“At dawn on the first day of the Tet truce, Viet Cong forces, supported by large numbers of NVA troops, launch the largest and best-coordinated offensive of the war, driving into the center of South Vietnam’s seven largest cities and attacking 30 provincial capitals from the Demilitarized Zone to the Mekong Delta.”

—The Vietnam War Day by Day

16

Big Storm

January 30–31, 1968

I relaxed as well as I could at the Seminary, recovering from my unfortunate gunshot wound. Over an American-style breakfast, I overheard talk of the Viet Cong breaking the cease-fire during the night in Saigon and cities farther north. Apparently these were not very successful attacks, but any violations of the truce were disturbing. However, these infractions appeared to be minor, relatively small squalls in the land of big monsoons. While I was bothered by the violations, I could do nothing about them, so I spent most of my last day at the Seminary on the roof in sunning, reading, and listening to music on the Armed Forces Network (AFN).

After dinner and a long stopover in the watering hole, I made my way downstairs to find a place to sleep. Since I didn’t normally live in the seminary I had no assigned bunk, but I found an empty one belonging to someone away on R&R. I claimed it, stripped, and crawled between the clean sheets.

I was sleeping soundly when the big storm broke. An explosion in my room lifted me off the mattress. A brilliant flash that ruined my night vision was immediately followed by a ripping blast. Wall plaster pelted me as I fell back on the bed. I hurriedly rolled off the bed to the sound of tinkling glass, as in windows breaking. In midair I hoped there was no glass on the floor. I rolled underneath my bed and stayed there, trying to decide what to do next. At least I was protected from falling building material where I was.

I knew instinctively that a rocket had penetrated the wall. The next noises were of men rushing from the room to battle stations. I didn’t have a battle station because I was not normally assigned there. I had no rifle with me, no ammunition, helmet, or any other soldier things after my release from the hospital. I calculated that the attack would end in an hour; a ground attack was unlikely, but a mortar or rocket barrage was probable. A plan developed in my mind: stay out of the way. Rockets continued to hit other parts of the building, punctuating my decision.

I hated rockets, but I thought I was in the safest place possible for protection against them. I was more afraid of being shot by barstool warriors inside the building than the Viet Cong on the outside. I reached up and dragged the sheet and pillow off the bed and wrapped up for the duration. After all, Lieutenant Brickhouse had advised me to keep my stitches clean until I returned to Dong Tam to have them removed.

I dozed fitfully for a while through the rattle of small-arms fire. From my bunker under the bed I could see daylight breaking. I figured it was safe enough to roll out for breakfast, so I slipped on my trousers and sat on the edge of the bed to lace up my jungle boots. I strolled out of the room as I carefully slipped into a clean, starched fatigue shirt for my doctor’s appointment. As I entered the hallway, I was surprised to find the walls still lined elbow to elbow with officers and noncommissioned officers in full battle dress, flak jackets and helmets, and holding rifles.

The officer-in-charge saw me and demanded, “Where have you been?”

“Trying to sleep,” I replied. “What’s going on?”

“We’re under attack. Get your gear and stay on the porch.”

“I don’t have any gear. I just got out of the hospital, and I have to go to Dong Tam today to have stitches removed.”

“Find some gear and get your ass back here. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Following orders, I wandered back to the bedroom and groped around in still-dark corners until I found an M1 carbine belonging to the person whose bed I had borrowed. I found two 30-round banana-clip magazines with the carbine, but that was all. I grabbed my jungle hat and returned to the porch. I felt conspicuous without the helmet and flak jacket that the others wore.

I listened to the discussions and I picked up bits and pieces of information as the others talked. I sorted rumors from fact. I heard a battle raging a few kilometers away in My Tho, so when I was told that the city had been attacked and captured by the VC, it confirmed what my eyes and ears were telling me. Although I could see and hear it, it was still unbelievable!

Unanswered questions struck me at once. How was I to get through My Tho to the M.A.S.H. at Dong Tam for my appointment? What was happening at Binh Duc? Where was Mendenhall? How was this whole thing even possible? What was I supposed to do now?

I knew that staying on the porch of the Seminary with staff members was not the answer; I needed to rejoin my fighting unit. I’d told Bobby that I wanted to stay with the battalion, and that was where I most wanted to be then. Although I hadn’t forgotten the last moments I had with the battalion, one of its officers had put a hole in me. I stored that in the back of my mind.

Concern for Mendenhall was my most pressing concern. I left my post on the porch and headed for the communications center. In the radio room I asked, “Have you heard anything from Red Oak Six Alpha?”

“Yes, we have. He’s with the ARVN and just reported they’re getting ready to move. He’s out there alone and that’s a violation of MACV policy!” replied the officer in charge. “An officer has to join him in the field.”

