Suzanne Rice

Mar 25 2021

Global Air Adventure

In early 1971, I was a co-pilot in a global air refueling squadron that rotated crews in and out of Eastern Thailand and Fairbanks, Alaska from our home base in Michigan. I had been in the squadron a few months when my crew received orders to go to Thailand. We flew our own aircraft, a modified Boeing 707 called a KC-135, to Thailand. We planned to be there for 4 months.

**At U-Tapao Air Base, a KC-135 with a B-52 Landing Overhead**

Our combat air refueling mission was to fly to one of several designated orbits that wrapped around the southwest, west, and northwest edges of North Vietnam. Once orbiting, we were joined in formation by our “chicks”.

**Refueling with 4 ”chicks” (F-105’s) in tow**

Chicks were our receivers, combat aircraft that were flying missions deep into North Vietnam. Each receiver was refueled with a specified amount of fuel using a 20-foot long hard refueling boom.

We also flew the RC-135 on several totally different missions. The RC-135 was a reconnaissance plane and we had Vietnamese riding in the back using very sensitive listening devices to monitor radio conversation between Hanoi and Haiphong. Each mission was a 10-hour orbit between those two cities, with heavy fighter cover under us. The RC was a Boeing 707 with big domes and antennae sticking out.

We had reasonably good air superiority, allowing for a variety of recon, jamming, and fighter bomber aircraft to operate up north. Each needed to refuel going up and coming back. Aircraft joined us in formation to top off with fuel and get ready to complete their missions or head home. Sometimes there was damage to returning aircraft resulting in loss of fuel. We would go further into North Vietnam to get them. On some occasions we went further in to loiter and support aircraft attempting to recover downed pilots. It was a bad day or night if recovery was not successful.

I have a strong recollection of how hollow I felt each time I crossed deep into North Vietnam. No one wanted to end up in the “Hanoi Hilton” prison. Another strong emotion hit whenever I flew in a southwest anchor at night and could see the illumination flares and explosions on the ground. I would always say a prayer for my Classmates who were down there living that hell.

It was uncomfortable trying to link-up at night when the weather was bad. No visibility and unstable air made it tough and we would fly all over the place trying to get these heavily armed or sometimes heavily damaged jets the fuel they needed.

One day an enemy Mig-21 managed to pop-up and get within firing range of our KC-135. I will bet that few people have ever put a 200,000-pound Boeing 707 into a 90-degree, 4 G turn. Our plane creaked and groaned but we remained in one piece with no new holes. It was very eerie as the AWACS (airborne command post) radioed the closing distances between us and the Mig-21. I thought I was done for on that day.

I had over 30 combat missions in or on the edge of North Vietnam in KC-135’s and RC-135’s when my crew was pulled out a few weeks early to go to Okinawa. I thought it was a good trade-off until I found out what unfriendly country we were encroaching upon this time (North Korea). Kim Il Sung was in power and already creating big trouble in the area. Lots of concern about weapons he already had.

By early 1973 I was in the left seat and had my own crew. It was our turn to go to Thailand, but we were sent to Alaska instead. That also struck me as a good trade-off until I realized that we were going to be flying directly over the North Pole and into Siberia to check on Soviet nuclear testing.

**Rare photo of a KC-135 air-to-air refueling of an RC-135 at the North Pole**

This was the heart of the Cold War. Do you know how many tall pine trees there are in Siberia? Billions.

**Siberian Trees as Far as the Eye Could See**

I got out of the Air Force when the Vietnam War ended. Air Force pilots were encouraged to get out or take a desk job. I was hired by a company in Kansas City. My first day at work I was sitting at my new desk on the 3rd floor, by the windows. The cafeteria was directly below me and it developed a fire. Flames and smoke were coming up the outer wall right by me. I could not resist seeing the irony of it all.

Mar 14 2021

Hey, I Could Really Use a Ride – 1971

Timing is everything and I’m certain that West Point has ingrained that principle in the minds of all its graduates along with so many other important aspects of military life. As a supporting wife, I tried to comply with all the rules, regulations, long and short separations, running our home and keeping the proverbial chin up during difficult times. This is something all military wives share—we are a tough bunch. However, the Army cannot control the human body, at least not mine.

