Chapter 7 Shaping Up

    I remember being driven through the gates of a compound where we were reunited with our individual platoons and squads after being ordered to stay behind and fight the war without them. I believe the name of our destination was a place named Phuoc Vinh. The compound where the mechanized unit dropped us off was completely walled in by at least twelve foot high buildings on all sides, which looked a little like a modern day parking garage structure. The growing depression which I had been experiencing started lifting as soon as we entered the gates and I was made made aware of some very welcomed changes which had occurred in by brief absence. The first uplifting surprise hit me square in the face as soon as I jumped off the idling clickety-clack APC which I had been riding on top of. Walker met me before I had walked 10 feet with the news that every one of the "ole guys" in our squad were gone for good, including Sgt. Rook. A crop of new faces quietly stared at me as I joined my squad. Thinking back, I realize that it is a real shame that I did not assertively greet each one of them in a more forthright way but that's how self centeredness fuels low self esteem to make one withdraw from others. I automatically dehumanized them without being aware of what I was doing. Only the Holy Spirit is capable of showing us how messed up living like that can be. Yet, I had no problem bathing in the demonic joy which was saying "good riddance" to those "ole guys" who offended me, and who had now left for good.

     In Rook's place, there was a five foot nine, sandy haired, blue eyed E-6 with a pleasant smile on his face. His name was Sgt. Bartee from Roanoke Virginia, which was just a few miles down the road from my Grandfather's farm. Also, in the twinkling of an eye, Walker and I had now become the oldest guys in the squad for time served in country. Our squad leader, Sgt. Bartee, unlike Sgt. Rook, was brand new to combat. This fact instantly elevated Walker and I to a position of respect with him which would never have happened as long as Sgt. Rook remained squad leader. Beyond that, we would soon learn that Bartee just naturally had a much more easy going way about him, then did Sgt. Rook. I instantly liked him and I never liked Sgt. Rook as the reader may have guessed by now. There was also hot meals prepared by "Tiny", himself, and make no mistake, our cooks were highly respected by us grunts in the 1/18th Infantry Battalion. There were showers and clean clothes to boot so let the good times roll.

    During this down time, it didn’t take very long at all for Sgt. Bartee and Bill to “buddy up” to one another. They had three things in common which helped speed up that bonding process. They were both about the same age. They both loved alcohol and they also loved "pot". Because they had these three things in common I suppose it was only natural for Bartee and Milliron to hit it off right away, but the friendliness between them was extended to the rest of the squad too so I don’t think any of us saw this as anything other than a good thing. Another one of the new guys, from Kentucky named Glen Bowman was quiet and stuck close to me at first but after a couple days at this compound he started really warming up to the gregarious Milliron. So did everyone else in the squad, including me. Glen was my age. He was every bit as withdrawn as me but with one exception. When the affable Milliron would say something pleasant about his home town of Santa Barbara or his wife, or his family, Glen would break out in an easy going smile. Now, a smile makes all the difference in the world, but it would take years for me to realize that simple fact. I never smiled. It wasn’t because I didn’t feel like smiling sometimes. In my case, not smiling had a lot to do with having extremely crooked teeth and I was very ashamed of the way they made me look when I did smile. Little did I know that not smiling sometimes made people feel uneasy around me. Smiles are important and can have a powerful calming effect on others around us if used properly. They should never be used in a sneering or mocking way.

    For Glen and me there seemed to be nothing to do while staying in this place but eat and sleep. Bill and Bartee were more adventurous. On the second day they disappeared from the squad area for quite a while. When they returned, they had goofy smiles on their faces which I can see in my mind’s eye to this very day. Bill walked over to where I was sitting and laid down in the dirt beside me and then rolled over on his back. During our time together this would become his signature move after returning from each of his little forays into sin. He seemed especially drawn to me for some reason. Most guys his age projected a critical attitude toward guys my age, expecting them to forever be proving themselves, but that aggravating characteristic was missing with Bill. The entire time that I was with him in the squad, he always had a calm easy going demeanor around everyone. Although he would become known as the “ole man” to the rest of us, he never let his naturally more mature 26 year old mind come between him and the rest of the squad. Many times in these relationships, the older guy would use their greater degree of life experience to try to control younger guys. Bill didn't do that, unless you count winning at poker. He did seem to win a lot. Yes, everyone liked Bill, including Bartee. Because I liked him, it was somewhat enjoyable for me to listen to him as he kept rambling on non-stop about “little or nothing”. While Bill rambled, Bartee stood beside us looking a little zombiefied. As he stared off into space, I noticed he had that same goofy look that Bill had on his face. Then, without saying a word he turned and walked toward his RTO leaving Bill still lying beside me on his back while Bowman continued to sit quietly on my other side. I had been around drunks before but this was different. A little later Bill explained to me what "whacky tobacco" was. He may have shown me his supply at some point.  I can’t remember. Bill, I believe, was the first person ever to roll one in front of me. I wonder now if he realized how bad I considered that habit to be. I saw it as a human weakness, not for any moral reason, but from the perspective of a perfectionist, who wanted nothing to do with something which would weaken my body or impair my judgment. I thought it very strange that many of these men were willing to do harm to their bodies by getting drunk and high on pot. I never considered smoking a single cigarette much less smoking pot. However, in a crazy way it did raise my self-esteem just a notch by being around so many others who did smoke and drink. Why? Because self loathing is a horrible sin which actually is soothed when its victim can be in the company of those who have human flaws, which the victim does not have, themselves. During these down times I found myself occupying my spare time day dreaming about my family and friends back home and about finding the right girl and finishing college. I had no idea that I would be in my mid-forties when I found the right girl and I would never finish college.

     More than any other American war in the past, the great lie formed in the minds of many Vietnam veterans was that they did not fight for a righteous cause. That is a "bald faced lie" straight from the "pits of hell" but never-the-less that is what was believed then and now by many. The truth is this. Young Americans were commanded by the elected leaders of a free nation to go to war against one of the most diabolical ideologies ever dreamed up by Satan, which is the ideology of communism. Never mind what the ulterior motives were for some of these leaders.  All Americans who served in the fires of the Vietnam War fought against this very evil tyranny. We lost that war not because we fought for an unrighteous cause, but because our leaders made wrong choices, one of which was whether we should have ever gone to war in the first place.

    To be completely successful for the long term, any righteous national cause must be conducted by a leadership which is righteous. By the way, "Righteous" simply means having a right relationship with God and it is not that hard to become righteous. Actually, at birth every human being is in right standing with God until the instant that they are cognitively mature enough to chose to reject or except the calling of The Holy Spirit to believe on Jesus Christ. (Rom 10:9) (2 Ti. 1:9). Some people living on the American Continent before Europeans arrived called Him "The Great White Spirit" Why? Because they had heard that beckoning inter voice of The Holy Spirit calling them to Christ and then chosen to believe what that voice was saying. By believing, centuries before Europeans arrived, these few human beings acknowledged Him to be "Lord of all", instantly becoming "born of the spirit" and my brothers and sisters throughout eternity. God already knows who will confess the truth, deny the truth or stall for more time. Jesus Christ is Lord of all whether we humans confess that truth about Him or not. However, when we willfully reject it, we blaspheme the Holy Spirit. That is the most serious offense against God that can ever be committed. Many of our leaders during the Vietnam era had "flat out" blasphemed The Holy Spirit by denying this truth. (Mark: 3:29) Many more of our leaders today are following this same very destructive path. The Holy Spirit will never bother to show us the next successful step in life's progression, until we confess this foundational truth first. On this foundation our soul (mind, will, emotions) is then able to build a successful future which will become an eternal legacy. Many times those who refuse to take that first step can stay the same or even seemingly improve their situation. They may also help many others improve their situation, but only for a relatively short while. Only by following the leading of the Holy Spirit does life actually get better here on earth in a lasting way. With leaders, not only does the flagrant violation of this godly principle eventually lead to a personal disaster but it also becomes a catastrophe for those who are following them. What I have just described is a universal principle laid down by God which cannot be circumvented. Only the Holy Spirit can show a nation's leaders the path to victory over evil. Here is another little twist to think about. When we try to stand against evil in our own power, we will not only loose, but we will also become just a different version of the same evil that we are trying to conquer. Thus evil conquers us. We saw that happen in Vietnam just as we are seeing it happen today. Here is one last thought. No battle we humans fight here on this earth is purely physical or purely spiritual for that matter but the spiritual part of the battle must be fought first by obeying God before the understanding will come to know what course to take in the natural. When that simple rule is followed a supernatural power goes before us to fight for us as individuals and also as leaders. People who chose to walk this way always win in the end. The Holy Spirit already knew that our leaders were not going to listen to Him concerning the Vietnam situation. He knew before the earth was created that America would loose that war because her leaders were going to reject His help. He also knew something else. He knew that the vast majority of the American public would not seek His wisdom when choosing their leaders in the future. He had already planned for that eventuality in Vietnam as well as for the future crisis which is engulfing our nation today.        

