The Days Forward

West Point Class of 1969

Suzanne Rice

A Tribute to Army Docs – 1995

by Eric Robyn

“You have the right knee of a 60-year-old man!”

The year was 1995 and I was 48 years old.

The Army doctor conducting my retirement physical was surprised when I replied: “Thank God, that is great news … my knee has gotten younger in the last 18 years!”  I then told her sincerely how much I appreciated Army doctors over 26-plus years of active duty service.  And I meant every word!

When I was a cadet in 1967, Dr. (then-Major) John Feagin (USMA Class of 1955) operated on my right knee, injured during intramurals. **

**Note:  Intramurals (or company athletics) was heavily emphasized by Douglas MacArthur’s arrival as West Point Superintendent in 1919, in order to provide competitive athletic experiences for every cadet in a wide variety of sports.  The most gifted cadet athletes competed on Corps Squad (intercollegiate) teams, but the rest of us were assigned to a new sports team every quarter with our company-mates.  “Every cadet an athlete” is more than just a cliché!

That day in January as I lay flat on my back under local anesthesia, he cheerfully explained the new procedure being used.  He was drilling numerous small holes on the back side of my kneecap to encourage cartilage growth.  His continuous “step-by-step” description was informative and obviously meant to distract me from the nerve-wracking sound of the electric drill at work.  Success was in his results.  He got me up and running (literally) in relatively short order.

Whirlpool Treatment for Cadets
Cadet Patients Endure Physical Therapy – Aka: Physical Torture

When I graduated in 1969, I left West Point fully qualified medically for Airborne, Ranger and all the other physically demanding activities required of young officers, including combat duty in Vietnam, and more than 2 years of battery-level command of troops.

In 1976 I returned to West Point as a Tactical Officer and re-injured the same knee playing squash.  Once again, I went under the knife, this time by the hand of Dr. (Major) Gordon Kimball.  During surgery on that cold January day in 1977, I heard a familiar voice from 10 years earlier.  Colonel Feagin, then the USMA Hospital Commander, took time to stop by and check up on me and my knee.  Ever the caring physician, he told me he wanted to see how his work had held up after 10 years of ground-pounding abuse!

Although this second surgery was successful, my knee obviously was not up to what it once was able to do.  An Army medical board reviewed my case and placed a permanent “profile” in my file, exempting me from running and other activities stressful to my knee.  I was told at the age of 30 that I was walking on the knee of an 80-year old man!  In spite of this pronouncement, I remained on active duty for another 18 years.

Fast forward to 2004.  I had one more encounter with Dr. Feagin.  He had just been named the worthy recipient of the USMA Distinguished Graduate Award, so I decided to drop him a congratulatory note.  Considering the intervening years, I referred to having been one of his “old patients he had probably long forgotten.”  After all, how many knees had he seen over a career?  Amazingly, he wrote me back.   He not only remembered me but said he had recently been reviewing my case file!  Who would have guessed that old medical files provided reading material in retirement?  Or that mine held any residual interest?  But I appreciated his love for his profession and his thoughtfulness to reply to an old patient.

Now 25 years into the golden years of retirement, I am much older than my 60-year old knee.  It is my left knee that now causes more pain!  I guess at age 73 the arthritis is to be expected.  Could be worse!  To borrow (with a twist) the response Plebes were taught to recite about their first squad leaders: “Everything my right knee is – or ever hopes to be – I owe to John Feagin!”

One final shout out to Army docs involves the ever-recurring story of cadets and their knee injuries.

Our son Paul (USMA Class of 1992) while a yearling (sophomore), was engaged in barracks horseplay, twisting his knee.  Fellow classmate and former fellow field artilleryman, Bruce Wheeler (https://thedaysforward.com/colonel-bruce-wheeler/) called very early one morning to my quarters at Ft. Sill where I was assigned as a battalion commander.  As all commanders know, early morning calls seldom bring good news.  Bruce, now the orthopedic surgeon assigned at Keller Army Hospital, anticipating my anxiety, greeted me, “Hey, Eric, don’t worry, Paul is OK!”  He then went on to explain the relevant details of this cadet mishap.  Paul was in good hands.  Thank you, Bruce, for following in the line of great docs who keep cadets and soldiers on their feet and running!

