Just finished reading Hal Moores book: We Were Soldiers Once...and Young. I'd first heard of the battle in the Ia Drang Valley, the "made for the public" version prior to going to Viet Nam. After reading this work, by the men who lived through it I wonder if I really have the right to call myself a Viet Nam veteran?
________

They say that too much of a good thing is still too much. Well too much of the "dittys" is in no way a good thing! Jimmy and I had volunteered for Viet Nam expecting to fight. Over the first few months in country we had "1049d" every chance we got. I recall that we volunteered to become guards on convoys, gunners on helicopters...you name it we tried to get in on it. Essentially we spent a considerable amount of time spinning our wheels and months later still found ourselves at Phu Bai. Jimmy was finally able to wrangle a move to a radio direction finding (RDF) outfit.

RDF is a means of locating a radio transmitter. The RDF operator uses a directional antenna and equipment capable of measuring the strength of the received signal. When the signal is at it's strongest, the antenna is pointed directly at the target radio. The operator knows that the transmitter is along that compass bearing. This is called a "line bearing", actually not much good as that radio could be anywhere from 10 feet to 10,000 miles along that line! However, if three or more RDF operators work a station at the same time, each obtaining a unique line bearing to the target the location can be plotted on a map. The individual line bearings cross at the transmitter's location. Placing the RDF op and his equipment on a helicopter made him even more effective.

I don't remember why I didn't follow Jimmy at that point. I did find a home as a perimeter guard. It wasn't what I wanted but it was considerably closer to the action than sitting at my radio had been.

The compound where we worked had it's own perimeter defenses. Again, this was an old French base, arranged in the shape of a many pointed star. Each point of the star was connected by a trench to a series of "star-bunkers." The bunkers were newer, constructed of 6", steel-reinforced concrete and had both observation and firing levels. The trenches were about shoulder high for me with sides lined by woven matts which kept the dirt from falling in. The trenchline snaked around the compound, angled every few meters so that inhabitants in one section would not be injured from an explosion in an adjacent section. I destroyed all my slides years ago, however, there are some images here.

I spent alittle time on the compound's perimeter but quickly moved to a section of the outer perimeter. The image at the link above, entitled "Phu Bai Perimeter, 1969" will give you an idea of what these bunkers looked like. Can you say "shovel sand?" The bunkers sat on a high berm, looking out on an open field. To the side of each bunker was a gun pit where the M-60 machine gun lived. The bunker was a big, very visible target. Placing the gun in the pit moved it a short distance away and allowed a better field of fire. The bunker was a great place to hide, but not such a great place to fight from.

The bunker was essentially a small shelter with firing port to the front. On top was a sandbagged area for a guard to sit and observe the area in front. We piled row after row of sandbags in front and to the sides. They would stop small arms but we were more concerned with hits from a rocket propelled grenade (RPG) So we really loaded on the sandbags. Eventually a steel fence was placed on the most likely approaches. The hope was that the fence would detonate the RPG before it hit the bunker.

Down the berm in front of the bunker were rows of barbed wire called "concertina wire." These are essentially interlocking rolls of barbed wire. To their front was single stranded wire, secured at about ankle height and given the name "tangle-foot" wire. Barbed wire is not going to stop an attack; it can be blown, cut or bridged. What it does do is to slow the attacker down or push him into a desired space. Either of these strategies makes him a better target for your M60 or rifle. To make life more interesting for unwanted visitors the wire contains noise makers, illumination devices or various types of anti-personal mines.

During my tour we had 3 men to each bunker. One man on guard on top, a second in the gun pit and the last man in the bunker itself. Depending on the level of alert, only the man on the bunker had to stay awake. In the pit, I slept with a 6" fighting knife lodged in a sandbag beside me.

We usually pulled 4 hours shifts as I remember. You quickly learned not to focus on any given point at night. If you did you would soon be certain something was moving out there. The best strategy was to defocus your eyes and just scan, watching for any sign of movment. I took the job very seriously. I had heard that someone from our unit, at another location, had gone to sleep on guard duty. As the story went, Viet Cong sappers crawled past him to kill a large number of the people he was supposed to be guarding with satchel charges. My biggest fear was that someone would somehow get behind me and slit my throat. What frightened me the most was that I would die without being able to sound the alarm. So, for my four hours I sat with a round chambered, the safety off and my finger on the trigger. I hoped that I would, by reflex, be able to get off one round to alert others.

As the weeks went by I was moved into the commanders bunker, to operate his radios. One of my jobs each night was to periodically inspect the bunkers.

Here I encountered the origin of my anger towards the men I served with. I do not believe I ever inspected the line without finding at least one bunker with all inhabitants asleep. More often than not most of the bunkers were asleep. I didn't feel 4 hours was too long to ask a man to remain awake, particularly when so many lives could depend on him. Maybe I was a fool, maybe we were never in any danger. I guess I really don't care. We had a job to do, to protect the men and women who slept within the perimenter. To many of those soldiers the whole thing was a joke. To me it was not. Not then, not now.

Some nights the radio would carry the warning that something was out there, moving our way. Whatever or whoever it was, our section of the perimeter was never hit. But they were nights full of fear, the taste of fear... and not but a small amount of bargining with your God.

 

 

 

Revised: 15 April 02
20:12 hrs