Death in the Jungle (37 page)

The Boston Whaler crew took me to the Khem Lon River, and I transferred to the LCPL, where my bandage was changed. Since I was feeling fine and there was minimal bleeding, I told the crew chief I didn’t want to go back to the LST until the mission was over and my teammates had been extracted. He granted me my wish. We sat and waited, along with the Boston Whalers and the PBRs, for about thirty minutes. Then Mr. Marcinko radioed the PBRs for extraction, and the boats responded immediately.

When everyone from SEAL Teams 1 and 2 was aboard the boats, we all headed back to the USS
Jennings County
and relative safety. I went to sick bay, where my shoulder was examined by a doctor. After considering the alternatives, they decided to leave the
shrapnel in my shoulder, saying they would do more harm to my muscles than good by cutting into me. With my approval, one of them simply stitched the entry wound and released me.

I returned to the troop quarters and climbed into my upper bunk. Lying on my back, I closed my eyes and relaxed, enjoying the air conditioning. I was almost asleep when Martin called my name.

“Hey, Mr. Purple Heart,” he said from below my rack. “Wake up and receive your reward.”

I opened my eyes and halfway sat up. Moki reached toward me with the Russian M 1891 Mosin-Nagant rifle in his left hand.

“All the guys decided you should have this since you got wounded gettin’ it,” he informed me. I gripped the stock and took the rifle.

Setting the rifle on the bunk alongside me, I mumbled, “I don’t know what to say.”

Martin chuckled. “Try ‘thank you.’ That usually works.”

I grinned. “Okay. Thanks, mate.”

My good friend Moki Martin turned and began walking away.

“Moki!” I hollered after him. When he looked back, I said, grinning, “Try ‘you’re welcome.’ That usually works.” We chuckled together, then Martin gave me a little wave of the hand and left.

As I lay back down, my left arm brushed against the expropriated rifle. I rolled my head to the side on my pillow and gazed at the weapon. Of course, the rifle did nothing but lie there, unfeeling. Allowing my arm to rest against it, I found that it was as cold as ice. Just like war, I thought. Just like war.

I shut my eyes and dreamed of home, where love and warmth awaited me.

Eight days later, on 3 February 1968, I was back at Nha Be, where I found that my good friend Frank Toms had returned to Nam again. Frank had just arrived with Delta Platoon a couple of weeks previously while I was operating on Dung Island standing security duty at the navy’s Binh Thuy base during the worst of the ’68 Tet offensive. It seemed that one of the few ways I had occasion to visit with some of my teammates was at the crossroads of South Vietnam. Delta Platoon members were as follows: Lt. (jg) Tony Freedly (OIC), ENS Manuel “Manny” Isaacs (AOIC), CPO Clarence Betz, SH1 Claude Willis (LPO). PO1 “Deep Divin’ ” Dietz, PO3 Frank Toms, PO3 Dennis Frank. Billy McKinney, Wayne Bergeron, SM3 Jack Lee, SN Dwight “Dee” Daigle, Bob Searles, L. B. Scott, and Chuck Turner (who was later relieved by Mike Ambrose after being wounded in the T-10 area of operation).

Shortly after I departed for CONUS, Delta Platoon and a couple of SEAL-2 members went on a series of operations from one of the navy’s Task Force 117, Riverine Assault Force troop barracks ships near the Dong Tarn base where units of the U.S. Army’s 2nd Brigade, 9th Infantry Division were located five miles west of My Tho, Dinh Tuong Province, IV Corp. It was during one of those Delta Platoon operations when they demonstrated
their wisdom in devising and determination in execution.

Some time later, Frank Toms, Jack Lee, and Dee Daigle filled me in on the details. According to their story, Delta Platoon departed their troop ship by PBRs one particular night with a Vietnamese SEAL LDNN and Hoi Chanh guide (an ex-VC who had come over to the South Vietnamese way of thinking). Their mission was to locate and destroy a large VC/NVA weapons and ordnance cache. After insertion, the SEAL unit patrolled a couple klicks along a secondary stream off My Tho River to the VC weapons and ordnance cache concealed in the bottom of an old, dry water well. According to the Hoi Chanh’s testimony, the cache consisted of large quantities of small arms and ammo, all forms of anti-personnel and anti-vehicle mines, recoilless rifles and rounds, mortars and rounds, RPG-2s and RPG-7s, etc. Moreover, the Hoi Chanh warned that the cache was roughly surrounded with nearby bunkers manned with depleted platoon size VC/NVA units who were still licking their wounds from their devastating defeat that took place throughout South Vietnam during the Communist Tet ’68 offensive.

