One Day in Viet Nam, 1967, Anonymous

From MemoryArchive

Who: Anonymous
What: One day in Vietnam
When: 1967
Where: Vietnam

ONE DAY IN VIETNAM

5TH SEPTEMBER 1967- EARLY IN THE morning we caught a flight on a C130 plane via Pleiku, An Khe to Quinhon. At the 45th Engineer Group (Construction) under the 18th Engineer Brigade unit an officer introduced us to the local PIO (Public Information Office). One of their staff was to go with us. We checked out a 3/4 ton truck from the motor pool and started for a civic action project located at a village called Go Boi, about 15 or 20 miles from the main base at Quinhon.

Civic action programs basically were civilian aid programs directed toward the Vietnamese civilian population. They were designed to win the hearts of the Vietnamese through peaceful means. Go Boi was boasted as one of the most successful of these civic action programs.

The day was hot and muggy, but at least the sun was shining and it was not raining. Lopez, Moody and I rode in the rear of the 3/4 ton truck, Go Boi our destination.

As we drove along, and the breeze hit our faces, it reminded me of riding out to the hay field in the back of a pickup.

We took an artery road from the main road. It was more of a path than a road.

In the rice paddies alongside the road we could see Vietnamese farmers busy doing fieldwork. As we drove a few miles along this road, passing rice paddy after rice paddy, we noted that we no longer saw farmers working in the fields.

Baskets and primitive tools left unattended on the ridges between the rice paddies led us to believe the farmers had left their fields in a hurry. In Asia it was unusual to see personal property unattended.

The farther we drove on the road, the more it became apparent something was wrong. The driver slowed down as we approached a small hamlet.

Suddenly, the driver stopped. Immediately we grabbed rifles and jumped out of the back of the truck. Something was wrong. We were in the middle of a village, fires used for cooking were burning, and not a soul in sight.

We split up. The PIO officer continued to drive slowly, one of us walked in front of the truck and two of us walked the sides of the road.

In about ten minutes we saw someone coming across a rice paddy with a rifle. It was an ARVN (Army Of The Republic Of Vietnam) troop. We also observed fresh mortar holes in and around the rice paddies.

After language barrier difficulty, we managed to deduct that Viet Cong had mortared the area approximately 45 minutes before we arrived and they were believed to be still in the immediate vicinity.The mortar attack was why the farmers and villagers had left their fields and homes.

This hamlet was fairly close to Go Boi, so we decided to continue on to the civic action project with caution. The mortar attack had occurred at least 45 minutes ago. Hit and run was a common tactic of the Viet Cong, so we thought it was unlikely they would shell the area again right away , especially with ARVN troops in the area. The attack was probably intended to scare the locals, not to do them physical harm.

Upon arrival at Go Boi we were greeted by a crowd of giggly young girls and curious old men. We observed no young or middle aged men in the village.We were concerned about this, but not alarmed, they could have been out in the fields working.

The PIO officer had a polaroid camera. He took a picture of an old woman with grey hair and black teeth and gave it to her. Soon everyone in the village crowded around the soldier to see the magic device that mirrored the image that looked into it.

Old ladies began pulling on his sleeve, jabbering in Vietnamese. First pointing to the camera, then to themselves.

'"'This camera will make more friends a hell of a lot easier and faster than $10,000 worth of aid. Not only that, but the Viet Cong can't lay claim to giving them what I do. Villagers say 'The American with the magic box, my friend gave me this','"' remarked the PIO officer.

Lopez moved around the village taking pictures. I sat down and made a few quick sketches not totally convinced it was worth the trip.

It wasn't long and I heard a woman scream and a lot of loud chattering. Lopez, who had walked outside the village, called for us to come at once.

The road from the village ran parallel to a rice paddy which was approximately 12 feet lower than the road. A steep grassy incline stretched from the top of the road into the rice paddy.

A crowd had gathered on the roadside as I ran toward Lopez. He was in the ditch pushing on a cart. At the bottom of the grassy incline was an old two wheeled cart partially immersed in muddy rice paddy water. The cart was tilted back.A small horse harnessed to the cart was laying on its side. Apparently, as the cart had tilted back, the horse had somehow been thrown off its feet and pinned to the ground.

The horse was thrashing about, squealing in furious fright to regain its balance. A Vietnamese man stepped up and freed the horse from the cart.

Lopez was already at the back of the cart trying desperately to tilt the cart forward to its proper balance position.

Lopez yelled, '"'Hurry, come over here.'"'

In a moment I saw why Lopez was so excited and desperate. An old Vietnamese woman was pinned between the murky rice paddy water and the cart.

We all ran over to assist Lopez. Together we easily lifted the cart. The woman scrambled free and stood up.She just stood their with a frightened look on her face.

She was obviously terrified, but otherwise uninjured. Had the same thing happened on hard ground she might have been seriously injured.

Only minutes after we returned to the village area we heard automatic weapon fire. It sounded like it might be a half mile away.

