Vietnam Revisited
Chapter 1
Fred arrived in Saigon on March 21st of 1971, during the dry season, which lasted
from October until May. The next season, just around the corner, was the monsoon
season from June to September. Even though he had a few good months before the big
change, he had to be wary because Charlie was active this time of year. But there would
be no rest during the monsoon season, because that’s when the good-guys, wearing white,
of course, kicked it up and started some big-time payback through air interdiction of the
Ho Chi Mihn Trail.
Upon arrival, Fred said all the right things. He could talk-the-talk, talk-the-walk,
and even walk-the-walk. He was gung-ho and could just say no… to sex and drugs and
all the other sins that ran abundant in Vietnam. He had convictions, integrity, core
values, and was ready to follow orders no matter what they might be. He was Old
Testament and loved his God and country. In other words, he was a perfect candidate to
get “fragged” by his own men.
Fragging had a systematic escalation ritual with the troops. They wanted to give
the officers a fair chance, so they would use a yellow smoke marker first to warn them
that they were being considered for the honor of a live grenade. If that didn’t deter the
officer, then a red phosphorescent grenade was used to get their attention. And if that
didn’t slow the officer down, then they would get a pinless grenade in the latrine or under
their cots in their hooch. Grenades had no fingerprints, and the troops didn’t rat each
other out, so there were no prosecutions. It was just a law of the jungle in the Nam.
When he arrived, he watched Disney’s full-length feature cartoon, “Snow White.”
It was the perfect movie for what lay ahead.
The seven dwarfs seemed a perfect
introduction to all the emotions waiting ahead for him with an emphasis on Sleepy and
Grumpy and Dopey. But that wouldn’t last his full tour. Eventually, The Nam would
suck up his emotions, and he would develop that famous thousand-yard stare.
He talked with several of the other new recruits. The word was that men of the
First Calvary, Americal Division, refused to go on a rescue mission in an operation near
the Laotian border. Scuttlebut was that many of the troops were rebelling and disobeying
orders that involved dangerous assignments. It didn’t sound good to Fred since the men
were not court-martialed, but were simply reassigned. How could an officer maintain
discipline when there were no consequences? The weather over his head was becoming
cloudy; a “frag” cloud was developing over his head.
He had orders to move out in the morning to Bien Hoa Air Base, 12 miles
northeast of Saigon, to be an aircraft maintenance officer. Bien Hoa had been the airbase,
housing many of the Air Commando’s fleet, including A-1E Skyraiders, Farm Gate C47s, T-28s, and A-26s back in the 60’s. The B-26Ks, light bombers, were renamed A26As on 30 April 1966 and were shipped to Nakon Phanom (NKP) in Thailand to be part
of the 1st Air Commando Wing. The name change made it “OK” to use bombers in the
secret war in Laos. Fred never understood this subtlety. They then linked up with the
606th Air Commando Squadron with its C-123s, T-28s, and UH-1Fs at NKP.
Project Big Eagle was a success as the A-26Ks interdicted enemy lines of
communication in Laos, and with their munitions of 6,000 pounds of napalm and cluster
bomb units, they made more kills during both the day and night truck-hunting sport than
any other aircraft. The A-26 was very effective in interdicting the Ho Chi Mihn Trail,
which snaked into Laos and then into South Vietnam. But there was no limit to the
mission: close-air support, civil affairs, psychological operations, medical, and defoliant
operations.
Their favorite hunting grounds were the Steel Tiger, in the southern part of the
Laos panhandle near South Vietnam, and the Barrel Roll in the northern part of Laos,
including the famous Plaines des Jarres, where ground troops fought a tug-of-war battle
for years with both sides claiming victories, but, in reality, they were only seasonal
victories. During the dry season, the Pathet Lao would be successful, but when the
monsoon season came, the Hmong tribe in the mountains surrounding the Plaines des
Jarres and Laos Royalists were able to capitalize on the Air America and Air Commando
air strikes and make progress.
There was a rich history at Bien Hoa of supporting the Air Commando units.
Fred had gone through several rather intensive courses on the aircraft at Bien Hoa and
had being read-in on the Air Commando operations and a highly classified CIA operation
called Air America, operating in parts unknown, but Laos was the country most
suspected.
Fred was hand picked for the operation because of his clearance and his
performance at Webb AFB. He was actually selected because he stood up against the
Master Sergeant and General to defend his troops. His work habits were above reproach
as he pitched in wherever he was needed. That was one of the traits that Air Commando
wanted. They were a self-sustaining group and they wanted somebody who would do
whatever was necessary to make the mission happen. Fred was their man.
Fred didn’t know it yet, but he would have the opportunity to be an Airborne
Forward Air Controller, contrary to Air Force policy. But then he would soon be doing a
lot of things contrary to Air Force and Unites States policies. And there would be times
when he would turn in his uniform for civies. This was a clue that if you were captured,
you were on your own. Mission first.
Since the Tet offensive in early 1968, Bien Hoa had been a target. The Viet Cong
had attacked the base with some success, but had never overrun it. General Vo Nguyen
Giap, who orchestrated the offensive during the Tet holidays, wanted to embarrass the
United States by attacking Saigon, Westmoreland’s headquarters, and the American
Embassy. His objective was to bleed the American troops so that they lost support back
home. That’s basically what was already happening. Fred noticed that Americans were
getting tired of the war and wanted the South Vietnamese to take over. What the
Americans didn’t know was that the South Vietnamese didn’t have the ability to take the
reins. General Giap’s attacks at isolated posts like Khesanh were designed to distract the
American troops from their defense of Bien Hoa and Saigon.
The next day, Fred rode in a jeep with his gear stowed neatly in the back, over to
Bien Hoa.
The driver told him that a big operation was underway by the North
Vietnamese and Pathet Lao troops to overrun Luang Prabang in Laos.
Fred talked to the driver Sgt Gomez on the drive over. “I didn’t think much was
going on in Laos.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s a hotbed right now. The Communists are trying to take over the
south part of the country where the Royal forces are located. It’s been a real rope pull
with neither side giving in. Our air power has kept the Royalist forces going. Otherwise,
they would have lost out years ago.”
“Do you know much about Bien Hoa?”
“Just that it’s been under attack over the past few years, and I know how to get
there and get back home.”
“Do you know anything about the Air Commando unit stationed there?”
The sergeant glanced at Fred and then smiled. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
“Well, I’ll be damned. It’s such a secret that even the new recruits don’t know.”
“OK. Don’t know what?”
“Well, you’re going to find out soon enough, so it won’t hurt to tell you now.”
“Tell me what?”
“You’re going into Uncle Sam’s black world, and everybody goes in one person
and comes out a completely different person.”
“What do you mean black world?”
“Black ops, CIA stuff, Secret War in Laos… haven’t they briefed you on
anything?”
“I’m still trying to catch up on my studies for maintenance on new aircraft.”
“Well, don’t get too stuck on aircraft. It’s just one of the many jobs that you will
be doing.”
Fred flinched. “Nobody told me that.”
“Well, I just did. You are entering a new world… one that you either will love or
hate. There’s no middle ground where you’re going.”
Fred didn’t know if this guy was trying to scare him, but he was doing a good job.
“How do you know so much about it?”
“I not only transport the new recruits in, but I also take the seasoned vets out.
And believe me, they are different as night and day. They go in like you, asking
questions and wondering what it’s going to be like, chattering the whole time. Then they
come back with a crumbled unlit cigarette in the corner of their mouth, saying absolutely
nothing.”
“You think that’s because they have so much classified information that they
can’t talk to anybody?”
“No. I think that they are fuckin’ zombies. They’r the living dead, moving to
new locations, but not doing much more than that.”
“You’re probably just talking about the Army and Marine soldiers in actual
combat.”
“No. I’m talking about everybody, including the Air Force.” The sergeant looked
him straight in the face. “Do you even know what a forward observer is and what they
do?”
“Well, no.”
“Well, you will know and soon… because you will be one. You will go out in the
jungle and, in effect, be the bait. Charlie will find you and then you are going to have the
presence of mind, with gunfire all around you, to call in an air strike.”
Fred was glad when they pulled up to the headquarters building, since he was
saturated with good news about his new assignment and didn’t want to hear anymore.
Chapter 2
It was a cloudless day with no breeze, creating invisible heat. Lt. Jones was living
in a large tent with ten other lieutenants. Yesterday, he had dumped his gear next to his
cot and after an early dinner, he had crashed, sleeping for about eight hours. Back
stateside, there were two main divisions for aircraft maintenance: Field Maintenance
Squadron and Operational Maintenance Squadron. FMS handled propulsion and most of
the shop maintenance while OMS took care of the periodic and day-to-day maintenance
of the actual aircraft. It was different with Air Commando. Everybody was part and
parcel of the team that worked toward completing the mission.
Lt. Jones’ first day involved some introductions and welcomes, but he was
quickly thrown into the fray. He was assigned to Bravo team, whose assignment of the
day was to run a perimeter of the area. His six-man team consisted of: Captain Jeremy
Brown, an engineer from Atlanta; Staff Sergeant Gary Grimes, an economics major from
Phoenix; Buck Sergeant Bob Watson, a psychology major from St. Louis; and Airman
Donny Phelps, a high-school graduate from Bayonne, New Jersey; and Airman Jerry
Hammond, a physical education major from Richmond, Virginia.
Lt. Jones knew that his journalism degree would come in handy someday, and
today was the day. He was given an hour to compose a newsletter for the base, using an
old Royal typewriter that had better days. An old pencil that had bite marks on it lay
beside the typewriter. The eraser was worn down to about half its original size, but it
came in handy since he had not sat down in front of a manual typewriter for years. Lt.
Jones called the base letter, “How’s It Been at Bienhoa?”
His team gathered after lunch at the chow hall. The grub was good… if you liked
instant mashed potatoes, powdered eggs, and spam. They all were issued M-16s. Lt.
Jones had qualified as an expert marksman with an M-16 during his summer training
prior to entering his junior-year of AFROTC. Now, he was actually being entrusted with
a weapon without being monitored constantly. He was very familiar with firearms
though, since he was active in the National Rifle Association and had been firing on
ranges since he was a pre-teen. Captain Brown formed up his team and explained their
mission. They would walk around the perimeter of the base, looking for trip wires or any
signs of Charlie in the area. Their job was to search, not search and destroy; however, if
they ran into live fire, they would certainly return it. This Air Commando section was
different from any other Air Force group Lt. Jones had been around. Your AFSCs or job
classifications meant nothing here.
