Chap 12 Tree of Life 121124

     For the next few days, after supporting Alexander Haig's big battle, things for my Dogface Battalion didn't change much. My unit continued to enjoy all the perks which came with serving our country as grunts. We provided road security for route 246 and took turns running ambush patrols at night. As I have already said, night ambush patrols were used by combat units in Vietnam primarily as early warning of enemy activity. In this free kill zone of War Zone C, we were at liberty to kill anything that moved. We also continued to get to know our new commander and were beginning to like what we saw. Unfortunately, however, even if he had been able to walk across a rice patty on top of the mud and water, there would always be some things that he was never going to be able to fix. This next episode is one of those situations.

     Surely one would have thought that the Army would have already worked out fail safe procedures to prevent artillery units from accidently plotting their many random fire missions where our infantry units where going to be operating. However, my following account proves that wasn't so.

      It was three days after the Battle of Ap Gu. Haig had just been promoted to full Colonel. The date was April 4, 1967 and it was my squad's turn to go out into the jungle about 500 meters and set up one of these nighttime ambush positions. This was the first ambush patrol, which my squad had run since we had arrived at Fire Base Thrust. By now, there was no question in anyone’s mind that we were in an incredibly dangerous place. Our patrols crossed paths with enemy patrols every day. Sometimes there was a shootout and sometimes there wasn't. However, tonight there was a very good chance that we would get into some kind of trouble. Sergeant Bartee was nervous as all-get-out. Heck, we all were. Everyone else who had patrolled this area had run into trouble. Why not us? As a matter of fact, while on a platoon sized patrol, to gather gear and weapons lost in one of those fire fights, we had already experienced a brazen ambush attack on my platoon.

      On this particular evening, just before dark, we saddled up and started out for our assigned ambush position for the night. We walked single file, skirting our own perimeter, until we got to one of the other platoon's bunkers. There we took a right turn and walked straight into triple canopy jungle. As we were leaving camp, just before making that turn, toward the jungle, I noticed a soldier standing dead still on top of his DePuy bunker. He was staring straight at me. I was the point man and first man in line, so I suppose it was only natural for him to look at me first. I learned many years later that his name was Lonnie Matthews. I did not know him then. Strangely, I never forgot what seemed to be a very concerned look on his face. I have pondered that look many times over the years. It seemed to say, I wish you guys were staying in with me tonight instead of going where you are going. He raised his hand and made a little waving motion. As I turned to walk toward the wood line, I waved back at him.

      After entering the thick jungle, we followed our assigned azimuth. It led us along that same road, where we had been ambushed. We walked parallel to the road and about twenty-five meters to the left of it until we got to our designated ambush site. The site was plainly marked on Sergeant Bartee's map. Everyone seemed more quiet than usual. We all seemed to sense that this patrol was going to be different. Every patrol was dangerous, but this one seemed to be coming with a guarantee of certain death if we didn't stay true to our “A” game. If ever there was a time to go above and beyond, this was that time. It was definitely not the time to carry on with business as usual. Enemy activity was heavier than we had ever seen. Yet, incredible as it may sound, the possibility that we could be overwhelmed by a large force moving into position to attack our entire battalion never crossed our mind. We knew nothing about what had just happened to Haig’s Blue Spaders. However, we did expect a sapper team to try and hunt us down. That's what had been happening to the other ambush patrols and that's what we expected to happen tonight. Before arriving at Thrust, quite frankly, past ambush patrols down south had been a little boring. Waiting for one's guard shift to end was unbelievingly exhausting and long. On these ambush patrols, one man out of every three would stay awake for a two-hour shift. Many times, I would listen to a small radio, which I purchased at the PX at Di An. It had an earpiece to fit in one ear so I could also listen for any unusual noises with the other ear. Tonight, however, things were different. I certainly was not going to be listening to that radio. Bartee sensed that things were different too. Milliron also sensed the difference, as did Bowman.

