Chapter 16: Ranch Roots and Combat Command060525
Several days after the Battle of Xom Bo II, Lt. Col. Lazzell
finished his tour and rotated back to the States. Soon after that,
Triet's boss, General Thanh, had his insides turned to mush by the
percussion of a B-52's thousand-pound bomb. He was rushed from the
border area of Cambodia to Phnom Penh and on to Hanoi for medical
treatment, but died anyway. The communist cover story was that he died
of a heart condition, and "yeah", I suppose a thousand-pound bomb could
give one a heart attack.
A month or so later, I was restored to my lofty position as
P.F.C. (ha, ha), and Dick fired my company commander, Captain Brown. The
military term for being fired was "relieved of duty". Even Captain
Brown's RTO, Fred Walters, never realized that Brown had been fired. I
believe this quiet removal of Brown spoke volumes about Dick's ability
to remove subordinates quietly who were not meeting his expectations.
Dick constantly observed, evaluated, and, if necessary, quietly relieved
junior officers without causing a "stir". It had become second nature
for Dick to spot telltale signs of a wrong fit and do something about it
before that person caused a problem. Once in a while, he would
intentionally make a "stir" but only to make a point to others under his
command, whom he felt could learn from the lesson. Here is another
leadership trait that helped Dick screen through subordinates
effectively. He was always in control of his own emotions rather than
letting them control him. He was good at feigning anger without actually
losing his temper, the way little man Lazzell did. Yes, I know what I am
saying. Great leaders must sometimes put on passionate displays without
allowing their passions to rule their thinking.
Dick had learned some of these nuances of leadership as he went
along in life. However, many other examples of good leadership had been
modeled before him, day in and day out, by his father when he was
growing up on the ranch. Lauro Cavazos Sr. was thirty-eight years old
when Dick was born. He was very well established in his foreman's job at
the ranch by that time. Most of us grunts had fathers who were barely
adults themselves when we were born. Many of our fathers had grown up
during the Great Depression and World War II. Many struggled to put
their own lives together, much less become consummate role models for
their children. My father was only twenty when I was born. He had no
opportunity to learn leadership lessons from his father, because it was
all that my Grandfather could do to put food on the table. The
deprivation created by the Great Depression was not conducive to my
Grandfather ever being allowed to develop higher-level leadership
skills. During the Great depression, he had no steady job for years. He
and my Grandmother did live on a farm with their eight children, but it
was not a working farm. Before the Civil War, it had been a thriving
Virginia plantation. Now, during the Great Depression, my Grandfather's
family squatted in abandoned slave quarters at the back of the property.
Permission was granted for him to do that by my Grandfather's
uncle, who was the caretaker of the plantation. My Grandfather fed his
family with the wild game he hunted in the surrounding forests. He also
bought other staples like flour and sugar with the small tips he earned
by doing odd chores for the wealthy visitors at a nearby Virginia resort
named the Omni Homestead Resort. Like so many of that era, hunger was the driving
concern in his life. On the other hand, at eighteen, Dick's father,
Lauro, had stumbled across Henrietta and her ranch. That was the
thriving support system during the Great Depression, which allowed not
only him the stability to develop into a great leader, but also his
children. As a Mexican American of this very prejudiced era, had it not
been for that environment, Lauro's fate and the fate of his children
would have been much worse than that of my Grandfather during that Great
Depression.
The stability afforded Lauro and his family through the ranch
legacy left behind by Henrietta set the stage for Lauro to develop
higher-level leadership skills. Those skills were then honed when he
joined the Army and was made a sergeant during World War I. The ranch
legacy continued after the war, not only to provide economic security
for his entire family, but also to provide an environment where Dick
could consistently observe firsthand how his father went about his
business. That made all the difference in the world in Dick becoming the
great leader that he later became. Of course, Dick had to do his part,
but without the life support afforded by the ranch, he would not have
gotten that chance.
Growing up on the King Ranch also allowed Dick to
observe and learn a myriad of lessons from the complex interactions of
many of the ranch’s cowhands.
They
were a self-sufficient bunch, and Dick's father made sure they stayed
that way. Dick observed time and again his father's skilled way of
communicating his expectations to those vaqueros working for him. Much
of any young child's social development is assimilated from observing,
not only their parents, but the world around them. Today, the arrival of
the communication age and the breakdown of the family have allowed
parental bonding to be replaced by teachers, the internet, and social
media peer groups. A father today can live in the same house with a son
without saying more than two words to that son for weeks. The
opportunity for a father to model his own life experiences for his
children has been diminished in today's society. Throughout his
childhood on the ranch, Dick was not as sidetracked as children today.
He got to observe day after day how his dad performed his
responsibilities. Dick also had more time, free from the
distractions of a computer, to interact face to face with a variety of
other living souls, who the healthy environment of ranch life had
conditioned.
One of life’s leadership lessons which Dick got to witness over and over
was how his father quietly reassigned a vaquero's duties if that vaquero
persisted in being unable or unwilling to perform his present tasks as
expected. Now, as our commander, Dick was mimicking those learned
lessons when he decided to relieve my company commander. It was almost
second nature for Dick to apply those learned leadership lessons, and
they worked. They worked because the principles he learned on the ranch
are universal principles of leadership that can be applied to any organization.
