He nodded agreement. “Why not just leave 4th Platoon? They’re already in the rear. They could set up a mechanical ambush and cover it with fire.”

The 4th Platoon would normally be the mortar platoon, commanded by a lieutenant, but in an air cavalry battalion the mortars of all the companies were consolidated into E Company, and the 4th platoons converted to additional rifle platoons. Sergeant Dwayne Rogers, my junior platoon leader, led our 4th Platoon. This was the leanest platoon, manned by only twenty-three troopers.

“They’re too small and don’t have an officer.”

“Don’t worry, sir. They’re in good hands. Too large an ambush will be too noisy, anyway. It’s better to keep the noise over here.”

I agreed with his points, although I was still a bit unsure about Rogers. “Okay, let’s do it. I want to see Rogers to talk about it.”

When I got to know Rogers better, he told me how he had been a truck driver in a logistics unit when his convoy was ambushed. He had distinguished himself by using a machine gun to counterfire into the ambush, breaking it up. When he was decorated he requested to be transferred to the infantry. He said, “If I had to fight anyway, I wanted to be in a fighting outfit.”

When Sergeant Rogers reported to me, I told him simply, “Stay behind when we start moving. When we’re two hundred meters ahead, send a patrol out to observe the trail. Figure out the best site for an ambush. Set up at dusk. Be in position when we stop for the night. Report every hour but keep it brief. Let me know if you need help.”

Sergeant Rogers nodded his understanding and was already briefing his platoon on his plan when we moved.

The 4th Platoon established an automatic, or mechanical, ambush on the trail and covered it by fire from several meters off the trail. An automatic ambush included one or more Claymore antipersonnel mines set up to fire across a trail. A tripwire activated the mine. When the tripwire was touched, the wire pulled a plastic C-ration spoon from a metal clamp, which closed and thus completed an electrical circuit from a radio battery. The charge detonated a blasting cap in the Claymore. Claymores had been designed for manual detonation by a small hand generator, a clacker, which set off the blasting cap inside C4 explosive. The tripwire was the product of U.S. soldiers’ ingenuity.

Setting up such ambushes was dangerous, but the greatest danger was in retrieval. Occasionally the person who had installed the wire became disoriented and accidentally walked into his own camouflaged trap. A Claymore mine was lethal to anyone on the wrong side of it; each mine was labeled “This Side Toward Enemy.”

Bravo Company, minus 4th Platoon, crashed through the brush until it was too dark to see. I wanted to give 4th as much time and noise as possible. If anyone unfriendly was monitoring our progress, I wanted to distract him from the ambush site by our noise.

I spread the rest of the company out into an elliptical perimeter in the heavy brush to wait out the night. I directed that another ambush be established on the trail we had cut in case we were followed. I didn’t permit cooking fires, so cold C-rations and warm drinking water were the sole menu for dinner.

I felt smug as I wrapped up in my poncho liner for protection from the cool night air. I would pull radio duty first, then Royas would take over while I slept. My first day in the field with Bravo had been satisfying. I detected no signs of disputes among the men, and my decisions had been accepted without question. I was pleased with the suggestion Royas made about 4th platoon and congratulated myself for accepting it. I was gaining control of the company in the field, but I knew I was still on probation with the combat veterans until we’d had our first fight. That was okay; these were combat soldiers who had their lives on the line. I hoped they would be skeptical of any newcomer.

Fresh air and quiet were a welcome change from the noise, dust, clutter, and constant activity on a fire base. When Royas took radio duty I dozed lightly. I would wake in an hour to monitor the battalion headquarters net, and to keep an ear tuned to 4th Platoon. I didn’t expect any trouble, but that is when it usually comes.

I was in a half-awake state when a sharp explosion ripped the air. A flash of light briefly lit the dark sky. I glanced at the luminous face of my watch. It was 10:30 P.M., still early. The blast was several hundred meters away, but everyone was instantly alert and ready to react. Royas confirmed that it was the automatic ambush set up by 4th Platoon.

The radio squawked, and the soft voice of Sergeant Rogers whispered into my ear. “Six, this is Four. Over.”

“This is Six. What you got?” I whispered.

“We got something in our ambush; we hear screaming. It could be pigs. Or it could be VC.”

“Four, I want you to check it out. We need to know if it’s VC. I don’t think pigs are out at night; they’re too valuable.”

“Might be wild pigs.”

“Can you get close enough to see?” I asked.

“Six, I don’t think we should move right now. If they have a security force, they’ll be trying to find us.”

I didn’t like leaving the ambush scene unattended all night. If those were only pigs, I needed to know, but I was convinced they were people. If civilians had been caught in the ambush, we needed to call for a medevac, but civilians were unlikely because a curfew was imposed after dark. I was certain we had hit VC on the trail, but I didn’t know how many there were or why they were there. We might save a prisoner for interrogation if we acted quickly. If we left them alone and there were others, all weapons and documents would be removed. My experiences with VC in the Mekong Delta had taught me that. On the other hand, if any other security forces were nearby, my U.S. soldiers would be in danger.