PS:  Although I was not a Corps-Squad athlete, I learned over the years that many West Point athletes and graduates knew and loved Dr. Feagin.  So, in memory of Colonel John Feagin, USA Retired (USMA 1955), here is an excerpt from his obituary of September 2019:

Dr. John Autry Feagin Jr. died peacefully at the age of 85 on September 1, 2019 at his home in Jackson Hole, WY, amid friends and family.  Born on May 9, 1934, he was the son of the late COL John A. Feagin, Sr. and Katherine Terrell Feagin.

Dr. Feagin was a 1955 graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point.  Following two years as an Army artillery officer, he was offered admission to the Duke University School of Medicine and was the first West Point graduate to attend medical school while on active duty.

… He served as an orthopedic surgeon in Vietnam 1966-67 with the 85th Evacuation Hospital in Qui Nhon … returned to West Point and served as an orthopedic surgeon at Keller Army Hospital and team physician for the Army athletic teams from 1967-72

Orthopedic Doctor at Keller Army Hospital

… He retired from the Army as a Colonel in 1979 after a final assignment at West Point as the Commander of Keller Army Hospital

Keller Army Hospital in Which Dr. Feagin Worked

… practiced orthopedic surgery in Jackson, WY from 1979 to 1989.  During this time he also served as team physician for U.S. Olympic teams and the U.S. Ski Team … he returned to Duke in 1989 as Associate Professor of Surgery and team physician for Duke Athletics, where he reunited with Head Men’s Basketball Coach Mike Krzyzewski, who had been a basketball player at West Point when Dr. Feagin was team physician.

In 2009, the Feagin Leadership Program was established at Duke University to honor and build on Dr. Feagin’s legacy of leadership in medicine, … mentoring the Feagin Scholars throughout the last ten years of his life.

Dr. Feagin was … president of the American Orthopedic Society for Sports Medicine (AOSSM) … His contributions were recognized through numerous awards including the United States Military Academy’s Distinguished Graduate Award, and induction in to the Army Sports Hall of Fame and the AOSSM Hall of Fame.

Dr. Feagin humbly influenced an entire generation of orthopedic surgeons worldwide in ways that transformed the understanding and treatment of knee injuries. He was a founding member of both the Anterior Cruciate Ligament Study Group and the International Knee Documentation Committee. His book, The Crucial Ligaments, remains the standard text on ligamentous injuries of the knee.  He was an exemplar of patient-centered, selfless leadership and his legacy lives on through the thousands of people he influenced for the better throughout his life.

He always tried to live the West Point Cadet Prayer: “Encourage us in our endeavor to live above the common level of life.  Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong. … And grant us new ties of friendship and new opportunities of service.”

In the words of the West Point Alma Mater, “May it be said, ‘Well done; Be thou at peace.’”

**Photos courtesy of the Jack Engemann Collection at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County

The Story of Teams “22” and “24” – 1970

While at Camp Buckner being trained in Infantry tactics by the 101st Airborne Division, I only wish I had paid more attention to a particular white board presentation by then Major Dandridge Michael “Mad Dog” Malone (now deceased).  He described in detail his concept of creating long range reconnaissance elements to be used in Vietnam as the eyes and ears of a Division when their Areas of Operation (AO) were too large to be controlled by Division assets.  Later that same year he convinced a Two Star General, the First Field Force (IFFV) Commander in Vietnam, of the efficacy of his concept.  MAJ (P) Malone was tasked to create E Company, Infantry (LRP), which years later would be re-designated, C Company (Ranger), 75th Infantry (Airborne), the unit in which I would later serve.

