Chapter 11 Haig 121224

      On this same afternoon of March 30th, while my patrol was in the midst of being ambushed outside Fire Base Thrust, Lt. Colonel Alexander Haig's Blue Spaders were landing at LZ George, which was about three and a half miles away. My patrol was still engaged in the fire fight and too busy to notice the line of Hueys flying over our own NDP on their way to drop off Haig and his boys at LZ George. However, the men inside our perimeter at LZ Thrust would have been able to see them. 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 NCOs including the FO (forward observer) assigned to his unit. His faithful S3 (operations officer) and longtime friend, Captain 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. You see, Haig 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. Years later I would learn a little more about how he was wired. He was definitely wired differently than Dick Cavazos. He was not as earthy, and not as apt to identify with the individual needs of a grunt like me. That quality in Dick Cavazos was largely due to his King Ranch upbringing, and also the example set for him by his remarkable father, Lauro Cavazos. Yet, Haig was not as aloof as our last commander, Denton. He was just matter of fact, and smart. There was such an innate and trustworthy quality about him to get the job done, that he quickly became a highly valued asset to every boss he ever had.

     So far, in the two months that he had been with the Blue Spaders, Haig had managed to pass every tactical pop quiz thrown at him. The big question, however, was whether or not he was going to be able to pass the big exam. I am referring here to the test of running a fighting command, while in direct contact with a large enemy force. Dick Cavazos had passed this test a long time ago in Korea and he had scored an A+. Haig had been in Korea also, but he was not given the opportunity to be tested in battle. Instead, he had been a staff officer serving the wishes of a crusty old general nicknamed Ned Almond. As a matter of fact, Haig had been the young duty officer at MacArthur’s headquarters in Japan who took the call from the South Koreans notifying MacArthur that the North Koreans were invading the south. Later in Haig’s career, as a Lt. Colonel just graduating from the Army’s War college, he was issued orders to go to Germany as a staff officer after graduation. He had requested a combat assignment in Vietnam but was flatly denied that request. Haig had to resort to contacting his old boss at the Pentagon to get his orders changed. That boss was Deputy Secretary of Defense, Cyrus Vance. Haig was nabbed by General DePuy as soon as he stepped off the plane in Vietnam to become his G3. By this time 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 the reins and run, making his boss look good. DePuy would have been a fool not to grab 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. Not only was Haig not going to be tested in combat, but he was not going to be let in the room where that test was given in the first place. For most, this would have been the end of it. Odds were just too heavily stacked against Haig playing anything but a supporting role to warriors instead of becoming a warrior himself. So, what caused that to change? Why was Haig now standing in tall grass near the Cambodian border, commanding a battalion of 300 strong (If one can call that strong), soon to be in the fight of his life 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 corral him. DePuy personally 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 conversation, 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 make come true. After finishing his conversation with the II Field Force Commander, 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 in ground combat.

     At this point, I must say that Haig, like Dick, would have not risen to the positions which he attained in life without the support of his wife, Patricia. Alexander Haig had married Patricia shortly after graduating from West Point. She was a General's daughter. This alone gave him great exposure. Through his marriage to a General’s daughter, Haig was automatically exposed to the world of general officers frequently enough to help 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 that they were any more capable than us." Neither Haig nor 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 played in building a stronger America, by providing the wise council and support to their husbands, which they so selflessly provided.        

     I am convinced that there were many officers in 1967 who possessed the potential to be great leaders but never got there. Like Haig, they had the critical analytical thinking and interpersonal skills required of a commander. However, unlike Haig, they did not possess the confidence to deal with the stupid "ass chewing chiding" and the humiliating petty commands, delivered by generals flying somewhere above the fray. However, fortune had smiled on Haig. Circumstances had allowed him to cut his teeth around these kind of individuals. 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 was just one of many of those political types which knew and respected Haig.

     Although a staff officer in Korea, Haig had learned a lot about the plight of the average field commander. He had gained much of that knowledge while serving under that crusty old Lieutenant General, Ned Almond. Ned treated most of his field commanders like "s__t". Witnessing this abuse had more than prepared Haig to not only feel at home with badgering senior officers, but also helped him understand the plight of subordinates serving under him. One easily overlooked but vital thing which Korea taught Haig was how not to put his neck in the hangman's noose when he communicated with others. He knew the right "take charge" lingo to use when communicating with those who outranked him without stepping on their pride. He also realized the importance of not talking down to subordinates. When all this was mixed with Haig's abundant common sense, it's easy to see that Haig was a well-rounded leader who could perform at a very high level 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. 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 emotional, as well as financial support. This same uncle also helped Haig to attend Notre Dame and later West Point. Interestingly enough, charitable acts are performed by believers and unbelievers alike. Unfortunately, many times what is seen as charitable is nothing more than harmful enablement. In Haig's case, the fruit produced later in his life proves that this was not the case between him and his uncle. His uncle’s acts of charity were well invested.

