By Denis Gulakowski

    The enemy began their local assault throughout the province. The initial attack in my district was on the National Police headquarters which was within a click (kilometer) of the district headquarters. The Vietnamese Regional Force company in our compound was called in to help. As a Captain, serving as District Senior Advisor, I was the one to request US assets. I quickly got on the radio to our headquarters (HQs) Operations Advisor, who was an Australian major and asked him to rustle up some air support. As the reaction force formed up, I then had my radio telephone operator strap the PRC 77 radio (the PRC 77 is a model number, analogous to calling the issued rifle an M-16) on my back, went to our communication bunker and performed a radio check. I had saddled myself with a bandolier of ammunition, a few fragmentation grenades and a couple of star clusters, grabbed my interpreter and joined the departing relief force.

As an interesting side note, my interpreter was rather good with English, to include understanding colloquial phrases. As we worked together during my tour, he helped me acquire some fluency, to include Vietnamese colloquialisms and slang – which proved useful when dealing with village & hamlet chiefs. Along with all my gear and my M16 rifle, I sidled up to the Vietnamese officer in charge and we cautiously headed out the gate toward the police headquarters. We got halfway there, when the point team took heavy fire from an enemy machine gun. We scrambled off the road behind whatever cover we could find and attempted to assess the situation as the Vietnamese troops returned fire. The Vietnamese lieutenant was on his radio and I unhooked the handset from mine and advised HQs of our situation and asked how we were doing on air support. The major advised me that he had gotten lucky and a fire team of two AH1G Cobra gunships was enroute. No sooner did I say, “Roger, out” then I got a call from the lead gunship, Stormy 26.

     I advised the pilot of our situation, identified our location on the ground and where I thought the enemy was. As the two Cobras flew overhead, the enemy machine gun stopped firing, presumably to avoid giving away the position. The pilot reported that he didn’t see any enemy and would make another pass. Unless the enemy fired though, he would have a hard time identifying their position. Without really thinking, I jumped up, started firing and ran a few yards across the road to another covered position hoping to get a better view of the enemy. Just before I reached the other side, the enemy opened up again. Fortunately, they missed, as I dove into a shallow ditch next to the road. Apparently, their fire was enough to alert the Cobras, who called to get clearance just before proceeding to make a coordinated gun run on their newly acquired target. I had conferred with the District Chief regarding US fire support earlier that month when we first started getting reports of possible enemy infiltration. This was a new protocol implemented because of the My Li incident which had occurred a little over three years previously. Basically, it required confirmation that the target was indeed an enemy, so that innocent civilians would not be engaged. Based on local intelligence sources, the Dat Do District Chief was confident that civilians had abandoned their homes and were no longer in a hostile situation. The American teams had to rely on their counterparts, since we had no way of verifying the status ourselves.

     I gave the Cobras the go-ahead and they made several passes using their 7.62 mm miniguns to neutralize the target. Once they finished their runs, the point team cautiously began moving forward. Receiving no enemy response, the remainder of the element began moving toward the NPHQS. As we passed the apparent machine-gun position, identified by a significant spread of shell casings, we also noticed what appeared to be blood trails, confirming the success of the gun runs. Once we reached our objective, the troops cleared the building and surrounding area, collected up personnel and equipment and we returned to our compound.

     Over the next several days, consistent enemy contact was reported in the three major districts of the province: Duk Thanh in the northern section, Xuyen Moc in the eastern section and my own Dat Do in the central part of the province.