     I really don't know what was going through Walker's head. Walker just seemed to go with the flow. He didn't seem to be on edge like the rest of us. As he stood clutching that deadly M-40 grenade launcher in his hands, I really couldn't tell what he was thinking. I did know this, however. Walker had come to be one of the most respected members of our squad. In 1960s America, respect from whites for a black man was a rare commodity, indeed. Walker never voiced his tactical input on any situation, which I can remember. However, that really didn't matter. He was probably the best thump gunner (M40 grenade launcher) in the entire division. Given clear space, he could put five thump gun rounds in the air and on target down field at 100 meters, before the first round landed. I was in awe the first time I saw him do it. After witnessing that display, I remember jokingly saying to him, “Goodness gracious Walker, that sure will look good on your job resume, when you get back to the world (U.S.)”, but then I remembered that he was self-employed. Walker was a pimp from Ohio, but that made no difference here. He was one of us and I had known that long before the rest of these guys showed up. There were guys who came through my squad, and I don't remember their names, because they just didn't matter to me that much. Yet I will never forget Walker, or Bowman or Milliron or Bartee, but Walker and I had earned our C.I.B. at the same time and there was something very special about that bond. Of course, everyone is special in God's eyes, but I am not giving God's viewpoint here. I am giving my own flawed self-centered perspective at the time.

      When we arrived at our plotted ambush spot, lo and behold, there was a giant tree similar to the one in the picture below. This tree was standing directly on the ambush site marked on our map. I remember standing in the inner circle close to Sergeant Bartee and his radio man. Bill Milliron and Glenn Bowman stood beside me. We started discussing our plight, while the others looked on. As I said, every patrol previously sent in this general direction had made some type of contact. Nobody believed this time would be any different. With that unsettling thought sticking in the bottom of each of our stomachs, it became a little easier to start visualizing ways this tree could be used for protection. Just the fact that it was located exactly on our destination check point was a minor miracle.

      I don’t know who voiced the idea first, but the idea was embraced immediately by everyone. Of course, we old guys were always in general agreement, that we needed to not wait for the bullets to start flying before we hatched a plan. We always hatched a plan. Even if that plan was to do nothing, it was still talked about. Why? Because there were ways to do nothing and live, and then there were other ways to do nothing and get yourself killed. However, this time, we knew one thing for sure. This plan needed to be different. It needed to be something the enemy would never expect.

      Thus, the following idea was birthed. We would use the tree for cover and concealment. They are not the same thing. Cover protects one from flying objects like bullets. Concealment only hides a person. It gives no protection from fast flying objects like bullets or shrapnel. Most of the time an ambush site would not provide both cover and concealment. Conceal was usually the best we could hope for. An ambush patrol could not afford to make the noise and take the time to dig in. The laterite soil in War Zone C was very hard. However, we soon realized that this big tree could provide both cover and concealment because the ground around these big jungle trees was extremely soft. It would be easy to dig under those huge roots, where we would have access to both a concealed position and cover from the tree's roots. The picture helps clarify what I am saying.

     Spending the night under those roots grabbed everyone as a great idea. We hurriedly put our plan in motion. In less than ten minutes, we were able to quietly dig holes in the soft dirt. We now encircled the tree and were completely concealed below ground with a large root over top of each man. Before retiring under those roots for the night, we strung out six claymores, three along the road and three in a semicircle behind us. Bartee picked the first two men to pull the first guard shift. Everyone was warned one more time not to fire their weapons if we made contact. Instead, we would pop claymores, and the squad would follow me to another assembly point, exactly fifty meters in the opposite direction of the enemy tracer rounds. From there we would call in artillery on the enemy. There was just one other thing that most of the city slickers in our squad did not want to think about. They didn't want to think about what night life might be crawling around under those tree roots with them. All and all, however, that tree was a God Send.

      As some might say, We had us a plan. However, by this time we also knew that the plan very rarely joined hands with reality for very long. The night was now upon us. A couple hours of silent darkness went by. If an enemy patrol had walked past that tree, they would have seen or smelled nothing. We were as invisible as anyone could possibly hope to become in our individual spider holes around that tree.

      As I have already explained, there were other fire bases nearby, providing artillery support to our fire base, in case we were attacked. Those fire bases would H and I (harassment and interdiction) artillery rounds at random during the night. It was said that this was done to keep the enemy guessing. I have already mentioned why I believe this was a stupid idea. However, since this was a common practice, when we heard the first 155 mm rounds land in the direction of our NDP (night defensive position), we were not alarmed, in the least. Then a couple more shells landed a little closer to us on the same side of that road. Fifteen seconds later a third shell landed a little closer still.