     The phrase, "Hurry up and wait" was used a lot in the Army. We did a lot of that in Vietnam. Looking back now I realize that while we waited in this compound, big wheels were being put into motion at division headquarters. However, we were just the tread on the tires. When things were put in gear, we would “hit the ground running” but as treads on a tire, we would only get a "tread's eye view" of the operation, which we would become involved in executing. We were the very embodiment of the well worn phrase, "where the rubber meets the road". From that vantage point we never got to see what the wheel really looked like, much less the rest of the car. To gain insight into the bigger picture I would have to wait almost a half century for something called the internet to be invented. But what many of us newly minted veterans did see, all too clearly, was how little our leadership was willing to use common sense, when implementing tactical maneuvers against the enemy. Actually, the way we were forced to do stupid things over and over, from a tactical standpoint, not only made no sense but bordered on insanity. Never mind getting into choosing the right strategies for winning the entire war. It was obvious, to most of us grunts who had been there any length of time, that it would take an absolute miracle for most of us to come out of this thing in one piece, with our present leadership. Still, we were expected to get down to business. However, as Operation Junction City started, my unit sat it out, pulling security and running local patrols around Phuoc Vinh and Lai Khe areas. A trickle of naive new guys would continue to come through, but one thing was "for sure". Now, as long as I was in the squad, at nineteen, I would still be the oldest guy there, in terms of combat experience until I wasn't there any longer. Yet, I knew next to nothing about how to survive the deadly situations we were were "fixing" to get ourselves into. And I knew even less than nothing about becoming a role model for the rest of my squad.

     As the mood of the entire squad started changing for the better, Walker and I were now in a position to set the tone. Though I didn't realize it at the time, that tone ushered in an entirely new level of respect between squad members, which had not existed before. When I had first showed up, there had existed just too much of a gap between the old veterans and us new guys. These "ole guys" had seen just too much combat while us new guys had witnessed nothing more than a scuffle at the local hamburger joint on Saturday night. Individual personality clashes were also involved in the mix, especially with Sergeant Rock. Just the simple respect that one human being should have for another was completely missing in the squad for a long time after I got there. Now, a new Platoon leader, a West Point graduate, was taking over our third platoon. Though new to combat, it was easy to sense the respect he had for us as opposed to every other officer whom I had met thus far. He actually talked to us like we were human beings. Unfortunately, he was only with us two weeks before taking over our unit's long range reconnaissance patrol (LRRP) platoon but I can remember him being instantly liked and respected by almost the entire platoon, including our sergeants. The demeanors of our NCO's also changed remarkably for the better during this time. They seemed less on edge as they passed down routine orders. For the first time the new Lieutenant addressed the entire platoon with a very upbeat pip talk. For the first time, since I joined the unit, the grinding in my stomach seemed to be going away. Everyone else in the squad was feeling good too. To top things off, the older draftee, named Bill Milliron from Santa Barbara, California was doing more and more to make my job easier on point. I began to trust him him while leading patrols to hold the compass and keep us on the correct azimuth. This completely freed my hands and more importantly my eyes to constantly scan the jungle in front of us for movement. I didn't see his pot smoking in the rear as a problem. He just had a certain way about him which made me like and more importantly trust him. Maybe it had something to do with him being 26 and way ahead of the rest of us nineteen year olds in his ability to manipulate his circumstances to favor himself instead of the Army. I soon learned that the wheels were always turning in Bill’s head even when the rest of us were knapping. It really was quite amazing how morale in the unit could turn on a dime and Bill did a lot to get that turned around in our squad. It was too bad for me that he would not always be there.

    Not only was everyone, including me, liking the personnel changes, but we also liked the hot food, showers and clean clothes. The showers were rigged under some hastily installed water tanks made from bomb shells. We also got sundry supplies and letters and packages from home. I got an applesauce cake from my mother. The next operation, “Operation Junction City”, would last from February 22nd until May 14th so the showers and clothes would have to last us almost three months once we were moved up north near the Cambodian border but that wouldn't happen until March 13Th. "Junction City" would go down in history as the largest ground operation of the war. The Communist spies in Saigon already knew a lot about it before it ever got off the ground. For now, however, clean clothes, hot meals and being flown back and forth between operation areas around Lai Khe and Phuoc Vinh was pretty nice. Actually it was as good as it could get for any battalion in the First Infantry Division during "Junction City".  

     In a short a time, the village of Phuoc Vinh, itself, would fade into the distance behind us, as the entire battalion marched out one day in late February with our new recruits on their first operation of the war. The regiments of the enemy's 9th Division were further north in War Zone C. I realize now, after studying some very detailed, declassified "after action reports" that the operation had us facing a much more deadly enemy than I realized at the time. My battalion stayed on operations around Phuoc Vinh during the entire first phase of the operation (Feb. 22 thru Mar. 4). It was during this period that we picked up the new recruits. I also believe it was possible that we were assigned to this backwater of the operation because our Battalion commander was not as well thought of as some of the others. Its unclear weather he stepped down voluntarily during this time or was made to step down and replaced after serving in that position for only a little over two months. All in all there were almost 30,000 allied troops involved in this operation. We faced a total force of over 73,000 enemy troops. The sought after grand prize of the operation was the capture of COSVN leadership known to be hidden deep within War Zone C, somewhere between us and the horse shoe of blocking forces in the North which was over 50 miles away.

    On March 10th, our division commander, General DePuy, was replaced by General Hay. we also got our new commander around this same time although I don't know the exact date. Depuy's support people at division headquarters did not like the change one little bit I am told. Most grunts had high regard for a general who possessed the hard charging and innovative fighting traits of Depuy but Hay would prove to be just the opposite, making routine, "by the book" procedures set in place by DePuy the "law of the land" so to speak which led field commanders to repeat the same "ole tactics over and over" for the enemy to be able to read and form successful counter measures against. The "ole guys" who came before me, bragged on DePuy a lot while they were there. I never heard anyone say one good thing about Hay. This grapevine chatter sets the mode toward leadership for any organization. Yes, its safe to say, that almost all the fighting men of the First Division loved their General DePuy. Truth is, the average draftee knew next to nothing concrete about the politics behind higher command positions. All we wanted was a chance at making it home alive and in one piece, just a chance, that's all. Most of us also wanted to perform the duties assigned to us successfully. If that involved killing the enemy than so be it. If the average grunt could do his job and not kill anyone then that was okay too. It seemed like our General Depuy had added to our chances of accomplishing both these goals. Therefore, he was well respected by everyone I heard making comments about him. I can't say the same for our new General Hay. As a matter of fact, I never knew his name until I did the research for this book. I will say this. Many of the battalions in the First Division were in a flux for the rest of the year, while I was there, and while Hay was in command. I was never in any type of command position, but just from a common sense standpoint, looking back now, removing a commander like DePuy, just as we were starting the biggest operation of the war thus far, didn't seem like the brightest idea. Nevertheless, that's what happened and for all intents and purposes the operation was a failure. Are those two things connected? Who knows?   