    During the afternoon of 24 May 1972, the Vietnamese district intelligence officer, who previously had been assigned to a Vietnamese Ranger unit, and who spoke English rather well came to me to announce that enemy forces were in the process of covertly moving into positions to surround the district compound with the intent of attacking after dark in an effort to overrun the compound and raise the Viet Cong flag. Additionally, other enemy forces were similarly positioned to do the same in Xuyen Moc and, Duc Thanh. There was a South Vietnamese resettlement center, Suối Nghệ, located inDuc Thanh that was a local centerpiece of the “success” of Vietnamization (President Nixon’s program to transition the war effort from Vietnam dependency on US support to self-sufficiency) and consequently a premier target. I got as many details from him as I could and quickly contacted higher headquarters, identified the problem and requested air support. I waited to hear back, while assisting the resident RF company leaders, through my interpreter, in shoring up our defenses. On a side note, prior to the drawdown, advisers would attend a short training program at Fort Bragg to learn the language and culture of the Vietnamese, so it was easier to work with them. By the time I was assigned, the program had been discontinued, so whatever Vietnamese I could pick up from my interpreter & translator would be useful.

     Then in late afternoon I received good news, in the form of a “radio check” request on our tactical frequency, from Sundog 77, an Air Force Forward Air Controller (FAC), who had been dispatched from Bien Hoa airbase. I apprised him of our situation and he responded by saying he would take a close look.  After orbiting our area in his O2 Skymaster, he gave me the grim news.

There appeared to be a few hundred enemy located around the southern half of our perimeter. He advised me that he would call for air support but given the close proximity of the enemy to friendly troop locations, known as “danger close”, the Air Force solution would be somewhat limited. He also indicated that he would rely on me to help locate the enemy as best I could under the circumstances. I gave it some thought and realized that doing so from a ground fighting position would be nearly impossible without exposing myself to enemy fire. The solution to that problem came in the form of an observation tower that was affixed to the District Chief’s house and was approximately 20 feet off the ground. With the radio, my rifle, a set of binoculars and wearing a flack vest and helmet, I made my way up the tower and got into a somewhat fortified perch, consisting of 6 x 6 pressure-treated wooden posts, at the top. Fortunately, at that time the enemy apparently did not see me, as I drew no fire. The view was improved, and I was able to see into the jungle just beyond the cleared perimeter of our defensive position. I crouched down to minimize my exposure. The sound of the observation aircraft

flying around overhead was somewhat comforting – maintaining a link to US assets, not otherwise available. A short while later, Sundog notified me that he had an inbound aircraft that was outfitted with CBU 24 cluster bomblet units. These were unguided bombs that contained over 600 tennis ball sized BLU-26 sub munitions that could be pre-set for contact explosion or air bursts. Since the predominant threat was dismounted infantry, the Air Force ground crews pre-set the bombs for airburst detonation, maximizing the shrapnel effect on the enemy. The aircraft was an A37 Dragonfly, a straight wing lighter jet aircraft that was originally designated the T37 as a trainer.

             As requirements for air support in Vietnam changed, the aircraft was adapted to carry ordinance and provide air support in constrained environments. As the Dragonfly was approaching, I called down to my RTO and told him to alert the Vietnamese to pop smoke just outside of the defensive wire labyrinth surrounding the compound. As the smoke grenades detonated, marking our perimeter, the enemy began firing what turned out to be an 82 mm mortar at the tower, to neutralize its observer (moi). Fortunately, for me     

their aim was not very good and I remained unscathed, although some fragments did zoom by.

     The aircraft released its payload and the explosions were deafening. The Forward Air Controller made one more pass over the target and was satisfied that it had been neutralized. As it was approaching darkness, the Vietnamese decided to wait until the morning to search the area. What they found was interesting…

     Politically, Richard Nixon was elected president in 1968 largely due to his promise to end the war in Vietnam and have “peace with honor”. The war had been ongoing officially since 1961 and had become a major source of anxiety and frustration among the American people. As part of the Commander-in-Chief’s process, US military assets were being reduced and tactical operations were being transferred to Vietnamese units. US army ground combat units were returning to their stateside posts and combat support and service support organizations of the air force and navy, both in country and in neighboring locales, were gradually being reduced in size. As time passed into early 1972, the predominant US force on the ground comprised the advisory teams of the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV). The peace talks among the major participants being conducted in Paris were making little progress; however, those of us still in-country were not privy to the machinations of the politicians and their negotiations. Unbeknownst to our side, the enemy was planning another major operation to turn the tables in their favor.

