Chapter 20: A Walk Up a Hill with Dick 083125

      Two days before the disaster at the Battle of Ong Thanh, on October 15, three companies of my Dogface Battalion were flown to Song Be by C-130s. My B Company remained behind at Phuoc Vinh. Song Be was located north of Quan Loi and a few miles east of Loc Ninh. It was very close to the Cambodian border. Since all four Dogface Companies were away from Lai Khe during the battle of Ong Thanh on the 17th, our battalion grapevine did not pick up any information about the tragedy. No news of the fight reached my ears for years to come. If we had been in Lai Khe, I would have gotten wind of it, because that's where many of the wounded were initially taken. Instead, our A, C, and D Companies were far removed and operating near the Cambodian border around Song Be until the 28th. My B Company, however, remained further south, at Phuoc Vinh.

     Dick was ordered to take his battalion to Song Be. He chose to leave my B Company behind. It wasn't unusual for a battalion to be separated in this manner. Many times, the job required companies to operate independently. They could be tasked with guarding roads, protecting engineers, or providing security for a fire support base, such as Phuoc Vinh. In this particular incident, Dick chose my B Company for the job because he knew that our commander, Watts Caudill, could be trusted to make most decisions independently. He was a man of absolute integrity. Dick had quickly recognized that Caudill was a man after his own heart in many ways. His self-discipline was incredible, even for a West Pointer. If Dick had any reservations about Caudill, it was that he seemed a little too perfect.

      It was definitely Caudill's turn to get some rear guard time. Caudill's B Company had fought three separate major engagements at the Battle of Da Yeu. Most commanders never fought in a single significant engagement during their entire six-month stretch in the field. Caudill's men had certainly earned a break. However, there was another reason why our beloved, but very carnal, battalion commander chose Caudill to stay behind, not just for a few days, but for the remainder of Operation Shenandoah II. You see, Caudill did not curse. He did not drink. For goodness' sake, he never once visited the officer's club at Di An.

     Furthermore, he only raised his voice so his commands could be heard above the clashing clamor of combat. Caudill's behavior would give any hard-charging, man's man like Dick Cavazos pause to consider. Caudill's personal demeanor couldn't help but be a little disconcerting to a carnal Christian like our beloved leader, Dick Cavazos. You see, Dick, like most believers in Christ, was very comfortable with his confession of faith, stating that Jesus Christ was Lord of all; however, he was also quite comfortable with letting those priests handle the spiritual matters. He would do fine running his own life by what he could feel, taste, see, hear, and smell. Actually, it was unnerving to be around a guy like Watts Caudill. Dick much preferred bareback associations, with all the confrontational ups and downs, and yes, the foul language to go along with it. When he was in the presence of this guy, he began to feel all funny inside, like he was being condemned by just being in this guy's presence. Dick was a horseman, and sometimes on the ranch, he would ride fast with the wind in his face. Being around Watts Caudill, however, made him feel like he was riding in a horse-drawn buggy with his pastor doing the driving. My guess is Watts gave Dick a weird feeling that he couldn't shake off. To top things off, a little satanic voice will always whisper in the ear of believers like Dick, telling them that no one worth his salt could be as nice as Caudill. Three of the engagements Watts took part in were in the Long Nguyen Secret Zone, just a few days before Terry Allen was killed. However, I do not believe that Dick left Caudill behind during the upcoming Lock Ninh action simply because he wanted to give my B Company a break. Instead, I think that something was working deep within Dick's subconscious, making him want to keep Caudill at arm's length.

     Here is the bottom line. Satan always works much harder at trying to make the world feel uncomfortable around Holy Spirit-anointed believers. He works very hard to convince them that Holy Spirit-anointed believers are not able to stand on their own. Therefore, they feign faith in God as a crutch to get them through life. Nothing could be further from the truth with Caudill. He was the real deal. Like Henrietta Chamberlain King, Watts followed that light that burned deep inside him. After retiring as a Lieutenant Colonel, Watts Caudill spent twenty years as a high school teacher, influencing the lives of countless teenagers. All three of his sons served in Iraq. Watts and Sally's lives have become living stones in that foundation which continues to support a great America. Watts did not become famous, despite fighting in four major engagements.     

       Mac’s C Company would be there. He had started his tour of duty with Dogface before it was Dogface. Lieutenant Colonel Denton was still in charge. McLaughlin was finishing his orientation week at Di An, while I and other newbies in my squad were earning our C.I.B. at that bunker complex in Bien Hoa Province. Soon, however, although a lowly PFC, McLaughlin became acting squad leader. Not long after that, he was promoted to Spec-4 and then to buck sergeant in July. Mac, as McLaughlin's men called him, had taken over as acting squad leader shortly after that long, hot day, when his squad was digging in next to my squad (I also mentioned this earlier). It was there that I got a glimpse of his Lima platoon in motion. Lima was the radio call sign for his C Company first platoon. I could tell in just this one brief encounter that this was a squad with a unique chemistry. At the time, I remember feeling downright jealous. Deep down, I longed for what they had. I was unable to realize that I was the very reason I didn't have it. Instead, I blamed my life's plight on everything and everyone except my own bad attitude.

      Mac took one of the first available R&R trips to Australia just a couple of days before his C Company was flown to Song Be. He had been very fortunate to obtain this most coveted getaway. People like me had to settle for Bangkok. That break for Mac was long overdue. On returning to Di An after having one of the greatest times of his young life, he learned that his C Company was still located in Song Be. Mac knew this first from the clerk working the unit's supply counter, because that was the first place he would have stopped when he arrived back at our battalion area in Di An. There were several other good reasons for stopping at the supply room first. Naturally, he would have wanted to pick up his combat gear and duffel bag, which held all his personal belongings. That duffel bag had been stored there while he was in Sidney. Secondly, the supply clerks could not only tell him where his unit was located but also provide him with essential news about his unit that had occurred while he was away.

     After leaving the supply room, he headed for his sleeping quarters, lugging his duffel bag, with an M-16 slung over his shoulder. Once there, Mac quickly changed clothes. I remember those sleeping quarters as being nothing more than a World War II vintage canvas tent large enough to house his entire platoon. However, by this late date in 1967, Mac believes that screened-in hoochs on concrete slabs had replaced these tents. Whatever the case, this really doesn't matter to my story. What does matter is that Mac would have been wearing his kaki uniform on the plane flying back from Sidney and also on the hot one-hour bus ride from Tân Sơn Nhất. The bus had heavy meshed wiring on the windows and no air conditioning. It was hot, which meant that Mac would have been soaked with sweat by the time he arrived at Di An. Looking like he had jumped in a river while wearing his kakies was reason enough for Mac to retrieve his gear first before reporting for duty. He certainly was not going to report to the noncommissioned officer on duty, soaking wet and looking anything less than ready for action. Back in his living quarters, after Mac finished getting dressed for duty, the last piece of clothing he put on was his steel helmet. It had a distinct back-to-work look all its own. The well-worn camouflage cover was stained red in places. It was also smelly from sleeping in the mud of War Zone C for way too long. Sure, he could have gotten a new camo cover while at the supply counter. However, this smelly, stained one made a great statement. It and a smooth shave said, "I am back, and I am a veteran fighter more than ready to shoot it out with a Cong in the next few minutes if the need arises. Of course, that was a lie, but that's the visuals Mac's appearance now signaled to anyone who would be looking him up and down in that orderly room when he reported for duty.

      Although changing into dry clothes did make Mac feel better, his mind was still not open for business. Changing clothes couldn't change that fact. Oh, how he wished it could. Doggone it, why did Australia have to be so much fun? It was more than Mac had ever dreamed it would be. Now he was suffering the downside of that grand experience. Mac had grown up a military brat. That meant he had been forced to grow up fast and learn how to fit in quickly because his family moved around a lot. However, on his first night in Sidney, there was no such thing as fitting in at that popular neighborhood bar, which he had randomly selected. On the contrary, with his American accent, he stood out in a way that he could never have imagined. The regular patrons could not stop slapping him on the back and buying another mug of beer even before he got the chance to empty the one already in his hand. All the while, they called him Yank and pointed him out to every new arrival as if he were some celebrity. It was one of the most marvelous, impromptu nights of Mac's young life, and he couldn't quite make himself believe it was all happening in the company of strangers. To this very day, Mac would say that there has never been a night like that since. He discusses it further in his book, "Cheerful Obedience."

