VIGNETTES VIETNAM (War stories that at least are built around the truth.)
VIGNETTES OTHER (Warrior stories that at least are built around the truth.)
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Way back when in the spring of 1969, B Company, 1st of the 61st Infantry was on patrol in the scrub hills west of LZ Sharon. My company, commanded by Captain Parika, was sent to patrol an area which was an old fire base in the AO. We had dismounted and were on line looking for something my memory does not recall when suddenly someone stepped into a hole and twisted his ankle. Someone told the platoon leader, SSG Morris, the hole looked like a chimney because of the smoke stains on the walls. We looked around the area and discovered more holes in a linear pattern. This was reported to the company commander who investigated and reported to the battalion commander who reported to the brigade commander who somehow got a general to visit the site. Myself, a up and coming SP4, was involved in digging down to find the source of the shaft. It was speculated that this was an air shaft of a secret underground highway that was located between Dong Ha Mountain and Quang Tri. The rumor was that the gooks were using it to truck supplies to the VC on the coast. That explained the soot on the walls of the air shafts. We dug and dug and would periodically be required to send up a sample of dirt to a Major, the Subject Matter Expert, who would brief the chain of command. Finally we reached what looked like a pipe. Specialist Mendola grabbed the object and suddenly discovered it was a arty smoke round. By the time I climbed out of a twenty foot hole, all the brass was gone. To this day I wonder if there ever was a secret underground highway in the AO.
Thirty years ago this past October 25th,
1998, I last saw my friend Barney Hyatt. During Operation Rich we were
members of the RECON PLATOON, HHC Co, 1/61. Our platoon, led by Lt. Dave
Merrell, had been directed to bring relief to the leading company which had
been pinned down by heavy automatic fire. Barney had been a few men in front
of me and had received a shoulder wound several seconds before I dove into
the bomb crater where he was laying in shock.
We were directed to deploy to a trench
line to the right. Hours past by before we came in contact with a Lt. who
was shirtless, had a bullet wound through his chest, but had a grenade in
both hands. He advised us to run with him to a defensive perimeter that had
been set up. This area consisted of several bomb craters containing those
who had been wounded and killed. We were informed at this time that our Lt.
Merrell and our RTO (Thomas Ray) had both been killed.
The NVA soldiers were relentless in
their attempts
to shoot down the med-evac helicopters. After Cobra Gunships were brought in
we were finally able to get our dead and wounded out.
Last year I left a message on
"Quigley's Down Under Web Site"
saying that I was with Lt. Merrell when he was lost.
Some fourteen months passed and I
received an e-mail from someone who claimed he was in my platoon and was the
third man hit that day. He could not remember anyone's name or the names of
base camps from which we had operated. His name was not familiar to me and I
thought for sure I was dealing with a "wannabe". He indicated in further
e-mails that he had discarded all his military records. Finally he sent me a
photo that he had sent to a relative. It had been taken in Con Thien. As it
transmitted onto my screen the face of my friend unfolded before my eyes. I
immediately phoned him to apologize for doubting him. Within a week Barney
drove from Lansing, Michigan to my home in Jackson, New Jersey.
The Internet brought the two of us
together after 30 years.
The roar of the engine
The clap of the 50 caliber
Does make the driver standup
On his full body stance;
Then you'll know that
you are near Death's Dance.
December, 1969
Pat Maddalino-A Co 1/61
Rifleman
[RETURN TO TEXT]
by Jack Stoddard
This is an extract from a recently published book titled
WHAT ARE
YOU GOING TO DO, SEND ME TO VIETNAM?.
If
you like first person war stories you will surely enjoy this book. For more
information, click HERE
I really felt lucky to have such a good crew, even if their backgrounds
were so different. Jim was from New York and had a college degree. Stick
was the skinny kid from Detroit who had been raised in the streets of the
Motor City and then there was Chris who was a small town kid who had never
ventured far beyond the beautiful mesas of New Mexico. As a tank commander I
felt blessed when these three men were filtered down through the system and
finally ended up being assigned to my tank. Jim was the anchor of my crew
while Chris was the hardest worker. Stick was just Stick. Always a little
nervous, but at the same time eager to learn the art of war and always doing
a good job for me. When these three guys bonded together I knew that the
crew of Bravo Two-Two was going to be a good one! We had become an
unbeatable team.