The ranch was huge, and the various job sites were sometimes
separated by many miles, much like the command environment Dick had
experienced in Korea and now in Vietnam. Consistent job awareness on the
ranch was needed to make sure the right supplies, tools, and competent
workers arrived on site, without having to send many miles back for
items that had been forgotten. Whether repairing miles of fencing,
rounding up hundreds of strays, or repairing a critical water pump for a
watering tank, these jobs would never have been completed if supplies
and tools were delivered piecemeal or if the job were left to
inexperienced, unmotivated, or just plain lazy-minded ranch hands. To
prevent this, Lauro was quick to voice his expectations. Each ranch hand
knew that he was expected to pull his weight. He also learned never to
play the "excuse game" with Lauro, or there would be consequences. His
three sons were expected to do the same. They were assigned daily chores
and held accountable.
Thinking outside the box was encouraged by Dick’s father on the
ranch. If an implementation worked well, then Dick's father, Lauro,
would make sure that this improvement was implemented throughout the
workflow. Years later, it became second nature for Dick not only to do
this but also to encourage his men to do it too. He was good at
improvising, especially while handling the logistical side of his job.
Most other commanders delegated logistical tasks and didn’t bother to
follow up. Dick didn’t do that. Just as he had witnessed his father do,
when someone’s good idea produced favorable results, Dick made sure that
this was implemented throughout the Battalion. Dick didn't learn to do
this from the Army. He learned it from his ranch foreman father. Someone
thought of using those mattocks and Marston Matting. The idea may not
have originated with Dick. However, Dick put his weight behind these
ideas. He made sure that these materials were routinely made available
to us for the construction of our lifesaving fortifications. He had no
doubt witnessed this aspect of leadership time and again by observing
his father, as Lauro carried out his ranch foreman duties.
The ridge cap of Dick's good leadership skills was his
temperance. That was also something which Dick had learned from his dad.
Lauro understood that heavy-handedness in disciplining could be damaging
to a subordinate or a son. Yet, corrections had to be made. As children,
Dick and his brother Lauro Jr. were as foolish as any other child. They
were not born with the ability to relate to others. Just like everyone,
they began life primarily as blank slates. No doubt, discipline needed
to be administered, but a necessary balance needed to be struck. Too
much heavy-handedness with a vaquero or a son, and their spirits would
be crushed. Too much heavy-handedness with a grunt, and Dick knew the
same thing would happen. Dick was very aware of this for the following
reason. As a child, his malleable mind had been imprinted by his father
modeling this balanced skill over and over. Temperance had become
ingrained in Dick's dealings with others. He would automatically follow
his father’s model of temperance every time. It was already
subconsciously programmed into his brain. Later, it never crossed his
mind to mimic that very destructive Army model for correcting
subordinates. Briefly, that model defined temperance as any corrective
action short of corporal punishment.
One's environment can never change the truth. However, the truth
will always change our environment for the better if we are willing to
walk by the light of that truth. Dick was made aware of the benefits of
walking in this light by his father and the ranch culture. Yet, I doubt
he understood the source of that light any more than Triet understood
the darkness that was engulfing him as the communist ideology was
molding him. We don't have to understand good or evil to be influenced
by either. I can walk in light without knowing what the source of that
light is, and I can stumble around in the dark without knowing why it's
so dark.
Yes, sons, vaqueros, and later soldiers of my Dogface Infantry
Battalion quickly learned from Dick what he had learned from his father.
One of those lessons was in how to administer the proper correction to
an underling. There should always be a response to an underling’s
failures, but in a fashion that seeks to correct the problem and not
simply to mete out punishment. Lauro Sr. was a master at using what I
will call “the talk” to change errant behavior. He could heap more
conviction on the recipient of that talk than a hellfire and brimstone
preacher could heap on his audience at a tent revival. Young Dick
watched him do it over and over again. Notice, I say conviction and not
condemnation. What's the difference? Convicting words are words spoken
with respect and yet firmly and unyieldingly state the truth concerning
a particular situation. On the other hand, condemning words are words
aimed at tearing down a person's self-esteem instead of correcting their
faulty actions.
On those infrequent occasions when a leader needs to speak
harshly, that leader needs to realize that his tongue is a powerful
weapon. Its harshness will always tear down the person. It will never
build up. I am not saying never do this. However, a good leader should make sure those
rendering words are aimed directly at the stronghold of resistance and
not at the entire person. Also, before doing this, it's essential to
solicit feedback from that person first. Then again, I say address only
that stronghold of the soul which needs to be addressed. When Lt.
Colonel Denton spoke harshly to me during our first and last interaction
on Highway 13, he never gave me a chance to provide feedback before he
lit into me. Soliciting feedback allows a good leader to better assess
the situation to make sure that the proper correction is being meted out
in the first place. My feedback would have prevented Denton from making
a wrong assessment of the cleanliness of that machine gun. That wrong
assessment, led him to wrongly blame me. After that, I lost all respect
for the man, never to be regained.