     Unlike our unit before Dick came along, the Blue Spaders was a veteran combat unit when Haig took over. Their previous commander was Lt. Col. Paul Gorman, and he had done a good job during his time as their commander. Now, not only was Haig taking over command of the Blue Spaders, but something else was happening. During this very brief window in time, Haig was becoming a member of not only the Blue Spaders, but also a member of a very unique club that few ever join. Every Blue Spader belonged to that club. It's a club whose members offer up all that they are, and all that they will ever be, in this life, for the right of other humans to live free. 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 lose. It is their offering of shed blood to stop the forces of tyranny, which qualifies membership into this club. Now, Haig had finally gotten his chance to join the 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 executive meeting in the jungle. 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 (forward observer) had this area adequately dialed in, by supporting artillery fire bases like ours. 

     As for me and the men at Fire Base 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 our positions. Finally, it was time to sort through our own thoughts and try to put the traumatic events of the day into 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 notepad 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. The stupidity of this tactic still amazes me to this very day. Fire Base C to our east (2nd Brigade Headquarters) also provided artillery support for both LZ 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 too. However, I do not believe their guns were in range of LZ George. 

     The next day, March 31st, the 1/2nd Infantry Battalion was air lifted by choppers from fire support base Charlie into the grassy clearing at LZ George. They immediately marched south, crossing to the south side of Rt. 246 about two klicks (Kilometer) due south of their drop zone at George. They then established an NDP on the same road as us. It was six klicks west by northwest of our position at Thrust. The 1/2nd was led by Lt. Col. William Simpson. This same morning new guy Jack Toomey was flown in from Phuoc Vinh with the mail and resupplies. Jack was flown in 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 many freshly dug enemy positions in and around the grassy LZ along with some older ones. There was also freshly traveled ox cart trails within the wood line of the triple canopy jungle. The soldiers on this morning's patrol, who had been accepted into this 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 nonsense and very competent Lt. Richard Hill. Richard and Pete were the best of the best, and on this day they were not just near the tip of the spear, but at the very tip of the tip.   

     While Petersen was leading his patrol and Jack Toomey was getting settled into his new life at the gates of hell, 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. There was another squad on the other side of the road doing the same thing. Mine sweepers walked down the middle of the road, staying roughly abreast of us, sweeping their metal detectors back and forth looking for mines.

      My squad was noisier than usual this morning and it was getting on my nerves. I became more and more aggravated at everyone and especially at Sergeant Bartee. I felt he should have said something to quiet the squad down, when, in fact, I was the one who should have said something to him first. However, I wasn't a team player. I tried to solve every problem in life myself. I almost never asked anyone for help. Better yet, I just avoided problems in the first place. Today was no different. My squad members were making too much noise, and they were going to get me killed. So, I simply sped up, and disappeared from Bartee's sight, putting about twenty-five yards between me and the noise makers. Problem was, I didn't bother to let Bartee know what I was doing. Very soon Bartee and the rest caught up with me, making more noise than ever. He then whispered quietly for me to slow down. I turned and quickly answered back; a little abruptly I might add. I explained to him why I was staying a little further in front of the rest of the squad, although I felt that I should not have had to explain. I suppose I had lived in Wayne's World so long that I just assumed Bartee should be able to read my mind. Soon, however, Bartee did snap to the situation, and silently waved two fingers toward me, indicating that he was giving me his blessing to stay further ahead than normal. I turned my skinny body around and quickly, but silently, snaked my way through the thick undergrowth, while hardly disturbing a single vine. Now, I was able to focus on my job. That focus was what another point man named Tom Mercer later labeled as being in the zone. Unlike Tom, however, the problem I had was not knowing when to come out of the zone. Perhaps that was a major reason why I was still a PFC. The road to our left was our guide but was also much more dangerous to follow than navigating through thick unmarked jungle. Why? Because the enemy knew that our patrols would be travelling parallel to that road every morning. That made it easy for a sapper to pick a good hit and run ambush site. To counter this, since we didn't have to worry about getting off course, both Bartee and I finally synchronized our thinking, as I just explained. With me sneaking along way out in front, an ambusher would hopefully focus on my noisy squad, and not hear or see me sneaking up on him until it was too late. this seemed like a good  technique which would allow me to ambush the ambusher. We would soon find out whether that was true or not.      

