Military Service - Written by SP4 Allen G. Huseby
I wrote this account in early 2013. I am 69 and the memories are 45 years old. There are things I remember well and things I’d forgotten. I kept a sparse journal in a 1968 Mayo Clinic pocket calendar that Bernice had sent me. I listed dates of attacks, when I wrote letters, and other pertinent information. Bernice and I exchanged a lot of letters and fortunately she saved those I wrote to her. Those letters and some I’d written to my parents and sisters confirmed and sometimes corrected my memories. I am disappointed that I was not able to keep the letters I received. I took over 200 slides and photos in Vietnam that provide a visual reference. The slides have been transferred to CD’s and DVD’s. A Sentry Dog organization maintains a website, http://sentrydogalumni.us/, listing rosters and other information. Sadly, at least a dozen people I knew have died, including Currier, Olsen, Pulver, Burks, Koops , Feddo, Damon, and Lamour. I also heard that Steven Jenkins was killed in action at the ASP January 15, 1969. I did receive good news a few years ago. Almost all Vietnam sentry dogs were either given to the ARVN troops or put down as posts shut down. Hanz was one of the few returned to the States. That made me happy, even though he’s long gone. A yearbook from Fort Ord contains information about my basic training, and my USAF Sentry Dog Training Manual provides insight into my Lackland AFB experience. I attended my first Sentry Dog reunion at San Antonio in 2011 and will be going to another in Springfield, Missouri October, 2013. This account was originally handwritten with a gold Papermate pen, part of a pen and pencil set Bernice gave me to take to Vietnam to open for Christmas 1967. This is one of my prized possessions!
I was drafted into the Army January 4, 1967, about three weeks after graduating from Mankato State College. Serving in the military was pretty much accepted in those days. Eleven of the twelve boys in my Adams High School graduating class of 1961 served, either enlisted or drafted. The only one who didn’t had a medical condition that made him ineligible. I was the last to enter military service and the only one to serve in Vietnam.
By 1967 there was a lot of opposition to the unpopular war in Vietnam, and many young men searched for ways to avoid the draft. Some enlisted for four years to lessen the chances of serving in combat. The Air Force, Navy, and National Guard were popular options. Others became professional students, married, ran off to Canada, or bribed their way out. The draft in 1967 was based on selecting the oldest eligible individuals on the County Selective Service rolls, so at age 23 I was at the top of the list. There must have been an alphabetical component as well. The four Mower County men who left for St. Paul were Haskins, Hedstrom, Hoag, and Huseby. Later on the Selective Service introduced a lottery system based on the Julian date of birth.
We were put up in a cheap hotel in St. Paul near the Induction Center. The next day we were tested and screened to make sure we were physically, mentally, and morally fit to serve our country. Minnesota and Iowa had the lowest number of rejects which speaks well for the condition of young men from this area. Duly sworn in, we boarded the train bound for Fort Lewis, Washington.
The old Great Northern route through the northern tier of states is beautiful, and I enjoyed the scenery. Our group of approximately 50 Minnesota young men was intent on drinking as much beer as they could- no I.D. checks. They were proud that they drank up all the beer on the train, and Great Northern had to restock during our stop in Havre, Montana. Perhaps the only sober recruit other than me apparently decided to head for the nearby Canadian border as we were one short when we arrived at Fort Lewis. I was a group leader but they didn’t hold me responsible for the loss. I was awake and sitting in the dome car late at night when we passed through the Rockies in Montana and Idaho. The moon was almost full, the trees were covered with snow, and I’d never seen such spectacular country.
Our arrival at Fort Lewis brought us back to reality. We got our GI haircuts and were issued our clothing and gear. Shortly after we arrived we were informed that our whole Minnesota contingent would be sent to Fort Ord, California as Fort Lewis was filled to capacity and more. This was good news as we never saw the sun during our 10 rainy, overcast days at Fort Lewis. My most vivid memory of Fort Lewis was the beginning of our transformation to the military way of life. All the new recruits, perhaps 200 or more, were gathered in a huge hanger- like building and seated on folding chairs. We were ordered to stand up. “Not fast enough! Sit down! Not fast enough!" Drill Sergeants were shouting in our faces, just like in the movies except it wasn't funny. Wise guys who thought it was funny were dropped for push-ups. Everyone, including me, was scared and wondering what the Army could do to you if you messed up. We went through this drill countless times, and finally, the sound of 200 men sitting and standing in unison had given us our first military lesson - follow orders immediately and without question.