     To understand the application of tactics by advisers, it helps to understand the political, geographical and military structure that we faced during our assignments. At the time, South Vietnam was divided into provinces, which roughly corresponded to our states. Within each province was a series of districts which roughly corresponded to counties. Within the district, there were villages, roughly equivalent to towns, and hamlets, roughly equivalent to neighborhoods. While many regions of South Vietnam had regular Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) troops that were engaging large enemy forces, local areas had Regional Force (RF) and Popular Force (PF) units. The RF were analogous to the US National Guard/Reserves, while the PF were comparable to a militia. The RF and PF commanders coordinated amongst themselves at the local level. Our advisor chain of command had teams in each district with a headquarters team located in the province capital. The teams had branch specific officers and NCOs, such as infantry, quartermaster, intelligence and signal, to advise our counterparts.

      Under the Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO) agreement, from 1966 until December 1971, Phuoc Tuy province was occupied by the 6th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (RAR) of the Australian Army, which conducted all the military operations there, and consequently mitigated the need for American combat units. The US role in Phuoc Tuy during the war was strictly in an advisory capacity with Team 89 rendering tactical and logistical assistance to Vietnamese local forces and Team 78 assisting in the training of select forces.

 While we advisors were not prohibited from participating in ground combat operations, the informal guidance we received was, “don’t get wounded, don’t get captured and don’t get dead.” That said, we were required to have a minimum of two Americans on the ground with the Vietnamese units out on patrol/ambush/reconnaissance activities. However, there were many times I had to leave my RTO back in the district compound maintaining communication with higher headquarters and adjacent districts, while my operations NCO coordinated with Vietnamese leaders. Technically, this was a violation of our guidance, but under the circumstances it was overlooked, in an unofficial capacity. Unlike American units, that were relatively large in size compared to an advisory team, and which had direct support from artillery and helicopter assets, we advisors, during that time frame of the war, were pretty much on our own, relying on the Vietnamese for direct assistance. Our team medic was located at province headquarters in Baria, which, under the best conditions, was 30 minutes away by jeep. Any immediate medical evacuation (medevac) assistance would have had to come from Bien Hoa also 30 minutes away by helicopter. Fortunately, we were never faced with a medical emergency that required medevac or other immediate assistance.

     The Australian battalion withdrew a month after my arrival at the district, after which Australia maintained a training element. According to http://www.vietvet.org/aussie1, ‘On December 9, 1971, the Minister for Defence announced that in consultation with the Vietnamese Government, Australia was to provide a 150-man Australian Army Assistance Group, including 30 instructors assigned to the training of Cambodians in Vietnam. The Group would include elements to assist in training at the Jungle Warfare Training Centre [JWTC] at its new location at Van Kiep in Phuoc Tuy Province and to assist in advising and training Territorial Forces in Phuoc Tuy Province. It was to include a small group of engineering personnel, who would be needed at the J.W.T.C. at Van Kiep, and a headquarters and supporting element. The Minister said none of the element would have a combatant role and would remain in Vietnam so long as it had a contribution to make. The first commander of the A.A.A.G., Brigadier I.A.Geddes, was appointed in December 1971.’

     With respect to US assets able to support us, the closest tactical unit was 3d Brigade, 1^st Cavalry division, located in the Long Khan province to our north some 30 km from my location, which was standing down and returning to the US; the last elements ultimately departed in June 1973. We also received some support from the 129^th Aviation Company. Bien Hoa airbase was approximately 50 km northwest of us, and US forces were co-located with the in-country rest and recuperation (R & R) site at Vung Tau, just to our southwest.

