February 2, 1968

Cloudy and cool

Two days ago, the Viet Cong launched a rocket and mortar attack against our bases in Chu Lai. The attack coincided with the start of Tet and initiated a country-wide offensive.

We were asleep inside the barracks when the first round hit. It only took seconds for us to exit the barracks and head for cover. These buildings were hastily constructed plywood structures that any strong wind could topple. The sandbags piled next to the buildings provided our only protection and were designed to protect the residents from flying shrapnel while inside. It puzzled me why we were told to get out of our hovel when it looked safer inside. Looking back, I suppose the structure itself posed more of a threat then anything we might encounter outside.

Suddenly, the Chu Lai Airbase ammo dump, located only 750 meters away, exploded. A sergeant came running between the barracks shouting “Everyone get down!”. “Get as close to the sandbags as your can.” At first, it seemed as though he was being overly protective. After all, the airbase was a good distance away. I craned my neck to take a quick look as I crouched below the sandbags. To my amazement, it looked like an atomic bomb had gone off. I watched to see a big plume of black acrid smoke with bright sparks billow into a mushroom shape. I thought to myself, what a sight! Then suddenly the ground shook. After a noticeable delay, a shockwave roared past us with the force of a late-summer east coast hurricane. It blew-in the side of our shower and knocked the screens off the barracks windows. A few other buildings were also damaged.

We came under fire from Viet Cong hidden in sampans a short distance from shore as they tried to find a soft spot in our beach defenses. Here we were, under attack and unarmed. The policy, in all the Army’s infinite wisdom, is not to supply weapons to replacement troops until they’re at their assigned unit. The sandbags were getting severely crushed as we tried to find more protection. Thank God the machine gunners in the bunkers on the beach were doing their job. The attack lasted for approximately two hours.

Later, a sergeant told us that the blast at the ammo dump was equivalent to 20,000 pounds of TNT. Sappers had thrown satchel charges in the area that stored all the ordinance for the bomber and jet aircraft that helped support the ground troops in this war. Rockets, 2000 pound bombs, napalm and other assorted armaments all erupted in one resounding explosion.

The next day, we walked on the beach and found pieces of shrapnel that had fallen from the mushroom cloud of the night before. Each piece weighed five to ten pounds and had jagged, razor-sharp edges. It was easy to see how a careening piece of bomb could take the head, arm, or leg off a soft human body. Two people were wounded in the attack, but no one killed. We are told to expect another attack soon. I now have more respect for the enemy.

February 6, 1968

Tomorrow, I expect to depart for my new unit. The talk around here is that the armored cavalry has had their own share of mortar and rocket attacks and casualties are high. I'm told almost everyone in the 1st Cavalry has been wounded at least once. I pray that this is not true and just a prank used to scare new replacements. The Viet Cong also suffered heavy loses in the recent attack. Twenty-one thousand killed or wounded in the last week alone. I wonder how they can continue to fight. I am now starting to get a little nervous. I wonder if Audy Murphy ever felt this way.

Last night there was another alert. We ran for the newly constructed bunkers that had sprouted up after the start of the Tet offensive. Still no weapon and defenseless, unless you consider that we had some training in hand to hand fighting. After the uneasiness of the situation subsided and the sounds of local skirmishes faded, I slept inside the tight dark quarters for about four hours; quite uncomfortably, I might add.

Ever since I arrived in country, I’ve been writing to my parents and friends about my experience. I wrote of the recent attacks with all the gory detail of a movie director. It never occurred to me that I may be scaring everyone with too much detail. If they only knew, how much it scares me!

February 9, 1968

Yesterday, Al Cognetti, a truck driver for my new unit, arrived at the reception center to take me and the other replacements back with him to Hill 29. As we rode in the duce and a half along Highway One, I got my first look at the countryside north of Chu Lai. I must say it is beautiful. The east side of the road is flat and sandy and within a few miles, but out of sight, merges with the South China Sea. Westward, are flat lush green fields and rice paddies stretching for miles. In the distance one can see mountains rising to meet a crystal clear blue sky. Along the way we passed a few small villages that seemed to pop up quite unexpectedly. In the villages there are many open shops and an occasional food cart. The inhabitants took notice of our presents and then went about their daily routine. Al told me that every morning the Engineers have to sweep Highway One for land mines. At night the VC come out of hiding and plant mines along the route to disrupt the flow of supplies and personnel. No one is allowed to travel Highway One until it is swept. The locals, however, are not bound by this rule and every now and then set off one of these destructive devices and suffer loss of life.

As we pass the town of Tam Ky, Al remarks that our camp is getting close. About 7 miles north of Tam Ky we turn west onto the access road of our base of operations. This hill is in sharp contrast to the surrounding terrain. It is completely barren of anything green except for the vehicles, tents and the uniforms of personnel scattered about. This hill is dotted with bunkers, hootches, and an ammo dump for the artillery. I notice a Quonset hut made out of canvas that looks as if it might be the motor pool garage. This is a very large base camp for a forward area. There is quite a bit of hustle here with tanks, armored personnel carriers, trucks, and helicopters all going somewhere.