I stared at him, not able to believe what he was suggesting. Then I looked slowly around the room and asked, “Are there any volunteers to go out and prevent a policy violation?” Silence thundered.

I looked back toward the major and said, “I don’t see any volunteers, so I guess I’ll go. Can you arrange transportation?”

He looked at me skeptically. Neither of us could believe this conversation was taking place. We were actors in a comedy-horror show.

“Hand me the mike.” I held out my hand for the radio handset. “I want to talk to Red Oak Six Alpha.” The major passed me the microphone.

“Red Oak Six Alpha, this is Red Oak Five. Over.”

“Five, where are you?”

“I’m at the big white building; you know the one. What’s your situation?”

“We occupied the fish oil factory last night and took some fire, but mostly listened to the fight in the city. Now we’re getting ready to move out—counterattack into My Tho.”

“What route will you take?”

“Wait. I’ll ask Slick. Tao is in Cai Be. Slick is in charge.”

While I waited, I thought it would be a natural match; Slick was my normal counterpart anyway. He needed me to maintain contact with U.S. fire power, if there was any to be had. I knew I should link up with them as soon as possible.

“Five, this is Six Alpha. Over.”

“This is Five.”

“Slick said we’ll walk right past your position, and he’d be honored if you’d join us.”

“I’ll be looking for you. How long?”

“We should be there in under an hour.”

“See you soon. Out.”

I rushed from the building to the supply room to search for any surplus battle gear. I found a web belt, two ammo pouches, two canteens, a first-aid pouch, and a steel pot. I kept the carbine and two magazines with sixty rounds, and hurried to the bedroom to adjust the belt and helmet. I remembered my small portable radio and my camera, stuffing them into an empty ammunition pouch. I was not equipped for the battle of the century, but when the war comes to you, you go to work with what you have.

I ran to the front gate and in the distance I saw two columns of ARVN soldiers advancing cautiously on both sides of the road in our direction. Mendenhall was easy to detect; he was head and shoulders taller than the others. I realized how easy Americans were to spot in a gaggle of Vietnamese. I swung open the front gate and walked out.

The Adjutant General’s Corps major in charge of the main-gate bunker yelled, “Hey! You can’t go out there!”

Without turning around, I shouted over my shoulder, “And who’s going to stop me?”

I fell in and matched strides with Mendenhall. His briefing was short; we had talked on the radio only an hour before. “The ARVN are scared.” That was all he said, but it was enough; so was I.

“What’s the objective?” I asked.

“My Tho!” Mendenhall clipped his answers. I realized he was as nervous as me, maybe more.

The gravity of the situation settled over me. The tables were completely turned: we were now on the outside of this country, and the Viet Cong occupied a commanding position on the inside. The bad guys had taken over our city, and we had to fight to get back in. The world was turned upside down.

I needed more information. “Who is counterattacking with us?” I asked.

“Beats me.” Mendenhall replied. “As far as I know we’re it. Just us against a VC division.”

“Division?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never heard of a VC division!”

The column moved 500 meters beyond the Seminary before it left the paved road for dirt side streets in a residential area. I had not spoken with him yet, but I wondered whether Slick had detoured to the Seminary just to pick me up.

Two hundred meters onto the side road, machine gun fire broke out. The next burst was directly at us from fifty meters in front. Bullets passed so close that they popped as they went by; they ricocheted off buildings and the hard surface of parched ground. I saw everyone flat on the ground, just as I was. I examined my chest and shoulders to see if I had been hit. Vivid memories of being hit by that AK-47 a week earlier were still fresh. The sounds around me were exactly the same as then. It was as if being shot before was only a rehearsal for this, and I felt the bullet again in my mind.

I didn’t find any blood so I assumed that I was all right. I remembered Bill Mauldin’s cartoon from a more traditional war years earlier, where one GI said to another as they lay on their stomachs in the same fix we were in: “I’d get closer to the ground if these darn buttons weren’t in the way!” I smiled at that. This situation would be funny if it wasn’t so frightening.

As I looked myself over for punctures, I noticed the colorful insignia on my starched uniform: white name tag, black-and-gold U.S. Army label, silver-and-blue Combat Infantry Badge, silver airborne wings, red-and-gold Pathfinder Badge, gold infantry insignia, a silver first lieutenant’s bar, and a red-and-gold MACV patch. I also wore a white T-shirt to keep my stitches clean. I resembled a Christmas tree—all lit up! I also noticed that the ARVN soldiers kept their distance from me, the prime target.

