Chapter 17: Shenandoah II: Leadership and Survival 062025

      Shenandoah is the name of a town in Virginia. It is also the name of a county in that state. There is also a famous river in Virginia named the Shenandoah. That river runs through the northern portion of the most beautiful valley in the world. That valley is located between the Allegany and the Blue Ridge Mountains. The name of that valley, too, is Shenandoah. I spent many of my boyhood days in that valley. I was born in that valley. Shenandoah was also the name given to the last and bloodiest operation of the war, not for us but for our enemy, during the time Lieutenant Colonel Dick Cavazos was leading my Dogface Battalion.

      Operation Shenandoah II began on September 29, 1967. The next day, my unit was flown from Di An to Phuoc Vinh as a ready reserve force for Jack's 1/2nd Battalion. My truck and a water trailer, which I was pulling behind, were flown to Phuoc Vinh in a Chinook. I sat in the driver's seat during the twenty-minute flight because there was no other place to sit. It had been two weeks now since I landed this dream job, driving the mess-hall truck for the cooks.

     On that first day of the operation, Jack Toomey's 1/2nd Battalion had established an NDP about 4.5 kilometers northwest of Lai Khe. According to a grunt's timeline, it had been ages now since Jack had been welcomed to his unit, where he was immediately given mid-section seating two klicks away from the "Alexander Haig Show". Sergeant Murry and his boys had hogged all the upfront seating, only 500 meters away from that same show. In the aftermath of that battle known as Ap Gu, it had not taken Jack long at all to realize that it would be an excellent idea to provide himself with all the firepower he could muster. So, he volunteered for the job of platoon machine gunner when that job became available.

     On this particular morning, October 4, 1967, Jack's unit began a "search and destroy" operation just east of Highway 13 and about 15 kilometers north of Lai Khe. As the 1/2nd Battalion's recon platoon left the NDP, they were ambushed by a sizable enemy force of the 271st NVA regiment. The 271st was the same unit that had given Haig trouble further north earlier in the year. On this day, Toomey's Battalion had been tasked with making a large sweep in a westerly direction from their NDP. Recon platoon was running point, while C Company followed behind. Jack Toomey's A Company and the newly formed D Company were supposed to bring up the rear. However, they were still "milling around" inside the perimeter when the shooting started. Part of C Company was also "saddling up" to join the march. The newly created D Company had just been flown out from Di An to join the rest of the Battalion for their very first combat operation. Plans were changed the previous evening for Capt. Bill Hearn's B Company. They were to stay behind and protect the NDP. D Company took B Company’s place in the line of march. The unit had not gone 300 meters when they walked into the jaws of this enemy ambush. Recon platoon's point man, Terrance Schneider, was the first to be fatally wounded. Point men were usually always the first to be killed. That was just a given that went with the job.

      Unfortunately for Jack and his cohorts, their battalion commander had no previous combat experience. As the firefight continued, Jack's A Company, along with D, was forced to shuffle back into perimeter positions. At the same time, the soldiers in C Company were naively ordered forward to defend the beleaguered recon platoon. It was just another repeat of past actions, which once again played into Triet's hand and that of the 271st NVA Battalion. It was a prolonged firefight that lasted until 1100 hours. The duration of the fight and the number of casualties tell me all I need to know about the ineffectiveness of the American response to this ambush.

     Instead of ordering a couple of fire teams to immediately "fan out" a short distance to the left and right flanks and lay down covering fire long enough for others to recover the wounded and withdraw through their ranks, they were made to stay where they were and slug it out with the enemy. It was an enemy that already had the advantage of choosing its fighting positions beforehand. To make matters worse, as C Company men rushed forward to join the recon platoon, they exposed themselves, like cardboard cut-outs, to tremendous fire, coming from the well-situated enemy machine gunners and tree snipers. C Company quickly sustained 25% casualties, making it much more complicated now to withdraw, while taking care of the wounded at the same time.

     As with Haig's boys at the Battle of the Ap Gu, all reconnaissance platoons in the First Division had a few things in common. They were usually more experienced veterans armed more often than not with the deadly M-14. From reading after-action reports, this also seemed to be the case here. As the 1/2nd Recon Platoon hunkered down for the long haul, they were able to lay down extremely effective return fire. They were a formidable deterrent, delivering a wall of controlled fire against the enemy trying to overwhelm the American flanks. Casualty reports provide me with good evidence that they did an excellent job. I know all Recon platoon mindsets well because I served alongside men like these. I was in a position to observe them day in and day out. I also know how to read casualty reports to decipher more than just numbers. For instance, only two out of the twenty-eight or so recon patrol members were killed, yet they were in the forefront of the fighting from early in the morning until 1100 hours. That information tells me two things. First, it says that artillery units could not be utilized as effectively as they needed to be, or the firefight would not have lasted as long as it did. Secondly, it says that the recon platoon did some "mighty fine shooting," or there would have been many more Americans killed over such an extended period.

     The ambush was well-planned. By now, the enemy knew they could count on us Americans to patrol certain areas and respond to attacks in the same manner almost every time. The 1/2nd had been operating in this area for four days. By process of elimination, over the last four days, Triet would have been able to calculate on this day, with a high degree of probability, what side of the perimeter the Americans would be entering the wood line. They varied that entry point every day. So, they were entering on a different side of the perimeter each day. On the fourth day, there was only one side left. That's where Triet chose to stage his ambush. He also knew that once engaged, this new commander would likely "hunker down," which would impede his ability to conduct effective artillery and air strikes. Why did most field commanders do this? An even better question is, “Why did our generals not put a stop to this?” Instead of immediately withdrawing and calling in artillery, this faulty tactic left the enemy too close to friendlies to call for artillery fires without getting our soldiers killed too. This faulty tactic also gave Triet time to kill and wound many Americans before making his escape. His surviving conscripts would then be herded onto those ox cart trails where they could make a fast getaway. Over and over, our senior leaders allowed us to be played like this. There is no indication that our generals recognized the critical role those ox-cart trails played in assisting the enemy. It was a crying shame.

     Yes, the 1/2nd had a new commander, and he was struggling to hold his own, but so what? In the totality of things, what did it matter? Even if he had been as skilled as our commander and won every battle, what then? If every commander on our side had started winning every fight, what then? If we had driven every communist out of South Vietnam, what then? At that point, would the Vietnamese people have had the wherewithal to build a nation whose government provided freedom for all its citizens? The answer to that question is no. No, they would not have been able to do that without our help, and I am not talking about the kind of help that is only good at blowing things up. I am talking about nation-building, as we have done in Japan and South Korea. Yes, many of our country's leaders believe this endeavor is too complicated, or is too intrusive, or just plain immoral. However, to mistakenly believe that a great and free nation like ours should not involve itself in nation-building is to stick one's head in the sand. Nation-building is necessary for our long-term survival as a free nation. Nation-building is only complex if we make it hard. You see, there is only one Judeo-Christian principle required to be successful at the kind of nation-building that advances civilized societies across the globe. We must love our neighbors as we love ourselves. That love is not passive. That kind of love motivates. It can inspire a great nation like ours to act through the wisdom of God to empower others to create and maintain other free societies across the globe. Nation-building is a privilege, but it is also our duty.

