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I've a Bad Feeling About This...

An Old Soldier's Prayer

"I have fought when others feared to serve. I have gone where others failed to go. I've lost friends in war and strife, who valued Duty more than love of life. I have shared the comradeship of pain. I have searched the lands for men that we have lost. I have sons who served this land of liberty, who would fight to see that other stricken lands are free. I have seen the weak forsake humanity. I have heard the traitors praise our enemy. I've seen challenged men become ever bolder; I've seen the Duty, Honor, Sacrifice of the Soldier. Now I understand the meaning of our lives, the loss of comrades not so very long ago. So to you who have answered duty's siren call, May God bless you my son, may God bless you all."

-- Colonel Lewis Millett

FOB 1, Phu Bai, SVN, Thursday, November 9, 1967... 0345 hours / November 8, 1967... 1945 hours Zulu
(Zulu time is Universal or Greenwich Meantime. The Prime Meridian passes through the town of Greenwich, England, and is the baseline for the twenty-four hour clock and the twenty-four time zones. The U.S. military, among others, uses Greenwich Meantime to record official times. One of the problems we dealt with in our area was that the time zone changed at the Laotian Border. We just kept our watches on Vietnamese time and ignored Lao time, but all logs were kept in Zulu Time.)

"Damn it, get that light out of my eyes! What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Sorry Lieutenant, they sent me over to wake you. They want you in the TOC (Tactical Operations Center) in fifteen minutes."

I hadn't been at Phu Bai very long, but I knew that an early morning wake up was extremely unusual. "What's happening?" I asked.

"Baxter's team was hit hard, couple of choppers down, and Baxter, Kusick and some Air Force guys are unaccounted for. Covey has a beeper but no voice contact and they want your 'Hatchet Force' to go in and check it out," said the voice behind the flashlight.

"Ok, I'm up. Have "Top" Fisher meet me at the TOC." I turned on my desk lamp and laced up my boots (we slept mostly clothed, even in camp, for obvious reasons).

Four days earlier I had returned from a mission (my first) in "Indian Country" (those areas that were beyond U.S. and/or ARVN fire support... generally in Laos or Cambodia, but in this case at the south end of A Shau Valley along the Laotian Border) with the Nung Hatchet Force. Usually teams were given several weeks off to decompress and repack after such a mission, so I knew that sending me back "across the fence" with little or no preparation time was unusual. I had a bad feeling about this!

Thankfully, I had cleaned my weapon, refilled my magazines, and already repacked my rucksack except for last minute items... food, water, grenades, Claymore mines, and extra radio batteries. My "ruck" probably weighed between 75 and 80 pounds when fully packed. My harness (belt and suspenders) probably weighed another thirty pounds. Water and ammunition were precious commodities in "Indian Country". I wore almost all my ammo and two pints of water around my waist so that I would always have immediate access to it.

We carried our magazines in canteen pouches because we could fit seven "mags" in a canteen pouch as opposed to four "mags" in a magazine pouch. I carried eighteen rounds to a magazine. Although a magazine could hold twenty rounds, the experienced men cautioned against filling a magazine all the way because it could weaken the magazine spring over time and cause a miss-feed.

I carried five pouches of magazines giving me a total of 649 rounds counting the magazine in my CAR-15 (a sub-machine gun version of the M-16) and a round in the chamber. That was a lot, but if I got into real trouble, which was what we were there for, no one was going to loan me any ammo. One of my pouches carried magazines loaded with all tracers. They were useful in marking targets or showing friendly locations to pilots providing air support. Two other pouches were filled with magazines that had sixteen rounds of ball ammo and two rounds of tracer at the bottom. The tracers alerted me to change magazines. These pouches were intended for use in a "last ditch effort"; because by the time I began using magazines from them, ammo would be a critical issue.

When the Hatchet Force went to the field, the commander carried the team radio and that added considerable weight to the rucksack. In most units, the leaders had RTO's (Radio/Telephone Operators) who carried the radio for them. With a large force of indigenous troops and only one or two interpreters, that was too much of a luxury. The other Special Forces Soldiers had their hands full with out having one of them tied to the Commander because of the radio. We didn't consider having an indigenous RTO because of language difficulties and the fact that the radio was our lifeline and we didn't want out of our control.

Before leaving my room, I looked over at the empty bunks in the room. The one across from me at the front of the four-man room was currently empty and awaiting the next lieutenant assigned to FOB #1. The two areas at the back of the room were also empty, but for different reasons.

