“A large and well-protected bunker complex…was recently the scene of one of the most grueling and bitter firefights faced by 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry Skytroopers since the long, hard days of Cambodia.”

—Pacific Stars and Stripes, 1971

38

Delta Demons

January 28–February 2, 1971

The Delta Company Demons stumbled into an unexpected encounter with the security company of the VC 81st Rear Service Group. Specialist 4 Steve Zolecki, on point, found a trail that looked as though it could accommodate a deuce-and-a-half truck. Staff Sergeant Jesus Carillo moved up to reinforce as the Demons moved into a complex that had been dubbed “Bunker City” in Pacific Stars and Stripes. When Carillo hit a bunker with a fragmentation grenade, enemy fire opened up on all sides, pinning down a squad with .30-caliber machine gun fire. These were NVA troops and they hung on fiercely to the complex.

We listened to the vicious initial contact over the radios in the tactical operations center, searching for ways to help with fire support. In the initial onslaught Delta had five wounded, including the company commander, Capt. “Skip” Rozelle, who had been doing a fine job with Delta. His elbow was shattered, so he had a one-way ticket to Japan—if we could get him out of the jungle.

Another disturbing report quickly followed: one man was missing, along with his radio. That chilling news swept over everyone tuned in to the battle. We simply did not lose our troopers; they might die in battle, but we just didn’t lose them. Leaving Private Green in Cambodia had been too much for Delta to have to relive.

On the ground Earl Wilkes, a medic who had been in the bush only four days, moved about caring for the wounded. Meanwhile a medical evacuation helicopter was dispatched to recover Skip and the others, but heavy ground fire wounded one of the crew. The helicopter, full of holes, fled for survival without recovering the wounded. A flight of F-4 Phantoms with iron bombs circled over the area. We hoped the display of U.S. fire power would swing the fight in our favor before another chopper attempted to go back in. Nevertheless, the second medevac bird encountered heavy ground fire, as well, and took a round in the windshield. It also departed hastily without making the pickup. Another bomb run followed. We were testing the waters in a very risky manner. Meanwhile, the troopers on the ground clung to the periphery of Bunker City as relentlessly as the NVA defended it. Delta was decisively engaged.

The situation didn’t improve much. The command-and-control (C and C) helicopter circled overhead at about 500 feet with Spry aboard, trying to regain control of the battle. But the NVA fighters were persistent. The C-and-C chopper took three hits and lost hydraulic fluid; it barely made it back to Fire Base Green. It landed so hard that the impact bent the skids outward. Fortunately no one was injured in the crash landing, but the command helicopter could fly no further in its damaged condition. A Chinook lifted it out, but a replacement was not immediately available. Delta’s situation appeared to be on the verge of getting out of hand.

From reports and background noise on the radios in the operations center, I could tell that the company was heavily engaged by enemy rifle and machine gun fire. The company was scattered in small groups, unclear about their own situation, much less the enemy’s, and unable to effectively use air strikes. Delta continued to bring helicopters into the threatened environment, further endangering itself and the helicopter crews. A ground commander must make sound decisions under fire, but Skip was incapacitated, and Delta was experiencing a shortage of experienced leadership at that level.

A platoon leader was now in charge. He had taken up to his unwelcome role but was in over his head with the responsibilities thrust on him in this crisis. It was not the lieutenant’s fault, but everyone involved was at risk. At long last a medevac chopper got in to extract Skip and the other wounded. We were relieved by that turn of events, at least.

Radios in the tactical operations center buzzed constantly with gibberish. One man, a radio, and several weapons were still missing. We received frantic calls for help with more fire power, which was available but ineffectively employed. Nevertheless a Shadow gunship, the modernized version of the old Spooky, was scheduled to stay on station all night to provide close fires and flares around Delta’s position. Spooky had saved our ARVN unit several times in my first tour, and I was confident that Shadow could do the job unassisted here. Artillery fires were plotted for defensive purposes and registered in by an airborne forward observer before dark for the acting ground commander.