     Charlie Sauler, a Canadian who had enlisted in the American military, was running point for the 1/2nd's C Company. His tour began with C Company on December 1, 1966. Since then, Charlie had been in more than his share of firefights and had won two bronze stars in two of those fights. Charlie rushed forward and started laying down suppressing fire along with "recon platoon" as soon as the fight began. As he voluntarily exposed himself and aggressively fired back at enemy positions, an enemy bullet found its mark. It cleanly passed through his chest, causing him to bleed out slowly. Instead of enlisting a medic's help before it was too late, Charlie propped himself against a tree and continued to fire on enemy positions with deadly accuracy until the end of his time here on earth. Posthumously, Charlie received a silver star. In another sad incident, which a quick withdrawal would have prevented, the battalion physician, Dr. Howard Gerstel, and one of his medics, SP-4 Donald Schrenk, took it upon themselves to leave the relative safety of the perimeter. They were enticed to do so when they heard mounting casualty reports on the radio. They ran toward a hail of bullets to give aid to the wounded, exposing themselves time and time again to enemy fire. Both men were killed performing duties above and beyond what the Army expected of them.

     Until recently, Donald had been a field medic with B Company. However, when Capt. Bill Hearn from Texas learned that Donald had a small child back home, Hearn transferred him to the battalion aid station. This duty was much safer. On the day of the battle, Donald was under no obligation to follow Dr. Gerstel into the jungle. Shortly after doing so, Donald was wounded and placed on a "dust-off". While on that "dust-off", Donald learned from another wounded man who was coming aboard, that his doctor friend had gotten wounded. After hearing that news, Donald jumped off that medevac chopper and returned to the fighting to find his friend. Doctor Gerstel died before Donald could reach him, and soon afterward, Donald was also killed by a sniper's bullet. Donald received a silver star, and Dr. Gerstel, who also died while performing far above that which was required of him, should have received one, but didn't. In all probability, both men would have returned home safely from their tour of duty if the battalion commander, Lt. Col. Mortimer O'Connor, had made an immediate withdrawal. However, Mortimer O'Connor was not at fault. As I have said, Mortimer was new to the unit and had no previous combat experience. From all accounts, he was a good leader who served well beyond the six-month field duty requirement for officers. Trouble was, Mortimer, like so many other field officers, was left to "wing it" until they could either learn on their own or were brow-beaten out of a command position by senior leadership. It's just too bad that our senior leaders left him on his own to learn simple tactical lessons by trial and error. By all accounts, Mortimer loved his men. Against all odds, mostly on his own, Mortimer later managed to become a fine combat commander whom his men greatly respected. He, himself, paid the ultimate price while serving beyond his required time in the field.

     In response to this attack on the 1/2nd, my Dogface Battalion was immediately flown from Phuoc Vinh to the Chon Thanh Air Strip. From there, they air assaulted into a jungle clearing just southwest of the 1/2nd after action reports called this a blocking position. As usual, Dick began to work the radios as soon as his orders came down. He made sure that the landing zone was prepped correctly before sending his boys into harm's way. When facing imminent danger, Dick always assumed the worst of his enemy, and this time, he would think no differently. Intelligence reports had indicated that the enemy had close to 4000 troops in the area of operation. Dick knew that there were more than enough enemy resources to stage an ambush on the 400 men of 1/2nd Battalion, and at the same time mount another ambush on his Dogface boys as they came to the rescue. My Dogface Battalion was about to land only a couple of klicks from the 1/2nd, and Dick was not about to get caught with his pants down. Twenty minutes before the first Hueys touched down, the entire area in and around the LZ erupted with napalm, artillery, and antipersonnel bombs. These thorough precautions were well rewarded. After my Dogface Battalion landed, security patrols immediately located numerous sapper bodies scattered throughout the area of the bombing.

     Judging from the number of enemy dead, it was apparent to Dick that Triet had planned to pull the same trick on him that he was able to pull off on Lazzell's 1/16th Battalion at the Battle of Xom Bo II. However, since Dick had the area thoroughly prepped, that became impossible. The local VC sappers who were going to guide NVA conscripts down ox-cart trails into attack positions were "toast". Communication lines were burned up, and so were the tree watchers and snipers. There could be no relaying of critical information from the ambush site to Triet. He depended on these wired communications of intelligence reports to be sent to him in real time. The trails to be used to hustle conscripts into attack positions were also now obstructed by downed trees, caused by the bombing.

    Since spies were everywhere in the First Division encampments and major posts, I am sure that Triet would have had at least some scanty profile of Dick by now. Judging from what Triet did next, I would guess that Dick's abilities to "take care of business" were starting to become more and more recognized by communist field commanders like him. Dick's proficiency had prevented Triet from mounting an attack on my Dogface Battalion perimeter before my boys could dig in. Triet's momentum was lost. It's also highly likely that Triet realized that Dick was the same commander responsible for wiping out hundreds of his NVA conscripts, as they were resting peacefully in their bunkers a day after the battle of Xom Bo II. Those young conscripts were relatively easy to replace, but now Dick had also killed scores of "hard to replace" guides and scouts from the local pool of knowledgeable personnel. These were essential assets who were very familiar with all aspects of the local battlefield and were not easily replaceable. It's very possible that Triet was now starting to feel like every time Dick showed up, bad things happened to him.

     Does this mean that my Dogface Battalion was starting to become a noticeable "fly in the ointment"? Maybe. Yet, ours was only one Battalion of many, and no matter how good we were becoming, every American unit operated the same way. We would take ground and relinquish it as soon as it was taken, only to be fought over again at a later date. It didn't matter how formidable my Dogface boys were becoming under Dick's leadership. How detrimental to the communist cause could one Battalion be, when the standard procedure for all American military forces was to relinquish ground as soon as we took it? I wrote a letter home complaining about the stupidity of this very thing, after being in the country for less than two months. If a naive 19-year-old kid could recognize this foolishness, how much more could Hanoi's head honcho, Duan, notice the foolishness of such tactics?

     Furthermore, how long would it take him to devise plans to take advantage of these foolish tactics? The answer to that question seemed to be, "We can do 'stupid' as long as you like, Duan". So, take as much time as you need". The resulting consequences of our foolish reactions to Duan's big battle campaigns led to our loss of the war. Duan had to eliminate some of his comrades who disagreed with his big battle strategy, but so what? There is no such thing as love for others in the higher ranks of any totalitarian government. Every action at the top is dominated by paranoiac fear, and Duan had worked his way to the top by learning how to deal with that fear to make it work for him instead of against him. It was terrific because there was no one to vote him out of office.     