Major Dandridge (Mad Dog) Malone

Each Company in the 101st ABN DIV was tasked to provide soldiers and officers for the newly created unit.  Naturally, they sent their dregs and deadbeats.  So, Mad Dog Malone went back to the IFFV Commander and was given free rein to select soldiers for his LRP Company, each of whom he required be a volunteer.  Thus, began the tradition that everyone who joined the unit had to be an Airborne volunteer.  Malone kept the officers so as not to malign their records but returned all the soldiers and then hand-picked his LRPs.  Due to the size of the Company, its Commander would be a Major.  Since Malone was promotable to LTC, he would not realize his dream of becoming its first Commander.  That job fell to a Special Forces Major named O’Connor, who did agree for Malone to lead the very first team combat mission.

When enough men to create a Platoon were picked, the Platoon was sent as a unit to Recondo School run by Special Forces in Nha Trang.  Upon graduation from Recondo, each Platoon was dispatched to various outposts throughout First Field Force.  Since a helicopter had to be constantly re-fueled to reach his separate Platoons, MAJ O’Connor requested any suitable aircraft from the IFFV CDR.  The Command Sergeant Major indicated they had two O-1 Cessna Birddogs that could be suitable for Direct Support to the LRP unit.

Gary with O1 pilot

Once the unit was constituted together and performing team recon missions, the Birddog became the essential Command & Control (C&C) vehicle.  Keeping meticulous records of my combat flights, I would eventually earn ten air medals in the Birddog flying C&C

After USMA graduation and completion at Mother Benning of Airborne, Ranger and the Basic Infantry Officer courses, I reported to Ft. Bragg, NC for my first duty assignment.  I was a 2nd LT Platoon Leader, Company C, 1st of the 508th, 82nd All American Airborne Division.  Shortly afterwards, I was selected by the Brigade Commander to create, train and lead its first ever Brigade Long Range Recon Patrol Platoon, with a primary mission of operating a mock Viet Cong prison camp and serve as aggressors during the Brigade’s Escape and Evasion training exercises.

I was also given free rein to select soldiers from the Brigade to fill my LRRP Platoon.  Upon reviewing the military records, I was thrilled to pick one particular Sergeant who had served with a Ranger/LRP unit in Viet Nam!  Little did I realize then that I would later serve with that same unit from which he had just returned.  Yes, it’s a small world when all the puzzle pieces finally are put together!

The Brigade Commander gave me ten objectives to meet.  I requested and he consented that I be given orders to Vietnam once I met those objectives.  I was “called on the carpet” one time.  I had decided to train my LRPs the art of the Australian Rappel; i.e., rappelling with one hand while facing downward and the other hand free to fire at any enemy below.  Since there were no available mountain sides on which to train, I located a distant three-story barracks that had no side windows.  Unfortunately, the barracks belonged to another Brigade Commander (BDE CDR), who drove by and witnessed us rappelling from the roof down the side of his building and reported me.  After getting chewed out for a good three or four minutes with my ass completely figuratively bloody, I turned to retreat.  The BDE CDR stopped me saying I was not dismissed, came around, stuck his finger in my face and, with a smirk said” Next time, don’t get caught!”  I believe in the saying, “It’s better to ask forgiveness than to ask for permission.”

Having met all objectives, I received orders to Vietnam following completion of Jungle Warfare Training Course in Panama.  I arrived in Vietnam on 18 July 1970 and reported to Bien Hoa for the 10-day In Country Indoctrination Center operated by the 25th Inf Div. On Friday, my third day there, I received orders to the 173rd (The Herd) ABN Brigade.  The following evening at Bien Hoa Officers Club, I met a MAJ Hudson who was in jungle fatigues and bragging about commanding Charlie Rangers.  He stated he had a good commo PLT LDR, a VMI grad for one of his combat Platoons and a Citadel grad for another but would be losing his 2nd PLT LDR due to his promotion to Captain.  When he heard me exclaim I was an Airborne, Ranger, West Point grad and volunteering, he said if I could get to Ahn Khe in three days, he would cover transferring me into his unit.  If it had not been for the war, I wouldn’t have even known about Vietnam, and I had no idea where Ahn Khe was.  However, I immediately returned to the barracks and let my bunkmates know I was leaving.  They warned me I would be AWOL!  I responded, “What could they do to me?  I’m already in Vietnam!  Besides, it would be an embarrassment to the Army to report a West Pointer AWOL in Vietnam, so I would have time to arrange a new assignment.”  I hitch-hiked on a C-123, a Huey and on a deuce-and-a-half truck in a convoy that drove through a VC ambush at the Ahn Khe pass.