We were flown to San Francisco and then bused to Fort Ord on the Monterey Peninsula. It was warm, sunny, and no one was hollering at us. We began our basic training on January 16, 1967 as members of Company D, 5th Battalion, 3rd Brigade. We Minnesotans made up about 50 of the 175 in the Company and we were all assigned to the same platoon. We were housed in WWII barracks, and since there had been some cases of meningitis, we had to sleep with windows opened 8 inches, alternating each window top or bottom. Chilly! We were also restricted to our Company area when not training. We only left the area twice to go to the PX, and once to a movie during our 8 weeks training. The California boys usually had friends and family visiting them on Sundays, so that was a lonely time for us Minnesotans. But we stuck together and our Platoon had the highest scores in Physical Training and Marksmanship.
I bucked off a colt and banged up my ribs prior to being inducted and I was sore throughout basic. Part of our final PT test was a low crawl under barbed wire. I made good time but the sergeant said my backside was too high so I had to go right back and do it again. That really hurt my time and my ribs. We had a similar exercise when they hit us with tear gas as we crawled through the wire, and we had to get our gas masks on immediately. Private Reuter, who had earned the nickname Roto Reuter lost his gas mask as he crawled through the wire. When the gas hit he couldn't see and was running into things as he tried to get away. Sad, but a valuable lesson.
Basic went well and I met a lot of good people- the Minnesota bunch, Wesley Amakuk, an Eskimo from Nome, Alaska, and Sooktis, a quiet Coastal Native American. Our platoon Drill Sergeant, Sgt. Aven was a John Wayne type who had served in Vietnam. Good guy! Our Training Sergeants, Garcia, Santiago, and Sanchez were great. Sergeant Santiago led our bayonet training and he would call out “Gentlemen, what is the Spirit of the Bayonet “Our response in unison was “To kill, sergeant.”, and he would reply “No. You don’t want to keel your sergeant.” Our sergeants were career military and our second lieutenants were young and inexperienced. One little second lieutenant came to inspect our barracks in the middle of the night. I had been reading a paperback novel from our barracks “library” and had tossed it on my footlocker. He grabbed it, kicked it across the floor, and demanded to know who it belonged to. I had to admit that I read books, and it was mine. We graduated from Basic Training March 11, 1967, and were scattered across the country for Advanced Individual Training (AIT).
I was assigned to Military Police Training (MOS 95B10) at Fort Gordon, Georgia. I flew on a commercial DC 3 from California direct to Georgia. It was a nice sunny day and I could see ground all the way. Fort Gordon, near Augusta, was a typical Army post with sand and pine trees. Our eight week course would run from mid March to mid May. The Georgia mornings were cold and damp. We ran a mile before sun up and it took a while to warm up. We were supposed to be housed in new barracks, but they weren't finished so we lived in 16 man tents with no heat. We were issued bedding for barracks - two sheets and a wool blanket, so of course we froze. We had a wind storm one day and everyone had to go out and hold down the guy ropes to keep the tent from blowing away.
We had a lot of classroom training in Military Law, etc. I qualified with the Colt.45 pistol but wasn't a great shot. Our “Judo” class was interesting and fun, learning various throws and holds. We learned “come along" holds putting pressure on finger and elbow joints to subdue a bad guy. We felt a nightstick upside the head would be more effective. We had a very large gentleman named Koops from Michigan. His feet were so bad that he couldn't march in formation with us when we went to classes, so he walked behind us on the sidewalk. He was pre-law in college, so it’s surprising he ended up in the MP’s, and then Sentry Dog School. He injured his legs jumping off the back of a deuce and a half in Vietnam and was medically discharged. The Army didn't get a productive day from a guy who should have been in the Army legal department.
Sergeant Neeley was a block of a man who everyone feared but respected. He had no neck - his black head just seemed attached to his broad shoulders. When he had a problem with trainees he would get 2 inches from their face and shout “You dumb _____.” Then he’d drop them for push-ups. My only confrontation with him was when he was looking for a perpetual trouble maker named Nickens. He got in my face and roared “Where’s that ugly ------- ----- Nickens?” I had no idea and told him so, and couldn't help but smile. “What are you smiling about?" he asked with a half sneer, half grin. Then he ran off to look for Nickens. He intimidated us but treated us fairly. He was a good sergeant.