     Westmoreland was incompetent, so why did Johnson choose him in the first place? I do believe that President Johnson's heart was in the right place in his belief that communist aggression needed to be stopped. However, unlike Roosevelt during World War II, he had no experience in military matters. Furthermore, lacking the necessary army experience, the reader might be shocked to know how juvenile any sixty-year-old man can be when faced with making even the most enormous decisions. No doubt, Johnson had noticed that Westmoreland was “better looking” than he was. He also mistook his know-it-all little man attitude for knowledgeable confidence. Most, including me, can agree with Jonson about Westy being smart. However, there is a world of difference between being smart and having an understanding of situations in life. Truth is, contrary to those who said otherwise, Johnson picked the right war, at the right time, in the right place. However, he chose the wrong man to run that war. Johnson picked a brain surgeon to pilot a Boeing 737. People like the C.I.A. man, William Colby, were skilled pilots well-suited to fly this plane. Westmoreland could do nothing but stare at the gauge on the plane's instrument panel, which displayed the daily body count, until the plane, which was Vietnam, plowed into a hillside.  

      Now, by October 1967, against all odds, Dick's boys had fast become a haven unto themselves. Never mind the chaos, which was Vietnam. Never mind that my Dogface boys were operating at little more than half strength. Dick was now landing "smack dab" in the middle of Triet's "living room," and he had blunted Triet's plans to do anything about that landing. 

      It would take a couple of days to find replacements for the knowledgeable people whom he had lost to Dick's thorough bombing and artillery fire. However, in the meantime, Triet was already working on another plan to destroy this upstart unit. The weather would help some. During the necessary lag time needed to recruit more local sappers, Triet could count on the predictable monsoon rains to start falling every afternoon and continue into the evening. Dogface's DePuy bunkers would have their bottoms soaked, producing a gooey red mud. That would make the middle of the night a perfect time to attack. Many a rain-soaked American would be trying to sleep outside his muddy defenses and perhaps be preoccupied with hiding under a poncho, not from the rain, but from the giant-sized mosquitoes. These miserable weather conditions would make a defending soldier slower to react. This time could be Triet's time to shine. This time, perhaps waterlogged brains would react too slowly, allowing him to overrun his very first "Big Red One" NDP (night defensive position). One could only dream, but what else did he have to dream about? He certainly couldn't dream about starting his own business or inventing a new device that would change the world and make him rich. That sort of thing couldn't happen in his world because the government owned everything, including him.

      While Triet was dreaming and three companies of my Battalion were making this air assault, back on October 4, I was at Phuoc Vinh. I was running hotshot deliveries and pickups for the Battalion every day, with a lot of free time to do whatever I wanted. All I had to do was make sure those meals from the mess hall were delivered on time to the helicopter pad. They would then be flown to the field, so my guys could get a good hot meal. In an instant, with this new job, I went from having an NCO breathing down my neck twenty-four hours a day to becoming as close to being my own boss as any grunt could ever dream of becoming. My world had now gone through an enormous change, and one for the better. I felt nothing but relief and no guilt whatsoever about leaving the other members of my squad behind. Interestingly, when we met up on those rare occasions while they were in from the field, I noticed that they harbored not a hint of jealousy toward me. On the contrary, I now believe that they were happy for me. I think they realized that I had spent a long time in the field and had earned this break. Sadly, I now regret greatly shutting them out of my life, although we were only a few feet away from each other on many dangerous occasions. Soon, this new job would allow some of these nameless guys to show me what a narcissistic little fool I had been.      

     Although in those days, the perfectionist in me never gave anyone credit for anything, by now, all of B Company was primarily composed of veteran grunts. They had experienced many small-time shoot-outs, although nothing big. Furthermore, for the most part, these veteran cohorts of mine had figured out ways to fight the war on their terms, requiring very little guidance from an NCO. Walker didn't need much of an invitation to take out anything that looked like a threat to our front, using his hard-to-spot and very deadly accurate thump gun. If a dark spot ahead of our patrol looked a little out of place, then a couple of Walker's M-40 grenade rounds would make sure it did not look that way anymore. Milliron could navigate as well as I could, and Bowman had the uncanny ability to watch and listen to every word the jungle around him was saying. The "Navajo" in the weapons platoon, who went on many of our patrols, was methodical in his handling of the M-60, and his ammo bearers never left his side. Besides that, we weren't orphans. We were grunts with a "poppa", and his name was Dick Cavazos. Dick knew how to call down the world on the landscape around us, without getting us killed in the process.

     Simply put, the guys I just left behind were a stand-alone force who would not miss a guy like me. Before Dick arrived, that wasn't true. Back then, they needed every backwoods hillbilly they could get, but not anymore. Dick had very quickly and very methodically changed things on a battalion level, and the men in my squad had changed too. Heck-fire, at this moment in time, our entire Battalion had been transformed into a very superior fighting force, in no small part due to the King Ranch Legacy, but also due to several young Christian grunts, as well.

      Here is one significant factor that allowed us to become so competent so quickly, and it is something every young leader should know. Dick had a very keen ability to weed through officer replacements and chose some very astute leaders. Dick liked subordinate leaders, who didn't think that they had to be "know-it-alls". He encouraged them in no uncertain terms to take time to learn from veteran NCOs, who did know a thing or two. Here is one very colorful example of how Dick weeded through a batch of new lieutenants to cull a misfit before he had a chance to cause trouble. This incident took place shortly after Dick had replaced Brown with Watts Caudill. Three new lieutenants were assigned to our Battalion.

     Among those three was a committed believer in Christ named Dale McCall and Dale's OCS buddy, Larry Arbuckle. There was also one more who remains nameless. All three found themselves waiting outside a large hooch to be interviewed by Dick. The unnamed guy went in first, while Dale and his buddy waited outside. It was a very short interview, but it left a lasting impression on both Dale and Larry. They could not hear a word that was said during the entire interview, but that wasn't necessary because Dick transformed the interview into a "Kodak moment". Neither man would forget that moment. Here's what happened. Shortly after entering the hooch, that first man came flying out again, helped along by Dick's stubby hands, one on his collar, and the other grasping the baggy folds in the rear-end of his britches. Dale and Larry were amazed at what they were seeing. After throwing the man out of his hooch, Dick quickly turned to go back inside, while calmly shouting over his shoulder, "Who's next?". Dick's outlandish actions left Dale and Larry staring at each other for a few long seconds. Finally, Larry broke the silence and stammered, "Dale, why don't you go next?" Without replying, Dale started walking very slowly toward the entrance to the hooch, while the other man slumped away in disgrace. In a gruff voice, Dick asked Dale what job assignment he wanted, and Dale immediately answered back, saying that he had been trained to lead a combat platoon. Now, Dick's voice softened as he began to explain that the guy he had just booted out had asked to be put in charge of the officers' club at Di An. "Dale, you will do fine", Dick said in that very same fatherly tone of voice, which he had used to address the "cussin man" at fire base Thrust. And guess what? Dale did do fine. This never-before-seen behavior in a field commander is just one more example of how Dick used out-of-the-box tactics to weed out undesirables in his command. By this time, my unit was becoming very well-put-together indeed. It was not going to miss one "ole grunt", like me, slipping away to take a rear echelon job.   