We were stationed in Baumholder, Germany. When I told this story at an A-2 gathering and mentioned Baumholder, there were audible groans from a good portion of the crowd. Must admit, I liked Baumholder. Maybe because it was our first assignment and I had nothing to compare but I endured, even climbing to our 4^th floor quarters.

**Beautiful Sunrise Over Baumholder Military Housing – see Pat’s fourth floor home**

Denny was in a tank battalion commanding Alpha Company. Baumholder could not accommodate tank gunnery, so the entire battalion moved to Grafenwoehr in the late summer for 8 weeks. Here is where the timing comes in…I became pregnant in the winter and my due date fell on the day the battalion was to return. Oops.

The beginning of my 9^th month, it was discovered that we were expecting twins. No ultrasounds in those days (1971). The battalion commander allowed Denny to return for a week, but those babies were holding tight. He had to resume his command at Grafenwohr and I chose to move in with another “waiting wife” rather than spend weeks in the hospital as my OB/GYN suggested. Luckily, I was surrounded with many supporting battalion wives, wives of classmates and those classmates in other units that were also assigned to Baumholder. A-2 classmate, Norv and Kris Eyrich lived in the next building from where I was staying, coincidentally, Kris was pregnant at the same time and due almost on the same day.

So, of course, my labor started the day before the battalion was to return. I knew Denny would be extremely busy making sure his tanks were being loaded on to trains, tying up loose ends and preparing for the long, 12-hour journey back to Baumholder.

I placed a call to the rear-detachment officer. His wife was also pregnant. There must have been something in the water! Anyway, he was just a little riled by this news wondering if he was the designated driver to get me to the hospital. I knew that wouldn’t be a problem because in about 20 minutes there were 6 or 8 wives in my friend Nancy’s living room all trying to figure out who would be able to transport me to Bad Kreuznach, about 40 miles away. I happened to glance out the window and there was Norv, walking his dog. Kris delivered their beautiful daughter a day or two before by C-section. I leaned out and yelled “Hey, Norv, are you going to visit Kris tonight?” He looked up and said “Yes, I’m leaving in a few minutes. Is there a problem?” I replied, “I’m pretty sure I’m in labor, and since you are going that way, I could really use a ride.”

God bless Norv. Without missing a beat, he said “Yes, I’ll bring the car to the front of your building.” My bag was packed and ready as I was instructed to do by the nurses at the OB clinic. I worked my way down the stairwell, with the help of all those ladies. They lovingly padded the passenger seat of Norv’s VW Bug with about 12 towels and off we went.

Norv mentioned that he knew a short cut through the countryside that was faster than the autobahn. Since I didn’t have a choice and the contractions were about 12 minutes apart, I hoped he knew what he was doing. After all, he did get Kris there, right? Right. Turns out a good portion of the road was under construction and the detours were rough surfaces to say the least. With every bump, I prayed my water wouldn’t break and I could tell the contractions were coming a little more frequently.

Meanwhile, back at Graf in the mess hall, Denny got the word about my labor, delegated his company responsibilities for their departure and was frantically searching for some sort of transportation to BK. It was getting dark and raining hard with poor visibility. Denny’s Battalion Commander found a helicopter pilot who volunteered to fly him to the hospital. Since that was the only offer, he took it. What could go wrong?

We thankfully arrived at the BK hospital and Norv escorted me to the admissions desk on the OB floor.

The staff behind the nurses’ station, looked at him then looked a me and then looked at him again. A male nurse sneered and said “Captain, didn’t you bring another woman here a few days ago who was also in labor?” Norv explained that yes, that was true, but he was helping a friend this time who was in Graf. I could tell the guy still wasn’t convinced, standing there as I gripped the wall tile with another contraction. He asked for my ID card and Denny’s unit. I handed it over and told him it was 2/68 Armor. I could hear him talking to someone saying 2/68 Artillery. He turned to me and said that unit doesn’t exist. Another sneer at Norv. IT’S 2/68 ARMOR, ARMOR NOT ARTILLERY, I yelled to him. At last it was confirmed, and I was escorted to the labor room. Norv tried to reassure me it would be alright and went to Kris’s room.