Weekend passes were rare and I remember only one, and that was the weekend of the Masters Golf Tournament in Augusta. We GI’s were not aware of this, but I’d guess our officers were. They knew we’d not find a place to stay in Augusta and would have to return to Fort Gordon. We did wander through a few hotel lobbies and were amazed by the number of beautiful women who did not appear to be wives or true golf fans. My other recollection of Augusta was seeing actual tar paper shacks on the outskirts with big Cadillacs parked out front.
Fort Gordon wasn't as much fun as Fort Ord, but I successfully completed my MP training. We stood in formation as Sergeant Neeley read our next duty assignments. A few went to Japan, Korea, Germany, or stateside. Then he got his big smirky grin going and said “The rest of you gentlemen are going to the bow wows. “ We had heard the rumor that a new Sentry Dog Company was being formed for duty in Vietnam, so we weren't totally surprised. We would be sent to Fort Carson near Colorado Springs, Colorado, to form the 981st Sentry Dog Company. This was rather unusual as many of us were draftees with a 2 year commitment, and normally only Regular Army enlistees were accepted into the dog program because of the longer training period. They just needed dog handlers in a hurry.
We arrived at Carson mid May and there were no kennels and no dogs. We would be going Temporary Duty (TDY) to Lackland Air Force Base near San Antonio, Texas, where we would be matched with our dogs for eight weeks training. Of course we would not go altogether, so we left in platoon sized groups of about 30 men staggered over the summer. As dog handlers with no dogs at Fort Carson we pulled guard duty, did physical training, and worked on the kennel area. Our kennel area would be quite primitive as it was only temporary. Dogs would be housed in their shipping kennels with tarps over the top for shade. Our company began to take shape as the first dog teams arrived from Texas.
Fort Carson was my favorite post, located on a high plateau with nearby mountains. We could check out Gibson guitars to play at the post recreation center, and I even did a little horseback riding. We had more freedom to get passes to check out our favorite nightspots in C Springs. One time three of us hitched a ride into town with a GI in an old beater of a car with incense burning in an ashtray on the dashboard. A real Military Hippie Flower Child! I met up with Bob Olson, my college roommate who was working nearby, and we drove up Pikes Peak. Unfortunately it was overcast so we couldn't see much. Herb Kiefer from Taopi drove down and took me back to visit him at his duty station, Rocky Mountain Arsenal near Denver.
Until we got our dogs we were in a “make work" mode. The ultimate project was painting rocks white. Football sized rocks were placed around parking lot perimeters, and they needed a fresh coat of paint. Our crew consisted of my friend, Donis Montoya, an African American kid whose name I don’t remember, and me. I don’t know if they had diversity in mind, but that’s what they got. Our barracks were WWII vintage and I had a top bunk next to Nickens, the guy who was always in trouble at Fort Gordon. I got along well with him, but never realized he wore a .25 caliber pistol in a shoulder holster under his fatigues. He assaulted an officer, did hard time in jail, and missed out on going to Vietnam with the rest of us.
I was in the last group to go to Lackland in mid-July, 1967. It was a good group that included four of my best buddies. The Air force differed from the Army - nicer facilities and a more relaxed atmosphere. But it was hot, and physical training was suspended when temperature and humidity reached a certain level.
We went to the kennels to meet our dogs. The individual kennels were “bird houses,” dog houses mounted on a single wooden post about 18 inches off the ground. The dogs were collared and chained loosely to the post so they could move around their individual perimeters - no fences. The area was covered with pea rock, so poop scooping was a challenge. It took some time to “get in” on our dogs as most were wary and aggressive. I drew King, a rangy 72 pound gray and white German shepherd. He was a good dog - smart, aggressive, and very devoted to me. We took classes on care of our dogs, basic voice and hand commands, obstacle course, scout and patrol, and attack training. Part of attack training consisted of turning your dog loose on a man in a padded suit. King was so aggressive he didn't need a lot of attack training. When he latched onto someone I had to choke him to get him to release, then he’d turn around and lick my face. I spent more than my share of time in the attack suit. It was exciting, but very hot and uncomfortable.