I huddled in the operations center with the battalion commander, who was grounded after his command helicopter was shot down. We listened to each update from Delta, and were shocked when the lieutenant on the ground released all fire support at midnight. Spry went ballistic. I used the opportunity to give him my assessment that the lieutenant was plainly too inexperienced for the situation. Spry already had a good picture of the tactical situation, but from the viewpoint of the operations center and the C and C helicopter. I tried to paint a clearer picture of the situation on the ground for him based on my personal experience.

“Sir, the company is disorganized,” I began. “Platoons are separated, not linked for a solid defense. One man, a radio, and several weapons are still missing. The lieutenant doesn’t know how to use fire support, so it may be just as well that he dismissed it. He might bring fires on top of the company. More likely, it’d be too far out to be effective.

“They brought in helicopters without security and endangered the crews. We need to get an experienced leader on the ground, before there’s worse trouble.”

Spry nodded. “I’ll relieve the platoon leader, and Colonel Stevenson is sending someone from Brigade to command the company.”

“Don’t punish the lieutenant; he’s at least trying. I think he’s doing the best he can under the circumstances. You need someone to direct actions on the ground. The whole company needs that now—not later.”

“Captain Turner will be here in a couple of days, as soon as he can turn over his other responsibilities.”

I raised my voice in exasperation. “I’m sorry, but that won’t cut it, sir! Those men deserve better. Their lives are at risk. Let me go and help now.”

“No. Absolutely not! You’ll stay here. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

I felt that I had made my case convincingly, but Spry was adamant. A little after midnight I went to my culvert, cleaned my rifle by my dim airfield light, and packed my rucksack. My old instincts had returned; I could see the future, and it included my joining Delta the next morning. I knew that no matter how much Spry meant what he said, he would eventually relent. There simply were no other viable options. I intended to be prepared when he realized it was the right thing to do. I assumed he would discuss his options with the brigade commander first, but both were good soldiers, and neither would endanger the men in Delta needlessly. There had to be incredible moral pressure to locate the missing man. We just do not lose people, even dead soldiers. That was not negotiable.

I was in the operations center early next morning catching up on Delta’s situation and waiting to hear from Spry. Nothing had changed in the field. Even though the battle had quieted down, the picture on the ground was still an ugly one. Faced with the prospects of having the company resume operations and search for the missing man, radio, and weapons, Spry had indeed considered my logical argument. He knew I was the most experienced company commander in the brigade, and the only qualified person available and ready to go immediately. Another life could be lost while we twiddled our thumbs. He had discussed it with Colonel Stevenson in light of the delay in getting Captain Turner ready to take command. But the short-range solution did not change the long-range plan.

Finally he approached me. “Do you really want to go?”

“Absolutely!” I replied with no hesitation as I stood up.

“When can you be ready?” he asked.

“I’m packed,” I replied. “But if I have to rappel, I’ll need to prepare my ropes. Ten minutes.”

Spry looked startled. I guessed he expected to have a longer discussion, or thought maybe I would change my mind, letting him off the hook. Instead I had anticipated his question, and now he was faced with the decision, which he had expected to have more time to consider.

He quickly regained his composure. “I’ve discussed this with Colonel Stevenson,” he told me, “and Captain Turner will assume command in a few days. So don’t get comfortable out there. You’ll get the company organized, find the missing man and equipment, and don’t take any chances!”

I rose to leave. “I understand. Can I go?”

“Go ahead. Take the log bird. And give me a report as soon as you can.”

“Roger that. And thank you, sir.”

I headed for the log bird, which was idling on the pad. I had packed sparingly because I didn’t expect to stay long, but I was surprised how heavy my equipment had become since I’d last carried it. It doesn’t take long to lose jungle footing and strength. Despite the logic of the decision and my desire to go, I doubted I was physically ready. There was no time for lingering doubts, however; I was going, regardless.

Delta still had no landing zone, so the helicopter hovered over a ten-foot-wide clearing between fifty-foot trees. I would use ropes to rappel into the opening in the jungle. I dropped my heavy rucksack on the end of my rappel rope, but I didn’t have a firm grip on the heavy bag and it slipped from my gloved hands and crashed to the jungle floor. Images flashed of the command sergeant major making the same entrance to Bravo on Operation Mercer. I knew how it had looked on the ground then, so I was determined avoid embarrassing myself further on rappel. I remembered how Labrozzi remained under control during his descent, with his head above his feet. I kept that image in mind, determined to do it like Labrozzi.