I wasn’t sure it would be alright. I was admitted at about 8pm and Denny arrived, looking very pale, at around midnight exclaiming he had one hell of a ride.

At 6:08 and 6:15am, Kelly and Scott came into this world by natural childbirth.

Later that morning, the doctor who delivered the children, drove Denny back to Baumholder. Dr. Roth (Werner Roth, MD, a German contract OB) had clinic hours that day at our little dispensary.

It wasn’t at all how I pictured this event would evolve but thanks to bad timing and good friends, it was an experience I will never forget.

Mar 11 2021

Hooch Area Dogs – 1972

In Vietnam where I served, every compound of American GIs had their own dogs. These were mostly fed mess hall scraps that the troops sneaked out for their canine buddies. The dogs were very territorial, fiercely defending their home area and their troops against outside dogs and people. Our Army helicopter company was the only American unit based inside a South Korean division headquarters compound.

“Hootch” was GI slang for living accommodations. For American troops, their hootches could mean anything from mud-floor tent shelters which the infantry grunts called home, to actual air-conditioned dormitory barracks like the ones that housed the Air Force guys. Our company had separate hootch areas for the officers, who were the aviators, and the enlisted troops.

Originally linear concrete slabs for tents, over the years these hootch pads were transformed by the troops into pretty elaborate living quarters. At some point early in the war, these slabs had been framed in, making rows of adjoining rough ten-by-twenty foot square sheds, each intended as shelter for two to four troops. In the officers’ area, the three rows of hootches formed a “C.”

Building materials were salvaged from the long wooden boxes that gunship rockets were shipped in.

We hired a local papa-san for three hundred piasters a day to break down the rocket boxes. With his hammer, he would knock the boxes apart and pull the nails. After stacking the boards, he pounded all the nails approximately straight and sorted them into coffee cans. These nails and lumber were what the troops used to build or improve their own hootches, which grew in size and complexity over the years. As old-timers finished their tours, new guys moved in and continued work. One group of our warrant officers had knocked out a partition between two hootches and built a four-bunk apartment suite, complete with a brick fireplace and lava lamps in the lounge section.

When I deployed, I brought a twin-size waterbed mattress from stateside; it was brand-new, weighed about eight pounds, about 10” x 15” x 1-1/2” that fit in the bag I hand-carried, along with my Nomex flight suits and leather boots. Arriving in the unit, I had no problem finding the lumber to build a frame for my waterbed, flat on the concrete slab, but getting 120 gallons of water to fill the mattress was more challenging.

Eventually, the solution emerged in the form of the fire truck stationed on the flight line. This was a converted 2-1/2-ton cargo truck, called a “deuce-and-a-half,” with a 1,200-gallon water tank and a pump. I “bogarted” the truck one morning when all the aircraft were away on missions and drove it behind my hootch. By adapting a section of helicopter hydraulic tubing with duct tape, I was able to feed the water by gravity into the mattress, returning the fire truck to the flight line before anyone ever noticed that it was missing.

To my knowledge, that was the only waterbed in all of Vietnam.

Using my waterbed frame as a support, my new hootch mate, Captain Tim, built a bunk bed against the wall over the waterbed, complete with a ladder. He and I partitioned off the rear twelvefeet of our shed as a sleeping area, with a blackout curtain in the passageway made from a dark green poncho liner. We wired a pair of low-intensity lights using field telephone wire, and had a cozy little crash pad.

In front of the room partition, we built a day area where Tim installed a chin-up bar. I had scrounged a broken typewriter, which I was able to fix with safety wire. At the opposite end of our day area from Tim’s chin-up bar I built a fold-down shelf for my typewriter and letter-writing, with a 60-watt reading lamp overhead. I could type faster than writing, so letters home were easier to keep up with.