Ahn Khe Pass

My introduction to combat was twiddling my thumbs with no weapon and bullets flying over my head!  Well, MAJ Hudson kept his word, and I became 2nd PLT LDR, Charlie Rangers.

Ranger Gary in Vietnam

If the North Vietnamese Army could secret 3,000 troops across the borders of Laos and Cambodia and surround say a US artillery base, they would be willing to sacrifice 2,000 soldiers to kill two hundred Americans as a PR victory, based on the protests going on in the USA.  However, GEN Giap, the head of the North Vietnamese, ordered his troops not to become decisively engaged with the US Forces because they had air superiority and fire superiority since they operated in battalion and division size operations.  He hated the Rangers since six men would cause a year’s planning to go awry as the enemy thought they were the advance element of a large US force and would retreat back over the borders when ambushed.

Charlie Rangers employed six-man LRP teams to conduct ambushes (hatchets) in free-fire AOs after clandestine insertions by helicopter.  Usually the teams were within firing support of artillery camps, which were eager to assist any teams in contact.  A reaction force of a Platoon of Americans, a company of Republic of Korean (ROK) or an even larger unit of South Vietnamese forces stationed at nearby airbases replaced teams that made contact with superior enemy forces.  Frequently, the only team communication was through a radio-relay site positioned on the highest mountain or via the airborne Birddog. Due to the constant stress, teams not making contact were extracted after four uneventful days in the field.  After a few days respite, teams were re-inserted into a new AO.

A Charlie Ranger team made contact nearly every day of the year!  We did not create these incredibly brave men; we only trained them.  Charlie Rangers called in more B-52 strikes than any other unit in the history of the war.

On this particular mission, I was flying Command & Control to extract two 2nd Platoon teams that had been operating without any contact for their four days.  As they were operating only a few kilometers away from each other, and there were no nearby landing zones (LZ) suitable for extraction, I directed both teams to a central, large LZ.  At the time, our unit was under operational control to the 173rd ABN BDE, so we were being supported by “Casper” helicopters. ** Note the ghost on the nose of the flaring Huey.  Teams “22” and “24” reached the appointed LZ and relaxed as they awaited extraction. ** Note in the picture below taken by a Ranger, their rucksacks are strewn about the LZ, and they’re not waiting under cover of the forest according to standard operating procedures.

**Photo taken by a Ranger at the Landing Zone

The teams popped “banana” yellow smoke as the first of two Casper Huey is descending for final approach with the second Huey above and out of the picture.  The Radio/Telephone Operator is speaking with me in the back seat of the Birddog. His teammates are all reacting to my message of approaching enemy.  My front-seat pilot, Ranger Jerry Bussell (now deceased) of the 183rd Reconnaissance Aircraft Company, spotted approximately sixty North Vietnamese enemy soldiers “di-di-mauing” (speeding) towards the yellow smoke.

Both teams were quickly and safely extracted by two Casper Huey, leaving no chance of friendly fire damage, whereupon two accompanying Casper gunships unleashed against the enemy.  Once their full armament was expended, two artillery camps joined in the fray!  Just another day in the life of a Charlie Ranger.

Laos Invasion: The Following Weeks – 1971

The main mission and reason to reoccupy Khe Sanh was to build a forward base capable of supplying the two ARVN Divisions who would cross into Laos and “cut” the Ho Chi Minh Trail. That meant a new C-130 capable airstrip. In the interim, supplies would be sent by chopper in to the existing and damaged strip that was parallel.

We started clearing the grasses and the surface immediately upon return from opening QL9 (the land route from Quang Tri) to the plateau. It was a joke to think that the small airmobile earth-moving equipment that I had could handle this size job – a great deal of cut and fill would be needed to make an air strip.) We would be reinforced by construction equipment from a real Army Corps Engineer Battalion (27th Engineers) that was brought in over QL9 – but as far as I understood they continued to work for, and were under the command of TF 326 (our 101st  Abn Div engineer task force).