Unfortunately King developed an upper respiratory infection (URI) about halfway through our training, and had to be quarantined to recover. I really hated to lose my good dog. Every effort was made to match up a handler with a previously quarantined dog with a similar amount of training, so I acquired Hanz (M333). He was a solid 82 pound black and tan Shepherd, and we were wary of each other at first. When I tried to put him in the “down” position with a verbal command and a tug on his choke collar he would bite me - not hard enough to draw blood, but a firm grip. My sergeant told me to jerk up on the leash as hard as I could when he tried to bite. He said it wouldn't hurt the dog, and if it did they’d give me a new one. I did exactly as instructed and caught Hanz by surprise as he attempted to bite. I jerked that big dog in a complete somersault and he landed straddle legged with a startled look on his face. We were best friends after that and he became a very good dog. Our 8 weeks training passed quickly. Hanz and I learned a lot and when we graduated I felt I had one of the best partners.
Our trip back to Fort Carson was very interesting. We traveled by bus, and our dogs by truck to Dallas where we would board a train for Pueblo, Colorado. The train station was near the place where President Kennedy was assassinated so we had a little history lesson. The dogs were loaded in boxcars, we traveled in passenger cars, and I think we were the only ones on that train. We had a long layover in Newton, Kansas to allow other trains to pass. As we sat on the side track we were allowed to exercise our dogs or go downtown. I decided Hanz could exercise when we got back to Carson, so a bunch of us walked a few blocks to downtown. We were wearing our fatigues and boots, and were invited into the VFW club. There they told us we should go to the American Legion club where there was a wedding dance going on. Our money was no good as people kept
buying us drinks, and we even danced with the wedding party. This was at a time when a lot of young people were demonstrating against the war, but the good folks in Newton, Kansas sure made us feel welcome.
We got off the train at Pueblo and headed to Fort Carson to begin preparation for deployment to Vietnam. We trained with our dogs, pulled guard duty, and tried to stay out of trouble. We had some good pickup basketball games and unfortunately I rolled my ankle. The Army doctor thought I had a possible hairline fracture, so he applied a cast that was solid on the sides and bottom, but just taped across the top. I had a week leave and returned home to Adams. I wanted to dance with Bernice, so I cut the cast off and figured I’d tape it back on before I returned to the Army doctor. But it was in pretty bad shape so I threw it away. That may have been a mistake as it took a long time to heal fully.
Our deployment to Nam was quite unusual. Most soldiers went individually to report to existing units. The newly formed 981st MP Company would go as a unit. Some of our sergeants were the first to go, accompanying our equipment and vehicles. They were loaded on to C124 Globemasters, huge propeller driven planes with front loading doors large enough for our 2 ½ ton trucks. The men and dogs followed, leaving over a period of a few weeks. We flew in C141 Starlifters - large jet transports. Our tranquilized dogs were stacked in their shipping crate kennels in the back, and we sat in four rows of webbing jump seats towards the front. The two rows on the fuselage faced in, and the two middle rows faced out. They were so crowded that our knees overlapped with those across from us. We left Ent Air Force Base in mid December 1967, refueled at Peterson Air Force Base in California, and headed for Hawaii. There I had a bowl of delicious fresh pineapple at the terminal and shed my long underwear in the restroom. Then we headed for Guam, the next fueling stop. The crew invited us individually to the cockpit if we wanted to look outside. We had to crawl over everyone's lap to get there, but it was worth it. It was a nice clear day and I was in the cockpit when we flew over an atoll that looked like a little green ring floating in the air.
We arrived in Cam Ranh Bay, the world’s largest sand pile. It’s hard to describe the sight and smell as we set foot on Vietnamese soil. We soon found where the unique smell came from. The deep sand base made it impossible to dig footings for buildings, or holes for latrines. Latrines were built on stilts, and sawed off 50 gallon drums were positioned under the openings. As they filled, some poor soul would have to hook them out, pour in some diesel fuel and light it. There is no way to describe that burning odor - you have to experience it.