      At one point during this patrol, we had to halt, while a wounded mine sweeper was evacuated. He was shot by a sapper from a distance 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. I already had those reports of my fellow grunts, coming back from patrols, and saying that they had seen sappers camouflaged to resemble bushes. With that and with what had just happened to the mine sweeper, I was well aware that I could be next. A sapper could easily be hiding to my front along the road waiting for me to come to him. With this thought weighing heavy on my 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 as you see the slightest movement of a leaf in front of you". It was now that those lessons taught to me by my father long ago would pay off. When hunting squirrels, as a boy, my dad had taught me how to spot the slightest movement of a squirrel's head peeping around a limb. Other dads were teaching their son's how to be team players in sports like baseball and football. Little did I know that my Dad was teaching me to survive the hell that was Vietnam.

      Now, 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 for snakes and a false alarm. My tension eased. While still listening to the mongoose rustling in the leaves, I began to sense something else. It was something beyond my five senses. It was that same 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 overreacted. 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. This time it was an affirming tone in his words, instead of a condemning tone. 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 buddy, the motor pool sergeant, for what seemed like several lifetimes ago.

     After clearing the rest of our assigned section of Route 246 just east of LZ George, Milliron and I sat on a little spot of jungle, just off the road and inside the wood line. We sat there 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. Finally, Bill woke up and immediately became wound up. He started describing the beautiful rose gardens of Santa Barbara where he had lived for a time. 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. About thirty minutes into the conversation, I detected something coming from the jungle behind us, 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. Those little creatures were too hyper to wait that long. At the same time, the normal sounds of birds and those mongooses vanished, and the jungle became deathly quiet. The only sounds I could hear was the low mumbling of Bill's voice, and those occasional crunching sounds. Bill continued to talk about Santa Barbara, as if he was some kind of travel guide. Finally, I interrupted him by putting one finger to my lips. Then I whispered, "Listen. 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 saying anything, 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 his to the front but slightly left, and I threw mine slightly to the right. We were careful not to bounce our grenades off several big trees, in the direction that we were throwing. The exploding grenades served two purposes. They stopped the crunching sounds for the rest of the day, and they also told every other road guard within earshot to wake up and pay attention.

      Later, in early afternoon, we heard 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. At 1300 hrs., 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 LZ 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 NDP. 

     Fact is, there were just too many people in this thirty-man patrol to slip through the jungle unnoticed. A single squad could have performed the same task and made a lot less noise. A platoon made at least three times as much noise, moved much slower, and provided three times the number of targets, as a squad. 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 and avoid fire 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. During the Vietnam War, however, it was seat of the pants stuff, which Pete had no choice but to go along with. Later, Haig would very briefly, but poignantly summarize what I just said, by putting it 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, provides more evidence for the validation of Haig's words, than those in the final moments of Pete Petersen's life.

     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!". The sign had been intentionally placed in a firing lane of an enemy bunker, completely concealed and about twenty meters away. That bunker 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 the sign. However, the veteran members of this patrol were too savvy to fall for that trick. The gunner eventually got 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 intended maneuvering 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 of them in their bunkers. The little band of about 28 recon platoon men, outnumbered by at least ten to one, performed 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 to their ability to pull off this incredible feat. The attackers were hardened and committed communist party soldiers, of the 70th Guard, and not conscripts. They readily charged the men of this recon patrol. However, they didn't stand a chance. They either ran into recon platoon's bullets to their front, or they were mowed down by the shrapnel from our big guns at Fire Base Thrust and also Fire Base Charlie.