We supervised some work and my guys dug in the infantry and our own men on the perimeter. It was dicey as we kept encountering marine anti-tank mines.  We would blow those in our way in place.

SFC Tietz, LT Murphy, SP4 Martin, Khe Sanh Feb 1971

One of my most frightening exercises turned out to be trying to locate a water point. We wanted to try to limit sling loads coming in to us so, if we had a water point, we could cut that a bit.  We noticed on the map what appeared to be a stream on the south side of our position. I sent a small dozer (M450) to cut a path through the high grass. Soon, my guys called that the operator had come on barbed wire with a mine warning sign (triangle).  Only problem was that the sign pointed the wrong way – the dozer was in the mine field!

I went to the path the dozer had cut. Sure enough, we could see some mines that had been unearthed with time just off the track marks. I walked out to the dozer stepping on the track marks and climbed on. We called for a Medivac chopper to be in the area with a jungle penetrator (hoist to take us up) if things went wrong, and we started to back the dozer out –exactly as he had entered. We made it, but no water point.

We then went off the plateau a bit to the east and found a waterfall! We (me and two of my guys) decided to take a shower.  As we soaped up, out of the jungle came some black clad Vietnamese.  Turned out they were ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) Rangers – but I tightened up a bit as we were several feet from our weapons.

At the east end of the new airstrip, we encountered more mines and debris. I had the job to clear a path and we decided to use several boxes of bangalor torpedoes. These were pole-like charges linked together and pushed along the ground across a barrier. You probably remember them from the movie “The Longest Day” used to breach a barrier and get the troops and Robert Mitchum off the beach.

 

Using a bangalor during WWII

We set quite a few charges. About this time, a flag officer from 5th Mech landed about 200 meters from our site. We asked that they move the chopper, but they said it was clear of our work – and it was for the bangalors.  So, we gave our warnings, popped red smoke, and set things off. Boy, did we ever! The explosion apparently included a lot of rounds left and buried by the Marines in 1968 in unmarked ammo storage. The blast looked like a nuclear bomb had gone off with a mushroom cloud and all. Choppers were veering left and right, and the general’s radios had been knocked out of the mounts in his chopper by the concussion. We slinked back into the high grass.

The work continued nonstop as the ARVN invasion (Lam Son 719) was to start with or without the base. We completed the dirt strip in four days, having compaction problems with the very moist laterite soil, as the monsoon had just begun to end. The Air Force brought in the first C-130.

C130 in action in Vietnam

It landed but at the end of the runway the soil turned plastic (permanently deformed) as the wheels sunk a bit. To get the aircraft off we had to turn it using dozers and cables.  The AF was NOT HAPPY. It was clear we had to do a surface treatment to spread the load more evenly and the decision was made to use matting (MX-19) to stabilize the surface. It was trucked in along QL9 — all the aluminum matting in country, and it seemed that all of the available trucks were used to haul it.  We got to lay it down.

Army Engineers Laying Aluminum Matting

We started at the center and had to precisely lay the first rows perfectly perpendicular to the center line of the strip (as any angle other than 90 degrees would take the extended matting as it was laid off the runway at the ends).  We then worked towards the two ends. We had three platoons and other operators, so we made two teams and worked round the clock trying to beat each other to the end.

LT Murphy – lunch – Khe Sanh Air Strip Feb 1971

We did not complete before the ARVN invasion, so everything was initially brought in by helicopter – literally hundreds of Hooks and Cranes (large helicopters CH-47s and CH-54s). The ground dried a bit and the dust was unreal. I lost my goggles (used for airmobile operations) early on and essentially “sand blasted” my corneas. I still have effects.

CH-54 carrying a bulldozer

 CH-47 Chinook

The air cavalry was based at the old Marine strip. They came in with Cavalry hats and spurs and a lot of bravado. They were impressive. Lam Son 719 kicked off and the situation turned badly.  We were told the NVA (North Vietnamese Army) had placed radar controlled .51 caliber guns in triangular positions. No matter how they were attacked, by Army gunships or AF jets, the attacker was broadside to a machine gun. The Cav took heavy casualties and the hats and spurs our cav guys initially sported disappeared.  A more somber tone prevailed.