Bravo team moved single-file outside the base with Lt. Jones following Captain
Brown and SSgt Grimes bringing up the rear. Capt. Brown led them into a clump of
trees. The intel passed out this morning indicated that our jets had attacked North
Vietnamese missile emplacements yesterday north of the DMZ. Also, an F-4 had been
shot down inside North Vietnam by one of Charlie’s missiles. The rescue team was on
the scene in a dangerous attempt to bring the two pilots back. Operation Lam Son 719,
which meant nothing to Lt. Jones at this point, was an ongoing activity in Laos as the
Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese troops continued their attack on Luang Prabang.
Locally, the area was quiet. The villagers could go either way, depending on who was in
control, so the best advice was to keep your distance from them.
About two clicks out, Capt. Brown stopped Bravo when he heard rifle fire. The
hair on Lt. Jones’ arms and legs stood straight up. It was an eerie sound that he wasn’t
used to, but the others in Bravo didn’t flinch. It was obvious he was the virgin again.
Capt. Brown got out his field glasses and surveyed the area. The sun was bright and
insects were insistent on having their way with the group. Not that Capt. Brown could
see Charlie even if he were around the corner, but he at least went through the motions.
The thick mucous gravy on the instant mashed potatoes was starting to extract
some pay-back in the stomachs of members of Bravo. There was a saying that peanut
butter stuck to your ribs, but these mashed potatoes and gravy were much better than that;
they stuck to your entire stomach lining… for long periods of time… probably less than a
month, but nobody knew for certain.
Capt. Brown then assigned SSgt Grimes to the point and Sgt Watson to rear
guard. They walked about ten clicks, then Capt. Brown had them stop for a canteen and
cigarette break. Fred was surprised as the men sprawled out and lit up marijuana handrolled cigarettes. He was new, so he wasn’t going to tell them they were breaking the
law… when, in fact, he really didn’t know what the law was in war zones. If there were
laws, they probably just weren’t observed. There probably was only the law of the
jungle… whatever that was.
After the break, they packed up and moved slowly down a path that had been used
many times before. Lt. Jones was thinking that Charlie could pick them off easy since
they probably didn’t vary their routine much on these perimeter checks. Charlie probably
laughed at Americans and called them “dopers.”
Lt. Jones was feeling a little uncomfortable for other reasons.
He had not
participated in the joint exercise, refusing to smoke MJ. He knew from college that pot
smokers got paranoid when somebody in the group didn’t smoke with them. It was like
that person was from that point on an outsider, and the group was likely to think that
person was out to get them. He knew that he had to be careful because these guys were
carrying weapons, while hippies could only beat you to death with their sandals and
beads.
He found it very interesting that groups were not that different, no matter what
beliefs brought and held them together. Whether hippies or soldiers, they all conformed
to some pattern. Fred was just surprised that drugs were the cement for these two groups
that he thought were diametrically opposed to each other.
As they came over the top of a hill, they could see bodies below. Capt. Brown
radioed the information back to the base. He said that a body bag team would be out in a
few minutes. The men of Bravo walked down to the scene of the attack, wary like wild
animals, looking for any sign of the predators that had done this.
When they got closer, the bodies looked like puppets that had their strings cut,
lying in unusual positions… sometimes with legs crossed… sometimes with legs spread
out. There were both Viet Cong mixed in with our troops. At first this seemed odd,
seeing both sides contribute to the body count… lying next to each other like long lost
friends locked together in a sleep of death.
Lt. Jones bent over to see one of the Viet Cong… probably a young teenager… he
picked up his arm and it fell back to earth like a limp noodle. Rigor mortis had not set in
yet. He looked at the dead youth… his face was ashen, wax-like. He didn’t look real, so
it made death easier to deal with. Whatever had been inside him before was long gone.
Lt. Jones could see only a shell that remained after the life of the kid left.
It all seemed strange to Lt. Jones since he had never seen a dead body before. It
was like looking into the face of death and seeing nothing… a vacuum… an emptiness…
an invisible demarcation between life and death that had never been noticed before. Yet,
even if the division between life and death were invisible, there was a significant result
from that passage. What remained was starting to rot… starting to return to its roots. But
there must be an invisible piece of life that was missing from the bodies… that invisible
entity that earlier had been the spark of life inside those bodies. Where did it go?
Perhaps, it was something that we could not see. Or did it evaporate into the air or seep
into the ground to be recycled?
It was a mystery that could only be solved through faith. However, Lt. Jones’
faith was shaken a bit. It’s easy to believe in God in church, but it’s not so easy in a war
zone. When you are standing in a church, it is very easy to say that God will take care of
you when you die. And you can make yourself believe that you believe. But it’s
different when you are facing the evil of war. Right and wrong get very blurred in this
environment. Was God on our side or on the side of Charlie or neither or both? And is it
even important when you are staring at a man pointing a gun at you. It’s as simple as you
must shoot him before he shoots you. That is the law of the jungle.
Lt. Jones heard a “whooft” sound and felt the slight concussion from wind going
over his head. Then he heard a retort from rifle fire. Bullets travel faster than sound and
you can sometimes hear them break the sound barrier, but you won’t hear the crack of the
rifle until too late.
Bravo team as if one voice said, “Sniper,” and everybody hit the dirt and hid
behind something substantial. Fred hit the dirt too, but he had nothing in front of him.
The veterans always automatically gravitated toward trees or something that would take
the bullet for them. It was pure instinct that kept veterans alive and a lack of it that made
rookies dead. That’s why the veterans never got too close to the “newbies.” They
figured that they had maybe a couple of months, maximum. It was better not to get to
know them, so you didn’t feel anything when they died.
Lt. Jones did a barrel roll and snaked his way up to the base of a tree with rounds
pounding the dirt around him as he moved. This allowed SSgt Grimes to draw a bead on
Charlie and knock him out of the tree with one clean head shot.
Lt. Jones thanked SSgt Grimes, but got no “you’re welcome” or even a “boy
howdy.” SSgt Grimes just sat back down with a vacant stare. Lt. Jones remembered an
old black and white move called, “Night of the Living Dead.” The cast of that movie
must have joined Bravo team. Another old horror movie came to mind, “The Invisible
Man.” That’s what these guys were… the living element was no longer visible in them;
they were just like the dead bodies around them except that they could still move. That
living thing that had been inside them was long gone.
Bravo waited until the team arrived to place the bodies in a zip-lock bag. Lt.
Jones was more interested in the bodies than the other members of Bravo, probably
because they had seen this before. He looked at the bags, which he considered as a
resurrection of the bodies now on their first step on a long road back home to their
Fathers.
Perhaps, you get callous to death over a period of time. But that may be a good
thing while you are in The Nam. It’s probably not so good when and if you get back
home. That was the first of many, many times that Lt. Jones would deal with the thought
that he may not make it back home.
The bag team started back to the base, but let the team know that the two pilots
had been rescued. Bravo let out a loud cheer.
Chapter 3
The Operation of Lam Son 719 ended on 6 April 1971 with almost 50% of both
sides suffering casualties. That’s the funny thing about war. It seems like both sides are
always taking a serious beating with no end in sight. Perhaps winning a war is just a
matter of which side is the most committed to winning. The North Vietnamese claimed a
complete victory in their invasion of Laos, but so did the South Vietnamese in defending
it. However, traffic on the Ho Chi Minh Trail was soon back in operation just like
before. Sometimes the only things that change from a war are the people who fought in it
and the civilians who were exposed to it.
Air support for the South Vietnamese commandos was critical in their counter
attacks on the North Vietnamese in Laos. And much of that air support came from Air
America out of secret locations, but our base assisted. Fred was helping maintain the A37As, which were retrofitted T-37s, like Fred had worked on at Webb AFB. They called
them Tweety-Birds at Webb because of the high-pitched sound they made. In Nam, they
were called Super Tweets, because of the modifications made to the aircraft so that it
could be used in close support for the ground-pounders. It had pods for additional fuel
and had slides to attach munitions.
There was a new climate in Vietnam called Vietnamazation under President
Nixon. The U.S. was turning over everything to the South Vietnamese, but from what
Fred could tell that was like handling the country back to the North Vietnamese. Viet
Nam was a full-out political war with very few national security objectives clearly stated.
Fred was convinced that President Johnson had no military experience and thus no
understanding of what the military could or couldn’t do… the perfect qualification to run
the war, which he did with increasing incompetence and indecision. He would run to see
what Walter Cronkite was saying, and then he would run back and pronounce another
Rule of Engagement that further handcuffed the military, already locked down in a war
that was doomed for failure.
Rules of war! The politicians ruined the war in Vietnam, like worms in an apple.
They ate a piece here and ate a piece there until the apple started to rot. It was a game of
politics to them, but it was far from that for those grunts who were on the ground,
slugging it out with the enemy.
During that time, Fred was working 24/7, catching naps as he could in his hooch.
He did anything from cleaning the latrine to helping in flightline maintenance, getting the
aircraft ready for the missions.
Your first kill is always your worst. The guys call you a virgin until it happens.
After that, you are accepted. It’s like a rite of passage in war… a battle scar that you
must receive for you to move toward that exalted rank of being a veteran, who might live
to see another day, instead of that rookie who has a black cloud of the unknown over his
head, who will be killed soon.
But that first kill was worse for Fred than he could have possibly imagined. He
had been working unusually long hours, and sleep deprivation was taking its toll on him.
Because of the heavy ops tempo and the pressure to get the birds out, he signed off on a
red X on a C-17 when he shouldn’t have. Fred had very little experience with C-17s, but
the pilot wanted to get back out there over the Plaine des Jarres (PdJ), a 50-square-mile
plateau in the mountainous northern part of Laos, and drop some more much needed
supplies to the Hmong.
Throughout history, PdJ had been a battleground, and the North Vietnamese
Army controlled the PdJ in a battle with the Hmong tribe and Thai mercenaries that had
see-sawed back and forth, typically from dry season to wet season.
The NVAs, in the
process, were decimating the poor Hmong tribe members, who were now attempting to
defend their mountainous homes surrounding the PDJ. Only air power was keeping the
Communists from annihilating them.
Fred’s first kill was an entire C-17 crew. He heard about the aircraft going down
inside Laos. At first, he thought it had been hit by a surface-to-air missile, but it turned
out to be maintenance error. The hydraulic leak that he signed off on was worse than he
thought and it apparently worsened until the pilot lost all control over the aircraft. It
crashed with everybody on board being killed instantly. Fred was numb for hours… no
days… well, perhaps the rest of his life. It was a life-changing experience.