I knew Chris Cordova, the driver of our tank, for almost a year.
He arrived in Vietnam when he was nineteen and we had a party when he
turned twenty. We had a lot of good times together along with a few bad
ones. His best friend and running buddy was Jim Tanouse, our gunner on the
Double Deuce. They were always doing something together. Chris was a young,
quiet Mexican-American boy and Jim at the age of 23 was the older teacher.
They both had been drafted so they shared that common bond. I can remember
Chris always going to church services as often as he could, even while we
were in the field. There might have been only two soldiers at the services,
but one of them was always Chris. I had managed to take good care of my guys
for the whole year that I was their tank commander.
Chris had extended for six months in Vietnam so that when he got home
he would have no duties to perform in the National Guard. People who were
drafted not only had to go to Vietnam, but they also had to serve with the
National Guard for a year or two, I don’t remember exactly how long. This
program was new and a lot of the guys were doing it. It meant that Chris
would now be leaving the ‘Nam four months after me.
I was busy in base camp starting the week long ordeal of out-processing
to go home, Jim was out of country on R&R in Australia and our platoon was
preparing to leave Quang-Tri on another support mission. As usual Chris was
driving the old Double Deuce, Stick was the loader and our newly assigned
Second Lieutenant would be acting as tank commander for this mission. The
five tanks of the second platoon, B company would be on a search and destroy
mission around Alpha Four, our furthest most fire support base which was
north of Quang Tri. They would be supporting our sister unit, the 1/61st
Infantry Battalion.
I was later told that they had made contact with a platoon of NVA
(North Vietnamese Army) soldiers. The American soldiers from the 1/61st in
their ACAVs (Armored Cavalry Assault Vehicle) had the enemy pinned down in a
valley while our tanks blocked the exits so they couldn’t escape. Soon our
ACAVs started taking heavy return fire and had to back out of the area while
at the same time calling in our gun ships for support. Shortly there were
three Cobra gun ships circling the area.
The gun ships started their attack by coming in low from the north
firing their machine guns until they were on their final approach toward the
enemy infested pod of jungle that was buried within the heart of the valley.
They then fired a series of rockets toward the target area as the crews of
the second platoon watched from a safe distance. The tankers cheered as the
exploding rockets found their mark. But then it happened! For no apparent
reason the third gun ship made his run from the east end of the valley,
heading straight in the direction of our own tanks sitting one-hundred yards
above the target area! The Cobra fired off two rockets, the first one
landing twenty-feet directly in front of the Double Deuce. Our new
lieutenant, who had only seconds before been sitting on the right front
fender talking with Chris and Doc Brown, our medic, was blown completely
off the tank! Doc had also been hit by the first rocket and was now laying
on the ground seriously wounded.
About the same time the second rocket found its mark. It exploded upon
impact and penetrated the hull of the Double Deuce. It had landed directly
above Chris’s head and my good friend was killed instantly. Within moments
of the second explosion, Stick was already climbing out of the turret and
heading in the direction of his buddy, but by the time he got there it was
too late. All that Stick could do was to sit next to Chris and cry. He was
still crying when the other troopers of the second platoon finally reached
them. The lieutenant would recover from his wounds, but Doc would later
lose his left arm due to this terrible tragedy.
For me this was the worst day of my life. I had lost a very special
friend and I still, to this day, feel that if only I had been there, things
might have been different. An investigation was launched to determine why or
how such a terrible mistake had happened.
That afternoon I went to the motor pool to clean the blood of my friend
off my tank. I couldn’t and wouldn’t let anybody help. I was the tank
commander of the Double Deuce and it was my job, my responsibility.
