Master Chief (8 page)

We progressed slowly toward the tombs until we came upon a lean- to and a bunker. There were cooking utensils, a box of radio batteries, and two twenty-round M-16 magazines lying under the lean-to. The bunker was located approximately fifteen meters forward of a well-camouflaged camp. Dai Uy had me shoot two 40mm HEs
at the bunker to liven things up a bit and get everyone’s adrenaline flowing—we had all become a bit weary and needed bracing. Due to the HE rounds’ noisy detonation at a range of only fifteen meters, all hands were totally rejuvenated. Once the dust had settled, the scouts and I went forward to the bunker and threw an M-26 frag grenade inside it.

“No one home,” I told Mr. Fletcher disgustedly.

Dai Uy had us search the immediate area very carefully for the huge cache, while remaining watchful for booby traps. There were no booby traps, however, and no huge cache either. We considered trying to enter the Vietnamese tombs but decided against it because of the potential political consequences and certain wrath from Staff. Before we departed, Lieutenant Fletcher had me crawl into the bunker and leave a 2½-pound M-5 block of C-4 plastic explosive with an eight-minute time fuse as our calling card.

While we were hurriedly patrolling out to the rice paddy, PO3 Waneous teased Barron by pointing to his discarded bandoleer, which was lying in the mud. Barron only smiled and remained silent.

After the C-4 detonated, we had to move into the rice paddy and set up for our H formations for extraction. Doc was then ordered to notify the slicks to extract us. All of us, plus our weapons and gear, were almost totally covered with mud.

Upon our return to the barracks at Dong Tam, over twenty guys and guns headed directly for the roofless, three-spigot, outside shower adjacent to the barracks. The shower area had sides constructed of three sheets of plywood placed end to end, a door at the entrance, and wooden pallets for its floor.

In the midst of the pandemonium and anarchic methods of trying to clean fermenting bodies, untidy weapons,
and entangled gear, Ray, one of our SAS mates, proclaimed, “You bloody blokes can shove this bloody mud up your bloody arses and piss off! We don’t have mud like this at Nui Det, and it’s a bloody good thing. And furthermore …”

Ray’s humorous tirade had everyone in stitches. While he continued his condemnation of the delta’s mud, Chief Bassett was impelled to yell, “We had better hurry up and start the debriefing, sir, if we’re going to have one.”

Dai Uy had already discerned the mood of the rabble and hurriedly replied, “Ray has just completed the debriefing—have at it boys!”

Eberle, who was the epitome of a gaffer, initiated the row by letting go at the down-under guttersnipe with a handful of dunghill mud that was scraped from off his web gear. His aim was perfect, and he hit Ray right on his snot locker (nose). From that point on it was every man for himself until all hands were finally motivated to properly clean up the weapons, gear, and their bodies, in that order, and take the party to the bar.

On the morning of July seventh Bear, Hoan, and I had been tasked to drive to Sam Giang subsector and pick up Tinh and Nghieu, of the Popular Forces, and return to Dong Tam. Tinh and Nghieu were residents of Ba To’s hamlet and were assigned to be our guides for that night’s operation.

At 1230 Dai Uy gave the PLO, followed by all hands gear inspection at 1530. By 1730 we had inserted in the midst of a heavily populated farming area that was near Ap Dong hamlet and approximately two klicks north of Ba To’s hamlet. Tinh, the PF guide, went with Dai Uy’s squad, while Nghieu went with ENS Kleehammer and my squad.

We split up, maintaining visual contact, and quickly searched hootch after hootch, finding only women and
children. Dai Uy and Tu Uy Kleehammer gained valuable experience in command and control of their squads and especially calling in accurate fire support. When we received occasional fire from the VC hidden in the tree lines, Dai Uy or Tu Uy kept the Seawolves busy suppressing the enemy fire with 2.75-inch rockets, 7.62mm M-60 machine gun fire, and minigun fire.

At 1830 Dai Uy called in both of the Sea Lord slicks to extract Kleehammer and half of the guys and return to Dong Tam. The two PFs, Dai Uy, myself, and six others set up a clandestine “stay behind” L ambush between two hootches. Same Tam and I were inside one hootch on the right flank while Dai Uy and others were located near another hootch that was approximately fifty meters away on the left flank. I set out two M-18A1 claymore antipersonnel mines to cover the right flank.