      By October 6, Triet had again arranged for things to fall in place for a perimeter attack on my Dogface Battalion, and his plans came together not a day too soon. You see, so many rice caches had been destroyed in this area around Thunder Road that his conscripts were starving. It was so bad that he was soon going to be forced to march north as he had been commanded to do, without food. There were some supplies further west, but even with fresh supplies, it would take time for his worn-down troops to regain their strength, and the Americans were pressing in.

     However, there was always that plan B, which would allow Triet to lighten his load before marching north. It was a demonic plan that would also address the problem of finding food for his worn-down conscripts. With the Ho Chi Minh trail conveyor belt bringing in a constant resupply of fresh bodies every day, and with the average six-month expiration date soon expiring on this present batch of conscripts, plan B sounded like the perfect solution. Also, he had now replaced enough local guides, scouts, and sappers to take the place of those killed by Dick's prepping of his landing zone. There were now enough people to guide a three-prong attack on my Dogface Battalion. If they couldn't overrun it, at least he could get rid of some mouths to feed. More importantly, win or lose, he was sure he could impress his boss, Duan, with this bold action. Plan B would not only help solve Triet's temporary food shortage, but it would also benefit his boss, Duan. It would strengthen the effectiveness of Duan's big battle strategy by breeding hate in the North toward the United States. You see, in war, it is only human to hate an enemy who has killed one's son or daughter, no matter what the political reasons were for doing so. Their dead bodies would also placate the gullible Westmoreland, helping convince him that he was winning the war. 

      By now, “Dogface” had been in camp long enough for most of her men to have gotten a feel for their surroundings. Everyone, both men and officers, knew that they were in great danger. There were no civilians to be seen anywhere. The jungle was mostly triple canopy, with small clearings here and there, and the area was laced with well-worn trails. On the 5th, C Company had made a sweep and discovered a large recently used enemy base camp. Afterward, as C Company turned and headed back toward their NDP, they were fired upon by a large enemy patrol. James Dossett was the point man and immediately took it upon himself to maneuver toward the threat. He single-handedly laid down covering fire while the men behind him spread out and took up firing positions. The Viet Cong patrol quickly realized that they were up against a much larger force, so they fled across a small clearing. After crossing the clearing, several of them turned to watch the clearing and cover the retreat for the others. Dossett was the first and only American to cross that clearing and was shot down by the ambushers as soon as he entered the wood line on the other side. After all these years, his widow has never stopped grieving. Dossett had been in the field a little less than two and a half months, hardly enough time to get his feet wet, much less be walking point for his entire Company. However, the battalion strength was down, and compromises had to be made. I am sure Dossett stepped up to the plate and volunteered. That's just the kind of person he was.

      On the afternoon of the 6th, Triet set his attack plan into motion. Five enemy registration rounds landed inside the south side of the perimeter, just as my boys had finished their nice hot meal, which I had loaded on helicopters for them a couple of hours earlier. No one got too alarmed about five mortar rounds landing inside the perimeter, but the shelling did serve to perk up the entire unit from the afternoon doldrums. Of course, Dick took note and gave a couple of guys a job. Dick had picked these guys because they were extremely good at estimating distance by sound. They were tasked with guiding a couple of gunships in the direction of the sound coming from those enemy mortar tubes. With their directions, our mortar platoons went to work shelling those probable enemy mortar positions. After that, the shelling of our base camp ceased.

     Only the Korean veterans in our unit had ever experienced a frontal attack on their fortified position. At this point, most people in my unit were doubtful that such a thing could happen. Only these crusty "ole veterans, thought otherwise, of which Cavazos was one. From habit, he had already started allowing his imagination to make sense of clues that Triet was leaving behind each day. Sometimes, he needed a few moments of uninterrupted quiet time to read Triet's mail. Many times, he exercised this mental discipline while sitting on a water can, pretending to eat a can of cold ham and lima beans, or staring aimlessly at a map. At times like this, his S3 (operations officer) would shield him from the constant flow of routine interruptions, which often required a bevy of routine decisions to follow. If his S3 couldn't handle those routine interruptions, Dick would find one who could.

      Rain clouds started forming "right on time" as ambush patrols from each of the three companies readied themselves to move out. The sun was going down. The rain was becoming more intense. Flares would soon be popping overhead. Ambush sites were to be no more than five hundred meters from the NDP. Every "ole grunt" in the Battalion sensed deep in their bones that something bad was going to happen, but Dick needed one more clue from Triet before he would be ready to draw any conclusions. That final clue was not long coming.

     McCall had been with Mike's platoon for almost two months now, but the first month, he had allowed his very experienced platoon sergeant, Loren Malone, to run the platoon. McCall was a fast learner, and in about three weeks, Malone came to him and announced that he was ready to take over. At this point, McCall was doing a good job for a newbie. New as he was, however, he sensed that tonight was going to be different.

     When the sun set, the rain started coming down in sheets instead of drops. On the way to their ambush site, B Company ambush patrol walked only 250 meters from their base camp perimeter before they collided with a platoon-sized force of sappers and guides. The firefight was short, but intense. These enemy fighters were no novices. They were Triet's local hardened communist replacements for those killed by the bombings on the 4th. This fresh supply of sapper guides was on the way to positions around the perimeter, stringing fresh com wire as they went, so they could talk to Triet as they guided NVA conscripts into assault positions around B company's side of the NDP perimeter. Needless to say, any conscript who refused to comply would be immediately shot. Few had to be shot, however, because of the demonic skill of their cadre in breaking down their will. The supply of dope helped. Their cadre used a well-thought-out combination of fear, coercion, and drugs to turn these young conscripts into walking zombies. Once everything was ready and Triet gave the order, NVA conscripts would be double-timed down ox-cart trails and herded by their guides into positions for a human wave attack.