The crew chief tapped my shoulder. “Drop far enough that you don’t hit your head on the skids,” he advised.

I made it down safely and intact. I felt awkward, and I know it probably amused the people on the ground—or maybe not. The situation on the ground was not very funny.

I found a spot just outside the clearing and sat on my rucksack, which had a broken frame, while the acting commander briefed me on the situation. He really didn’t know the situation as well as he should have, but instead of criticizing I got on the radio with each platoon, informed them I was in command, and found out what they could tell me. The company was split up; not only were the platoons separated, but troopers were separated from their rucksacks. One man was still missing, along with a radio, two rifles, and Skip’s carbine. I got on the battalion net and informed Spry it would take all day just to clean up the confusion, and we would probably be ready to move the next day.

I spent the rest of the day doing just what I had told Spry I would do. We found the missing trooper, who had been killed, as we suspected, and located all the missing equipment. I managed to get the platoons tied together to form a single perimeter. Everyone got his own equipment back, and we conducted an inventory. We evacuated the dead trooper and all the excess equipment through the clearing in the jungle. Then I had the men clean their weapons in shifts.

Next morning was Tet, 1971. This was a momentous anniversary for me, but I kept those thoughts to myself, as I usually did. The morale of the company seemed to have improved already: military order was restored, and confidence had returned. I felt better and reported to Spry that our situation was stabilized. He told me that Captain Turner would be ready to assume command on February 2.

I led the company into the bunker complex where the battle had occurred to search it. We moved very cautiously because the complex was covered with unexploded cluster bombs from the air strikes. I didn’t want casualties from our own munitions. Moving painstakingly into what had been termed in the press as “Bunker City,” we found four dead NVA among strewn clothing, six rucksacks, two AK-47s, a B-40 rocket launcher, three B-40 rockets, eight Chinese grenades, a 25-pound Chinese antipersonnel mine, and a U.S. Claymore mine. I was surprised by the find; normally, the enemy took everything with them when they left. Delta Company had really surprised them—as much as it had surprised itself. This had been a desperate and unexpected fight for both sides. The Delta Demons had acquitted themselves well, individual troopers at the point of battle doing exactly what they know how to do, and with little direction.

After the search, the 2d Platoon established an ambush and killed three NVA out of four, capturing two more AK-47s and all four rucksacks. Despite the fiasco of a few days earlier, this was a good company. They had a long tradition of good commanders like Lee Hyslop and Skip Rozelle. The Delta Demons quickly accepted me and I enjoyed being with them. I only wished it could have been longer.

On February 2 Delta was extracted back to Green. In only a few days I had grown quite attached to the company, but Spry had forewarned me. It was very hard to relinquish control again, although I was never officially commander. However, Captain Turner was waiting for us at the fire base when we arrived. He made a crack about my trying to steal his company. He intended it as a joke, but it really pissed me off. I let it drop. I was leaving a company in combat for the third time, and it felt as bad this time as either time before. I was in no mood for jokes.

Meanwhile, battalion had opened a new FSB named Noble, in honor of the medical platoon leader killed at Camp Gorvad in the attack that killed Jimmy Mercer. The XO, Major Langbein, ran operations from Noble and I was responsible for security, operations, and intelligence at Green.

Mail. A notice arrived from the Department of the Army, informing me I would be going to Fort Hood, Texas, in June. Fort Hood was a large corps-level installation, but I knew that somehow I would get to the new 1st Cavalry Division when I arrived. It was being reorganized as a test triple-capability division, combining the air-mobility lessons of Vietnam with armor and mechanized infantry. I was excited.

I could not have known that when I did report to Fort Hood in August 1971, that Colonel Stevenson had already contacted Maj. Gen. James C. Smith, the commanding general of the new 1st Cavalry Division, easing the way for me.

February 3, 1971

Dearest Sandy,

These are just a few lines to let you know I love you more today than yesterday. Every day I miss you more and more. I received a nice three-page letter from you today. I think by now we must surely be parents, but I just haven’t gotten word yet.

Love.