Diagonally across from my bunk was 1LT. Bill Vowell's space. He was a great soldier and an even greater friend. I had been at the camp in Phu Bai less than six weeks, but had already become dependant on him to mentor me and watch my back. I did my best to watch his back as well. Bill, who had returned with me just four days ago, had gone to Saigon for debriefing. The mission we had just finished had not been uneventful!

The other living space belonged to 1LT. "Chips" Fleming. He was out on his first mission and was Assistant Team Leader to Master Sergeant (MSG) Bruce Baxter's Recon Team Utah. (Recon Teams at FOB#1 were named after states and were led by the One-Zero; almost always the most experienced man on the team regardless of rank and MSG. Baxter was very experienced. The One-One was the assistant Team Leader and the One-Two was the RTO. Additional U.S. personnel were called One-Three's. Hatchet Force command was structured along more conventional military lines with officers in command). Team Utah using the call sign "Flat Foot" was in trouble.

I knew "Chips" was with "Flat Foot" and I sent a quick, silent, prayer to the powers that be to take care of him until I could get there. Unknown to me at the time, he, and Staff Sergeant (SSG) Homer Wilson, the One-Three, had been aboard Spartan 52, one of the helicopters that had not been shot down.

I hated the idea of going in harm's way without Bill Vowell, but I took comfort in knowing that the NCO's (Noncommissioned Officers, Sergeants and above) with whom I worked were the absolute best in the business.

In the early days of Special Forces, the Officers Corp of the United States Army considered a Special Forces assignment to be a dead end. Army Officers were well schooled in Cold War tactics. They were fully prepared to fight delaying actions in the Fulda Gap against the Russian and Eastern Bloc hoards, but little attention had been give to unconventional warfare. The traditional Corps and Division Officers were oriented toward conventional warfare and were not enthusiastic about embracing unconventional warfare training and doctrine…and they distrusted elite units. President Kennedy forced Special Forces upon them and they resented it.

Consequently, while led at the very top by unbelievably talented and visionary colonels and generals, by and large the majors and senior captains assigned to Special Forces tended to be those who were left over after the conventional units had been staffed.

It was the opposite in the Noncommissioned ranks. Special Forces Units worldwide were blessed with the very best NCO's in the Army and there were no positions for inexperienced or junior enlisted personnel. Behind the scenes, the "Sergeant Majors' Mafia" ran Special Forces. Consequently, some NCO's looked at their officers with disdain.

That being said, I'd like to think of Lieutenants like Bill Vowell, Chips Fleming, myself, and others as a new breed. Young, fresh, patriotic, aggressive, smart enough to listen to our NCO's, do a good job, and bring the teams back to camp with minimum casualties and missions accomplished.

The way SOG was set up; the NCO's were in charge of most field operations. Most of the officers assigned to SOG were staff officers. The few officers in SOG who were assigned to units that actually went into combat took their assignments and responsibilities very seriously. The smart officers took wise counsel from their NCO's. The not so smart commanders didn't last long. There was surprisingly little conflict. We were all professionals.

Word had traveled through camp just after dinner that "Flat Foot" had had contact with enemy trackers. That was bad, but didn't cause any immediate worry because it wasn't that unusual. Historically, NVA and Pathet Lao troops in Laos had not pursued Recon Teams in the dark. Generally Teams could break contact in the darkness and either continue the mission or make it to a cold (safe) PZ (Pick up zone) for extraction the next morning. There was another team in the area, using the call sign "Happy Times," and they remained undetected.

I had checked in at the TOC early in the evening to see if everything was OK with the teams and was told that there was nothing unusual going on. I went back to my room to write my nightly letter to my unofficial fiancée and hit the rack (When I knew we were going out, I would post date letters to her so she wouldn't worry). Sometime during the night the situation radically changed for "Flat Foot".

I finished dressing, splashed some canteen water on my face and walked out to the piss tube to take a leak before going to the TOC. I felt gritty, but there would be no soap and water, no deodorant or shaving lotion, and no toothpaste if I were going into the field. Unnatural odors were to be avoided at all costs. Odors gave away the presence of others in an area. One of the problems we always had to contend with was the basic diet of fish verses a basic diet of beef. The different diets caused detectable differences in body odor in the field and frequently signaled the close proximity of the enemy. At least with a force the size of a Hatchet Force, we had enough indigenous troops to mask our "beefy" odor. Although it was a problem, I didn't know anybody who was willing to give up a steak in favor of a can of tuna.