     Moving on with my story, our unit left Phuoc Vinh, our battalion snaked out single file through a populated area of tin huts, backyard gardens and dirt streets. There were civilians surrounding us everywhere we looked. Then the terrain opened up into vast rice fields and the area became much more sparsely populated. Sergeant Bartee and his RTO just naturally settled in about ten meters behind me. Then came the rest of the squad with the machine gunner pulling up the rear. We kept walking, walking and digging in, and sending out patrols. I ran point for squad sized patrol after patrol,  and even some night time company sized movements. One night we were moving forward in at least a company sized night movement, maybe larger, with me at point, and walking parallel to a section of what I now believe was Highway 13 (Thunder Road) when I ran upon an ARVIN (South Vietnam Government Forces) sand bagged machine gun position. It was a pitch black night and Its a wonder, that they didn't open up on us and ask questions later. Of course I froze when the occupants of the position raised their voices, although I had no idea what they were saying, because it was in Vietnamese. I just stood there, silent, with my weapon lowered, waiting to feel the impact of the machine gun's bullets going through my torso. Maybe the RTO behind me said something, or maybe it was our platoon Sergeant who was just a few paces behind him. Who ever spoke up, in English, probably saved my life. From out of nowhere, the company commander appeared, shining a bright lensed flashlight into his own eyes and repeating over and over that we were Americans and don't shoot. He brushed my right shoulder, as he went around me and instantly, without being told, I dropped to the ground to hide from the light, doing a barrel role to the left. When I stopped rolling I was shrouded in complete darkness again, lying in the prone firing position and taking aim on the machine gun, itself, instead of the man behind it. I reasoned that the best course of action would be to shoot the very second the machine gunner shot the captain holding the light. My return fire would hopefully render that machine gun inoperable and then I would worry about what would come next as things developed. I believe the captain's name was Brown. Anyway, the captain, whoever he was, continued shining the bright lensed flashlight into his own face and still continued repeating that he was an American. Those few seconds seemed like an eternity and were the second most uncomfortable time of my entire Vietnam experience. There was "uncomfortable" and there was "terrifying". This was "uncomfortable". I will tell the reader about the other most uncomfortable time, later.  While I was preparing myself to take out the machine gun at the very instant it fired, I had to also deal with another sickening feeling. I couldn't shoot before they shot, which meant they would surely kill my company commander, and I could think of no way to prevent that from happening. Thankfully, tensions suddenly just melted away. The machine gunner stood up and waved us on by.                  

    Fortunately Almost every one of these new guys in my platoon had a good attitude and as a general rule the guys who had now been there longer, like me, had not been tainted by enough violence, ourselves, to ruin the the good attitude of these new troops. I forgot the names of those "ole guys" who had now left as soon as they boarded a chopper to leave and I am sure they did the same by me. My squad was now free to shape our own squad tactics with the focus on making sure we had a better chance of returning from our patrols alive and in one piece, while still  accomplishing our missions. These new guys looked up to us for the most part and in return we didn’t look down on them because, like I said, we were still new enough, ourselves, to identify with their situation. Actually, as the aggravation of being shot at by sappers increased in the coming days and the random mortar attacks also increased on our NDP positions at night, our entire company and even the battalion “sort of” made the adjustment into becoming seasoned combat veterans together. Today, when I hear someone use the phrase “male bonding” its a very different picture which pops into my mind than for most folks. As I have already said, I did not see God's hand in any of this until years later. That happens a lot with many Christians. God recues us and things settle down and start looking up and then we turn to our own understanding again until the next problem presents itself. In my case it was worse than that because I didn't include God in on anything that I was doing and that was my biggest problem though it would take years for me to realize that. But for now, things were beginning to shape up as good as could be expected, considering my mindset, where I was, and what we were doing.

    My job in the squad as point man came about just before Rook left but I cannot remember the details of how that happened. Did I volunteer or was I ordered to walk point? I don't think that I was ordered to do so. Typically, "walking point" was not a job that a squad member was usually ordered to perform. However, I do remember working with a dark-skinned, tall, lanky Southerner, who was ordered to train with me on that upfront position for a short while, before Rook left. His name was Earl Dingle and Earl soon let me and everyone else know, who would listen, that he did not feel comfortable at all in that position. He was really quite open and honest about expressing his feelings on this matter. Since he was so honest about it, and was also such a good soldier, most of the guys in my squad agreed, including me, that he should not be made to "walk point. The "powers to be" soon relented and did not make him stay in that position for long. Later that summer I believe Earl was transferred to the newly formed D Company to help bring some combat experience to a bunch of very "green" troops. Earl would not  have been transferred into this new unit if he had not been perceived as a good 'combat role model" nor would he have been promoted to the rank of SP4 so early into his tour of duty. He was well on his way to being promoted to Buck Sergeant within the year while I still remained a private, although I should have been promoted to that position by the time Earl arrived in country. My memory of Earl makes me realize that there were no "hard and fast" rules about who walked point and who didn't, but generally people like me with backwoods experience wanted to do it and people like Earl didn't. Those that didn't, were generally not made to walk point unless they had a Sergeant like Sergeant Rook. There are always exceptions to everything in life and that's all I have to say about that. 

    Walking Point was unforgivingly dangerous. It was also very tedious. One of the reasons it was so dangerous was obvious. The point man was usually the first man to come in contact with the enemy because he was usually first in line. The major reason the job was so tedious was because a point man had to keep an accurate pace count to know exactly where he was located at all times. It was very easy to get lost in the jungle terrain. One clump of bamboo looked just like any other and there were many obstacles which had to be skirted, which "threw off" the accuracy of the pace count. The stress could be overwhelming for almost anyone trying to navigate through this thick mess. If I got lost then so would everyone else following me. Keeping on course was important for several other reasons too. For one, artillery gunners needed to know our exact location when providing artillery support for our patrol. If a patrol got off course, the patrol would sometimes call in a “spotter round” usually fired from their mortar platoon. The "point man" would then judge the distance and direction of the sound of the impact from his own position when the shell exploded. This could give an experienced "point man" a very good idea of their own location. But the enemy might be listening too, and doing a little judging of his own. For example, calling in a random artillery round in a quiet area would almost certainly alert any nearby enemy patrol that something was up. Their sapper teams were extremely skilled at reading our movements, and would quickly set up ambushes on us. Calling in a spotter round could help give away our presence in the area. Since I was extremely good at never getting lost, my patrols rarely had to call in spotter rounds in the first place, which just made things much safer "all the way around". Noise control was another thing which needed to be observed on a patrol. While moving through the Virginia woods back home, my dad had taught me that it was a "sin " to make noise while walking through the woods, whether I was hunting or not. Quietly navigating through thickets and briar patches was something I learned to do early on. Actually, my father showed me the techniques needed, to become a ghost, and now my squad was following my example and learning how to become ghosts, themselves. A machete was not our friend and I never used one. Chopping away at the jungle around us made a huge amount of life threatening noise, which would not only give away our exact location but also the direction which we were traveling. the enemy was very was very skilled at ensnaring noisy patrols on the move. 