Cam Ranh Bay was our company headquarter and we were held there until we received our in country orders. One day, 18 of us drew rifles, pistols, and 90 rounds of ammunition and were placed on standby for protecting a visiting VIP. We didn't learn until later that President Johnson was paying us a visit on December 23, 1967. We never left our stand by area so I didn't get to see him. I did, however, see Bob Hope’s Christmas show with Raquel Welch. We didn't all fit in our Company barracks, so those of us going up country were housed temporarily with another outfit. I was trying to get some sleep on Christmas Eve when a drunk spilled beer on me. A soldier in a top bunk a couple bunks away was entertaining his Vietnamese girlfriend. I suppose everyone has their Christmas traditions!
I was happy when I got my orders for Pleiku in the Central Highlands. I arrived at Camp Schmidt January 5, 1968 and moved to camp Holloway on the 6th. Holloway had been a French outpost and still had some French concrete tin roofed buildings, concrete bunkers, and concrete light poles. Most of the camp was American engineering- wood frame tent top hootches and lots of sandbags. Camp Holloway was a helicopter base with small observation choppers, bird dog planes, Huey slicks and gunships, Chinooks, and Sky Cranes. Later they added the brand new Cobra gunships. There was a short Perforated Steel Plate (PSP) runway to handle these aircraft. There was also a Petroleum Oil Lubricant (POL) yard, and an Ammunition Supply Point (ASP) and these were the three areas we guarded. Camp Schmidt, the Air Force Base, Artillery Hill, an Engineer Compound, Fourth Division Headquarters, and the village of Pleiku were all nearby.
Our detachment area consisted of our hootch which was a wooden frame building with a 16 man tent covering it, two rows of dog kennels for 16 dogs, a Sergeant of the Guard (SOG) shack, Charge of Quarters (CQ) shack, and a small Conex box bunker. We had room to park our three vehicles, and a fenced in dog training area that doubled as a volleyball court. We originally stored our weapons and ammo in the wall lockers in our rooms, but later our captain felt it wasn't safe for us to have weapons, so we stored them in the CQ shack. We had a pit latrine and actually had a hot shower. All you had to do was haul water up a ladder to a 50 gallon drum on a raised platform, make sure the tank heater had fuel, and light it. Then you waited for the water to heat. We found a better alternative. There were officer showers across the street where they had hot running water, so we’d sneak over there.
The dog teams did not follow the usual squad and platoon configuration, but were based on the need at the various camps. Holloway had about 15 dogs and handlers and a couple NCO’s. The 212th MP Sentry Dog Company had been in the country since 1965, with detachments throughout Nam. The brass wisely decided to mix the 212th with the 981st so we could have experienced handlers helping the new guys. Thus, some of the 212th became members of the 981st and some 981st became 212th. Holloway and Schmidt were 981st. Some of the old 212th were my roommate John Olsen, Charles Pulver, Bill”Mad Dog” Morris, Charles Dobash, and Sergeant Acie B. Chapman. The 981st guys included Vet Tech Homer Brown, Gerry Froesel, Les Kincannon, Dent Laney, Dave Miller, Cpl. John Jefferson, and me. Our Platoon officer, Lieutenant Greg Dunn was over 4 or 5 detachments so we didn't see him too often. Our Company Commander was Captain Peter Feddo in Cam Ranh Bay. I think he only visited us once. (How could we not refer to him as Captain Fido!)
We had two working shifts - early, 6 PM to midnight, and late, midnight to 6 AM, switching every other night. My first night of duty was January 7th. The next night the Engineer Compound a few miles away was infiltrated and hit with satchel charges and small arms fire. The following days were relatively quiet as I learned my duties on the various posts. Then on January 23rd the Hospital at Camp Schmidt was hit with mortars and 122 mm rockets. The VC apparently used the big red cross on the roof to sight in. We heard that one of the regular MP’s who was hospitalized had a dud mortar round come bouncing under his bed. Those MP’s were responsible for clearing Highway 19 from land mines and leading convoys. January 24th I had sniper fire at Post 1 and the next night Holloway was hit with a mortar attack.
January 29th was the eve of Tet, the Lunar New Year celebration. I was on early shift, and before midnight the ARVN’s (Army of the Republic of Viet Nam) in the listening posts outside our perimeter fired their weapons in the air in celebration. Then all hell broke loose and the Tet Offensive was on. Holloway was hit with mortar rounds, and an HE (High Explosive) ammo pad was blown. I was back in the bunker in our detachment area when it blew. Our bunker was a small CONEX box buried underground and it was crowded. Some of us stepped outside to see what was going on, and that’s when the ammo pad blew, all at once in one big explosion. We were about a half mile from the pad and I hit the ground when I saw the flash. When the sound and shock wave hit it felt like I was lifted off the ground and I was covered in red Pleiku dust.
