“South Vietnamese troops, supported by heavy U.S. airpower and artillery fire, cross into Laos for an extensive assault known as Operation Lam Son 719 on the Ho Chi Minh Trail.”

—The Vietnam War Day by Day

39

News from Home

February 1971

I waited impatiently for official news to confirm what I already suspected. At 3:30 P.M., Colonel Stevenson arrived at Green with an American Red Cross representative. He gleefully informed me that I was the father of a nine-pound boy named Richard Scott Taylor. “Both Scott and his mother are doing fine.” I was relieved to know that much.

Finally the momentous event was verified, but I was still unsure about all the ramifications. I didn’t know much about being a quality father, or husband for that matter. I would learn on the run—like I had learned to command an air cavalry company in combat. The fact that I didn’t understand everything did nothing to quash my unabashed delight. The first box of cigars was gone instantly as I joyfully handed them out to everyone I knew, whether they smoked or not. I ordered another box for Bravo Company.

I learned later that Sandy’s mother had died at almost the same moment Scott was born, a stark reminder that the interval between crib and grave is brief and tenuous. I was very concerned about Sandy’s state of mind and how she would cope with her mother’s loss while caring for a new baby. I was powerless to do anything, isolated and out of touch as I was. Until then Vietnam had been reality, and home just a dream. Suddenly another world was thrust sharply back into focus, imposing a new reality. Meanwhile I was trapped in a continuous nightmare far from my dream.

I squandered a day at FSB Noble as a diversion from my altered focus. Noble sat atop a small mountain with a panoramic view of higher peaks to the north. However, the terrain consisted of heavy red clay, which turned to thick dust in the dry season until monsoon rains transformed it to sticky red paste. When the clay was wet, our boots adhered to terra firma and walking was difficult. I watched a soldier step off with a bare foot, leaving a boot stuck in the mud.

However, the clay was dry this month, and every thing or person was covered with red dust. It was difficult to discern features of people and equipment from the ground because all were the same red hue.

A mangy, crippled, ignoble old dog was one permanent inhabitant of Noble. The dog lapped up beer and stayed drunk all day because people were continually sharing. The mutt stumbled around looking for his next drink, or slept where he dropped.

Master Sergeant Kress handled intelligence functions at Noble, but when he and Major Langbein left for R&R, I returned as base commander. Approaching Noble by air, I spotted the base from miles away by a tall red dust cloud. Something had to be done about the dust after a helicopter nearly crashed and others refused to land due to safety concerns created by the dust. We spread a cover of oil on the ground to hold the dust down.

General Burton visited Noble with Colonel Stevenson. They graciously invited Spry and me to join them on a trip to Bravo Company, which had discovered a fortified enemy base camp. We were going to investigate. I found the hill forgettable but thoroughly enjoyed my reunion with old comrades in Bravo. I yearned for our lost purpose in Vietnam.

Heart-warming news arrived in the mailbag. A card from Sandy contained a poem about little boys, along with Scott’s footprint in ink on a piece of paper. I was surprised and touched. Sandy was having trouble getting her military pay allotment for the two of them to live on. Because of the baby, I was given a high priority for a MARS call. As usual I could not get through via MARS, even with priority, so I made a commercial call instead. Sandy was upset about the pay, and I understood why: she now had serious additional expenses, as well as rent and other needs. I was puzzled how pay could stay snarled for months.

Sandy had also taken a roommate to help with the rent. That annoyed me, especially because I knew I was not adequately caring for my own family. Even though she was fine, except for the money, and Scott was growing. A strange sentiment emanated from her real-world troubles that reached me even in the combat zone; I felt her vulnerability and my powerlessness. I went to Bien Hoa and pleaded with a pay clerk to fix it for me. A copy of our marriage license and Scott’s birth certificate, both colored by red clay stains, finally solved the problem.

By the middle of February, the battalion had closed Green and moved to an old fire base known as Aries, originally constructed by 1st of the 12th Cavalry. Changing bases is dangerous because troopers, communications, and firepower are split between two bases. This time we were stretched even thinner because Noble was still functioning. Now we had three bases to protect! One company worked on the new base and another was split between the other two. That left only two companies for patrols, with no emergency reserve.

On a lighter note, a CH-47 converted to a flying store—the flying PX—landed at Noble, and I went on a shopping spree. I bought a photo album to protect the photos Sandy sent. Red dust had covered my pictures, and they became moist in the humidity and stuck together. I was wearing out the pictures, looking at them so often. I loved them and hoped we could make a go of it when I got back to the States. I was uncertain; Sandy and I had been through tough times that year.

Scott had become ill and my mother was helping Sandy with him. My father wrote, “Scott looks like a general, but sounds like a drill sergeant!” I wanted to go home.

February 5, 1971

Darling Sandy,

I knew today was the day as soon as I woke up this morning. My sixth sense seldom fails me and all the other days were just waiting, but today I knew the news was coming.

I love you, Sandy, and thank you for the greatest gift of my whole life.

Always.