“The central issue is whether American troops can be used in a way consonant with this country’s political objectives. And to achieve that goal, there is required a sweeping reappraisal of the whole Vietnam picture, including basic American strategy and the deployment of forces.”

—Atlanta Constitution, March 5, 1968

19

Mopping Up

February 1968

Active formations of Viet Cong were cleared from My Tho by the rapidly reconstituted ARVN 11th Infantry Regiment and elements of the U.S. 9th Infantry Division. Snipers remained active, however, emboldened to take us on anywhere.

Any time we Americans departed the compound in our junky jeep we traveled ready for hostile fire. Rifles faced outward, loaded and ready, with safeties off. We drove at high speed, but our greatest fear was that an antitank mine was buried in the road and we would run over it. We never drove in the middle of the bumpy roadways—always on the bumpier shoulders. Sometimes our ride bounced so hard that the magazines fell out of our rifles. We kept our jaws clenched to avoid chipping teeth and hung on for dear life.

The largest VC units moved from the city, but not very far away; local guerillas stayed behind to harass us and report our movements to the larger formations. This new disposition signified that we were regaining the initiative. The VC had anticipated a general uprising by the civilian population, which did not occur. Without the full support of the South Vietnamese people, the VC could not retain control of population centers nor set up provisional governments. They licked their wounds and planned the next phase. We were on the inside again, and they were on the outside, but hovering nearby and poised to strike.

ARVN and U.S. forces also sustained heavy losses in the battles of Tet. Our side was reluctant to leave the cities unprotected to initiate a major counteroffensive, but we could not leave the Viet Cong camped on our doorsteps indefinitely without taking action. A shift to offensive operations was inevitable.

I wrote home. I needed contact with the world I had left so long ago, but I omitted gruesome details in my letters. I had captured much of it on film, which I sent to my parents for safekeeping, shutting out the knowledge that they would review the photos and my accompanying narratives. A letter to my sister reflected my separation of the reality of my world from theirs:

February 16, 1968

Dear Janet,

How is everything going at Georgia Southern? I imagine it’s pretty cold there right now. It’s been windy here and gets chilly at night, but it’s hot during the day.

The situation has been rather uncomfortable around here for a while now, but I hope it’s beginning to get partially back to normal. It was real hairy while Charlie was in downtown My Tho, but he has moved back out to the country now so it has let some of the pressure off. I actually got to sleep in my own bed last night for a change.

Well, it’s about time to go across town to the Seminary to get a good meal, so I’ll have to close now. Be good and write if you have a chance.

One hot morning in February, our team joined Vietnamese officers on the sandbag wall beside our tin shack, drinking coffee and watching airstrikes against a VC battalion two kilometers from our front door. Viet Cong gunners had launched a heavy mortar attack against us from that area the night before, and we enjoyed the payback.

Following an hour of air force aerobatics, a U.S. battalion dismounted from helicopters in an open rice paddy between our vantage point and the Viet Cong. Fighting started immediately. The VC withdrew quickly under pressure of U.S. firepower, and our troops swept on through. Our battalion was ordered to follow the Americans and occupy the area overnight to secure it.

As we approached the wood line, we made contact with enemy soldiers bypassed by the Americans. After a skirmish, we found a U.S. APC on the road; a rocket-propelled grenade had destroyed it in fighting the previous week. Alongside the APC lay a dead U.S. soldier face up toward heaven and eyes open. The soldier had been there for several days in the heat and sun. His bloated body smelled horrible, but we could do nothing for him, except report his location to the 9th Division liaison at headquarters. The division would send a recovery detail to return the unfortunate prodigal home. As we moved on, his image accompanied us.

We established an overnight defense in a forested area, which the airstrikes had pounded earlier. The next morning we searched for local guerillas in the nearby villages. They were not hard to find; they shot at us before escaping into the next village or tree line, only to shoot again when we caught up with them. Their mission was to delay us.

I had recently bought a new Canon half-frame camera to make 35-millimeter slides. Since I had ammunition in my ammo pouches now, I carried it in my shirt pocket. We were walking on a path parallel to a small canal when a sniper opened fire at close range. AK-47 rounds cut through the trees all around. Everyone of the command group dove into the canal together. When I climbed from the slimy water, my first thought was of my new camera. Of course, it was ruined—along with the film inside and two additional rolls I had used to take pictures of the ruins of My Tho. What a waste! The pictures documented a wasteland that had once been a prosperous city. An entire city was destroyed, and the unfortunate record was itself damaged. The whole war was a colossal waste.

We stayed near My Tho for the next few days. I followed the progress of mopping-up operations in other areas, including Saigon, and the battle still raging in Hue. My trusty radio served me well, and it occasionally offered music blended with the battle reports. I made sure I kept spare batteries on hand.