    Simply put, "walking point" and surviving as long as I did, without loosing a single man, not only required extremely honed woodsman skills, but it also required focus. I was able to stay extremely focused on the task at hand. That may be another reason why I didn't hear much of anything that was said on the radio. I was just too busy "hunting" to listen. Quite frankly, "normal people" didn't make great "point men". One of the greatest point men in our unit, Tom Mercer, said it best when he said, "Point men were a special breed who were a little crazy but smart". Some were inexplicably mesmerized by the prospect of "walking point" and I was one of those few but that didn't make me a good point man. Pat McLaughlin was another who was mesmerized by that position. He volunteered to "walk point" on his last day in the field. This was proof that Pat was mesmerized by it, but personally, from the things I learned about him in the book, "Dogface Charlie" I doubt he was exceptional at walking point. Why? Because he has told me enough about himself, in the book for me to conclude beyond a reasonable doubt that he didn't have the crazy part " nailed down". For me, the act of "walking point", itself, seemed to over shadow these crazy negative thoughts which kept me from fitting in with others. My mind cleared up, and like Tom said, "It was all business". The only tools we had was a compass and a map. If a "point man" could read a compass and count paces correctly he would never get lost. Again, my father had taught me this stuff when I was a kid. He would send me out, by myself, before dawn, in the dark Virginia woods to get to a certain spot in those dark woods, "in hopes" of ambushing a buck at dawn. By the time my father died, I had not come to my senses enough to thank him for those valuable lessons he taught me. Now, years later, there is no doubt in my mind that they contributed greatly in saving my life, and the lives of my squad. My father committed some terrible wrongs to his family, but the irony is this. I wouldn't be around now to remember those wrongs if he had not taught me these woodman skills as a young teenager. Christian, go think on that for a while before you hold on to grudges against anyone.

   It soon became completely obvious to everyone in the squad that the word "point man" and 'Private Wade" were synonyms, but what also became obvious was that every other guy in the squad was also a synonym for the job that they did. I am sure Sgt. Bartee had no idea that he was being blessed with one of the finest squads in the division when it came to getting the job done and coming home alive. Blind Rook, as far as I know had left without saying goodbye to anyone which shows how much he valued us. There is an underlying reason why leaders at all levels place little value on the people they lead. Its called "low self esteem". If one puts a low value on himself, than it is impossible to put much value on the humanity of others. Pride hides this human flaw. If we were the almost perfect squad for Bartee to inherit then Bartee was the almost perfect Sergeant for us. After so many months of one heart breaking disappoint after another, it soon became clear that Bartee was going to bring along with him a clean slate. It became readily apparent that he was also going to treat us, as fellow human beings. This most welcomed characteristic in him was immediately felt by the squad, and was invaluable in saving our lives multiple times, during the next few months. Treating us with respect, if not as equals in rank, meant that he readily listened to our input and he had no problem going along with that input as long as it sounded plausible. The best squad members in the world was of little value if its squad leader second guessed everything they did. Until I left the squad the following September, except for Milliron, these guys in my squad missed only five days from their squad duties and that was to take a mandatory R & R.

    Sergeant Bartee was with me for that entire time and I can remember only one incident where he second guessed me or anyone else for that matter. Looking back, I believe my squad would have been hard pressed to find a better Sergeant than Bartee to lead our squad through those upcoming months. Bartee was the right man for the job at the right time. He wasn't a tactical genius, or even the most emotionally solid personality, but he listened to input from every man in the squad, especially the guys who had been there longer. With us "ole guys" in agreement, he would then repeat the details of a plan to the entire squad, as we huddled around him. Some of us veterans would shake our heads in unison at every important point that he made which added a silent exclamation point to reinforce the most important parts of our plan. The terrain would be a little different. The weather would change. The type and amount of enemy activity would vary. The number of patrols and amount of movements requiring "digging in" increased, but Bartee stayed the same. Unlike so many other "lifer sergeants" he never took his stresses out on the squad. The number of civilians in the area made a huge difference in the way we operated. We couldn't just pop off rounds to test a weapon anytime we felt like doing so when surrounded by a civilian population . In these populated areas, watching our six at all times, while having young children following us, begging, and trying to sell us anything from dope to cold cokes was a real distraction. Just before I arrived in Vietnam a member of my squad, who had only a few days of his tour left, volunteered to keep an eye on a young man standing by a rubber tree just a few yards away, as the squad patrol passed by. The soldier turned his head away for just a second and the man standing by the tree picked up a carbine lying hidden in the grass and shot him dead. Yes, running patrols in and around villages in heavily populated areas fueled a lingering low grade stress all its own, especially for the man leading the patrol because he had to not only watch his men but the civilian activities developing around him. None of these stresses caused Bartee to flare up and loose his cool like it did with some of the other N.C.O.'s. One of the most important things to get "nailed down" in everyone's mind was how to respond, if we made contact with the enemy. As the reader might imagine, using our fire arms was not always the best first response. On ambush patrols, some times a grenade or a "thump gun" or a claymore mine was our best friend. Laying low and doing nothing until the danger pasted was another great option. The enemy used the jungle to his advantage. Why couldn't we do the same? Bartee was completely in sync with this mindset. Yes, with this little group of men, which I now know God had arranged to be part of my life, we had a chance to make it home alive and in one piece. However, that chance would have been squandered if we had not had the right squad leader. Bartee was that man even if he did smoke a little too much dope when he came off a mission.            

    With what may have sounded like a "rose colored glasses" review of my squad in Vietnam, the reader may be a little shocked at what I am about to say next. Although I was really good at what I did and had unknowingly trained for this very moment since I was 7 years old, deep within my subconscious mind, I had the mindset of a real looser. When one thinks in the way I had been taught to think by my tormenters from the time I was born, becoming a looser was the only outcome for anything I would ever do in life and walking point was no different. Trapped within this demonic mindset, it is impossible to give one's self any credit for anything done right. However, as crazy as it may sound, actually performing the act of walking point, itself, smoothed out the troubled waters of my extremely critical mind and temporarily stilled many of my bad thoughts which “second guessed” almost everything I did in life. While I was actually walking point, those thoughts in that moment went away and my mind had relative peace. The actual act of walking point gave me a sense of freedom like I had never experienced before. What I am saying here is a very sad admission about a very insecure and emotionally fragile human being. The sense of being in control while walking point was false, but my disturbed mind had no way of knowing that? There was also an inexplicable feeling of relief which came with being in front and having to deal with only one of the many personalities following along behind me. That person was Sergeant Bartee. Back then, I was living my life mostly by how I felt in the moment and it was just a matter of time before listening to those feelings would get me and everyone else in my squad killed and that included sergeant Bartee.

    The “Junction City Operation” lasted for almost three months and at the end of it I would be wearing the same clothes I had worn when my battalion was air lifted from Lai Khe to Quan Loi on the 13th of March. Near the end of the operation I was having to lace up a large tear in the right leg of my pants with como wire. The tear went from my groin to my knee. Seven men in the unit lost their lives during this operation but that was an unusually low count compared to what we had been experiencing before our new commander showed up. Actually, two of those seven men were killed in accidents and another was murdered while away from the unit in a province far to the north, where our unit never operated. One of the most decisive life-saving actions that our new commander did was to make us start digging in, chest high, as soon as we paused our marches. Sometimes that meant digging in twice in one day. It was a lot of hard work but it saved lives. Guys that slept in hammocks were ordered to get rid of them and sleep on the ground with the rest of us.

    While still in the south, close to Lai Khe, we moved into areas covered in larger expanses of thick jungle growth, the enemy would sometimes mortar our night defensive positions with a few rounds. This happened so often that after a while hardly anyone became rattled by it. Our defenses protected us. Actually this enemy action worked to strengthen our combat resolve. While in our various NDP’s, after marching all day, it was rare for a night to go by without having one of our ambush patrols make contact with bands of roving sappers. Sappers would sneak in close to our listening posts in front of our NDP and try to turn our claymore mines around on us or set up their own claymores and then wait until dawn for some hapless soul to wander too close while looking for a place to do his business. When a successful ambush patrol returned in the mornings, it was easy for me to recognize those with "blood lust" glowing bright in their eyes. They were always the ones who savored every opportunity to describe the gory details of that night’s kill to anyone who would listen. Of course I didn’t understand anything about spiritual discernment or what I was sensing in the souls of these men until years later after receiving deliverance from my demonic tormentors. At this time in my young demonic life, I eagerly listened to them recount their blood letting adventures. Oh, how I listened, and oh how my demonically influenced soul longed for just a little taste of that blood letting, myself, oblivious to the fact that blood letting just naturally begets the shedding of one's own blood sooner or later, if not delivered from the devil's clutches. Yet, time after time my ambush patrols would come up empty. It is obvious to me now, that The Holy Spirit was doing His part to prevent the reinforcing of this “blood lust” mindset in my soul. Many soldiers, if not most, who served with me killed only because they had to, but infectious “blood lust” causes one to kill because he "wants to". Sadly, I had the cowardly mindset of the latter.

