Master Chief (12 page)

Our first insertion was adjacent to a canal and near a group of hootches and bunkers. Trung Uy was carrying the PRC-77 radio and concentrated on communicating with the Seawolf gunships. It was a nice arrangement for both of us—Mr. Kleehammer monitored the radio and requested strafing and rocket runs when warranted, while I directed the men. As usual, the VC had made tracks for the tree line before we could intercept them by air or on the ground. While Trung Uy called in helo strikes, the rest of the squad maintained security by advancing in a wedge formation and returned the sporadic VC fire from the tree line. Tam and I were kept busy laying waste to hootches, blasting bunkers, and scuttling a sampan during our march of at least five hundred meters alongside the small, brushy canal.

Our second insertion was made near another group of hootches and bunkers that had been abandoned for some time. We took great delight in setting fire to anything that would burn, so as to deprive the VC and NVA of future shelter. We had been burning and pillaging for over three hours when the helos notified Trung Uy that they were getting low on fuel. Also Chief Bassett and 1st Squad was supposed to use our slick later that afternoon. Considering that 2nd Squad and our three Aussie mates had missed breakfast, and all of us had developed a powerful hunger while ravaging the area with fire and sword, we decided it was time for a hot meal. Why not? I thought. The mess hall would be open at 1130.

I looked at Mr. K., then looked down at my watch and said, “What do you think, Trung Uy?”

Kleehammer glanced at his watch, grinned, and yelled, “Chow time!”

Later that afternoon, Chief Bassett’s Parakeet op was canceled because only one Seawolf helo was available.
Second Squad and our Aussie mates spent the rest of the afternoon faithfully cleaning weapons, gear, and filthy bodies, and replenishing our basic field gear load of ordnance in case of a call for an unexpected immediate-action mission.

All went well until 1900 hours, when the base electrical power went off. In short order all of the guys began to get rowdy. The nervous Vietnamese base security personnel began shooting para flares occasionally for illumination. They must have heard the hootin’ and hollerin’ emanating from our den of iniquity and thought that we were a company of suicidal VC sappers headed for their position.

In that light, Same got the idea that all nineteen of us should simultaneously shoot two para flares each to celebrate the next year’s July fourth. Our Aussie buddies thought it was a great idea too; they had little love for their limey mates.

Trung Uy spoke up and said, “What if we catch our barracks on fire?”

Chambo, an ex-Hell’s Angel, yelled, “Why, hell, all we have to do is aim them over toward the Vietnamese area. Who gives a damn if the VN hootches burn down as long as it isn’t ours!”

Trooper Smithwick commented, “That’s right, mates! No guts, no glory!”

Most of us felt that we weren’t appreciated anyway, and worse yet, one lieutenant staff admin’er judged us as nothing more than a necessary evil to be tolerated only for a short time. In that light, the vote was unanimous—onward to infamy.

After everyone had an M-82 para flare in each hand and we were all a safe distance from each other, we lay on the ground as Dai Uy gave the command, “Ready, aim, fire!”

Upon the command to fire, we slammed our pop flares hard against the ground and watched the finned flare assemblies
rocket upward approximately 150 feet, where the parachutes deployed and the incendiary charges were ignited. It was deafening, and the whole world seemed to light up as the flares slowly descended toward the Vietnamese quarters across the road. As expected, all of the flares burned out well before their landing near the Vietnamese barracks. Unfortunately, the sons of Gomer had illuminated themselves for what they had done. Righteousness loves light. Considering that “there is none righteous, no, not one,” all of us scurried back to our darkened tavern, where we continued to scheme and kept watch for any Navy admin’ers/staffers or revengeful Vietnamese who might have been snooping around prior to taps. The next morning, Dai Uy said the base commander called him on the carpet about the flares—but his innocent “Who me?” carried the day.

After a day of rest and replenishment, Dai Uy gave us our warning order on the morning of August fifteenth. At 1230 Fletcher gave his PLO to November Platoon, our SAS mates, MST folks, VAL-3 and VAL-4 comrades. After the briefing we cammied up, held inspection, and rehearsed emergency SOPs and immediate-action drills.