     Prior to Tet of 1972, Military Region III had begun reducing advisor presence out in the field. As part of that, the teams in the four districts within Phuoc Tuy Province – Xuyen Moc, Duc Than, Long Dien and mine, Dat Do – were withdrawn to the province headquarters located in Baria, the province capital. My operations NCO, and my radio/telephone operator (RTO) closed up and locked our quarters (which comprised a cinder block one story building with a corrugated tin roof, that was informally known as our “hooch”), and I removed all personal & military equipment.

We then relocated to the team compound in Baria, whereI assumed the role of team adjutant (who basically manages the staff) while the others augmented the headquarters.                    

     Within MACV existed the office of Civil Operations and Rural Development Support (CORDS), which was responsible for providing military and civil support for pacification in Vietnam. Consequently, our team had civilian members from Department of State’s Agency for International Development (USAID). The team continued to observe the civilian population, even though direct presence in the districts had been withdrawn. It wasn’t until local forces reached out to us and apprised us of an increasing threat, that we ultimately determined the North Vietnamese were planning a major operation; their countrywide Nguyen Hue campaign was intended to occupy as much territory in South Vietnam as possible. This operation became known in US circles as the Easter Offensive. Our district teams were dispatched back to their compounds, where we resumed assisting the Vietnamese in tactical operations. The Viet Cong in our province, comprising the 274th Main Force Battalion and D445 Local Force Battalion had a lingering presence throughout the war, but were now augmented by regular North Vietnamese Army troops of the 33^rd NVA Regiment.

     I was receiving daily reports from my counterparts of an impending attack on the district headquarters compound and the local National Police headquarters (NPHQS). My operations NCO had just taken a break for R&R and was outside of country, so I only had my RTO with me. During the third week of May, we could tell things were serious, because the local population was packing up as much of what they owned as they could carry and streaming out of the province. This was a pretty good indication that things were going to get a lot worse in the upcoming days. How much worse? We’d soon find out…

During the class of 1969’s tenure at West Point (1965-69), the peak of the Vietnam War occurred. US combat units were dispatched in 1965, the bloodiest week of combat occurred during Tet of 1968, and the peak strength of 549,500 was reached in 1969. Our daily lives, especially with respect to military training, were inundated with war-themed events. When the time for branch selection and assignment preferences arrived, a significant percentage of us volunteered for Vietnam.

In June 1969, we graduated, took our 60 days of leave and the vast majority of us went on to Airborne School, Ranger School and the branch basic officer’s course. Army policy at that time mandated that all Vietnam volunteers had to complete two months of stateside unit duty, before deploying to the Republic of Vietnam (RVN).

I had been assigned to Fort Carson, Colorado to the 5^th Infantry Division (5th ID), later redesignated the 4^th Infantry Division (Mechanized) (4th ID Mech), which had rotated back from RVN. I was the battalion Assistant Operations Officer (Asst. S-3) in the 2/10 Infantry. My new bride, JoAnne, who had a degree in education, but was unable to find work as a teacher, did secure temporary employment using her sewing hobby skills as an associate in a fabric shop. Since nearly a year had passed without me receiving my orders for Vietnam and Jo wondering when I’d be leaving, I decided to call Infantry Branch. I was connected to a major, whom I’ll call Prevaricator. I identified myself, explained the situation and waited while he pulled up my file. After a few minutes, he said, “Let’s see. Oh, yes. Well, with the drawdown of US troops in country, the earliest you’ll be there is March of ’72. Now, I just finished filling an October requirement for 150 Captains, but I could swap you out for someone on the list and get you there sooner.” I respectfully declined and said that March of next year would be soon enough. Before hanging up, I repeated March of ‘72, which he confirmed.

In addition to my regular duties, I performed “other duties as assigned”, to include sitting on a brigade board considering promotions to the grade of Staff Sergeant (E6). About three weeks after I talked with the Infantry Branch assignments officer, one of the brigade administration NCOs, who had played on the brigade softball team with me, appeared before the board for an interview. After the board adjourned, as I was leaving brigade headquarters, he approached me and asked how he did. As I was not permitted to discuss actions of the board, I told him I couldn’t reveal the results. He jokingly said,” Well sir, if I don’t get promoted to E6, I’ll have to put you on orders for Vietnam.” I simply smiled.

