TWELVE

IN EARLY NOVEMBER we were asked to support and do some reconnaissance work for the 1st Division, which was just coming into country. One time, after being on the ground all day working on a 1st Division operation, I was pulled off a chopper at Bien Hoa and told to call Saigon. I was bushed. I got on the phone, then I jumped into a jeep and took off for the hour-and-fifteen-minute drive to the city. I arrived at MACV headquarters having come right off a field operation. I was wearing my jungle costume and was filthy.

After I reported to Colonel Gregory, he showed me some aerial recon photos. “What does this look like to you, Major?”

“It looks to me, sir, like a road with a pile of gravel next to it.”

He showed me another photo.

I said, “That’s a road with no gravel.”

Colonel Gregory agreed. “We want you, Major, to go up to Pleiku, find this road, and tell us why the VC is using gravel.” I became angry. I told him I didn’t have a hundred DELTA teams: “I have only a handful and right now I’m in the middle of an operation. Damn it, don’t you think it’s sort of dumb to call me up here tonight. All you’ve got to do is pick up the phone, call II Corps and ask Colonel Mataxis to task the Special Forces right there in the area to do the job.”

All of a sudden I felt a hand come around my shoulder. I turned around and there stood Brig. Gen. William DePuy, MACV’s ops officer. He was wearing a T-shirt, fatigues, and jump boots. I had a lot of respect for this no-nonsense general who soaked up work like a sponge. DePuy quietly told me to go into his office. After I’d shut the door, I heard him take this colonel apart. He told Gregory he’d used poor judgment and that he should have called Pleiku instead. Then it was my turn.

General DePuy came into his office, closed the door, and tore my ass up. He made it clear he didn’t appreciate my coming into his shop and conducting myself the way I had and that I should never talk to a senior officer that way. He went on like this for several minutes. “Sit down,” he said finally. Then he smiled and asked how Project DELTA was doing. The special recon project was actually his baby; his office gave us our missions. We talked for a while about DELTA, and then he asked me if there was something I needed. I thought for a moment, then asked for two Air Force FACs (forward air controllers) to be assigned to me. I needed them to work for me. Wherever DELTA went, it seemed we always had to borrow someone else’s. These were the guys who directed the fighter sorties when we were in trouble. They were fellas you really wanted in your pocket. General DePuy agreed, and DELTA got its own FACs.

Christmas came and went and we continued to do business with the 1st Division and with Timothy’s Traveling Troubles—the 1st Brigade (Separate) 101st Airborne Division—named after their CO, Brig. Gen. James S. Timothy. During this time I tried to make DELTA as autonomous as the 5th Special Forces Group would permit. I wanted my own reaction rifle companies, my own choppers and pilots, my own FACs. I had learned that from the SAS. They taught me if I was going to do something unique, something very dangerous, then I better have all my own horses. When your life and those of your people are the stakes, you don’t want to have to depend on strangers. I ran my small DELTA ops center on each operation precisely the same way 22 SAS would have run it in Malaya. I ran it out of a little tent. Nothing fancy. Just efficient. I wasn’t interested in eyewash.

I felt you led a unit two ways. I’d seen commanders who led by persuasion, and I saw leaders who led by example. I thought the best was a combination. I had a rule that I wouldn’t ask anyone to do anything I hadn’t done or wasn’t prepared to do. I also worried a lot about my guys. Coming back from a mission briefing in Saigon my guys would always meet me at Nha Trang. “What’s the form, sir?” “The one we’ve got coming up,” I’d say, “is going to be a bad one. We’re gonna get some people hurt, I’m afraid. We gotta look at it closely.” “Aw, shit, sir,” they’d say, “you say that every time.”

We came back from Christmas. We’d had a big cookout. We somehow came up with a couple of hogs, located some beer, and invited all the nurses over from the evac hospital. The camp we were building was nearly completed. The 5th Special Forces Group’s executive officer. Jim Vail, accused me of spending too much money. I thought it was a cheap shot. He was living on the fat side of the group headquarters. Some things in the Army never change. I learned early to look out for my own unit. No one else would if I didn’t.

When I arrived in Project DELTA I noticed we didn’t have but a couple of vehicles and the ones we had were in bad condition. So I put the word out to the guys. Whenever we’d go on an operation in another corps area, we’d usually go in a C-130 aircraft. We would never fill up the entire aircraft. In the new area everyone would sort of look around at all those new jeeps, just sitting there, unlocked. Whenever we came back from an operation we’d always return in the C-130 with one or two new jeeps. Before you knew it, we had a pretty good-sized motor pool. Of course, we had to change bumper markings and things like that. I was finally told, in a real nice way, that my motor pool was large enough and it should stop growing—at once.

I don’t guess we were the neatest unit in the Army. All I cared about was making sure everybody had sufficient uniforms. When I first entered the Army, I used to spend hours polishing boots. After I left England I wasn’t the same. In Project DELTA I couldn’t care less for spit and polish.

We were a fraternity of the cream of the crop in the 5th Special Forces. We had a very tight bond. I believe that loyalty runs up and it runs down. I learned that presenting someone a 9mm Browning pistol or a Rolex GMT watch with his name on it wasn’t the name of the game. You should reward people with a promotion, with another stripe.

I learned something at Plei Me: Human life is the most precious thing on earth. I didn’t want to waste any of it by being stupid. This didn’t cause me to be too cautious, but it did teach me to sit down and weigh the risks. If you were going to lose lives on an operation, that operation had better be worth it.

In the New Year of 1966 I looked around, surveyed where we were. I learned DELTA had obtained a very good reputation. DELTA had gotten away with a lot. It was just a matter of time before the percentages caught up with us. You didn’t have to be a riverboat gambler to know that. When you hung your ass out as often as we did, it was just a matter of time. I believed this about the guys, but not about myself. I’d become convinced that I was indestructible. After Plei Me I figured I could walk through fire with impunity.