If I’d been on the scene, I would have had to go for a look. But I was 200 meters away, the night was pitch black, and any movement would be noisy. I had assigned this mission to a young sergeant. I faced an important decision: I was inclined to go with my best judgment and order him to check the ambush site, but I also believed I should support the leader with the mission. The man on the ground is supreme; that was a principle I would adhere to during my entire command.

“Four, this is Six. Stay alert and get on top of it at first light. We’ll go north to the trail at the same time. Ensure there aren’t any more Claymores out.”

“Roger, Six.”

Half an hour later, Rogers reported again. “Six, this is Four. Everything is quiet.”

“Four, this is Six. Roger. Good job. Out.”

I calculated the bodies would be dragged away by morning and we would find another blood trail leading nowhere. Having made my decision, I had to report it to Battalion. I had already made a command decision to allow the leader on the ambush site to wait until daylight to investigate. If I reported the ambush to Battalion now, Labrozzi would make the same judgment I had, that the ambush should be checked immediately. If he gave me that order, my own order would be countermanded, or I would have to disobey him, or we would argue all night and I would likely be relieved of command. I decided to sit on the report until we had more information. If pigs had tripped the ambush, they were not worth getting sacked for. I had made my first tactical decision in favor of a subordinate leader, and I was determined to stand by it.

When the first rays of light peeked through, the company was ready to move. I intended to move north, cross the dirt trail, and walk parallel to the trail back to link up with 4th Platoon at the ambush site.

We were still moving toward the main trail when the radio crackled. “Six, this is Four. Over.”

“Four, this is Six. What is it?”

“We have three VC bodies, three 9mm pistols, one M16 rifle, and three packs,” he reported.

My heartbeat quickened. That was significant—three 9mm pistols were very significant! They were not merely Viet Cong; they were important Vietcong.

Now I had a report for battalion: “Rider Six Alpha, this is Gator Six. Over.” I dreaded the reaction. When is good news bad news? I knew my delay in reporting would be questioned. I hoped the good news would overshadow the late report.

“Gator Six, this is Rider Six Alpha,” acknowledged the tactical operations center.

“Rider Six Alpha, situation report follows. Automatic ambush activated at 2230 hours last night on hot east-west trail. First-light reconnaissance found three Viet Cong bodies. Results are three 9mm pistols, one M16 rifle, and three packs captured. Over.”

The company continued to move to link up with 4th Platoon. Ten minutes later the battalion radio net cackled with the voice of the Mad Italian. “Good report, Gator Six. Why didn’t you report sooner?”

“Rider Six, this is Gator Six. I wanted to know what we had. We were in no danger, and we couldn’t check it out until now.”

“You should have checked it out last night!” followed the expected admonishment.

“I’m on the ground and I decided to wait until light. I didn’t want to be second-guessed on it.” I stood my ground. I heard no more from Labrozzi on that subject, but he gave me fair warning that it wasn’t over.

“Garry Owen Five is en route to pick up the goodies in a light chopper. Be ready to explain to him. Can he land there?”

“He can land on the road at the landing zone where we were inserted. I’ll meet him there. Thanks for the warning.”

We linked up with 4th Platoon troopers; they had already gathered the packs and weapons. Sergeant Rogers gave me a tour of the ambush site, including the bodies. My analysis of the kill zone indicated the three VC were passing through on the dirt trail. The one with the rifle was in front for security. The other two followed. Apparently they had been traveling alone. The packs contained the usual food, clothes, and medical supplies, but they were filled with documents, which was a further indication these were important VC.

I took one platoon and hurried down the trail to the landing zone as Garry Owen Five approached in his light helicopter. Garry Owen Five was Col. Morris J. Brady, the division artillery commander, who was in charge of the division forward CP. He knew his stuff and he commanded in much the same style as Labrozzi: kick ass and take names. I knew he had my name and probably intended to kick my ass.

“Gator Six, this is Garry Owen Five, I’m approaching your location. Over.”

“Garry Owen Five, this is Gator Six. I’m at a landing zone with the goodies. I have one platoon for security, so you can land. I’m popping smoke.”

“We have your smoke, Gator Six.” Colonel Brady replied.

The chopper landed, and the captured weapons and packs were loaded for a quick departure. Brady stared at me, then yelled over the noise of the chopper. “Congratulations on a good operation. No complaints there—but you should’ve reported the ambush last night. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I was in command and made a command decision. And I still think it was a good one, sir.” I stood my ground.

“I disagree with you, Captain. I’m responsible for the security of this fire base, and we needed this information sooner. Next time, check out the ambush and report right away.” I knew he had a point, and I even agreed with it, but I had made my decision to support Rogers on the scene. We both had principles to protect. Nevertheless, I did not believe it wise to argue with him.

