By Eric Robyn

     I certainly claim no expertise or long experience in parachuting, as do many classmates and “master blaster” friends, some with hundreds of static-line and free-fall jumps.  My brief parachuting career consisted of only 7 static-line jumps, each uniquely exciting.  But my last jump was my most memorable by far:  a “water descent” into the shark-infested waters of the South Pacific off the coast of Australia … without a reserve ‘chute!

     A little background.  In August 1967, I was among the first group of USMA cadets to be allowed to attend the US Army Parachute School at Ft Benning, GA, as an extra cadet training experience following my required month-long troop training assignment (known then as AOT – Army Orientation Training) in a regular Army unit.  To be part of this privileged group, we volunteered to give up 3 weeks of our 4-week cadet summer leave.  What a deal!  We made all five of our jumps from the venerable US Air Force C-119 Flying Boxcar, earning the coveted silver wings of an Army Paratrooper.

     As an aside, it was during that training period that Hollywood legend John Wayne visited Ft. Benning to film scenes of real soldiers in airborne training as part of his new movie, The Green Berets.  We airborne trainees were offered the opportunity to be part of the filming of that movie if we were willing to report for an extra day of training on Saturday, a rare day off.  Because I had previously made plans to meet my girlfriend in Atlanta, I turned down John Wayne’s kind offer of “stardom” and headed to Atlanta instead.  Good thing, too: that girlfriend has been my wife for over 50 years now!

     Just two years later, January 1970, as a 2d LT in the Florida phase of Ranger School, I parachuted into Eglin Airfield marking my 6^th jump.  With no future assignments to airborne outfits, I thought my jumping days were over.  Until 1978, that is…

      During my tour as a Tactical Officer at USMA from 1976 to 1979, I was selected to be the Officer in Charge of the Australian Royal Military College (RMC) Exchange.  Well, someone had to do it!  This duty included escorting 4 outstanding First Class (senior) USMA Cadets to Australia for 2 weeks in August 1978, which, incidentally, was in the dead of winter “Down Under.” 

     Our schedule was packed with touring, starting at the RMC in Duntroon, sightseeing around the capital at Canberra, visiting the US Ambassador to Australia, being “wined and dined” at various social events, and participating in classes and military training.  The Australian military at the time had a very “macho” culture and we were challenged daily to show our friends whether we had the “right stuff.”  Their biggest challenge lay ahead.

     That challenge and a major highlight of our trip came as an invitation to visit the Australian Army Parachute Training School at Williamtown.  Located on the Pacific coast near Newcastle in New South Wales, it’s about 100 miles north of Sydney.

     The Parachute School senior officer and staff warmly welcomed us and laid out their plans for our day:  we were invited to make a “water descent” into the shark-infested waters off the coast!  No worries!  We were to be plucked out of the water quickly by fast boats.  With my 3 airborne-qualified cadets, we four Yanks enthusiastically accepted the Aussie invitation and challenge to jump with our Australian counterparts:  4 RMC cadets and their Australian Army captain.

     As we suited up for the jump, I noticed we would be using the standard T-10 parachute, similar to what I had used in all my jumps.  One major difference, however …  when I asked for my reserve ‘chute, I was told “it was not needed; it would only get wet!”

     Our instructions were simple: once we jumped from the aircraft, we were to keep our eyes on the 500-foothills surrounding Williamtown.  Then, when about eye-level with them, to turn our quick release buckle and strike it to loosen all our parachute harness straps – that meant we would then be dangling by the 2 straps under our armpits 500 feet above the water – not a comfortable idea, but better than getting entangled in the straps, lines, and canopy when we hit the water.

     We four Americans boarded the aircraft, an Australian RAAF Caribou, and sat opposite our 5 Australian friends.  It was a beautiful day, although the winds seemed brisk on the ground.  Aboard our lead plane was a “wind dummy” which the Aussies planned to kick out to measure windspeed and direction for safety.

     On the first pass at jump altitude, the Aussie “stick,” led by my counterpart captain, briskly walked off the lowered rear ramp while we watched as their canopies fully deployed and the ramp closed up.  Next pass would be our turn.

     Within a few minutes, our plane looped back over the water, the ramp dropped open, and the green GO light popped on.  I led my 3 cadets off the ramp into the cool air and watched as each of our ‘chutes fully opened.  I guess we didn’t need that reserve after all!