At last light a woman walked toward the hootch in which Same and I were hidden and stopped at about twenty-five meters. She may have seen my claymore mine or noticed me sitting just inside the doorway of the hootch. Regardless, she coolly turned around and slowly returned to where she had come from. Unfortunately, she never got close enough for me to chase her down and capture her. Shortly afterward another woman came from the opposite direction, took a good look, then turned around and left the area.

At 1945 Tinh, a PF guide, spotted a man carrying an AK-47 Russian assault rifle at a range of fifty meters. Tinh opened up full automatic with his M-16 and shot the VC. It was then that Same and I began receiving fire at our end of the L ambush. Those VC women must have done a thorough recon of our positions, I thought. Same rushed out the door and fired his Stoner machine gun toward the muzzle flashes, while I concentrated on firing 40mm HE into their midst.

Shortly afterward, Dai Uy and his crew started receiving fire from left flank. While we continued a steady rate of fire, the Seawolf gunships were called in to wreak havoc on the VC. It was a bit tricky because of the darkness; however, the VC’s positions were easily pinpointed by the green and red tracers—from their AK-47s—which were streaking toward our position. It was very exciting to watch the enemy’s green and red messengers of death rip toward Same and I and hear the pop of the projectiles as they sailed over our heads.

After the Seawolves had suppressed most of the VC fire, Dai Uy had half of our guys extract by the one remaining slick. While the slick was returning to Dong Tam, Dai Uy had me detonate all three claymore mines, then return to his location, where the rest of the men had set up a small five-man defensive H formation in preparation for our extraction. Because it was a very dark night, four of us—the corner men—held strobe lights with blue lens covers high above our heads to mark our positions for the Sea Lord slick to use as a guide for landing safely between us. However, the helo pilot wasn’t able to see the blue strobe-light flashes, so Dai Uy had us use our flashlights to mark the corners, which worked well.

After our extraction and return to Dong Tam, the whole Navy team of SEALs, Seawolves, and Sea Lord pilots and crews debriefed by brainstorming the operation’s insertion and extraction and fire-support procedures. There were always lessons to be learned and SOPs to be adjusted for a new Navy team. We needed flexibility and the willingness to adapt those lessons to future operations. The pilots mentioned to us that at one point we had received fire from 270 degrees, or three points of the compass, but all in all it was a good op—we got two VC KIAs and the Seawolves got five KBAs (killed by air). None of our guys had gotten hurt, and we learned from our
mistakes, I thought as I started replenishing my gear’s ordnance and cleaning my beloved combination weapon before I showered and hit the sack.

The morning of July tenth began with November Platoon making final preparations for a helo insertion and extraction operation that afternoon in Cai Be district. Just before I was to drive to My Tho to pick up a PSB operative to accompany us on the op, Dai Uy decided to call Lieutenant B. at the SpecWar Det office in Binh Thuy. Lieutenant Fletcher wanted to confirm his arrangements for Sea Lord and Seawolf helos and OV-10 Black Pony support for the day’s op. However, Lieutenant B. told him that November Platoon wouldn’t be going on an op because Fletcher had to be at Binh Thuy no later than 1300 for a meeting with the commodore of CTF 116.

Lieutenant Fletcher was pissed, and rightly so. He had to hurriedly notify HAL-3 and VAL-4 at Binh Thuy, Dinh Tuong sector and subsector TOCs, and our PSB counterparts in My Tho, that the operation had been cancelled. And, to add insult to injury, Dai Uy had to arrange a flight to Binh Thuy in time for the meeting with the commodore. I had begun to understand the difference between administrators and operators. I was later to learn that it was mainly a matter of power—true power was held by the administrators. They controlled the agendas but never had to operate!

At Dai Uy’s meeting at Binh Thuy, he learned that the commodore only wanted to discuss the SEAL platoon messages called UNODIR—unless otherwise directed. Lieutenant Fletcher explained to Lieutenant B. and the commodore the procedures for sending UNODIR messages during SEAL platoon operations. It was disgusting that November Platoon’s op had been halted for such a frivolous meeting.

July eleventh, on the other hand, was a fruitful day for
November Platoon. Waneous, our expert vehicle thief, managed to steal a good 2½-ton Army truck at Tan Son Nhut Air Base by hot-wiring the switch. From that point on, we didn’t have any problems hauling Chief Bassett’s cumshaw gear from Saigon to Dong Tam. Chief Bassett managed to get sheets of plywood, wiring, refrigerated air conditioners, refrigerators, steaks, and booze, among other things.