     As soon as Mac slipped into his khaki uniform to board his return flight, however, the feeling of lighthearted exhilaration that he had felt throughout his R&R, starting with that first night, was gone. An overwhelming sense of dread took its place. To counter that dread, he told himself all the usual reasons why returning to the most dangerous job in the world was good. He reminded himself that he wasn't new anymore. He was well-versed in his career, and he excelled in it. He also knew his people, and they were good. His point man, Johnny O'Conner, was one of the best in the business, and he was training another man, Tom Mercer, who was probably going to be even better. However, Mac was not about to tell Mercer that. Finally, he said himself, that he had been in enough scrapes to be able to handle himself no matter what came his way.

     However, deep down, he also knew something else. He knew that everything he was saying to himself about surviving the next few months was a lie. Still, that did not make him stop repeating his little pep talk. No, his gut wasn't buying it, but what else could he do? At the very same time, his gut was telling him something totally different. It said that the deadly realities of this war were so random and the safe havens so few, that no guy in his shoes had much of a chance of making it out unscathed. No amount of experience or good thinking on his part was going to counter that fact. He had a little over two months left, and even one month was a lifetime in Vietnam. He was one of the ten soldiers at the tip of the spear. To make matters worse, he not only had to look out for himself but also for at least ten other guys as well.

      This impending responsibility was a sobering reality. Mac knew that he needed to start trying to readjust his thoughts toward that upcoming reality and leave Australia behind. Yet, Australia kept seeping back into his mind on the quiet flight back. To make matters worse, Mac could not help but indulge in those thoughts during the entire flight back. They were just too heavenly to resist. Surprisingly, like a drug, those pleasant thoughts grew stronger on the bus ride from the airport. Now, they were still in his head as he was approaching the orderly room to report to the duty officer. These thoughts were now becoming very disconcerting. Maybe they were even a little unhealthy. They were certainly distracting. Mac reminded himself repeatedly that they were just daydreams of a fantastic getaway, nothing more. It was definitely not the kind of thoughts that he now had the luxury of entertaining. Yet, he couldn't seem to shake them. As he drew closer and closer to the orderly room door, Australia continued unrelentingly to loom larger and larger in Mac's mind. Finally, Mac blurted out to himself, almost audibly, "That's it. Enough is enough. Dwelling on memories of my trip to Australia is a dangerous distraction. I will have no more of it. Yes, Australia was great, and yes, I am probably going to get killed, but not now. Now, I must put one foot in front of the other and regain my composure". With that determined decree, Mac tried one more time to flip that switch back to God, country, and duty, but it was to no avail. That switch was broken. These addictive thoughts were too tantalizing to be denied. Yet, Mac knew that these heavenly distractions had no place in this hellish business. Still, Mac couldn't shake them. Heck, to make matters worse, he not only couldn't quit thinking about his bar night, but tantalizing mental pictures of those gorgeous Australian girls were now dancing in his head. They were so open and inviting to a Yank like him. Mac's conscious mind had now become totally consumed with these enticing memories. They flashed ever more seductively through his head, stubbornly refusing to leave, as he neared that orderly room door to report for duty.

       Wouldn't you know it? It took something comical to snap him back to his present reality. It was something which only a grunt-turned sergeant could appreciate, and it caught his eye just as he happened to glance over his right shoulder. That something was two soldiers working on a detail in the distance. At the back of two wooden outdoor latrines, Mac watched as those two soldiers dragged cut-in-half 55-gallon drums from the latrines' rear trap doors. Gooey human excrement was slushing around inside those barrels, and some of it splashed on one of the soldiers as the bottom rim of his barrel dropped from the floor of the latrine to the ground. The man immediately let go of the drum and began hopping around on one foot while hollering out a string of cussing shouts that would have made any drill sergeant proud. Mac couldn't help but let a faint smile cross his face as he watched and listened to the man's miserable antics. Shaking his head, Mac mused to himself. "Things could be worse. He could be returning from R&R to be placed on a roster for a detail like these guys were pulling. As a newbie, he had caught that detail, and it had been the most disgusting and humiliating job of his life. However, those E-5 stripes he now wore on his sleeves assured him that he would never have to do what these guys were doing ever again. No, coming home to Hell was not quite as bad as it could have been. With this amusing scene playing out before him, the alluring thoughts of his amazing Australian adventure began to fade, only to reappear many times in the next fifty years. No thanks to Mac, that switch was flipped, and the timing was perfect because he was reaching out his hand and getting ready to open the orderly room door to report for duty. 

      Finally, when Mac was aboard the C-130, which would take him as far as Quan Loi, he began to think about the first things he needed to do when he rejoined his men at Song Be. He had switched weapons with one of his squad members before leaving for R & R. No doubt, switching back to his M-14 would be the first thing he would do. The second thing he would do is say his hellos. On second thought, more than likely, he would skip the hellos and start right in with the questions. However, Mac was smart enough to know that there were one or two questions that he would never want to ask his men. Catching up by asking these kinds of questions would be something else he would have already done during his visit to the supply hooch at Di An. Supply clerks not only knew unit locations and transport schedules, but they also had the down and dirty scoop on who was recently killed or wounded and how they were killed. Obtaining unfiltered information like this from individuals who interacted with us on the front line all the time, and receiving it before he returned to his men, was vital. Mac definitely did not want to be blindsided with that kind of bad news coming from the lips of his own men. He also did not want to hear about bad news from some paper-pushing duty officer at the orderly room. Fortunately, the unit lost no one while Mac was away.

       Mac rejoined his men at Song Be with little fanfare. Several days later, everyone got some excellent news. They would return to Lai Khe and then proceed to Di An for a two-week break. After returning to Lai Khe on October 28, they were able to enjoy a nice home-cooked meal, prepared by the fine-dining cooks in C Company's very own gourmet kitchen. It was housed in one of the olive-drab World War II tents. Afterward, the men of C Company settled in for a quiet evening. Mac's unit was not required to pull perimeter guard, which was very unusual, but very welcome. Usually, when we were resting up in Lai Khe, we pulled perimeter guard, which meant that one man out of three had to be awake at all times.   

      At 0100 hours on October 29, NVA General Tran Van Tra had the forces of his 9th Division launch an attack against the airstrip at Loc Ninh. This attack was a sleepy-time dream-buster for Mac as well as every other sleepy-headed soldier in A, C, and D Company. The attack also meant that Mac's boys in A, C, and D companies could bid farewell to any chance of spending two weeks in Di An. The transportation people who flew those big C-130s and Chinooks were also abruptly awakened in the middle of the night. Even before his grunts were awakened, and within minutes of the news trickling in over the Lai Khe command bunker radios, a sleepy-eyed Dick Cavazos was already sitting on the edge of his folding cot, lacing up his jungle boots. His snoring soldiers were allowed to saw logs for another couple of hours, while General Hay and the other brass met with Dick and other available battalion commanders to develop a game plan. I must give credit where credit is due. Their game plan came together quickly, and it was as well-planned as any checker move in the history of checkers. Never mind that the game being played was not checkers but Chess. A checkerboard was the only board they had been given, so it would have to do. In other words, tactically, Hay produced a plan as good as could be expected. Strategically, the entire way we fought the enemy in Vietnam was foolish. Hay didn't have any control over that.

