The Days Forward

West Point Class of 1969

Suzanne Rice

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

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

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

OCTOBER WAR, 1973

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

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

KGB Major with Tom in Cairo in November 1973

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

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

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

ENTERING THE SOVIET UNION, 1988-90

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

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

Comspan Logo

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

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

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

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

FALL OF THE SOVIET UNION, 1991

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

American Soap Opera That Influenced Russian Viewers

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

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

The Chaplain Wins the Silver Star

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

Mortar

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

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

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

Silver Star Medal

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

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

Military Scout Dog

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

Flechettes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Illumination That Changed the Battle

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

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

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

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

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

A Grandson’s Question, part 1 – 1971

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

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

Army Workhorse – Rome Plow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wayne’s “Rambo” Look

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

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

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

Off to War – A Break in the Action – 1972

     The morning after we stymied the planned enemy assault on our district headquarters, thanks to the available support of the US Air Force, an assessment of the situation was necessary. The cluster bombs that the A37 Dragonfly had scattered above the enemy force to the south of our compound could be most devastating. Consequently, just after daybreak, the Vietnamese sent out a patrol to recon the previously bombed area just outside our perimeter. As I was on the radio with higher headquarters, I refrained from joining them, awaiting their report upon completion of the patrol. My coordination with headquarters involved preparing for the arrival of elements from the 18th ARVN division, which had been dispatched to counter the province-wide hostile activity of the enemy forces. The majority of the 18th RVN had been dispatched earlier to An Loc to the west of Saigon to counter severe coordinated enemy attacks at that location.

     Upon the return of the patrol, I was briefed through my interpreter that while they found no bodies or equipment, there were numerous blood trails and signs of things being dragged away – more than likely enemy corpses. Evidently, they had their own version of “leave no man behind”. I passed this information to higher headquarters and began reviewing written reports that my translator had prepared from Vietnamese Intel documents. These reports confirmed that the enemy had infiltrated several villages and hamlets in my district and the rest of the province. Removing them would take quite an effort, but the increase in friendly troops, who had more experience and were better trained than the Regional and Popular Forces, would make success more likely.

     And during this whole adventure, there was this unconscious nagging in the back of my mind, that it was quite possible I wouldn’t be able to take R& R. I couldn’t begin to imagine how traumatic it would be for Jo to arrive in Hawaii trying to link up with her husband and not finding him. The worst part of it was that there was no easy way to even alert her to the possibility that I wouldn’t be there. In theory, I could meander through USO channels or perhaps the Red Cross. However, with more pressing issues at hand I wasn’t able to spend a lot of time on speculation.

     As the first elements of the 18th RVN began moving through my district, I was immersed in bilingual coordination to include talking to the 18th ’s US advisor, call sign Buffalo 6. Once the lead elements passed the district compound moving in the direction of the National Police Headquarters (NPHQS), they met heavy resistance, and the advance stalled in place. After some discussion among all the players over radios and through interpreters, Vietnamese air support in the form of A1E Skyraider aircraft arrived.

South Vietnamese Air Force – A1E Skyraider (Alamy.com)

     The ordinance carried was several Mark 82 500-pound bombs. The ground shook and the noise was overwhelming when they hit. Once the bombing runs were completed, the Vietnamese forces slowly moved out and began checking the rubble of what once was an intact village. The logic to justify the destruction of so many homes and buildings was that the US would rebuild them as soon as practical.

Mark 82 Bomb Crater
 Nearby Village

The devastation was such that the enemy effort was thwarted in place and they promptly withdrew. Surprisingly, within a few days, things were more or less back to “normal”. Amazingly, the timing was just right. I checked with my boss, the Province Senior Advisor, LTC Giac Modica (who coincidentally had been a first regimental Tactical Officer while we were at school) regarding my R&R, and he authorized me to put the wheels in motion. A few days later, I was on my flight to Hawaii.

     Jo had made arrangements for a rental car and a room at the Honolulu Hilton, and by the time her flight landed I was there to greet her. We made our way to the hotel, got settled in and initially just relaxed, somewhat worn out from our multi-hour travels.