And he received no solace from anybody. Everybody hated his guts. He even
hated his guts, so he didn’t blame them. He even got a yellow smoke bomb slid under his
cot as a warning. He should have felt lucky that he never got the red bomb or the
grenade, but he lost his ability to care about anything after that. His food didn’t have any
taste. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. He became one of the living dead. In many
ways, he fit in with the veterans, but they didn’t accept him since he wore a black badge
from the dark side. He was considered bad luck.
*****
I will remember how slowly the dark cloud came, but it came. And it will cover
the world and block all light from penetrating. The darkness will make everything much
more difficult. It will be a much more difficult process than I imagined. God really will
put me through the meat grinder. The unknown will be how I deal with this blackness. I
guess He has to be certain that I will really believe in Him. I am a completely broken
man. I will have murdered my comrades in arms. It will not get any darker than that.
Chapter 4
On 14 April 1971, about 5,000 South Vietnamese troops participated in a training
exercise in Laos. At least that’s what the newspapers said it was. They were actually
pushing the war effort into the Ashau Valley in Laos where the communists controlled
the infiltration route into South Vietnam. Brigadier General Giai, commander of Lam
Son 720, let the public know that this training would continue through October. Lam Son
719 had been portrayed by the press as a victory, so Lam Son 720 was just an exercise.
Bravo Team knew differently.
Back home, the Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW) were just
concluding a five-day demonstration called Dewey Canyon 3, named after the recent
drive into Laos. About a thousand veterans piled their combat ribbons, uniforms, and toy
weapons at the bottom of the Capital steps. This had more of an impact on the troops in
Vietnam than the thousands of protestors at the Capital mall or in San Francisco. It made
most of the soldiers feel inept. Our own guys are turning against us. The VVAW
testified before Congress about their participation in Lam Son 719 inside Laos, violating
the Congressional ban.
Fred would have been facing a potential courts-martial for his act in releasing the
aircraft, but for the fact that the plane had gone down inside Laos. The government had
to keep that a secret. So, what went down in Laos, stayed in Laos… including prisoners
of war. What happened in Laos, stayed in Laos.
But that didn’t make Fred feel any better. His conscience was eating him alive.
He replayed the incident hundreds of times every day, trying to squeeze out an excuse.
He even hoped he could find a glimmer of evidence exonerating him from himself, but he
never found it. He always condemned himself to the inner hell reserved for those who
have committed mortal sins. This was Fred at his worst, and he couldn’t imagine
anything happening during his lifetime that would top this. His conscience condemned
him to being a zombie for the rest of his life. He would never have fun again. His life
was over. He hated the man in the mirror.
He was perfect for being a forward observer. He didn’t care whether he lived or
died. Colonel James Taylor was delighted to have him volunteer for these missions.
Fred, armed with only an M-16, a Bowie knife, two grenades, and a radio went out
looking for Charlie. When he had this extra duty, he would sleep fitfully during the day
and then after a quick trip through the chow tent, he would load up and head down a path
looking for the bad guys. Everybody in Bravo stayed clear of him. The called him
“Dead Man Walking,” and that was pretty close to being accurate.
Fred liked to secure the perimeter first, working in a circular pattern around the
base. Then he would head northwest toward Cambodia. It wasn’t like you would ever
know when you crossed into a new country. They didn’t have neon or any kind of signs
to welcome or warn you. It didn’t say Cambodia… keep out. It didn’t say CooperChurch Amendment prohibits entry into this country, but unfortunately, that was the
truth. Of course, Fred couldn’t have possibly hiked to the border in one night, so he was
assured of not violating that rule. But Fred was very unhappy about that, because he
wanted to break that rule as well.
President Nixon had more guts than Johnson, but the American public had been
sold down the river by the liberal press and college students who were afraid that they
would be drafted and have to go to Viet Nam. In early May of 1970, Nixon authorized
our troops to cross the border into Cambodia to clear the enemy sanctuaries. This was a
successful operation, but the backlash in America precipitated college riots and
legislation. All of this upset Fred, who cursed the “liberal faggots” back stateside. He
believed that the troops should go back and fight where they were really needed… in the
United States. They could put down this insurrection within a few days. A few dead
students and journalists would take care of the problem.
The Cooper-Church Amendment prohibited the use of ground troops in Laos and
Cambodia after 30 June 1970. This played right into the hands of the enemy. Now, they
could set up sanctuaries all along the border, strike into South Vietnam, and then run
back to their safe haven. Politics and war mixed together like oil and water.
Of course, the military was adept at overcoming political stupidity. Since the
restriction was only for ground troops, air power and civilian troops became critical in the
Secret War in Laos. The downside to being an armed civilian in Laos was that if you
were captured, you could be considered a spy, which you probably were, and be
summarily shot, which many were. While the Prisoners of War in North Vietnam were
an objective during Nixon’s peace talks, the prisoners in Laos that were still alive were
never mentioned. And the unmentionables were never mentioned.
On one particularly steamy evening, Fred started out for a walk in the vicinity.
Since he performed his maintenance duty during the day, nobody really cared about his
extra-curricular activities. Fred had started a collection that nobody at the base knew
about. He kept it hidden under his cot locked inside his trunk. He would go out in the
evening and add to his collection. He could usually find a specimen within an hour or
two hiking toward Cambodia. When he found one or two, he would kill from a distance
with his M-16, then he would take out his Bowie knife and carve off the right ear from
each Charlie kill.
His payback-collection after tonight added up to twenty-six. He cleaned and
tagged each one of them by date and general location… not that it mattered much, but he
thought that was the right thing to do. The ears eventually dried out and curled up and
became somewhat smelly. It was the smell that finally gave his secret up, but he was just
given an oral admonishment by Colonel Taylor, who probably approved of the activity.
The other soldiers kept their distance from Fred since they considered him a loose
cannon. The said, “Just look into his eyes. He could go off any moment. He’s a powder
keg inside a cannon with a lit fuse.”
Chapter 5
Fred had been reading in an effort to find some answers, but nobody had written
anything that matched what he was feeling… except some Hemmingway was pretty
close, but not quite reaching the point where Fred stood. However, he found what he was
looking for in the Bible, but only in the Old Testament. His beliefs were based on the
Old Testament with a vengeful God.
Fred had no interest in the church services that were offered at Bien Hoa. He
avoided any group, including religious groups. But he associated strongly with the
Jewish and Muslim religions.
Even the disciples of Jesus had a satanic effect by
distracting him from his mission for a vengeful God. Jesus taught the New Testament
which diluted the Old Testament to a point where it lost its value. On Judgment Day, he
would meet God one-on-one and face him with his past cupped in his hands and he would
show no shame and face God straight up. This would be between him and God, not Jesus
and him and God. No family support groups would be there to help him before God. No
religious support groups would be there to argue his case. It would be entirely between
him and God.
Fred was listening to a Simon and Garfunkle song on the local military radio
channel that evening as he relaxed in his cot. The song spoke volumes to him.
I have my books and my poetry to protect me.
I am shielded in my armor.
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb,
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock; I am an island.
And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.
Fred was practicing a form of self-discipline and self-denial that made the soldiers
around him nervous. He refused to participate in the Mama Sahn sessions in a local
house of prostitution. He refused to join in the prevalent drug use. He didn’t even get
drunk with the guys on weekends. But he noticed that the weekends had run together, so
that now the troops were getting drunk every night. He didn’t smoke or chew. He
avoided all vices. He lived like a monk and made the others uncomfortable.
The drug use by the military made Fred sick. The majority of the troops were
high all the time. Heroin, liquid opium, speed, acid, marijuana… it was all there in front
of the troops at cheap prices. The Devil was at work in Vietnam in a big way. A soldier
could buy a vial of pure heroin for only ten dollars. Some soldiers were trading boxes of
detergent for cartons of pre-rolled marijuana cigarettes soaked in opium.
And Bien Hoa had a mini-Civil War raging within its First Cavalry division. The
soldiers seemed to be split into southern sympathizers and northern “liberals,” which
developed into racial issues, further splitting up the division. The real problem was the
drug and alcohol abuse. These issues that were festering inside were quickly brought to
the surface by juicers and drug users who would constantly pick fights. The conservative
vs. liberal and black vs. white issues seemed more like an excuse for fighting.
The best approach for survival was to mind your business and carry your weapon
for protection at all times. It was sad when you had to worry about being killed by your
own troops more than the enemy. The use of fragmentation grenades by soldiers against
their officers had been on the rise. There had been 209 fragging attacks during 1970, and
it looked like this was going to be another good year.
They would have fragged Fred, but they were afraid of him. The ear-thing was a
little over the top even for the heavy drug users, so the soldiers stayed clear of him. They
called him “Psycho Man” behind his back… way behind his back.
But Fred had his reason for taking ears. Charlie started it first. When Fred heard about
Viet Cong cutting ears off American soldiers and keeping them as souvenirs, he knew
what he had to do. Payback was righteous before God’s eyes.
However, Fred did not think of himself as being Godlike when he took lives. He
was merely acting as God’s servant. In Fred’s mind, God did not make man in his own
image. The reference to this in the Bible simply meant that God gave man a spark of
morality, a code of decency and honor, a code of the law of Moses that was part and
parcel of God. It was a bit presumptuous of homo sapiens to claim that God looked like
them. Man was a species that hadn’t been on earth very long in the grand scheme of
things and had almost gone belly-up extinct several times. It probably was just a fluke
that they were now kings of the planet. If the dinosaurs had not gone extinct, perhaps
several million years of mutations of dinosaurs would have led to them fighting wars in
foreign countries, instead of man. Fred did believe that God created man to serve Him
faithfully, and Fred believed that he did just that. He rationalized all his kills as serving a
vengeful God who exacted payback in an-ear-for-an-ear fashion.
Fred felt good inside from his fasting. Of course, he fasted in many areas other
than food. He could go for long periods of time without food, but he had gone for even
longer periods of time without sex. In fact, the last time had been with Sandra. He
wondered if he could ever have sex again with her. He was a new and changed man,
serving the God of Moses. He knew one of the laws was that thou shalt not kill, but he
also knew that God wanted him to destroy the enemies of God. The communists who
had no religion certainly were an enemy of God. The commandment not to kill did not
apply in war. God was on his side, and the communists were on the side of evil. He
could strike them down with impunity. And payback was the order of the day.
However, Fred’s hobby of collecting ears had to be curtailed for political reasons.
