Chapter 11 Haig
On this same afternoon, about the same time Haig's Blue Spaders were
landing at LZ George, my patrol was in this shootout
with the ambushers. Of course, we were too busy with our own troubles to
notice. However, the men inside our perimeter at "Thrust" would have
been able to see several lines of Hueys in the distance, as they passed
by our NDP. Lt. Col. Alexander Haig's boys were landing only
about three to four miles, from our own location. There was no enemy
resistance as they landed. The forty-two-year-old Haig was not the kind of commander who left anything to chance, yet he was not a "fretter" either. Haig oversaw the initial landing at LZ George and the exact placement of his own battalion's defensive positions. Soon after landing, he met with his officers and key N.C.O.s including the F.O. (forward observer) assigned to his unit. His faithful S3 (operations officer) and longtime companion, Capt. George Joulwan, was by his side. As he stood there in the tall grass, getting feedback from his security patrols, he started forming a picture in his mind of how he wanted his defenses laid out. I doubt that any of his subordinates, save Joulwan, realized how fortunate they were to have a man like Haig leading them during the next couple days. He was probably somewhat of a "shot in the dark" to the few who did not know him, because he had not worked his way through the usual field commands, from platoon, to company and then battalion. Truth is, however, the men under him had now been with him long enough, to sense his natural leadership ability. He was wired differently than our commander, Dick Cavazos. He was not as "earthy", and not as apt to identify with the individual needs of a grunt like me. Never mind that, though, because no American commander possessed the overall human qualities, which had been instilled in 38 year old Lt. Col. Dick Cavazos, largely due to his King Ranch upbringing, under the strict, but loving hands, of a remarkable father. Yet, Haig was not as aloft as our last commander, Denton, or even the 1/16th's Lt. Col. Lazzell. He was just "matter of fact", and smart. No matter where he was assigned in the command structure, his superior leadership abilities seemed to be the one thing, which was immediately recognized by every boss he had ever had. Although he wore a similar veneer, on the outside, to that of Westmoreland, his interior was composed of high grade steel, while Westy's was composed of a somewhat softer "go along with the boss" metal. So far, in the two months he had been with the Blue Spaders", Haig had managed to pass every tactical "pop quiz" thrown at him. The big question, which remained, was whether or not he was going to be able to pass the final exam when it came? Cavazos had passed his a long time ago in Korea and he had scored an A+. Haig had been in Korea also, but his lessons in leadership had prepared him to handle leadership problems of a more strategic nature. He had been a staff officer the entire time he served in Korea. He had also been nabbed as a staff officer, when he first arrived in Vietnam, but his desire for entering this war zone was to command a field unit in combat. General Depuy is the reason that didn't happen. DePuy grabbed him to be his G3 almost as soon as he stepped off the plane. Why? Because the word was out about Haig, amongst senior command and DePuy wasn't about to let a talented man like him, slip through his fingers. Haig was a "maestro" at covering a boss's rear end. He was one of those rare individuals who could take reigns of leadership and run, making his boss look good. DePuy would have been a fool not to want Haig for his G3 and DePuy was no fool. So, Haig was "type cast" as a supporting character in the story and that should have been the end of it. For most, it would have been. Odds were that Haig would always play a supporting roll. He would never to be the "leading Man". So, what caused that to change? Why was Haig now standing in tall grass near the Cambodian border, commanding a battalion of 300 strong, soon to be personally engaged with an enemy, which outnumbered him almost ten to one? No good poker player would have bet that things would have turned out this way. Shortly after becoming DePuy's staff officer, DePuy had actually witnessed for himself how brave Haig was. Yet that made no difference in helping Haig receive his wish to become a field commander. Haig had chased down an enemy soldier, right in front of DePuy, and was wounded by a hand grenade, which this guy pulled on him, as he physically tried to coral him. DePuy decorated Haig with a purple heart, but still said no, to a combat command position. So there you have it. Except for a little thing, which some call fate, there was just no way Haig was going to get to "go fight". Finally, one fine day in January of 1967, while sitting across a planning room table from Haig, DePuy was ordered in a phone conversation, by his corps commander, to release Haig for staff duty at II Field Force Headquarters. DePuy, gulped twice, then without missing a beat in the conversion, quickly announced to his superior, that he had already assigned Haig to take over command of the "Blue Spaders". It was a lie, but a lie, which DePuy now had to turn into the truth. He immediately looked across the table at Haig and abruptly announced, "Haig, I need you to report to the "Blue Spaders" as their new commanding officer". DePuy then moved their present commander into Haig's old position. That person was Lt. Col. Paul Gorman who went on to become a four-star general. So, that is how Alexander Haig finally got his chance to command a combat unit in Vietnam. The "Blue Spaders" were Haig's first "front line" combat assignment, where he carried a "long rifle" and personally led men into actual combat. If Dick Cavazos was the Army's best field commander, at that time, then there is no doubt that Haig could have easily been in the running for second place, if he had only spent just a little more time in the field.
However, at this point, I must say
that neither of these men would have risen to have held the positions of
leadership, which they later held, if not for the
foundational relationships provided them, by their remarkable wives,
Carolyn Cavazos and Patricia Haig. In Haig's case, he had married
Patricia shortly after graduating from West Point. She was a General's
daughter. This alone gave him great exposure. It also helped reinforce
in him the notion that general officers were not "gods" to be feared, or
worshipped, but men like him, some with much smaller brains than his
own. Many years later, Carolyn Cavazos revealed to me, much the same
mindset in Dick and herself. She said it this way, although not in these
exact words. "We always thought that we were just as capable of doing a
thing as good as the next guy. No matter what their background or no
matter how many pedigrees they possessed, we never thought them to be
any more capable than us." Neither Haig or Cavazos would have become the leaders,
which they developed into, if they had not been the beneficiaries of
longstanding support from sage
wives. Carolyn and Pat obviously understood the importance of the roll
they had in building a stronger America, by providing wise council to
their husbands. I am convinced that there were many officers with the potential to be great leaders. Like Haig, they had the critical interpersonal skills, required of a commander to coordinate air strikes, artillery and rifle fire, but unlike Haig, many of them did not possess the learned confidence to deal with the stupid "ass chewing chiding" and the humiliating petty commands, delivered by generals flying somewhere above the fray. Truth is, these "hen pecker" type generals were a little afraid of Haig, because they knew he had political connections in high places. Deputy Secretary of Defense, Vance, had pulled strings for him to obtain orders to Vietnam in the first place. To top things off, Haig had learned a lot about the plight of the average field commander in Korea, while serving under a "crusty ole" Lieutenant General named Ned Almond. This experience had more than prepared Haig to not only feel at home while dealing with the "higher ups" in the First Infantry Division, but with the "ground pounders" as well. One vital thing which Haig had learned over the years was how not to put his neck in the "hangman's noose" on the radio. He knew the right "take charge" lingo to use when communicating with those who outranked him without stepping on their pride, but he also realized the importance of not talking down to those under him in rank. Mix what I have said here with Haig's abundant common sense and it's no chore to see that Haig was a well rounded individual capable of performing at very high levels wherever he landed. Ironically, this also held him back. His bosses didn't want to turn loose of him.
Here is one last observation, for the taking, about Haig.
He was a man who wore a chip on his shoulder. Now, a chip
on anyone's shoulder can become a hindrance, if not worn
wisely. It can also be an asset. Many times, it can get a person off "dead center",
but that means nothing if not
worn wisely. With the help of a couple God given mentors in his early
years, Haig had learned to wear his chip wisely. The chip, itself, was
created in the aftermath of his father's sudden death, when he was only
nine. It was during the height of the "Great Depression" and his entire
family struggled sorely, after his well-established attorney father
passed away. He suffered both emotionally as well as financially.