      General Hay quickly decided that blocking positions around the Loc Ninh air strip were needed. That was the only logical move available to Hay, given the overall checkerboard strategy outlined by Westmoreland's MACV (Military Assistance Command, Vietnam). Three Companies of my Dogface Battalion would be inserted into a rubber tree plantation 3.5 klicks northwest of the air strip. The 1/26th would be inserted six klicks north of the air strip, and Sergeant Murray's 1/16^th Rangers would be inserted seven klicks northeast. The 1/28th would later be inserted 2.5 klicks to the east-southeast, while Jim Kasik's B Company, along with C Company, of the 2/28th Black Lions would be flown directly into the air strip along with more artillery. These Black Lions would reinforce the beleaguered CIDG forces. Those forces had been forced to retreat to the southern end of the airstrip during the night, because two battalions of NVA had penetrated the north end. The NVA sappers used Bangalore torpedoes to blow a path through the Constantine wire around the northern perimeter. Then these same sappers hastily herded expendable NVA conscripts through the gaps. They carried satchel charges, which would be thrown into bunkers inside the compound. 

      Dawn was breaking when Mac and company boarded the C-130s to fly them the 53 kilometers to the air strip at Quan Loi. There, they quickly transferred to Chinooks to be flown into the rubber tree plantation 3.5 kilometers west of the air strip at Loc Ninh. It was not a contested landing. That's why the Chinooks could be used. Every veteran in Mac's Lima platoon picked up on this fact and quickly settled down to take care of what they knew would be noncombat business. Every wide-eyed new guy was scared out of their ever-loving minds and unable to pick up on anything. However, that was okay, because there were enough old guys who knew what to do, and they were intermingled among these newbies. They became the catalyst that would transform these new grunts from fearful prey into fearless predators.

       When my Dogface boys arrived in the rubber trees, they started fanning out to establish a perimeter. Not a single shot had been fired, and there was no prepping of the surrounding jungle with artillery and air strikes. The general feeling that resonated with most was not bad, not bad at all. It was now mid-morning, and it looked like it was going to be just another hot, hard day of digging in and running patrols. Sure, between the noisy arrival of Chinooks, bringing in supplies, one could hear occasional explosions and heavy automatic weapons fire, off in the distance, but that could be anything. After all, my boys were not on a peaceful sightseeing tour of some historic battlefield in Virginia. There was always some small, real-life action going on everywhere we went. 

       As usual, the ground was hard and the digging was slow because the same Chinooks that brought Mac and his pals to this place also had to return to Quan Loi for needed supplies, such as Maddox, Marston Matting, sandbags, and extra munitions. They would also bring the big 105 millimeter guns on that return trip.  

      Off came the shirts, and the digging began. There was a little cursing here and there, too, as someone's light entrenching tool bounced off the hard, laterite-encrusted ground. Mac's bunker faced west on the edge of a ravine. His first squad butted up to the recon platoon bunkers on one side and Sergeant O'Brien's second squad on the other. I am sure those veterans in Mac's platoon much appreciated Recon's presence at this time. Our Dogface Recon Platoon knew how to lay down a wall of suppressing fire, but they also learned how to lie real still and do nothing but breathe quietly, really quietly, while enemy rounds popped by their heads, trying to get them to shoot back and give away their location. 

       As the morning turned into midday, the explosions to the east ceased. Most of those explosions had been made by M-72 rocket launchers donated by Kasik's men to help the CIDG personnel clear bunkers within the perimeter of the airstrip. Some of those NVA conscripts had been trapped in these bunkers when the bulk of the enemy forces had withdrawn at dawn. By 0930 hours, the two batteries of artillery that had been transported by Chinooks to the Loc Ninh air strip earlier were also firing away. They were establishing registration points within their area of protection, protecting us and other units in the vicinity. Although Dick's landing was unopposed and in the middle of a rubber tree plantation, other blocking units landed in thick jungle.

      Before my Dogface battalion had landed, Col. Hoang Cam had been instructed by Tra to have elements of his 165th NVA regiment scout outlying areas around that airstrip. Tra knew that more Americans would show up, and he had no intentions of running. As a matter of fact, he was counting on our arrival. It was naïve of us to think otherwise. Hours before the attack on the airstrip, Tra knew Cam would have plenty of time to get into position because any American unit landing around the airstrip would take a lot of time digging in before running those patrols. While that was taking place, he could easily move his troops into a final likely location to intercept our patrols. Then, Cam could hide and wait for just the right moment to pounce. We Americans called these deployments of our arriving troops around the airstrip blocking positions. We visualized them as being tactical deployments that would intercept and destroy the enemy as he retreated from the area. As I have explained, that was not the case at all. The enemy had actually planned to lure these units into the area and keep them there for as long as possible, while further south, closer to Saigon, the Tet Offensive was being staged at this time. Tra knew that we couldn't discover staging areas for the Tet Offensive if we were traipsing around further north.

       Tra also knew that He would not be able to overrun the Loc Ninh air strip and hold it. So, the logical question for us to have asked ourselves would have been to ask, "Why were the communists attacking targets like this with conventional forces all over South Vietnam?" Did they not know that they had no chance of winning and holding that ground? Were they stupid? Almost every time this was done, they would lose at least half of their attacking forces. Why would anyone do that? Unfortunately, Westmoreland never thought to ask himself those more probing questions that needed to be asked. The truth is, Westmoreland had no understanding of simple tactical affairs, much less did he think to ask the larger strategic questions that he needed to ask. However, neither did the rest of us. Americans, including me, were too busy becoming more like our enemy instead of trying to build a closer relationship with our God. He is the only one who can show a nation's leaders how to vanquish their enemies once and for all. All other wars fought without his guidance bring only temporary victories at best.

       Westmoreland was trying to use an ace band aid to cure a skin cancer. Simply put, President Johnson had chosen the wrong person to lead the United States to victory in Vietnam. Johnson was a very influential American president. He may have been a womanizer and a boozer, but he had an intimate understanding of how to navigate that Washington swamp to get things done, while not being eaten by alligators. Like no other, he knew how to rally the support needed for almost any cause he set his mind to. Perhaps some of those causes were misguided, but Johnson's fight against communism was not one of them. God was definitely on board with this. However, Lyndon was trying to accomplish this righteous goal by looking to other people to get him where he wanted to go, instead of looking to God first. All believers have done that, and I believe Lyndon was one of them. Westy presented the right look and demeanor to soothe those insecurities in country boy Lyndon, but he never did and never would have had the right stuff to get Johnson where he needed to go in Vietnam.

        By 1967, the enemy had proven that we couldn't trap and destroy their large forces with our own large forces, regardless of whether helicopters were involved. However, Westy refused to acknowledge that reality. I say again, he showed no capacity whatsoever for understanding even the smaller tactical aspects of the war, so how could he ever be expected to understand the larger strategic problems facing us? Westy was much more suited to navigate the etiquette required of a state dinner at the White House than he was at handling a war in Vietnam. Sadly, his publicly attractive façade misled the one American president who not only wanted to do the right thing, but also, for a very short window in time, possessed a coalition of powers that could accomplish that right thing.

       Let me change lanes again and say that the guys who withstood the initial attack on Loc Ninh in the early hours of October 29, 1967, were fantastic. Although most of our war leaders never realized this, the three groups of freedom fighters who fought at Loc Ninh that night were exactly the right blend that needed to be propagated, so they could become the legs that would carry us to victory in Vietnam. They were what could have become a key component of the winning strategy that had eluded Westmoreland.

     The first group was an ethnic group that probably composed two-thirds of these fighters. They were an indigenous tribal peoples known as Montagnards. They were born on banana leaves and taught to shoot a crossbow as soon as they could walk. They were very disciplined souls, whose entire existence was one with the remote jungles of western Vietnam. They were honest, loyal, very hard working, highly intelligent, and very receptive to the Judeo-Christian principles so vital to the continued survival of any free republic. They lived in areas where the average Vietnamese of that era had no intention of going, much less thinking about building a home there. In 1967, this natural boundary tended to mitigate racial tensions between these two groups. Yes, there was still the issue of racism between the lowland's Vietnamese and the thirty tribes of Montagnards, but, as I said, it was mitigated by the geography of the country. Also, this sin is a human failing, born out of very preventable ignorance. It is a problem that democracies have proven they can deal with in a relatively peaceful manner. That has not proven to be the case in communist countries. After the communist takeover in Vietnam, these beautiful Montagnard peoples became the victims of genocide.