     In night dreams, years later, some of this little band of recon soldiers would still hear Pete's agonizing screams, but would except the consolation of our Lord, that we all die, and yet eternal life is available to all who chose to believe on Him. Others, like the very courageous and twice wounded Vietnam veteran, Oliver Stone, would want no part of such a notion. Later Oliver would be deceived into making a movie, which would tarnish the names of men like Pete Petersen and Richard Hill. He depicted his fellow grunts as murderers of innocent women and children, as well as each other. Fact is, the murderous events depicted in the movie, Platoon, never happened in the unit Oliver served with. Why would such a brave and very intelligent man like Oliver Stone defile the national memory of his brothers? If America had possessed the heart to stay the course, that decision would have brought freedom to a beautiful people, instead of enslavement and death to millions. However, although our national leaders gave up, most grunts and officers, who served, never regretted their service. Most realized that winning the war would bring much more freedom to the Vietnamese people.  

     Upon hearing that the recon patrol was under attack, without checking with Haig, B company's commander ordered his men, who were just returning from security patrols at LZ George to head toward the shooting. It’s amazing how many 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 gunfire, as he ran to catch up with B company.

     Except for the recon patrol, nobody had a clue about their own whereabouts and there was no such thing as GPS in those days. Everyone in the relief elements had simply started running toward the sound of gunfire without keeping track of their own location. In Vietnam it was extremely important to know ones location coordinates on a map, at all times. Our artillery FOs and air controllers flying around in piper cubs needed to know these coordinates so they could do their jobs. Point men were usually the one’s to keep track of a patrol’s current coordinates by counting paces. Although he was the first man killed, Pete Peterson’s accurate pace counting probably saved the day for Alexander Haig and friends. Haig's chopper crash most surely caused him to lose track of his location. B Company's commander most surely followed the sound of the fire fight to get to where he was going so he didn’t know where he was at. This meant that Lt. Hill’s RTO was probably the only man who would have known the coordinates of their location, after Peterson and Hill were killed. That nameless recon patrol RTO saved the day for both Haig and B company, because he was able to give Haig his exact location. Haig could then call in accurate fires on the enemy.

     Haig had very good instincts as a tactician. Though short on everyday experience as a field commander, he had been blessed with the ability to think quick, while under extreme pressure. He did an exceptional job of calling down the world on enemy positions once he got the proper coordinates from the recon RTO. However, after his chopper crashed, he ran toward the battle too and was met with a hail of gunfire. That probably was not one of his smarter moves. His actions may have been viewed later as a little crazy. However, there was something else to be considered. Hanging around the downed chopper could have given away his location to enemy sappers. We also don’t know whether he had a working radio at this point. If he didn’t then he couldn’t call for help. Thinking about his situation now, I believe I would have done the same thing he did, which was run toward my men and hope for the best. I hate to think about what would have happened to his men in the major battle, which was yet to come, if Haig had gotten himself killed while running to join his men. Haig later admitted that it was a real miracle that he wasn't killed. In my opinion it was Pete Petersen’s good navigating and the ability of that unnamed recon platoon RTO to remember those coordinates, which saved Haig's bacon on this day.

     Amid devastatingly effective artillery and air power this devoted but demented battalion of the infamous 70th regiment still managed to keep the attack going all afternoon. They followed their usual tactic of trying to flank both sides of the recon patrol. Soon, they ran into the charging "B" Company reinforcements. This created heavy casualties on both sides. The recon people were lying flat on the ground and were the lynch-pin defense on the American side. Shooting low in three round bursts, their suppressing fire gave the arriving "B" Company people a stable rallying point, from which to extent the American lines on the flanks. Enemy soldiers, who were caught between the recon patrol and the artillery fires were annihilated. However, "B" Company grunts did not fare very well because they were standing up and running into an already existing fire fight. Thus, as they presented themselves, like paper targets, many more of these grunts were killed or wounded. Five "B" Company people were killed outright, and 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, it’s not hard to suppose that "B" Company lost at least twenty five percent of its fighting strength, in a matter of moments. “A” company was also called on to join the fight. However, they did not have a single man killed. This is good evidence that “A” company arrived at the fight, after the remainder of “B” Company people had established effective counter fire positions. “A” Company was also the beneficiary of effective artillery fires. Those fires where already having a devastating effect on the enemy by the time “A” Company arrived. Still, it was a long hard fire fight. Milliron and I listened to the sounds of that battle all afternoon.

     So, there you have it. This is my personal after action analysis done fifty some years too late. Maybe, if this analysis had been done at the time, by an old NCO warhorse, instead of a new clerk, we could have better realized some things that we could do better. Maybe we could have gained a better understanding of our enemy. Maybe, more lives could have been saved. However, that's a lot of maybes and all water under the bridge now.