However, a "God sent" uncle stepped in just in time, to
provide him and his family with that emotional, as well as financial
support. It's another version of the
"Henrietta and Lauro Cavazos story" and it gives more evidence to the
fact, that God's blessings can flow through a wide range of human
personalities. This same uncle
opened a door of opportunity for Haig to attend Notre Dame and later
West Point. Interestingly enough, charity can work through believers and
unbelievers alike, but most of the time many of the giving acts of unbelievers
are diverted, by Satan, into harmful enablement, which then becomes a
curse, instead of a blessing. Charity, which enables evil is not
charity. In Haig's case, the fruit produced later in his life, proves
that these acts of charity by an uncle were invested well.
Unlike combat veteran, Cavazos, who was in the process of transforming us, into
a superior fighting unit, almost from scratch, Haig had stepped into a situation, where the
previous commander, Lt. Col. Paul Gorman, had already started that
good work. At the highest level, this "stepping stone" was not about
Haig improving the plight of others or furthering his own career,
although those things did happen. No sir! On the highest level for Haig,
the battle of Ap Gu was the catalyst, which lent itself to the
transformation of his person. During this very brief window in time,
Haig was about to earn a membership into the most elite group
of human beings this natural world has ever known, outside "The
Sons of God" of course. I am speaking of a sprinkling of elites, whose
elite status is not measured by stars on shoulders or strips on arms,
but by the fact that they have offered their life's blood in defense of
a most precious and righteous cause.
Plainly put, they are those who offer up all
that they are, and all that they will ever be, on earth, for the right of
other humans, to freely choose, for themselves, the course of their
individual
lives. Never mind whether their motives are pure or not. Never mind,
that they are not fully competent. No one is. Never mind, whether they
win or not. It is their offering of shed blood against the forces of
evil, which qualifies them. Now, Alexander Haig was about to join this
elite club.
After making a final round of the perimeter defenses and inspecting each
"DePuy" bunker to make sure it was constructed and positioned correctly
with proper firing lanes, Haig called for one more jungle board room
meeting. He had noticed that one spot on the north side of the perimeter
was particularly worrisome, because the thick jungle came awfully close
to a couple positions there. This was a weak point in his defenses, but
Haig also understood, that there were always going to be weak points. He
wasn't going to have "tired men" shift an entire section of the
perimeter defenses, which would require digging new bunkers, but he
would make sure that the FO had this area adequately dialed in, by
supporting artillery bases like ours.
As for me and the men at "Thrust", we had long since resupplied
ourselves with ammo and rations. We also had cleaned our weapons and
checked our "claymores" to the front of every position. Finally, it was
time to sort through our own thoughts and try to put the traumatic
events of the day in perspective. The big guns behind me kept firing
away. Much of this firing later in the afternoon was registration rounds
dialing in targets for future fire missions at " LZ George". The
artillery officer with us was having his crew register coordinates, for
quick firing reference, and writing those coordinates down in his little
notebook. For sure, he would have noted the coordinates of the weak spot
pointed out by Haig. Coordinates written on this small note pad, would
ensure, that his guns could respond quickly when he woke up, all sleepy
eyed, in the middle of the night. Firing these registration rounds as
well as H & I rounds also meant that we had to listen to a lot of noisy
guns blasting away for most of the evening. H & I meant Harassment and
Interdiction. It was the act of firing random shells on targets in the
middle of nowhere, just to be firing. I will address the stupidity of
this tactical procedure later in the book. "Fire Base C" to our east
(2nd Brigade Headquarters) also provided artillery support for both
"George" and our position at "Thrust". We also had the 173rd Airborne,
to our south, which was in range, providing artillery fires for us and I
believe Fire Base Charlie also, although I don't believe their guns
were in range of "LZ George".
The next day, March 31st, the 1/2nd Infantry Battalion was
"helicoptered” from fire support base Charlie into the grassy clearing
at "George" and immediately marched south, crossing to the south side of
Rt. 246 about two "clicks" (Kilometer) due south of their "drop zone" at
"George". They then established an NDP which was six "clicks" west by
northwest of our position at "Thrust". The 1/2nd was led by " Lt. Col.
William Simpson. This same morning draftee Jack Toomey was flown in from
Phuoc Vinh with the mail and resupplies on a Chinook helicopter, to join
his 1/2nd battalion for his first day in the field. Toomey didn't have a
clue what to expect. There was triple canopy jungle surrounding his unit on
all sides, and not a single Vietnamese civilian to be seen anywhere. For
Toomey, it felt as though he had just arrived at the edge of the world. Only
the occasional landing of a Chinook, bringing more supplies, said otherwise.
This same morning Haig's recon platoon started out from base camp,
making a probe in a northwestern direction. Their patrol moved through
thick triple canopy jungle mixed with grassy clearings. The day before,
shortly after landing, security patrols had discovered lots of freshly
dug enemy positions in and around the grassy LZ along with some older
ones. There was also freshly traveled trails within the wood line of the
triple canopy jungle. The soldiers on this morning's patrol, who had
been accepted into this battalion recon platoon, were not your average
grunts. They had proven themselves to be highly proficient at their jobs
while in a "line company" like mine. They were volunteers.
Twenty-one-year-old Pete Petersen from Garden Gove, California was
walking point, for the patrol. Like me, he was a draftee who had started
his tour of duty a month before I had started mine. There is good
indication in my research that Pete was probably walking point for his
entire battalion, as I was for mine, during those dark nights, which I have
described in an earlier chapter. The recon platoon leader was the no
non-sense and very competent Lt. Richard Hill. Richard and Pete
were the best of the best, and today they were not just the tip of the
spear, but the very point, itself.
While Petersen was leading his patrol and Jack Toomey was getting settled into his new life, it was
road clearing business as usual for me. We started operations that
morning and it was my squad's turn to take a patrol down one side of
Highway 246 just inside the wood line five meters or so off the road.
Mine sweepers went down the middle of the road, staying abreast of us,
sweeping with metal detectors for mines. My squad was noisier than usual
this morning and since our unit had been engaging enemy patrols every
day, it was getting on my nerves. My people could not stop making a lot
of noise. I was becoming very aggravated at everyone especially at
Sergeant Bartee, for not saying something. I wasn't a team player. Not only was I
not a team player, but that term wasn't even a part of my vocabulary. I
was used to solving problems, myself, or better yet just avoiding them
altogether. Today was no different. To avoid being shot by a sapper,
because my squad members were making too much noise, I simply sped up,
and stayed in front of Bartee, about twenty-five yards. Problem was, I
didn't bother to let him know what I was doing. On a patrol like this,
there was a great need to be even more quiet than normal, because sapper
teams were drawn to the road like steel to a magnet. At some point
Bartee caught up with me, close enough, to tell me to slow down, so the
rest could keep up. In a whispered voice, I quickly and a little
abruptly explained to him why I was staying a little further in front of
the rest of the squad. By this point in time, I figured that he should
have needed no explanation so that irritated me even more. Recently,
during his down times, Bartee had started engaging more and more in
smoking pot with Bill. I could tell that it wasn't helping his cognitive
awareness whatsoever. I now wondered if it hadn't somewhat deadened his
awareness of just how dangerous this area of operations was to everyone
involved. My anger, about his reprimand to me for getting too far ahead
instead of him warning the rest of the squad to be quieter, soon subsided,
because Bartee finally snapped to the situation, and silently waved two
fingers toward me, indicating that he was giving me my headway. He then stood still, watching me turn around and
melt into the jungle. It seems he had finally snapped to why it was
better for me to be a little further out in front this morning. By
allowing me to do this, his own chances of survival were also improved
greatly. It meant that he probably wouldn't be standing close to me when
an ambusher took his first shots. Bartee, for all his faults, had just
displayed, again, the one trait, which I liked about him. Yes, he had
cloudy thinking, but unlike so many other NCOs, if he could be shown to
be wrong, he had no problem changing his mind about a situation. On the
other hand, I was beginning to build up long term resentment toward him
for favoring his pot smoking buddies over me, when it came to handing
out "details" while we were in base camp. My little "fairness meter" had
begun to indicate that I was getting more than my fair share of "s__t
details".
