By Eric Robyn

Feb 23 2021

First Day as a Forward Observer – 1970

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jun 14 2020

A Tribute to Army Docs – 1995

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

The year was 1995 and I was 48 years old.

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

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

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

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

Cadet Patients Endure Physical Therapy – Aka: Physical Torture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Orthopedic Doctor at Keller Army Hospital

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

Keller Army Hospital in Which Dr. Feagin Worked

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oct 24 2019

Two Tales of a City, 2015 – Part 2

Fast forward to 2015. Not only were Sally and I looking forward to a nostalgic trip back to Germany and a visit with friends in Augsburg and Ansbach, but we also had the pleasure of sharing this journey with our sixteen-year-old grandson Gavin. Forty-two years from our first visit, we landed in Berlin on December 7, excited to see how the city had changed. We could never have imagined how great that change would be.

Our new Marriott hotel was located near Potsdamer Platz, a section of the city that was once behind the Wall in the former East Berlin. As we walked about the area we were stuck by the vibrancy, prosperity, new development, and excitement of locals and visitors. Busy stores, restaurants, and businesses abounded. As we crisscrossed the city the brick trace of the Wall, laid out in brass, could be seen meandering along the pavements and streets. Except for chunks here and there the Wall was gone but its history not forgotten.

Checkpoint Charlie now existed only as a tourist stop, the guard house remaining but actors in quasi military dress now playing the crossing guards. Museums to recall the Nazi era, the Holocaust, Cold War, East German gadgets and lifestyle were all available to the public to visit and to remember, with sobering clarity and sometimes with humor. We’ll never forget walking past Trabi World Tours.

Sally by a Trabant tourist rental Dec 2015

The old Trabant had made a comeback! An enterprising and apparently successful Berliner provided rentals for tourists. Who could resist travelling the city and experiencing a ride in this unforgettable “classic”!? It was another great example of entrepreneurial capitalism popping up in unexpected places.

Perhaps our most enduring memory came at the start of our trip. When we landed in Berlin it was late afternoon, and as our taxi sped into the city the early December night had fallen. The lights along the streets showed a city alive with activity and the Christmas season beginning. Straight ahead we could see in the distance the Brandenburg Gate brightly lit. Through its arches were clearly visible an enormous Christmas tree, a large Menorah and Star of David. All three were brightly shining and spoke in such a powerful way of reconciliation in a city once torn by hatred and oppression. We will always be grateful for the blessing of this gracious memory, a beautiful benediction to our Berlin experiences. Indeed, “… it was the best of times.”

Inside the Brandenburg Gate in former East Berlin

P.S. From co-authors, Eric and Sally: for excellent reference, we recommend the book

The Collapse, The Accidental Opening of the Berlin Wall, by Mary Elise Sarotte.

Oct 24 2019

Two Tales of a City, 1973 – Part 1

INTRODUCTION:

November 9, 2019, marks the 30th Anniversary of the Fall of the Berlin Wall.

In 1961 when most of the West Point Class of 1969 were enjoying their first heady experiences of high school, construction began on a wall that would split Berlin into two distinct and isolated sectors. This event, emblematic of the greater divide between Communist Europe and the free West, was probably little noticed by those teenagers, but it had huge implications in the way they would come to see the world and serve their country over the next thirty plus years.

Part I

With apologies to Charles Dickens for playing on the title of his classic novel, “A Tale of Two Cities,” our story is two tales of a city divided and ultimately reunified. Dickens began his tale with the memorable line, “It was the best of times. it was the worst of times…”. Our story begins, “It was the worst of times…”

SIDEBAR: The Wall

By 1961, more than 3.5 million East Germans (about 20% of their population) had fled communist occupation for freedom in the West, frequently exiting through Berlin. The Soviets and East Germany, fearing the exodus would only get worse, began a second blockade of the city, dividing Berlin into two cities. This time they succeeded.

Construction of a barrier began on 13 August 1961, sealing off West Berlin into a virtual island within Soviet controlled East Germany. Consisting of concrete walls, barbed wire, guard dogs, bunkers, guard towers with machine guns and a death strip or no-mans-land of anti-vehicle trenches, this impenetrable Wall dramatically symbolized the “Iron Curtain” that separated East Germany and other Soviet bloc countries from the West.