On February 12 the battalion boarded trucks and rolled north, following Highway 4 to Ben Tranh airfield. This was where John Paul Vann had launched his operation into Ap Bac six years earlier. From there we moved north on foot toward Long An Province. This was further north than we normally operated, and I gathered from the body language of soldiers that they expected trouble. We met stiff resistance each day, but after a skirmish of several hours the enemy would fall back.

Intelligence reports indicated that Viet Cong Military Region Two headquarters was in this area, along with the VC 1st Regiment. We were likely to meet our frequent adversaries, the 261st and 263d Main Force battalions. Classified reports indicated that a high ranking Viet Cong official—perhaps the commander of Military Region Two—had been killed during the Tet offensive. Even as an elaborate funeral was held, the VC was planning the next phase of the war.

As we passed through villages, we encountered punji pits for the first time. These were simply holes dug into footpaths with sharpened bamboo reeds, punji stakes, stuck in the bottom, points upward and then concealed. Punji stakes were dipped in feces; if one jabbed into the calf or foot, infection was instantaneous and could be fatal without fast medical care. We had not seen the crude devices in our area of operations, and an uneasy feeling accompanied us in the unfamiliar territory.

On Valentine’s Day, my radio announced that the 3d Brigade of the 82d Airborne Division was to be part of the reinforcement package being sent to Vietnam in response to the general offensive. I was surprised; the 82d had always been part of our national strategic reserve. I wondered whether this meant that the United States was committed in a life-or-death struggle. Somehow, I couldn’t believe our national survival was connected to the poor Asian nation.

Before noon we ran headlong into what we were looking for—enemy forces. Lots of them! We planned to maintain contact with them and work them over with artillery and airstrikes as we always did. This time the back door was to be closed by the ARVN 42d Ranger Battalion and the 3d Battalion of our regiment.

Plenty of air support was allocated for this high-priority operation. We literally stacked the aircraft in the sky, each waiting its turn to engage. We had VNAF Skyraiders, USAF F-4s and F-14s, and army helicopter gunships at our disposal. If there were any gaps in coverage, artillery was available to fill in.

Bobby Hurst and I took turns working with the artillery forward observers and FACs, while the Vietnamese engaged the VC at close range with rifle fire. Air strikes were close to our forward positions as we inched ahead, tightening the noose. I had only dreamed of so much dedicated fire support a few weeks earlier during the Tet attacks.

As darkness approached, we had closed to within 200 meters of the enemy and established a defensive perimeter around a thatched farmhouse. Aircraft had reported taking ground fire all day. As darkness closed, a Spooky C-47 gunship reported on station above us. It slowly circled over our area, and we were surprised to see green tracers streak toward it from every direction. Tracers even came from the path we had just cleared. No imagination was needed to see we were surrounded. Spooky was confused by the disposition of units.

“Red Oak, this is Spooky 41. Over.”

“Spooky this is Red Oak 5. Over.”

“I thought I had you pinpointed, but I’d like to verify your location again. Would you send up a flare?”

“Sure thing. Look for it in one minute.” I found a pencil flare in my rucksack and triggered it into the air.

The flare burst overhead, and the pilot said simply, “Good job. You managed to get right in the middle of them!”

It appeared that the Viet Cong did not intend to conduct this battle according to our plan. Usually they fought when trapped and withdrew at night, but now seemed to believe that they had the upper hand and intended to seize the initiative. Their relative numbers likely encouraged them; there were enough of them to surround us. We were only a battalion of 500 soldiers, and they had us surrounded. There had to be at least two battalions, plus some local forces. In addition, the two battalions we again faced, the 261st and 263d, were always well trained and equipped. They would not fire at aircraft at night unless they had an advantage. I believed NVA troops were included in the numbers because they did not withdraw in the face of a fight. They intended to fight us under conditions favorable to them. The way they had fought and withdrew during previous days seemed to have been drawing us into this position. Most likely they planned to overrun us during the night; this observation was not lost on anyone.

The only time I had seen Vietnamese soldiers dig in was when we were pinned down during Tet. But serious digging began now, even construction of overhead cover. Special attention was given to crew-served machine guns; we prepared for a pitched battle at the farmhouse. We had faced these same units near the My Tho bus station two weeks earlier, and both sides were determined to complete unfinished business.

The attack began early in the evening with a furious rocket and mortar barrage, including a mix of 82mm and 120mm mortar rounds. The shells just kept coming. I was surprised that they had such an abundant supply of ammunition, given all that we had captured earlier at the Double Y canals and the heavy expenditures during the Tet offensive.