At one point, we had to halt while a wounded mine sweeper was
evacuated, by a "dust-off". He was shot by a sapper from around a
hundred yards down the road. The sapper probably used a Russian carbine,
because I heard only one shot. As we started moving forward again, I
plainly understood that I could be the next target. These sappers were
great at shooting and running off never to be seen again. As I have
already said, several times in the last few days, my fellow grunts had
reported seeing bushes move through the woods, as they sat around on
"road-guard" duty. With this information in mind, I predetermined that I
was going to shoot first and question the bushes later. I
kept repeating to myself, "Pull the trigger as soon you see the
slightest movement of a leaf in front of you. All those years of
training my eyes, while hunting, was paying off. As a boy, I had trained
my eyes to spot the slightest movement of a squirrel's head on
the limb of a tree. Suddenly, there was a
flicker of motion, to my front, and a little to the right, away from the
road. The motion was coming from something small, running across a patch
of clear ground, making a scurrying sound. It was a mongoose, hunting
snakes. My tension eased. It was a false alarm. By now, I had out paced
my squad by some distance. While still hearing the mongoose rustling in
the leaves, I began to hear something else. It was a familiar small voice
coming from inside my own head and it kept repeating, "Beware. Be ready. Don't let your guard
down". In response, I tensed and became acutely aware of my left
index finger on the trigger of my M-14, (I'm left handed"). At the
same time, I lowered
the barrel to scoot under a vine and come up on the other side. It was a
quiet maneuver, but the leaves on the vine, which I lifted upward with
the barrel of my rifle, shook slightly. At the same time, other leaves,
on vines to my front, shook slightly also. That movement was out of
place and had nothing
to do with the motions I was making. In response, my trigger finger moved
forward, unlocking my weapon's safety, and then backward on the trigger.
Firing from the hip, my M-14 "barked out" a perfect three round burst,
intentionally shot low, and under the spot where I had detected the
movement. It wasn't long before Bartee appeared from behind, asking in a
rattled tone of voice, what I was shooting at. I could only say that I
had shot at movement to my front. I could tell by the look on his face,
that he was thinking I had over reacted. There was no indication
whatsoever that I had shot at anything other than a few leaves. However,
it wasn't his life hanging in the balance, if there had been a real
threat. I didn't feel bad, at all, about what I had just done. We started
moving forward again and I could see droplets of blood on the leaves
around me. I said nothing to Bartee about the blood. However, it wasn't
long, until he spotted the blood for himself. "Wade, I see some blood. Be
careful", he whispered softly. His whispered words had a totally
different tone. It was an affirming "tone of voice" this time.
I made no reply and kept walking. My irritation was starting to
return. It was time to start thinking about another line of work. "When
was that truck driving job going to come through?", I thought to myself.
It had been promised to me, by my
friend, the motor pool sergeant, for what seemed like several life times.
After clearing the rest of our assigned section of Rt. 246 just east of
"George", Milliron and I sat on our post off the road, just inside the
wood line for the rest of the day, while convoys rolled up and down the
highway. There was absolutely no civilian presence whatsoever. I
remember Milliron lying on his back lazily dozing in the morning sun,
while I watched a mongoose scurrying around the jungle floor, making
those familiar rustling sounds in the leaves. These cute little fellows
made very distinctive sounds, which had become very recognizable to us.
Bill woke up and "got on a roll", describing to me the beautiful rose
gardens in his hometown of Santa Barbara. I listened to him with one
ear, but ever the point man, I was also listening to the sounds of the
jungle with the other ear. Mid-morning, I detected something which
didn't sound right. It was a crunching of leaves followed by a long
pause. The pauses was too long to be made by a mongoose. They were too
hyper to wait that long. It became deathly quiet, except for
the low mumbling of Bill's voice, as he continued to talk about Santa
Barbara, as if he was a travel guide, of some kind. I interrupted him by
pointing to the jungle in front of us. "Listen", I whispered. "Do you
hear that?" After hearing two or three crunching sounds for himself, he
looked at me as if to ask, "What do we do now?" Without answering, I
grabbed one of my hand grenades. I then whispered in a low voice, "I
think It’s time to run a little "recon mission". Bill grinned knowingly
and reached for his own hand grenade. We pulled the pins. He threw to
our left front, and I threw to the right, making sure that I didn't
bounce my grenade off several big trees to my front. This course of
action served two purposes. It stopped the crunching sounds, for the
rest of the day, and the sound of the exploding grenades told everyone,
who was
pulling road security within ear shot, to wake up and
pay attention. The rest of our morning passed without incident, but
later that afternoon shortly after about 1300 hrs. we started hearing
the faint sound of machine guns firing, followed by distant explosions,
to the northwest of our position.
The sounds were coming from the direction of Pete Petersen and the
battalion recon patrol. They had run into one of many temporary base
camps for the 70th Guard and were now in a fire fight with hundreds of
enemy soldiers. They were 800 meters north-northwest of their own base
camp at "George" when it happened. Sapper teams had been aware of the
patrols straight line movements, from the moment the patrol left its own
perimeter at 800 hrs. that morning. The 271st NVA unit was also nearby,
preparing for a later attack against Haig's main lines of defense.
Fact is, there were just too many people in this thirty-man patrol to
slip through the jungle unnoticed as they performed the same mission a
squad could have performed. A platoon like this made at least three
times as much noise, moved much slower and provided three times, as many
targets, for ambushers to take advantage of. In the years to come, we
Americans would improve reconnaissance tactics and navigation equipment
greatly, but by then, it would be too late for men like Pete. Making
these longer reconnaissance probes into enemy territory was the primary
job of this recon platoon. They were assigned to the battalion
headquarters company and were different from the long-range
reconnaissance companies (LRRP) authorized by Westmoreland on the
brigade or division level. In a perfect world, their main objective was
to collect intel, not get into fights. However, on this day Pete's
"little band of brothers" would break that rule in just about every way
it could be broken. Years later, "Seal Teams" did this kind of
reconnaissance work and did it better with eight men, than the battalion
recon patrols could do with thirty men, for a variety of reasons, none
due to recon's own individual inabilities. During the Vietnam War, It was "seat of the pants" stuff, which Pete had no choice
but to go along with. Later, Haig would very briefly, but poignantly
address what I am trying to say this way. He said, "In Vietnam,
strategic factors hardly applied. Tactics was all, and the name of the
game was not chess, but a demented and bloody form of hide-and-seek".
No final ordeal in the final moments of any American soldier's life,
gives more credence to the truth of Haig's words here, than those in the life of Pete Petersen.
Before the shooting started, Pete approached a large heavily used trail.