Over the next 28 years, approximately 5,000 citizens of East Berlin managed to escape and at least 140 were killed attempting to gain freedom. Then, on 9 November 1989, when East German authorities, through an extraordinary confluence of events, announced that it would allow limited visits to West Berlin, masses descended on the Wall, breaching the barrier. On 22 December 1989, the Brandenburg Gate was opened. Official demolition of the Wall began on 13 June 1990 and finally ended on 3 October 1992.

“It was the worst of times.” Vietnam was winding down and the Army in Europe was suffering morale and serious drug problems when I arrived fresh from a combat tour in Vietnam for a three-year assignment at Herzo Base, Headquarters of 210^th Field Artillery Group, outside the town of Herzogenaurach, West Germany. In 1973, while commanding C Battery, 1^st Battalion, 33d Field Artillery (a nuclear-capable Honest John Rocket firing battery) I decided to give my troops a hands-on lesson to explain why we were in Germany and to see the face of our adversary, up close and personal. I knew there was no better place for troops to learn that lesson than Berlin, the epicenter of the Cold War. Having gained command approval for this “adventure training” and receiving official transportation orders, I gathered a group of soldiers and wives for a memorable trip … and my first view of Berlin.

During that time in order for active duty soldiers to travel to Berlin, special military travel authorization had to be issued by the US Army Europe Headquarters, translated in Russian and French. These “Flag Orders” (so called by the US flag header atop the orders – see inset, below) remained in our personal possession throughout our visit and were carefully checked by East German guards. With these orders in hand, we boarded the “Duty Train” at the Frankfurt Bahnhof (main train station) on 5 October 1973 late in the evening and traveled in darkness (as required by Communist authorities) through East Germany to West Berlin, arriving early morning on 6 October. We travelled with shades drawn at all windows and as we crossed into East Germany, the train stopped for our orders and ID cards to be checked. Although we each were assigned old-fashioned, private couchettes with bunk beds, no one fully relaxed, or, in my wife Sally’s case, changed out of street clothes.

On arrival in West Berlin, we checked into military lodging and began touring a vibrant city, whose citizens hustled energetically along busy streets to offices, restaurants, and homes brightly lit at night in stark contrast to her surrounding neighbors in East Berlin shrouded in darkness. Our first view of the famous Brandenburg Gate, blocked by the ugly Wall, was one I never forgot. For me, it embodied the hatred and fear of malignant Communist tyranny determined to oppress its people and to spread its cancer across the globe. I was proud then, as now, to be an American soldier dedicated to preserving the freedoms of the West and protecting those in need.

One highlight of the trip for all was a visit to Checkpoint Charlie, the best-known official crossing point between West and East Berlin. From the wooden observation platform, my troops and I looked directly across the Wall and the “death strip” into the eyes of East German guards in a gun tower with orders to shoot anyone attempting to flee East Berlin. It was a sobering experience.

Checkpoint Charlie Berlin Wall 1973 — Sally at Checkpoint Charlie – October 1973

Death Strip Berlin Wall — Looking across the Death Strip

American side warning Berlin Wall — Achtung! Warning at the border of the American Sector

One evening, Sally and I traveled from the American Sector to the French Sector for a special dinner at the French Officers’ Club. After a wonderful meal with the time now past 11 pm, we walked to the nearest UBahn (subway) station and hopped aboard the first train heading back to the American sector and our temporary lodging. Little did we know that we would find ourselves traveling through the bowels of East Berlin making 2 underground stops, where Grenztruppen (East German Border Guards) stood watch armed with the East German version of the AK-47. Darkened, littered and unwelcoming, the East German stations allowed passengers to leave the train, but no one got on. With a Top-Secret clearance, nuclear duty assignment, and my GI haircut, Sally sat holding her breath and I sat slumping in the seat hoping not to draw undue attention! Fortunately, our brief and unauthorized excursion into communist territory ended without drama and we once again entered the brightly lit, clean, and vibrant West Berlin station in the American sector.