     However, now, those essential guides had been shot to pieces by Caudill's veteran ambush patrol, which meant there would be no one to guide Triet's cannon fodder into their final attack positions on this side of the perimeter. Two men in B Company's ambush patrol were wounded, and a third man, Paul Oestreicher, was killed. Paul's body was not immediately found. As the firefight subsided, mortar rounds started raining down on B Company's side of the perimeter, which did two things. Number one, those rounds wounded one of the most well-liked members of B Company, my buddy, Earl Dingle, as he was returning with that same patrol, which had just been involved in the firefight. Secondly, it removed all doubt from anyone's mind that an all-out attack on the perimeter was imminent. Taken from pieced-together information of conversations and reports, here is a probable word picture of events, as they happened next, on B Company's side of the perimeter.

     The enemy shelling stopped, but the rain did not. Nevertheless, it was time for Caudill to put himself into motion and check on his ambush patrol, which was now returning to the NDP (night defensive perimeter). He had just finished giving a very brief update on his patrol's shoot-out to the "ole man" (Cavazos). He gave it over the radio, from his bunker, which was located only a short distance from the "ole man's" command bunker. As Caudill stood to check on his wounded patrol, he blurted out a short command to his heavy-set first sergeant, Pink Dillard, who was squeezed into the tight confines somewhere behind him. "Top, make double sure your people are ready for an attack on the perimeter". He then reached for his short-barreled AR-15 and headed for the command bunker entrance located only two steps away. The entrance was nothing more than a "misty-looking", gray-orange opening, between a wall of slimy, slick sandbags. His Battalion net RTO, Fred Walters, needed no verbal communications to know that he needed to follow Caudill. He knew the drill well, which was always to anticipate the next move his commander made, and without continually being told to do so, stay close. Stay real close. Fred followed Caudill through the opening with his rifle in one hand and the tip of his radio antenna in the other, to keep it from getting hung up on the low ceiling of the bunker. The Company RTO, David Eaton, followed close behind Fred. Once on the outside of the bunker, the three men were immediately hit in the face by stinging sheets of rain, which felt more like tiny knife blades than rain. Through squinting eyes, they viewed the macabre world around them. An overhead flare, drenched in the torrential downpour, made everything look pale orange. Men were congregating at one spot on B Company's perimeter, only a few yards away. As Caudill reached the little gathering, medics were already checking over three wounded men. Dingle was hurt the worst. He was lying on his back, and his entire right side, from shoulder down, was covered in blood. Watts knelt beside him, grabbed his hand, and began searching his mind for some comforting words to say. A stocky figure, surrounded by several taller ones, appeared out of the rainy mist. The figure was Dick Cavazos. Watts looked up at Dick, and Dick looked down at him. As the battalion commander tilted his head downward, Watts immediately became distracted by two little continuous streams of water running through the cloth camouflage of Dick's helmet. Those two streams then poured off the brim of Dick's helmet, one in front of each eye. It's funny how a detailed mind like Caudill's could not help but be pulled away by seemingly trivial details at a time like this. Soaking wet, but unfazed by his drenching shower, Dick spoke to Watts in that same measured tone his men had become accustomed to hearing. First, he reiterated what Watts already knew. "Captain, it's likely they will hit our perimeter." Then, in a quieter tone, he used three more words to shoo Watts back to his most urgent duty. "Attend your men, captain". Lastly, Dick then injected a comment meant to relieve his young captain of any distracting guilt that he may have been experiencing. "In this storm, Watts, Dust-offs will be grounded, so you'd better let me work on getting a medevac to volunteer to come out for our wounded. Dick then added, Watts, you concentrate on getting your men ready for an attack because it's coming". With that said, the two commanders now exchanged places. Dick knelt by a very distraught Earl Dingle, and Caudill stood and headed down the perimeter a ways to join a dark figure in the distance. That figure was his "Top", Pink Dillard, coming from the other direction. "Captain, we are ready", said "Pink". Watts nodded, and both men and their two RTO shadows turned toward the B Company command bunker. A stretcher was found to move Dingle to Dick's command bunker. "Son, I am going to get you a 'dust-off, he said as he squeezed Dingle's hand. Then he stood up and moved ahead of the stretcher, toward his command bunker, and radioed to do just that. No one realized until later that Triet would not be able to launch a human wave attack on B Company's side of the perimeter. The contribution that Dingle and Oestreicher's ambush patrol had made by shooting up Triet's guides would prevent that from happening. Oestreicher was killed in the firefight, but Dingle was helping other members of the patrol to reach the safety of the perimeter when he was hit by one of those mortar rounds that fell on B Company's side of the NDP. My research produced one report, which said that Dick, himself, held Earl in his arms to calm him, while trying to get a medevac "dust-off" to fly into the storm. All helicopters were grounded, but one crew volunteered to come anyway. Gene Burlingham was the captain. Robert Porea was the copilot. Joseph Hoggard was the medic, and Lewis Trask was a mechanic who volunteered to go along as door gunner. They almost made it, but their chopper crashed in the storm just a short distance from the NDP. The entire crew was killed. According to a personal accounting from one of the men in my unit, Earl Dingle bled out and died in Dick's arms.

     Cavazos now knew that an attack on the perimeter was imminent, so he ordered all ambush patrols to return to the relative safety of the NDP. On the way home, C Company's ambush patrol encountered and shot up two more teams of sappers and guides who were to guide conscripts into attack positions on C Company's side of the perimeter. This action further whittled down the number of guides needed to launch Triet's attack. Now he would only be able to launch an attack on D Company's side of the perimeter. And so, he did. At the same time, to confuse the Americans, Triet ordered sacrificial machine gun crews to move in close and fire on the B and C sides of the perimeter. They were turned into mincemeat by pre-registered American artillery barrages.

      At 2200 hours, William Fee, who was a grunt in D Company, started receiving heavy small-arms fire on his position, but not before his side of the perimeter was subjected to a heavy enemy mortar attack. Triet was now able to initiate a close-in human wave attack on D company's side of the perimeter since the American artillery had been drawn away from that side by those sacrificial machine gunners. At one point, the enemy's small arms fire directed at Fee's bunker was so heavy that it sounded like a very loud bag of popcorn being popped. The popping rounds, which were flying over and even into the firing ports of D Company bunkers, were so numerous that it is a miracle no one was hit. The Americans blew every claymore mine on that side of the perimeter, killing and wounding scores of conscripts who had charged the American defenses.

     It was a fearful thing for my grunt buddies to now be experiencing. However, their fear could not compare to the horror that Triet's conscripts were beginning to experience. For most, it was the last horror of their young lives here on earth. While in staging areas well out of range of air strikes and artillery, these hungry, hopeless teenagers were provided with some of the best hashish in the world. They were then given polished pep talks. Those talks repeated over and over what they could expect as they approached the American lines. Of course, it was mostly lies salted with just enough truth to get them ready to run to their deaths at the sound of a whistle. Triet was an old hand at this, and he knew his NCOs would go along with the plan. Many were veterans who had miraculously lived through other battles as conscripts. They were smart enough to realize that it was in their best interest to go along with the lies. They knew what was coming, and now it was other clueless recruits who would be taking their place up front. Since they were new to the battlefield, these recruits had been easily convinced that they were invincible with their automatic rifles and their rocket launchers. It was still dangerous for those veterans, but at least they were not expected to commit suicide by running headlong into the American lines.