It just wouldn’t look good back on the front pages of American newspapers. Even
though Colonel Taylor didn’t personally mind Fred making his collections, he couldn’t
publicly sanction it, so he worked on Fred’s orders to the Royal Thai Air Force Base, in
Udorn,Thailand, where Air America and Air Commando were basing much of their air
operations that were assisting the Laotian ground forces.
Fred started writing a letter to his Congressman back home in Kentucky. He
invited the politicians to stay out of the war so that we might have a chance of winning
the war. He suggested that the President just give the military an objective and then let
the military determine the details on how to accomplish the objective. The objective
should be based on America’s national security interest that would be at risk. He wrote
that the Rules of Engagement written by civilian idiots who had no understanding of
military strategy and tactics were getting our good soldiers sent home in body bags. You
are killing us; you are literally killing us.
Fred got up and walked outside. He liked to look up at the stars and planets. He
had gotten so he could pick out Venus, which was usually brighter than any other planet
or any star, and the red planet Mars, which had a yellow-orange sparkle to it. He also
knew many of the constellations. Tonight, the Milky Way looked like smoke in a deep,
blue lagoon. Maybe he would buy a good telescope when he got back home.
*****
Fred did make one friend in Bien Hoa… Charles Murdock, the Red Fed
organizer. Charles was from Noblesville, Indiana, just north of Indianapolis, and they
shared stories about cool, crisp fall days in Brown County, Indiana, which was famous
for its rainbow forests.
There is no better cement for relationships in Nam than talking about home. It
helps you get through the endless days of being shot at and never knowing whether
tomorrow is going to be your last day or not. It’s much easier if you know your
execution date. The unknown lurking in the dark shadows waiting to snatch your life
away is the toughest part of war.
Fred and Charles had a lot in common beyond being from neighboring states. At
least, Fred made it seem that way. They both liked to read books on the Civil War, and
they traded stories on visits to the battlefields. Of course both had been to Gettysburg
and Manassas.
They talked extensively about General Stonewall Jackson’s Valley
Campaign and how he was an unlikely leader.
Fred recalled a story when Jackson was marching his men through the Valley and
they had camped out on one of the mountains during the night and were covered with
about a foot of snow in the morning. The men were grumbling about “Ole Jack” and how
crazy he was to march their “dogs” off up and down the Valley. They were so tired of
walking that they weren’t going to walk anymore. Just then a figure next to them shook
the snow off and got up. It was “Old Jack” and he started walking down the road toward
their next destination. And the men got up and followed him. Fred concluded, “Now,
that’s a leader.” Charles agreed but said that you don’t find many like that today.
The next day, Fred and Charles were on perimeter patrol duty. They were several
klicks from the compound when Fred told Charles that he heard something out in the
bush. They agreed to split up and check out the noise. Charles moved into the bush,
sweating profusely, partly from fear and partly from heat. As he slid between the
undergrowth, his helmet was tilted to the side and fell to the ground. He bent down to
pick it up when he felt the first bullet tear into his belly. The second bullet was only
seconds behind landing just a few inches from the first. He rolled over on his back,
holding the two wounds with both hands.
Fred fired several rounds into a hillside and then came running next to Charles. “I
got ‘em for you.”
“Good. Boy, this really hurts, Fred.”
Fred broke open a small first-aid kit and started applying bandages to Charles.
“Hold on, Charles.”
Charles looked into Fred’s eyes, searching for the answer to his question. “Am I
goin’ to make it?”
Fred stared at him with piercing eyes. “Do you want it straight?”
“Yes. Tell me the truth.”
Fred shook his head. “It doesn’t look good.”
Charles summoned up his strength. “Look, I’ve got to tell you something, Fred,
but you have to swear on the Bible that you won’t tell anybody else.”
“OK. I swear.”
Charles looked around as if to make sure that there was nobody else out there in
the middle of nowhere. “Two friends and I are the leaders of a secret organization called
Red Fed. One of them, Paul Ford, was killed about a year ago, and if I die, then only one
member, Alfred Black, will know the secret, although I believe that Allan White with
Ultraviolet also knows the secret.”
He confided to Fred that the secret dated back to the Founding Fathers, who did
not trust either the federal government or the majority of voters. He didn’t have time to
get into details, so he told Fred to read Federalist papers Numbers 10 and 57 written by
James Madison. He tells Fred that he and Paul had planned to disclose the secret of this
“Operation Zebra” to other members of the Red Fed. Before he dies, he explains that this
operation is designed to take over America, but he doesn’t get into the details, leaving
Fred wondering what the operation.
Fred went back and reported that Charles died from “friendly fire.” The two M16 rounds had been fired from Fred’s weapon. All Fred had to do was include in his
report that he thought Charles was Charlie.
Chapter 6
Fred started reading some unclassified material that had been furnished him in
advance of his next assignment. It seemed that the war in Laos was considered a secret
war, but the newspapers were well aware of many of the military’s activities and reported
it quite frequently.
America had agreed to remove all its military troops from Laos in the 1962
Geneva Convention on Laos. That’s why Fred had stocked up on civilian clothing at the
Post Exchange. If he ever dropped into Laos, it would only be in civilian clothing. That
way the U.S. wouldn’t be breaking any rules. Fred hated these games. They were lies
and deceit that he despised. If America’s national security were an issue, then we needed
to be up front about it and tell the world why we were in Laos. If other countries, like the
North Vietnamese, had already broken the Geneva Convention and were operating in
Laos, then America should go public and explain why the treaty was no longer valid. He
hated politicians. He believed they were servants of the Devil.
Back in 1964, Detachment 6 of the 1st Air Commando Wing initiated
“Waterpump” at the air base in Udorn. The goal was to train Laotian and Thai troops so
that they could fly and maintain aircraft for the war effort in Laos.
Fred was having a problem understanding the chain of command in this new
system. He was used to reporting to higher military in country for orders, but it seemed
that his new commander in country was going to be a civilian. The U.S. Ambassador to
Laos in Vientiane was in charge of this operation. The Air Commandos initially were the
instructors, but this was eventually turned over to the regular U.S. Air Force. Fred
guessed that’s what he would be doing… training others to maintain the aircraft. As it
turned out, he was only partly right.
He out-processed on 28 April 1971, just over a month since he arrived in country.
Fred thought that he had been in Nam for at least nine months. I guess time doesn’t fly
when you aren’t having fun. Fred read the newspaper on his flight over to Udorn. The
Veterans Against the War were in the news again, this time testifying before Congress
that the 7th Battalion of the 9th Marine Regiment participated in Operation Lam Son 719
inside Laos, ignoring the Congressional ban on ground troops. The group also reported
that U.S. soldiers were guilty of war crimes against the enemy and South Vietnamese
civilians.
Fred was fuming. How the hell did these traitors know the difference between a
Viet Cong and Vietnamese civilian? Answer was: they didn’t. The Vietnamese dress the
same, live in same locations, look the same. It’s all bullshit. Some would be South
Vietnamese farmers in the daytime and Viet Cong at night. There was no way to tell.
These guys probably saw some of our guys getting out of control with South Vietnamese
farmers, but there was no way to tell who the good guys and the bad guys were. That
even changed on a daily basis, depending on who controlled the area.
Fred also noted that the casualty figures were released with American losses in
Vietnam totaling 45,019. This placed this war number four in loss of American lives
behind the Civil War, World War I, and World War II.
When Fred landed, he was excited about seeing new people and lands. After the
first few hours of in-processing, he was glad to collapse in his new hooch and fall asleep.
He slept for over twelve hours, but nobody bothered him until the next morning.
He met the Chief of Maintenance, a rather gangly Texan who called himself… no
surprise there… Tex. Major Robert “Tex” Matthews was very friendly and wanted to
break Fred into the operation slowly. Major Matthews emphasized, “We can’t afford to
make maintenance mistakes in this outfit, because if any of our guys go down in Laos
and we are unable to rescue them, they are lost souls.”
Fred felt comfortable enough to ask questions. “Sir, why is that?”
“Because our mission is only to train the Laotians and Thais. If we have any of
America’s finest flying around over Laos and they are shot down, then we better damn
sure get ‘em out.”
“Sir, don’t they get the same treatment as any other Prisoners of War?”
“That’s a negative, son. They are usually shot as spies because they will be in
civilian, not military clothing.”
“Sir, what will I be doing?”
“Well, son. Right now, I would like to use you training the Laotian and Thai
maintenance specialists on the A-37As. I know you have the most experience with that
aircraft, and you shouldn’t have any trouble with the training schedule. I believe that will
also give you time to get up to speed on some of our other aircraft.”
“Sir, thank you, sir. Who should I report to this morning?”
“Why don’t you relax this morning, grab some chow at the mess hall, and then
head on over to the Training Center at Building 10. You won’t have any trouble finding
it, since it’s right next to the chow hall. Report to the Officer in Charge, Captain Lance
Freedman.”
“Sir, thank you, sir.”
“OK, but relax a bit, son. You’re just a bit more military than you need to be
here. In fact, I want you to let your hair grow and take the opportunity to grow a beard if
you want to. We encourage everybody to wear civilian clothing. I know it’s not going to
be easy for you, but I want you to start looking and acting like a civilian. We go by first
names here. Call me Tex. And what do I call you?”
“Just Fred, sir.”
“Drop the sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can see that we are going to have to work with you a little bit.”
“Yes… uuuhh… just yes, then.”
“Good. That’s a start. Good luck to you, son. Keep your head down close to
your ass, so if the shit hits the fan, you can kiss it goodbye.”
Fred saluted, but the Major just waved back. “Remember. Think civilian.”
The remainder of the day was fairly painless. Fred met Captain Freedman. He
seemed like a good soul, trying to do the right thing, keeping his troops happy. He gave
Fred the opportunity to sit in on an A-37A maintenance class that started tomorrow at
0800. Fred would have the advantage of sitting through an entire class before teaching
one himself. He thought that was very fair. At the end of the day as he relaxed outside
his hooch, watching the sun explode into a vivid, violet sunset, he felt very comfortable.
He felt at home in this far-away land. He wondered if they had some good Thai food
downtown. Then he laughed at his own humor.
Chapter 7
On 12 May 1971, Laotian Premier Souvanna Phouma was receptive to meeting
with Pathet Lao Patriotic Front for peace talks, but he did not even recognize the
Communist demand for a halt on American bombing in Laos. This was the Premier’s
best card to hold the Communists at bay. Without air support from Air America and the
Air Force, he would be sunk.