Later that day, we gave our old jeep to our three Vietnamese Kit Carson scouts and two interpreters. The five of them were tickled to death and promptly headed to My Tho on liberty with their prized possession. After their glorious entry into town, the jeep’s rear end suddenly went out. The only way they could get the temperamental beast to move was to engage the front axle by placing it in four-wheel drive. Much to our amusement, the jeep would only move in reverse and at a very slow pace. Our scouts had a long, humbling ride back to Dong Tam.

On the morning of July twelfth, November Platoon was preparing for another operation with Navy Seawolves, Sea Lord slicks, and Black Pony OV-10s that afternoon. We had good, hard operational intelligence information from the Cai Lay district PSB subsection chief Muoi—not the Provincial National Police chief Muoi in My Tho—that a VC District Military Proselytizing Section chief’s home was located in the village of Tan Hoi approximately four klicks north of highway QL-4. There were reports that units of the VC 269B Main Force Infantry Battalion were also located in the nearby tree line. Chief Muoi and another of his operatives were to be our guides.

Dai Uy had given all hands the warning order that morning, followed by his PLO at 1600, inspection at 1630, and rehearsal until 1745. The basic idea was that the slicks would swoop in side by side at treetop level,
flare the two helo slicks near the hootches, and hover six feet from the ground. Each SEAL squad was to exit the helos, Dai Uy’s 1st Squad taking right flank and ENS Kleehammer’s 2nd Squad taking the left flank. One fire team from each squad was to set up skirmish lines while the other two Are teams assaulted the hootches immediately after insertion—John Wayne style. The Seawolves and Black Ponies would take care of the enemy fire from the tree line.

At approximately 1830 our slicks popped up over the tree line and hovered near the targeted hootches long enough for both squads to jump from the helos. Our setup and assault went as planned. The nearest huts were quickly searched, with negative results.

Shortly afterward, Lieutenant Fletcher was notified by the helo pilots that they had inadvertently inserted us in the wrong location. Dai Uy immediately had us extracted and inserted near our targets, but there wasn’t a man in the area—only women and children. We had begun to learn that the VC/NVA had a variety of ingenious escape routes and techniques to evade surprise helo ground-troop assaults. In spite of our best efforts, we were forced to extract empty-handed and return to Dong Tam for the debriefing.

Our primary problem was that we needed timely guidance and direction from above. For tactical reasons, our Sea Lord slicks were forced to skim the treetops at a good rate of speed to ensure surprise. This SOP was based on several requirements: low visibility, especially when there were several helos; reduction of the Huey rotor’s unique whump-whump-whump sound (the trees and vegetation absorbed much of the helo’s noise); security from enemy ground fire; and once seen by the enemy, speed to the insertion point. We then defined what was needed: an aircraft on station at a much higher elevation,
good communications with the helos and ground troops, and most important, natural placement and access—that is, aircraft that wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion from VC/NVA units on the ground prior to our insertion. The solution was obvious—we would utilize the Forward Air Controller pilot. The Army’s FAC pilots usually flew the Cessna O-1 fixed-wing observation plane in the delta.

“That’s a great idea, Dai Uy!” I exclaimed. “All the FAC pilot would have to do is vector the slicks on specific avenues to the target/insertion point by radio.”

Then Mr. Kleehammer opined, “All you have to do, Jerry, is coordinate with the Army and convince them of our need for a FAC pilot and aircraft for all of our helo ops.”

“That’s true,” Dai Uy replied. “I’ve got to somehow get the time to visit several Army units and work out the details with them.” Fletcher took a deep breath, looked at his Rolex watch, grinned, and yelled, “It’s time for a beer! I’ll buy the first round for everybody. Hoo-Yah!”

On the morning of July thirteenth I spent several hours cleaning and repairing a rusty 7.62mm M-60 machine gun that SEAL Team 2’s 8th Platoon had left behind. I had decided to give it to Ba To. It was to be his hamlet’s only machine gun. Shortly afterward, Dai Uy gave the platoon a warning order for a helo op the following morning. Cai Lay district’s Vietnamese ARVN S-2, a trung uy, or first lieutenant, and six of his men were to combine forces with November Platoon to assault two enemy-bunkered hootches. There were supposedly more than fifteen VC in the immediate area. The Vietnamese trung uy told Dai Uy that we were to take no prisoners—we were to exit the helos with all guns a-blazin’ and blow holes into the bunkers with M-72 LAAWs. It certainly sounded like fun.