I noticed that there was a lot of activity in the camp for 0400 (4:00 AM). I headed over to the TOC.

FOB 1, Phu Bai, SVN, November 9, 1967... 0400 hours / November 8, 1967... 2000 hours Zulu

Our TOC was a fairly large room with a briefing area that was about 40 feet long and 30 feet wide. The whole room was paneled in plywood that had been acquired through various trades with the Seabees (They were suckers for fake NVA flags sprinkled with chicken blood). A red curtain with the words, "TOP SECRET" on it, covered the north end of the TOC. There was a small podium in front of the curtain.

When I got to the TOC, there was standing room only. Marine aircrews from HMM-263 occupied most of the two-dozen or so folding chairs. HMM-263 had been moved from Chu Lai to Phu Bai several weeks before. They were not yet familiar with their new AO (Area of Operations) and had never supported one of our operations. As far as I knew, there had never been a briefing of all aircrews in our TOC. Usually the Flight Leads would get their briefing and go back to their helicopters, or to the club, and brief their people. My bad feeling just kept getting worse.

I had a quick word with MSG. Lloyd Fisher and asked him to get his team and the "Red Devil Battalion" ready. Naturally, he had already done that. He and his team were some of the most outstanding soldiers I had ever met, and the "Red Devils" were being readied for their first cross-border mission even as I mentioned it.

In reality, the "Red Devils" were not a battalion at all. On a good day they were a three-platoon company of KKK Cambodian mercenaries. For this mission, they would number about 75. There would be twelve U.S. Special Forces personnel accompanying them.

I grabbed a bit of open wall next to another, much smaller red/TOP SECRET curtain. Behind that curtain was an 8x10 photo of rather winsome lass in all her naked glory. Rumor was that she had been engaged to a member of our camp, but had sent him a “Dear John” letter after he had been here several months explaining that she had met a pilot who could offer her all the same things our guy had to offer, but with the added benefit of being with her rather than in Vietnam. She hoped he wouldn't mind if she kept the engagement ring as a memento of their time together and would he send back the picture of her that she let him take as a going away present?

He sent the picture back but kept the negative. He had the picture reprinted and, according to some, several thousand leaflets made up with the picture and her address which were dropped around some pretty remote firebases between Phu Bai and the Laotian Border. Supposedly she got a lot of unwanted mail, including a letter from an NVA soldier who happened upon one of the leaflets. No doubt the revenge was sweet, although returning to her was out of the question.

Everyone settled down and Major Ira Snell, the camp Commander, came through the door from the radio room. Major Snell was an imposing figure to say the least. He had played college football and he was big and in shape. His jaw was like a hunk of granite and the madder he got the more he thrust it out. He was damn sure leading with his jaw this morning and looked like a battleship churning through the North Atlantic as he strode to the podium. My bad feeling just kept getting worse.

He stepped behind the podium and crushed it with hands that looked like black bear paws. He was tense! And then he began growling at the Marine aviators. "Everything you see, hear, smell, touch, or taste here, and that includes the coffee, is classified TOP SECRET. Nothing you learn here is to be shared with anyone outside this room. Does everyone understand that? Any breech of security will be dealt with quickly and severely. Everybody OK with that? Anybody wants to leave, leave now and nothing will ever be said. Does everyone understand?"

During a dramatic pause there were murmurs of assent and a lot of nervous looks. Naturally, no one left the room.

After a moment, Major Snell drew back the big red curtain revealing a large map of the northern portion of South Vietnam, the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), the southern portion of North Vietnam, and the eastern portion of Laos. There were more murmurs and more nervous looks…and then the briefing began and my bad feeling just kept getting worse!

"The Camp you are in now is a part of SOG. SOG does not stand for Special Operations Group, as many people believe. It stands for Studies and Observation Group. Our mission is to do what we are told to do and part of that mission is to watch the Ho Chi Minh Trail and rescue downed pilots. That's why you're here."

"Over the past few months, Intelligence has detected an escalation of NVA forces coming down the Trail. Recently we were tasked to monitor Route B-45 through what we know as Base Area 611. B-45 is a series of east-west connector trails between a main north-south corridor (Route 922) of the Ho Chi Minh Trail and the A Shau Valley."