That morning, the South Vietnamese destroyed a North Vietnamese base camp
and arms production facility in the Ashau Valley, near the Vietnam and Laos border as
part of Operation Lam Son 720.
But all this did was stir the pot, and the North
Vietnamese Army poured out of the mountains like ants. Fred was pulled away from his
training program since all hands were needed on deck to provide support for the struggle
for control along the Laotian border.
Fred assisted wherever he was needed as aircraft were taking off right and left,
day and night in an effort to help counter the Hanoi forces that were gaining ground each
hour. Fred was exhausted after about a week of this effort. The next day, Fred was
approached by a new kid on the block by the name of Charles Murdock. Murdock had
heard about Fred and wanted to team with him on a ground assignment in the Bolven
Plateau in southern Laos where the North Vietnamese forces were headed.
Fred checked Charles out.
The story on him was that he had some strong
communist leanings, but seemed to be genuine in his patriotism to serve his country.
Fred had a CIA manila package on Charles with a black and white picture and his history.
He was an organizer of the Red Fed, a left-wing organization with aspirations of taking
over the federal government. NSA had sent him in as a negotiations specialist. The only
negotiating tool Fred had was his M-16. He convinced Charles to check out one too.
They were inserted in the Plateau on a clear morning with rains due in later that
afternoon. Fred’s assignment was to direct air support and firepower on the enemy when
contacted. That wasn’t expected to be long. In fact, Fred hoped that the Hanoi forces
arrived before the rain and cloud cover did.
After about an hour, Fred heard a zinging noise and saw a bullet pound the ground
behind him. He headed for cover, dragging Charles with him. It was clear that the
enemy outnumbered them about twenty to one. Fred called in for an air strike, but a
company was already on top of them. Fred found out quickly that Charles was not
trained for battle and this may have been his first combat experience. He hid most of the
time, returning fire with his weapon held above his head, pointed in a general direction of
the enemy.
Fred hollered at him, “God damn it, Charles. You have to aim the son-of-a-bitch
if you wanta hit anythin.”
Fred gambled and called in for an air strike right on top of them. He scrambled
up the hill and set up a position so that he could take out anybody making it through the
napalm fire. He nailed the first Commie through right in the head. He also got the
second Commie, but this one happened to be an American. He hit Charles with a shot in
the stomach that was fatal, but it allowed him to talk.
Fred ran over and apologized for the mistake, and asked Charles if he could send
any messages for him back home. Charles must more concerned about telling somebody
that he was one of only three people who knew a secret that went back to Alexander
Hamilton and James Madison, two of the authors of The Federalist Papers. These
Founding Fathers were nervous about what the majority of Americans could and would
do to a pure democracy, so they created a republic instead. And they were very nervous
about the new government, so they made certain that it was dysfunctional with three
competing components for a balance of powers. The secret that Charles was dying with
involved a top-secret operation run by both Red Fed and Ultraviolet in an effort to control
America. Charles was reluctant in passing any more of this secret along to Fred, but he
asked Fred if he would let Alfred Black know that he died bravely in combat. Fred said
that he would and he watched Charles spirit leave his body.
After days of fighting, the Hanoi forces destroyed most of Dong Hene, the
Laotian military headquarters.
Fred was very familiar with tactics, so that he knew that air power could be a
powerful ally to those ground troops, but in the last analysis, it was the ground troops that
carried the day and won the war. Only they could capture and hold ground. Bombs
destroy soldiers, equipment, weapons, and provisions... and after the destruction is over,
the other side wants a little payback. But Fred knew that bombs would never take the
place of combat seasoned ground troops. And the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong were
becoming quite adept at ground tactics and maneuvers. They certainly had an advantage
in experience over the thinning ranks within the Royal Laotian forces and the mountain
tribes that assisted the Royalists.
After 22 May 1971, Fred went back to his routine training program. He enjoyed
attending the classes and took notes so that he could embellish the information that he
already had tucked away on the Super Tweet. Fred was reading manuals on the other
aircraft used by the Laotians and Air America and in the process became good friends
with Chuck Smith, a CIA operative from the East Coast.
Chuck told Fred as much as he could tell him about the operations in Laos. They
kidded each other constantly and that made the days pass by quicker.
Fred scolded him. “I know that’s not your real name… Mr. Smith… give me a
break. I could come up with a better last name than that off the top of my head. Oh, wait
a minute. I’ll bet you have a memory problem and had to pick a name that would be easy
to remember. And you got a good one. That’s a name that I’ve seen used on a daily
basis in every motel register in the United States. And I suppose that Mr. Smith goes to
Washington every now and again, so it would be very appropriate to have that name for
such occasions.”
And Chuck countered. “Yes. And don’t think that we don’t know that you
created that Psycho Man image just to get a one-way ticket out of Nam. To think that
you cut all those ears off just to get a cushy job teaching in Thailand. You should be
ashamed.”
“Oh, I am ashamed… that it took that long for the Air Force to fully recognize my
Psycho Image. I thought it would only take an ear or two, but I had to shuck a bushel to
get their attention.”
“Well, you did hide them locked up in your trunk. It took a bushel of them to
start the stink that got you caught.”
“How did you know all that information?”
“We have ways to make people talk, comrade.”
“Yeah. Well, you’ll never get me to talk, because I don’t drink any of that
homemade mountain joy juice.”
“Oh, yes, but we have many other ways.”
Fred laughed. “Yeah, I bet you do.”
Chuck wanted to take the parting shot. “Your code name with the CIA, hereafter,
will be Mr. Erie.”
They both groaned together.
Chuck and Fred became good friends, so Fred was invited to take some trips into
Laos.
On one of the trips, Fred flew in an AC-119K, Stinger. Although its gross weight
was supposed to be 84,000 pounds, it was constantly overloaded to carry heavy
munitions into Laos. There were six guns on the bird that if all turned toward the aft and
fired simultaneously, although never attempted, they actually might propel the aircraft if
it ran out of fuel.
The most impressive part of his flight was that evening when they flew over the
Ho Chi Minh trail, catching a convoy of ammo and fuel trucks. They lit up the trucks and
circled and watched. In the dusk, it was like watching a Fourth of July celebration with
roman candles shooting up as the fuel barrels skyrocketed into the sky with their tails of
burning fuel.
And the ammo went off like firecrackers below, sending the North
Vietnamese scurrying for cover. Fred doubled over in laughter as the Communist troops
who started to return to the trucks were surprised and hit the dirt as more bullets came
zipping out of the slow cooking trucks. The small-arms ammo continued to cook through
the evening, sending intermittent bullets out looking for a soft target.
The danger of these flights over Laos never bothered Fred, so he was accepted by
the CIA operatives and was taken into their inner sanctum, where few entered. Fred
learned of the major drug problem in Laos that was just as bad as it was in Nam. He
learned that many of the drug pushers were connected to both the Royal Lao and Pathet
Lao military, making it easy for them to move drugs through the country and deal drugs
to both sides.
Everybody was on the take. It was like that old story about an older man who
approached a young attractive lady and asked her if she would go to bed with him for ten
dollars. She slapped him and started to walk away until he said, “How about a million
dollars?” The lady turned around and came back with a big smile on her face. The man
then said, “Now that we have established that you will do it, we merely need to negotiate
a reasonable price.”
The CIA was trying to get some of their people inside the operation, but it was not
easy to do, particularly since the life expectancy of most of the inside drug operators was
less than a year. Fred couldn’t understand why any local would even be interested in
such a job unless it was a suicide for family. Even if you made a million dollars in a
year, it wouldn’t be worth it because you wouldn’t be able to spend your salary before
you died. Fred found out later that they were usually drug users themselves, and they
were already living on the edge.
Fred was also invited to see how the other side lived. Fred visited Chuck in his
facilities, and Fred was treated to steak and baked potato with all the trimmings. They
even had wine and strawberry shortcake for desert. The CIA knew how to live. Fred was
treated to some inside information, but he was asked not to disclose it to anybody else.
And he didn’t. It’s still a secret between Fred and Chuck. And neither one of them
would give up the secret even at gunpoint.
Chapter 8
In early July of 1971, Fred was assigned to a special operations group training
Thailand mercenaries and Hmong tribesmen for operations in Laos. He was flattered that
he had been selected to work with the CIA. Chuck had recommended him. He wouldn’t
let them down. Fred was aware of the importance of their mission since the wet season
had started and it was that time of year to kick up the air operations and recapture the
ground lost over the dry season.
On July 6th, Fred was on a special CIA flight into Laos near the Plaines des Jarres.
This area was named after the unusual rock formations that looked like jars scattered on
this level highland area sandwiched between mountain ranges. The Hmong tribe, who
lived in the mountainous area surrounding the PdJ, were fiercely opposed to the Pathet
Lao, but over the years, the ages of the soldiers had slipped down into the teens. All the
mature men in the tribe had died in the war. Without the Thai mercenaries, there would
have been an ineffective ground force. The CIA was footing the bill.
Fred assisted the ground troops, making certain that they understood the basics of
how to use an M-16 rifles and M-79 grenade launchers. Fred felt a little odd with the
camouflage paint on his face, but since the trainees were wearing it as well, he didn’t feel
too badly. He double checked their gear ensuring that they had enough provisions for a
week-long trip. He felt like a scoutmaster getting the Boy Scouts ready for a camping
trip. Perhaps it was because of the age of some of the troops.
Fred watched the men move slowly down the mountain to the PdJ. Their mission
was to retake control of the plain below. Since the rains had already started, we hoped
that the Pathet would be pathetic in their resistance. This was when they typically went
into hibernation. Fred’s mission was to act as a forward observer, calling in air strikes
when and where needed. He had more experience at that than anybody else on the team,
so he got the assignment.
He knew that Stingers were in the area on call. Fred believed them to be the best
aircraft for close-air support even though they had some maintenance problems like
losing cowl flaps, panels, and other things that went bump in the night. When they were
functional though, you couldn’t beat them for ground-suppression fire.
Fred lagged a little behind the group, giving him a good view of the battle that
soon developed. Unfortunately, the Pathet weren’t asleep at the wheel. Fred heard a
wind-breaking whoosh and a dull thud behind him as a bullet crashed into the thin soil.
He had learned well in his rookie days, so he was automatically near a tree, and he
dropped fully behind it.
The skirmish below was at a standstill, so Fred called in the coordinates for an air
strike based on his area topo map. He could make out a small encampment where the
Pathet were dug in. In a few minutes, he saw the Stinger coming from about a mile out.
