Chapter 11: Haig  

     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 conscripts, AK-47s, RPGs, 122mm rockets, and 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 that we would ever experience a human wave attack this close to Saigon.
     On the same day, Greg Murry, with A Company, 1-16 Infantry, was in Lai Khê 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 1-2 was nearby but couldn’t help Haig because they, too, were tasked with protecting the road used to bring in supplies. Each day, the guys in my unit and the 1-2 would be scattered up and down Route 246, guarding convoys of resupplies. Like I said, at the time, no one told us grunts anything. When the two companies of 1st and 16th battalion were flown in from Lai Khê, 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. The mortar attack was fortuitous for Haig and us too. Those enemy mortar teams gave their positions away and were destroyed by our air strikes. This meant that the enemy was now running a little short on mortar crews when they launched their main attack. That may be why we never got mortared during the main attack that was 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 1-2 were in their holes for the night, and Greg Murry, with the 1-16, 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 establish 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 1-2, 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 hard to kill him. That, in itself, made it a night to remember.
     A couple of hours after darkness fell, Jack and the two new guys with him heard rustling noises in the jungle in front of them. 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 asked permission to return to the safety of the perimeter. Their request was denied, and now Jack was scared too. Nothing in this place reminded 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 realized that he was sharing this listening post with the Scarecrow and the 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, asking himself the same 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 the situations he faced in combat were the most life-changing events that he would ever experience. After returning home, the twice-decorated machine gunner, Jack Toomey, obviously faced some significant challenges in becoming a judge in his hometown of Long Island. Yes, 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 a surge of new emotions, the Vietnamese voices grew louder. Then, the begging to come home pleas started in earnest, coming from the Scarecrow 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 could not 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 apparent 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 his friends were too scared to think. They also loathed the thought of killing another human being. Those two facts make it understandable why it was hard for them to visualize what they needed to do. They had not yet become experienced enough to master the tools of their trade. For example, a couple of tossed grenades would make almost anyone stop talking and run away. And if their grenades miraculously hit their mark, that was all the better. They also needed to realize that this was not a training exercise. There would be 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 with fearful tones that could be recognized in any language. The very breaking of the squelch was enough to give their location away. It was a game of sorts, and a game where Jack and his friends turned themselves into prey instead of predators. 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 to a safe distance, only to reappear 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 adrenaline 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.
     Three and a half miles away from where a main attack would soon take place, I was starting to enjoy a few hours of quiet as the big tracked 155mm 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 undoubtedly 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 to be able to follow through with that endeavor without being disturbed. That reason was his longtime friend and S3, George Joulwan. George always screened interruptions to his sleep, allowing him to be awakened only for what required his attention.