     No doubt, those first waves hurled at the Americans would have created some horrific sights for those conscripts who lived through it. Claymore mines would have each sent 750 buckshot pellets in a 45-degree radius to the front and through the bodies of anyone in front of them. Rifle fire would have also taken down some, but not as many as one might think, due to the poor performance of the M-16. William Fee wrote later that his M-16 jammed, and it took him a few minutes to get it working again. Fortunately, he was in his DePuy bunker, and the third man, Pvt. Fierro took his place while he worked on his rifle. More than likely, this would have meant his life if it were a firefight in the more open jungle.

     Enemy conscripts in the second wave would have experienced even more Hell than the first. Some made it within ten yards of the DePuy bunkers on the perimeter. By now, Cavazos had artillery gunners dropping 155 millimeter rounds just outside the perimeter. Body parts were flying everywhere. The small number, who were able to walk, after this shelling subsided, were trained to grab a body, either alive or dead, and start dragging it to the rear with them. This withdrawal tactic would help keep the Americans from getting a realistic idea of what a complete slaughter they were able to inflict on their enemy. There would still be plenty of bodies left behind to satisfy "Westy", but Triet knew not to overdo it. He didn't want us to figure out that their side of the war was based on one grand illusion after another.  

     By midnight, the rain had stopped entirely, and even the American shells falling around the perimeter had ceased. The occasional popping of a flare was all that could be heard. It was a very surreal moment, giving everyone an eerie feeling. Always thinking ahead, Dick realized that his artillery support might need a break. Those resources were not limitless. They were not only tasked with providing fire missions in multiple places around the perimeter but also tasked with providing flares so my Dogface boys could see what the enemy was doing on the perimeter. It was quite a job. There was a mechanized unit nearby, and Dick remembered seeing huge search lights mounted on their tanks. So, Dick wasted no time contacting that unit. He had them point their search lights at the low-hanging clouds above his Dogface NDP. The torrential downpour had ceased, leaving these low-hanging clouds in its wake. Those low-hanging clouds provided the perfect conditions for those tanks to bounce their light beams off those clouds, which lit up Dogface's entire base camp. The reflected light from the searchlights gave those artillerymen, who were providing Dogface with flares, a break. Shortly after dawn, resupply helicopters started arriving, bringing not only resupplies of munitions but also hot coffee, dehydrated vegetable soup, and fresh hot donuts. Back at Phuoc Vinh, I had started setting my alarm for 0300 hours so I could wake up and start helping our battalion baker, known only to me as Tex, make those hot donuts. I would not know any of the details of this first big night battle until the middle of October, when the entire Battalion was flown to a large base at Song Be, which was near the Cambodian border.

      The next morning, October 7, while C Company was making a sweep, Triet tried to draw Cavazos into an ambush, but Dick had his men quickly withdraw while he blasted the entire ambush area with artillery. Although it remained too risky to get a body count, it's evident that many of the ambushers were killed or wounded.

     By this time, Triet must have been doing a double-take. He adjusted his timetables to strike even faster the next time. The next time was on October 9. By now, it seems that Triet had become obsessed with crippling Dick for good. I am sure that he was wondering, "How many more lives could this guy have? My old squad was running point on this day. They were headed in a northerly direction from the NDP, and my B Company was in the lead. D Company was following.

    This time, Triet was quicker on the draw. He cut his attack times almost in half. It was just a matter of minutes from the time Bowman's keen eyes spotted the tree sniper and vainly started blasting away at him with his useless shotgun until Triet had his conscripts slamming into what he thought was the left flank of B Company. At the same time, Triet moved several machine guns into place to rake Captain Caudill's right flank. However, Triet had no idea that he was already being outmaneuvered. Every commander in the Battalion, serving under Dick, now understood the imminent danger posed by large enemy ambushes in this area. Dick had already preplanned with company commanders what they were to do if they were ambushed. In less than two minutes after first taking fire from his front, Captain Caudill ordered his entire B Company to withdraw through the ranks of D Company. This withdrawal was facilitated in the following way. We always did a head count at the beginning of every large patrol. If attacked, D Company's even-numbered men knew to cover the right flank, and the odd-numbered men covered the left flank. They would move outward no more than ten meters, leaving the center open for the lead Company, B Company, to file through their center, then take up positions to the rear of the trailing Company, D Company. Caudill gave a quick sitrep (situation report) to the "Ole Man" while on the run to the rear, followed closely by his little cluster of headquarters personnel. As usual, RTOs Walters and Eaton were the closest to Watts, followed by the FO and his sergeant, then came the rest of his headquarters people. The heavy-set and not-so-graceful First Sergeant, Pink Dillard, usually brought up the rear. Pink was worth his weight in gold to Watts, but that gold was also heavy. The overweight sergeant struggled to run through the thick jungle, but he did. And he made a good rear guard at that. 

     This well-executed maneuver now gave Dick the protective distance he needed to adjust artillery fires so Triet's Cong would face a wall of artillery fire, instead of the "flesh and blood" bodies of Caudill's B Company men, when they charged forward with their frontal attack. Triet would soon find that his famous brag, "Get close enough to grab your enemy's belt and hold on to him with a firm grip", didn't work so well with Dick. That is to say, it didn't work, unless one liked grabbing hold of a buzz saw. To use the vernacular, one might say it this way. "Dick won't wearing a belt!” However, he did like to mix and match his tactical wardrobe "a bit". While prepping the landing on October 4, he had used helicopter gunships along with the faster but less agile jets. After observing the performance of those gunships, he began to think about more ways to have them dress up a fight. They could be more safely fine-tuned to cover specific areas near his troops than jets, wheezing past their strike zones at 400 miles an hour. So, with that in mind, Dick had already made a call earlier that morning to make sure the gunships at Lai Khe were on standby. Shortly after the first shots were fired, they were on their way. It was a short hop of less than 12 miles. When they arrived, Dick had these hellions go to work on Triet's human wave attack, which was already in progress on D Company's left flank. When it began, the men of D Company were already prepared and had picked good prone positions on each flank. Many had found not only good concealment but also good protective cover along their firing line. From behind this cover, they were able to lay down some very deadly suppressing fire. Soon, the gunships joined the party. Those gunships put Triet's hapless conscripts in a merciless crossfire situation. It was devastating. "Oh well", I wonder who wrote all those death notifications to the families? I am sure it wasn't Triet.