Our project got a firsthand look. We had finished almost half the matting when we got a call that an observation fixed wing pilot was pretty shot up and was going to try to land.   His aircraft was a small piper cub type and he landed in a few hundred feet and taxied to us. The plane was full of holes and the tail section held together by no more than a wire. He was glad to see our partially completed strip and walked away!

(Let me add a word about my experience with the “American” press in country. I never saw an American. We did have TV film crews at Khe Sanh after a while. They were all Thai or Vietnamese, or some other Asian ethnic background.  I asked a division officer about it. He said the US press guys usually stayed back in the cities at this time in the war where there were hotels and added their piece from a hotel garden of brush as if they were on the line. We did not seem to have the brave guys that were on the ground in 1967 like Galloway.)

Joseph Galloway reporting from Vietnam for United Press International

During the initial invasion my platoon was sent one afternoon when we were resting from the construction job forward towards the old Special Forces camp at Lang Vei to put in an LZ (landing zone) fuel site to help alleviate the traffic at Khe Sanh.  Lang Vei still had burned out hulls of old Soviet tanks from the battles in 1968. We created the LZ and storage areas for fuel – and set them up.

We were then directed to stand by to assist as necessary to cut out any downed pilots with an aero-rifle platoon from the 101st (infantry troops assigned to the cav unit) commanded by my classmate Harrison “H” Lobdell.  Again, it was like old times.  An ARVN Ranger platoon would go in, if the pilot went down in Laos.  You see American troops were to stay on the Vietnam side of the border (except pilots and engineers, I guess).  Never was sure where that border was. Anyway, we sat for a while at the LZ and then returned to Khe Sanh.

When the airfield was completed, the C-130s started to come in.  My relief platoon arrived with them. We got to load up on a C-130 with our gear and flew out to Phu Bai. The whole thing lasted about three weeks for me. Lam Son 719 turned even more badly for the ARVN. They ended up losing most of two divisions (each had over 10,000 men), our guys ended up getting shelled at Khe Sanh from probably the same positions the NVA used in 1968.  We did not stay.

My attitude towards the whole Army thing was a bit jaded by now. And the next incident reflects my belief I was getting out after five years (new class motto – Army No More in 74). When we got to Camp Eagle and our engineer Sea Bee camp, we got the first real showers in weeks.  My fatigues could literally stand by themselves. I went last with my NCOs and as we soaped up the water was turned off.  I was told my current CO had ordered it to conserve water and power – apparently, we had exceeded our time allotment. I was furious and stormed up the hill to his CP in soap and a towel. I asked why the showers had been turned off and he reiterated the “battalion policy.”  I told him we had no idea. He told me that was our problem. I got rather heated and told him what I thought of it – and that if the water was not on in five minutes he and any other consummate REMF (Rear Echelon Mother F$#@%), might find out what real combat was like.

Someone intervened (the First Sergeant, I think) and the water was turned on.  The CO gave me a benefit of the doubt this time and did not charge me with anything, but we never really clicked after that to say the least.

Freedom Bird – 1972

Ol’ Weird arrived in Vietnam early in 1972 and served entirely in the mountainous part of II Corps, the central section of South Vietnam, mostly flying Huey helicopters in support of the Korean Army [ROK] White Horse and Tiger Divisions.  He got as far north as Marble Mountain, outside Da Nang, and as far south as Phan Thiet, the nouc mam [fermented fish sauce] capital of the world, east of Saigon.

Central Section of Vietnam

When Ol’ Weird was there, the Vietnamization program had been under way for three years under President Richard Nixon and GEN Creighton Abrams.  The idea was that, if the US would continue to provide aviation, intelligence and logistics support, the US would transition all ground combat over to the Vietnamese forces to assume the entirety of the fighting and bleeding to defend their country.  That was the deal – our definition of winning the war.