Just outside our hootch front door was the heavy timber bunker which served as the officers’ shelter from incoming ordnance. Using packets of seeds his wife mailed him, Tim raised a flower garden beside the bunker which he watered daily. Behind the bunker was a volleyball net, where off-duty aviators sometimes played according to “jungle rules.” These rules prescribed that each side had a net man, whose job it was to yank the net up, down or sideways as necessary to the advantage of his team.

Assorted Vietnamese came in daily to perform various housekeeping chores for us. In addition to our papa-san lumber man, we had hootch maids who did our laundry and a barber.

In the officers’ latrine at one corner of our area, the urinal was made from a section of galvanized 16” pipe split length-wise into a trough, with a constant trickle flow of water. I discovered one day that the hootch maids did our daily wash by stopping the drain of the urinal, creating a long wash basin for scrubbing out our clothes. Some things you just wish you didn’t know.

The officers’ hootch area was ruled by four dogs. The alpha male was a big fellow named Zoomer, who had a magnificent, plumed tail. His pack included a mother bitch called Pig, and two of her offspring. The dogs jealously guarded our hootch area. They were perfectly tolerant of the Vietnamese day workers they knew over the years, and American troops were constantly rotating through, so the dogs accepted us all. But the dogs absolutely did not like Korean soldiers and would snarl at any hapless Korean troop who had to enter our area. I suppose the dogs reacted to the strong kim-chee aroma that surrounded the Koreans.

Zoomer ruled his pack like a feudal lord, until one fateful day, when he fell asleep under a deuce-and-a-half. When the truck started up, his magnificent tail got run over, leaving nothing but a raw bloody string of bones. Over the seven weeks it took for his tail skin and hair to grow back in, old Zoomer hid out of sight in shame almost the entire time.

Beside the volleyball net was an outdoor grill, where our dogs’ favorite event took place: Steak night. Every month or so, our crafty supply officer managed to trade something or other for several cases of frozen steaks, which our aviators took great pride in barbecuing. Once the steaks began sizzling, the dogs clustered round like burrs on Velcro. As fat and bones got trimmed off, the dogs stood on their hind legs begging the scraps. After a while, the dogs got so sated from gorging on steak trimmings that they quit begging. Eventually, they quit coming for more, but they would still eat scraps if we placed them in front of them. Finally, they were so full they wouldn’t even touch a whole steak laid on their paws.

A “dog’s life” in our hootch area was a pretty good existence, after all. Sadly, I never knew what became of our beloved dogs after we left in January of 1973.

Mar 07 2021

Post Laotian Invasion – 1971

The ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) was finally extricated from Laos and we were alerted to prepare for blocking positions if the NVA (North Vietnamize Army) moved on I Corps. Several units set up in the Ashau Valley and to the north to block any attacks. The NVA were hurt as much as the ARVN, I guess. My guys were not deployed. My recollection of the timeline gets fuzzy here, but then I was concerned that I had not heard from Mary Ellen on our baby’s birth and was getting anxious – her due date was when I was up north and that had passed. I was so bad with worry that the Chaplain arranged a call to her via Saigon from Camp Eagle – a real telephone call! I talked with her and she told me all was well – the baby was just late.

Sometime around this part of the tour we got what was a short in country R&R (rest and recuperation) at the division’s center called Eagle Beach east of Hue on the South China Sea. It was just a bunch of hootches on the beach, with a recreation center with a show and bar. We had to turn in all our weapons and were guarded by division security troops. Infantry guys got this in country R&R and not engineers, but we were there to repair and rebuild some of the facilities and got to rest after work. The show at night was a Filipino band with two very young go-go girl dancers (they looked 12-15). They did all the current songs – but you have not lived until you heard “Ploud Lary – lollin on the liver” sung very loudly!

