November 12, 1970

Dearest Sandy,

One thing I do know. I hate spending Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s out here in War Zone D. If I could only be with my family for that, I would be very happy. I love you very much, Darling, and with only 230 days left, I think of you more every day.

—Richard

35

Back to Bravo

November 1970

As I feared, the company had changed in my absence. Its leaders had changed tactics, and the troopers had developed sloppy habits. It was not the same outfit as before. But this happens to the best of units in a leadership vacuum, especially when people are coming and going every week. I had left unexpectedly three weeks earlier, knowing the infusion of replacements would create lack of unity in the organization. The patrol incident on the day I was wounded had already indicated as much. I could not squelch it then, but I had to deal with it now. I had to reverse a corrosive trend. Lives depended on it.

Facing this new challenge, I was concerned that the company might be suspicious of my leadership following the ambush: either afraid that I had lost my touch or would make an irrational decision. After three weeks’ absence I’d become a stranger in my own company. A new commander gets the benefit of the doubt, but I no longer felt this was “my” company, and I had to reclaim the position of leadership to continue as commander. Bravo and I had both changed, so I had to reshape my style and the company to a new mission and a changed situation.

An unexpected test of my resolve came to me in short order. Doubts about the war had seeped into my mindset while I was in the rear. Contemplating my soldiers, war protesters at home, personal loneliness, and continuing unit withdrawals affected my perspective about our continued presence. I had new doubts about the usefulness of tramping through the jungle. I was not afraid of combat, even after the ambush, but I harbored stronger misgivings about the purpose of a war that my country no longer seemed interested in winning. I knew we would adapt to what we were asked to do, but I recognized my personal reservations about putting these soldiers at risk. Was the United States sufficiently committed to justify placing lives in jeopardy? It was not a question of right or wrong, it was a matter of commitment.

I had sensed an attitude that the war was over in the rear. I had not recognized those thoughts while I was there, but they were clear from the perspective of the jungle. We were an army in retreat, verified by units’ departing the battlefield. At our level the mission was to find the enemy and kill him, disrupt his operations, and capture and destroy his supplies. At division and higher levels the mission was to delay until a settlement could be worked out in Paris. At home, the country was divided. Pressures to withdraw came from elsewhere, not from the battlefield. We were winning on the battlefield, but losing on Main Street.

November 14, 1970

Dear Sandy,

My spirit really isn’t in it like it should be. It seems everywhere you look everything is negative as far as the war goes. We haven’t lost the war, but we seem to have lost the cause. Right now, I just feel like I am marking time. I’m just not motivated for this thing anymore. It isn’t that I like the army any less, or my job—it is just that it seems pointless to stay here any more.

Strategically we were bargaining chips in Paris. In War Zone D, Bravo Company kept the enemy at bay so others could go home. This was a retrograde operation. Increased safety procedures, limits on flying time, and the shrinking pool of replacements confirmed my beliefs about where the war was headed. In such a situation rumors prevailed. So what were we to do? I felt we had to continue with aggressive operations, or complacency would take over. Once a fighting organization becomes complacent it is ripe for ambush, attack, or accident. The situation we faced was more psychological than physical: if the war was over in our minds, then we would certainly be defeated in battle. We continued our mission aggressively, but cautiously, to avoid endangering lives needlessly.

Driving rains dampened our spirits as well as our clothes. I worried about cracking branches and crashing trees in monsoon storms. Not even a hot meal could cheer me up. I was depressed by my conclusions and the direction we were taking, but I was careful not to let others see it. I wore a soldier’s mask—a war face—to conceal my doubts. When I gave orders for new patrols, I wondered whether they could see my true feelings in my face or hear them in my voice. I was determined that no one would.

Late in the year, Wendell S. Merick, a reporter for U.S. News & World Report, visited Green to report on “Sagging Morale in Vietnam: Eyewitness Report on Drugs, Race Problems and Boredom.” The report didn’t appear until late January 1971, but it upset me immeasurably, partly because of the truths it revealed publicly while I was trying to avoid exposing my own doubts.

The most persistent enemy a soldier faces these days is not Communists—it’s boredom. With the war ebbing slowly away, one day merges into the next. GI’s resent being exposed to combat in a war no American has any intention of winning. Even so, many prefer fighting to dull garrison duty, and more than one infantryman would trade the “spit and polish” life at a relatively safe headquarters for a jungle patrol.