One platoon maneuvered around the enemy shooters, engaging them from another direction. When the VC shifted to return fire, I stood up and ran as fast as I could to a vacant building we had passed earlier. Others from the command group were already making their way there, as was Mendenhall. As soon as I was inside, I stripped off both of my shirts, threw the white T-shirt away and reversed the fatigue shirt so all the bright insignia were inside and out of sight. I was less conspicuous but keenly aware of how thin the shirt was. For the first time in the war I longed for a flak jacket.

Captain Xuan smiled and said, “I’m glad you could make it!”

By noon my stomach was growling. I realized I had missed the big American breakfast at the Seminary that morning. I had brought no rations with me and didn’t have a rucksack to carry any. While Mendenhall had a pack, he had brought only one C-ration in it because he, too, expected to be back home for lunch. I realized that this action would not be over in time for dinner. Despite our thirst, Mendenhall and I carefully rationed the two canteens of water we each carried. (The sun was scorching by noon. I wanted to call time out and start the battle all over, better prepared.)

The close firing ceased and we moved again. The rest of the afternoon was spent in house-to-house fighting. The ARVN soldiers knew they should clear houses from the top down, but they had no way up, except from the bottom. As they tried to go up, the Viet Cong dropped grenades on them from above. Xuan kept me informed of the details of the skirmishes. I didn’t like what I heard with my own ears nor the reports he gave me. I grew more concerned with each passing hour.

Each residential block we cleared, each building we took were major victories, but new obstacles stretched endlessly before us. As we approached the city enemy fire grew heavier and we took more casualties. Initially a large open field had protected our right flank, but it quickly merged into an urban wilderness as we drew nearer the city center, and it became perfect for snipers. We constantly ducked because the fighting was so close that we never knew who was firing at whom—shots erupted all around us. I detested our situation more by the minute but felt powerless to do anything. I was just being swept along by events.

Shadows grew longer as the protracted day sagged into afternoon. Large concentrations of VC were positioned in front and across the road to our left. Captain Xuan identified a single two-story dwelling with a large yard as a CP and established defenses around it. Hedges fifty meters from the house bordered it on two sides, and a shallow ditch with stagnant water cut across the other side. As we approached the house we passed an apartment building to our rear; it dominated our position across 100 meters of wide-open field. I didn’t like the dominant building that overlooked us, but any position we took in the urban jungle presented inherent problems. This house appeared to be where we would make our stand—our Alamo.

The command group settled into the rooms on the first floor, established a defensive perimeter around the house, and tied the hedges and canals into our defense.

An old man and woman inside lit the house dimly with candles. A family altar stood in one corner with burning joss sticks and photos of deceased family members. The old man prayed at the altar every hour, lighting more joss sticks each time. Some of his family members had been injured in the fighting, but we couldn’t help them. The most seriously wounded ARVN soldiers were also collected in the house, transforming it into an impromptu aid station, without much aid. Twelve seriously wounded men crowded the small room as moans rose from the civilians in the back room. The ablest of the wounded preferred to stay in place on the defensive perimeter.

As I surveyed the house and small perimeter, I realized how undersized our unit was. I had assumed before that the men were spread out into different sectors, but now I wondered. I asked Mendenhall about it.

“How many troops do you think we have?”

“We started with one hundred and fifty,” he said.

“Hundred and fifty! Where is everyone?” I couldn’t believe that number, only equivalent to a company, plus headquarters.

“They’re in the same place Captain Tao and Captain Hurst are—Tet vacation, for the ceasefire.”

“Why aren’t we with them?” I wondered aloud.

“You’re better off here, sir,” he said. “At least you know who you’re fighting with. Can you imagine being off somewhere else trying to figure out what to do? At least we know what we’re doing,” the veteran soldier advised.

I recalled my feeling of isolation at the Seminary. Truly I would rather be here. If we were to die in this place, it was better to be with people we knew. I had not seriously considered that until now, but I realized that dying in this small house was a distinct possibility.

I calculated in my head. If we started with 150 soldiers and had 12 seriously wounded here, that left us with 138. I had seen at least 12 more killed, leaving 126. It could be worse than that—but not better. We faced elements of a Viet Cong division. I didn’t know how many VC were in a division, but the ratio in this fight was certainly unfavorable.

I wondered what I had stumbled into. I still had stitches in my left shoulder from being shot by a friendly, and now VC surrounded all of us. I wasn’t sure whether we would be supported by fire power or reinforcements. Xuan looked distressed as he whispered into his radio. Afterward he assembled a small group of officers and addressed them in hushed tones. This could only be more bad news. I waited impatiently for some information, trying to establish eye contact with Slick.