He followed it a few feet to examine something, which caught his eye. It
was a paper sign, like the ones, which the platoon had encountered
earlier in low hanging branches of trees. Like the others, it said, "GO
BACK OR DIE, AMERICANS!" only this sign had been intentionally placed in
a firing lane of an enemy bunker, completely concealed and about twenty
meters away. It was tied-in with interlocking firing ports to other
bunkers and connecting trenches, filled with hundreds of unseen enemy
soldiers. Pete didn't stand a chance. The enemy machine gunner covering
the firing lane, where the sign dangled, waited long enough to see if
more people would congregate around it. However, the veteran members of
this patrol were too savvy to fall for that trick. The gunner eventually
tired of waiting, and "open fired" on Pete. Pete went
down almost immediately. Dead branches were everywhere, left over from
the construction of the overhead cover for the bunkers. As the firing
intensified, tracer rounds set these dead branches on fire, causing a
brief, but intense wildfire to erupt. The fire did temporarily disrupt
the movements of the enemy, but it also made it impossible for anyone to
rescue the badly wounded Pete Petersen. He was unable to escape the path
of the fire and was engulfed in flames.
The platoon leader, First Lt. Richard Hill was a veteran who had been in
his share of fire fights. He immediately recognized, from the amount and
type of incoming fire, that he was facing an over whelming enemy force.
He radioed that fact to Haig, as he ordered the withdrawal of most of
his men to a safer distance from the bunkers. However, Richard, himself,
hesitated just a moment too long, probably trying to figure out a way to
help Pete. That hesitation was a death decision for the lieutenant. A
random bullet found its mark. Unnamed NCOs, however, as well as Hill's
veteran RTO stepped into the command gap. The NCOs continued organizing
the short withdrawal and the establishing of a semi-circle firing
perimeter, while the RTO gave Haig some very accurate coordinates for an
initial artillery strike. Haig did the rest with flawless precision. He
made sure the artillery did its job first, followed by low flying
antipersonnel bombing next. The heavy bombing came behind that, which
broke apart staging areas. Without accurate adjustments called in to
Haig by the RTO, however, none of this would have been possible. From
their prone positions, the recon patrol now offered very small targets
to the enemy, while at the same time its new position forced the enemy
to leave the protection of their bunkers to get at them, before American
artillery and air power could make "mincemeat" out of everyone in those
bunkers and trenches. The little band of about 28 recon platoon men,
however, outnumbered by at least ten to one, were able to perform in a
way which should have earned each of them at least a bronze star for
valor. Why? Because they held that line with such effectiveness, using
controlled return fire, for the next four hours, without losing a single
man. Many of them were using the M-14, which contributed greatly in
their ability to do this. It was hardened and committed NVA soldiers, of
the 70th Guard, not conscripts, who charged the men of this recon
patrol, but they didn't stand a chance. They either ran into recon
platoon's bullets to their front or were mowed down by the shrapnel from
our big guns at "Thrust" and Fire Base Charlie.
In night dreams, years later, some of this little band of soldiers would
still hear Pete's agonizing screams, while the very courageous and twice
wounded Vietnam veteran, Oliver Stone, would later be deceived into
making a movie, which would forever tarnish the names of men like Pete
Petersen and Richard Hill, by depicting them as being murders of
innocent women and children, as well as each other. Fact is, the
murderous events, depicted as the norm, in the movie "Platoon" never
happened in the unit Oliver served in. Why would a brave and very
intelligent man like Oliver Stone defile the light, which had been
reflected within his own soul, causing him to volunteer to fight on the
side of a righteous cause, a cause, which, if won, would have brought
freedom for his fellow human beings, instead of enslavement and death to
millions?
Upon hearing that the recon patrol was under
attack, by a large enemy force, without checking with Haig, B company's
commander ordered his men, who were just returning from security patrols
at "George" to head toward the shooting. It’s amazing how these young
company commanders would mindlessly respond to a situation without
thinking. I saw this happen over and over, while I was in the field.
When they impulsively did this, they usually got themselves and their
men shot to pieces. To make matters worse, Haig took to the air to try
and coordinate air and artillery support, from his two-man bubble
helicopter, only to be shot down shortly after arriving over the
fighting. Fortunately, he and his pilot made it out okay, only to become
exposed to a wall of gun fire, as he ran to catch up with A company,
which he had ordered into the fight, to help the beleaguered B company.
Except for the recon patrol RTO, nobody had a clue as to their exact
location, because everyone in the relief elements had simply started
running toward the sound of gun fire, without making sure someone was
counting paces and keeping track of their location. Haig's chopper crash
had caused him to lose track of his own location. However, the nameless
recon patrol RTO saved the day for both Haig and B company. He had kept
track of his Platoon's location and was able to communicate with Haig
and give him the correct coordinates to direct fires, not only onto the
enemy, but also to enable Haig to keep friendly fires from falling on
his own men. Haig was a very experienced master tactician, and as I have
already said, he performed flawlessly in that regard. He knew exactly
how to "call down the world", when it came to directing fire support and
obtaining necessary reinforcements. However, what he couldn't do, was
give his FO 's the proper coordinates to direct accurate fires, because
he had done the same thing, he later faulted his B company commander for
doing. After crashing, he had run toward the battle "halfcocked", losing
all sense of direction and recklessly exposing himself to enormous
volumes of enemy gun fire. I hate to think what would have happened to
his men in the major battle they were yet to fight, not to mention what
a couple presidencies would have done years later, if Haig had gotten
himself killed on this day. In that case, I have no doubt that his
future duties would have been left to a much lesser human being. Haig admitted
that it was a real miracle that he wasn't killed in a hail of bullets,
mortar and rocket fire. In my opinion it was the unnamed recon platoon
RTO who saved "Haig's bacon" on this day.
Amid devastatingly effective artillery and air power this devoted but
demented battalion of the COSVN's infamous 70th regiment still managed
to keep the attack going all afternoon. They no doubt followed their
usual tactic of trying to flank both sides of the recon patrol, where
they soon ran into the charging B company reinforcements. This created
heavy casualties for both friend and foe alike. I believe the recon
people were the lynch-pin center of the American fighting line this day,
giving everyone else a stable rallying point. Enemy soldiers, who were
caught between the recon patrol and the artillery fires were
annihilated. However, B company did not fare well, because they were
standing up like papier-mâché targets, as they crashed into a hail of
bullets, coming from the enemy flankers, skirting both flanks of the
recon platoon. This was just plain crazy. Five B company people were
killed outright, and if the truth be known most of the thirty-eight
wounded were also among their ranks. The First Infantry Division rarely
fielded more than a hundred men in a company. With that information, its
not hard to suppose that B company lost at least twenty five percent of
its fighting strength, in a matter of moments. No one was killed in A
company. This is good evidence that A company arrived at the fight after
the remainder of B company people had established effective counter
firing positions. They were also the beneficiaries of effective
supporting artillery fires, which had begun to have a devastating effect
on the enemy. Again, the unnamed RTO was a key factor in making this
happen. Still, it was a long hard fire fight, lasting most of the
afternoon.
So, there you have it. This is my personal "after action" analysis done
fifty some years too late. If this analysis had been done at the time,
by an "ole" NCO warhorse instead of a newly minted clerk, with
interviews of witnesses, and had that analysis been presented, as case
studies for improving tactics, maybe more lives could have later been
saved on both sides. However, that's a lot of "maybes" and all "water
under the bridge" now.