A platoon approached a stream with steep banks on both sides. To cross, Lt. Ed Sweeney sent a squad ahead to secure the far side, exactly as I would have done. As the pointman climbed over the top, a Viet Cong soldier shot him in the stomach. After a brief fire fight, the shooter escaped and we evacuated the wounded man. This was the first casualty we had taken since I returned. I was upset, but Mad Anthony was furious. He was convinced that Sweeney had made a mistake. I defended his decision to Labrozzi because I didn’t see any other way to conduct the crossing. Labrozzi couldn’t seem to get over it. I wondered whether he was having the same doubts about the high cost in casualties. But I knew we would continue to endure casualties as long as armed men walked the jungle stalking one another.

I quickly lost the ten pounds I had gained, but my ankle bothered me more than I had anticipated. The doctor had been right to restrict me as long as he had. I could feel the fragment working around as I walked about—a constant warning of the danger around us. I sat on my rucksack at every opportunity instead of walking around to talk to my troops. Maybe that was a good thing, considering my true feelings.

After finding a high-speed bicycle trail—four feet wide and covered with bamboo mats, slicing through dense jungle—Bravo was alerted to move back to FSB Durall. I accompanied two platoons there, while the other two went to Fire Support Base Connell. Battalion planned to reopen Green and close Durall. After five days on base security Bravo made a combat assault to follow more trails. We seemed to be on a merry-go-round, going around and around but getting nowhere.

One of the worst things is when we lose a guy, somebody getting killed. We’re a lot closer being in small units, so everybody knows everybody else. And you feel it when somebody gets it.

On Thanksgiving Day we followed a large trail indented with elephant tracks. I wheezed with a chest cold, but we wanted to catch the elephant, so we pushed hard. I didn’t want to stop chasing it for our Thanksgiving meal. None of us wanted helicopters to mark our location either. When the log bird arrived I refused the meal. I was afraid a reminder of Thanksgiving Day would create sadness. The arrival of a family holiday in the war zone was unwelcome, from my point of view. The helicopter left with our meal.

Before long, the log bird returned with the battalion S-4 aboard. I really appreciated the S-4, but it was a thankless job, probably right up there with headquarters commander.

“Gator Six, this is Mushroom Four. I’m en route with your Thanksgiving meal and we’ll kick it out. Pop smoke. Over.”

“Negative,” I replied. “We’re on a hot trail and we don’t want to give away our position. Over.”

“Gator Six, I have orders to deliver the meal. The cooks worked hard to make it special. Pop smoke and we’ll drop it and be out of here.”

“Negative. We’re not in position for it today.”

“Gator Six, you have to take it! If I go back with it, the Mad Italian will kill me. He sent me personally to deliver it. If you don’t take it, I’ll drop it in the jungle for the VC, but I’m not taking it back. Over.”

I thought while the helicopter circled. I didn’t want to make that decision.

“Smoke is out,” I relinquished. “My compliments to the chef …. Thanks, Four.” I wasn’t sure if I relented in sympathy for him in appreciation for the efforts of the cooks, or whether I really wanted us to receive the Thanksgiving meal after all. I certainly didn’t want Labrozzi to deliver it himself on the next bird. I wondered whether I had been selfish. Anyway I hoped the men would enjoy it.

The meal was wonderful even though we squeezed it from elephant rubbers. It was complete with printed menus bearing a message from General Abrams. Some of the guys made jokes about catching the elephant to give him the rubbers.

Later I read an article in Pacific Stars and Stripes about Sergeant Tee Shaw, who had wanted to rejoin his unit, Bravo Company, 1st of the 7th Cavalry, for Thanksgiving, but couldn’t because the company didn’t have an LZ. Shaw said, “I just wanted to spend Thanksgiving with my buddies.” I was touched when I realized that Shaw was aboard the helicopter helping with the delivery, trying to catch a glimpse of his buddies—his only family-on Thanksgiving Day.

  Commander’s Thanksgiving Message

This Thanksgiving Day we find ourselves in a foreign land assisting in the defense of the rights of free men. This has placed you a long way from home on a holiday that is historically a family affair. Traditionally, Thanksgiving means attendance at your neighborhood church, a visit with friends and family, watching your favorite college football game and a dinner with turkey and pumpkin pie. The day also stands for much more—a nation founded on the principles of hard-won freedom, a grateful nation with equal opportunities for all. We should never forget that in Vietnam our actions defend free men everywhere. We pray that our efforts will lead to peace in the world and the opportunity to return to our own land and loved ones in the near future.

Creighton W. Abrams

General, United States Army

Commanding