“B52 bombers winged over North Vietnam, climaxing a massive air bombardment of highways and military facilities. U.S. Command is also watching closely what appears to be an increase in North Vietnamese traffic down the Ho Chi Minh trail through Laos.”
—Atlanta Constitution, December 7, 1967
January 1968
Christmas passed without any serious VC-initiated attacks. We delighted in the approaching Chinese New Year, or Tet. Fewer mortar attacks and rocket barrages, and less sniper fire than usual, marked a quiet phase in a crazy war.
Vietnamese and Americans alike marked their calendars down to the Tet cease fire, which was only a week away. Unexpectedly, though, we were alerted to move into a security position near Cai Lay. When we arrived we found the city quiet but jumpy. U.S. advisors in Cai Lay were going about their normal routine, but were edgy about an anticipated Vietcong attack.
Our first morning there we awoke to find Viet Cong flags erected overnight near our positions. We understood the message quite well: we were not welcome! Patrols swept the area removing the flags and searching for the perpetrators. The next morning the flags reappeared.
The battalion searched around Cai Lay for four days, fighting boredom and collecting VC flags and signs from trees. We literally camped around the psychological operations (psyops) center.
A fifteen-year-old Vietnamese boy adopted us, which was not unusual. Kids loved to hang around, begging for candy or C-rations. This lad tried repeatedly to start conversations with me, but I kept running him away. A ten-year-old boy soon joined him. Their persistence aroused the suspicions of some battalion staff officers, who detained them for questioning. The boys were separated from one another, and the younger one quickly confessed that they were collecting information for an old man who told them what to find out. The old man, who was swiftly rounded up, revealed that the three of them were working for the 261st Main Force Battalion, which was camped nearby and preparing to attack Cai Lay.
Under pressure the three VC spies reluctantly revealed the hiding place of several AK-47s and ammunition. ARVN soldiers joyfully recovered the weapons and brought them to the psyops center for examination by Lieutenant Than, the battalion S-2. Than was a competent intelligence officer, but I always suspected he knew more about the enemy than he was willing to share. He stood on the porch of the psyops office and examined the captured weapons, which were his responsibility. The mechanics of the Chinese-made assault rifles were familiar to all of us, making what happened next so surprising.
While Than examined the rifles on the porch, I stood in the front yard talking to several other officers—we were planning a trip into the village market for crab soup. The staccato rip of eight AK-47 rounds fired at extremely close range suddenly split the air. The burst was so close the sound alone could have knocked me down.
At the same instant that I flinched I felt a slam against my shoulder, spinning me around violently, tangling my legs. I hit the ground on my back and that second jolt knocked the breath from my lungs. Events seemed to be happening in slow motion. I saw smoke rising from the barrel of the rifle, startled faces of the other officers, sky spinning around above me, and then the faces of people looking down at me. As if looking through their eyes, I saw myself trying to get up, but my legs were twisted underneath and would not obey. I was embarrassed by my predicament and wondered how I could reverse the scene, play it back to the beginning, untangle it.
I heard Bobby say, “Medevac is on the way!”
I muttered, “Is anyone hurt?”
“You’ll be all right. It doesn’t look serious,” Bobby replied.
Who was he talking to? Everyone was watching me; I felt ridiculous lying on the ground. This had to be a joke, and I was the only one who didn’t get it.
I struggled to stand, only then beginning to realize that I was in shock.
“Stop! Don’t move! They’ll bring a stretcher,” said Bobby.
“I’ll be damned! No stretcher,” I said. But my head felt light and my knees were weak as I managed to get halfway up. Hands reached for me, but I brushed them aside.
No one would wrap me in a poncho, I thought. I visualized Lieutenant Kiem sliding from my grasp, head first into the mud.
“I’ll walk!” I could feel hands on me again, helping me to my feet. This time I allowed it; I was desperate to stand on my own feet.
The medevac helicopter landed near sector headquarters, and the Cai Lay advisors gathered to watch. I was upset by my situation, but there was nothing I could do even though I didn’t want to be a spectacle.