In contrast to Denton's actions, Dick always spoke kindly to his
men in a group setting, and he was never harsh with an individual until
he had solicited enough feedback to justify harsher words. Often, Dick's
talk, and not berating words, would become the chastisement, thus
putting an end to the matter. All the sinner had to do afterwards was
turn from his wicked ways, and all would not only be forgiven but
forgotten. During Dick's engagement with the "cussin soldier" that
night, our battalion commander was regurgitating what he had witnessed
his father do many times before. Dick gave his version of his father's
talk to that man. It worked just the way it had worked for his father
time and time again. I witnessed that "Cussin Man's" behavior completely
reverse itself.
Unfortunately, today, even enlightened fathers, cut from the mold
of a Lauro Cavazos Sr., are often not provided with the time and means
to model those sterling leadership qualities before their children. It
must be modeled to be effective. Most work environments today separate
fathers from their children, unlike the ranch environment, which brought
families together.
Now, back to my story. The rain was relentless during this period
of my tour. The best comparison that I can think of to make the reader
realize how bad it was is to compare it to the old Chinese water torture
story, where the victim is tied down and submitted to drop after drop of
water striking the forehead for a lengthy period. It was during this
period of our tour that the brave Winstead came to me and announced that
he couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't talking about the combat part of
the job. He was referring to being exposed to the rain night after night
and day after day. I never saw Dennis again after that. He extended his
tour another six months to become a door gunner on a Huey, which would
provide him with a dry place to sleep. I learned from his daughter many
years later that Dennis was shot down three times and won three
Distinguished Flying Crosses.
On July 21, 1967, a transport ship named "Geiger" landed at the
South Vietnam Port of Vung Tau near Saigon. It had made the three-week
trip with 1600 troops who had trained for six weeks at Fort Lewis,
Washington. Now they would become the new D Companies in the nine
battalions of the First Infantry Division. Before these men showed up,
each Battalion had only three companies, A, B, and C. Once these D
Companies arrived at Di An and processed in, they would train for
another six weeks before going into actual combat operations, around the
middle of September. As important as I was to the war effort (ha ha), I
was not made aware of these changes and only found out about them some
fifty years later. Dick had wanted to get rid of My B Company commander
for some time now, but replacements for infantry captains were hard to
find. Often, platoon leaders would be assigned temporarily as company
commanders, but in our case, the most experienced Platoon leader in our
B Company was only 18 years old. I have no idea what had caused Cavazos
to lose faith in Brown. Fred Walters was his RTO, and years later, Fred
told me that he liked the guy. Nobody would have been in a better
position to know Brown than the very respected Fred Walters. I was
unaware of the change in company commanders and thought, until very
recently, that Brown was my Company commander throughout the remainder
of my tour of duty.
Brown's replacement was a twenty-six-year-old West Point graduate
and career “lifer” named Watts Caudill. Watts had arrived in country as
commander of one of the new D Companies. He had personally trained this
unit at Fort Lewis, Washington. When these companies finished that
training, they boarded the transport, "Geiger," and took this slow boat
to Indochina. Cavazos had waited for Caudill to hit the processing mill
at Di An before relieving Brown as commander. He then sent word from the
field to get his new D Company commander on the next helicopter headed
for the boonies, as soon as our supply sergeant could get web gear on
his back and the new shorter AR-15 rifle in his hands. However, this
shorter version of the M-16 was out of stock. Instead, he was given an
old "beat-up" M-16, probably as worn out as the one I was carrying.
With his head spinning, Caudill was soon on his way. D Company
was scheduled to train in and around Di An for six weeks. This training
time gave Dick the time that he needed to find another commander for D
Company before that company joined the rest of the Battalion. It did not
take long for this smart math major, Captain Watts Caudill, to
understand that the advantage of taking over a unit made up of mostly
veterans was a good thing. Caudill realized that this change-up in his
orders would allow him better to get his own newbie feet on the ground,
because these more experienced people would surround him. There were
1999 Americans who held the pay grade of "captain" who were killed
during the war. I believe that was the highest per capita death rate of
any pay grade in the American military. Watts was married and had a
small son. His wife, Sally, and he were believers in Christ, who had
committed their lives and their marriage to Him.
The last week of July, we established an NDP just north of Di An.
First Sergeant Pink Dillard met Caudill and a platoon sergeant as he
hopped off the Huey that brought him from Di An to that NDP. The platoon
sergeant quickly handed Caudill a relatively new M-15 and took the old
"beat-up" M-16 from him. He was then led by "Top" to Cavazos, who was
sitting on a five-gallon "jerry can" just a few feet from the battalion
command bunker. Dick was eating something out of a green tin can from a
C-ration box. Cocking his head and looking up at Caudill, with not so
much as a "howdy-do", the battalion commander unloaded on him with two
stock remarks designed to be brief but to the point and a little
disconcerting. They concisely expressed his core expectations for each
of his company commanders.