      It was early in the evening, and no one had gone to sleep yet. Everyone was alert and starting to realize that this was not normal. Another fire base was obviously carrying out a fire mission. They were dropping rounds down the same side of that road as the side which we were occupying. Each salvo was coming a little closer. The slang description used to describe that hair brained tactic was called “walking a road”. When two or three more rounds landed even closer, our RTO was already on the horn (radio) calling for a cease fire. That couldn't happen instantaneously. Our command post would have to call brigade headquarters, and they would then call the CP (command post) of the unit engaged in the fire mission. In turn their commander would then order their gunners to cease fire. Two or three more rounds landed even closer. Everyone held their breath and scooted as far up under their overhead covering of roots, as they could get. Another and another landed, coming closer and closer. Now, all anyone could do was wait helplessly. We were in mortal fear for our lives. The killing radius of a 155 mm shell is 50 meters, and we were in the direct line of fire with no indication that the shelling would be halted in time to save us.

      Two shells landed only fifty meters away. Within just a few seconds, two more shells exploded in an air burst, near the top of our tree. We were well within their killing radius. The jungle flooring around us shuttered as it was hit by a supersonic shock wave from the two blasts. Branches from the treetop came crashing down around us. They were heavy enough to crush us if we had not been protected by those big roots. Even underground, the air we breathed immediately became heavy with fine particles of dust kicked up by the blast. The shock wave propelled thousands of red-hot shrapnel shards in every direction. That shock wave alone, from a 155 mm gun blast, could kill, at this extremely close range. However, once again, those big tree roots covered us, absorbing much of this shock wave as well as the shrapnel. If we had been in the more open jungle, I am sure every man in my squad would have been killed. Now, the air around us hung heavy with the strong smell of cordite and humus kicked up from the jungle flooring. Two more shells exploded thirty meters or so past our position, and then two again further on.

       As quickly as this mortal danger had come, it also passed. An eerie silence hung over the tree and the jungle around it, broken only by the squelch from our radio. Rays of light from a crescent moon shined through bare spaces in the tree top where there used to be limbs just moments before. Though it was a waning moon, it's light was enough to illuminate the jungle flooring and the clouds of dust which floated above it. Just for a moment, after the danger had past, the jungle seemed transformed back to a more peaceful time before we warring humans showed up. During that silence, each underground survivor had time to wonder whether the others around him were still alive. Our commander, Dick Cavazos, was probably wondering the same thing. Then all at once, the jungle flooring around the big tree erupted, vomiting out us zombie looking creatures from under the ground. If there had been an onlooker watching, it would have indeed been a very scary scene. It looked exactly like we were rising from the dead. Yes indeed, it was quite a sight for no one but us to see. Each man was covered in leaves and dirt particles, from head to toe. We looked more like creatures from The Living Dead than men. Not a single grunt had a scratch. Dick Cavazos was soon on the horn (radio), personally, telling Sergeant Bartee, to bring us home. In the smoky haze, we gathered up our equipment and claymore mines and silently started walking toward the perimeter, in single file.

      It was the 173rd Infantry Regiment, located south of us, which had made the mistake. The fire mission was halted but not in time. The first shell fired landed on the perimeter of our NDP. Lonnie Matthews, the man who had waved goodbye to me, was killed by that first shell. I would remember his face and that wave for over fifty years. This beloved son of Nashville, Tennessee, would have over 600 people attend his funeral. Why were we provided a tree of life that night, but Lonnie received no such miracle? Well, I would argue that Lonnie did receive a much greater miracle this same night. However, we who are left behind cannot see Lonnie’s miracle because it's much bigger than anything we can ever imagine as mere mortals. In the jungle that night, that big tree became our tree of life, saving us for just a short span of time. However, Jesus Christ became Baptist boy, Lonnie Matthew's tree of life, saving Lonnie for an eternity. I will soon be joining him to share that eternity. Will you?