     Not much time to think, though, as I descended rapidly and popped the quick release button at about 500 feet and dangled by two harness straps under my arms.  As I neared the water, I then became aware of the high wind speed.  During my final 50-foot descent to splashdown, I was sailing horizontally on my back above the water.  I pulled my arms up over my head, slipped out of the harness straps, hit the water and watched my chute still fully inflated and sailing away, greatly relieved to be unentangled.  And, true to their word, the Aussies plucked us all out of the drink quickly and sped us to shore.

     Now safely on shore with my cadets, the senior Aussie Parachute School officer explained that all remaining jumps after ours were cancelled because wind speed had exceeded 20 knots, well above the safe jump limit.  He then told us that the Aussie captain who jumped ahead of us had been blown ashore and landed on top of a building, breaking his leg and barely missing a high-tension line.  He quickly added, “No worries, mate!  We didn’t want to disappoint you Yanks by cancelling the jump too soon before you had your chance!” 

     Needless to say, we were all thankful he did not cancel the jump and very grateful that the water descent ended safely for us.  But mostly, we Yanks knew that the Aussies knew we met their challenge and upheld the honor of the Corps!

by Eric Robyn

1971 … a period of extreme turbulence in the Army and American society.

     I had just returned home from Vietnam.  Reunited with my wife Sally and 8-month-old son, Paul, I quickly packed them up and flew to my next unit in West Germany.  Assigned to the 210^th Field Artillery Brigade, we arrived in April 1971 in the town of Ansbach, about 35 miles west of Nuremberg. *  

     Although our sponsor was a no-show, when we finally arrived at the BOQ (bachelor officer guest quarters) in Ansbach, we were warmly greeted by my dear friend and West Point classmate Bill Rice, https://thedaysforward.com/bill-rice/ who was assigned in the Brigade headquarters as Assistant S-3 (Operations).  Bill and I had known each other since grammar school days in St. Louis and later graduated together as members of the US Military Academy Class of 1969.  Unmarried at the time, Bill generously helped us get settled in Ansbach, even loaning us his car while we waited 2 months for ours to be shipped from the States.  Incidentally, Bill and I shared the same promotion orders to captain and pinned on captain’s bars standing side-by-side on 4 June 1971, 2 years to the day from our graduation at West Point.  We laughed about the simple fact that every first lieutenant who survived to his 2d commissioning anniversary was automatically promoted to captain, so it was no big deal … a handshake, a beer with friends in the club, and a wife who never let me forget I failed to invite her to the ceremony!  We soon learned that promotions thereafter were increasingly competitive and slow to come, but much to be celebrated with wives, family, and friends!

     I was assigned as the Brigade S-2 (Intelligence Officer) on arrival and would be responsible for safeguarding and maintaining all classified documents and material in the brigade headquarters.  With nuclear weapons capability in all our subordinate battalions, we managed literally thousands of pages of documents (all on paper, no computers!) ranging in classification from the lowest “For Official Use Only” to “Confidential”, “Secret”, to the highest “Top Secret.”

To assist me in this daunting mission of guarding, organizing, inventorying, and insuring accessibility to authorized users, I was assigned an Intelligence NCO, Sergeant First Class (SFC) Gonzales.  He was an experienced and wise NCO who had done this type of work for several years.  Anyone with proper clearance and “need to know” could sign out and return whatever document he needed at any time, noting name, date, and time in our register.  SFC Gonzales meticulously maintained records of daily inventories and accountability checks in our logbook. At that time, all nuclear capable artillery units operated under a “zero defects” atmosphere when it came to any nuclear operation:  assembly, transport, guarding, deployment, communications, surety procedures, etc.  In the S-2 shop, we were not directly handling actual nukes like Bill, so we weren’t under the same gun as Bill, so to speak.  Nonetheless, we all felt we were always under the intense scrutiny of higher headquarters.  Lots of young Field Artillery officers lost their careers by messing up a nuclear inspection!

     I was on a fast track of learning the intricacies of classified information, when, as part of many USAREUR unit and headquarters relocations that year, we moved the brigade headquarters to “Herzo Base” in the summer of 1971.**  This move required the construction and certification of a secure, reinforced bank-like vault with a dozen high security, fireproof filing cabinets to maintain classified documents to include Top Secret materials, as well providing work space for our desks.