     The next group was Vietnamese, who were part of a very professional ranger force.

     The third group was our recently formed American Special Forces. 

     There is nothing like fighting together as comrades to meld people of all walks and ethnic groups together, especially when they fight for a righteous cause. These CIDG fighters were all volunteers, and they were there because they believed in the reason for which they were fighting. Many in this little band of around a hundred souls formed life-long bonds.

      During the initial attack on the airstrip on the 29th, this small CIDG force withstood an enemy attack, which outnumbered them at least ten to one. Gun ships and Puff the Magic Dragon did help, but it took time for those assets to show up. Long before they did, the northern perimeter was breached, and enemy conscripts poured through blown gaps, by the hundreds. A combination of quick maneuvering and deadly return fire saved this little band of fighters. Bunkers on the northern end of the airstrip were quickly abandoned, and those on the southern end were reinforced with these fighters from the north end. It was a great decision, but not nearly as good as the next one. After his men reached the safety of bunkers on the south end, the village chief ordered supporting artillery from another fire base to start shelling the air strip. He requested that those shells be armed with proximity fuses, which would explode in mid-air just a few feet above the ground. This type of shelling killed anyone out in the open but did not harm those men who were in bunkers.

      After the shelling continued for a while, many of the enemy conscripts started retreating, but only after many of their die-hard handlers had either been killed or had run away themselves. It was these guys who instilled much more fear into their conscript subordinates than did the defenders of the CIDG camp itself. This type of motivating tool worked on a simple principle of terror. This terror tactic was not allowed to be used in the ranks of American draftees. Our NCOs were not permitted to arbitrarily shoot people in the head for disobeying an order. Why? Because we were a country of the people whose leaders were ultimately bound by law to answer to us, ordinary folks, at the ballot box. Our Constitution and the Bill of Rights protected certain inalienable rights.

      Because of the intense shelling and also the fear of being shot if they retreated, some NVA conscripts sought the protection of abandoned bunkers on the north end, where they were still huddling together long after the main body of attackers had withdrawn at dawn. Later, as I have already mentioned, after the arrival of Kasik and his Black Lions, M-72 rockets were used to clear those bunkers of these hapless souls. 

      At the same time, one platoon of irregular Montagnard fighters was not part of the fight at the Loc Ninh airstrip. They may have been a security force or a recon unit. I don't know. What is known, however, is this. Around noon on the same day, while my Dogface was settling into its position among the rubber trees, those fighters were patrolling about 1,000 meters north of my Dogface NDP. While scouting that area, they located a company of the 165th NVA regiment. These Montagnards knew this area and its trails like the back of their hand, and they would have been well aware of Dick’s landing. More than likely, they had already made face-to-face contact with Dick when his Dogface boys first landed. Maybe Dick, himself, sent them to check out this area north of his perimeter. 

      With these assumptions in mind, the rest of that day for my Dogface battalion is well-documented, except for one thing. Here again, I will make one more likely assumption. I assume that the Montagnards made soft contact with that company of the 165th. There are several reasons why I believe this to be true. For one, Montagnards were the best in the world at slipping within earshot of the enemy, without being noticed, and they could maintain that soft contact all day, if they chose to do so.

     Additionally, my research would have mentioned a firefight if one had occurred. Nothing was mentioned. There was not a single recanting of anyone hearing the sounds of a firefight, while my Dogface boys were digging their homes for the night. Cam’s forces were only about eight hundred meters from Dogface’s perimeter. Those slippery Montagnards were able to spot Cam and slip away unnoticed. They then high-tailed it to our camp and gave Dick the news.

     Dick immediately ordered a company-sized force of his own to move against that known enemy presence. Since they would be moving through the more open rubber trees, Dick ordered them to advance in a V formation, and C Company was chosen for the job. Mac's first squad in Lima platoon would run point. Johnny O'Conner was the point man. Since Mac's squad was running point, he was called to the patrol briefing, given by the C Company commander, Capt. Bill Annan. Lima platoon leader, Lt. Paul Zima, and platoon sergeant, John May, were there too. John May had started earlier that summer in my platoon, training under my platoon sergeant, Sergeant St. Aman. When everyone had gathered around Captain Annan, he gave his instructions, as he had received them from Dick. However, there was a caveat in those orders, and I believe Dick knew that this caveat might give Bill Annan some trouble at the briefing. It's also possible that Dick wanted to see how Captain Annan would handle that caveat, which is why Dick was not present at the briefing but was circling nearby, within earshot.

      After distributing the patrol route on the map and outlining the formation they would use, Annan concluded by delivering his caveat. He looked Mac straight in the eye and slammed him squarely in the face with the following command. "Mac", Annan said, "This patrol is within the boundaries of a rubber tree plantation, so you will be operating in an area designated as a no-fire-zone to protect those rubber trees". Mac knew that meant that he would have to let the enemy shoot first before he was permitted to shoot back. Now, Mac, though a squad leader, had cut his teeth on running point. All good point men in Vietnam were gun slingers at heart. When those words hit Mac's ears, the effects were akin to Wyatt Earp being ordered to let those Cowboys at the “O.K. Corral” take their best shots first, before he was allowed to shoot back. To say the least, Annan's order "jarred Mac to the bone". Without hesitating, Mac blurted out, "Sir, those orders don't make sense. We know the enemy is there". Annan replied, "Mac, those are our orders". It was a short and unvarnished reply. 99% of all junior officers in Vietnam would have responded just as curtly as Annan. However, Mac had not gotten to sew sergeant stripes on his arms, being shy, so he repeated, "Sir, it just doesn't make sense." Now, Bill Annan was at a loss. He didn't know how to respond to Mac, who was now questioning his orders for a second time. To make things doubly hard, he was being second-guessed in front of everyone by someone whom he considered to be one of his best young NCOs. Only one in a thousand young commanders would have been able to deal with a nuance of command as ‘touchy” as this. Bill wasn't that one in a thousand. 

     However, as I said, the "Ole Man" was circling within earshot. He realized that Bill was in over his head. So, he swooped in like "Momma Goose", but with more finesse. "Sergeant Mac, what is the problem?" Dick asked in a stern but calm voice. Mac, not the kind to be easily intimidated, never batted an eye as he briefly repeated the situation. Dick listened until Mac was finished, and then he spoke these few wise words. Mac has remembered those words from that moment until this very day. It was a teaching moment for everyone standing in that briefing. "I and Capt. Annan expects you to make the correct decisions to safeguard your men and yourself under any circumstances. Do you understand what I am saying?" "Yes, Sir", Mac replied, as he visualized himself receiving a pat on the back by Dick for drilling every single rubber tree in the area. Yes indeed, after hearing those few words, Mac understood exactly what Dick was saying. Bill Annan not only understood exactly what Dick was saying, but he also realized what Dick had done. The "Ole Man" had just bailed him out of a sticky situation. Bill was in a position to lose face with his men, but Dick intervened masterfully.

      While in the field, I felt very comfortable patrolling in rubber tree terrain because I could spot the enemy at much longer distances, and it was much easier to perform tactical maneuvers. As we maneuvered, I could see other patrol members much better than I could in the thick jungle. Our senior leadership didn't like firefights in rubber trees because they got their butts reamed for destroying the rubber trees. We, the lower-level people, really didn't give a hoot. As I have just explained, our old man knew how to put to rest any concerns we may have otherwise had about getting in trouble for destroying those rubber trees. On the other hand, our NVA enemy loved the jungle, and that was his first choice for ambush sites. The jungle was much more advantageous, because it allowed him to get close to avoid our artillery.