The noise made by bombing and gun fire, coming from Haig's troubles
three miles away was of very little concern for Milliron and me, as we
finished road guard activities that day. Back in camp, with no OP or
ambush patrol duties for the night, all we had to do was wait by our
holes for the night to close in around us. It would be over fifty years
before I would realize what the "Blue Spaders" had been through on this
day, or even that a unit called the "Blue Spader" existed. We were a
battalion of three hundred guarding a fire support base of mechanized
artillery and that was my world. Little else going on in the distance
around me mattered. There were close to three thousand enemy troops
nearby, but I never dreamed that our camp had any chance whatsoever of
being overrun. I never dreamed that such a large force of hardened enemy
troops, mixed in, with young conscripts existed, in the first place. At
least I never dreamed that they could be so close. Oh yes, I knew that
there was a very good chance I could be killed, but never believed that
my entire battalion could be overrun and slaughtered. In so many ways, I
was still as naive as a baby calf, waiting to be turned into veal.
This same day, Greg Murry, with A company of the 1/16th, was in Lai Kai
for what they thought would be a few days’ rest. It was late afternoon
when his unit got the call for help, from Haig. Haig determined
correctly that he was going to need more reinforcements, soon after his
recon platoon was hit. Like us, the 1/2nd was close by, but tasked with
protecting the road used to bring in supplies. They were scattered out
up and down Route 246 and had to stay put, doing what they were doing.
So did we. When two companies of Lazzell's 1/16th, coming from Lai Khe,
landed just to the west of Haig's "Blue Spaders" they landed unopposed,
though they could see and hear the fireworks. Not long after landing,
they did come under repeated mortar attacks. I believe one good thing
came out of that. Some of these mortar teams were located and done away
with, by air strikes, leaving the enemy a little short on mortar crews
the next morning, when they launched their main attack on Haig's
position. Maybe that's why we never got mortared during the main attack.
As the sun was setting, the noises of the daylight combat events tapered
off. The NVA had pulled back by then. Except for those grunts on ambush or listening post (LP) duties,
we "Dogface" boys in the 1/18th were in our holes, for the night. The
1/2nd were in their holes for the night, and Greg Murry with the 1/16th
was still digging his hole. Jack Toomey, however, had just learned that
he would not be in his hole on his first night in the field after all.
He and two other new guys were told to man a listening post (LP) fifty
yards in front of their battalion's perimeter. Though I am sure Jack has
forgotten many mental boyhood landmarks, he still remembers this night
like it was yesterday. He remembers exactly where he was, and what he
was doing the entire night. Why? Because it would be the first time, he
would ever have another human being trying “real hard” to kill him. That,
in itself,
made it a "night to remember".
On this same night, enemy patrols were thick as fleas. Besides the
regular patrols assigned to place mines on Route 246, from An Loc to
Katum, other sapper teams were assigned to scout around the perimeter of
the 1/16th and the 1/2nd for suitable places to cause trouble anyway
they could. Maybe it would be a quick ambush on an American ambush
patrol, or a listening post or even a battalion perimeter, itself. On
this night (March 31, 1967), however, these sappers knew very well, that
they were the side show, in the upcoming main NVA attack, which would
target Haig's "Blue Spaders". That attack was to be a "show piece"
assault. Perhaps, some of the COSVN leadership were looking over the
shoulders of the planners, as they made their plans. I say this because
it was common knowledge that the 70th guard, was never
far from the senior communist leadership in South Vietnam. The 70th were
their protectors and prisoners taken indicated that they were in on this
fight.
A couple hours after darkness fell, Jack and the two new guys with him
heard rustling noises in the jungle to their front. As they sat in the
darkness, they also began to hear Vietnamese voices. Immediately, they
broke radio silence and relayed this information to their platoon RTO.
It wasn't long before the company commander was monitoring their
transmissions. Jack's companions soon became frightened enough to ask if
they could return to the safety of the perimeter, but their request was
denied. Jack didn't know enough yet to be that scared. He was, however,
becoming acutely aware, that he was not in "Kansas" any longer. It was a
little overwhelming, so he did what most of us had done on our first day
in the field. He "just went with the flow", while one question kept
popping up in his head. How had he gotten himself into a "fix" like this
in the first place? This combat thing was quickly becoming, by far, the
"biggest deal" of his young life. Fifty-some years later, the now
retired judge Jack Toomey would say in a public interview, that
situations he faced in combat were the most life-changing events that he
would ever experience. Having said that, let me also say, that the later
twice decorated machine gunner, Jack Toomey, obviously faced some big
challenges after returning from Vietnam. Some of those voluntary
challenges were greater than most of the rest of us would dare embrace.
Many of them were in the service of his fellow Americans. I say all this
to say, a statement like this by Jack should speak volumes to other
veterans who are struggling with the persistent memories of combat. If Jack
could deal with them, then you can do it too, if you don't give up. Confess
Christ as lord and then ask God for His help.
On this eve of one of the biggest battles fought in the entire war,
positioned at the very edge of human insanity, I am using Jack's story
as a good example of the way most of us felt, as we encountered the
enemy for the first time. Very little, taking place on this LP, even
remotely, reminded him of a single life experience acquired thus far, in
and around his hometown on Long Island, New York. As Jack struggled with
a flood of new emotions, the Vietnamese voices got louder. Then
too, the “begging to come home" talk on the radio also increased.
Obviously, no one had bothered to show these new guys how to tell enemy
voices in the jungle to "shut up". They had no idea that a few
well-placed hand grenades thrown in the direction of the voices could
help tremendously to solve that problem. If it didn't, then a few well
placed mortar rounds would have definitely gotten the job done. Instead, they
allowed these seasoned sappers, to hear their anxious voices on the
radio, resonating fearful tones, which could be recognized in any
language. The very breaking of squelch, in itself, was enough to give
their location away. It was a game of sorts, and a game where "Jack and
friends" had just become the prey. Bullets started popping over their
heads, slamming through the vegetation all around them. When that
happened, Jack's company commander immediately gave his permission for
the LP to pop claymores and return to the perimeter. The savvy sappers
then quickly withdrew a safe distance, only to reappear again, during
the night, to harass other spots along the battalion's perimeter. Jack
was now as wide awake as he had ever been in his entire life and would
remain that way all night long. His adrenalin was flowing, but the crash
would catch up with him later. However, for now, he was experiencing the
same rush that every new guy felt, after being shot at, for the very
first time. Six clicks away from where the main attack would take place,
I was starting to enjoying a few hours, of quiet, as the big tracked 155
mm guns behind my position went silent for a while.
After the day's events, Haig's men took full advantage of the respite,
Haig included. The most underrated but maybe the most important aspect
of successfully commanding a combat unit in Vietnam, or anywhere, for
that matter, was, and is the ability of a commander to recognize, when
and how, to take advantage, of a thing called sleep, doing nothing, but
turning the mind off, and "slumbering away". Haig had mastered this
skill in Korea, but there was a secret ingredient in his recipe, giving
him a huge edge. That ingredient had a name, and her name was Patricia
Fox Haig, Alexander's wife. His wife, "Pat", had kept the home fires
burning brightly since the beginning of his military career, and would
continue to do so, year after year, assignment after assignment,
including those very trying Whitehouse assignments to come. Americans
like "Pat" were and are truly the unsung heroes of this age. Are you
listening, Sally? However, with the assault on the family unit, which is
the elemental building block of all free societies, their numbers are
dwindling.