I continued assisting the Battalion Operations Officer (S-3) in planning field operations and riot control training for the Battalion. Then one day, I received a call from that brigade admin NCO, who said (somberly, “Sir, I’ve got some bad news; I just received a Request for Orders (RFO) for you for Vietnam. “Back in those days an RFO was the precursor to receiving a hard copy of reassignment orders. Thinking this was part of a joke, I glibly responded,” Sure Sgt., and let me guess, I‘ve gotta be there in two weeks.” “No sir, not two weeks, but by 1 November.” I could tell from his tone that he was serious. Just having been assured by the assignments officer that the soonest I would be there was March of ‘72, I assumed somebody had screwed up.                                                  

I waited until the following day to call Major Prevaricator and when I finally got a hold of him, he said he had just received a rush requirement for another 150 captains and was scrambling to fill it, by moving everybody up to a sooner deployment. Since there were few American troop units still remaining in Vietnam, he told me I would be assigned to Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV).

Later that night when I got home, I told JoAnne about our accelerated schedule and suggested we revise our calendar to shift to the earlier date. Like the fine understanding Army wife that she is, she contained her consternation and decided that we would make the change sooner rather than later.

At the appropriate time, we completed the Permanent Change of Station (PCS) process, spent time with family, said our farewells, and I boarded the “big iron bird” headed for Oakland Army Air Terminal enroute to RVN.

Once I arrived in-country, 1 November 71, I began in-processing. During my initial reporting in to the administrative Specialist 4 (Spec4) at Military Region III (MR III) headquarters, he looked at my orders, glanced at me, uttered an epithet, followed by, “Sorry, sir, the last thing I need is another captain. I‘m not sure what to do with you, since I have no open slots.” This revelation appeared to contradict what Major Prevaricator led me to believe. Fancy that.

In the midst of doing the initial processing at Bien Hoa, I was suddenly told to report to the MR III adjutant. When I did, I found out that it was our classmate who was better known as the hockey team captain, who had just been tasked to recommend a Captain (O-3) for consideration as the MR III deputy commander’s aide de camp. He was reviewing files of O-3 officers who met the criteria and saw my name. Not wanting to put him in a bind and being somewhat curious, I agreed to be interviewed by the general (whose name I’ve forgotten). During the interview, I expressed appreciation for the opportunity, but thought I’d be more effective in that role after some combat time in the field. He appreciated my honesty and deferred to my wishes.

I was assigned to MACV Team 89 in Dat Do District, Phuoc Tuy Province, 50 miles southeast of Saigon on the South China Sea.

 With Richard Nixon’s Vietnamization program in full swing, our orders were basically: “don’t get wounded, captured, or dead.“

For the most part, activity consisted of inspecting Vietnamese local force units, gathering intelligence and setting ambushes and patrolling with those local force units. We had a few enemy contacts, but activity was relatively “quiet”. The village in which our team compound was located was stable, although in other parts of the district, there was some guerrilla activity, typically handled by the Vietnamese. During this time, Jo and I stayed in touch via mail, and once I was even able to break away to the US base at Vung Tau, to my south, for a MARS call (the telephone/volunteer ham radio connection. (To learn more about a MARS call, read: Keeping in Touch With A Soldier). We began planning for my Rest and Recreation (R&R). Every soldier in Vietnam was permitted one R&R during a year’s tour of duty. One had to complete 30 days in-country to be eligible.  Of the various choices, we had decided on Hawaii, which allocated seven days (including travel time). I put in my request and waited for the dates to be assigned. Jo, who was living with her parents, was then enrolled in a graduate program in education at the State University of New York (SUNY) – Oneonta, which would factor in to the logistics of us meeting in Hawaii.