     On this particular day, October 29, 1967, enemy soldiers, whom the Montagnards had spotted, were almost certainly an advance party sent out to either start preparations for an ambush inside the jungle curtain to the north or to begin preparations for a night attack on the NDP. Cam would have thought that he had all night to make those preparations. I don't believe that he had any idea that the CIDG patrol had spotted his troops and reported their location to Lt. Col. Cavazos.

     When Cam was notified that American soldiers were moving toward his troops so soon, it had to be very disconcerting. Running communications wiring and stockpiling munitions for an attack had not been completed. That alone was a big problem. He had assumed that these naïve Americans would wait until morning to start their patrols in force. Yet here they were, coming closer and closer. The ghosts of the jungle, who were better known as Montagnards, had really thrown a kink in Cam's plans. Yet, he didn't know that. So, he chose to stick around, instead of tucking tail and running. Cam still thought he had the element of surprise, and those irrigation ditches would give him enough cover and concealment to execute a hasty ambush. However, those trenches wouldn't offer much protection against a veteran American unit attacking on this more open ground under the cover of artillery. Pulling off an ambush in rubber trees was not as easy as executing one in thick jungle. Their troop locations could be pinpointed much more easily.

     Furthermore, when his troops were forced to withdraw, they would become easier targets, to be picked off, in this much more open terrain. Yes, those sneaky Montagnards had foiled Cam's plans big time. To top things off, Cam was not nearly as savvy as Triet. 

     The jungle was a Montagnard's living room, and he was entirely at home there. The jungle was not the home of either the North or South Vietnamese. The NVA conscripts endured it because they were forced to endure it by their communist overlords, who commanded the power of life and death. The dope that those communist henchmen provided helped quench the pain of having to exist in the most miserable circumstances imaginable. 

      No matter how winnable this firefight was for the men of Charlie Company, Sergeant Mac and Johnny O'Connor should have been killed as soon as the fighting started, because they were walking point. As the patrol advanced, Mac came within fifteen meters of an enemy machine gunner. Johnny was the first to spot him and then warn Mac. The machine gunner smiled and then opened fire on Mac, but missed. Johnny was 10 meters to Mac's right when the shooting started, but he made it through the entire fight without a scratch. Mac was able to lob a grenade into the ditch and kill the whole machine gun crew. It was a minor miracle for the Army and a major one for Mac and Johnny. I will not rehash the details, but the reader can review them for themselves. They are compiled in a book that the men of C Company put together, called "Dogface Charlie".

      I will say this much. The Lima platoon rushed those irrigation ditches, clearing them aggressively with hand grenades and good shooting. Soon, Mike Platoon to Mac's right flank came under heavy fire. In a perfect piece of maneuvering, Capt. Annan noticed what was happening and had Lima platoon withdraw to the south and circle to Mike Platoon's right flank. They then got online and advanced, shooting at anything that moved. That maneuver successfully dislodged the enemy shooters on Mike Platoon's right flank. The entire firefight became a Wyatt Earp-type shootout on steroids. Mac's boys sent the VC packing. Only one American was killed in what was later called the Battle of Srok Silamlite I.

      That night passed without incident, and the next day, C Company secured the NDP, and A Company went on patrol south of the NDP. The next morning, October 30, 1967, brought nothing out of the ordinary for Mac and his friends. Yesterday's events were now filed away in some corner of their minds for future processing. Today, they would try to enjoy a day at home. It was A Company's turn to handle this day's patrolling. 100 strong, A Company patrolled east in the morning. It was a faint by Dick to make it harder for Cam to organize an ambush. The company was halted and ordered to return to the NDP. They were then sent south for 700 meters and directed to turn southwest, advancing parallel to the elongated ridge of Hill 203. The hill was only about 200 feet high and on a relatively gradual slope downward toward A Company's line of march and to its left.

      At 1230 hrs., the sound of the very recognizable repetitive clacking of an enemy RDP light machine gun could be heard in the NDP. That sound was immediately joined by other sounds of AK-47S, M-1 carbines, M-14s, and M-16s. The sheer volume of fire told everyone in the NDP that a major firefight was breaking out.

     The Battle of Srok Silamlite II was beginning. Routines in the NDP immediately came to a halt. Those whose jobs involved using a radio moved closer to the radios and listened intently. Others looked to their surroundings, checking to ensure they had plenty of their favorite security blankets handy, whether it was hand grenades, rocket launchers, or just more ammunition. If there were a supply helicopter in camp, it would have rushed to unload and get the heck out of Dodge.

      Maybe Dick thought about jumping into his observation chopper to survey the trouble, but I doubt it. Dick and my unit had come a long way since he flew over my head looking for ambushers just outside Fire Base Thrust. He was not the kind to make the same mistake twice. By now, Dick realized that using his two-person chopper could become a big distraction. At this moment, he had more important things to do than trying to get a look-see at the battle in a noisy helicopter. Besides, he already knew what he needed to know, at least for now. His A Company commander had just given him a good situation report, and Dick had not picked this guy because he could play a “mean” guitar. Dick knew his A company commander could handle it. He had long since weeded out those who couldn't. By now, his hands-on leadership didn't require any knee-jerk reactions from him. All four of his handpicked company commanders were the best in the business. Dick decided to be patient, stay put, and let things develop.

      One of the many reasons he needed to be patient was that soon a flurry of questions would come flooding across the radios, and some of those were from senior command. Why complicate things by jumping into his chopper, where he would immediately isolate himself from the rest of his command group? Commanding from his chopper would only complicate things and create many distractions, not to mention having to dodge friendly artillery and airstrikes, while perched above the battle. Things needed to be kept simple. Those long antenna radios in his present position assured him of quicker and more precise communications with everyone, plus he was standing face-to-face with the rest of his headquarters personnel. If he needed something from them, they were within the sound of his voice. Staying put was definitely the right decision. It was the one Lazzell should have made during the Battle of Xom Bo II. 

      Here’s another thing or two for you “would-be” leaders to think about. Adapt it as needed for any noncombat situations. During battle talk on the radio, no field commander in the entire Division could dress up their radio conversations like Dick. He could quickly produce more of the right-colored word pictures to satisfy the most discriminating tastes of senior commanders. Before talking to a superior on that radio, Dick had already profiled that guy. He knew exactly which page to paste what word picture. The sheer beauty of Dick's unscripted and simple word pictures, broadcast over the radio for all to hear, worked their charm to persuade any senior commander into doing Dick’s every bidding. Many times, that bidding was in the form of requests to get his boss's weight behind making sure that the right assets showed up at the party. Those assets also needed to be told where to sit at the dance, be it on Dick’s left flank, right flank, or straight ahead. It now sounds like simple stuff, and it was, but Dick knew that most generals were pretty simple-minded. They needed to be assigned a few nonessential tasks before they had time to think of some screwball task themselves. What was Dick’s underlying secret to be able to do this so coolly? Well, for one, Dick had the confidence to make his way seem like the way it was always done. In that way, his ideas became his superior's ideas too. Good results naturally followed, not only convincing senior commanders that Dick was the best thing since sliced bread, but also reassuring them that they were, too.

     They say knowledge is power. Well, okay. Dick could not only talk the talk, but he could walk the walk. However, there was one thing he knew, which he would always keep to himself. He knew that all senior commanders were too far removed from the fast-paced actions on the ground to give competent commands to ground troops. Decisions on the ground never needed to fall into the hands of senior commanders flying around above the fight. That commander was never going to be able to correctly assess the next move as good as the guy on the ground. When Dick found himself on that end of things, he never hamstrung his junior commanders by countermanding them. Instead, his experience allowed him to anticipate the next move so he would ask leading questions to guide that subordinate into making the right decision. It was a thing of beauty for all to behold. We Dogface boys were indeed very fortunate. In Vietnam, senior commanders were not only over their heads when it came to tactics, but also when it came to strategy. They had been trained to fight a conventional enemy who occupied a well-defined portion of the battlefield. They had no idea how to fight a foe who lived under the earth during the day, coming out at night to terrorize the civilian population into doing their every bidding.