"I expect you to kill the enemy and don't lose a single man. For
now, I want you to keep your head down and listen to those who have been
here for a while". Those few words match Watt's sentiments as well. “Is
that it, Sir”? Caudill asked as he stood very still, in the drizzling
rain, waiting to be dismissed. "That's all, captain", Dick replied.
Watts turned and walked away. On the surface, it seemed that the brevity
of Dick’s interview could be taken as a bad sign. However, they were
both soaking wet, and it was obvious to Watts that his commander was
trying to force down a can of ham and lima beans. Watts might have just
become a "wet-nosed kid" again, but he had learned a “thing or two”
during those other times. He had eaten his share of ham and lima beans
in Germany while on winter maneuvers. He had also come to realize that
no one ate ham and lima beans unless they were in miserable straits.
Looking around, Watts realized that these living conditions more than
qualified. If the boss was brief, then he needed to give him a break.
Besides, although there was no warmth in his new boss's curt remarks, it
wasn't the time or place to be forming hasty opinions. There surely
would be better times and better places to decide whether his private
name for his new boss was going to be "Dick", or would it wind up being
“Dick Head”.
There was no doubt that Dick was aware that his new B Company
Commander was a very unknown quantity. He had no combat experience, but
that was the norm. However, his new company commander did get going
without trying to hang around, ingratiating himself. Dick liked that. He
would let B Company's Korean veteran first sergeant deal with the new
commander before making any hasty judgments. Soon enough, reports, good
or bad, about the new B Company Commander would start flowing in from
the grapevine. Dick was wired into that grapevine better than AI is to
the reader’s personal computer.
Pink Dillard was a heavy-set black guy who had served in Korea.
Caudill, to this very day, calls him "Top". "Pink" had not been in the
unit more than a couple of months himself, but was a guy who knew his
job. That job did not usually include calling the shots on tactical
maneuvers. Officers did that for the most part. Top's domain was that of
managing the day-to-day routine duties in the company, assessing the
strengths and weaknesses of the sergeants under him, and keeping his
company commander up to date on any critical changes in the performance
of those platoon leaders, squad leaders, and men in the company. A good
first sergeant would not only keep his company commander informed of the
bad but also the good. All leaders should beware of subordinates who are
bearers of bad news only. A first sergeant could make or break a
company, and a sergeant major could make or break a battalion. They
always had the ear of their commander. A grunt might cross his O.C.S.
platoon leader once or twice and get away with it, but he learned
quickly never to cross a "Top", unless he had first added suicide to his
"to do" list. In those first few days, "Top" would have been there when
Caudill was introduced to the company, as the forward observer, the four
platoon leaders, and also various sergeants. He would have been able to
give a critical assessment of each of these individuals. Every human
being has strengths and weaknesses, and a good "Top" like "Pink" would
have made it his business to know a little bit about every man under
him. At this point, however, it goes without saying that every veteran
in the company knew more about their job than did Caudill and probably
always would.
That being said, the everyday non-combat military experience of
most new army captains of the Vietnam era significantly outpaced that of
most lieutenant platoon leaders. Many platoon leaders were "ninety-day
wonders", who were civilians just a few short months before. Army
captains, on the other hand, were usually R.O.T.C. college graduates
with at least two or maybe three years' experience in dealing with the
regiments of military life. Full-time military school graduates, like
Caudill, were usually the "cream of the crop" of this group. Notice I
say "usually". Caudill had served in Germany before coming to Vietnam,
which gave him even more experience. Most officers, who had achieved the
rank of captain, were seasoned enough to have acquired the needed
interpersonal skills to successfully navigate through the "prickly
pears" native to the bureaucracy of the military.
Army life, outside combat, was still a harsh environment on many
levels. One could not adjust overnight. To expect any human being to
perform adequately while learning both the art of war and the military
routine at the same time was, quite frankly, madness. However, that is
precisely what the Army expected of our platoon leaders in Vietnam.
Caudill, at least, had avoided this severe disadvantage by volunteering
and attending West Point. His service in Germany was also a tremendous
help in preparing him and Sally for what they now both faced. They had
become much more acclimated to Army life. Now, he only had to bite his
tongue while learning the art of jungle warfare. However, Watts soon
discovered that he would have to write some of those lesson plans
himself. He would have one huge advantage. He had an ongoing
relationship with the Holy Spirit. Even if a little voice inside kept
telling him that the relationship wasn't what it should have been, I am
here to say to the reader that his relationship was much better than
most.
Mentally, from just after the battle of Xom Bo II until my truck
driving job came through, things were on a downward slide for me. I
found out that Bill Milliron had gotten injured in a car accident while
on his emergency leave in the States, a leave which was issued for fake
reasons. Bill's supposed car wreck injuries would delay his return until
after I had left the squad. Bowman and Walker were still there, but
neither was very chatty, and I needed a friendly and talkative
personality like Bill to "jump start" me. Bill was that "jump start". He
had always had a way of bringing the rest of us to life. In my case, my
ability to bond with Bill was likely due to his outgoing nature. His age
difference also allowed him to bridge the gap between us youngsters and
Bartee. Although I was the oldest veteran (combat time served) in the
squad, I was also completely unprepared to take a leadership role except
in life-or-death situations. At that point, the Holy Spirit would take
over, so I can't take credit for that. Bill helped me with that problem,
too. He was on the other end of the spectrum of personalities from me.