After the SEALs inserted, they moved slowly with their supposed ex-VC guide through the sometimes dense jungle and occasional rice paddy dikes to avoid booby-trapped trails. They eventually made it to a designated rally point near the target. From there Lieutenant Freedly (the patrol leader) sent his point man, Seaman Daigle, forward to recon the cache area for the exact location of the security guards. The Hoi Chanh wasn’t allowed to accompany Dee until he had proven himself on more than one mission.

In less than an hour, Dee returned with the critical information that every patrol leader wants to know about the enemy: how many security guards were there, what
were they armed with, and where were they located. Dee had spotted four guards with AK-47s and SKSs within twenty to thirty meters of each other in the immediate vicinity of the covert well. So far, the Hoi Chanh’s information had been accurate.

Once the information was passed to each man, everyone knew instinctively that stealth, concealment, and noise discipline would have to be rigidly maintained throughout the remainder of the mission. If the VC/NVA security forces were alerted, the SEALs would not only be outnumbered but possibly outgunned—not to mention that it could be a long, dark, difficult, and hazardous retreat back toward the My Tho River for extraction. There was only one way the mission could be pulled off: the four sentries would have to be taken out silently with K-bar knives. Only then could the cache be quietly pillaged and plundered with the remainder being covered with C-4 plastic explosives and set to detonate shortly after the SEALs departed the bogus water well.

For maximum firepower, ten of the SEALs set up a skirmish line facing the target. Once everyone was set, Mr. Freedly and Daigle would take out the two right flank sentries while Frank Toms and another mate would eliminate the two sentries located on the left flank.

Later, Dee Daigle explained to me what happened. “Mr. Freedly and I moved silently forward until we were just a few feet from our first sentry. Both of us moved very slowly and carefully until, within range, we leaped upon the unaware VC. While Mr. Freedly held the VC with one hand over his mouth and the other holding him firmly on the ground, I stuck him through at the bottom of his sternum with my K-bar knife. The VC’s chest deflated like a punctured football. It was quick and silent. Again, we moved on toward the second sentry where Freedly grabbed the unsuspecting fellow.
However, all did not go well—the Communist SOB would have none of it and started struggling violently. While Mr. Freedly continued wrestling with the guy, I quickly thrust my K-bar hard into the thrashing sentry with great force. Because he was a thin and wiry fellow, my K-bar penetrated completely through his body and entered Mr. Freedly’s leg just above the knee. Fortunately for us the sentry wasn’t able to scream nor was Freedly’s stab wound a dangerous one.”

Frank Toms and his partner were also successful in eliminating their two sentries but not without a hitch. When the two of them jumped their second sentry, the terrified VC managed to scream in horror especially after he received Frank’s K-bar blade in his right side just below the lower ribs.

“With little time to think,” Frank Toms explained, “I cut the VC’s throat to stop the noise. Within a couple minutes, we heard a VC whistle less than a hundred meters away. Shortly afterward another VC yelled an individual’s name, probably one of the dead VC sentries.”

Jack Lee later explained, “Knowing time was short, Mr. Freedly immediately had everyone set security around the camouflaged cache. Because I had volunteered to be the tunnel rat, I got down into the well and confirmed that it had a fairly large concave bottom as the storage area and quickly began handing up to the guys two 75mm recoilless rifles, two mortar tubes, 150mm rockets, and many other items as fast as I could remove them from the well and its tunnel.”

Delta Platoon knew they had best depart from the immediate area ASAP; the day’s first light would soon be slipping over the horizon. While Jack Lee worked quickly down in the well’s enlarged floor area placing C-4 plastic explosives on the remaining weapons and ordnance, everyone else made last-minute preparations
for their departure. Meanwhile, Mr. Freedly quietly called the senior PBR captain (usually a Chief Petty Officer) and requested Navy Seawolves to orbit over the PBRs that were located upstream near the middle of the My Tho River. Everyone, especially the SEALs, knew it was time to get out of Dodge, and quickly.