    While we were on squad sized daytime patrols, we would sometimes receive a few incoming rounds from sapper teams, hoping we would return fire and give away our exact location. A sapper team ranged in size from 3 to 15 people. These Sapper teams were the enemy's more trusted, and more skilled jungle fighters.  They were composed of  "true believers" who had usually started out as brutally treated young conscripts. Many of them had been ripped from their families, as young impressionable teenagers. After years of abuse, some of these conscripts completely succumb to the demonic indoctrination of the Communist ideology. It was a cruel indoctrination, reinforced by the horrors they experienced in the torchure and killing of other human beings, which were mostly Vietnamese outside and even inside their own ranks. Yes, sappers were "Stockholm Syndrome" victims on steroids and the only factor deciding their term of service was victory for their slaveholders or their own death. Some of those few who did survive until the end of the war spent over 10 years in this living hell on earth. Many north Vietnamese families never saw their 14 or 15 year old child ever again after that day they were taken away by the government. There was no such thing as home leaves for these hapless souls during their military service as there was for democratic republics where the people could choose their leaders in free and honest elections. Their last memory of their son's and daughters was the scene of a couple communist soldiers dragging them from their home to a waiting truck, were they would many times be shackled to an iron railing on the side of that truck during transport. They were then carted off to detention centers, to have their young minds systematically broken for life. No creative personality like a Bill Gates or Steve Jobs or Michael Dell would ever have a prayer of emerging from these barbaric reeducation centers for doomed souls. As a side note, many of the conscripts, who were not depraved enough to become a member of a sapper team were used as human fodder for our artillery and air strikes, as well as in human wave attacks. They would either be slaughtered by our hail of gun fire or by their own officers if they tried to turn and run.

    When shot at by one of these teams, it was natural for everyone to hit the ground but we "ole guys" had also learned not to always shoot back. As I remember, there were no verbal communications to the new guys about this tactic. Quite frankly, I don't think that anyone in the entire squad realized that it was a tactic, except maybe Bartee. We were just using our common sense. The new guys naturally watched what we were doing and followed suite. If we held our fire, they would hold their fire. This not only made it hard for the enemy to locate us, but it saved ammo and also made it a lot harder for these sappers to get a fix on the route we were traveling, so they could run ahead and set up a hasty ambush. These were incredibly cunning people, that we were dealing with. They rarely missed a trick, but this tactic of not firing back would absolutely rattle the living "day lights" out of them. They knew we were out there somewhere, and yet, we didn't react like most infantry grunts would react. That had to be disconcerting for them. They didn’t have X-ray vision. They couldn’t see through the thick jungle foliage any better than we could. That simple common sense tactic, of not shooting back, turned us into ghosts. We became ghosts which I think "down right" spooked the crap out of them. We were not responding the way the average GI Joe would respond. The bottom line was this. Sappers were very good at sizing up an American unit's normally rigid tactics, because our units usually did things, naively, the same way, over and over, every time. However, if they couldn’t figure out exactly where we were or in which direction we would likely be traveling, then it became a lot harder to pull off their usual "stunts". This is just one example of how a little common sense could turn the tables on them because their tactics were also predictable. It was some real "cat and mouse crap" and we were always thinking of ways to be the cat instead of the mouse. Bill Milliron and Glen Bowman were especially quick to pick up on how to play this deadly game. After incoming fire ceased, we would quietly drop back and sneak away to one flank or the other from the direction of the incoming rounds. Then, we would reshoot our compass bearing and continue on, making sure the new course took us far enough around the area where we had been receiving incoming fire in the first place. Then and only then would Bartee call in a "sitrep" (Situation Report) to battalion command with the likely coordinates for the enemy shooters. It was amazing how quiet 7 or 8 guys could be as they caught on to how important it was for everyone to be sneaky. I never had a problem getting us back on course, after having to circumvent a dangerous area or after skirting a thick patch of jungle. Sometimes I would do this skirting exercise to avoid making a lot of noise, by having to chop our way through it with machetes. We were “cats” but we learned to move as quietly as mice. Each time we navigated from one check point to another correctly, it built Bartee’s confidence in his squad. It didn’t take long at all for him to get on board with the fact that it wasn’t worth the risk of a full-fledged engagement to take out three or four Cong who were obviously firing for the likely purpose of finding out more about us. It was much simpler to first get out of the way, call in a suspected enemy coordinate, and let headquarters deal with it. If we had run up against an overwhelming force, it would have been handled much the same way. However, that only happened to us one time and I will explain more about that later, a lot more.

    Bartee's willingness to listen to our ideas was a real gift from heaven but it also helped to have a new, but older, very personable grunt like Bill Milliron in our squad. He was the perfect person to bridge communication barriers between the 26 year old Sergeant Bartee and a bunch of kids like me. Amazingly, as I have said, each one of us at this time seemed to be naturals at our jobs in the squad but most of us also lacked the ability to communicate freely with any authority figure in our lives. The only exception to this was the RTO and Bill Milliron. Our big machine gunner, a private from the Reservations out West was probably the worst at communicating with others but Bowman and I were close seconds. However, it was very important for Bartee to receive input from his men, especially me, his point man. Without Bill that communications dynamic would have been severely hampered. I trusted no one in authority no matter how willing they were to listen and I believe that most of the others felt the same way. Milliron was the same age as Bartee. For that reason alone, he did not feel as intimidated by him as the rest of us did. On the other hand, Milliron was new to the varied aspects of jungle combat tactics, so he instinctively focused his attention on me, the guy in the squad who had been there the longest. He would listen intently to every word I said concerning tactics, just as I had listened to every word which came out of Charlie Bell’s mouth, when I was new. In this manner, Bill became a great "go between" for me and sergeant Bartee. He also had innate self-confidence which helped too. In this way, he was a tremendous help in bridging the communications gap, not only with me and the new squad leader, but also bridging it for the entire squad. He would echo important tactics discussed with me, almost verbatim, to Sgt. Bartee, but those echoes reverberated from his mouth to a tune which became music to Bartee’s ears, instead of sounding like a few off-key notes from a very insecure 19 year old teenager. Milliron was really gifted that way. If he had not been there to do that, my backward, rebellious and very withdrawn mindset, with its built-in disgust for all authority would have made it very difficult for me to communicate properly with Bartee long enough to build the much needed trust between him and the squad "point man", that would be needed to literally save every one of our lives in the next few months. 

    Above all else, there was also another dynamic at work. I had received the anointing of the Holy Spirit when I was eleven years old. That meant that I had invited His presence to dwell in my mind. Now, in these dire circumstances, my natural mind could hear His voice much more clearly than a Christian who has rejected His anointing. In these deadly circumstances I automatically obeyed that internal voice over every other voice. Although I was unaware that it was The Holy Spirit speaking to me, when His voice said jump, I jumped. Here is the bottom line. The Holy Spirit already knew what it would take to get me through this mess and He also knew I would be willing to cooperate by listening and obeying his warnings and instructions, or He would not have bothered to say anything to me in the first place. Nor, would He have bothered to make a way of escape. Christian, are you hearing what I have just said? My part in escaping the dare troubles I faced was to be willing to listen, when He spoke, and to do what He told me to do. In every life threatening situation I faced in Vietnam I would allow His directions to over-ride all the other rebellious thoughts in my mind. However, what I have just said is utter nonsense to anyone, including Christians, who only make decisions according to what they can see, hear, smell, taste and feel. Nevertheless, I am sticking with what I have just said because it lines up with the word of God. and what the bible says. He had placed Charlie Bell there just at the right time. He was now placing Milliron there also, just at the right time, and the new squad leader had also come on board at just the right time as well as all the other squad members. He used Bill so that the “all important” bridge of trust could have time to develop between me and Sergeant Bartee. The Holy Spirit also knew that Bartee, unlike Rook, had the right temperament to be able to listen and trust the input from his men. Rook drowned out all those important communications between himself and his squad with his demagoguery. Of course, if I had been willing to listen to the Holy Spirit a little sooner, before things got this bad, I would not have found myself in this position, in the first place. Again, are you listening Christian?