They say opposites attract. So, that meant that I missed this guy when
he was gone and was a little more depressed because he had been gone so
long. Yes, Bill and I were able to form a perfect match. One might even
say that our friendship was a match made in Hell, although certainly not
made by that Hell.
For the next couple of months, we operated around Di An and north
in the jungle surrounding Lai Khe. We also took several jaunts, as far
north as Quan Loi. I don't remember the exact spots and dates. We were
continually air assaulting into one LZ after another in the eastern part
of War Zone C and possibly the western edge of War Zone D. Enemy
firefights on a small scale seemed to escalate. It was common, at night,
on listening post duties, to find myself playing footsies with one or
two sappers, who regularly harassed our perimeter. I would try various
boobie trap tricks on them, and they would do the same to me. A mental
health expert could have had some very stimulating sessions with both.
I remember one incident in the middle of the day that happened
just after I had returned from running a security patrol. I was sitting
down with my jungle boots off to dry out my feet before the next
rainstorm hit. Suddenly, a rather large explosion occurred. It happened
near the LP, which I had been manning for the past several nights. There
was no doubt in my mind that it was my sapper friend trying to pull some
trick. With this thought in mind, I was not going to react and do
something stupid. So, I continued to wring out my wet socks, as an
officer came running by. He screamed at me, by name, to get my boots on
and go with him. As he ran past screaming, I thought to myself, "Sure,
I'll be right there just as soon as I get my boots on. I tell ya what,
why don't you run ahead, and you can count on me to catch up". The
officer was probably our Battalion S3 since he knew my name. I would
have made it out to the site of the explosion, but those wet socks just
took so long to put back on my feet. If it had not been for that, I
would have made it out there for sure. Does the reader understand what I
am trying to say here, in a "tongue in cheek" way?
Shortly after that, the captain disappeared, and I heard shots
coming from that same side. I could imagine him getting his fool-self
drilled. Hearing those shots made it even harder for me to get those
darn boots on. Finally, I did manage to make it over to the scene of the
explosion and was able to see, for myself, what had happened. I had
guessed correctly about what that sapper was trying to do. A sapper had
set up three claymore mines targeting our perimeter. He then exploded
the one in front of those other two Claymores. This explosion became the
sapper's enticement for dummies to take a look-see. He would then blow
up the other two mines squarely in their faces. However, the back blast
from the first one knocked the others over, foiling his plan to kill
some curious Georges. The officer who mindlessly ran to investigate
would most surely have been killed if the sapper had set the other two
claymores just a bit further back to avoid the back-blast coming from
the first explosion. As three or four more B Company people approached
the botched ambush scene, Sergeant Gerry Chesnut emerged from the
jungle, coming from the direction of the rifle shots. We quickly learned
that he had been the source of the shots fired. Here's what happened. At
the sound of the blast, he too had joined that same officer who had run
toward the explosion. However, Chesnut then quickly veered onto a trail,
which the veteran sergeant suspected these sappers would use to make
their escape. Chesnut double-timed down that trail and caught up with
two sappers. They were probably the ones who had discharged the claymore
decoy. When they heard Chestnut coming, they turned to fire at him, but
by then their fates were sealed. With his M-16, Chesnut quickly stitched
them both up the middle at very close range.
The truth is, in a thousand years, those sappers never expected
an American to chase after them in a situation like this. But then
again, they had never met an American like Sergeant Chesnut. Quite
frankly, neither had I. On average, I doubt that any First Division
company-sized unit could boast more than one Sergeant Chestnut amongst
its ranks. The guy was fearless, and I do mean fearless. To top things
off, Gerry had recently signed up for a second tour. It's too bad that
Caudill was so new that he had not found time to size up some of his
people. If he had, he indeed would have found some way of not letting
Gerry slip through his fingers. Shortly after this incident, Chestnut
was transferred to the new D Company as a platoon sergeant.
Just before I left the field, around the middle of September,
Captain Caudill was well on his way to completing his baptism, not by
fire, but by water. The monsoon had preceded his arrival, in all its
glory. During that time, until I left the field, I doubt we were dry
more than the number of days I can count on one hand. Although water
never stopped dripping from his nose and chin, night and day, while in
camp, and on the march, Caudill did not allow the circumstances to keep
him from doing a good job of training himself to at least come to a
working understanding of the routine parts of his job. He was blessed
with an analytical brain. That ability allowed him to adjust to this new
combat environment much better than most. He was good at math, and
almost everything we did involved math. In an air assault, the number of
troops a helicopter could carry was divided by the total force to
determine the number of helicopters needed. In establishing a perimeter
around an NDP, it was the length of our company's side of the perimeter,
divided by the number of grunts per foxhole. This calculation determined
how many DePuy bunkers should be constructed and at what distance apart.