We had previously received intelligence information from 525, NBLO, and the Binh Dai DSA Major Bigelow that units of the VC 263 Main Force Infantry Battalion and 516A Local Force Infantry Battalion were supposedly located in an area that was approximately ten klicks south of the Binh Dai subsector and near the Song Ba Lai, a river, for R&R, replenishment, and training. Our adversaries had picked a good area for their safe haven. It was almost impenetrable in places, and, after the French withdrawal, was and had always been totally controlled by VC/NVA units.

Because the fuses for the new CBU-55B FAE bomb had been made available, Dai Uy decided that it was time
to test and evaluate the cluster bomb against jungle canopies and entrenched enemy forces and for creating helo LZs. Hopefully we wouldn’t have to insert into a hot LZ. We were also tasked to recon the area for enemy activities and to leave behind a few booby-trapped calling cards and psyops documents. The Army’s 10th Psyop Battalion, 4th Psyops Group, in Can Tho, had previously dropped a new batch of Chieu Hoi leaflets throughout the area to win over the VC/NVA units’ hearts and minds.

Initially, the cluster bombs were to be dropped from an OV-10 Black Pony. Once the dispenser was released from the Bronco and had sufficient separation from the aircraft, it would release the bomblets. The individual bomblets would, in turn, descend to the ground by parachute with six-foot-fused probes extended. When the long shaft contacted the ground, the bomblet’s liquid fuel would be dispersed into the air until the delayed detonation of an incendiary charge ignited the fuel. In theory, the ensuing overpressure blast would violently create an opening through double- and triple-canopy jungle large enough for a UH1 Huey LZ. It was believed that the overpressure would also neutralize or kill all VC/NVA troops within the immediate area by destroying the alveoli (air sacks) within their lungs. The idea sounded great, but would it work? We intended to find out.

By 1440 hours we had loaded our two Sea Lord slicks and followed the Seawolves south, across the My Tho River and over Binh Dai district’s dense jungle. The two Black Ponies had flown ahead of us to the targeted area and dropped the cluster bomb units just prior to our insertion.

While the Black Ponies and Seawolves were circling overhead, our slicks wasted no time in getting us to the newly created LZs that had penetrated the thick jungle canopies. There were tall coconut trees that sporadically spiked their way into the deep blue sky from the double
canopy below. Surprisingly, we didn’t initially receive any ground fire. Dai Uy and 1st Squad’s slick started its descent into a pit of blackened debris near an old Buddhist pagoda that had been long since abandoned.

When the slick had descended to twenty or twenty-five feet from the cluttered jungle floor, Lieutenant Fletcher, who had been on the helo’s intercom, received word from the pilot and in turn told his squad to “Go!”

All of 1st Squad knew that something was wrong and quickly obeyed by jumping out of the side doors. It was a long plunge for men laden with an average of one hundred pounds each of gear and weapons. As soon as the guys hit the ground, everyone scurried off to the side to avoid the main rotor in the event of the slick’s crashing.

As it turned out, the helo would have crashed if 1st Squad hadn’t jumped when ordered. The pilot later explained that, as he was lowering the helo carefully to avoid most of the trees and the pagoda, its low RPM warning light had come on. After the squad had exited, the pilot still had difficulty in coaxing the power from the helo’s engines to ascend from the tight LZ.

In 2nd Squad, we had watched the whole show from our slick while circling the LZ clockwise. As usual, I was seated on the edge of the starboard door with my combo weapon on my lap and my legs hanging out while watching the strange carryings-on below. After the first slick had finally lifted out of the LZ, we quickly moved into the same pit of miry clay and jumped to the ground from only ten feet. It was a molar-jarring thud, but at least it wasn’t from twenty-five feet.

While Trung Uy and Dai Uy were conferring with each other, I ensured that the 2nd Squad guys were okay. I noticed that Doc Holmes was sitting over to the side by the radio and appeared to be in a lot of pain.

“What happened, Doc?” I asked quietly.

Doc grinned and answered, “1 think I broke my leg.”

All I could do was encourage him. “Well, hang in there, Doc. Don’t give up the ship.”

Dai Uy had decided to leave half of Trung Uy’s men at the LZ with Doc, while the rest of us, ten in all, went on a reconnaissance of the area. Knepper and Tam were assigned as point and soon led us to a hootch that probably had been abandoned shortly after the cluster bomblets had detonated. We set fire to the hootch and continued on our recon eastward toward an old French-style building that the Seawolves had spotted near where one of the cluster bomblets had detonated. The thick jungle and numerous irrigation canals made it very difficult to penetrate and remain alert and ready to act aggressively against an enemy ambush. It was so hot and humid, we felt like we could barely breathe the stifling air. Sweat soaked our cammies and washed some of the cammi paint from our faces, which, naturally, drained into our eyes. It stung like lightning and almost continually blurred our vision. And last but not least, the CBU had thoroughly pissed off the wasps and other insects that buzzed around our bodies and on our sweaty faces throughout the operation.