    There were over 20 Battalions involved in this operation, but we were still attached to 2nd Brigade south of War Zone C closer to Saigon. We really operated away from the hot spots of the operation during the first phase. There were other battalions operating in this area south of Lai Khe with us, of course. Because we did so much walking during this time, for many years, I assumed that we slowly made our way on foot, toward the blocking forces, some forty or fifty miles to the north of us, doing search and destroy operations along the way and sealing off villages for the South Vietnamese forces to search. However, the after action report tells a different story. We were more or less "marking time" going back and forth in the same general area around Lai Khe and Phuoc Vinh. I remember my entire battalion doing a lot of night movements. We would link up with other units in the middle of the night, but we were not moving further north as I had originally thought. At one point, we were milling around haphazardly it seems in thick triple canopy jungle just south and west of Lai Khe. Enemy forces were composed mainly of their 9th Division. Intelligence reports had indicated that COSVN and its 40 or 50 members, who ran the entire insurgency effort, were hiding in an area around Highway 246 some 20 miles or so west of An Loc which was much farther north and nowhere near my unit.

     During this period, I remember my Battalion finally arriving at a huge open area composed of at least several hundred acres with no civilians around. It was mid day, the sun was like a blast furnace in a steel mill and we were being told to dig in immediately. My squad just so happened to be the last squad in the line of march for my B company that day, with the forward elements of C company following along behind us. So, when we started digging in, the lead squad in C company just naturally linked up with my squad to form the perimeter for our NDP. Every single person in my squad, including Bartee, was exhausted. We kept looking for Chinooks to show up over the horizon to bring us ice and cold soft drinks. While we were waiting, to make matters worse, the temperature of the drinking water in our canteens rose to the same one hundred degree temperature of the air around us. But there was another reason why the Chinooks needed to show up besides bringing us ice and cold refreshments. The main reason they would be coming, as they always had, was to bring the extra supplies we needed to properly defend our NDP if attacked in the middle of the night. Almost everybody began to get a bad feeling when the Chinooks never showed. That could only mean one thing. We were not going to be staying here for the night. It was obvious that we would soon be filling in the very same fox holes which we were now digging and moving to another location. Never mind how tired and hot we were. We would soon be doing again what we were doing now all over again in the middle of the night before anyone could go to sleep. As these depressing thoughts settled in on our entire B Company, the lethargic pace of our digging slowed down even more. Bartee soon returned from his brief meeting with the other leaders in our platoon to confirm that the situation was even worse than we were imagining. Instead of moving to a new location just a little distance away we would be moving out at dusk and walking most of the night to link up with another battalion at an undisclosed location, undisclosed at least to those personnel at our level. To make that link-up happen we would be working the entire night with no sleep for anyone. All this, I thought, for a little over a hundred bucks a month and a very good "shot" at never growing old. Wow! What a deal.

     Now, with that incredibly heavy work load ahead of us, it's no wonder I have remembered this day for so long, but just in case a 36 hour work shift was not enough to keep me from forgetting this snapshot in time fifty years ago, let me continue to paint a word picture of other aspects of this grueling day, which pretty much assured that it would become an indelible memory for as long as my brain can think. I remember looking over at Bartee as he dug his fox hole in slow motion. The voice of his RTO digging away beside him was the only human vocal chords making a sound in my entire squad. I think the RTO was feebly trying to verbalize his complaints about our situation "as best he could", but it came out of his mouth as nothing more than "mumbling" when it reached my ears. With this lull in vocal distractions on the home front, because most of my physically exhausted squad members were just to tired to talk, it was easy to be drawn to the sounds of normal conversation coming from the direction of the C company fox hole. So, as I was digging ever so slowly I turned my head in that direction. There was a buzz-work of blended conversations that were audible enough for me to realize that they had a real upbeat tone to them. Unlike us, these guys were chatting away as they labored in the hot sun like hard working factory workers on a Friday afternoon just before punching out for a long Holiday weekend. Had they not gotten the same memo as us about our weekend off being cancelled? Had they not walked the same distance we walked that morning in the blazing hot sun? Were they not getting ready to fill in the same fox holes they were now digging before dark and then walking with eighty pounds on their backs in the black of night just like us? To make matters worse for my demoralized mind, walking toward the C company fox hole like he was on a Sunday outing in the park, holding a pick axe in one hand, was a tall lanky guy with his shirt off and a big smile on his face. How could this guy be smiling? As he walked toward the C Company fox hole, he was not only smiling but he was saying something in a jovial fashion to one of his guys standing there in the half dug fox hole in front of him. In contrast, my own fox hole was less than a quarter of the way finished. As I continued to work halfheartedly on it, I couldn't help observing these guys out of one corner of my eye all afternoon. Although, many times, companies in a battalion went on the same operations and fought in some of the same battles, individual soldiers from these different companies rarely became acquainted with each other. I didn't know a single guy in C company and furthermore I didn't care to know a single guy in C company. Yet, throughout the afternoon, I couldn't help but notice that the tall lanky guy had an engaging way about him as he interacted with other members of his squad. Now, I had a real talent for spotting popular people. Many self-loathing people do possess that talent. The Devil knew that "popular people" added to my misery so he encouraged me to recognize those who were more popular than me every chance he got. You see, I too, longed to be popular but I knew that would never happen no matter how hard I tried. There was just too many things which I hated about myself to believe that I could ever become popular like those whom I deemed to have their "stuff together". "As these things go", it wasn't long before one of the Sergeants from C company talked to a Sergeant in our company and the grapevine came to life with just the right kind of information about this tall lanky guy in C company to fuel my jealousy. Naturally, the grapevine reinforced my already negative opinion of this guy because I had already noticed that he walked and talked like one of those people who had their "stuff together". Now, jealousy is another negative trait that all self-loathing people have in common. People like me quickly became extremely jealous of anyone who they perceived to be more popular than them, especially if that person was one of their peers and the grapevine said this guy was my peer. The grapevine also said he was not only popular with the men in his squad and platoon, but he was also a rising star with the officers in the battalion, although he was a draftee just like me, who actually had less time in country than I did. His fox hole was only about twenty meters from my fox hole so after hearing all this, every time I glanced his way during the afternoon, the top of my head would start burning. That burning was not coming from the sun. It was caused by jealousy in its purest form. Amazingly, it would be almost fifty years before I was able to put two and two together and come up with the name of this guy. Although I can't be absolutely sure, after all this time, I believe he was Pat McLaughlin. Years later, after reading Pat's story and seeing his picture in a book called "Dogface Charlie" I learned that he made Sergeant after being in country less than three months. I believe he also made staff Sergeant before he finished his one year stretch in Vietnam, which was a feat that was almost unheard of at that time, especially for some one as young as Pat. Pat became one of the best combat squad leaders in the Army at that time, but he didn't stop there. After coming home, he finished college, got a law degree and went on to become the United States Attorney for the Northern District of Ohio. Everything the grape vine said about him that day was true and even to this day I still have that burning when I think of him. However, its no longer in the top of my head but nearer to my heart.

     By the time we filled in our fox holes, saddled up and moved into the wood line to begin our night march it was almost pitch dark. My company was in the middle of the pack in the order of march. At one point when we halted our march for a little longer than usual. A couple guys in my squad busted up a bioluminescent rotted log with their entrenching tools and handed out the green glowing splinters to the rest of the squad. Each man slipped the wood fragments under their elastic camouflage band at the back of their steel helmets. The idea caught on quick in the single column of soldiers as others followed suite throughout the line of march which stretched well over a mile. My guys had learned this trick "some time back". Sometimes it was so dark we couldn't see our own hand if we waved it in front of our face, but we could always keep track of the man in front of us by following the bouncing green glow on the back of his helmet. It worked great.