As I recall after we returned, we were given a civic action mission in Thua Thein province east of Hue. (Area was just south of the French Indo-China war era stretch known as “The Street Without Joy.”) We were to repair a road and some bridges through the flat rice paddy country and sand dunes to help the local bus company connect a bunch of small villages. The area was very safe, and we worked out of a local ARVN base, manned by the Ruff Puffs (local regional troops something like local militia). Down the road we ran into an Australian Special Forces Detachment whose mission was advising the local forces. They were great guys and the only “Allies” I ran into during my tour.

The Ruff Puffs did some night work and caught two supposed VC. They had been killed in a fire fight and were staked out on a mound as a warning, or as a trophy, I guess. The bodies were discolored and bloating. As we worked near another village, we uncovered some more bodies hastily buried by the other side. When one of my guys ran an entrenching tool into the ground, he cut right into one. The smell was bad, and the flesh had the look of corned beef. That was exactly what we got flown to us for a meal later that day. It was years before I could eat corned beef again!

Our work went well except for two instances. One involved the replacement of a pier for a bridge over a canal. The water was mostly stagnant. We waded in to work on the pier and when we got out, we had several leaches attached. We quickly removed them with cigarettes. I remembered the scene from “The African Queen” when Bogart has to go back in the water. We did too – and it was not easy.

**The Fight Against Leaches in the “African Queen”**

The second involved a culvert we put in the road between two paddies. It was fine and the local farmer dammed it to control flow. About 100 meters along, we found on successive mornings a trench dug across the road. We filled it in and each morning it returned. We finally got an interpreter to talk with the locals. It seems another farmer was jealous of our “giving” a culvert to his neighbor and wanted one, too. Although it was not called for in the plans, we added one for him in the spot he kept digging up. He seemed pleased.

This was the closest we came to the locals who just wanted to live and ignore us and get the crops in. They had small ponds near their homes and some raised fish in them. The dikes were used as paths and latrines. I sure did not want to eat any of the fish. The Vietnamese would squat with their feet flat and actually rest in that position – we would fall over. The older folks had terrible teeth and they would smear betel nut over them to kill pain and give you quite a look when they smiled.

Our work required some fill (additional soil) and we established a borrow pit near QL1 (main north-south route in I Corps) using some guys from our headquarters equipment platoon. One ran a front loader and filled the 2 ½ ton dumps we borrowed from the HQ Company with fill we used to repair the road. This was as close as our troops got to the locals, and the local ladies were plying their wares. The loader operator was participating in an active exchange when LTC Rodolph’s LOH appeared overhead. LTC Rodolph landed and pulled the man off in “mid debauch.” Needless to say, we did not think that was very sporting when reported to us.

The 101^st field troop access to the local ladies was very restricted. First, we operated in the hills where there were no locals, and second, to a small extent, some were afraid of the “Black Syph.” The myth going around our unit was that the enemy had developed a very virulent and fatal form of syphilis. If you got it, you were transported to isolation on an island off the coast and your family was notified that you were missing in action – never to go home. It was very far-fetched, but we had some of Lyndon Johnson’s Project 100,000 soldiers (aka “MacNamara’s Folly” that enlisted men with less than required mental or physical capabilities) still and they would believe anything.

One evening as it was getting dark, one of the trucks ran off the road into a rice paddy. To get it out we had to set up a dozer and cables. We did a job on a small portion of the paddy. I reported the damage to division and, as was the policy, the division assigned a JAG officer to pay an equitable claim to the owner of the field. I had to accompany him to meet with the farmer. The Vietnamese farmer had essentially claimed the entire field’s crop of rice. We had maybe destroyed 5% of the paddy. The payment was in the local currency, piasters, which had an official value way above its actual black-market rate. We used US Army currency we called script among US troops and stores (PX).

We went to the farmhouse – a thatched hut with a dirt floor. The owner showed up as a former ARVN soldier with one arm. Not sure if he was actually the owner or the “stand in” to gain more sympathy. He showed us his discharge and medals. We offered the appropriate amount; the farmer was very distraught. After consultations, the division officer offered him about 25% of the field’s yield. He took it and we shook hands and left.