The next morning we heard the NVA (North Vietnamese Army) had taken the town of Pleiku, and had mounted attacks throughout the country. January 31st Holloway was hit again with mortars and 122 mm rockets, and one round was a direct hit on the NCO Club. They were very accurate and I think if you monitored the Vietnamese workers on post you might find someone walking off distances between buildings so they could draw an accurate map. Pleiku village was taken back a few days later with most of the NVA attackers killed. Some of us went into town, and the damage there was minimal. There was a perception in the United States that Tet was a big victory for North Vietnam. Actually they were soundly defeated everywhere, but it did show they could mount a coordinated attack all over South Vietnam.
February 1st we had another mortar attack. I was working Post 6 at the end of the runway. I could see the flash of the mortar tubes and hear them as they were fired. I fired a few magazines of my M16 in their direction, but I’m not sure if they reached. In the still of the night you could plainly hear the clink of the mortar rounds as they were dropped in the tube and the muffled “whumph” as they were fired. The 122 mm rockets were fired from quite a distance, but you could hear them incoming. To me they sounded like a far off jet plane as they sliced through the air. When you hear that you hunt a place to hide. A Huey gunship went up to attack the mortar placements and flew over me as I walked my post. They started firing right over my head inside the perimeter. Too close! I got a feeling of what it would be like to be fired on by a gunship.
The next night Hanz threw a strong alert and we received some gunfire. February 3rd we heard that one of our original 981st men, Gordon Currier was killed at Long Binh when his post was overrun. We also heard that Landis and two other handlers in Ban Me Thuot had shrapnel wounds. Also about this time our Sergeant Acie B. Chapman was relieved of duty and replaced. Acie was a nice guy and good with the dogs, but he had a bad drinking problem. He was an old timer, but only a buck sergeant, promoted and demoted over the years. He shot an M16 clip on fully automatic through the roof of our CQ shack, and told the MP’s that it went off by itself, “So I grabbed it!” I liked Acie but he had become dangerous.
Walking a dog at night could be boring, or very exciting. Our perimeters consisted of concertina wire, two rolls on the ground and a third on top of them. They were loaded with trip flares that hopefully would go off if Charlie tried to cut through. Next were the bunker guards in sandbag bunkers. The airstrip and ammo dump also had tower guards that served as command posts. The end of the runway even had floodlights, and the bunker guards had Claymore mines. Our lieutenant came out one night and advised me I should be walking nearer the perimeter, under the lights and in front of the nervous bunker guards and their Claymores. I nodded in agreement, and when his jeep pulled away I went back to walking where it was safer.
We wore helmets and flak jackets on duty, with a radio receiver and antenna clipped to the helmet and the transmitter in our flak jacket pocket. We carried a GI flashlight - most were olive drab, but some were pink for reasons unknown to me. Our weapon was the M16, and we carried as much ammo as we wanted in magazines with 17 or 18 rounds, and bandoleers. They were loaded with tracer rounds - I think one in seven. Most important was our dog on a 6 foot leash.
The tower guards were good guys and we’d talk a lot, mainly on early shift. They knew Hanz because he was so aggressive. They’d greet him “Hello Hanz, you old goofus woofus.” I’m not sure they even knew my name. They always liked to know where we were and we’d announce “Dog handler coming up” when we approached the tower. One called down to make sure I was out of the way because a rat in the sandbags was stealing his M&M’s and he was going to blast him with his M14. He did! The towers were the command posts for the bunker line and we sometimes heard their radio communication, often humorous. Tower - “Do you see that tank about 200 meters out?” Bunker - “Yeah. Do you want me to take him out?” Tower - “No! No! It’s one of ours.” Some of the bunker guards were full time and others rotated through from their regular duties. Some were good and others were a bit scary. One told me he shot at a monkey in green tennis shoes coming through the wire. He may have been smoking pot, but I think he was just trying to be cool and original. A Native American guard in the POL yard saw a rabbit out in front of him and said he was going to shoot it. He did, with just a short burst from his machine gun. I was impressed. Another POL guard let me shoot his M79 Grenade Launcher in exchange for a burst from my M16. We were fortunate to have M16’s as a lot of other folks didn't, including bunker guards and helicopter crews. They still had the old M14’s as their personal weapons.