      The noise made by bombing and gunfire, coming from Haig's troubles three miles away, was of very little concern for Milliron and me. He and I finished road guard duty that day and returned to our NDP in late afternoon. Back in camp, with no LP (listening post) or ambush patrol duties to perform, we had nothing better to do than hang out beside our holes and wait for the night to close in around us. It would be over fifty years before I would realize what the Blue Spaders went through on this day. Furthermore, we Dogface grunts had no idea that a unit nicknamed the Blue Spaders even existed. We were a battalion of three hundred guarding a fire support base of mechanized artillery and that was our entire world. Little else going on in the distance mattered. There were more than three thousand enemy troops nearby and less than 400 of us. We had no idea of that fact either. I and many others believed that we were fighting a bunch of unorganized guerilla forces. We thought that all the NVA troops were further up north, trying to kill marines. However, later events would prove that these large enemy units were continually moving from one stronghold to another in War Zone C and D, always closer to us than we ever realized. Even the very astute Alexander Haig did not have an understanding of the bigger picture. These main NVA forces did not run back across the Cambodian border after every battle to lick their wounds. Instead, they were continually being resupplied and outfitted with new conscripts, by the workings of a very robust shadow government, established through terror tactics perpetrated on the people of South Vietnam. Sure, these units were being reinforced daily from the North with more conscripts, AK-47 assault weapons, more RPGs and 122mm rockets, as well as antiaircraft machine guns. However, much of their food supplies and other hardware and services were being extorted from the South Vietnamese through the efforts of that very clandestine shadow government, which our senior leaders ignored and we grunts knew nothing of, in the first place. Oh yes, I knew that there was a very good chance that I could be killed, but at this juncture in time, I, like most grunts had bought into the false assumption that we were only fighting against disorganized bands of guerrillas. We never dreamed for one minute that we would ever experience a human wave attack this close to Saigon.  

      This same day, Greg Murry, with A company of the 1/16th, was in Lai Kai for what he 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. He already strongly suspected that this attack on his recon platoon was just a precursor to something bigger. Like us, the 1/2nd was nearby, but couldn't help because they too were tasked with protecting the road used to bring in supplies. Each day, the guys in my unit and the 1/2nd would be scattered up and down Route 246 guarding conveys of resupplies. Like I said, at the time, no one told us grunts anything. When the two companies of Lazzell's 1/16th were flown in from Lai Khe, they landed just to the west of Haig's Blue Spaders. The landing was unopposed, though they could see and hear the fireworks, coming from Haig's beleaguered men fighting in the woods to the north. Not long after landing, however, Greg's unit was mortared repeatedly. Actually, I believe that mortar attack was fortuitous for Haig and maybe us too. You see, some of those enemy mortar teams were located and done away with by air strikes. This had to leave the enemy a little short on mortar crews, when they launched their main attack. Maybe that's why we never got mortared during the main attack still to come.        

     As the sun was setting, the noises of the daylight combat tapered off. The 70th pulled back to regroup. Except for those grunts on ambush or listening post (LP) duties, we grunts, in my Dogface Battalion 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. He and two other new guys were told to man a listening post (LP) fifty yards in front of their battalion's perimeter. Though, by now, Jack has forgotten many of his youthful forays with the 1/2nd, he still remembers this first night in the field. He remembers exactly who he was with, where he was, and what he was doing the entire night. Why? Well, for one, he remembers this night, because it would be the first time, he would have other human beings trying real hard to kill him. That, in itself, made it a night to remember.

     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, one of his fellow grunts broke radio silence and relayed this information to their platoon RTO. It wasn't long before the company commander was monitoring their transmissions. Soon, Jack's companions became so frightened that they ask permission to return to the safety of the perimeter. Their request was denied and now Jack was scared too. Nothing in this place was reminding him of Kansas any longer. These woods were spooky and there was a wicked witch out there in the darkness. To make matters worse, Jack now realized that he was sharing this listening post with the Scare Crow and a Cowardly Lion. Life was quickly becoming quite overwhelming. So, with this said, Jack did what most of us did on our first day facing the enemy. He just sucked it up and went with the flow, while asking himself this one question over and over. 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 then 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 twice decorated machine gunner, Jack Toomey, obviously faced some big challenges after returning from Vietnam to become a judge in his own hometown.