On a sweep through the thick jungles of War Zone C, it was the average
number of paces necessary to step off one hundred meters, and he did not
leave this pace counting solely in the hands of the point element. In
Caudill's world, this would not be sound reasoning. Why? Because there
was a high probability that the point element could be shot to pieces.
What then? He could not take that chance. He would always count paces
himself. Counting paces guaranteed that he would not have to depend on
others always to know his exact location on a map. That meant much
faster responses from artillery support because Caudill could instantly
give his location to fire support bases without having to wait for one
of his subordinates to tell him where he was.
The most critical skill needing to be developed was a concept
known as situational awareness. It was amazing to me how many young
officers had no understanding of the importance of this awareness. Ours
was a tiring job, especially if there was no significant enemy contact
for days. Many young commanders didn't drop their guard. They just never
put it up in the first place. Yet, it was paying close attention to the
little things that prepared a young commander for the big stuff.
Fortunately, for Caudill and B Company, there were no big things in
August and September. Caudill, unlike many of his peers, used this time
to improve his situational awareness. His mind had already been schooled
to pay close attention to small details. He observed, and then he
remembered the blast radius of a 155mm round, by the amount of shrapnel
which whizzed over his head when that last round landed. Believe me, it
becomes easy to tell when a round is called in too close. He also noted
the average length of time it took for a patrol to reach a 500-meter
checkpoint. That could tell an astute commander that his point element
was overdue and may be off course. Learning this kind of stuff didn't
mean that he would be ready for the big one, but it helped. After only
two months, no one was ever really ready for the big one.
It was during this period, while on jungle air assaults and
marches in the rain, that Caudill was able to quickly adjust from the
previous "spit and shine" way of doing business, while serving in
Germany, to the day to day realities of War Zone C and D.
Since there was no real way of preparing for a real battle unless
there was an actual battle, he did the next best thing. He played the
"what if" game in his mind, while so many young commanders and even some
older ones chose to play the "why don't you surprise me" game.
Unfortunately, in this war, when the surprise did come, all too often,
many commanders tended to knee-jerk instead of stopping and thinking
about what they were doing. The generals flying around above them,
asking for sitreps (situation reports) every five minutes, didn't help
either. Things on the ground could instantly go from months of boring
marches to a few minutes of Hell on earth. Caudill was a listener and a
ponderer. Maybe it was his math training that made him this way, but I
know that God had a big hand in it, too. Many times, he would ponder the
"what ifs" while looking at a map, under a wet poncho, in the pouring
rain. Truth is, winning battles in any war will always fall to those who
never stop pondering the "what ifs". Alexander the Great was a ponderer,
and no, Caudill wasn't the reincarnation of Alexander, but he was a
ponderer.
Unfortunately, Lazzell had not done enough pondering before the
Battle of Xom Bo II. This being said, pondering is only a first step. A
good commander must also be a good planner and someone willing to
overcome the inertia in himself and subordinates to put those plans into
action. Like Dick Cavazos, Caudill was a proactive planner. His
extensive training at West Point, his tour in Germany, and, more
recently, his command of a unit training for Vietnam at Fort Lewis only
strengthened this attribute in him. There is one other leadership
ingredient needed to turn a good leader like Caudill into a great
leader. A great leader must not only be a critical observer of different
people and situations, but they must also be a critical observer of
their own actions. Years before Vietnam, Caudill had spent a lot of time
studying the best book ever written on the topic of self-observation.
That book is the Holy Bible.
Even when a new commander was given time on the battlefield to
adjust his thinking, other factors did not directly affect the
battlefield but could distract and blur his focus. Trouble at home was a
massive example of this. That sort of trouble could shut down even a
great commander's ability to command. It cost more lives in Vietnam than
we will ever know. With this said, I now know that Sally Caudill and
Carolyn Cavazos made things a lot easier for their husbands and, thus,
the men of my Dogface Battalion. Why? Because they maintained a stable
home life. A stable home life meant less pressure on a commander who
already had one of the most high-pressure jobs in the world.
There were always going to be minor distractions, no matter what.
That couldn't be avoided. The trick was not to let minor distractions
pile up. For example, after fifty years, Caudill still remembers being
distracted by a sergeant, who was adept at exploiting the system for
personal gain. The sergeant won the game when he arranged a transfer for
himself. In reality, when he left, we were the ones who won, because he
left before he could get someone killed. Here is another example of what
a major distraction could be. There were no seminars given to company
commanders on how to screen incoming 2nd Lieutenant platoon leaders. An
inept platoon leader could become a significant distraction, degrading
the morale of the entire company. It was relatively easy during the
Vietnam War for anyone with some college to find themselves wearing gold
bars. A large percentage of these guys who crossed my path should never
have been in that leadership position in the first place.
Many had not had enough time to gain the necessary understanding
of military life in general, much less the experience to lead others
into combat. Caudill learned quickly how to avoid this most deadly unit
distraction by coming right out and asking a replacement platoon leader
whether he wanted to be leading a combat platoon or not. If he said no,
then Watts would try hard to find another job in the Battalion for him.