When ’Ol Weird arrived in early January, all of South Vietnam was holding their breath, because intelligence said the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) was planning something really big and nasty for Tet (Vietnamese New Year), the end of January.  But Tet came and went and nothing happened, so MACV headquarters in Saigon heaved a huge sigh of relief and resumed drawing down the US forces.  First came 30-day drops from the one-year tour length, then 60-day drops, then 90-day drops, and by the end of March, 180-day drops were stripping troops out wholesale.  By that time, there were more ROK troops in country than Americans.

On the first day of April 1972, everything changed.  The NVA came out of the woodwork in the so-called “Easter offensive,” rolling tank formations across the Central Highlands and using heat-seeking missiles against some of our helicopters, which had become accustomed to flying at 2000’ altitude. That got scary, as we tried to devise techniques to survive the missiles.  The fighting was so bad that the NVA actually drove the ROK Tiger Division out of the An Khe pass.

In II Corps, QL 1, the major national north-south coastal highway, was jammed with refugees fleeing the onslaught, streaming south.  The South Vietnamese Army may not have done well elsewhere, but back in their own home villages the Regional Forces/Popular Forces, so-called “Ruff-Puffs,” dug in and fought like hell.  They took horrific losses, but where ’Ol Weird was they stood their ground and eventually, with our support, drove back the NVA.  They had done everything we had asked of them in the Vietnamization program.  In 1972, we had won the Vietnam war!!!

It makes his blood boil when ’Ol Weird hears people, including military types who should know better, saying we lost that war in Vietnam.  Anyone who saw what ’Ol Weird saw in 1972 knows damn well we had won it, by the standards we had established.  The NVA threw everything they had against the south, and they lost it all.  That is why they were finally willing to come to the bargaining table – they had been wiped out.

In fact, the day the North Vietnamese finally agreed to sit down at the peace table was his 366th day in country [leap year, no less], his departure date or DEROS, so Ol’ Weird has always told people he is the guy that won that war.

One great thing about serving in Vietnam is that we had Royal Australian troops as allies, fighting alongside US forces as they have in every American conflict for the last century.

Australia Troops in the Vietnam era

When Ol’ Weird was there the troop count may have been way down, but the chow supply still worked the same: a whole shipload at a time, provided by the lowest government bidder.  When a shipload of chicken came in, the mess halls in country served chicken three meals a day until it was gone.  Then tough stringy beef three meals a day, and so on.

But every so often, a ship arrived with beef from Australia.  The Aussies took great pride in supporting their troops, so the beef they sent was the very best they grew.  For a couple of weeks, the troops got to eat the finest, most tender steaks imaginable.  No one will ever enjoy more superb meat than the troops in Vietnam did when the Australian beef ship came in.

Australian Beef (This seems to  actually be Australian beef according to the internet!)

One other benefit from Australian logistics was the liquor.  Alcohol purchases by the troops in country were closely controlled using ration cards, which limited the duty-free liquor per troop to “one bottle per month.”  American booze was shipped in fifth bottles [about 26 fluid ounces], and European liquor came in liter bottles [about 33 fl.oz.], but the Aussies provided the system with huge Imperial quarts, measuring over 38 US ounces**.

Ol’ Weird determined to souvenir himself some of a famous-brand liquor with a black label for his trip back to “the world.”   The day of his departure on the so-called “Freedom Bird,” he carried his helmet bag with him, containing his liquid treasure.  The plane that day was an ancient narrow-body Convair 880, the kind with two seats on the left of the aisle and three on the right.

Configured for military use – Ol’ Weird was seated five rows back at the left window 

As soon as the plane took off and had cleared into international airspace, to the great cheers of all aboard, the stewardess started down the aisle taking beverage orders.  When she got to Ol’ Weird, she offered his choice of hot beverage or soft drink, but he said, “Just a cup of ice, please.”

“Is that all?  Can’t I get you something to drink?’

“No, thank you very much.  Just some ice will be fine.”

After she brought the cup of ice and moved on down the aisle, Ol’ Weird reached under his seat, extracted his Imperial quart of the famous liquor, and poured a healthy cupful over the rocks.  He set the bottle on the tray table in front of him and settled back to enjoy his first drink with ice in months.