     A few weeks after we had safely moved and accounted for all the classified documents and material in our newly certified vault, SFC Gonzales informed me that he could not find a classified document and considered it might be lost.  That got my attention quickly!  He explained that during his regular inventory, he could not find the 7th copy of a 3-paragraph, 1-page Confidential document.  He showed me the original document, with its paper-clipped 6 carbon-copies (“onion-skin” or “flimsies,” as we called them).  Sure enough, the original Confidential document clearly stated, “Original plus 7 copies.”  When I read the document, I realized it should never have been classified Confidential by the VII Corps G-4 (Logistics).  It referred to a very minor administrative instruction for a military exercise applicable to another unit outside our brigade.  But it was classified, in our vault despite its irrelevance, and I was responsible for it.  Our records showed the original and copies had been checked out by our brigade S-3 and S-4 sections, so SFC Gonzales and I spoke with everyone who had access, and searched through our vault and all our files, but could not find that single flimsy copy.

     I realized that if that flimsy could not be found, I would have to report a missing classified document within 24 hours to VII Corps, which in my mind spelled the end of my career.  I let Bill Rice know the situation and he sprang into action quickly, helping to search the entire headquarters, working with me late into the night.  But, alas, no 7th flimsy could be found.  The next morning, I reported the situation to the brigade executive officer and brigade commander, woefully aware that this incident would reflect negatively on them and our unit when I sent in the report of a missing classified document.  The entire brigade staff was now fully engaged to locate that flimsy.  The next three days were stressful, not only in continuing the search, but also in hearing other ideas on how to “fix” the problem.

     One simple suggestion was to contact the originator who initially classified the document and have him declassify it and thus, instantly, resolve the problem.  I contacted the originating officer at VII Corps headquarters, but he showed no interest in reviewing the document or its classification.  Door shut!

     Pressure built from other sources simply to destroy the original document and its 6 flimsies and then complete a destruction certificate attesting that the original and 7 flimsies were destroyed by shredding and burning.  Of course, I would have to be the attesting officer, swearing that I had witnessed the destruction.  Here is where my 4 years of living within West Point’s Honor Code (“A Cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do”) caused me to stop and consider. 

     Bill had heard this idea as well.  We discussed the implications.  We both knew what the harder right demanded, and I knew I had only one course of action to follow for a clear conscience.  My decision was simple:  report the document as missing, insignificant as it seemed to be, and let the chips fall where they may.  I did so and resigned myself to await the investigation from VII Corps. 

     After 3 agonizing days, the 7th flimsy mysteriously showed up on SFC Gonzales’ desk.  We never learned who returned it, who had it or where it had been, but we gratefully announced its recovery.  The investigation was canceled by Corps to everyone’s relief.  I continued to serve as S-2 for a few more months before taking command of an artillery battery, but for the remainder of my career my gratitude deepened for the foundation of Honor laid at West Point, and the loyalty and encouragement of friends such as Bill Rice.

     There would be many other times in the years ahead when I would be tempted to cut corners or shade things to avoid problems, but the deeply ingrained sense of “choosing the harder right instead of the easier wrong” (as we recited in the Cadet Prayer), would always be a guiding light.  As the Scriptures put it in Luke 16:10: “He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much.”  It is often the little “flimsy” things that trip us up … or challenge us to overcome. 

CADET PRAYER

O God, our Father, Thou Searcher of human hearts, help us to draw near to Thee in sincerity and truth. May our religion be filled with gladness and may our worship of Thee be natural.

Strengthen and increase our admiration for honest dealing and clean thinking, and suffer not our hatred of hypocrisy and pretense ever to diminish. 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 never to be content with a half-truth when the whole can be won.

Endow us with courage that is born of loyalty to all that is noble and worthy, that scorns to compromise with vice and injustice and knows no fear when truth and right are in jeopardy.

Guard us against flippancy and irreverence in the sacred things of life. Grant us new ties of friendship and new opportunities of service. Kindle our hearts in fellowship with those of a cheerful countenance and soften our hearts with sympathy for those who sorrow and suffer.

Help us to maintain the honor of the Corps untarnished and unsullied and to show forth in our lives the ideals of West Point in doing our duty to Thee and to our Country.

All of which we ask in the name of the Great Friend and Master of All. Amen.

* The 210th Field Artillery Brigade (at that time designated as a “Group”), was part of the VII Corps of the US Army, Europe (USAREUR), then comprising the bulk of NATO’s (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) defense against the -Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact forces threatening Europe.  Incidentally, one-third of the US Army’s combat divisions and one-fifth of its total manpower was assigned to USAREUR … the deterrent “trip wire” of the Cold War.

** In the West German town of Herzogenaurach, called Herzo Base, because it was a former Luftwaffe Messerschmidt fighter base in WWII.  This quaint German village was about 20 miles from Nurnberg and 15 miles from Erlangen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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