     It was well past midnight when we stopped for the last time that night. I believe we had three companies in the Battalion at this point and I believe we were all there that night. Sometimes one company would be held in reserve, while guarding nearby base camps or roads. However, this night we were all together. Word came back from the front that we were getting ready to deploy into an NDP for the night but things were moving awfully slow. While waiting for my squad to be told where to start digging in, red tracers started popping by my head coming from about fifty yards or so to our left flank. It wasn't just a few incoming rounds. The volume of fire was tremendous and it was a miracle that no one was hit. All we could do was "lay low" and take it, until orders were passed down to do otherwise because the tracers were red, which was the color we used. The enemy used green tracers most of the time.  Within a few minutes, communications was established with the other battalion which had opened up on us and they quite shooting. During that night and the next day word filtered down that the reason the other unit opened up on us was because our point men had gotten off course. In other words we were lost. Whoever was running point for our battalion that night had gotten the entire battalion lost. After reviewing after action reports, I believe that this incident happened around the first week of March while Denton was still in command.

    This incident had now become the biggest potentially life threatening event that the battalion had faced during my tour of duty, and it was caused by elements of  one American battalion shooting at another American battalion, not a Company, or a platoon, or a squad, but an entire battalion. What if artillery strikes had been called in by either or both units before the fire base could have realized its mistake? This was not good, not good at all, and it happened because who ever was "walking point" had gotten off course. Denton left shortly after this incident having only served in the field 2 months, when the normal tour of duty was 6 months for officers. While Denton was in charge, the 1/18th was assigned to the "back waters" down south during phase I of "Operation Junction City". If Denton had been perceived as a reliable leader by Depuy's staff, I don't believe he would have been left out of being placed closer to the likely hot spots further north in War Zone C. Our "Patton like" General Depuy was replaced about this same time (I believe on February 10th) by the "lack luster" General Hay. Even so, his staff still remained and would have advised Hay of any deficiencies in commanders within the division. The question I keep asking, yet have found no answer, is whether the friendly fire incident became the last straw for firing Denton or did he voluntarily give up command himself at least 4 months short of the normal tour of duty. I do know this. He never received another promotion after leaving the 1/18th.   

     Whatever repercussions happened in the aftermath of the friendly fire incident, it was the new commander who fixed the problem and we never had another incident like that, ever, while he was in command. I can only guess whether our new commander found out about that particular happening or not. Quite frankly, it would have made no difference. This was not his first rodeo. He had trained himself in Korea to be proactive, not reactive.  He seemed to know things that were far beyond the thinking ability of other commanders and the grape vine immediately started picking up on that. He knew that a commander needed to put his best navigators up front to lead large elements of the Battalion, especially during cross country marches at night. Anyone with half a brain in the 1/18th, from a private on up, would soon learn that he was not the kind of commander who would muddle through things, then "thank his lucky stars" that no one had gotten hurt. He seemed to possess the same thing that a lot of our new recruits had, a thing called "common sense". That "common sense" started getting a lot of little things fixed before they turned in to big things. Navigating through the jungle at night was just one of the problems which had challenged us but was immediately addressed after he arrived. 

    In those days, without, G.P.S., common sense said picking the right navigator to lead the battalion would not have been that hard to do. It could and was done easily by having company commanders identify those point men who never got lost while leading their smaller security patrols within their platoons and squads. Believe me, the veteran platoon sergeants would have definitely known who were the best navigators in their platoons and also the worst, because they would usually have had to deal with the consequences. If a point man kept getting lost too often then a good platoon Sergeant would make changes in the people walking point and you can "bet your booties on that". Looking back, I am sure it took only a few brief but clearly stated comments by our new commander to his company commanders to get the word out for a list of names to be generated with the names of the unit's most capable navigators in their unit. Although I didn't realize how an experienced commander could work the chain of command back then, I do now.  Sergeants knew the skills of their men for the most part after those men had been there for a while. It would have taken very little time for a list of names of the very best men to lead the unit to be presented to the battalion commander and it would have been a very short list. The truth is this. Most people who had walked point for more than two months got lost at least a few times. I walked point for more than 8 months and even to this very day, though I never got lost, I still vividly remember the 3 incidences when my patrol's location came into question, while I was leading the way. Two of those three times occurred when Bartee first took over as our squad leader.

    The first time happened when we came under fire from a sapper team looking to "draw us out". I believe it was the first time our new Sergeant had ever been shot at. Laying low until the shooting stopped, we then quietly moved back a few yards, side stepped our azimuth a few yards, and proceeded to the next check point. In shooting the new azimuth from that check point, Bartee became confused on whether to subtract or add 180 degrees to the reading on the compass. He got it wrong and insisted on following this wrong bearing. I immediately became very upset because the thought of getting lost would now be compounded into a worse mistake. There were obviously enemy sapper teams all around us. My unforgiving mind, just naturally raced ahead to the false conclusion that I couldn't depend on this man for anything, if he couldn't do this one simple thing. Actually, it wasn't his job in the first place to be trying to read a compass. That was my job and by this time he should have known he could trust me. All this was running through my mind at light speed. In those days as a situation in life caused a conflict with an authority figure I really didn't possess the interpersonal skills to deal with those situations very well at all. I really would throw the baby out with the bath water. So, when a minute or so had passed with he and I arguing back and forth, I remember telling him that he could go in any direction he wanted but I was going to take the correct azimuth and go home. In the "star down" which ensued, thank God, Milliron was there to intercede for me in the "nick of time". Milliron was able to be the calming voice in the situation. Though he was still fairly new to the squad, he didn't hesitated for a moment, butting into what was becoming a heated exchange of words. Milliron wisely ignored me and began addressing Bartee in a very calm way. However, even he was not able to convince the hard headed Bartee that he was wrong. Finally, Milliron picked up a small stick and laid it down on the map to visually show him that he was wrong. Bartee then relented and we got back to the N.D.P. safely. Nothing more was ever said about the incident. I never considered the fact that Bartee was under tremendous stress, having just had his squad shot at for the first time, while he was our squad leader. I also never considered that he had listened to me many times before and that this was maybe just a one time lapse of trust, which was not aimed at me personally. Perfectionists just don't think like that. They never give anyone the benefit of the doubt and when it came to perfectionism I was the "Grand Mullah" of all perfectionists but perfectionism was also the reason I was such a good navigator and point man. Milliron probably saved me from getting an Article 15 and more importantly maybe saved the squad from getting shot up while meandering in the wrong direction through enemy infested jungle.

 Another time, soon after this first time, while on a security patrol, Bartee decided to call in a spotter round" because we had done a lot of zigzagging in and out of our azimuth on this particular route. Accurate pace counting was very hard to do when something like this happened but I didn't get mad at Bartee this time. To avoid obstacles in our path, one of which was a giant hornet's nest, we had intentionally gone off course so many times that I too was second guessing myself. We called in a spotter round from our mortar platoon to be fired at a particular map coordinate located 50 meters in front of where we thought we were. The round sounded like it landed exactly where it should have landed, verifying that we were on course. After that, we went on many patrols together, but Bartee always let me, Milliron and Bowman drive the car, while he sat in the back seat and kept quiet. It was a beautiful thing. That's a big reason why I say Bartee was the right squad leader for us at the right time but, "Thank God for Milliron" too.