     Jack was from Long Island, New York. However, he could have been from Kalamazoo for all the good his past life was doing for him now. As he struggled with an earthquake of new emotions, the Vietnamese voices got louder. Then the begging to come home pleas started in earnest coming from the Scare Crow and the Cowardly Lion sharing this little spot in the jungle with him. His two Compadres were now talking to the company commander. Their pleas, one, then the other, were pitiful and sounded more like the whining of a child. While the whining continued on the radio, Jack had an epiphany. He realized for the first time that he was not going to be able to fully trust anyone but himself. He also realized for the first time that he was going to have to look at life a lot differently. It quickly became painfully obvious to Jack that no one had bothered to show these two grunts a single thing about how to man an LP and he certainly didn't know either.    

     Like most new guys, Jack and friends were too scared to think. They also loathed the thought of killing another human being. Those two facts makes it understandable why it was hard for them to visualize what they needed to do. They had not yet become experienced enough to realize how to use the tools of their trade. For example, a couple tossed grenades would make almost anyone stop talking and run away. And, if their grenades miraculously hit their mark, that was so much the better. They also needed to come to the realization that this was not a training exercise. There would be absolutely no reprimand from their superiors for throwing a grenade. However, as crazy as it may seem to the reader, they probably weren’t sure of that either.

     Instead of acting, Jack's buddies 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 was enough to give their location away. It was a game of sorts, and a game where Jack and friends turned themselves into prey instead of predator. Bullets started popping over their heads, slamming through the vegetation all around them. When that happened, Jack's company commander immediately gave his permission 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 almost every new guy felt, after being shot at, for the very first time.

     31/2 miles away from where a main attack would soon take place, I was starting to enjoying a few hours of quiet, as the big tracked 155 mm guns behind my position fell silent. At the same time, almost every man in all four NDPs took full advantage of this quiet time. Those of us who didn’t have to go on ambush patrol or listening post (LP) duty did what was the most underrated but vitally important function needed for the success of any fighting unit. That function was sleep. Its importance was certainly not lost on Haig. While our guns were silent, I am sure he did nothing but turn off his mind and slumber away. Haig had mastered the skill of knowing when to sleep in Korea, but there was another reason for him getting the rest he needed. That reason was his longtime friend and S3, George Joulwan. George always screened interruptions to his sleep allowing only interruptions which absolutely required his attention to disturb him.

     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) This was definitely one of those reasons for George Joulwan to wake his commanding officer. 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 done when Jack's listening post began hearing voices. Our new commander, Dick Cavazos, would have given that order before those enemy voices had time to say Ho Chi Minh twice.

     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, that ambush patrols would be a liability he didn’t need to be worrying about during an all-out attack. He already knew that a large enemy force was nearby, so why have fifteen men stick their necks out to warn him of something he already knew?

     Whether he won this next upcoming battle on April 1, 1967 or not, it was going to be a beautiful day in the neighborhood for General Thanh. His field commanders had busied themselves all night sneaking into locations around Haig and Lazzell's battalions. Other sapper teams surrounded Jack's 1/2nd battalion, as well as our own. These more hardened sappers monitored and harassed the 1/2nd battalion and our unit mainly to make sure that we were staying put.

     Thanh would use larger numbers of conscription forces in this battle and that would continue to be the case throughout the rest of 1967. With this thought in mind, let me mention here the huge advantage which Westmoreland never factored into his understanding. That advantage was the lack of concern for the protection of basic human rights, for these conscripts. Thanh had no moral restrictions personally or otherwise, on how he could use human flesh to fuel his war machine. To him and his cohorts that was a beautiful thing which gave him an advantage that our own generals found very hard to contemplate. Throughout the war years the communists maintained large numbers of conscription forces in the South with death being the only end date to their plight. I am going to keep repeating the following statement of fact. Victory for the communist would allow less than twenty people to share absolute control over the Vietnamese people. Those twenty people would rule as they pleased with no restraints. Their only worry in life would be each other. Each of those few at the top would forever have to keep a close eye on the others if they did not want to fall prey to the “ole knife in the back trick”. Personally, I would rather have a constitutional government like ours enforced by leaders who have the moral understanding and courage to stick with the rule of law, which, by the way, we do not have now.