“Yes, sir.” I saluted.

The chopper flew away and we returned to the ambush site in time to hear Labrozzi report that he was en route in another light helicopter. He was bringing a photographer to take pictures of the dead VC. Someone believed they were important enough to identify. This was serious intelligence gathering.

As I returned to the ambush site, Labrozzi was on final approach. His pilot squeezed onto the trail next to the ambush, and Labrozzi stepped out of his chopper. While the photographer took close-up pictures of the Viet Cong faces, Labrozzi talked to the men of 4th Platoon, congratulating them on their success. I was glad he didn’t raise the reporting issue with them. The buck stopped with me on that one. The decision had been mine alone and I had made it clear that I didn’t intend to argue about it. The good news of our success had helped me this time.

Labrozzi noticed First Sergeant Royas in the field and flipped into his Mad Italian routine. He believed first sergeants were his personal representatives from each company and belonged in camp except when visiting the troops on resupply missions.

“Why is your first sergeant in the field?” He shot the question at me.

I answered, “Another command decision.” I stifled a smile; I knew it wouldn’t work this time.

“You’re making a lot of those in your first week, Captain Taylor.”

“Yes sir. That’s what the army pays me for.” I knew I was sticking my neck out.

“Well, think about your decisions from now on … and talk to me.”

I guessed I had finally driven my point home, but I had crossed swords with both of my higher commanders in the process. Labrozzi seemed to appreciate having a real commander in charge of Bravo Company. I believed the troopers knew I had supported them under pressure. First Sergeant Royas reinforced my thinking by saying he felt he could probably support the company better from the fire base, anyway—meaning that he was confident that I could command the company alone. All of those messages were important to me. I had stood my ground and won. I felt good.

After Labrozzi left I heard the command radio crackle once more.

“Gator Six, this is Garry Owen Five. Over.” I wondered whether Colonel Brady had decided to take another bite out of me.

“Garry Owen Five, this is Gator Six. Over.” I prepared for the worst.

“Six, I came back to let you know this action was important. Congratulations, and thank your men for me.”

“Roger. Out.” I was confounded. He seemed to be saying something in code.

I didn’t discover what it was until a month later, when Labrozzi slipped the intelligence summary into my hands. “Souvenir!” he said. It stated that the dead VC included the colonel who was chief of staff of Military Region 3. A battalion commander and a political officer had accompanied him. Their documents included maps and the details of a VC spy ring inside Camp Gorvad. Several spies were rounded up the same day. I was not told then that the VC had placed a price on my head for these kills. When I found out I was proud to have pushed them to that extent. Unfortunately others would pay the price.

By the time the excitement quieted down, it was nearly noon. We had been distracted for far too long, and if the dead VC were important people we needed to be especially careful. I reiterated that information to my platoon leaders as a warning, though I didn’t think they needed reminding. I sensed they were as anxious as I was to get away from outside attention.

I decided to sweep north of the trail. Several kilometers to the northwest, a patrol found a small underground bunker complex that had been used by the three VC for rest before their demise. White parachute silk lined the earth walls to keep the sleeping bunker clean. A trooper spotted an ammunition can buried nearby. He pulled it up using a rope and grappling hook in case it was booby-trapped. The can was stuffed with more documents, which Labrozzi was more than happy to see recovered. This time the can was pulled up into the chopper by rope because there was no place to land.

We trekked through the area for several more days, but the only other thing we found was a buried 55-gallon drum filled with rice. We destroyed it in place.

Bravo Company was a professional team, and I believed I had been inducted into their ranks. I was tired but proud.

A new order came encrypted over the radio. Bravo Company would be picked up by choppers, returned to Camp Gorvad to resupply, and then reinserted into a new area. Our timetable was disrupted when a helicopter hunter-killer team spotted and killed one VC. Then a mini-fire base took ten 82mm mortar rounds that inflicted nine U.S. casualties. When we were finally picked up just prior to nightfall, it was too dark for a new combat assault insertion. Consequently the alternative plan was implemented: trucking the company out to patrol checkpoints, and then walking in the dark to security positions. I didn’t like the plan, but we were nevertheless in position by midnight.

I was pleased with the results of my first operation with the company. I was firmly established as commander, both with Labrozzi and the troops, and I had confidence in my own experience, training, and intuition. My decisions had been sound, and we had been successful. It was a hell of a start.

July 11, 1970

Darling,

I really don’t mind being back in Vietnam but, damn, I didn’t think it would be so hard to leave you. Vietnam has changed an awful lot and I expect to see more troop withdrawals soon. It is very frustrating to be here fighting a rear guard for withdrawals.

July 13, 1970

I have been so busy I simply haven’t had time to do anything. I hope you will accept this brief letter with understanding and compassion. I am very tired right now, but I feel strong and eager to do a job here. I love you very much, Sandy. I am still waiting to get my first letter.

All my love.