It headed right for the compound and opened up with minigun fire. Fred watched the
spectacle, and it looked like bits of raw hamburger were being tossed into the air. The
Stinger circled around and came back for another charge, blasting away. After that
nothing was moving. Some of the Thai veterans moved in to check it out, but it was a
100% kill zone.
They pushed on without any more resistance. At nightfall, they bedded down, but
were disciplined enough to avoid making much noise and using any lights or fires. Cold
rations were the order of the day.
Fred was deep in thought before he dropped off to sleep. We had made about six
miles after the skirmish. Our objective was to get about 50 miles across the PdJ, which
would effectively recapture control of the area. Of course, we knew that we didn’t have
the ground forces to hold it permanently. That was the problem with this stinking war.
Our hands were tied by the politicians, who either had not served in the military or had
no clear understanding of how to work with the military, or both. I was in violation of
the Congressional mandate right now.
The next morning, Fred stretched, drank from his canteen and ate some crackers.
He watched the pale yellow sun try to peek through the clouds, but it didn’t last long.
The skies opened up for another rainy day. Within a few minutes, they were on their way
again. They didn’t run into any more resistance until the third day out.
One of the problems with war is the chaos caused by the confusion. It is very
difficult being a leader in wartime if you carry any emotion with you onto the battlefield.
You have to leave that back at your hooch. Bullets whistling over your head can be an
emotional experience by themselves, but the leader must remember: keep your head
squarely on your shoulders at all times, when other are losing theirs and blaming it on
you. The buck stops with the leader in times of war. A good leader knows the mission
and makes adjustments in order to accomplish that mission. He is calm and moves his
troops with resolve and certainty to remove the sting of chaos from the battlefield.
Fred watched as the poorly trained Hmong troops scattered quickly, breaking and
running in an open field, making easy targets. He felt sorry for them; they were just kids.
The Pathet Lao had the Thai mercenaries pinned down, and they were flanking them for
the kill. Fred moved his fingers slowly over the topo map to be certain of the positions.
He called in a strike on the rear guard and the right flanking movement. Within minutes,
just like clockwork, the Stinger pulled in sight. Again, the miniguns chewed up the area.
Fred saw splinters of wood, pieces of cloth, and that raw hamburger meat again. He was
glad that he called in the right coordinates. One of the nightmares for a forward observer,
no matter how experienced, is calling in a strike so close to your troops that you get your
own troops included in the meat grinder. It is called death by friendly fire, but in reality,
there is no fire that is friendly.
The remainder of the journey was uneventful, and we came back with our mission
accomplished… thanks to the Stingers, that is. When Fred was safely back at base camp,
the news was already out that American advisors had participated in the successful sweep
across the PdJ. The Defense Department denied that there were any such advisors
involved with this operation.
Fred and Chuck laughed heartily. Chuck said, “Well, old buddy. It looks like
you and I don’t exist.”
“Yeah, I guess we’re ghosts haunting the land.”
“No, my friend. We are spooks. Now you know where they got the word for us
in CIA-land.”
“Oh. I always wondered where that came from.”
“So, how does it feel to be a spook?”
“Well, it spooked me a bit at first, but I think it’s growing on me.”
“Well, it looks good on you. Maybe we can continue finding ways for you to
wear it.”
Chapter 9
On 18 July 1971, Fred was given an assignment to act as a forward observer in
the Sayaboury Province in Laos, protecting the Thai troops who were constructing
permanent military bases in the province which was about a 20-by-100-mile zone. Fred
fully appreciated the dangers in this assignment from the get-go. He knew that the Thai
mercenaries, who were excellent soldiers, would be preoccupied with the construction,
without the manpower to post many sentries, making his job that much more critical.
That evening after chow, Fred took a walk before turning in. He had a long day
tomorrow, getting his gear ready for the mission. Tonight, he was just going to relax and
contemplate… something of a luxury with the war going on. As he walked around the
compound, he took full notice of everything that was going on. He was surprised by
what he saw. Perhaps it went on all the time, and he just had been too busy to notice it,
but it jumped out at him tonight.
He discovered that about 80% of the military were involved with drug and alcohol
abuse. Also, about 80% had some sort of sexual activity in progress or in mind…
meaning that they were already with somebody or planning to be with somebody of the
same or opposite sex soon, or they were laying on their cots with sexually explicit
magazines and centerfolds, rubbing themselves.
correlation between the two matching percentages.
He wondered if there was some
Morality during wartime was a difficult problem. Military morality was dictated
by regulations and rules of engagement. Much of the early military conduct in Vietnam
was being heavily scrutinized since the Mai Lai massacre. Now, soldiers were given
discretion in whether to follow orders or not since Lietenant Calley found out during the
trial that he did not have to follow an unlawful order. The problem is that this gives
discretion and subjective decision-making powers to soldiers in wartime situations. This
can be very dangerous, especially if they are high on drugs. They don’t have time to
think; they only have time to react quickly or they and, in some cases, their entire group,
will be dead.
These soldiers were scared, lonely, homesick, and many fell into the drug and
alcohol trap and couldn’t get out. They were addicted to heroin and cocaine and alcohol.
They were not only in a war zone, which could be considered hell, but they were also in a
substance-abuse environment where everything was available to them at a reasonable
price. They had lost parental and societal guidance in this foreign land. The military
officers looked the other way, and many of the officers that survived the fraggings were
no better than the enlisted. Peer pressure was pushing them further into this hell hole. In
other words, anything that you wanted to do in Nam, you could do. There were few
consequences. This was an environment made for the Devil to do his work, and he was
very busy.
The troops heard about the recent charge against Brigadier General John
Donaldson, an Army brigade commander in South Vietnam, that he allegedly murdered
six Vietnamese. He was the highest ranking officer to be charged with killing civilians so
far in Vietnam. However, this had no impact on these troops. They were similar to many
criminals Fred had met. They didn’t believe they had really done anything wrong,
because the rules applied to other people.
Even if they had been in violation of
regulations or rules, they didn’t believe they would ever be caught. Or if they were
caught, they believed that the authorities would not find sufficient evidence or have the
mental toughness to actually prosecute them. Or if they were prosecuted, there wouldn’t
be sufficient evidence to convict them. Or if they were convicted, they would get a light
sentence. And if the got a light sentence, they would get out early. People who break
the rules are the most optimistic people you will every run into during your life.
And that makes sense if you think about it. Those who believe that they could be
caught and punished are reluctant to do these things. They are fully aware of the
potential consequences and make the right choices. Fred went back to his tent and
collapsed in his cot. He got out a pencil and paper and wrote down the capital letters
making up the word, CHOICES. After about a half-hour passed, he reviewed what he
had written down:
C – Consequences (exercising prudence and common sense to avoid potentially
bad consequences).
H – Honesty (being honest with yourself and others, offering up truth and justice,
Integrity).
O – Ownership (accepting yourself with flaws and failures, and repenting your
behavior).
I – Intestinal Fortitude (giving your all at all times, never giving up, trying to be
a better man, guts).
C – Control (moderation of your behavior through external, law,
religion, peer,
society, parental pressure, and internal, self, control).
E – Excuses (determining legitimate excuses, such as disease or mental defect,
from illegitimate excuses, making excuses for your actions and rationalizing
them, i.e., everybody else is doing it, or this is OK since I’m in Nam, or I
was under the influence of drugs and alcohol, so I’m not to blame, and it’s
not my fault).
S – Self (looking inside yourself to find your conscience, what do you think is the
right thing to do, are your actions precipitated by greed, lust, or quest for
money or power all to satisfy pride, where is humility?)
Fred was trying to get a handle on human virtues woven into the fabric for what
he wanted his character and personality to have. After Fred set these out on paper, he
found it easier to think through his own personal demons that followed him through the
jungles of Southeast Asia and the deep recesses of his own mind. He believed that it
could help him make better choices. Fred did not believe in pre-destination and that
everything was already set in stone so that you couldn’t change your life or make your
own decisions. Many of the troops followed that astrology garbage, believing that their
lives were already set and that they were only along for the ride set on automatic pilot.
They didn’t really believe they had any free will. Fred had tons of it.
The bottom line was realizing your frailties and picking yourself up and trying to
be a better person. Pretty simple, yet pretty hard to do, especially in Nam. Fred made
choices every day, and the mission helped him make those decisions. Many choices
came automatically, and this was a good thing in order to survive in a wartime
environment. But Fred didn’t have a problem with the decisions that he had made on the
battlefield. He was struggling mightily with his appetites off the battlefield. It was his
spare time that got him into trouble.
Fred had recently started having thoughts about his position on full abstinence of
sex while being separated from Sandra. He believed in being completely faithful to his
wife, but he also had been without sex for almost four months in a very stressful
environment. He knew that more than 99% of the troops had sex, and he was even ribbed
about his abstinence by Chuck. His appetite for sex was growing every day as he
watched others satisfy theirs on a daily basis. The local customs with open sex shops
were starting to chip away at his resistance. He knew that Sandra would never find out.
The other troops not only wouldn’t care, but they would accept him more. Even Chuck
was very uncomfortable with his strong position on chastity when away from the wife.
Just last night, a couple of friends had asked if he wanted to join them at one of
the local houses of prostitution. He declined as usual, but he was struck by what one of
the soldiers said, “Oh come on Fred. It’s not going to hurt anybody. The local ladies
make their living like this. Who does it really hurt?”
Fred was thinking about that tonight. He finally found the answer. It hurts me.
It changes the internal compass by a few degrees so that my next direction will be a
little off and will be harder to find.
Fred thought of it in terms of satisfying hunger for food. He had gone without
food before out in the field and he even intentionally had fasted on occasions. There was
absolutely nothing wrong with satisfying your appetite for food or sex within reason.
And Fred’s logic was that food was to provide energy to the body and that sex led to
procreation and was meant to be a pleasure enjoyed between a man and a women who
were married. He could continue the sexual fasting until he and Sandra were back
together again. He believed that he had the strength and self-discipline to do that.
He knew there were times when the soldiers around him satisfied their hunger by
eating more than normal, but generally, it did not get out of hand. Even though the men
could have as much food as they wanted at chow, they limited themselves. However,
Fred noticed there wasn’t the same restraint shown for sex and substance abuse. The
appetite for these things had gotten way out of control and the appetite was satisfied in a
preposterous show of excess, way beyond any possible biological need, requirement, or
function.