UBahn map of West & East Berlin lines 1973

Although tourists could and did visit East Berlin, American military personnel with security clearances were not authorized to do so.

Interestingly, in 1984 on a second assignment to Europe, I did once again visit East Berlin while Aide to the SACEUR (Supreme Allied Commander of Europe) General Bernard Rogers (USMA Class of June 1943) – this time in an official status. General Rogers, along with a group of distinguished visitors and wives, was being given a VIP tour. Our guide proudly drove us through the city, many areas still in ruins from WWII bombing, and pointed out their officer housing area, reminiscent of inner-city subsidized housing with over-grown grass, trash, and windows partially covered with sheets or blankets. We were escorted into a Zeiss Optics store, where “shopping” consisted of standing at a counter and asking a clerk to retrieve the item you wanted. She would retrieve it for you to see, but not handle.

As we crossed a major city street, I will never forget the discordant racket and dense exhaust smoke of traffic, consisting mainly of Trabants, the flimsy East German car with a 2-cycle engine, once described by a well-known automotive journalist as “loud, slow, poorly designed, and badly built.” This automotive gem, I learned, was available to East-Bloc customers after waiting only 13 years to buy their own car.

When in West Berlin with General Rogers, we stayed at the beautiful “Wannseehaus” which had been the site of the infamous Wannsee Conference held in January 1942 (where Nazi high officials met to decide and coordinate plans for Hitler’s “Final Solution”). After the war its reputation was somewhat redeemed as an Allied war reparation asset, and later as a museum to the Holocaust.

One evening while there, the SACEUR hosted a dinner party for various dignitaries, which included the Swedish Ambassador to East Berlin. The ambassador obviously enjoyed his posting and regaled us with stories of the lifestyle of Communist party officials entertaining him and other dignitaries. It was quite busy, he said, with frequent lavish dinner parties, featuring the choicest foods and finest wines, cruises, and social events. When asked how these luxuries were available in East Germany, he laughed and said the Communist officials sent a truck daily to West Berlin to stock up at the KaDeWe, the city’s enormous department/grocery store, second only to Harrods in London. For all of the deprivations of the average East German citizen, Communist officials lived the life of luxury, all enabled by the bounty of the West. As the old saying goes, some Communist comrades were “more equal than others!”

Apr 19 2019

What West Point Means To Me – Eric Robyn

“West Point is wasted on cadets!”
As a Tac, this half-joking assertion by a visiting professor of history at USMA stuck in my mind. Cadets are so busy just surviving, they neither fully understand nor appreciate the long-term benefits of the often-painful process. Now, after 50+ years, I appreciate even more what West Point achieved. It’s not too much to say that my experiences at West Point shaped my character, purpose, vision, and goals in life more than any other place.
Clearly, it was there I was introduced to the Profession of Arms and the Brotherhood of Warriors into what became my life calling. West Point taught me how to think and act honorably; commit humbly to a cause greater than myself; live a rigorous, disciplined life in mind, body, and soul; experience daily situations to succeed or fail as a follower and leader; retain a good sense of humor, especially in the midst of high stress; and rely on the close support, strong encouragement, and teamwork of company and classmates who became – and remain – closest friends. All these hard-knock experiences and more come to mind.
One aspect, however, that stands out was setting priorities. As a Plebe, I learned quickly that much more was expected of me than I could deliver. Planning ahead, prioritizing tasks, and taking the right action at the right time was the only way to survive! Lesson learned: no plan survives first contact with the enemy but failing to plan is planning to fail. I grew accustomed to a life of action, not contemplation, first on a personal level, then as a leader. Under the daily stress of cadet life, a solid foundation was laid in setting priorities, making plans, and taking action to accomplish the mission: in classrooms, barracks, and in the field.
More important and enduring than any of those skills, however, were the relationships forged at West Point. The bonds of brotherhood sealed by trial during those four challenging USMA years laid the foundation for future bonds of marriage, family, faith, and service to others all my life. The ancient Celts had a phrase for those places where the physical and spiritual worlds seem to meet: “thin places.” For me and my family, West Point is a “thin place.”