Sometime after three am in the morning, the person manning the radios at
Haig's command bunker started receiving calls, from all three company
commanders. The reports said over and over that many of their listening
posts were hearing noises. (Haig had intentionally not posted ambush
patrols on this night, which showed an incredible amount of forethought)
It was probably his faithful operations officer, George Joulwan, who
woke him up. Joulwan would have known when to do that, but just as
importantly, he would have also known when to let him sleep. As Haig sat up, rubbing his face
with both hands, he was given the news. He immediately gave orders for
each company mortar platoon to go to work, dropping rounds on positions,
where the noises were being heard. (This was something that Jack's
commander should have strongly considered doing, when Jack's listening
post heard those noises). The previous day's attack on Haig's recon
platoon had already alerted Haig's keen mind, to the fact, that an
all-out attack on his perimeter lines was imminent. That's exactly why
he posted no ambush patrols on this night. Haig was one of those rare
guys, who had a knack for figuring things out, no matter what mess he
was thrown into. He reasoned correctly, since the "Blue Spaders" were
very close to Cambodia, that enemy supplies and conscripts could
be moved quickly, from protected staging areas just across the
international border (Thank you, Mr. Johnson) to "pre-attack positions"
surrounding his present position. Visa versa, after the battle, Haig
knew it was only a short distance over the border, to very safe and well
stocked camps. This made the possibility of an attack even more likely.
Fresh conscripts could be moved from their training camps in just a few
hours, to be flung at the Americans before first light, This would also
cut down on the number of breakfast rations needed, since they would not
be returning alive to consume them.
Dawning of April 1, 1967 was to be "a beautiful day in the neighborhood" for
the murderous General Thanh. His commanders stayed busy all night moving
troops into locations around Haig and Lazzell's battalions, while his
sapper teams surrounded Jack's 1/2nd battalion, to monitor
whether they stayed put, or not, during the main thrust. Large numbers
of conscription forces were used in the battle of Ap Gu on both sides.
However, there were no restrictions, moral or otherwise, for the
communists. They could use human flesh, anyway they chose, to fuel their
war machine. Throughout the war years the communists maintained large
numbers of conscription forces in the South, with death being the only
release date, for their enslavement. These conscripts were largely
composed of youngsters, whose parents were not members of the communist
party. Non-membership, alone, was enough reason for their communist
overlords to view them with distain. The communist action plan had
always been to rid themselves of two problems, at the same time. Over
and over, in the war, communist thugs like Thanh, would routinely
sacrifice the lives of these politically uncommitted souls, just as
quickly, as they would try to kill a foreign soldier like me. The Vietnamese
communist mindset, largely schooled under Stalinism, considered this
type of sacrifice a just atonement, for anyone, who committed the nearly
unpardonable sin of being politically neutral. To this very day, only 3%
of the Vietnamese population is communist. Now, to any reasonable mind,
this sin of omission, if a sin at all, would be considered harmless.
Never-the-less, it turned politically powerless rice farmers into the
"deplorables" of their day, in the eyes of their communist suppressors.
By nature, like all communists, Thanh was a hate filled creature. He had
no problem directing that hate against his fellow citizens, simply
because they had no wish what-so-ever to substitute their innocuous
pursuit of growing rice, peacefully raising their children, and honoring
their ancestral traditions, to embrace the inhuman initiatives
of the communist party. Like so many of my fellow citizens today,
however, they were too late in their realization of just how impossible
life could be, once they fell under the iron fist, of the communist
ruling class. History proves that societies, devoid of a relationship with
God, are not intrinsically good, but evil, beyond anything imaginable,
and all communists are God hatters. Once a totalitarian government is
enshrined, under fear of death, a one-party ruling class has no trouble
keeping powerless "deplorables" in check. Thanh learned quickly how to
wield his virtually unlimited political and military control over his
fellow countrymen, taking most of his murderous lessons from Stalin. Then
and now, the more this power is wielded, the more it intoxicates a true
believer like Thanh. It made Thanh drunk with hatred, toward all fellow
human beings, who did not think exactly, as he thought, on any given
day. It was a completely appropriate step, for the "Haters of Hanoi",
like Thanh, to embrace this more efficient way of ridding the utopian
state of errant thinkers. They took these children of "deplorables",
whom they considered tainted by family traditions, away from their
families, brutally molested them, body and soul, and then placed them
onto a bureaucratically powered conveyor belt, which we Americans called
the Ho Chi Minh Trail". When they reached their holding pens in the
south, before being led to the slaughter, they were drilled night and
day. One of the last drills to be taught was how to run to their death
at the sound of a bugle. In this way, which I have briefly described
here, Thanh's "big battle" strategy accomplished two goals. It gave the
spiritually challenged Westmoreland the illusion of victory, through
body counts, while at the same time, it got rid of a whole bunch of
"deplorables" who would die in the place of Thanh's more ideologically
committed cohorts. In a sick way, Thanh's actions were very clever,
enabling him to continue the fight, until both his enemies, from within
and from without, were bashed asunder, fighting each other.
As Murry finished up his last guard of the night, and was falling fast
asleep, a single registration round fell a short distance from Haig's
bunker. Haig, already awake, heard it, and guessed correctly, that a
full barrage would soon follow. He had his entire battalion on full
alert and called Murry's commander, Lt. Col. Lazzell, advising him to do
the same, with his "Rangers" (the 1/16th nick name). Haig didn't have
long to wait for the main attack to begin. In a matter of about twenty
minutes over 300 rounds of 60 mm, 82 mm and 120 mm mortar rounds fell on
Haig's position and probably an equal number on Murry's "Rangers". 75 mm
Pack Howitzers and mortars were used to shell Fire Base Charlie. We had
just come from there a few days
earlier. The 75mm pack Howitzers were obtained from the Chinese, who
obtained them from the United States, during the second World War. The
shelling of Fire Base Charlie hampered, somewhat, that fire base's
efforts, to provide fire support for Haig. It was located about 12 clicks to the east of "George" was also
2nd brigade headquarters. The brigade commander, Col. James Grimsley was
wounded by shrapnel and had to be evacuated. He would later go on to
become a major general. The resulting enemy mortar attack on the 1/26th,
the 1/16th and fire base Charlie was one the most ferocious, of
the entire Junction City operation.
Just before things got hot for Haig and Murry, I sat in the darkness,
pulling the last hour of my guard time, and anticipating some of the
dehydrated vegetable beef soup, which "Tiny" had started preparing for
us, to be flown out to supplement our morning coffee. There would also
be freshly made donuts, which were better than any I had ever tasted in
the States. This was in addition to the hot meal which Tiny made for us
later in the day, day after day, while we were in the field, under
Dick's command. We didn't get anything nearly this appetizing, while
good "ole C-ration Denton" was running things.
Suddenly, the gun crews behind my position came to life. Within two or
three minutes, after I witnessed their crews scurrying around behind me,
those big 155s began blazing away, waking up everyone, who was still
trying to sleep. We had a star light scope in my position with fresh
batteries, so Bowman and I started using it to search the wood line to
our front about 75 meters away. In just a few minutes flares under
little white parachutes started popping open over our heads. I believe
they were coming from the guns of the 173rd Airborne unit to the south
of us. We put the star light scope back in its case and started watching
the skyline toward the northwest where we were able to hear large
explosions. Bill had wandered off again, to be with Bartee and his RTO
so they could monitor the radio, while Bowman and I held down the
"fort", sitting quietly, saying nothing to each other. Bill was a
Californian and Californians always seemed to be more sociable, than
mountain boys, like bowman and I. Bowman was so quiet, that, at times, a
stranger could have easily mistaken him for a "mute".
Jack's unit was spared a mortar attack. We were too. It was another
story for Murry and Haig, however. Hearing mortars leaving their tubes,
snapped the veteran Murry out of his dreamland state barely in time to
dive into his bunker, before a mortar round turned him into small body
parts. He was now wide awake and looking for his rifle, while his
foxhole buddy was screaming for him to get off his back, literally.