When the stewardess passed by the next time, she noticed his bottle sitting there.

  “I’m really very sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but alcoholic beverages are not allowed on this contract flight.  My, but that’s a really big bottle, isn’t it?  I don’t think I have ever seen one so big.  I’m afraid I am going to have to secure your bottle in the storage area in the back of the plane until we land in Honolulu in nine hours.  You can have it back after we are on the ground, but you aren’t allowed to keep it while we are flying.  I’m really very sorry to have to tell you this, because I know that you have had to do without for so long, but I just have no choice.  I hope you can forgive me.”

Ol’ Weird smiled at the stewardess, and said, ‘That’s ok.  I don’t mind at all,” as he handed her the bottle.

“Are you sure?  I’m just so very sorry to have to enforce this rule on you.”

“Don’t think twice about it.  It’s fine, I assure you.”

And as she turned to carry the bottle to the back of the plane, Ol’ Weird reached under his seat to his flight helmet bag.  Very quietly, he brought out his next Imperial quart bottle, poured himself another inch over the remaining ice, and tucked it back under the seat.

It really was nice to be flying home.

** By the way, the whiskey was a Black Label Sour Mash bottled in Tennessee in Imperial Quart bottles, exported to Australia, and then shipped to Vietnam. Ol’ Weird was unknowingly bringing it right back to the USA!

The Dogs of Camp DeBeau – 1972

During the final months of my Vietnam tour I was assigned to a support battalion at Camp Debeau on the Tan Son Nhut Airbase perimeter outside Saigon. Most officers lived in a Saigon hotel, but I was one of five who lived in two man “hooches”. Since American involvement in the war was winding down, the other occupant of my hooch was not replaced when he returned to the States. I had it all to myself.

A previous occupant added a sign identifying the hooch as the “Saigon Hilton”. Like the other two hooches it was a small structure surrounded by “blast barrels,” 55-gallon drums filled with sand to absorb shrapnel.

Bernie’s “Saigon Hilton” hooch closest to the water tower

 

(Note blast barrels around each hooch.)

One of Camp DeBeau’s attractions was a pack of semi-wild dogs. These dogs knew that if they appeared outside the mess hall at the end of the day, they would receive any leftovers. You could set your watch by those dogs.

Dogs of DeBeau

My favorite thing about the dogs was that they would bark at any Vietnamese who entered the camp. As the only Infantry officer in the battalion, I was responsible for defense of the camp and felt that the dogs added a bit of security.

So, it was with some concern when in the middle of the night I was awoken by barking. It seemed to be coming from the far side of the camp, near the generator – a likely *sapper objective. Soon, the barking got louder as the dogs charged in the direction of my hooch, clearly in hot pursuit. As was the case with everyone except the guard, I was unarmed. I took some comfort knowing that about 50 feet away the officer and non-commissioned officer of the day were in the headquarters building and were armed.

There wasn’t much time to wonder what to do as the intruder jumped on the blast barrels and leapt on my roof. The dogs surrounded my hooch and the barking reached a frenzy. Clearly panicked, I heard the intruder’s footsteps run across my roof as he tried to leap to safety. As he leapt, the dogs went wild – and were suddenly quiet. A few sniffs and huffs, and then they dispersed.

A quick look out the door, and I ran to headquarters. The officer was asleep in a cot, and the non-commissioned officer had his head down on a desk, also asleep. I woke him up, but obviously he had heard nothing.

The dilemma now was whether or not to sound the alarm.  Had the dogs vanquished the intruder, or might he return with reinforcements? For reasons I can’t explain (or remember), I did not sound the alarm.

In the morning I walked around the hooch to look for signs of the enemy. I found his body behind the hooch, between the wall and the blast barrels. Clearly his leap had ended badly, as his neck was obviously broken. One less cat in Vietnam.

*Technically, a sapper is a military engineer.  In Vietnam the term was used to indicate someone who could infiltrate through the defensive line, disarming booby traps and possibly placing explosives.