     In other words, our generals had no idea how to deal with an insurgency. They had been trained to fight an industrialized war against a conventional enemy force. Duan, with his big battle campaigns, was altogether happy to create the illusion of a traditional war by dressing up thousands of North Vietnamese teenagers in brown and green uniforms and then grooming them to commit suicidal charges against us Americans to maintain that illusion.     

     The first gunfire, which Mac and company heard, coming from a distance, was Sergeant Joe Amos's lead platoon of A Company. It had made contact with a much larger enemy force on Hill 203. I never met Platoon Sergeant Joe Amos, although we had been traveling on a parallel course for over a year now. In the summer of 1966, he had been one of hundreds of drill sergeants who trained raw recruits like me at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. He was there while I was there. Upon his arrival in Vietnam on October 17, the Korean veteran was immediately rushed to the front and assigned as a platoon sergeant in A Company. Now, less than two weeks later, Joe's Platoon was in the lead position when Cam attacked a Company.

     Joe had been born in the segregated state of Alabama on April 21, 1931. When he was a boy, Americans like Joe were not only required to ride at the back of the bus, but they were also prohibited from using certain public facilities, such as restrooms, restaurants, and hotels. When they traveled, they usually had to sleep in their cars or beside them on the ground. Good-paying jobs were virtually nonexistent for young men like Joe Amos. To say Joe started his life as a second-class citizen would be an insulting understatement. Even the United States Army was segregated when Joe was a boy. It would be a lie if I said these conditions did not phase young Joe. Yes, they hurt him, but he didn't let these persecutions stop him.

      Many Americans, who shared those same obstacles, buckled under the steady stream of humiliations. However, a different kind of fire was burning inside the Baptist heart of Joe Amos. No doubt, it had been kindled by those truths which he had been taught as a child in that little all black church, where he attended each week. This kind of fire is not dampened by adversity. Adversity only makes it grow brighter. It's the same fire that burned in the heart of Henrietta King, the missionary's daughter. Joe learned early two essential things that many people never learn. The first thing he learned was never to let other people's opinions shape his own views unless they made sense to him. Secondly, he learned from those church Bible stories that life is not fair. He also learned that he shouldn't let that stop him. The teenage Joe first got to put these truths into practice when he got the opportunity to play football at Wenonah High. The team sport of football played a significant role in preparing the young Joe for a career in the U.S. Army. Following the Korean War, numerous opportunities emerged within the U.S. Army. Though still prejudicial in many ways, it was a “no-brainer” for Joe to take advantage of the doors in the Army that were opening to him. Yes, he learned some valuable lessons about being part of a team, first with football and then in the Army. Joe continued to build on what he learned.

     After high school, Joe served in the 187th Airborne Regimental Combat Team during the Korean conflict. There are two instances that I gleaned from researching Joe's early life, which are a testament to his fearless nature. The first was a statement made by one of Joe's buddies concerning an incident he experienced with Joe while they were in combat in Korea. His friend said they were being shelled by enemy artillery and were running for a foxhole to take cover when an artillery shell exploded in that very foxhole. It exploded before they reached it, so Joe jumped in anyway. He then turned to his friend and said, "Come on. They can't hit the same place twice". The second example of Joe's fearlessness was when he took on all comers while still in Korea to become the Regimental Heavyweight Boxing Champion.  

     With knowledge of these facts, it is safe to say Joe was a real man's man, who did not have to seek out the respect of his fellow soldiers. He naturally conducted himself in a way that earned the respect of his fellow officers and men. They automatically gave Joe the type of respect that most men long for, but few obtain. In 1965, Joe again entered a combat zone when his 82nd Airborne Unit was sent to the Dominican Republic.

     All who have faced combat are changed forever by that experience. That's easy to know, but here is a fact that is a little harder to understand. It is a rare person indeed who can face combat in two different wars and volunteer for yet a third combat tour. Yet, that's precisely what 36-year-old Sergeant Joe Amos did. I have read the comments of friends, and I know what the battleground conditions were at that spot on the earth where Joe fought his last battle in this life. I also got a taste of Joe's world after he returned from World War II, when he became a drill sergeant at Fort Jackson. 

     Those drill sergeants at Fort Jackson were some of the finest NCOs whom I ever had the privilege of knowing. As a whole, they seemed to possess a fathering spirit which said Do as I do, instead of Do as I say. Like Dick, they walked the walk. Even I, as a mixed up nineteen-year-old kid, marveled at the character, which, to a man, these men possessed. Most of them, like Joe, had been tempered in the cruel fires of combat in Korea and were made of a wonderful and rare metal. My training unit's forty-year-old first sergeant ran the five-mile run every morning at the head of our company. After graduation, one of the guys in my platoon got married, and that same first sergeant stood in as the father of the bride to give her away. We trainees developed the utmost respect for this man, and it was very unusual for a bunch of draftees to do that.

       I now realize that Joe was forged from the same material as my first sergeant at Fort Jackson. Yes, war had changed Joe Amos, but he had defied the odds to become a much better version of himself. He had become a fathering spirit to every young grunt under his command. However, Joe had also gotten married and now had two children. In Korea, he had no one to worry about except himself. Now there were other lives, which were his responsibility to shepherd. Now, a conflicting choice had to be made. Was he going to stay in an environment where he could continue to maintain the high level of respect that he had worked so hard to achieve? If he were, that would mean hitting the ground running by volunteering for a one-year tour in Vietnam. The other choice was to stay stateside and retire in two years. If he chose to leave the Army to become a functioning husband and father to his family, Joe knew that he would probably be limited to accepting one of a list of demeaning civilian jobs, because those were usually the only ones available to Americans like Joe Amos in 1960s America. Remaining in the Army would turn out to be the most fateful decision of Joe's life, other than confessing Jesus Christ as his Lord. He chose to go to war a third time and lead his grunt sons in battle. That would mean postponing that other dream of becoming a full-time father and husband. He knew it was a gamble, but one he hoped to win.

      Here is how that dream was stolen from Joe. As Joe's point men in A company were skirting Hill 203 to the west, they were being watched by ambushers entrenched slightly to their left flank in irrigation ditches on the side of Hill 203. The rubber trees separated them, approximately three hundred meters from the first enemy entrenchment.

     The firefight started this way between the two sides. Joe's point element spotted a lone VC standing on the hill, halfway up. They engaged him, drawing fire from the entire hillside. This time, Cam had sent not just a company but a whole battalion to kill Americans. Even before Dick started walking artillery down the side of that hill, Cam knew what was coming and telephoned orders to charge the Americans. The NVA conscripts leaped out of their ditches and charged down the mountain. A Company withdrew fifty meters and formed a three-sided perimeter with two platoons covering each flank. Joe's platoon covered the front facing their enemy. There was an enormous amount of small arms fire and machine gun fire, and Joe's platoon was catching the brunt of it. Joe and his two buck sergeants repeatedly exposed themselves as they worked to form a line facing the enemy. Most grunts hit the ground between the rows of rubber trees and lay still in the grassy weeds where they became almost invisible. The enemy conscripts charging down the hill were shooting high. However, some members of A Company were wounded in the initial bursts of machine gun fire. I don't have those numbers.

     From the very start, Joe's combat experience in Korea kicked in. It didn't scare him to be moving around rather than lying low, so that's what he did. Instead of shouting orders from a distance, Joe did what he had always done. His two buck sergeants followed his example. Joe had always led from the front. He was not about to change now. First, he and his buck sergeants assisted in moving the wounded. Then Joe continued to move from one soldier to another, directing fire at the charging enemy. Joe needed to make sure every man in his platoon was spread out, online, and controlling their return fire. That return fire was crucial to cover the maneuvering of A Company's other two platoons. Each of those platoons was now moving up and spreading out to cover both flanks. Joe instructed any soldier who wasn't returning fire in no uncertain terms to start returning fire in the direction of incoming enemy tracer rounds. Once a perimeter was established and Joe had everyone returning a good volume of fire, the NVA began to feel the heat.