"Yesterday we inserted two Recon Teams, call signs "Flat Foot" and "Happy Times" into this general area," he said, indicating an area south of Khe Sanh and about eighteen kilometers inside Laos from the north end of the A Shau Valley. "'Flat Foot' ran into trouble last evening. We thought they could break contact after darkness set in, but the NVA stayed after them."

"We tried a nighttime exfiltration with some Army choppers on temporary duty here, and a couple of Kingbees. The first slick got out with some of the team. The second one was shot down and a Kingbee was shot down. We had some Army gunships on station for fire support and attempted to get the rest of the team out with Jolly Greens. Again, the first one made it out with some of the team but got shot up pretty badly and crash-landed at Khe Sanh. The second Jolly Green was shot down with some of the team aboard. It's a mess and we're going to try and clean it up after first light."

With that, Major Snell turned the briefing over to the Operations Officer, Captain Billy R. Davis. Captain Davis was actually the team commander of Team A-323 from the First Special Forces Group in Okinawa. They were at Phu Bai on Temporary Duty (TDY) to augment our efforts. It was his team that would go into Laos on this rescue mission, but he wouldn't be accompanying them because he was the Camp Operations Officer. The Team was in the hands of the Executive Officer, 2LT. Rod Hoepner. Rod was junior to me so that left me, a fairly new Second Lieutenant, as the senior officer on what was beginning to look like a classic goat rope. What started as a bad feeling has now reached the "We who are about to die, salute you" stage.

Captain Davis basically told all of us what we already knew by now. There was heavy enemy activity and the area had been turned into a "flak-trap". (The NVA was fond of using downed aircraft and their crews, or surrounded SOG teams, as bait, knowing that rescue attempts would be made that would offer the NVA additional opportunities to shoot down more aircraft) Three helicopters had been shot down and their crews were missing. That meant one VNAF crew of three, one Army crew of four, and one Air Force crew of four. In addition, five of the original thirteen men on "Flat Foot" remained unaccounted for.

Aircraft in the area continued to hear Emergency Locator Beacons or "beepers", but did not have voice contact with anyone on the ground. In an effort not to lose more aircraft, our team would be landed several thousand meters from the crash sites. With that, we all broke into groups.

The pilots went off to do pilot stuff and "Top" Fisher, Lt. Hoepner, and I huddled around the counter to the S-2/3 area to get more information, maps, and SOI's (Signal Operating Instructions). We were assigned call sign "Bull Dog" and told that our participation would last no longer than ten hours. We had to be out of the area by last light at all costs. "Don't take food, you won't be there that long," we were told.

Our mission was to land several thousand meters from the site of the previous action and work our way to the crash site(s), determine the fate of the helicopters and personnel and deal with the situation accordingly, remove any sensitive material, and get out. As usual, we were additionally tasked with taking prisoners and seizing enemy equipment. Chances of heavy contact with NVA forces were deemed to be very probable.

It was pretty straightforward stuff. No details, no prior reconnaissance, and very little planning time. It was to be strictly an offensive mission. There was no mention of the weather and we didn't think to ask.

FOB 1, Phu Bai, SVN, November 9, 1967... 0500 hours / November 8,1967... 2100 hours Zulu

I stayed in the TOC to get more information and talk to the aircrews. Fisher and Hoepner went off to brief their team and oversee preparations for the "Red Devil" Battalion. They were good, but basically untried, soldiers.

Operationally, any unit larger than the basic Recon Team was a "Hatchet Force". "Hatchet Force" was the umbrella term for the larger forces employed by SOG.

The A-Team from Okinawa, Team A-323, that trained and advised the "Red Devils" was, from my perspective, one of the best in Special Forces. Master Sergeant Lloyd Fisher was the Team Sergeant.

Lloyd Fisher was a quiet, but forceful man. When he spoke, which wasn't often, you listened and obeyed. I never heard him raise his voice, even in heavy combat. Even though I had only been around him for a few weeks, he had my utmost respect and devotion, and it was more than obvious that his entire team felt the same way. His calming influence could never be dismissed. If I had to name the ten most influential people in my life, he would be high on the list.

Sergeant First Class Bruce Luttrell was the Team's Intelligence Sergeant. Bruce was high strung, but possessed a brave heart and was always where he was needed most. He saw humor in the world around him and I enjoyed being in his company. Regrettably, Bruce was killed on his second tour in Vietnam while serving with the one of the 5th Special Forces Group's MIKE Forces (Mobile Strike Force).