After the mortars and rockets opened up, an intense ground attack commenced. The attack was a coordinated effort more serious than any direct attack we had received before. Multiple prongs came from different directions. Well-versed military professionals, not local guerilla leaders, had planned this assault. These were the same techniques we taught to our battalion commanders at staff colleges. These Viet Cong units were likely commanded or advised by NVA officers trained in China or the Soviet Union. Not only were the ground attacks themselves well planned and coordinated, their fire support plan was coordinated with the attacks. While mortar rounds fell inside our perimeter, rockets simultaneously ripped through the farmhouse with earsplitting blasts. Close fighting broke out all around the defensive perimeter.

The sky erupted in light above our CP, blinding us for several moments. Debris fell on our heads. I knew we were in deep trouble again.

Spooky’s voice spoke on the radio. “I know you have your hands full down there, but I can see where the bad guys are, so I’ll just keep pumping fire in that direction. Just give me a call if you have anything.”

“Roger that,” Bobby shouted into the radio handset over the explosions and gunfire.

After a short pause Spooky added, “Just give me a call once in a while to let me know you’re all right, buddy.”

“Roger that,” Bobby replied with less enthusiasm. Then he looked at me in a way that told me exactly what he was thinking: there was a good chance that we would not be around for long. We could hear the unspoken thought screaming in the pilot’s voice.

Captain Xuan crawled over. He never crawled. “The 3d Company headquarters was destroyed by the rocket attack. VC are inside our positions,” he said. “Be prepared to protect yourselves!” Our lines had been penetrated.

Americans scrambled into the earthen bunker in the old house, but I felt claustrophobic inside. The bunker offered some protection from rockets and mortars, but if the VC were inside our perimeter I wanted to be outside where I could see.

Spooky had night-vision goggles. “Red Oak, the bad guys are throwing something that looks like smoke. It could be gas.”

Panic! We all had gas masks but never wore them except in training. The heavy rubber masks were hot and restricted visibility. Mine had been submerged in contaminated canal and paddy water, and I was certain the filters were clogged.

Bobby said, “Check your gas masks, but if push comes to shove, piss on a piece of cloth and hold it over your nose. The ammonia will work better against tear gas than these things.” I didn’t know if it was true or not, but I did know I had no intention of wearing a gas mask.

The attack continued through the night. Our defenses were penetrated several times, but each attack was contained. I decided to leave the bunker to see how Spooky was working, but mostly to see whether anything was happening nearby. In the flashes of light I saw heavy fighting a few meters from our position, hand-to-hand struggles between our soldiers and VC.

An M60 machine gun belonging to a dead soldier lay nearby. I crawled behind it and fired into dark figures approaching our position, aiming stakes making it easy to find the proper fields of fire. Our soldiers quickly shifted to fill the gap left by the penetration, and I readily relinquished the machine gun to a Vietnamese soldier.

Our backs were to the wall with no place to go—it was another fight for survival. The 42d Rangers and the 3d Battalion were under attack in their own defensive positions, but the sounds indicated that we were the main objective of the attack. I suspected the other battalions were being attacked to pin them down while they worked on us.

At 4:00 a.m. the Viet Cong made a last attempt effort to penetrate our defenses before dawn. They threw tear gas grenades and made another coordinated ground and mortar attack, but our lines held this time. By 5:00 a.m., daylight was breaking and the surface of the ground appeared to be blanketed with three feet of fog. As daylight broke, we could see it was not fog at all but smoke from the battle hovering over our fighting positions. In the dim daylight we could see VC recovering their dead. They used smoke grenades and started brush fires for smoke to conceal their work. Snipers kept us down while they went about their grisly task. For the most part, our soldiers left the enemy alone during that time, but at 7:00 a.m. the VC body recovery was still under way. Xuan ordered a limited counterattack to drive the last of the Vietcong away. In full daylight we walked about to survey the damages and losses.

The ARVN had suffered twelve killed and twenty seriously wounded. Damage to the farmhouse and surrounding trees was very heavy. Even after the long VC recovery operation, we recovered eight bodies that had not been dragged away. It was impossible to estimate how many of the enemy had been killed, but they were surely hurt severely, because we seldom found any bodies left at all after battle.

We believed, correctly, that we had won the battle: we were still there, and a larger enemy force had withdrawn. And it appeared that their casualties were greater than ours, therefore we’d won. The euphoria of victory eluded me. Survival was exhilarating, but I didn’t feel much like a victory celebration.

General Wheeler returned from his recent round of talks with General Westmoreland and reported that despite the heavy casualties incurred during the Tet Offensive, North Vietnamese and Vietcong forces still have the initiative: They are operating with relative freedom in the countryside, have pushed South Vietnamese forces back into a defensive posture around towns and cities, seriously undermined the pacification program in many areas, and forced General Westmoreland to place half his maneuver forces in the endangered northern provinces, thus stripping the rest of the country of adequate reserves and depriving the rest of the U.S. command of offensive capability.