Time passed, Thanksgiving came and went and a month later Christmas care packages arrived. Jo even sent me a small tree for our hooch. My mother-in-law, bless her heart, sent me a hip flask of bourbon (verboten) and a puzzle of the 1971 Playboy Playmate of the Year. That’s right – my mother-in-law! She always was very cool. 

The American holidays of Christmas and New Years were mere precursors to the Lunar New Year (Tet) which was celebrated by the Vietnamese during the February timeframe. Prior to 1968, the holiday had been the occasion for an informal truce in the Vietnam War between South Vietnam and North Vietnam (and their communist allies in South Vietnam, the Viet Cong). But the fiasco of Tet of 1968, while an overall failure tactically, but a victory psychologically, put an end to that notion.  We paid close attention to intelligence reports, planning operations carefully. All indicators were positive so we cautiously and optimistically, were still hoping for a “come home early surprise” – a 60-day drop. In any event, Jo and I had Hawaii to look forward to. When I finally received my R&R orders, the timeslot was a week, including Memorial Day on the front and & my 25^th birthday on the back. Jo made arrangements to stay at the Honolulu Hilton, and we would meet after my flight arrived and go to the hotel. This was done via snail mail, since Al Gore had not yet invented the Internet. Jo was, and still is, a master at vacation planning.

Little did we know then, what was in store…

It was the fall of 1968. The Corps had returned from summer activities – leave & cadet duty (mine was Army Orientation Training [AOT] with the

101st Airborne at Fort Campbell}, and academics & extracurricular activities were in full swing. I was privileged enough to be selected by my peers at KDET, our school radio station, to be the Station Manager. Shortly thereafter, I went over to Building 600, which housed administrative functions, including the Post Signal Office, to conduct the customary meeting between the Station Manager and the faculty advisor, whose assigned position was Post Signal Officer. As I entered the office, my attention was immediately riveted on the receptionist, who was one of the most beautiful young women I had ever seen in my brief adult life. I distinctly remember thinking, “I want her to be the mother of my children!” That may sound corny, but it was absolutely my reaction. Her name was JoAnne, the spelling of which I found intriguing, and subsequent to that first meeting, I asked her out. I learned that she recently had graduated from the State University of New York, at Oneonta, with a degree in education, and was working as a secretary until she could find a teaching position in the local area. We began dating regularly and I learned the attraction was mutual.

We continued seeing each other the rest of Firstie year, with one of the highlights being the Ring Hop (a formal dance held to celebrate receiving new Class Rings).

Another highlight occurred during a powerful winter storm that descended just prior to St. Patrick’s Day in early 1969. The weather encompassed a significant area in the northeast and closed down much activity for a few days; it hit particularly hard at our location in upstate New York. On somewhat of a whim, I thought it would be a great

surprise to visit Jo at her home, which was about 2 ½ miles away in Highland Falls. So, I slogged through a couple of feet of snow to appear at her front door. Needless to say, she was quite surprised, as were her parents, who were unable to get to work because of the snow (always good to make points with potential in-laws). The relationship grew; we got pinned (the USMA version of “going steady”) and I gave her a miniature of my class ring.

We spent nearly all our free time together, limited more by my schedule than hers. Graduation came and went, and we maintained our relationship on a long-distance basis while I was assigned to Fort Benning for Airborne, Ranger and Basic Infantry Officer training. When I returned home prior to the Basic Course for Christmas leave and was visiting Jo and her family, I concocted a scheme to lure her into Newburgh and while she was shopping, snuck into a jewelry store and bought an engagement ring. On our way back to her house, I sprung the question while stopped at a traffic light (I did not, however, get down on one knee for obvious reasons). Momentarily taken aback, she recovered her composure and said yes! We set a temporary date and I returned to Benning.