He had noticed that sexual perversions were becoming more prevalent in the
military. Fred did not know of too many perversions in satisfying the appetite for food,
but he had seen and had heard of numerous sexual perversions being practiced on and off
base. He had heard that rapes, tortures, sadistic acts, and sodomy were all reported being
practiced on routine patrols now. It was almost like, last night’s perversion was boring to
the troops. We need to find something new and frightfully disgusting, so we won’t be
bored by being in this bloody war.
Fred wondered how he would handle this situation if it ever came up on a patrol
he was son. Of course, he knew the answer in a flash. It was the dualism that was in his
heart. You were either on the right side or the wrong side. There was no in between. He
certainly wasn’t going to be in the business of trying to convert the members of that
patrol. If they wanted to gang-bang a poor Laos peasant, he not only wasn’t going to
participate, but he would fully expect to have to change his enemy from Pathet Lao to
Thai mercenaries. It wouldn’t be smart to try to take them on in a gun battle at that time.
It would be better to take them out one at a time… probably quietly with the Bowie knife,
which he still carried with him at all times.
Fred did not know if the drug-and-alcohol-induced paranoia was a legitimate
excuse for the troops. He really didn’t think so, because the troops voluntarily started
taking the drugs and alcohol, fully knowing the consequences. He believed that it would
be considered reckless endangerment of third parties and that they were thus responsible
for their actions after taking drugs and alcohol, even if the substances affected their
memories of what they did under the influence.
And of course, there were the money-men behind all the sex and drugs and rock
‘n roll. The businessmen who were profiting from the peddling of sex and drugs were
busy putting out propaganda that would eliminate the last bit of resistance through their
good salesmanship. The lure was that G.I.s needed something to take their minds off the
war. It sure did that.
Fred was comfortable with his decision. He followed his list of seven virtues very
well and arrived at his decision to continue fasting. He first examined the consequences
and realized that syphilis and other diseases, although controlled pretty well, was still
always a possibility. And there were some communicable diseases that were even worse
that might even keep him in country for some time.
Second, he felt that if he gave in to the urge, he would lose a piece of his integrity
and if this subject ever came up with Sandra, because women would sometimes ask that
question, he could not lie to her.
Third, he owned up to his weakness of desiring to satisfy his normal sexual
appetite, but he repented his thoughts and worked hard to curb this appetite, knowing that
he would be back with Sandra within another nine months or so.
Fourth, he sucked it up and relied on his intestinal fortitude, commonly referred to
as guts, to get him through this difficult period. No amount of harassment or temptation
would divert him from his goal.
Fifth, he would be violating one of the Commandments by committing adultery.
This was an external law that he was not going to break. Fred relied on his self-control
and self-discipline to get him through other ordeals, and this one would be no different.
Sixth, there was no excuse that worked here. Just because he was in a foreign
country in a war zone and away from his wife for a year was no excuse for this type of
conduct. All the other troops were able to rationalize their activities, but Fred knew that
he could not.
And seventh, he looked deep inside himself and decided that his conscience
would not permit this activity. He had committed to Sandra when they got married, and
he was going to be faithful to her. His conscience would not permit anything less.
Chapter 10
Fred pulled up his frayed jeans, his uniform of the day. He grabbed his gear and
headed for the waiting chopper. There were seven Thai mercenaries waiting for takeoff.
Fred jumped in and pulled the door shut. Within seconds, they were off to the Sayaboury
Province. Fred enjoyed the scenery every time he flew over Thailand and Laos. Except
for the war and the Pathet Lao, he might have considered this a vacation.
The Civil Engineering Red Horse unit had trained the mercenaries on how to set
up temporary bases.
It remained to be seen how much of the training took.
The
mercenaries reminded him of the Dirty Dozen times fifty. His guess was that most of
them had done time in the past or were recently released for anything from assault to
murder. It was their dead eyes that gave them away. There were no souls inside any of
them. But since he was their protector, they let him live… at least for now.
When they arrived, there were about 100 mercenaries already setting up camp.
There were materials stacked everywhere. Fred found a tent with an empty cot and he
moved his gear inside. It didn’t take them long to set up the important areas: the latrines,
the mess tent, and the sleeping tents. Fred noticed that there were about thirty teenage
boys who were hired from one of the local villages to help do menial chores.
The first few weeks went swimmingly. The monsoon season had started right on
time and was making it difficult for the undisciplined mercenaries to put up the facilities
needed for the bases. Fred’s job was to keep an eye out for the bad guys. He knew the
Stingers were not far away if needed.
The first attack was a mortar attack, launched from a small hill to the southeast of
where they were constructing the base. Fred had already zeroed in on the hill as a
possible point of attack, so he had the coordinates ready to go. He called in to the Stinger
crew, and they responded within about fifteen minutes. Fred believed that the enemy had
already pulled out, but the aircraft hammered the area. The Thais cheered, but Fred just
shook his head. No hamburger meat on this run to the grocery.
They had some luck in the weather and got the first base operational in a little less
than three weeks. About half of the group stayed behind to complete the job, and the
other half went on the next proposed base. Fred went to the new location, because the
Thais at the first base set up a perimeter defense and didn’t have as much a need for air
protection.
Fred figured that the mercenaries were getting a little tent-fever, which was
similar to cabin-fever, the only difference being that rain kept you inside rather than snow
when the fights started. You might as well eat and then grab a front row seat, for the
fights would start like clockwork each evening. He also noticed that the mercenaries
were starting to get a little friendly with each other and especially with the teens
borrowed from local tribes. He imagined that this was no different than a prison where
horny men have sex with who else… other men.
After another six days, all hell broke loose. They were out in the middle of
nowhere with everybody wanting to cut loose and go wild. That evening after chow,
Fred noticed that the drug and alcohol use was at about the 100% level. The mercenaries
went on a rampage. They grabbed the eight teens working for them and formed eight
lines with about six Thais in each line. They gang raped the kids. Fred was incensed.
He played it cool and backed up into a higher elevation where he maintained a vantage
point. He knew he couldn’t take on about 50 mercenaries, so he bided his time. A
veteran understands patience.
Fred watched them then tie the kids up and take them to the mess tent to wait until
the next gang-bang session. The entire group started a bonfire away from the camp,
consuming every drop of booze and scrap of a drug in the area like locusts. Then they
started dancing as if in some kind of drug trance, firing their weapons in the air.
Fred double checked the map to make certain that the coordinates were precise.
He called in for the Stinger, which responded in about twenty minutes. With Fred’s
directions and description, it probably looked like the camp had been overrun by Pathet
Lao who were celebrating their victory. Within minutes, red, raw hamburger was flying
everywhere. It was the reddest and rawest hamburger, yet. Fred called the aircraft back
for a second passover. Even though he saw the hamburger flying again, their were no
screams this time.
Fred went down and released the kids so they could return to their homes with his
sincere apologies. He checked the area to make certain that there were no stragglers or
living souls. He was tired and turned in early. It had been a tough day at the office.
Chapter 11
Fred was disciplined for his actions. He received a written reprimand for missing
so many classes. Since he had never been in Laos, he couldn’t be prosecuted for
anything he did in Laos. He was ordered to go back to training Thai mercenaries on the
A-37 aircraft. He noticed that this time they gave him their undivided attention.
On 5 September 1971, it got real busy around the Udorn again. Fred knew
something was up when he was asked to pack for a journey in country. He thought, they
must be desperate to have to use him again.
The Plateau des Bolovens is located on the southern tip of the Laos panhandle,
just north of Cambodia, west of South Vietnam, and east of Thailand. Since Fred was
familiar with the area and had a reputation for working with Stinger aircraft, although the
Thais considered it a “bad” reputation; he was given an assignment to act as a forward
observer for a mission to recapture the town of Paksong in the Boloven Plateau. Seven
Laotian government battalions were involved, without any Thai mercenaries assisting, so
Fred seemed like a safe bet.
He was flown into the area in a CH-3C at the first base they had established in the
Plateau. He hooked up with the Laotian troops and they set out for Paksong at daybreak.
It was an ugly hike with rain coming down in silver torrents. Fred didn’t know what
good he could do if anything happened during the march. If he called in for an air strike,
it wouldn’t do any good because nobody could respond in this weather. The good news
was that most of the enemy was huddled up inside their tents, staying out of the rain. In
many ways, Fred would have rather been back in Udorn, preparing for the next day’s
class. No, that would actually be in all ways, he would have preferred Udorn. But here
he was… out in the wilderness again. What a Boy Scout, he was.
Fred lagged behind the main group as he usually did, but today was different
since the rain made visibility at any distance a problem. The sheet lightening helped light
the path of least resistance. He finally gave up and fell in with the rear of the group.
Then he only hoped that the rear guard didn’t get attacked.
That evening they camped on the east side of Paksong. As best Fred could tell,
the Laotian commander was going to divide his troops so that three of the battalions
would move in from their current positions due west, two would flank to the south and
come up from that direction, and two would flank to the north and drop down from that
point. The three units would come together and pinch the Communists from three points,
with the Mekong River blocking their retreat. It sounded a little like Antietam, and it
turned out to be just about as bloody.
Early the next morning, the four flanking battalions were making for their polar
locations, hoping they wouldn’t be spotted. The three battalions that remained started
moving closer toward the town. The time for joint attack was at 1200. Fred thought that
there were several problems with the plan.
One, he imagined that the enemy had
fortified the town, so the flanking plan, although a favorite strategy for many generals
against standing armies in the open field, was probably not going to be very effective
against a heavily-defended town. Second, he imagined that dividing your troops like this,
although constantly done by General Robert E. Lee in the Civil War, was not a good idea
unless there was some advantage to be gained from the gamble. Here, Fred didn’t see it.
Unfortunately, he was right on both counts.
Fred found a high point so that he could at least see part of the three battalions
moving west toward the town. His maps were excellent, so even though the visibility
was not great, he knew about where the enemy was located on the map from intel, even
without seeing them.
The first day of battle was fought to a standstill. Neither side flinched. Fred saw
that the Laotian commander was giving the Communists no way out by blocking all their
exits. They would fight to the last man under these conditions. And everybody knew
that it took an overwhelming force to overcome a strong defensive position.
The
Laotians might even have to fight from structure to structure to defeat the commies in the
town.
During the second day of combat, the commander sent a messenger to Fred,
asking him to call in an air strike. Fred asked where, and the messenger did not have that
answer, so he went back to the commander. Within minutes, the soldier came racing
back with the message to strike wherever Fred thought best. Fred tried not to laugh in
front of the messenger, but it was not easy.