Still looking for his rifle, Murry scrambled off his "buddy" and crawled
out of his hole into another hole made by a mortar round, the one, which
would have blown him apart, had he been just a "tad" slower in the "low
crawl". He grabbed his rifle and reentered his bunker to assume his
shooting position. His buddy was already blazing away, as if he was
putting on a show for Walter Cronkite's camera crew. That's when it
happened. It was a nightmare which was repeated over and over for our
fighting men in Vietnam and a needless one I might add. Murry's M-16
jammed, making him one more testament to how sorry the M-16 was. I can't
help but wonder how many Washington palms had to be greased to make sure
the contract for these inferior weapons never got cancelled. However,
that touches on another story about another swamp, far removed from the
swamps of Vietnam.
While Murry low crawled from his bunker one
more time, to the next bunker over, trying to find a cleaning rod to
knock the jammed cartridge out of the breach of his rifle, Haig was
faced with a much bigger problem. Every action taken by Haig from this
point on, during and after the battle of Ap Gu would forever be, to his
glory, or his shame. That's the only two headings on the score card of
any combat commander, who leads his soldiers into battle. Whether a commander is leading a squad, a platoon, a
company, or an entire army, he or she must make the most logical
decisions possible, letting the score card be damned and at the same
time, letting God sort things out. If that rule is not ardently
followed, the soul of that leader will not bear the consequences. Maybe not today,
nor tomorrow, nor next year, but at some point, in time, regardless
which side of the score card has the most checks, the test, itself, if
not for God, will always ensure that a certain kind of insanity will
engulf the mind of the one who took the test. It was still Friday evening back in the States. Many Americans were just beginning to unwind from a hard week at work. While LZ George was lit up with bombs, mortars, and tracers, many Americans were intently focused on adjusting the "rabbit ear antennas" on the TV, so they could view more clearly their favorite Friday evening TV show. Others were busy preparing to chase their Friday night passions in all sorts of other ways. At the time this battle was taking place, as well as others similar to it, most Americans were quite unaware of the truth, behind the war in Vietnam. Instead, they were continually fed the leftist leaning version, delivered in a fatherly tone, by one of the most distinctive speaking voices America had ever known. His name was Walter Cronkite. There certainly were no Ernie Piles around to record the truth about the raw courage and fighting ability of a unit like the 1/26th. Instead, every major news network seemed much more disposed to catch us citizen soldiers, with our pants down. "Fair and balanced" was just as much a catchy little lie then as it is now. Communist officers, by this time, had moved their "deplorable conscripts" as close in, as possible, just before the mortar attack was launched. They had picked the best spot on the Northeast side of the perimeter for the main attack to take place, the same spot Haig had been concerned about. A few conscripts, who were deemed more complaint, during their harsh training, were given satchel charges and instructed beforehand, on how to use them to blow up a bunker. It would not have been lost on these very intelligent "young deplorables" just how slim their chances of survival were. However, they had no choice. A quick summary execution, by a bullet to the brain awaited them, if they refused orders. Worse yet, one American, whom I interviewed, said that after the battle, his squad found a dead NVA deplorable chained to the limb of a tree. He had obviously been punished this way as an example to fellow deplorables. This action said in no uncertain terms just what was in store for them, if they refused to die the way their communist overlords had planned for them to die. Can the reader imagine the immense emotional agony, which this young human being, who was created in the image of God, must have experienced, as he waited for what must have seemed like an eternity to either die of exposer or be killed by us Americans.
The night before the
main attack,
Haig held the recon platoon's 28 men in reserve, having them spread out between the command
bunker and the B company's east side perimeter, where they could use the
undermanned perimeter bunkers as protection. There was room in these
bunkers due to B company's loses, in the previous afternoon's fighting.
Haig never heard the enemy bugles blow at 0520 hrs., signaling for the
main human wave attack to begin against his northeastern perimeter.
Neither did he see the flashes from the satchel charge
explosions, which destroyed two of his C company bunkers, instantly
killing the C company men inside. He had been much too focused on making
sure that the officers, NCOs, and their RTOs now crowded around him in
the command bunker, had their wits about them. That trait in Haig, which
allowed him to assess and steady his people, in times of severe stress,
like this, was a rare trait indeed, in the "Big Red One". Haig had that
ability and so did Cavazos. Fortunately, not only did Haig have the
"right stuff", but he also had been in command of the "Blue Spaders"
long enough, to have made sure by now that most officers and NCOs,
affecting his command, were either up for the task, or reassigned to
other jobs. Since day one, he had also used his experience to tweak his
junior officers' understanding of S.O.Ps, so they would apply them,
according to his way of thinking. In short, he had put the icing on the
cake which Gorman had baked. What kind of icing am I talking about? Here
is just one example. Everyone knew, at the
beginning of a fight, that most of the time, unless otherwise ordered, he always wanted artillery to have preference
over air strikes close in to is men. The big bombs, on the F4s, were to
be used to bust up enemy assembly areas a little further back, but not
as far back as the arbitrary 1000-meter S.O.P. called for. Now, while
the sound of mortar blasts were subsiding outside the command bunker and
that of rifle pops was increasing, Haig began to focus intently on each
of the multiple streams of radio transmissions around him, for any sign
of a hiccup. Those transmissions, with hiccups, would be addressed
immediately, but not as harshly, as the ghost of General Ned Almond, may
have wanted. It wasn't long before Lazzell's voice became one of
those transmissions, to take note of. It wasn't a hiccup. It was just
good information. Lazzell was verifying what Haig had
already suspected would happen. "We are receiving a lot of incoming small
arms fire on the northeast and east side of our perimeter", Lazzell
reported in the best command voice he could muster. Though he said
nothing to anyone, including Lazzell, Haig knew this diversionary attack
meant that his
"Blue Spaders" could expect the full force of General Thanh's wrath,
to probably hit them on their eastern perimeter and not in between the
two American battalions where this firing was coming from. Another radio report
was now saying that fire base Charlie was being shelled. An FO's RTO was
already on the horn to one of our artillery officers at "Thrust", asking
him if he could take up the slack, until Fire Base Charlie could get a handle on
things. I say all this to say that the command bunker was a busy place,
with command personnel doing what they should be doing in a situation
like this, which was to work "the crap" out of those radios. Haig, was
tuning into conversations, as needed, to keep abreast of developments
unfolding,
when suddenly he heard the distinctive voice of his C company commander,
Capt. Brian Cundiff, saying his northeastern side of the perimeter was being overrun.
This was conformation of the main attack, which Haig had been expecting. He grabbed the mic
from the hand of his "Romeo 6" and started to address Capt. Cundiff, by
his radio call sign, "Charlie 6", when Cundiff abruptly interrupted him.
"The b- -t- -ds are in the bunkers with us", Cundiff blurted out, for
all the world to hear. Upon hearing that, Haig immediately reassured his junior officer, letting
him know, that help was on the way. Without saying a word, Haig reached
down and grabbed his AR-15 and then charged out of the command bunker,
while his radio operator scrambled to keep up. In a few seconds he was
starring into the face of that nameless recon platoon sergeant, telling
him to have his recon platoon "saddle up" and follow him. He had walked the lines
enough to know exactly where he was going, and now, just like the
day before, Haig ran, facing a hail of bullets toward Capt. Cundiff's position.
There was a real danger of a "friendly fire
situation occurring, if those recon guys following Haig did not pick their targets carefully.
However, just like the day before, recon platoon's fire control was flawless.