     At some point during all these back and forth operations, and not long after the friendly fire incident, we were picked up and "choppered" into Lai Khe. I will never forget sitting in the shade of a rubber tree when Sgt. Bartee walked up to me after just returning from a big "battalion level" meeting. He had a rather excited look on his face as he squatted down beside me. "When we move out, they want us to walk point for the battalion", he said. This meant my squad would be the lead squad and my platoon would be the lead platoon and my company would be the lead company. If any of these elements of the Battalion had been deemed to be weak links, by any of those leaders in the chain of command under the battalion commander then another squad would have been chosen instead of us. Never mind all that. I had given very little thought to how the chain of command functioned in those days. All I heard was, "The Army recognizes "Wayne Wade" as its very best point man and wants him to lead the entire battalion". A feeling came over me not unlike what Doctor Fauci felt when he suddenly found himself in the "lime light" during the China Virus pandemic, except for one not so minor difference. I was actually good at what I was asked to do.

     You see, up until this very instant, I had had no positive reinforcement from Army leadership whatsoever. As it was, I was already suffering from a life time of demonic oppression, which had been working all my life to undermine my self worth. Since I had been drafted, the Army had done nothing but wind the clock tighter on that ticking time bomb within my soul. In my unforgiving mind, it seemed that the Army had gone out of its way to make me feel worse about myself from the very start. The first  blow was dealt way back when my basic training platoon Sergeant had secretly loosened the front sight of my M-14 rifle the night before we were to qualify on the rifle range. He did it so he wouldn't have to pay off on the $100 dollar bet he had publicly made to anyone who qualified with a perfect score. I was the top contender. Later at Fort Polk, in A.I.T., my "private first class" stripe was withheld from me in "advanced infantry training" because I had made the training Sergeants stay up all night looking for me on the "escape and evasion course". Seems like I took that course a little too seriously for their liking. If that wasn't enough to cause this retaliatory action from them, than rejecting their bullying to get me to sign up for O.C.S certainly was. My self esteem had received a huge blow when Denton had chewed me out for not cleaning the .50 caliber machine gun although I had just cleaned it. Lastly, but definitely not least, "blows of all blows", Denton used us like cannon fodder for the suicidal attack on those enemy bunkers. However, Now, for the first time in my short military career, I found my emotionally driven nineteen year old mind gaining a huge boost to the plus side of mental health. The instant I received this news that I was being chosen for this important assignment, I felt empowered in a way that I still to this very day have a difficult time explaining, though I now understand the emotional dynamics behind it perfectly, myself. It was the most emotionally uplifting time for me since I had been drafted and sad to say, probably in my entire life, a life so far made up largely by low expectations for myself, personally, and by other authority figures like my parents, teachers and employers. Now, finally, a large organization like the United States Army was giving me a chance to do something I was really good at doing and that I believed would also allow me to make a positive contribution to those around me. Years later, I no longer believe it was the Army. I believe it was our new commander who had a hand in picking me to lead the battalion that night when we left Lai Khe. One of the most important abilities of an affective leader is to tweak the chain of command below his or her level of command so small problems are addressed before they become big problems. This is just one small example of the new commander putting that principle into action. It was becoming readily apparent to most of us grunts that he had an uncanny way of putting the right people in the right job, and never mind their perceived status.      

    It seemed like this guy knew how to let a "rook" be a "rook" and a "knight" be a "knight". I had been quickly tagged for not who I was, but for what I could do. Years later I would be made aware of another great example of this guy's suburb ability to see that the right people were put in the right position, to make their greatest contribution to the unit. That example was Pat McLaughlin in C company. Under any other commander, it would have been doubtful that draftee, Pat McLaughlin, would have ever been recognized for his superior leadership qualities, and then very quickly promoted into a position were those qualities could be affectively used to benefit the entire battalion. Almost everyone, who served under and over this new commander would be able to sense these superior command abilities in him. Few, if any, could begin to understand how they got there. Jim Shelton recognized them but had no clue where they came from when he wrote about him years later, "He was not the average infantry officer. For that matter, he was not really a recognizable product of the Army's officer commissioning and schools system. He had attributes that went far beyond the normal infantry lieutenant colonel".    

    Shortly after this new guy took over the Battalion we went on a night march. I can't remember exactly where we were but I do remember traveling through very thick triple canopy jungle. I was the leading at least one company or maybe all three companies in the battalion. The night became pitch black. Light rains had begun to come down now in the late afternoons but lasted no more than 30 minutes. A soaking wet Milliron was a little to my left and in front of me most of the time. Bowman was also to my front a couple paces and a little to my right. We maintained contact with whispers as we listened for unusual sounds. Bartee was behind me several paces with his RTO in his hip pocket. The rest of the battalion was strung out behind us single file for probably more than a mile. We had a new platoon leader following behind us somewhere, but then we always had a new platoon leader, because they just didn't last very long for one reason or another. The only way I could see Bowman and Milliron was to watch the little slivers of glowing wood bouncing up and down in their hat bands on the back of their steel helmets. On and on we went. I have no pictures in my mind now of leaving Lai Kai or entering the jungle to continue our search and destroy mission while linking up with other units in the dark, nor do I remember how long we walked on any particular night. Did my unit switch off with other units in taking the lead? I believe that we did. The one thing which I will never forget, however, is how exhilarating the entire experience was for me. The area we walked through was sometimes triple canopy jungle criss-crossed with heavily used ox chart trails, which I am sure led from one tunnel complex to another, but we never walked trails, never. It was an iron clad rule initiated by the new commander shortly after taking over command. In my mind, the darkness was my friend. As long as I had access to a map and a compass I had no worries about doing my job and doing it well. The enemy couldn't see any better in the dark than me. I never followed S.O.P. (standard operating procedures) which said put a tracer every fifth round in my ammo magazines. As I had already experienced on the my first day in the field, tracers would clog the bore of my weapon. They would also draw a red line straight to my position, especially at night, which said here I am. Kill me first. Why would I ever want to do that?   

    After several days of making long night marches through these thick jungles, on this dark night while my squad was taking the lead, I had reached a check point but there was nothing to distinguish this spot in the darkness from any other. Our new platoon leader came up front to nervously question me personally. I could see the tension in his face as he looked straight down at the map in his hand. He said that there was suppose to be a huge stone statue of Buda at this check point. Yet, there was obviously nothing around us but dense jungle foliage. His RTO took his red lensed flashlight which he had been shining on the map and shined it directly into my face as the lieutenant looked up from his map and stared directly into my eyes before turning away again and looking at his map one more time. He then repeated himself again, sounding much more accusatory this time. "There is suppose to be a Buda statue in this location". I definitely sensed an accusatory tone in his voice, whether there was one or not, and I didn't react well in those days when I thought I was being accused of anything for any reason. What I was hearing from him was, "SOLDIER YOU HAVE GOTTEN US LOST". That's all it took for me to respond in a less than a subordinate tone of voice, myself. "SIR, I DON"T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT A BUDDA STATUE. ALL I KNOW IS THAT WE HAVE ARRIVED AT THE CHECK POINT ON THE MAP". Bartee, Milliron and Bowman just stood there listening to me raise my voice and didn't say a word. By now they had become somewhat used to my socially inapt ways, but the lieutenant's RTO had not, and in those uncomfortable few seconds that the lieutenant and I stared at each other, The RTO felt he needed to do something to relieve the tension. So, he did just that. He scanned the area to our front with the red lensed flashlight which he had been shining in my eyes. There was just enough red light for me and everyone else standing there to make out the outline of a 20 foot tall stone statue of Buda covered in vines, looking like something out of an "Indiana Jones" movie. It was about 10 meters to our front and a little to the left of our line of march. This was the third incident which questioned my GPS skills on point and it would be the last. The devil would have to get at me some other way, but he couldn't break the anointing that the Holy Spirit had given to me to walk point and that is all I have to say about that.

     At this juncture, I was as good a soldier as I would ever be during the rest of my tour of duty. My squad was as good as it would ever be. Perhaps the entire unit was as good as it would ever be for the rest of 1967 while this new guy was commanding it. He  would help validate what I just said years later during a phone call with him in 2006. He told me personally, that the men of the 1/18th were the reason he had made General, and I now realize that we came together for him during the dark of the moon in early March, 1967. Later I would learn that he said this to other veterans of the battalion as well.