     Brass shell casings from the arriving helicopters started raining down on some of those D Company boys, but it didn't take long for the deluge of enemy automatic weapons fire to be reduced to just a pop here and there. During his long career as a field commander, I am sure Triet had never come up against such a formidable adversary as the well-oiled Dogface Battalion. By the time his conscripts were executing their failed human wave attack on D Company's left flank, the attacks on the Dogface’s front and right flanks had already been blunted by artillery fires from other fire bases and the mortars being fired from Dick's own NDP. This battle was won before it started. It was genius, and the kind of "tactical textbook stuff” which should have been studied by every senior leader at MACV. However, for too long now, those guys had only seen themselves as the teacher and never the student. In just a few days, Lt. Col. Terry Allen and the men of the Black Lions Battalion would pay with their lives for the near-sightedness of our senior leaders.

    In the months since he took over, Dick had been working nonstop on upgrading our unit's subordinate command structure. He had been steadily replacing the old framework with officers who could walk and chew gum at the same time. They were leaders chosen by Dick at all levels of command. Caudill, McCall, and McLaughlin are just three names that come to mind. I will have more to say about these three guys later.

     Here are some thoughts on critical factors affecting all military operations in 1967 Vietnam. We didn't have satellite GPS in those days, so keeping track of one's location was no slam-dunk. However, it was vitally necessary. Captain Watts Caudill would later say that he trusted no one to keep track of his Company's location but himself. He kept a pace count in his head everywhere he went, including making withdrawals. Starting at the beginning of his tour of duty, on routine patrols, he had taught himself to do this in all types of terrain. Due to the conscious efforts of Dick, it's a safe bet that other commanders in the unit also saw this as an essential skill to develop. Almost all our leaders present after Brown left were good at developing critical skills that could save lives. No matter what was going on, however, our commanders, including Watts, understood that pinpointing one's location on the face of the earth was at the top of the list of things to know.

     Fortunately, God gave Dick the necessary time needed to put the right people in key positions before facing off with an enemy like Triet. Sometimes Dick's means of doing his part was quite colorful, as I have noted already in the recounting of McCall's first interview with Dick. By the time October rolled around, and major enemy contacts were becoming more frequent, Dick had capable subordinates in place, who could follow his commands to a T. Instinctively, he had not only chosen men who could do a good job of following his orders, but who also had enough confidence in their leadership to give feedback and suggest changes. Dick welcomed input, and he went out of his way to get it. He went on ambush patrols to get feedback. He took a private to the officer's club as his guest to get feedback. Putting oneself in a position to collect input from subordinates is extremely important, and Dick went out of his way to do that. At the beginning of October, one might say that Dick’s Dogface Battalion could walk and chew gum at the same time. Not a single man in the 1/18th was killed during this pitched battle on October 9.

     On October 11, my Dogface Battalion did another sweep south of their NDP, and B Company again took the lead. C was in the rear. General Hay later recorded the following. After traveling about 1800 meters, the dog accompanying the point squad alerted to the presence of VC. The dog alerted before any shots were fired. I had been in the lead element on many sweeps and had never seen a dog during my entire time in the field. Hay also said that the dog started giving alerts as soon as B company people left the perimeter earlier that morning, which I believe is evidence of the ineffectiveness of using dogs. Having tramped through War Zones C and D many times, I am aware of the numerous ox cart trails that crisscrossed that area. I am also aware of how heavily they were traveled. They were the Cong's highways. Knowing what I know does nothing but reinforce my negative opinion of the use of dogs, simply because enemy patrols and laborers were always zipping up and down these trails. Many times, they were near our patrols.

     Additionally, there were numerous sappers assigned to do nothing but shadow our extensive search and destroy efforts. They then relayed that information to a runner who would locate a workable telephone line along one of these trails and report our progress back to Triet. Therefore, a dog would have had plenty of scents around him all the time to throw him off track. In this case, however, using the dog worked. 

     Just before the dog alerted, Hay was perched high above, looking down from his helicopter and straining his eyes to see the line of march below through the thick jungle foliage. Hay would have wanted to know Captain Caudill's exact location, so he could better be prepared to coordinate air strikes and artillery if needed. However, Hay’s request to pop smoke was poorly thought out. Here's why. Popping smoke would reveal to the general the exact location of the lead element, but could also reveal Caudill’s location to enemy watchers in the surrounding trees. That would have given the enemy an accurate fix on Caudill's point squad. Hay had no idea of the potentially deadly consequences of his request.

     Furthermore, it wasn't his job to know these details. His job was to pick the right field commanders and then trust them to run things on the ground, but Hay couldn't help himself. Two months before, Captain Caudill would not have hesitated to fulfill the general's request. However, that was a lifetime ago. Since then, he had seen a lot, and he had learned. Captain Caudill matter-of-factly replied to the general. "I will have my rear people located 100 meters behind the point squad pop smoke." Hay was a brilliant man. He immediately knew the mistake he had asked his subordinate to make. He also took note of the professional way Caudill corrected him. Nothing else needed an explanation over the radio. The general agreed. I am sure Dick was listening in and at the same time placing a big mental check mark on the favorable side of Commander Watt's score card. 

     Within 30 seconds after popping smoke, the dog alerted. Captain Caudill's response was almost immediate. He had his lead platoon form a line and shoot to the front. That action drew a fairly heavy volume of return fire from the enemy ambushers, exposing their position. Cavazos then gave the withdrawal order. Caudill had the two lead platoons withdraw through the rear platoon (3rd platoon) of B. However, unlike October 9, instead of having the entire Company withdraw through C Company, Captain Caudill convinced Dick to leave his third platoon in place, just to the front of the main body of D Company. Caudill's little command group stayed with 3rd platoon, which had formed a semi-circle behind excellent cover. The 3rd platoon was my old platoon. This action was precipitated when Watt's cool, calculating eyes instantly deduced that "staying put" would be a good idea, since devastating artillery barrages were quenching the incoming enemy rifle and machine gun fire. Those pinpoint barrages were facilitated through the disciplined efforts of our B Company forward observer. The ability to notice this nuance of the battlefield and not overreact by pulling 3rd platoon back from their protected firing positions too soon was something that would not have happened if Caudill had not trusted Dick to back him on this maneuver. Above everything was Dick Cavazos's willingness to trust the instincts of his young captain, and it paid off. Gunships were soon working over the area close to 3rd platoon's left flank. They flushed out almost one hundred Cong, who now had only one of three choices to make. They could stay put and get shot to pieces by the gunships, retreat into a wall of steel from American artillery, or charge 3rd platoon's left flank. They chose to charge my old 3rd platoon, and Sergeant Bartee, Milliron, Bowman, Walker, and the big Indian machine gunner from New Mexico, along with the rest of the platoon, sealed their fate. RTO Fred Walters told me years later that after the battle, Bartee was walking around the NDP, totally unaware of the bullet hole in his back. It was probably a ricochet. I will never glorify this tragic event, but at the same time, let me say this. It is infinitely better for battle deaths to occur on the side that is fighting to enslave people, rather than on the other side, which is fighting to give them more freedom. At the end of this battle, which was later called the Battle of Da Yeu, Captain Caudill was tasked with writing only one death notification to the parents of a man in 3rd platoon of B Company. He was SP-4 Harry Dresher. I did not know him, but I will someday. Not only will I know him, but I will know him better than anyone has ever known him during his short time here on this earth.