Dawn was breaking. Targets on the ground could be more easily
identified by soldiers doing the ground fighting. However, low hanging
clouds were still preventing the big jets from dropping their ordinance,
as close in, as Haig now realized they needed to be dropped. It seems to me that communist planners had "goofed a bit",
when they started their assault about the same time the sun was coming
up. This was about an hour too late, to take full advantage of the
darkness. Haig had wisely let the NCOs of recon know beforehand, to
ready themselves, as his reserve, to be used anyway he saw fit, during
an impending enemy attack. Now, in the twilight, with bullets popping by
everyone in the open, recon people united with C company as everyone
spread out around their "Ole Man", carefully picking off anyone trying
to get at them or their buddies. Some hand to hand fighting ensued. It
was the kind of fighting and killing almost unheard of in jungle
warfare. The lines were quickly reestablished, with recon people filling
in the gaps along with C company soldiers. These deadly shooters had
eliminated every threat inside the wire, without getting a single recon
man killed, while losing only eight men in C company, during the entire
battle of Ap Gu. All but one of these, were killed by fragmentation
wounds, which would seem to indicate that the gun slinging shootout was
a one-sided affair. This, alone, speaks volumes to the proficiency of this little
band of citizen soldiers.
Low hanging clouds, preventing the Air Force from bombing, wasn't the only problem Haig faced. The perimeter had been reestablished for the time being, but Haig knew it couldn't withstand another human wave attack for other reasons besides just low hanging clouds. Both "Thrust" and "Fire Base Charlie" where getting low on munitions. C company and recon were now very effectively preventing further intrusions, on their lines, but they were also running low on ammo. The huge volume of incoming small arms fire said that there was still a large force, hiding in the grass, just outside the wire. This strongly suggested that another large scale human wave attack was imminent. Now was the time, like never before, to get those air assets moving, but exactly how was that going to happen? The answer to that question now rested solely on the shoulders of Alexander Haig, and Haig alone. Brigadier General Hollingsworth, second in command of the Big Red One, was circling above the battlefield in his Huey gunship. Other gunships were peeing red tracers toward the ground, which I could see all the way from my position at "Thrust". "Puff the Magic Dragon" was also circling overhead of the battle. I could hear the buzz-saw sound of it's mini-guns. One Arial report, coming from one of the circling aircraft, later said that they saw wounded NVA soldiers, helping other wounded soldiers, not to retreat, but to make death charges against the American line. When my research discovered that information, like many others, my first thought was to be amazed at how committed these NVA soldiers were to their cause. That thought, however, was a misconception. Almost all of these brown uniformed NVA were not committed communists, but "deplorable conscripts", who, under threat of immediate execution, were forced by their communist handlers to return to their slaughter pens. Their heart was not in winning this battle, but in staying alive for just a few more minutes. How can I be so sure, what I have just said here is true? The evidence is in the outcome of their attacks. Not a single recon platoon member was killed during these shoot-outs, yet they were, at one point, out in the open, engaged in a "good ole fashioned" O.K. Coral type "shoot-out." Capt. Cundiff shot six enemy soldiers, himself, at point blank range. The after-action report says that 34 enemy bodies were later found inside C company perimeter. However, not a single member of recon and only one C company man was killed by gunshot wounds. This would have been impossible, if they had tangled with the more experienced communist killers, like those sappers which we routinely dealt with. Sappers, were the more trusted troops and were the ones my unit had been skirmishing with, on a daily basis. However, the poor souls, who had been commanded to charge Haig's lines, in response to a bugle, were "throw-a-ways", cohered by hardened communist ideologues, to perform suicidal acts. Unspoken horrors awaited them, and their families, if they did not obediently die as told. History shows us over and over that human flesh is cheap under the communist ideology, regardless of who is in charge. You see, under communism's total domination, it doesn't matter whether a Stalinist personality or the saintly apostle, Peter, himself, is in charge. In either case, there can be no "human rights". This battle was just a small example, of the horrendous capital, in human suffering, which this evil ideology is forced to depend upon, for its perpetuation. Here is an "absolute truth" for the taking. No human being, save Jesus Christ, Himself, is capable of managing absolute political power over other human beings, and still retain the ability to respect human life. The only way that will happen is by dividing government's power amongst several branches of governing authority, which derive their authority to rule, from the people being governed. Tie this democratic idea to an inalienable bill of rights, derived from Judeo-Christian principles of morality, and you, my friend, have yourself a government, which can promote unprecedented progress and protection, year after year, century after century, until my Lord returns. Shortly before 0700 hours, Hollingsworth was still circling overhead. He had managed to redirect more artillery fires on the northeastern and eastern side of the perimeter. By now, Haig had returned from leading his recon platoon, to shore up the breach in the lines, and was squatting in front of the opening, to the command bunker. He could hear the loud shearing sound of big artillery shells, cutting through the air and exploding just in front of C company's bunkers, but he knew more needed to be done. This was the moment where Haig proved to all, who cared to pay attention, that when something did need to be done, and done fast, he was the man for the job. Haig turned his head slowly from one side to the other, while issuing his next order to all officers and NCOs in ear shot, including his "Top Sergeant", who had also been by his side all morning. "Have all our mortar platoons lay down phosphorous rounds forty meters to the front of the eastern perimeter. (Burning phosphorous gives off white billowing clouds, which can easily be spotted from the air.) While still kneeling, he then turned his entire body toward the battalion's air officer, Capt. John Buck. Buck was crouching down on the other side of the command bunker. "Captain Buck, I need you to drop napalm on top of those phosphorous rounds". He then addressed his RTO in a subdued tone. "Get General Hollingsworth on the horn. Without hesitation, his RTO broke squelch a couple times and voiced the radio call sign for Hollingsworth over the airways. Haig motioned for him to hand over the mic to him. "Holly, I don't care how you do it, but I want cluster bombs dropped on top of the napalm I have ordered to be dropped along my eastern perimeter. Bring them right up to the perimeter". Haig fully realized the implications of this public request, which he had just spoken for all to hear. Those words to his boss shifted liability, for creating a friendly fire incident, from his superior officer, "General Hollingsworth, to his own shoulders. It also did something else. That request, which followed a course of sensible actions, unburdened the load, on his boss's shoulders, which freed the general up, to become an asset, instead of a hindrance. This is an excellent example of the kind of interactions, which competent leaders should strive to have with their boss. Since they are closer to a problem, they should always suggest a course of action, before their superior has to spend valuable time, coming up with one. Why? Because Hollingsworth had other responsibilities and could never be as tuned into Haig's situation as Haig, himself. All bets are off, however, if subordinates are not competent, in their jobs. The ranks of the 271th Viet Cong Regiment, waiting in the tall grass, to mount their next human wave attack, were devastated by the resulting anti-personnel bombing. The enemy was "sent packing" and by 0800 hours, the Battle of Ap Gu was over. However, the godless communist leadership wasn't concerned in the least, for the loss of life, of their own countrymen. They were mostly "deplorables" anyway. Already, more were pouring into the training camps just over the border in Cambodia. In a few weeks, I, myself, would tangle with hundreds of these NVA 271st soldiers, who, by that time, were fully resupplied and refitted. Unlike Haig, however, I would face them, with only seven men, and the voice of the Holy Spirit of God to guide me. Before the morning had ended, Haig was ordered to replace the wounded Col. Grimsley. Hollingsworth's helicopter was soon ferrying him to second brigade headquarters, where he was given command of that entire brigade. He was also immediately promoted to full colonel. At some point, during this same morning, I began working on my second, or maybe third helping, of dehydrated vegetable beef soup. It would be over fifty years, before I would realize what had just occurred at LZ "George", only a very short distance, from my little hole in the ground.
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