It took me over two hours to scrub down the entire driver’s
compartment. I still remember that I didn’t want anyone to see my tears as
I tried to erase the memories of what had just happened. Maybe if I scrubbed
hard enough, Chris would be all right. I’d never before or since cried so
hard. There was to be none of the normal joking going around the motor pool
on this day. Everybody knew and liked Chris.
Two days later I had to tell Jim when he returned from R&R. It was so
hard to explain what had happened to his best buddy. We both sat in the dark
corner of our hooch and cried together. I didn’t think I had any tears left.
The next morning I sat down and wrote a letter to Chris Cordova’s parents
while at the same time promising myself never to forget him. I even made a
vow that I would name my next son after him.
Many years later, in 1990, my second wife, Sue, and I had the first of
two very special sons, who we named Christopher. I had finally been able to
keep my promise from so long ago. Christopher, as well as our second son,
Billy, was born with a rare, terminal metabolic disorder called Leigh’s
Disease. When little Chris was only three-weeks-old, while laying in front
of me on the floor, he stopped breathing! I was busy watching TV at the time
and was very surprised at what happened next. I could see my old friend
Chris standing next to the television and pointing in the direction of my
son! I was startled to say the least, but I immediately looked down to see
my boy turning blue. I then gave little Chris CPR and he came around just
fine.
While I was busy performing CPR I realized that my son had a guardian
angel. My dear friend of so long ago had just alerted and helped me save
Christopher’s life. My friend Chris may be gone but he will never be
forgotten. When it’s my turn to enter Fiddlers Green, the final resting
place for all good tankers, I know my good friend Chris will be waiting for
me. He’ll be standing there with that shit-eating grin and laughing that
boyish laugh. We’ll both climb onboard the gleaming Double Deuce and I’ll
holler out, "Kick her in the ass, Chris, we have a long way to go before it
gets dark." As the Deuce heads out into the clouds, a fellow trooper will
holler out, "Hey Guys, look at that crazy chicken on the gun tube!"
.
They left the jungles red with blood, the Daves, the Johns and Toms.
Boarded the Freedom Bird, they were going home again.
Behind them were the horrors, the agony and the fears.
The memories they brought with them, to dim not ore the years.
Anxious hearts were beating fast, as the Freedom Bird touched down.
Home at last or so they thought, but shocked at what they found.
Some came off the plane walking, some on stretchers and wheelchairs.
Nothing had prepared them for the jeers and hate filled stares.
What had they done they thought, as some bowed their head in shame?
They had fought for God and Country, so for what did come this blame.
Incoming spit and rotten eggs hurt worse than wounds their bodies bore.
And all thoughts of Freedom faded as they stepped back on US soil.
Families could not understand why they were not the same.
Some wouldn't even listen, when he would try to explain.
No Welcome Home parades, for the town's people turned away.
For him there was not to be a real Homecoming Day.
They went in all directions, and coped the best they could.
Carrying more guilt and shame than any Veteran should.
They built walls and bunkers so they could be touched no more.
And each night they dreamed and cried and fought a raging war.
For thirty some odd years have passed and wonder where they are?
Some are walking the homeless streets, some in VA mental wards.
Many have died from illness contracted in the Nam.
Some just quit fighting, some pick up a gun.
But by the Grace of God, some found the courage to step out.
"I am a VIET NAM VETERAN, I got the right to be Proud"
Turn away if you must or listen if you will.
I've bore all you threw at me and I am standing still.
Although my steps are weary and my soul is oh so sore,
You can take your blame and guilt, I won't carry it no more.
I'll reach out to my brothers that are still standing all alone,
And by God you can't stop us. One by One We're Coming home.
author-anonymos
submitted by TOMMY DORRIS-5/4 ARTY
Forward Observer
with A Co 1/61
[RETURN TO TEXT]
author-anonymos
Provided by Walt Bickston, old Pioneer 6, who got it from a
young friend who is a Chief Petty Officer in the Navy SEALs.
