final plan was to actually cut off the top of the far western hill with dozers to create a large enough battery-sized base.  Since we could not level the hill and occupy it at the same time, we would set up our temporary base on the near hill, using culverts for temporary bunkers and some wire, claymores, and trip flares for security.  We would build the permanent bunkers, extensive wire and fighting positions on the west hill and move when complete.  The road work would begin simultaneously and be based out of our position.

     We made all preparations and assaulted into the saddle in early morning, supported by most of an infantry company.  We received no incoming fire, but our gunners blazed away, anyway.  After landing we began to clear the hill and land and assemble dozers and gear.  Another platoon from C Company was to work from the existing ARVN FB along QL1 and re-open the old road.  We did our best to create a secure position on the eastern part of the saddle. We landed and swept for booby traps and mines.

     My guys began to use the equipment (backhoe and M450 dozer) to dig in positions.  The dozer and another squad moved to link up with the platoon moving from QL1. The infantry guys loved this as the usual SOP was for them to use their entrenching tools and good, deep positions with no labor were a luxury.  As I mentioned the hill had not been occupied for several years and we encountered several snakes.  There were many types of snakes in Vietnam (vipers, bamboo vipers, cobras, etc,), but the troops referred to them as “two-step” or “four-step” snakes.  The myth was that if bitten you could go two steps or four steps before the venom took effect.  One of my guys killed a very long one and as his comrades played with it, we discovered it was a King Cobra with quite a fan.  As the sun set one guy said he knew something about snakes and had we ever read “Rikki Tikki Tavi” a story about a mongoose and cobras in colonial India.  “Well,” he said, “cobras always travel in pairs.”  No one got much sleep that night.

A King Cobra

     Several days into the job we had another encounter with local animal life.  About 0100, one of my guys on guard came up and awakened me.  He said, “LT, there is somebody just down the hill and they are breathing very loudly.”  I grabbed my weapon and gear and crawled to his position and listened.  I heard a very long, hard “grrrrrrrrrr” that was almost a deep purring.  I told him that it was not someone, but something.  Just then, a trip flare went off to our right in front of the M60 machine gun position.  A large tiger jumped in the light and down the hill.  The machine gunner was frozen and did not get off a round – neither did the rest of us.  In the morning we found tracks of a tiger and a cub all around the hill.  We did not see her again.

Vietnamese Tiger Intruder

     The work progressed well, and we had the culverts in along the road except for one large stream crossing just before the populated areas and large elephant grass.  We would leave that as a low water crossing.  We had to sweep the road each morning for booby traps and mines and used to position our new XM 203s (a rifle and grenade launcher combination) on the front and to the flanks.  We had some “shotgun” rounds for the M79 part of the XM203s and had them loaded as we moved along.  The jungle and high grass were close.  On one sweep, the grass rustled loudly, and my guy fired the shotgun round.  We moved forward and discovered we had bagged a rather large boar.  It was sling-loaded to the battalion rear and mess hall for a “luau” for the colonel.

Feast for a Luau

Early in the job my relationship to my company commander had to be “clarified.”  He showed up one day by jeep and started to give directions to me and others.  He was not very helpful and really a REMF (Rear Echelon Mother F*&%) in my mind.  Maybe, that was not fair – Engineer CPTs in their first tour had gone somewhere else after graduation and had already missed the platoon combat experience.  They wanted that, but really, they were inexperienced to those of us lucky enough to be engineer LTs.  Anyway, his command tour of C Company was coming to an end (six months was the norm) and he would soon be replaced by another. 

     LTC Rodolph landed subsequently and asked what I needed.  I said that having the Company CO moving around giving sometimes conflicting orders was not helping.  The Colonel talked with him for some time and came back and told me everything was understood – my CO was moving to the S-3 and would eventually monitor the job from Battalion.  My company commander would not come to the hill again, and he was given other duties with what remained of his company until his change of command.  Amazingly he gave me more than the benefit of the doubt and a great efficiency report.  The efficiency report system was very inflated and you were rated on part of the report on traits from 1 to 4, all “1”s were the norm.  He did ding me with a “2” for tact.  That was an understatement!

     The only Vietnamese supposed to be in the area were wood cutters and Division designated a “wood cutter’s box” frequently to allow the locals to get firewood, etc. Everyone else we found were deemed enemy and it was a free fire zone.   The infantry guys would often send out patrols at night and set up ambushes.  These often included what we called mechanical ambushes – claymores rigged to trip wires to eliminate anyone on the paths.  One such ambush was very effective and the next morning they brought in several bodies.  One was an NVA medical doctor and he had a pith helmet as the NVA regulars wore.  Inside was a photo of his wife and daughter.  It was a bit disturbing to me.

     Anyway, after Mai Lai and the trial of LT Calley, the Army was hypersensitive to civilian deaths in Vietnam.  One morning a staff sergeant in the infantry battalion working our area was leading a patrol and let his guys sleep an extra hour.  They did not take in the mechanical ambush on time and some wood cutters were messed up.  The Division picked up the SSG and took him away and charged him with manslaughter we were told.