     NVA conscripts were composed of youngsters, who were fed one lie after another starting long before their nightmarish trip south began. No actions taken against them would ever be seriously questioned. They faced the prospect of summary executions, for a host of reasons that we would have found very minor. With this barbarism being a very real and constant prospect, the human mind starts to shut down many higher-level functions. At the same time, it becomes more susceptible to propaganda, especial the clever kind, which was distributed regularly throughout all the NVA units, by communist disinformation specialists. Conscripts were divided into cells of three. Each of those cell members was forced to regularly critique themselves and the other two, viewed under the watchful eye of a more well-programed NCO. Just before the attack began on Haig’s position, several conscripts deemed as uncompliant were publicly made examples of before the other troops by being displayed and then marched off to be chained in trees surrounding Haig’s NDP.

     Truth is, the vast majority of conscripts had parents who did not belong to the communist party. To the communist elite, they were the deplorables of their day. In this ruling class’s eyes, their lack of motivation to join the communist party brought distain. Deep down their leaders felt more hatred toward them than they did Haig's Blue Spaders. The communist action plan had always been to rid themselves of two problems, the one from within and the one from without. Over and over, in the war, communist leaders like Thanh, who wielded complete control of the citizenry in the North, would intentionally sacrifice the lives of these conscripts just as quickly, as he would kill a fellow like me. Actually, they would kill them quicker because I had some pretty devastating ways of fighting back. After we left Vietnam in 1975, the communist ideology was responsible for the deaths of over three million Vietnamese.

     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 own battalion. 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 1/16th 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 World War II. The shelling of Fire Base Charlie hampered, somewhat, that fire base's efforts, to provide fire support for Haig. It was located about 12 klicks to the east of Haig's position. It 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 our cooks had started preparing for us, to be flown out with the morning coffee and donuts. Those freshly made donuts were better than any I had ever tasted in the States. This was in addition to the hot meal which our cooks made for us later in the day. These hospitality upgrades all happened on Dick's watch. 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. I suppose he wanted to be with Bartee and his RTO so they could monitor the radio. Bowman and I held down the fort, sitting quietly, saying nothing to each other. Bill had traveled the country more than Bowman and me. He had been a construction worker and sheet-rocker before he got his greeting from Uncle Sam. He had seen more of the world and was much more sociable than us. Bowman and I were withdrawn hillbillies who had spent too much of our time in the woods, alone. Bowman was even more withdrawn than me. He 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. However, it was another story for Murry’s Rangers and Haig’s Blue Spaders. Hearing mortars leaving their tubes, snapped the veteran Murry out of his dreamland state barely in time for him 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 terrifying thing which was repeated over and over in Vietnam and needlessly I might add. Murry's M-16 jammed. It became one more proof of how inadequate this most important piece of equipment was.

      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. At the same time, Haig was facing a much bigger problem. Every action taken by Haig from this point on, during the battle, would require very critical thinking. There would be no time for pauses or second guessing. The battle would become known as the Battle of Ap Gu.

      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 suffering in Vietnam. There certainly were no Ernie Piles around, as in World War II, to record the everyday life and raw courage of a unit like the Blue Spaders. Instead, every major news network seemed much more disposed to catch us citizen soldiers, with our pants down, or better yet, an enemy ear or two in our pocket. If they couldn’t do that, at least they could catch some shots showing how wild eyed and scared we looked.  

      Communist officers, by this time, had moved their disposable 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, and it was the same spot Haig had been concerned about. A few conscripts, who were deemed more compliant, 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 pawns 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. Worse yet, one American, whom I interviewed, said that after the battle, his squad found a dead NVA conscript chained to the limb of a tree. Does the reader really think that he was the only one. If so, my dear, you have never studied a history of happenings in countries living under the communist ideology. Walter Cronkite never reported on the multitude of atrocities committed by our enemy, who by the way are still our enemy today. The network would have fired him if he had. Most Americans, including me, never realized the immense emotional agony inflected upon those hapless conscripts by their own leaders.  

     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 fill in the ranks of the wounded which had to be evacuated earlier.    

     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, Haig had the right stuff, but he had not been in command of the Blue Spaders long enough, to have made sure that most officers and NCOs, affecting his command, were up for the task. They would soon prove to Haig that they were. Haig always tried to make the best with what he had but on this night he didn’t have to do that. He had already inherited the best.