While there I discovered that the US Air Force had a regular shuttle flight along the east coast, which stopped at Warner Robbins Airbase in Georgia and McGuire Airbase in New Jersey. I researched the logistics and determined that even though we trained Saturday mornings (six-day workweeks were standard in the Army at that time), it was theoretically possible to make the 90+ mile automobile trip from Benning to Robbins Saturday after class in time to catch the flight to McGuire. Jo would make the 120-mile trip from her home to meet me there, where we could be together for about 24 hours. One time, I even arranged the necessary removal of some wisdom teeth to occur on a Friday afternoon, so I would not have to go to class the next day while recovering from the procedure. That allowed me to leave with enough time to drive leisurely, rather than frenetically, though my Corvette was up to the latter task.

After Benning, I reported along with several classmates, to Fort Carson for my first assignment with 2d Battalion, 10th Infantry, and we finalized the date of our wedding. We set it for August 29, 1970, which would give enough time to plan. We made arrangements to have the ceremony at the Air Force Academy Chapel in Colorado Springs.

Jo joined me a little over two months prior, getting a temporary job at a fabric store, since she was quite adept at sewing, while I ran around in the nearby woods, doing Army things. Two of those Army things

turned out to have an impact on our wedding plans. First, subsequent to us setting the date and making arrangements, the luck of the draw caused my Battalion to be scheduled for a one-month readiness assignment involving potential riot response duty for anywhere west of the Mississippi, which overlapped our wedding date. Since ours was what is now called a “‘destination wedding”, our parents, and Jo’s brother and sister, who were part of the wedding party, would join us in Colorado Springs. The only downside was the fact that our “honeymoon” would have to take place in nearby Denver, instead of a romantic getaway site.

Second, a little less than two months before the actual wedding date, my battalion was conducting an exercise in Pike National Forest. I had completed my company time and was elevated to Battalion staff as the assistant operations officer (assistant S-3). After we completed the exercise, the unit moved back to main post and I was designated the officer in charge of the Detachment Left in Contact (DLIC), which in a non-combat environment was the cleanup detail. After the cleanup, as we were ready to begin our return to Carson, I and my driver, who was primarily an armored personnel carrier (APC) driver, were motoring quickly along a gravel road in an M151A1 Jeep, when we came to a sharp turn in the road. He started to make the left turn, when the wheels broke loose on the gravel and we skidded sideways. The tires hit the adjoining grass surface, and the Jeep, having a documented notoriously high center of gravity, started to roll over in my direction. My driver was able to jump out as the Jeep rolled, but I wasn’t so lucky. I almost made it, but the side of the Jeep caught my left leg just below the knee breaking the fibula, though I was able to avoid being crushed by the vehicle. When the dust settled, my driver kept apologizing as he helped me limp to the nearest aid station, which was just a quarter of a mile down the road. The medics temporarily patched me up and we finished the move back to post, with me stopping at the emergency room of the hospital. They put my entire left leg in a walking cast and told me it would take approximately two months to heal enough to walk without it. They immediately scheduled me for a one-month follow-up.

During the four weeks’ time, I managed to become mobile enough to be able to go to the field without crutches. At my one-month appointment, the doctor removed the cast, did an examination and told me he would give me a different cast which could be taken off in a month, assuming my leg was healing properly. Since that would occur approximately a week after our wedding, I respectfully told him that the cast had to be off before then, since I wasn’t about to walk down the aisle on my wedding day limping along in a cast. Although it was personal, it became my self-appointed mission, not unlike many at USMA, especially during Beast Barracks. Being compassionate, he modified his prognosis, had me report in two weeks, reexamined me then and gave me some mobility tests. I did well enough to not need the cast, so he wished me good luck and sent me on my way. Although the muscles in the leg atrophied to some extent from lack of normal use, I was able to carefully ambulate for the ceremony, much to Jo’s delight.

Throughout this whole process, she stepped up to the role of wife somewhat prematurely, in a stellar way, doing all she could to make my life easier. I knew I had made the right choice for a lifelong partner.