      At 300 meters, the M-16 return fire wasn't very effective, but the fire coming from the charging enemy's AK-47s was even more inaccurate. As I said, most of these rounds went high. If Joe had stayed down and issued orders to others, he would have survived the battle, but he wasn't made like that. Besides, there was a lot to be done, and he was going to see that it got done. Extra belts of M-60 machine gun ammo were soon needed. Almost every soldier carried two hundred-round belts of that ammo. However, that ammo had to be collected and then distributed to the platoon's machine gunners before they ran out. Distributing ammo was not the personal responsibility of the platoon sergeant. He was supposed to assign that task to others. That's what a good platoon sergeant would have done, but that's not what a good father would have done. As I have already explained, Joe Amos did not see himself as just a boss, but as a father figure to the grunts he commanded. A good father could never leave his sons alone in a desperate situation without circulating among them, looking them in the eye, and ensuring himself that they were doing what they needed to do to stay alive. The platoon leader, lieutenant, was just a kid himself. He certainly wasn't going to fill that role. Besides, he had his hands full on the radio, coordinating artillery, and communicating with the company commander. 

     Joe did have good help coming from his two buck sergeant fire team leaders. They were Kenneth Hanson and Michael Kenter. Both had been in-country since the beginning of the year. Both had earned their C.I.B. in the same battle, clearing those same enemy bunkers, where I had received my C.I.B. Both, like me, were twenty-year-old draftees who had started their in-country combat experiences as 19-year-old privates. However, that is where the similarity ended. Both had made the transition to become good young leaders. I had not. Both went from private to sergeant in less than a year, while I remained a private. Although these two young men were my close contemporaries, they were definitely more mature than I. Both probably felt more comfortable around authority than I. Now, both men would follow the lead of their grunt father, Sergeant Amos, and expose themselves in those first intense moments of heavy enemy machine gun fire. They would help Joe rescue other wounded men. Unfortunately, in those first few minutes of the battle, while exposing themselves to tremendous volumes of enemy machine gun fire, all three men were killed.

       At least 600 VC were attacking fewer than 100 Americans at the beginning of this battle. Dick wasted no time ordering D Company to saddle up and help, while he called in artillery on the side of the hill. It was too late for that artillery to save the lives of Joe Amos and his two grunt sons, Hanson and Kenter. Still, by now, their work was beginning to pay huge dividends. Their actions had been crucial in organizing a perimeter that was firing from prone positions on an enemy who was going to overwhelm them if they hadn't done exactly what they did. That organized return fire stopped the enemy dead in his tracks. Joe Amos, Kenneth Hanson, and Michael Kenter saved A Company from being overrun.  

       D Company moved out to help Company A in record time. Now, Mac's C Company was forced to spread out and cover the vacant spots on the perimeter that had been left unmanned by D Company. Everyone knew that they were a skinny force called upon to defend the NDP. At this moment, if Cam had been the storied commander that the leftist press loved to present him as, he would have also attacked the NDP. If he had done that, he would have most surely overrun its lightly defended perimeter. Then, he could have enveloped the other two companies from behind on Hill 203. The 165th had 1800 men. We had roughly 450, counting the Montagnards.

      As D Company left the perimeter and disappeared into the rubber trees to help the battling A Company, the lone C Company was left to defend the NDP. However, they did not cower down as most Hollywood directors would have portrayed them doing in their movie version of this story. Yes, C Company was now having to man bunkers that required three companies to properly staff, but anyone unable to deal with the prospect of the NDP becoming another Alamo had long since been assigned elsewhere. At this point in Dick's reign, he had weeded out the ranks of his officers who couldn't hack it. At the same time, the likes of NCOs like McLaughlin and O'Brien had done the same with the grunts whom they commanded. Those solid, dependable newer guys, like Tom Mercer, took note of this and continued their policy. I now wish I had possessed that same boldness. However, God has given me the wherewithal to bring to the attention of the world men like these who did. 

    C Company was forced to prepare their thinned perimeter lines as best they could. As they went about doing this, their focus narrowed to just the one priority, while the mood changed from more “matter of fact” to somber. Oh, sure, everyone approached addressing that main priority a little differently, but the mood and priority were the same for everyone. As I said, the mood was somber, and the priority was simply to get ready to kill as many of the enemy as quickly as possible without getting killed themselves. Most grunts didn't have to be told what to do. No C Company NCO had to try to dominate a grunt by barking out orders. This was not a time for barking. Instead of barking, every level of C Company leadership got busy gathering their own thoughts. They already knew that they could trust their grunts to take care of business, even if the NDP became their “Alamo”. Any “Doubting Thomas” could look around and see with their own eyes that everyone was doing what they needed to be doing. Besides, the "Ole Man" had their back. Never mind that Dick had left the NDP with D Company to join the fray on Hill 203. That mattered not, because by now, everyone knew that this guy could handle anything on his plate and still have room for dessert. Knowing they had this Rock of Gibraltar was a significant stabilizing force. How many different ways can I say it? Yes, the mood was somber, but it was also fearless. A melancholy mood, devoid of fear, sharpens one's focus, enabling one to discern the right actions. A fearful mood paralyzes and prevents one from thinking, much less acting. 

        Old-timers made sure they had quick access to every available tool, which would help stop hordes of attackers if the need arose. Extra claymores were always a good option, and more were strung out in weak spots. Extra crates of ammo and hand grenades were divided up and placed in easy reach. Extra M-60 machine gun barrels were placed near the gun. An extra LAW (light anti-tank weapon) or two was never a bad idea, but these were harder to come by. Let me say once more, "Yes, the sounds of battle one thousand meters away would have been noted, but it would not have produced that helpless fear-laden response which Hollywood script writers are so fond of portraying. Feelings of fear might come later, but not now. Small talk would return, but not now. Barking orders would also be heard again, and NCOs like Mac and O.B. would attend to the potty training of recruits, but not now. No, not now.

      When D Company joined the melee around Hill 203, they spread out online to the left flank of A Company, but this time Dick was with them. Dick instinctively knew when it was time for him to stop talking on the radio and take action. If only poor Terry Allen had known that, too. By now, the attackers had exposed themselves enough for him to read their mail. He had already studied the terrain and realized how he would like to counter this attack. Maybe he had seen something similar during one of those nasty little battles in the hills of Korea. I have no way of knowing. What I do know is this. Due to the withering fire of A Company's 3rd platoon and the artillery barrages just loosed on the left flank of A Company, it was relatively safe for D Company to take up positions on that side. When Dick arrived with D Company, he also brought along his entire headquarters company, plus Recon, and about thirty of those formidable Montagnards. They were the guys who had warned him the previous day of Cam's impending sneak attack on his backside. They had spent the night in our NDP. Dick probably left his operations officer in charge of the NDP, although I am not sure of this. William Fee in D Company wrote in his memoirs that Dick got into some irrigation ditches with his men and started organizing a single line to assault up the hill. However, the after-action report provided me with a slight twist to Fee's eyewitness account, which I almost missed.

      Here's how I believe the events unfolded. Those Montagnards lined up on D Company's left flank. D Company was on the left flank of A Company. When everyone was in line at the base of the hill, Dick made a maneuver with his men that I don't believe was ever repeated by any other field commander in Vietnam. However, he took his time doing it. You see, those irrigation ditches which followed the contours of Hill 203 gave fairly good protection to the enemy, making it much harder to destroy them than would have been possible on more open ground. So, while everyone held their fire for a good, solid two and a half hours, Dick pulverized the hillside with artillery and air strikes. Fee said that Dick brought napalm so close to his D Company that he could feel the heat from the burning napalm. However, it's essential to note that Cam was able to spread his conscripts across a wide area of the hillside and into the cover afforded by the numerous irrigation ditches. As I said, these offered fair protection from artillery, and the one canister of napalm dropped per plane required multiple sorties to cover the hill to the front of D Company.