We also got to play with some new mine-clearing gear brought in country by Waterways Experiment Station folks from their Corps of Engineers lab. It was a lesson in a good technical idea that would not work. Two civilian scientists were field testing a new nonmetallic mine detector and my platoon was to support them. We had detectors that could find metal mines and detonators, but plastic explosives in wood containers would go mostly undetected. Our existing nonmetallic mine detector equipment was essentially a stick to look for booby traps. These guys had a new piece that sent out a signal and measured the changing dialectic constant of a material – a change in density and therefore, theoretically detect non-metallic mines. You had to keep the head of the sweeper perfectly parallel to the surface – a hand turn would give a signal.

We set up a stretch of road and buried some target nonmetallic mines. The sweep started and we got readings every few inches – rocks, shrapnel, or wood. We took an hour to clear a few feet. The scientists still could not find the target mines we had placed and complained the test was unfair. The road was not homogeneous enough. I told them that was the condition of most roads in our areas. We left them still trying to find the targets.

Back in base camp, I was really getting nervous about our baby and Mary Ellen – and a bit hard to live with. On 8 March I was called in by CPT Fisher who read me a Red Cross telegram that Mary Ellen had given birth to a boy on 4 March and all was well – later I learned that Sean’s delivery was difficult, and Mary Ellen had to have a C-Section. With the news I was ecstatic! Wrote Mary Ellen a letter that minute – talked about little league, PTA, and how much I loved her.

The Red Cross telegram had been held up by a Western Union strike on the west coast supposedly. Steve, my younger brother, had delivered per our arrangement the yellow roses on time so Mary Ellen had no idea I had not been told.

Mary Ellen had sent me a package with cigars for this moment and I opened it. The climate had taken its toll and only some were useable. Still, I got some more from the PX and gave them out. All I wanted now was to get home and see Mary Ellen and Sean.

When the aftermath of our air losses in Lam San 719, and of the ARVN in troops, had run its course in most of the area, I was chosen to head up a Vietnamization (efforts to turn over war to Vietnamize forces) fire base construction in our Brigade’s area of operations. Best job I had in country.

Feb 23 2021

First Day as a Forward Observer – 1970

March 1970 was a turbulent time of unrest and deep cultural division over the Vietnam War. Despite the emotional and strident voices of opposition, this Field Artillery Second Lieutenant (2LT) arrived in country, 9 months after commissioning and fresh from 30 days leave following Ranger School.

I was assigned to 6^th Battalion, 11^th Field Artillery on LZ (landing zone) Bronco as a Forward Observer (FO) to an infantry rifle company (B Company, 4^th Battalion, 3d Infantry (Old Guard)) operating from LZ San Juan Hill

in the mountainous terrain south of Chu Lai and west of Duc Pho (see note below). We all knew the life expectancy of a “butter bar”* FO was short and that a trial by fire would come. I just didn’t know how soon.

My first day was memorable. After packing up my basic issue (M-16, ammo, all-important compass,

map of my area of operations (AO) and grease pencil, C-rations, etc), I linked up with my Liaison Sergeant and met my Radio Telephone Operator (RTO), the man who would carry our PRC 25 radio which provided essential communications between me and our vital artillery fire support.

**A RTO “Rucked-up” with a PRC 25 for a Mission**

Following a brief situation report of enemy activity and terrain in the area of operations from my infantry battalion Fire Support Officer (FSO), I finally met my company commander (CO). The company then headed off on my first search and destroy mission in the mountains and triple-canopy jungles.

Not many miles off the LZ, we uncovered a large cache of enemy weapons including AK47s, old Russian Kalishnikov rifles, WWII vintage US rifles (M-1s, BARs, carbines, etc), and various mines, grenades, etc. The CO called for a chopper to salvage the cache; mission accomplished, we moved on.