[RETURN TO TEXT]
He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
and he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past.
Of a war he had fought in and the deeds that he had done.
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, everyone.
And `tho sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
all his buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tails no longer, for ol' Bob has passed away,
and the world's a little poorer, for a Veteran died today.
No, he won't be mourned by many, just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary, very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family, quietly going on his way;
and the world won't note his passing; `tho a Veteran died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
while thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories, from the time that they were young,
but the passing of a Veteran, goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution, to the welfare of our land,
some jerk who breaks his promise and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow, who in times of war and strife,
goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?
The politician's stipend and the style in which he lives,
are sometimes disproportionate, to the services he gives.
While the ordinary Veteran, who offered up his all,
is paid off with a medal and perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them, for it is so long ago,
that our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys, went to battle, but we know.
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
who won for us the freedom that our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
would you really want some cop-out, with his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Veteran, who has sworn to defend,
his home, his kin and Country, and would fight until the end?
He was just a common Veteran, and his ranks are growing thin,
but his presence should remind us, we may need his likes again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the Military's part,
is to clean up all the troubles, that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor, while he is here to hear the praise,
then at least let's give him homage, at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline, in the paper that might say:
OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING, FOR A VETERAN DIED TODAY
author-anonymos
Provided by a young officer in the 196th INF BDE. He never served in
VIETNAM and never in the 5th DIV but he understands the truth of INFANTRY
service.
A DAY ON THE ROAD
February 23, 1971 started out as a normal day, I was almost at the six month point of my tour of duty in Vietnam. I had been attached to 2nd Platoon C-Troop 3/5 Cavalry for some months as a Forward Observer.
Terry J. Johnson HHB 8/4 Arty. F.O. Team attached 2nd Plt. C Trp. 3/5 Cav.
VIGNETTES VIETNAM (War stories that at least are built around the truth.)
VIGNETTES OTHER (Warrior stories that at least are built around the truth.)
Our mission during Lam Son 719 was to provide security to the Engineers who were building the " Red Devil Highway" from the Rockpile to Khe Sanh, Our jobs consisted of patrols, and mine sweeps of the area in and around the Rockpile.
On that morning we had been assigned to do a mine sweep in the area known as the "Punch Bowl". With us that morning was a civilian reporter named Holger Jensen who was doing a story of the operation. He was riding in the fifth armored personal carrier along with my platoon leader Lt. Joe Megginson, a West Point Graduate, the best officer I have ever served under and our troop commander Captain Carr. I was in the fourth armored personal carrier in the column.
About an hour into the sweep I spotted something along the side of the road. I didn't know quite what it was, I though maybe we had dropped a box of ammunition but wasn't sure. I dismounted to investigate and as the troop commander was there I wore my tin pot and flak jacket. I also brought along my M-60 Machine gun with a 50 round belt just in case. It was a lucky thing that I did because when I parted the bush there I was face to face with a North Vietnamese Army soldier with a RPG pointed right at me, no more that a foot away. I don't know what possessed me at the time but I said "Chieu hoi (Open Arms in Vietnamese means to surrender.) At that point he pulled the trigger (I can still hear that click today.). He was in the process of re-cocking his RPG when I shot him. After shooting him I started firing in the area around him. (I still remember my Lt. Asking "What the hell I thought I was doing".) I was so scared I couldn't even talk, I ran back to my track and grabbed an M-16 and a ammo can that had some grenades in it and went back to engage who ever was out there. By then everyone thought that I had went insane ( I still couldn't talk ) until I pulled the body of the first NVA onto the road. It was at that point that the unit realized that we were in an ambush and by then it was all over. I had killed four enemy soldiers and wounded at least one more who got away. We were lucky that day, for there were no American causalities.
I found out later that I had been put in for the Silver Star for the action.
Towards the end of my tour I was called out in formation and presented with The Silver Star and Purple Heart. This was one of the proudest moments of my life. I still remember the hand shakes and pats on the back as if it was yesterday.