If that lieutenant hummed and hawed instead of giving a straight answer,
then Watts would alert Pink to keep a close eye on him. Naturally, Watts
would also watch this guy like a hawk, himself. Pink was a very savvy
first sergeant who knew quite well how to stay in the communication loop
with his subordinates, without setting off the rumor mill. In short, he
knew how to exploit the grapevine without getting himself or his
commander entangled in the briar patch surrounding it.
Unlike other wars, the Vietnamese soldier was on the battlefield
almost constantly. Relatively small but life-threatening events occurred
daily. These small events served as rehearsals for the big show when it
came. In general, the more small rehearsals a young commander could get
under his belt, the better he could perform when it was time for that
big show. Five or six mortar rounds landing inside the perimeter was a
small thing for everyone. Calling in marching fires and registration
rounds was also routine. Caudill's FO and his platoon leaders handled
that business quite well, but just the same, Caudill observed their
actions. He knew that the "what if" factor needed to be rehearsed. He
forced his disciplined mind to watch, listen, and learn as much as he
could while calling in spotter rounds and marching fires. When the big
show did come to town, he knew that he wouldn't have to wonder how loud
a 105 mm shell sounded when it landed fifty meters away. He would know.
He also learned when and how to intervene to calm an OP or ambush patrol
down because they heard something in the bushes. Just as important, he
knew when not to insert himself into particular situations before
allowing subordinates the opportunity to handle things. There was such a
thing as jumping in too quickly. There were boobie traps, unexploded
bombs, and enemy bunkers to be explored or not. There were always
sappers and snipers probing the line.
I could go on and on describing common events surrounding the
day-to-day activities of B Company and the learning environment it
presented to a young commander. Most events required no intervention
from him whatsoever, so he did precisely what Dick had told him to do on
their first meeting. He just watched and listened to this veteran combat
machine go about its day-to-day business for the most part. Cavazos had
already set the tone for commanders like Watts to follow in not
overreacting. He soon learned that the "Ole Man" was as consistent and
readable as anyone he had ever worked for. Almost everything this guy
did made sense, and that wasn't always true of others whom he had worked
for in the past. Years later, Watts would say that serving under Dick
was not only an absolute pleasure but an honor.
Some events Watts experienced in those first few months were just
downright weird. They didn't fit into any learning curve that would be
repeated ever again. Here is a humorous example. When patrolling up and
down the deep ravines surrounding Quan Loi, we would have to walk
through waist-deep water at the bottom of each ravine. It was essential
to check for leeches periodically, or they could make a guy get weak and
maybe pass out. On one of these company-sized sweeps, Caudill was moving
through thick jungle, in the pouring rain, when his normally steadfast
RTO, Fred Walters, suddenly turned around and started laughing
uncontrollably. As Fred continued to laugh, the first flashing thought
that entered Watt's mind was that his RTO was experiencing some mental
breakdown. Perhaps Fred's actions were just another way for a fellow
like Fred to finally lose it. However, this was not the case at all.
Fred wasn't having a nervous breakdown. His uncontrollable laughter was
a sane response to a most bizarre sight. You see, Fred had turned to say
something to his commander only to witness a black leech, swelled with
blood, and looking like a partially inflated balloon, dangling back and
forth from Caudill's chin.
Here is a final comment about new company commanders settling
into their roles in Vietnam. The truth is, a company commander in
Vietnam did not have access to face time with his battalion commander,
as much as one might think. With no one looking over his shoulders, a
young, self-motivated commander like Caudill was better able to develop
his jungle fighting skills, as long as circumstances allowed him to live
long enough. This principle worked exactly the opposite for those who
were not that motivated, and there were plenty of those types, too.
A young commander's fit with his RTO was essential. SP-4 Fred
Walters was a rare find who was able to take some routine
responsibilities off Caudill's shoulders. Caudill was able to empower
the brilliant Fred Walters to handle certain routines during a period
when delegating was not very well understood by the senior leaders of
the First Infantry Division. Rank was everything. In today's world, that
old rigid structure has sometimes swung too far the other way. However,
a healthy balance is essential. Today, some managers are learning to
become good team leaders, rather than being angry bosses. Caudill was
one of the rare few who innately understood the importance of this
during this period. However, his delegating never included allowing Fred
to make tactical decisions. For example, one such tactical command might
require giving instructions to an F.A.C. (forward air controller) flying
over the battlefield. Caudill realized that generals were monitoring
those communications. They needed to hear his voice on the horn and not
that of his RTO.
Additionally, he wanted to be the one who verified coordinates
for fire missions, and he alone. Still, there were many items of company
business that Fred could handle for his commander. It didn't take very
long at all for Caudill to sort out what should and shouldn't be
delegated, not only to Fred, but also to other key members of our
company. Underpinning the efforts of a very functional company commander
like Caudill, however, was a battalion commander who also understood how
to back off and give his company commanders the freedom to run their
show as long as they kept their command between the ditches. Dick was
well aware of how wide and deep those ditches could be, and he had
almost a sixth sense in knowing when one of his young commanders was
steering toward one.