As soon as Lieutenant Freedly gave the signal for Jack to pull the fuse lighters, the SEALs silently headed back on a different route in single file toward the My Tho River for extraction. The day’s first light soon reflected off their backs, which were loaded down with war trophies. Once the SEALs were out of the target area and three minutes had passed, the cache detonated, sending up a large black cloud of smoke. Immediately following the explosion, Freedly requested the Seawolves begin making their strafing and rocket runs on the VC/NVA’s bunker complexes to frustrate any enemy thoughts of pursuit and reprisal.

Summarizing the operation, Dee commented, “Incredibly, there was not a shot fired. There were four VC killed in action with no rounds expended.”

Interestingly, Dee Daigle recalled that the following day another Hoi Chanh from the same general area of the dry water well cache had decided to turn himself in to the Provincial Chu Hoi Center in My Tho. The navy NILO (Naval Intelligence Liaison Officer) soon learned from the army’s 525 detachment that the number two Hoi Chanh eventually confessed, with physical encouragement by the Philippino adviser, that he had been assigned to assassinate Delta Platoon’s now “Number One” trustworthy Hoi Chanh guide.

Not surprisingly, Delta Platoon eventually went on three to five missions a week and successfully completed their tour with several severely wounded personnel but no KIAs.

Eight days later, on 15 February 1968, I found myself
in a window seat on an airplane headed for the United States. I stared out the small window at blue sky and the heavy cloud cover below the plane, daydreaming about the missions and the things I had left behind: my teammates, the mud, the mosquitos, the man-eating man-a-cheetahs. Then there were my empty 12-gauge, 5.56mm, and 40mm cartridge cases ejected throughout the Rung Sat Special Zone and Dung Island, as well as a few dead enemy bodies scattered about, and even a bit of my own flesh and blood. On the other hand, I took with me the memories—many I was glad to retain, but there were some I wished I could send back like a 2.75-inch rocket that exploded on impact, never to be fired again.

A good-looking stewardess interrupted my train of thought, asking me if I’d like a drink.

“You bet,” I replied, smiling. “I’ll have one without all of the preservatives.”

She smiled back. “What kind?”

I shrugged. “Surprise me.”

When she returned in a minute with a Miller, I told her that she must be a mind reader, as she had brought me the brand I really had wanted.

“Then it’s no surprise,” she murmured with a playful sigh.

“Yes, it is, ma’am,” I told her as I took the beer and glass from her hands and set them on my tray. “I’m surprised that I’m still in one piece and able to drink this beer.”

She bobbed her head in an empathetic gesture. “You saw a lot of death in Vietnam, right?” she asked quietly.

“No, but I lost a very good friend,” I replied reflectively. I paid her for the beer and the stewardess moved on. I was left alone with my memories.

As I gazed out the window again, a sharp pain suddenly shot through my left shoulder. I gently rubbed the
spot where the piece of shrapnel was still lodged, reminding myself that it was one more souvenir I was taking back to the good ol’ U.S. of A. with me.

United States of America, the country that I love. The words sounded sweet in my mind. I dwelled on them and reflected on what they meant to me for a long while. I was going home. I longed to see my mom and dad, and I could use a bit of rest, too. At home. I’d be there soon, thank God.

My tour was finished. But as this war was to go on, I’d be back with my mates soon. I’d be back.

Assistant Patrol Leader (A/PL):
Second Squad’s leader and A/PL of the platoon. He is to maintain command and control of the second squad, and is subordinate to the patrol leader.

AO (Area of Operation):
A designated area of operation for a specific combat unit. Before a SEAL platoon could execute a mission against an enemy target, the patrol leader had to first request clearance of an AO from the U.S. or Vietnamese TOC. If the AO was under South Vietnamese control, the platoon commander would submit three to five AOs for clearance with the intention of operating in only one AO, and over a long period of time. This was necessary because Communist agents or sympathizers had penetrated all South Vietnamese TOCs. Even then, some SEAL missions were compromised before the platoon ever left base, and that was the cause of a good percentage of SEAL casualties. However, there were times when numerous friendly forces were operating in small AOs adjacent to each other. Occasionally, friendly forces would stray into another’s AO and get ambushed by their buddies.

Automatic weapons man (AW man):
Usually carried an M-60 or Stoner machine gun. There were usually at least two AW men per SEAL platoon, and were placed toward the middle of the patrol for tactical mobility. His main responsibility was to neutralize or suppress heavy pockets of enemy fire.