He called in for an air strike on the east side of the town. Since the commander
had three of his battalions located at this point, he thought they should try to weaken that
side. Of course, Fred thought that the commander should be making these decisions and
not him.
About twenty minutes later, Fred heard the aircraft coming in from Thailand from
the west. The aircraft dropped the tanks of napalm, and there was a concussion wave that
could be felt for miles. The napalm was an aluminum detergent mixed with gasoline,
forming a jelly-like substance that stuck to everything, and when it lit up, the fire was all
over you like skunk stink. The screams coming from the town were so loud that Fred
thought they were only a block or two away.
The air strikes continued for about thirty minutes. In Fred’s mind, this probably
had killed more of the enemy than all the ground fighting over the past few days. After
the aircraft left the area, the Laotian forces started moving into the town. The enemy
noticed an opening on the commander’s left flank, which was about where Fred was
located. Within minutes the Communists came pouring out of the town headed toward
Fred.
He raced toward the southwest in an effort to avoid the stampede. By the time
Fred got to the south of town, he was in the thick of a bitter firefight. In these situations,
he knew he could get killed by a Laotian bullet just as easy as he could by a Communist
bullet, so he kept pushing on west until he came to the Mekong River, which looked
rather treacherous. The good news was that it was close to the Thailand border, but the
bad news was that he didn’t have a boat.
Fred really wanted to link back with the Laotian troops, but he realized that this
was not going to happen when he saw the Communist troops pouring out of the town on
the west side. Now, he had no choice. He had to find a boat and get across the river. He
went downstream for a few miles and came upon a fishing village with boats tied to a
makeshift dock. He untied one of the boats, grabbed a paddle, and headed for the
opposite side. He used the strength of the current to take him further downstream, but he
angled for the other side and reached a bend with a sand bar where he could get out. He
ditched the boat and got his bearings with his compass and map. Oh, well, only about
250 miles to Udorn. He might make it before his tour was up. At least there weren’t any
major mountain ranges blocking the way.
Fred was about a mile away from the river when he ran smack into a Pathet Lao
patrol. They captured him and tied his hands behind him and blindfolded him. They
took everything he owned but his memory. That evening, the patrol arrived at its base
camp, where other prisoners were located. It looked like the Laotians had lost a number
of men, missing in the battle. Fred was brought before the Communist leader, who spoke
some broken English.
“So, Mr. Spy. Who you work for?”
Fred had been through POW training, but he always knew that the instruction to
only give your name, rank, and serial number would not work. And anyway, they could
shoot him as a spy any time they wanted, so he had to use his wits. He had no
identification on him. “I’m Clark Adams trying to get back to Thailand. I was headed
that way when your troops stopped me.”
“You no tourist. You spy. I think I kill you.”
“Well, do what you gotta do. But I can help you guys out.”
The leader was curious. He was used to hearing the name, rank, and serial
number speel from Americans that he captured, so he was somewhat surprised by Fred’s
comments. He wondered who he had captured. “So, maybe you give me and then I give
you, Mr. Spy.”
“Well, all I know is that I saw a whole bunch of Laotian troops crossing the river
behind me. Looks like they were headin’ in the same direction that I was. I don’t know
where you are, but I’ll bet they’re close.” Fred knew that they did not cross the river
getting to this camp, and it felt like they were headed upstream.
Fred had the leader’s attention. He had a guard take Fred back to where the other
prisoners were located, and he assembled his men to go back down the road and engage
with the Laotian force coming upstream.
Inside the cell, Fred noticed that the cage was made out of wood and he found one
particular branch that had a weakness. When the guard wasn’t looking, Fred kicked it
and broke the wood. Within minutes, the entire group of prisoners had slipped out of the
cage. The guard killed several of the Laotian prisoners, but the rest of them got away.
Fred stuck with the group, a good survival technique when somebody is shooting at you,
until he got to the river.
At that point, he turned west and struck out on his own. He could have stayed
with the Laotians, but they were on the wrong side of the river, and they were going to be
recaptured or shot that evening. Fred’s best chances were to head toward Thailand, due
west about ten miles. He remembered the map and even without his compass, he would
be able to find his way using the north star at night and the sun during the day.
Fred avoided even the trampled-down paths. He crossed fields and hid as much
as he could. His plan was to try to reach Thailand tonight, staying off roads and avoiding
people. Once he reached Thailand, there would be less of a chance of running into
Communist forces. Not to say that they weren’t in Thailand; it’s just that his chances ran
much better in that country than Laos.
There was a full moon, which was not a good thing. Even though it made it easy
to walk through the countryside, it made Fred stand out as an easy target for a triggerhappy commie or Laotian or farmer. Fred was fair game for all of them, so he tried to
keep a low profile, by walking as low to the ground as he could. Now, he knew what
knuckle-dragging apes felt like walking across the African plain.
Sure enough, Fred heard the familiar whoosh as the bullet wizzed by him. He hit
the dirt and remained silent for hours. Even though, he didn’t move the rest of his body,
he scanned the area where he thought the bullet came from. He detected no movement.
He had learned patience in a short period of time. The rookies were killed early in their
military careers partly because they always reacted and ran when they should have sat on
their butts and waited. After several hours had passed, Fred surveyed the area again and
seeing nothing, he cautiously moved on his belly, snaking his way across the flat, open
ground to a clump of trees. Once inside the grove, he stood up and searched the area
again, but saw nothing… at least nothing in the open areas.
Fred had to decide whether to risk moving back into the open field again in order
to reach Thailand. He could stay in the trees the rest of the night and all day tomorrow
and try it again the next night. He was concerned that he had not put enough miles
behind him and the Communists. By now, the leader wanted his hide more than anybody
else’s in all of Laos. He knew that a bullet would be his certain fate if captured again.
His decision was made for him when a dark cloud covered the moon.
He
estimated that the cloud was part of a front moving in and may hide the moon the rest of
the night. He took off in a half-crouch, bear walk. He made good time though.
When the sun came up, he was well inside Thailand. He oriented himself and
calculated the direction that he needed to follow, and then he found another area with
trees. He made himself a nice bed lined with leaves and needles, where he slept all
afternoon. It started raining in the late afternoon and kept on throughout the night. There
would be no moon out tonight.
He licked water off the leaves. He knew better than to drink the river water. It
would cause dysentery that would make him too weak to walk. He found a sharp-edged
rock and dug up some roots, pounded them into a pulp, and ate them to give him some
strength for his trip. He started off in a northwesterly direction. He was headed toward
Udron and only had about 240 miles to go. The problem was that the thick rainforests
were ahead, and there were predators in the jungles much more dangerous than the
Communists. Fred had a slim-to-no-chance of surviving that journey.
As he got further into the country and further away from Laos, he made better
time since he was more confident that the Communists were not in the area, and he didn’t
have to hide as much. But Fred was from the survival school that everybody was the
enemy that could point a weapon at you.
He walked for several days and finally came to a small village by a small river.
He decided to take a chance and use some of the Thai language that he had learned.
Unfortunately, they didn’t understand what he was trying to say. He had probably asked
them if he could sleep with their goats. By using sign language, he was able to indicate
that he needed transportation upstream. There just happened to be an old gentleman
passing by with an ox-drawn cart, so they let him ride wherever he was going. It really
didn’t matter as long as he was not going back to Laos.
The next morning, Fred was able to determine that the old gentleman was headed
toward the northwest. Things couldn’t have been better. It took him five days of travel
to get to civilization. He found, of all things, a local U.S.O., where he got some orange
juice and cookies and a free call to Udorn. He was able to arrange transportation to pick
him up and take him home within a few hours.
Back in Udorn, nobody could believe Fred’s story. Fred didn’t believe it either,
after he examined a map and saw that he had traveled through the center of two Pathet
Lao campsites on his march back into Thailand. Only his strong faith got him through.
Chapter 12
Fred finished his tour, teaching classes on the Super Tweet. He had lots of time to
relax and reflect on his tour in Southeast Asia. He searched his soul to determine if there
was any remorse for the enemy that he killed, and there was not. No rehabilitation, nor
repentance.
Fred told his friend, Chuck, “God never told us to not kill. He told us to not
murder.
The actual translation of the commandment was, Thou shalt not murder.
There’s a big difference between killing somebody in battle and murdering somebody in
the civilian sector.”
Chuck pursed his lips together. “Well, I’ve never killed anybody, so I can’t really
talk intelligently about this with you. It seems to me that you may want to get some
professional help before you go back to civilian life and your wife.”
“That’s what the decompression period is for in Germany. I will be debriefed,
processed out, and take some time off to enjoy some good German beer and food. I’m
really looking forward to getting back into the civilian world.”
Chuck looked puzzled. “And you don’t think that it’s going to be a difficult
transition from a world where you can kill somebody to a world where you can’t?”
“No. I really don’t think it’s going to be a problem. I will be so happy to get
back with my wife, I won’t even be thinking of anything else.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’ve kinda been saving yourself for her, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. And that’s going to make everything else seem secondary.”
“Well, Fred. Maybe you’re right. I sure hope so for your sake and for Sandra’s.
Have you talked with her recently?”
“Just last night. She is just as excited about my return as I am.”
“Where are they flying you into?”
“I’ll be flying from Berlin into New York and then catching a flight to Chicago,
where I will meet her.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s a GS-13 auditor for the Internal Revenue Service in Chicago.”
“Holy cow! You mean she works for the evil tax collectors?”
“Yep. And you better be careful, man. All it takes is a word from her, and your
tax returns will be audited for the rest of your life.
Chuck started chuckling. “Well, you and I are tight, man, so I know my return
will never be audited.”
“If it is, you just come see me in Chicago and ask for your Godfather, Fred.”
“Oh, thank you Don Frederico for doing me this great favor.”
“It’s nothing. Maybe I will ask a favor of you someday, in return.”
Fred was going to miss Chuck and the gang, but he was ready to get back to
Sandra and a big, fat, juicy cheeseburger and greasy fries.
Back on late December of 1971, Fred was a bit depressed, but he was fine now.
He had accepted the fact that the changes that you fight hard to make in life can be
undone in a very short period of time. During December, the news came out that about
15,000 North Vietnamese overrunning over 6,000 Laotian regulars along with the Thai
mercenaries, taking over the Plain of Jars. But the news closer to home was on 28
December 1971, when the North Vietnamese and Pathet Lao seized the town of Paksong,
thus gaining complete control of the Boloven Plateau.
Oh, well. Our effort in the war was not wasted completely. We introduced the
locals to sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll. The Communists might take over the area, but the
commies would never be able to rehabilitate them.