Soon, the middle of September arrived, and my long-awaited truck
driving job came through. I cannot remember who notified me to report to
the motor pool Sergeant. I only remember one detail shortly after
receiving the news. This detail includes a picture in my mind of
Sergeant Bartee standing in a half-dug foxhole and looking very dejected
as I told him the news. Milliron was still back in the States. We had
several new, inexperienced guys in the squad, and now he was losing a
trusted point man. Oh sure, I could easily be replaced by a warm body,
but not by someone who was just the crazy it took to put his heart and
soul into the job of walking point. Yet, Bartee still had Bowman.
Bowman had worked up front with Milliron and me for some time, so
I felt that I was not leaving Bartee in a lurch. However, what he would
be missing was the Holy Spirit working through me. Bartee did ask me to
reconsider, but after the sniper training fiasco, where the Army had
taken away my M-14, there was just no way that I would have ever
reconsidered turning down this job. I had felt naked every day since
that event. My M-14 had been my security blanket. Actually, feeling
naked didn't come close to describing how I felt without it. I felt
violated. Yes, that's it. I felt that I had been violated, and no one
had come to my rescue. I felt as though Bartee had continued to hold me
down, while the Army continued to abuse me. I felt they were in it
together, and who cared whether it was out of malice or forethought or
just plain old stupidity. I had shown him the fogged-up scope and the
worn-out M-16 months ago, but he took no action. I grew angrier at him
each day. Why wouldn't a squad leader want his point man to carry the
best weapon available? The worst part was that Bartee had no idea that I
felt this way or that this one event had caused me to lose respect for
him. Of course, years later, I was able to view him under a much broader
and forgiving lens, but this was now. Truth is, I should have done
something about it myself, but I was too afraid of making waves, so I
just tucked these awful feelings of abandonment in and blamed Bartee,
while seething more and more each day. When that day came to fly the
coop, reconsidering was as much a part of my mind as not cashing in on a
winning lottery ticket. I felt just like a wild bird in a cage when the
door is opened. There was just one thought in my mind at that point, and
one thought only. "Fly baby fly"!
The new job was unbelievably simple. I was given a small 3/4-ton
truck with fold-down bench seats in the back so it could transport
around eight people or a squad-sized group of soldiers with all their
gear. However, my job was not to transport fighting men. My job was to
transport the mess hall equipment from place to place as needed. Once a
day, when the Battalion was in the field, I would transport hot food in
Meramec containers and a cook to a helicopter pad so they could be flown
to the men in the field. This chore took less than an hour a day of my
time.
No more sleeping in soggy foxholes for me for the rest of my
life. I slept where the cooks slept, and the cooks were always provided
with at least big hex tents or, better yet, screened-in tin-roofed huts.
Brown & Root and Lady Byrd Johnson made a fortune building these
buildings for the Army. If we were in a place where a hooch could not be
built, then we were at least provided a heavy canvas World War II-era
tent, which was just as good. Fold-up canvas cots were also part of the
décor, along with electric lighting. To use the vernacular, I thought I
had just arrived in Hog Heaven. Never again for the remainder of my tour
did I have to eat meals from tin cans carried in my socks, which were
tied to my rucksack. The mess hall was always well supplied with good
ole down home food, which was the makings for meals at least as good as
most Americans ate back home. Ham, steaks, pork chops, frozen fruit,
potatoes, green beans, corn, spaghetti, mac and cheese, and all the
garnishments that came with these foodstuffs were at my fingertips.
Often, several of the cooks and I would prepare our gourmet dinner and
top it off with some strawberry shortcake and ice cream.
I had no one but Tiny and his cooks to answer to, and all our
cooks loved us grunts. There was no squad leader to eyeball every move I
made. I remember the first time our supply sergeant asked me to take him
to pick up supplies that he couldn't wait to receive by regular
delivery. I would have enjoyed helping him more by running other
errands, but he rarely asked me to give him a ride after that first
trip. When he did, he always seemed a little nervous. More often than
not, he had a subordinate go in his place. I was a little disappointed
about that. I would have loved to give him a ride anytime. Sure, on that
first trip, the roads were packed with civilians in all types of
vehicles. However, they were all very considerate of me. I hardly ever
had to slow down under forty miles an hour. Most would drive their cars
off the road and even into the ditches just to let me pass. When I did
have to swerve into the other lane to avoid a collision, the oncoming
traffic was careful to do whatever it took to allow me to pass safely
by. To top things off, I know that the sergeant was enjoying the heck
out of that first ride because he became so animated. At times, I caught
a glimpse of him pretending to hit the brake and, once or twice, even
pretending to turn an imaginary steering wheel. So, I know he was having
fun. He even told me as much when we returned from the trip. He said
that he had never ridden with anyone in his entire life who drove like
me. Yet, he rarely used my services after that first ride.
I did visit with some of the people in my unit during their rare
breaks from combat missions, but they didn't get many opportunities to
spend time in the rear. Elevated enemy activity, gearing up for the Tet
Offensive, required them to spend almost all their time in the field.
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