     Haig excelled at tactics during this battle. I cannot help but think that some of that ability came from being dragged so often to front lines in Korea as an aid to General Ned Almond. Haig knew, that he wanted artillery to have preference over air strikes close in. 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. Air strikes were just too blunt an instrument and very sporadic. A jet could only drop one or two bombs at a time and often missed the mark. The enemy was not about to give Haig a timeout while the pilot returned to base to fetch another bomb. Artillery on the other hand could keep coming and could be fine-tuned to be dropped very close to friendly troops. Now, while the enemy mortar blasts were subsiding outside the command bunker, the rifle pops were increasing. Haig began to focus intently on each of the multiple streams of radio transmissions around him. He was good at spotting and dealing with the slightest hiccup. Tactical errors would be spotted in those transmissions and addressed immediately, but not as harshly as the ghost of General Ned Almond may have desired. It wasn't long before Lazzell's voice became one of those transmissions. 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 was probably a diversionary attack which meant that his Blue Spaders could expect the full force of General Thanh's wrath, on their eastern perimeter, and not where Lazzell’s report was indicating an increase in small arms fire was occurring. Another radio report was saying that fire base Charlie was being shelled. A FO (forward observer) was already on the horn to one of our artillery officers at Thrust, asking him to take up the slack. I say all this to say that the command bunker was a busy place, with command personnel doing what they should have been doing while a listening Haig was tweaking where he needed to tweak. People were working the crap out of those radios. Haig was tuning his ears in and out of conversations. Suddenly, he heard the distinctive voice of his “C” Company Commander, Captain 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 Captain Cundiff, by his radio call sign, Charlie 6. 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 operators scrambled to keep up. In a few seconds he was staring 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, while facing a hail of bullets, toward  Captain Cundiff's position. There was a real danger of a friendly fire situation, 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 timed their attack to take place this close to dawn. The attack 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 attack. Now, in the twilight, with bullets popping by everyone in the open, recon people united with “C” Company and everyone spread out around their Ole Man. They carefully picked 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 low casualty rate, alone, speaks volumes to the proficiency of this little band of citizen soldiers. However, it also speaks volumes about the ineptness of these teenage conscripts. 

      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. Both my NDP and also Fire Base Charlie where getting low on munitions. C Company and recon were 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. 

      By now, Brigadier General Hollingsworth, who was 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 Fire Base Thrust. Puff the Magic Dragon was also circling overhead. I could hear the buzz-saw sound of its mini-guns and see its streaming red tracers. 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 or green uniformed NVA were not committed communists, but nothing more than teenaged conscripts, suffering from advanced stages of a communist induced Stockholm Syndrome. They had no other choice but to be led by their communist handlers to the slaughtering pen. Their heart was not in winning this battle, but in staying alive for just a few more minutes. How can I be so sure that this is true? The evidence is in the outcome of such attacks as at Ap Gu. Not a single recon platoon member was killed during numerous exchanges with the enemy out in the open and at close range. Captain Cundiff shot six enemy soldiers himself, at point blank range. There is no way that could have happened if he had been facing a hard core enemy force. 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 sappers which we routinely faced on patrols and perimeter probes. Sappers were the more trusted troops and were the ones my unit skirmished with, on a daily basis. However, the poor souls, who had been commanded to charge Haig's lines, in response to a bugle, were teenaged throw-a-ways, groomed by hardened communist ideologues, to perform suicidal acts. On this day, as in many other battles, these teenagers were drugged before the battle began. Most had no heart for killing. However, 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 a cheap commodity under the communist ideology, regardless of who is in charge and its own citizens always wind up suffering the most.

      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 our big 155 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 when Haig proved beyond a shadow of a doubt what a fine field commander he was. 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, Captain 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 his RTO to hand him the mic. "Holly, I don't care how you do it, but I want cluster bombs dropped on top of the napalm which 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, from his boss to him. He had now assumed full responsibility if something went wrong, creating a friendly fire incident. That shifting of liability also did something else. It took the pressure off his boss to insert himself into the decision making on the ground. Haig had now freed Hollingsworth, 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 at certain critical moments. Since they are closer to a problem, they should always suggest a course of action, before their superior has to spend valuable time trying to come up with one, themselves. Why? Because Hollingsworth was one step removed from the problem on the ground. That meant he could never be as tuned into the evolving situation on the ground as could Haig.

     The ranks of the 271st 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 people, most no older than sixteen. A good communist will never grieve for anyone or anything. They will, however, always blame others for what they are doing, themselves. As these poor Vietnamese youth were killed in the most terrible ways imaginable, already more very young Vietnamese men and women were pouring into what was little more than human trafficking training camps, at a rate of at least 300,000 per year. Two years after the Battle of Ap Gu, the Communist North still had well over 1.8 million people which could be conscripted.