     The after-action report says that Dick used A Company for a pivot. Here is what I believe he did. Dick had the airstrikes drop their ordinance on the side of the hill in front of D Company during that two-and-a-half-hour bombardment, and he also created a demarcation line so the artillery could continue shelling the top of the mountain. That napalm would have burned up almost every enemy soldier on that part of the hill, making it easier for D Company to then advance up the mountain. It was not a very steep hill, and it wasn't very high. Dick followed close behind his D Company people as they advanced. Rather than charge online straight up the hill, he had D Company also pivot to their right across the slope in front of A Company. At this point, A Company held their fire. It was a brilliant but complicated maneuver. Dick was a “quick study” when it came to assessing the proper tactics to use. He knew that maneuvering in this treacherous terrain could become complicated, but doable, if he went along to direct things, using some of the lessons he had learned in Korea. So, that's why Dick chose to become a sergeant for a day and go with his men instead of commanding from the safety of the perimeter. This decision had nothing to do with trying to showboat or prove anything to anyone. As D Company pivoted and came across the hill, they approached those irrigation ditches from their ends instead of head-on. Only the NVA soldiers at the end of the ditches could fire at D Company people sweeping across the hill. That negated any chance they had of gaining fire superiority. It also allowed many more grunts in D Company to engage those trenches running perpendicular to their line of attack. Fee mentions them using grenades and their automatic weapons to clear those ditches. The maneuver was pure genius.

     There was some hand-to-hand fighting, but mainly between the enemy and the Montagnards, who tended to break formation and run ahead. Those Montagnards had a lot of pent-up anger and many old scores to settle. It is important to note that almost every one of those poor Montagnard souls who fought with Dogface that day lost their lives later when the communists took over Vietnam. Wikipedia reports that over two hundred thousand Montagnards were slaughtered after we left Vietnam. On this day, however, the 165th was soon driven from the flight. In my mind, I can still see Dick slowly and calmly walking along, his mouth to a radio mic, giving the senior brass a blow-by-blow description of events on the ground. It must have made them want to wet their pants for the joy it brought to their crusty old hearts.

     If that one NVA soldier had not been spotted, then A Company would have surely moved further into the jaws of Cam's ambush before the trap was sprung. Had that happened, then the NVA could have wiped A Company off the map before they had a chance to react. With their superior numbers, they could have quickly advanced down the hill. Fee mentioned that there were numerous RPG teams. These teams interspersed amongst the regular troops could have devastated the ranks of A Company as Triet had done with the Black Lions at the Battle of Ong Thanh. However, they didn't. They didn't because they were not the highly trained troops that we were led to believe they were.

      No doubt, the quick responses of the lead platoon, led by Sergeant Joe Amos, Hansen, and Kenter, got the ball rolling for the rest of A Company. They paid the price with their lives, but A Company did not lose another soul during the entire battle.

      As the 165th broke and ran, A and D Companies continued their advance over the hill. Enemy conscripts helped other wounded members of their cell groups run down the backside of that hill into a gorge to the southeast. Dick did not have his men follow them. Instead, as they clawed their way through thick jungle until they found a trail, any trail, to escape, Dick called in anti-personnel bombs and napalm to be dropped in the gorge. As that Hell from the sky descended on these conscripts, they were forced to abandon many of their dying and dead comrades along the way. Those hapless souls were then ripped to shreds by the bombs and artillery landing in the gorge.    

     Dick later received his second D.S.C. for his performance on this day. Many years later, after he died in 2017, he was also awarded the Medal of Honor. As I described, Dick used artillery, air power, and ingenious tactical maneuvering to defeat the enemy, while losing only four men. However, once again, most of the credit would be given to our artillery and especially our air power, as was the case in many other battle reports. Our artillery and air power were obviously tremendous assets, as they were in other wars. However, these reports overemphasize the role of our artillery and especially our air power. At the same time, they underplay the role we grunts played. It was the grunt on the ground who won or lost battles, risking his life, finding the enemy, and guiding American firepower to the target. That included my patrol, where we never fired a shot. It was my squad, warned by The Holy Spirit of God, who risked our lives locating that enemy base camp. Yet, in the after-action report, only the air strike was mentioned.  

     I know now that the denigration we Vietnam grunts experienced from other Americans was only a small part of a much greater evil. It seemed as though the minds of not only my generation but also their teachers and mentors, in all walks of life, were being swayed by a gigantic, unseen, and very evil force. The personal attacks on us Vietnam Vets were symptoms of this bigger problem. As our people turned from more personal relationships with God, we, as a nation, were losing our own unique moral compass. Until Vietnam, as a whole, we had been a nation that could discern evil and then chart a course to vanquish it from within and without. By the time the Vietnam War began, however, confusion about what was right and what was wrong was spreading rapidly. We were losing our ability to distinguish between good and evil, friend and foe. Many of my fellow Americans were beginning to court the very evil that just a few short years before we would have recognized for what it was. Jane Fonda was pictured sitting on the very enemy guns, which at that exact moment were not only killing her fellow Americans, but also supporting a war to enslave millions of their fellow Vietnamese. President Johnson was a throwback to an earlier era. He may not have known what to do about the spread of communism in Vietnam, but he understood that the communist ideology was an evil that could strangle all civilized life on the planet. He also understood that a constitutional democracy like ours, which is grounded in those thoughts put in writing by our founding fathers, is the only antidote. Without this antidote, some variation of the communist virus shall infect the entire globe sooner or later.

      The Academy Award-winning movie "Platoon" is still regarded today as one of the most realistic portrayals of us grunts, ever produced. In that portrayal, we are seen through the eyes of an elitist, played by Charlie Sheen. He describes us as little more than the lowest dregs of society, and even says so at the beginning of the movie. The movie’s climax completes the picture of whimpering, sniveling, lowlife drug users and murderers of civilians cringing in their foxholes, crying for momma, while being saved by American air power. This movie has stereotyped me and my fellow grunts to the entire world over the years. That stereotyping has been imprinted into the brains of millions of folks who can no longer distinguish truth from fiction. Those movie scenes, so widely accepted as the truth, definitely have nothing to do with the reality of events in those rubber trees surrounding Hill 203 on October 30, 1967. We were not who that movie scene portrayed us as being. Neither were those poor enslaved VC teenagers the hardened communist ideologues whom they were portrayed as being. Oh, sure, they were brainwashed into telling themselves and others whatever they had been conditioned to believe over and over. However, if all the layers of fear could have been peeled away, and hope restored, they would have again begun to dream the same kind of dreams of those American kids who were soon to spark the communications revolution. A few would have gone beyond that dream to an eternal one.

      It is a tragedy when anyone has to die as a result of war. However, grunts like me, Sergeant Bartee, Lt. Col. Cavazos, General Westmoreland, or President Johnson were not complicit in the evil that perpetuated the Vietnam War. All wars are caused by a thing called sin, and this thing called sin will be responsible for my Lord Jesus Christ having to wage a war which will wipe out millions of human beings at the Battle of Armageddon. As a free nation, we must always be prepared for war. Sadly, wars are inevitable. The question we must ask is not whether to wage war or not, but whether that war can achieve a victory that will bring more freedom to more people than if we do nothing. Never mind that an oppressive nation is seeking to maintain peaceful relations for the time being. History has proven that totalitarian nations maintain peaceful relations with free nations only as a temporary ploy. The very nature of totalitarian regimes says that they will always seek to conquer other freer societies if and when they deem themselves powerful enough to do so. My dear friend, why do you think China is continually strengthening its military? Do you think she is doing that because she fears that we will be the first to start a war with her? No. She is building a strong military so she can be the one to launch a war against us and win. History has proven my words to be true.