One of the Team's Weapons Sergeants, SFC Earl Kalani, was already gone from Phu Bai. He had been wounded in an exchange of gunfire with a VC who was about to shoot Bill Vowell in the back during a local operation. It happened before I got to FOB#1. Bill told me he owed his life to Earl. Sadly, Earl would die years later of complications during surgery to further repair the wound he received in that engagement. The other Weapons Sergeant was SFC Brooke Bell. He was quiet and competent. I didn't know him well because he tended to avoid officers. He did his job so well he rarely came to my attention.

The Demolitions Sergeants on Team A-323 were SFC Erskine "Ozzy" Osborne and SP5 Ulrich "Rick" Bayer. I hardly had a chance to get to know Sergeant Osborne, as before this day was over, he would be evacuated from the hillside in Laos with a serious wound to his foot and lower leg. Rick Bayer was a bit of a wild one. He was an “adventurer” and was always involved in one scheme or another. I think "Top" Fisher did his best to hide Rick from me.

SFC. Hamilton, or "Hambone" to his friends, was one of the Team's Communications Sergeants and was hard to overlook. He was a warrior. He was brave and aggressive to a fault. I admired him. He, on the other hand, didn't have much use for officers. He grudgingly tolerated me and that was enough. I never got to call him "Hambone". He would die of wounds received while saving the lives of the rest of the team, including mine, on another hillside in Laos several months later. It broke my heart and not a day goes by that I don't think about him and SGT. Gary Spann, who were both grievously wounded that day.

The Medics for the Team were Sergeant Ronald Bock and Sergeant First Class Jim Scurry. Jim was a bear of a man, but I never saw anyone be as tender as he was treating the wounded or tending to the sick. He was also fearless and intelligent and was respected and admired by everyone. I was as in awe of him as I was MSG. Fisher and SFC. Hamilton. He would miss this mission.

Sergeant Bock would be the medic for this mission. Ron was a fine medic and a very brave man, yet you got the idea that he wouldn't hurt a fly. He was tall and quiet. His studious nature reminded me of a college professor. He gave great consideration to everything he said. I don't know of anyone who didn't like him. Before this mission was over, he would earn a Silver Star, for, among other things, using his body to shield wounded Cambodian soldiers from a mortar barrage. The fact that the SOG “culture” at the time, at least at FOB#1, did not award medals for bravery to members on missions "across the fence" who were not killed, should make his bravery all the more significant.

Sergeant Phil Quinn was the Team's other Communications Sergeant. He had been assigned to the Radio Room in the TOC and would support this mission from Phu Bai.

FOB 1 Landing Zone, Phu Bai, SVN, November 9, 1967... 0900 hours / November 9, 1967... 0100 hours Zulu

The "Hatchet Force" was ready and standing by on the helipad across from the camp entrance. The total "Hatchet Force" strength for this mission was close to ninety, a huge operation by SOG standards…and an indication of just how dangerous the area we are going into is.

It's obvious that the "powers that be", in this case probably CINCPAC (Commander in Chief of Pacific Forces), or maybe even the Whitehouse, aren't happy with the overall situation. It is an operational disaster and a political nightmare. They are even less happy about sending in a large untried force under the command of an inexperienced Second Lieutenant.

The "Red Devils" are augmented by MSG. Charles "Skip" Minnicks, SFC. Robert Cavanaugh, and SFC Charlie Harper. "Skip" is one of the legendary SOG men, and Cavanaugh and Harper are both very experienced. Minnicks and Cavanaugh were passing through camp on their way back from a mission debrief in Saigon. They are assigned to FOB 4 in Khe Sanh. When they heard that the Hatchet Force was going out to try and find Baxter and Kusick, they just attached themselves to us. Charlie Harper, assigned to FOB 1, did the same. It was the SOG way. Guys fought for seats on the choppers when there was trouble. Most of the time they never even told anybody, they just got their rigs and went to the LZ west of the camp.

I didn't doubt that they, and MSG Fisher, had been briefed to step in if they felt I was about to make a mistake. I was grateful for it. There wasn't room for egos when lives could be at stake. They were welcome additions to our merry little band and we could use all the help we could get.

The story continues on  The "E Ticket" Ride

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