Shortly after my arrival, my platoon sergeant briefed me on my duties. It will be my job to monitor A Troop’s radios every night. My shift is from 0000 to 0600. When the troop is in the field on a mission and needs support, I will contact, via land line, the artillery fire support base nearby or headquarters to request an air strike. It is also my job to call in medical evacuation helicopters (code name “dust-off”) to recover the wounded and or dead. The night schedule will exempt me from guard duty and KP.

Well, at least I’ve gotten a fairly important job. It sounds interesting, but I really would rather be on one of the tanks.

February 13, 1968

Warm, near 70

It now dawns on me that I have been given a plum job as far as front line work goes. I only leave camp to escort a few convoys between Hill 29 (my base camp) and Tam Ky. Most of the time, I just sit around and monitor the radios. I am feeling a little more comfortable in my surroundings with each passing day.

At night, I watch tracers go back and forth in firefights just outside our perimeter. Sometimes, the artillery opens up and I think we are under another mortar or 122 mm rocket attack (a fairly frequent occurrence). However, I feel safer with all the firepower on the "Hill".

Occasionally, our troop brings in a prisoner or two. An APC (armored personnel carrier) carrying the prisoners pulls up in front of our command bunker to get instructions from the C.O. as to what to do with them. As I survey the scene, I notice how small and frail the prisoners appear. They squat on top of the track vehicles wearing their black pajamas with hands tied behind their back and a rope circling their neck. I don’t think they have had a good meal in months. It troubles me that the prisoners seem to be beaten very badly. Black eyes and gashes on their arms could have come from being captured or more troubling, afterward. I have heard stories of what happens to some of the prisoners that have come back to this base in helicopters. It seems that if they are uncooperative and not forthcoming with information, they are given the boot at 2000 feet. However, my real concern is the possibility of my own capture. I can only imagine how brutally I will be treated if captured.

(I ask my parents for another CARE package of magazines and other stuff.)

February 16, 1968

In the letters I’ve received from home, my parents let me know that they have fulfilled my wishes and have sent a care package. I anxiously await the goodies, anticipating some desperately needed items. On the other hand, letters arrive in only ten days and provide a steady stream of correspondence from my friends back home. I am now settled into a boring routine. My shift isn’t very active except when we come under rocket or mortar attack.

More prisoners brought in today; badly beaten.

February 18, 1968

The night radio shift is not very busy. Most of the activity takes place during the daylight hours when our troop is out on a mission. The more seasoned radio operators have the day shifts and rightly so.

GM stock is not doing too well. I may sell my shares if it does not improve soon.

February 25, 1968

The food on “Hawk Hill" (Hill 29) is far superior to that of the replacement center in Chu Lai. One thing I can say about the Army is that I’m never hungry. We can buy soda from the supply sergeant and get C-rations for the days when nothing at the Mess Hall is appealing. I especially like the ham or chicken found in a box of C-rations. Once heated over a piece of C-4 explosive, they are very tasty indeed. Every couple of days the supply sergeant hands out candy, cigarettes and toiletries from the SP packs that are delivered to our camp. The PX is now more than 25 miles away, so getting these things helps a lot.

Our base is only 5 miles inland from the South China Sea. Unfortunately, from here we can’t see the ocean. A makeshift shower stall with a 50 gallon oil drum perched on top is all we have to wash the layers of dust from our sweaty bodies. We’re fortunate that the drums are equipped with immersion water heaters that take the chill off the water. They allow a more comfortable early morning lathering. We use our steel helmet to hold water for washing our face, and brushing our teeth. A short distance away from the shower is a three-hole latrine set up much like the one in Long Binh.

I wrote to my buddy John Fitzgerald; he still has not replied.

We now learn that packages kept under 5 pounds will be shipped by air and will not endure a long sea voyage. The packages my parents sent from home still have not arrived.

(I sent home a sample of military script.)

February 28, 1968

We began building a new bunker last week. It is very heavy work but the weather is cool. Some of the inhabitants of the local village are also giving us a hand. The roof of the bunker is reinforced with wooden beam four by tens. They help to support the sandbags and dirt that is piled on top. This bunker will serve as an orderly room and radio operations center for A Troop. It will also be home to the captain, executive officer, first sergeant, and a few strays.

There is a new company policy; I now pull KP. I guess you can call that "Andersen luck".

While on a recent patrol a troop from the battalion intercepted a reinforced company of Viet Cong. They killed 65 VC, and support helicopter gun-ships increased that total to 142. It was the first major battle the battalion has had in Vietnam.

March

July

Au.

Sept.

Oct.

Nov.

Dec.