Xuan slowly walked over very close to me. “The situation is bad,” he whispered. “We started with one hundred and fifty soldiers, and now we face three hundred Viet Cong. There are many more in the city. We were ordered to counterattack but could only go this far before the enemy stopped us here. We are low on ammunition and have twenty-five wounded and thirteen killed. VC will counterattack us during the night since they know where we are. If you can get support from the Americans, please do so.”

“I will,” I said.

I reported his information to the war room at the Seminary. And I added, “I can confirm that information with my own eyes. We’re out of food, water, and first-aid supplies. I’ll need a radio battery soon; this one is approaching twenty-four hours’ use.”

The expected reply came. “I don’t know how we’ll get any supplies to you, since the enemy is between us.” What a surprise!

“I realize that!” I fired back. “But we’re the only thing between you and a lot more VC. This radio is the only way you’ll know when they’re coming!”

“We’ll see what we can do tomorrow.”

“Also, can you get me a fire-support frequency? We need fire support tonight. We have reports we’ll be attacked.”

“You have only one radio?”

“That’s affirmative.”

“I’ll have fire support come up on this frequency, and we can monitor. We’ll dedicate this frequency to you and switch other traffic to another freq.”

“Roger that. Out.” The exchange ended with a remarkable and unexpected show of support.

Intermittent fire continued through the night all around our perimeter. Headquarters called every hour for a situation report, if we didn’t call first.

At 2:00 a.m. Xuan came to me again. “Many VC are moving around us and preparing to attack. They are crossing the road on our left. Can you get any fire support?”

I called headquarters immediately to relay what I had been told. “Get some fire support on the line,” I pleaded.

“It may take a while,” I was told. “Every asset is committed right now.”

“How about the machine gun at the main gate?” I asked, remembering the jerk who had told me I couldn’t leave.

“How can that help?” the major quizzed, clearly thinking I had lost my mind.

“Put it in the road and fire right down the highway with low grazing fire,” I requested. “The VC are crossing the highway, and it might stop their reinforcements.”

“We don’t think that will help,” came the reply.

“I don’t give a damn what you think! If we’re overrun, can you live with not having tried?”

“Roger. Out!” That was the response I wanted.

Soon I heard the machine gun firing in our general direction. I have no idea whether it helped or not, but at least it was something. Before that I’d nothing. It made us feel a little more in control of our fate. And bullets were cheap as long as they lasted.

Sporadic firing began around our perimeter as the VC probed us, but an all-out assault had not started. The VC reconnoitered our positions by fire. When we returned their fire, they identified our fighting positions and located our machine guns. We knew they were moving into position to attack, but we didn’t know how many or when it would come.

A half-hour later, a U.S. Navy boat from the MRF checked in on my radio frequency. It was several kilometers away on the Mekong River, but I was gratified the Seminary had actually rounded up some support.

“What have you got?” I asked the boat’s skipper.

“I’m on a monitor in the river. We have an 81mm mortar that can reach you. Our guns won’t reach you from the river.”

I called in a fire mission for the mortar and requested one round of smoke in an airburst. I remembered friendly fire incidents and didn’t want another one.

I heard the smoke round pop nearby, but couldn’t see it in the dark because buildings around us masked it. I knew it was not directly overhead and I didn’t want to waste any more time. I adjusted the fires even though I couldn’t observe their impact, judging by flash and sound only. After each volley I consulted Mendenhall before calling in a correction. I knew the mortar rounds weren’t falling on us, prayed they weren’t falling on civilians, and hoped they were falling on Viet Cong. It was not much support, but it was the best we had, and we were very grateful to have it.

I wasn’t sure how effective the fires were, but I kept working it around our perimeter for two hours. We remained under constant rifle fire, but a ground assault never materialized. At 4:00 a.m., a rocket-propelled grenade struck the house. I heard screams in the back and discovered that the old man, one of the wounded soldiers, and the medic tending him had been killed.

Captain Xuan announced that we were getting out of the house immediately. Covered by the dark, we moved outside into the open yard. As we were relocating, our U.S. Navy patrol boat called to report.

“Red Oak, we have to check out. We’re out of mortar ammo and have to return to Dong Tam for resupply. It’ll be daylight soon. Good luck!”

“Thank you, Navy. I wish I could give you a damage report but I can’t. I think you helped stop the major assault. I love you guys!”

“We like shooting for you. Call our number again sometime. Out.”

It was still dark. Mendenhall and I lay on our bellies in the dew on the lawn. I crawled around to see where we were relative to Xuan and the command group. I didn’t want to be too close but I wanted to be close enough. Daylight would break in an hour. We had no shovels, and the ground was as dry and hard as concrete. Mendenhall and I took turns monitoring the radio and scraping out a trench with our helmets. We had lived through that day.

We would have to see about the next one.