     Yes, Caudill's quick thinking helped soundly defeat Triet's ambushers at Da Yeu that day, but Triet still clung to his dream of overrunning and annihilating an American infantry battalion. It would happen, but now it seemed that it would not occur in the Long Nguyên Secret Zone because his superiors had something bigger going on up north, and they had already sent word for him to "come help". They had sent that word even before he attacked my Dogface Battalion. He only initiated those attacks because Dogface was crowding in on him while her sister battalions were finding and destroying his food supplies. Who knew that these guys were going to be so tough to deal with? However, those three failed attacks did accomplish at least one thing. They got rid of some hungry mouths to feed on that long march north.

     Was it becoming obvious to Triet that my Dogface boys were different? Did he realize that he had met his match? Did he know that under the present leadership, this Battalion was never going to lose to him? Maybe he did, but I doubt it. Furthermore, I don't think he cared one way or another. You see, here is a great truth for the taking. Although many intelligent minds embrace the communist ideology, every single one of those minds is broken. Furthermore, they have no personal moral gyroscope to give them stability. Whichever way the political winds blow is the way that hapless soul will go.

     Furthermore, they have no empowerment from without to do otherwise, even if they desire to do so. Here is another truth. A broken mind can lie to itself better than it can lie to anyone else.

     No doubt, Triet would have laughed at the idea of Dick's power to win, through his grooming on the ranch, a legacy left behind by the missionary's daughter. Many of our leaders would have laughed, too, then and now. Yet Triet's mind was no more broken than those of some of our very own leaders. By now, our senior leaders were beginning to realize, too, that we were different. However, they did not know why. Nor did they care to find out.

     On the 13th, my fellow grunts were yanked out of the field for a bit of rest. The unit was first extracted to Lai Khe and then, on the 15th, it was flown by fixed-wing C-130s up north near Quan Loi to a rather large and secure base named Song Be. I believe I stayed in Quan Loi because I have no memory of ever being at the Song Be base camp, whatsoever. When my old squad and I were together in the same place, we would get together in the evenings and visit each other. I listened to their war stories. In time served in the field, I was still one of the oldest grunts there. For nine months, I took people out of an NDP as a point man and brought them back in one piece. Now, however, this little band of grunts had experienced more violence in just the last few days than I ever had experienced in my entire time in the field. Yet, like old friends, they would sit around and give me the low-down on not only their recent shoot-outs, but also on which new guys were "cutting the mustard" and which ones were not. Of course, NCOs were not exempt from the conversations. "The new first sergeant was a little gun-shy", they said. Yes, November's (3rd platoon) Sergeant Adrien St. Amand was still as nervous and hyperactive as ever. He was still getting on the nerves of every grunt in the platoon, not for what he would do to the grunts under him, but just for being his nervous self. His trainee shadow had been the haggardly looking John May, who had recently been transferred to C Company. By all accounts, John was doing a good job as a C Company platoon sergeant. Most agreed with me that he was probably relieved to be out from under the wing of St. Amand. On one occasion, the conversation turned to several men in my old squad filling me in on more details about the plight of Dingle. Everyone in B company knew and liked Dingle. He was the only guy who had been in my squad at one time and who was killed while I was still in country. If only that Dust-off coming from Cu Chi had not crashed, things might have turned out differently. As we talked about the tragic event and how it unfolded, I could tell that not only his death but the sad circumstances around his death bothered each of us who knew him. It still haunts me today.

     I had spent over 240 days in the field as a point man without experiencing what my unit had just experienced, not to mention what they were about to experience. I had been shot at and mortared more times than I can remember, but the fights I had experienced were "small time" compared to what my unit was now getting ready to face. More big engagements were yet to come, and they were coming sooner than everyone expected. Well, maybe not "everyone". I am sure now that Dick knew that they were coming. 

      Surprisingly, these big battles were not perceived by most of the men in my unit as being all that much scarier than the everyday stuff we had been through together. Taking out threats had just become the job that these guys were tasked with performing in life. Jungle fighting was such that the enemy could only send so many bullets in one man's direction, so a firefight was a firefight, whether there were a thousand bad guys out there or just twenty. The men in my unit were not any more afraid of a big fight than they were of a little one.

     On October 13, when my unit returned from those three big fights, I only learned about one of them from my former squad members. Although it was a big one, with a lot going on, I did not get that impression from my squad members, which may seem odd. They didn't seem to give me the impression that they had been through something any more traumatic than when I was in the field with them. In some cases, they were laughing about what they had just been through. Looking back now, I realize what Hollywood has never understood. Many people who go through prolonged combat unscathed are not as traumatized as one might think. The brain seems to have a way of preventing this from happening. Of course, there are those few who do possess a keener sensitivity to the violence and thus lose their ability to cope, but not as many as one might think.

     Most of the time, one's mind focuses on specific events during combat, blocking out the larger picture. Afterward, that narrow focus forever dictated how a soldier interpreted the events of those battles. I had to keep this in mind as I did my interviews. Sometimes the recounting of a particular event in those bigger battles sounded so similar to what we had experienced together in the smaller ones that I, too, failed to snap to the magnitude of what my buddies had just been through. It was years later, after reading "after-action reports" and talking to other veterans across the country, that I gained a deeper understanding.

     For example, one evening while visiting my old squad during a few days break from humping the boonies, Bowman calmly said that he had decided to get rid of his pump shot gun. He announced this decision with little emotion, in much the same way that a guy might announce that he was trading in his pickup. After a long pause, he went on to explain how this shotgun almost got him killed by a tree sniper. It seems his gun's buckshot was not powerful enough to cut through the dense foliage and reach the sniper, while that guy was continually banging away, trying to zero in on him from his perch high in a very tall tree. The "cussin" red-faced guy calmly chimed in, telling me how he killed that sniper with several bursts from his M-14. There was no great emotion, however, in either of their voices as they talked about this recent experience. This lack of emotion made their experience sound pretty routine. In reality, it wasn't at all routine. There were scores of NVA conscripts firing at Bowman's position. At the same time, a tree sniper was trying to shoot him. However, partly because my buddies could not see the larger battlefield and partly because not a single member of my squad was seriously injured, there was not much emotion in talking about that battle. They also seemed unaware of the details about the larger battle happening all around them.