As I walked to the chopper with the help of several others, I looked at my left shoulder to see the wound. I didn’t see any bullet holes on the front of my shirt. Then, I looked over my shoulder and saw a jagged six-inch rip in my shirt and a little blood, but not much. I felt better already. My left arm and shoulder were numb, but I was not in pain, so I decided to enjoy the chopper ride. I was embarrassed, however, to be able to walk to a medical evacuation helicopter. I had seen too many people loaded feet first. And a seriously wounded 9th U.S. division soldier was already on board. The stop to pick me up had delayed his arrival at the hospital.
The chopper ride from Cai Lay to the 9th Division mobile army surgical hospital (M.A.S.H.) was brief. Upon arrival at the helipad I was forced to lie on a stretcher; inside the medics cut my shirt away with scissors and quickly cleaned and stitched my shoulder. It was almost too fast for all the trouble of getting there. I was quickly rolled into an air-conditioned Quonset hut. The cold air hit me hard, but a wool army blanket tucked under my chin was warm and relaxing. I couldn’t believe how tired I felt as I warmed up and instantly fell asleep.
When I awoke I was staring into the face of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Lieutenant Brickhouse, an army nurse, was changing my intravenous feed. I was instantly in love with the wife of the emergency room surgeon, just like everyone else who met her. I had heard rumors of her existence, now I knew the rumors were true. I relished being under her occasional care for a few days, but my wound was too slight to merit much attention.
I thought I would enjoy the enforced vacation, until a commotion began in the bed next to mine. I turned to see a U.S. soldier covered with blood and mud, who was surrounded by a crew of medics working frantically to cut half a boot off the half of his foot that was still attached. He writhed as they worked. I wanted to run away.
I remained for four more days, until I was released on light duty. I was paroled on January 26, with an appointment to return on January 31 to have the stitches removed and my wound examined. Lieutenant Brickhouse admonished me to stay in a sterile environment to avoid infection. That didn’t seem too difficult at the time. We were approaching the Tet cease-fire, so I could stay in the seminary and recover until I received a clean bill of health.
Bobby picked me up at the hospital. “Hey, how you doing, Lieutenant?” inquired my boss.
“I’m okay. Nurse Brickhouse took special care of me.” I intend to invoke some envy.
“Some idiots have all the luck,” he countered. “I’ll take you to the Seminary to stay during the cease-fire. They have a medic and clean sheets there. I packed a change of clothes and your shaving kit, and they have your pay waiting for you as well as some mail. Need anything else?”
“My rifle.” I said.
“It’ll be okay at Binh Duc. You won’t need it at the Seminary. Cease fire started.”
“Well, I guess I’ll be okay then.”
“For your information, I’m going up-country to visit friends, some advisors I know. Rich is going to Vung Tao for in-country R&R [rest and recuperation]. I encouraged Mendenhall to join you at the Seminary, but he wants to hang around Binh Duc. He’ll probably get bored, and you’ll see him there, anyway. Most of the ARVNs are leaving for the holidays, too.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We rode in silence until Bobby spoke again. “How do you feel about going back to the battalion … after this?”
I thought for a minute before answering. “Well, it’s strange, but I want to go back. I’ve been through worse than this.”
“You mean after getting shot?”
“Yeah.”
“I can get you a staff job.”
“Spend the rest of my time in Vietnam in the lap of luxury? No way! Really, I want to go back to the battalion.”
I wondered how an experienced officer like Than could have had such a stupid accident. But I didn’t dwell on that sore subject; was too familiar with stupid accidents already.
Bobby said, “Than has been punished.”
I assumed he meant Than had received a fine or the ARVN equivalent of an Article 15, but I didn’t pursue it further. I never saw Than again. I only hoped the accident had really been an accident, after all. I was just glad that the round that struck me had not been an inch higher or to the left. Otherwise I would likely not be writing this story.
The Viet Cong announced that they would observe three-day truces at Christmas and New Year’s and a seven-day cease-fire over the Vietnamese lunar new year, or Tet.1