We crossed a mountainous jungle ridgeline in the late afternoon and moved onto a plateau of dense jungle with some open terrain. The CO decided to call it a day, so we all set up our defensive position and dug in. As I would many times in the months ahead, I jumped into my role as FO, plotting defensive fires around the company perimeter, and coordinating with the Fire Direction Center of my firing battery. Because we were several miles away from my firing battery on the LZ and on the opposite side of a steep ridge line from my howitzers, all fire support would have to be delivered “high angle.” Although we had the newest and most accurate model of the 105mm howitzer (the M102), with an effective range of 11.5 kilometers (7.1 miles), I knew high angle fire for “reverse slope targets” was problematic: longer flight time, greater probable dispersion error, etc, but there was no alternative.

**105mm Howitzer M102, Ready for High Angle Fire**

Just as I was wrapping up my coordination, we came under fire. Everyone quickly hunkered down and the platoon closest to the enemy returned fire. The CO asked me if I could bring in artillery, so I replied, “Yes, Sir!” with more certainty in my voice than I felt, and immediately called for a fire mission. The response time was quicker than I expected. We all listened expectantly as the first 105mm “Willie Pete” (White Phosphorous) round descended from its high trajectory with a scream, expoding about 300 meters in the air and about 400 meters away from our perimeter. The platoon leader closest to the action told the CO he needed rounds closer; the sniper was less than 100 meters away from him. I told the CO that dropping the next round 200 meters closer to us would require “Danger Close” procedures, meaning all calculations and firing operations would be handled even more meticulously – and that the possibility of friendly fire casualties greatly increased. He instantly replied to bring it in! The next round was HE (high explosive) about 100 meters outside the perimeter and right where we needed it, so I called for a battery “fire-for-effect” and 6 rounds of 105mm rained down on the target, producing a deafening roar with steel fragmentation shards sailing over our heads. Suddenly, all became still. Then, the company radio came to life with a crackle with the platoon leader’s voice, “enemy neutralized.”

Within a few moments, a young infantryman searched me out and presented a jagged steel shard** still hot to the touch, saying how much he appreciated the artillery: “Thanks, L.T., this whistled by my ear…it’s exactly where I wanted it!” This was music to a young field artilleryman’s ears…and all on my first day!

Many fire missions and memorable events ensued during my months at the “pointy end of the spear” as an FO, but, by the grace of the Lord, I survived and was carried by chopper out of the bush to my next assignement as a battery fire direction officer. The day before I said my fond farewells to the Old Guard infantrymen I had lived and fought beside during those months, I received a radio message from the Red Cross that my wife Sally had given birth to our first son and that both mother and baby were well. That son, Paul***, celebrated his 50^th birthday on July 12^th, 2020!

Note: Although I arrived in VietNam with orders for the 2d Battalion, 19^th Field Artillery (2/19FA) of the 1^st Cavalry Division Artillery, the assignment clerk at the 90th Replacement Battalion in Long Binh Post told me to get on the next flight north to I Corps and the 23d Infantry Division (Americal) because they had lost several forward observers recently. I was assigned to B (Bravo) Battery of 6^th Battalion, 11^th Field Artillery (B/6/11 FA, 105mm howitzer) on LZ San Juan Hill in the mountainous region of the 11^th Light Infantry Brigade AO west of Duc Pho and the southern-most brigade of Americal Division. As expected, my duty position was to be Forward Observer (FO) for a rifle company of 4^th Battalion, 3d Infanty Regiment (B/4/3 INF, Old Guard). I was quite surprised to learn a battalion of the famed Old Guard (best known for ceremonial service at Arlington Cemetery and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier) was in VietNam, but proud to be assigned as an FO to her!

* A “butter bar” is an Army Second Lieutenant (2LT), so called because the single gold bar of rank resembles a bar of butter … easily distinguished from the silver bar of the more experienced First Lieutenant (1LT).

** That 5-inch long fragmentation shard was a prized keepsake for many years, but sadly disappeared during one of our many moves, a casualty of my wife’s clearing out what she thought was a piece of junk left on my desk.

*** Paul graduated from West Point in 1992 (and as one of the first Class Sons of my Class of 1969), was commissioned a Field Artilleryman and retired from active duty in 2012.