That portion of the Binh Dai district reminded me of some miserable times I had spent in the T-10 jungle located in the northern portion of the Rung Sat Special Zone in 1967–68.

Once we had reached the French plantation building, we set our defensive perimeter and took a short break for a salt tablet, water, and a couple of C-ration candy disks apiece. Shortly afterward, Dai Uy and I left the psyop documents inside the once beautiful French building for our enemies to ponder over. We examined the nearby cluster-bomb damage and were surprised at what little destruction it had rendered. At least it didn’t leave a deep crater filled with water like thousand-pound GP bombs
did in the Run Sat. It wasn’t nearly as destructive as we had been led to believe. I’d been told that the fuel/air bomb would basically vaporize all vegetation and flesh as thoroughly as God had destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. We concluded that we couldn’t rely on the cluster bomb to eliminate many—or any—VC/NVA troopers who were hidden in bunkers.

“What we need is one of the old double-fused M121 ten-thousand-pound GP bombs, called ‘daisy cutters,’ that the army utilized in ’seventy for creating large LZs and destroying enemy troop concentrations,” I whispered to Dai Uy. He nodded in silent agreement.

While I was pondering visions of a dozen Hercules C-130 aircraft dropping M121 daisy cutters on our AO, northwest and approximately 150 meters from our position, a VC fired two warning shots. In a heartbeat the situation turned into a cat-and-mouse game, and I wasn’t too sure who the mouse was.

Dai Uy motioned me over to him and said, “Smitty, I want you to take point and give Knepper a rest. Tam will stay behind you. Set an azimuth of three-six-zero degrees and patrol toward the signal shots. We don’t want contact, we just want to recon for signs of any heavy enemy activities and emplace our surprise gifts.”

I nodded and whispered, “I’m ready if you are.”

Dai Uy grinned, slapped me on the side of my head and continued. “When we reach that point, I’ll give you the signal to change our course to 090 degrees, and we’ll return to the old pagoda and our insertion point. The Seawolves will try to keep Tu Uy aware of our location, and he will vector us by radio to his location if we get off course a bit.”

We continued on our silent patrol for another hour and succeeded in avoiding the enemy during our short reconnaissance. Once we had returned to the old pagoda and
linked up with the rest of the platoon and our SAS mates, I assigned defensive perimeter positions—wagon-wheel formation—for our squad.

Afterward, I went over to Lieutenant Fletcher and Mr. Kleehammer. “Dai Uy, I suggest that we recon by fire just prior to the slicks’ arrival for extraction. If the VC are closing in on us, our fire should keep their heads down until after we’ve extracted.”

“That’s a good idea, Smitty, let’s do it,” Dai Uy said. “I’ll give you the signal when to yell, ‘Fire for two minutes.’ ”

After I had gone to each man and explained to them what we were going to do, I returned to Dai Uy and waited while Trung Uy coordinated with the Sea Lords, Seawolves, and Black Ponies for extraction and fire support.

Everyone was excited for we knew that the enemy were close at hand; we occasionally heard VC small arms firing at the gunships and OV-10s.

Finally, Dai Uy gave me the signal for us to start our two-minute reconnaissance by fire followed by my yelling, “Commence firing!”

Hell seemed to break loose as twenty-one of us opened up along a 360-degree circumference. Our 40mm HE rounds didn’t travel far before they hit some form of vegetation and detonated with deafening results. Hundreds of 7.62mm and 5.56mm rounds were clipping through the jungle growth as a warning to our adversaries to keep their heads down.

After two minutes I yelled, “Cease fire.”

The silence was deafening. Our hearing was so far gone that we didn’t hear the slicks approach until they were almost upon us.

While the Seawolves and Black Ponies were making rocket and minigun runs nearby on suspected enemy positions, we soon heard the Sea Lord slicks’ whump-whump-whump as they neared our position. The first
slick appeared directly over our darkened pit of an LZ and descended low enough for Tu Uy and 2nd Squad to climb aboard.