     When we first started planning our “together time” for R&R, we made a list of “must do” events. Two of them included watching the original Hawaii 5-0 TV show, and visiting the Hawaiian surf Mecca of Waimea Bay, “where the best surfers in the world come to stay” as noted by Jan & Dean in their 1964 top 20 hit, Ride the Wild Surf, where we could get surfing lessons and “hang 10”. We were able to do the first at the officers’ club bar at Fort Shafter, but the second was more elusive. It turns out that because of geography and the weather, the May-June timeframe is the worst time in Hawaii for surfing and getting to “conquer those waves some 30 feet high”. The surf instructor apologized for the waves but did provide me sufficient instruction to allow me to stand up on the board for a few minutes without falling over. Throughout our stay we played the role of awestruck tourists, seeing the various sites, enjoying real food (for me) at class restaurants, soaking up the sun and just being together. When the time came for us to go our separate ways, we consoled ourselves with the realization that my tour was more than half over. Since on my return trip, we crossed the International Date Line, I‘m actually 12 hours younger. However, I did manage to scare Jo the first night we were at the hotel. We had just bedded down, when a car in the parking lot backfired. I was out of the bed, on the floor grabbing for my weapon and flak vest trying to stuff myself underneath the bed frame. Rather calmly, she said “It’s all right honey. It’s okay, you’re okay.” Even to this day, I startle when I hear a loud noise. Nowadays, it’s called post-traumatic stress disorder – PTSD.

     After a week of R&R, I returned to Vietnam and rejoined my team. The tactical situation had settled down somewhat, with both the Vietnamese and the US making some adjustments in response to recent events. Eventually, during late summer, the district teams were withdrawn back to the province headquarters as had been done originally, and we continued to complete our mission based on that structure. By the end of summer, the North Vietnamese effort was contained, but with the situation being what it was, none of us got a drop – reduced tour. In fact, based on return transport availability, I wound up spending one more day beyond a year on my tour.

     There are two events of my tour that I still remember; one occurred when I was in the middle of conducting an airstrike, when over my radio came the call, “Hawkeye27, this is (garbled) 79. What is your status-what’s going on? While one of our team advisors had the call sign Hawkeye 79, I didn’t recognize this particular call. Additionally I was too busy. When I didn’t immediately respond, the radio said rather testily, “this is Danger 79 give me a SITREP (situation report) ASAP. Since I didn’t recognize Danger 79 and I needed a clear channel, I responded, “this is a tactical frequency, get the ‘heck’ off of it and use the admin frequency.” It wasn’t until much later, I found out that call sign Danger 79 belonged to the Third Regional Assistance Command (TRAC) commanding general, James Hollingsworth. I was never counseled about my directive to “get the ’heck’ off my tactical frequency”, so I guess I dodged a different kind of bullet.

     The second event had occurred earlier in my tour when a local VC unit decided to harass us with 82 mm mortar fire. The Vietnamese intelligence officer appeared in our Tactical Operations Center (TOC) telling me that the mortar crew was slightly north of our compound, because some of his troops had seen the mortar flash. He wanted me to see if there was anything I could do. I put on my flack vest and helmet, left the TOC intending to climb to the roof of what used to be a carport attached to the District Chief’s house so I would have a better vantage point.

District Chief House with Carport

     I had ascended two rungs of the ladder, when I experienced a tremendous force accompanied by a hellacious noise. The next thing I knew, I was flat on the ground. When I was able to regain my composure, I stumbled back into the TOC to collect myself. It seems that an 82 mm mortar round aimed at the District Chief’s house impacted between the walls of our hooch and a steel blast wall in front of it. The preponderance of the blast force was absorbed by the steel wall, but the remainder was enough to knock me off the ladder. I was physically unhurt, with the exception of the few shrapnel scratches on my arm, since my flak vest absorbed the other stray metal pieces. I still have the tailfin assembly of the mortar round, but the scratches healed shortly thereafter.

Tailfin Assembly of 82mm Mortar Round*

     And I lived to fight another day.

* The plaque with the tailfin assembly from the mortar round is something I had made up as a tongue-in-cheek parody of various awards. The caption refers to the enemy unit (74A Artillery 274th Main Force Viet Cong Regiment) that was firing the mortar rounds at us. In a matter of speaking, they did “present” the mortar to me – by firing it.

Memories of 9-11-2001 from VA and TX

by Chuck and Diana Hastings

     The day started pretty much like any other morning with my husband, Chuck Hastings, on a business trip to Fort Worth, TX.  He was due home that evening.  The boys were gone – one in college and one living and working in Denver, CO. 

     I went to work – at an undisclosed location – for the CIA. When the secretary said – ‘HEY! Come look at this on TV’, many of us crowded into the front office area.  I was stunned to see the 2nd aircraft slam into the World Trade Center. Almost immediately, we were notified to evacuate our building as we were in the flight path of Dulles Airport, a possible target.

     I stayed in the office, as I had no one to go home to.  I immediately called my oldest son, Aaron, in Denver, CO, and told him to GO HOME! I asked if he had seen the planes that had crashed into the World Trade Center? I warned him if this was a coordinated attack, he could be in danger, as he worked close to the Denver Federal Building – I begged him to PLEASE go home!