Quinhon, where we had come from, was the nearest support unit. It was at least 20 miles away. I wasn't even real sure where we were in relation to where we had come from. Three artists and one PIO officer in the boondocks. We were sitting ducks and we had no business being there without support.

We had no radio, but we did have a large radio antennae on the truck. We hoped the antennae would fool any enemy observers into believing we had the capability to call in air strikes or other support. We didn't, of course.

We could still hear the clatter of automatic weapons in the distance. It was not directed at us, but we decided it best to leave and without any further discussion we jumped in the truck and headed back to Quinhon. I never thought I would become a connoisseur of radio antennas, but I did. This one was a nice one, real nice.

SAFELY BACK at Quinhon a decision needed to be made. We had to decide whether to return to Long Bien (our headquarters) or stay over night in Quinhon and return to Long Bien in the morning. The consensus was that it would screw our schedules up if we didn't go back. All of us had plans for visiting other units in the next day or two, so we went to the airstrip to see if we could catch a ride to the Long Bien area.

A Korean troop plane was going to Tonsonhut Airport in Saigon. Long Bien was only a few miles out of Saigon. Our plan was to take this Korean troop plane to Tonsonhut and take our chances at hitching another ride from Tonsonhut to Long Bien.

When we arrived at Tonsonhut Airport we discovered the night curfew had been put into effect. This meant that all non essential and regular traffic was halted until morning. We were informed that special unscheduled flights were still being made on a random basis, and we could sign up in hopes that one of these flights was going to Long Bien.

We showed our travel orders and signed up on a waiting list. I suggested that we go over to the EM(Enlisted Mens) Club and get something to eat while we waited. It was close to the landing area and I was sure we could hear any incoming air traffic from there.

Moody and Lopez said they didn't want to go. After confirming that my name was on the waiting list I went over to the club by myself.

About 11 p.m. I went back to the helicopter pad waiting area. Moody and Lopez were sitting on the floor. Still no flights to Long Bien.

I settled on the floor next to Moody and Lopez thinking we might spend the night at this helicopter pad. I was tired and anxious to get back to the barracks.

About 1 am the soldier at the desk says '"'hit the deck, the chopper coming in has room for live bodies.'"'

I could hear the distinctive plop, plop, plop sound of a distant helicopter. Dust flew up as it landed. I grabbed what gear I had, ran out to the pad and jumped in one of the doors. Lopez and Moody did the same. A pilot, co-pilot , a door gunner and a carrier were on board.

Immediately the engine revved up and the chopper started to lift off from the pad. Picking us up seemed to be the only reason they had landed.

As I scrambled to situate myself in the center of the floor I realized why the duty soldier had said '"'they have room for live bodies'"'.

Plastic sacks piled on top of each other were stretched across the floor, sacks shaped and about the same size as sleeping bags. I don't know how many bags were there, but there was a lot of them. The smell inside the chopper was repulsive. The sacks contained KIAs (Killed In Action).

Blood or some sort of liquid had spilled on the grated metal floor of the helicopter. The carrier mumbled something about not being careful when loading the body-bags. One bag had been punctured, leaking some of its liquid contents onto the floor. A punctured bag also probably accounted for the strong odor.

Moving faster and faster the chopper lunged forward as it lifted from the pad. The doors were wide open, the night air flowed freely through the helicopter, and still the smell lingered.

We didn't bother to strap ourselves in, we just huddled together, back to back, knees drawn to our chest, in the center of the floor. We were situated so we could all see out the open doors of the huey helicopter.

I looked down and could see the organized lights of Tonsonhut runway and the unorganized lights of Saigon. Far off in the distant horizon, continuous flashes of light contrasted the black sky. Bright bursts of light from flares, bombs, mortar and artillery.

The clatter of the rotor blades rang in my ears. The carrier didn't say anything, neither did we. I looked past my feet where the plastic bags held dead bodies. Yesterday the occupants of these bags were vibrant, enthusiastic young soldiers.

It was hot, yet chills ran up and down my body.

Who were they?

I didn't ask who they were, or where or how they had been killed.

Not my relatives. In my family, I was the only one in the service, but they were someone's relatives, someone's father, brother, son or cousin. Maybe even someone's mother, sister or daughter.

Still, I cared. I knew in my heart they were my relatives, they were my brothers and I cared.

Even before the chopper had settled firmly on the Long Bien landing pad, I leaped out the open door to solid ground. I didn't want to stay in that chopper any longer than I had to.

Leaving the landing pad Lopez, Moody and I went to a nearby medical dispensary and called for MPs to come and take us to our barracks.

The dispensary stayed open all night. While we waited, the soldiers on duty offered us coffee and chatted with us.

The ground between the dispensary and our barracks was not completely secured. Only a couple of nights before, a jeep had been ambushed by Viet Cong supporters.

After emotions that were stirred up by my flight from Tonsonhut, this meant nothing.

About 2:30 am the MPs delivered us safely at the door of our barracks.

I didn't even wash. I was tired and depressed. I knew I smelled, but I also knew I smelled better than the KIA's in the body bags. I just wanted to crawl in my bunk and go to sleep, it had been a very long day.