911 Irving Texas
Denver Federal Building
Area Around the Federal Building

     Then I called Chuck and told him to keep his rental car and buy some underwear. There was no way he was flying home that afternoon.  CIA had advised us that ALL air traffic had been grounded.

     I called our second son, Clay, a sophomore at Virginia Tech, and told him NOT to come home – it was safer to stay in Blacksburg. . .  for now.

     I then called a close friend, a retired Army LTC working for Defense Intelligence Agency at the Pentagon. His secretary said he was in a meeting and could not take my call. I told her it was urgent – a matter of life and death.  She put me through.  I told Jerry about the plane crashes and that the CIA felt the Pentagon was also a target. In turn, he told his meeting members to turn on the TV. I asked Jerry to please, please, evacuate from the Pentagon, ASAP. He said he had to get off the phone and find out what was happening. One of his meeting attendees was on the other side of the Pentagon and was participating in the meeting via telephone with Jerry and his colleagues.  

     Later, Jerry told me they heard and “felt” the plane slam into the Pentagon and his friend and colleague on the other side of the Pentagon was gone – dead from the impact of the plane that crashed on the western part of the Pentagon.

     About then, my son in Denver called me back and asked if I had talked to his boss?? Apparently, his boss sent everyone home, as they were ‘too close to the Federal Building!’   NO, I did NOT talk to my sons’ boss – Aaron gave my CIA credentials too much credit! (smile)

     Since there was nothing I could do from home, and I felt the need to help somehow, I called a friend that produced the Presidents Daily Bulletin (PDB) to see if he needed any extra hands to cope with today’s activities.

President’s Daily Bulletin

Specific clearances and accesses are required to handle the PDB. I had those clearances and accesses.  The CIA Headquarters had already been evacuated, as they thought they might be a target of the missing aircraft. Bill said he would call me if he needed me. He said they would publish the PDB, but he had no idea who it would be delivered to, or where it would be delivered.  I had a previous CIA position that included the tracking and record keeping of the PDB.  I understood the dilemma.

     I was the last one to leave our office that day.  I locked up the office and without realizing it, I headed for the Pentagon. I had been stationed at the Army Communication Center in 5A910 for 4 years (1968 to 1972).  For you non-Pentagon folks, 5A910 is the address of the Comm Center. As the NCOIC (E-6) of the Maintenance Shop, I knew every nook and cranny of the Pentagon from the rat-infested basements to the roof where my antennas were located.  I felt like an old friend had been hurt and I needed to help.

A Wounded Old Friend (U.S. Navy Bob Houlihan)

There was already a Security perimeter around the Pentagon when I arrived, and they would not let anyone in. I watched from a nearby hill as my old friend burned.

     I was surprised that I didn’t see an airplane – not even a tail at the crash site. I learned later that the impact was so intense, nothing was left of the aircraft which had been turned into a missile.

     My friend, Jerry, got out of his side of the Pentagon and eventually got home. Later that night, I joined him and his wife, Joan, at their home. We talked over the horrendous events of the day and watched the news late into the night. We knew our world would never be the same again. 

     Meanwhile, Chuck kept his rental car and extended his stay in Fort Worth. 

Fort Worth, TX Skyline

Knowing some of his business associates were from the metro Washington, DC area, he volunteered to share his absconded rental car in riding across the country.  Chuck planned their route and hotel reservations to accommodate one rider who had left his car at the Nashville airport.  And off the four went for 2 days of listening to patriotic music and news bulletins about what was going on in NYC, WDC and Shanksville, PA.  The traffic on the roads was particularly sparse, as if nobody wanted to be on the road.  The skies were silent, and the absence of contrails was almost eerie.  Arriving in the metro WDC area, the remaining two passengers were dropped off, happy to be re-united with their families.  Chuck dropped the rental car at Hertz at Dulles Airport.  Amazingly, Hertz did not charge him for the rental, even though it was not returned to DFW as planned.  Thank you, Hertz!

Kudos to Hertz (Hertz)

     The next day, on the 12th of September, I talked at length with my son at VA Tech.  I convinced him that dropping out of school and joining the Army was NOT a good idea!  I explained to him that Uncle Sam needed him with an education! Clay is now an Army Major and a Dentist. He is also Airborne and Air Assault qualified. Important skills for a dentist! He spent 9 months in Iraq and Kuwait and is now with the 7th Special Forces.  As a Dentist, he has already made a parachute jump into water, a feat neither his father, father-in-law, brother-in-law, nor sister-in-law accomplished while on active duty.  We are so proud of Clay’s dedication to duty.  He is a GREAT soldier!

9/11 was indeed a turning point for us all.