We guarded the PX yard for a short time. We cut down on thefts, but we were minor thieves ourselves. A case of soda or beer might end up in the CQ’s jeep when he came out to check on us. One of our detachments guarded a refrigerator yard so our lieutenants worked some trades – refreshments for steaks and chicken. We had some good cookouts. We bought native charcoal, and our next door neighbors, the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team provided C4 explosive for our fire starter. They would just slice off a piece like cold butter and light it. I know it was safe, but I stayed in the background when it was lit. Sometimes the CQ would take soda or beer out to us on duty when he checked on us. I doubt the Army would have approved of the beer. I was CQ one night and had the soda and beer in the back seat of the jeep. I checked on Dent Laney in the POL yard and he hollered for me to get down - he was taking sniper fire. I said “OK. Do you want a beer or soda?” I think he went without, and I remember not being scared. Do we have a feeling for safety or danger?
Our workday went beyond the 6 hour shifts walking our dogs. We fed and cared for our dogs, cleaned up after them, did some training, and other tasks around our area. We took our turn at CQ duty as an assistant to the Sergeant of the Guard. We posted the guards, checked on them during their shift, and picked them up when it was over. We also monitored any radio calls and reacted accordingly. We only had a formal Guard Mount Inspection if our Lieutenant was around. “Mad Dog” Morris was goofing off before one Guard Mount, doing a Nazi goose stepping sort of manual of arms. He forgot that he pulled back the ejector rod on his M16, chambering a round, and when he pulled the trigger he fired off a shot in the air. Lt. Dunn came charging out of the SOG shack. “What the hell was that?” Au, in his soft Georgia drawl replied “Sir, Ah thank it was a fahrcracker.” We all just laughed about it, except Morris.
Action heated up through February. We had a rocket attack at Holloway on the 6th and the Air Force Base was also hit. Olsen was on duty and firing his 16 that night when his dog jumped at the muzzle flash and was shot and killed. We were instructed to stand on the leash or somehow keep our dog out of the way when firing because the gunfire and flash of tracer rounds was irritating to the dogs. February 8th I had some close sniper fire at Tower 8, and we had another mortar attack. The next night we were hit again with five rounds landing in our detachment area. A dog was killed but I can’t remember whose. Our new Enlisted Mans Club which had not yet opened was also hit.
February 12th I was on early shift at Post 4 in the ammo dump. Hanz threw a very strong alert as we walked the lower road. The area between the road and the perimeter was swampy with 6 foot tall grass. There were bunkers close to the perimeter and the guards had to walk on boards laid down across the wet areas to get to them. Hanz was jumping in the air trying to catch a better scent in the tall grass. I radioed the SOG to check if the area had been cleared as it was near the ammo pad that had blown. He said OK, but then called back and told me to wait - he’d come out and we’d check it together. He did, and Hanz continued to go crazy but we didn't find anything. I kept close watch on that area, and when Pulver came out to relieve me at midnight I pointed out the area and told him to be careful. Later, Pulver was shot in the forearm as he walked that area. He said his dog alerted, he stopped in mid stride and was hit. Another step might have been real serious. The next morning they burned off the swampy area and we checked it out with our dogs, but found nothing. Hanz kept me from harm that night, but I thought we could have done more. I had alerted the command tower who alerted the bunker line, but I think they should have directed some firepower to that area. We normally did not fire in the ammo dump, but this was an exception.
Dent Laney was an exception - he did fire in the ammo dump sometime later. He said he saw intruders around a pad. Dent was a Texan - a good soldier, super alert and vigilant. Like his dog he was slender and wiry and they had similar personalities. Some thought he was jumpy and just seeing things, but I think he saw someone and was justified in firing. He probably saved another ammo pad from being blown up. I should explain the ammo pads. There were U shaped earthen berms around 3 sides, a road running in front, and another berm across the road. This design would contain a good part of an explosion. I later saw a white phosphorus pad that was hit and it looked like a white volcano as it cooked off. I would guess there were 10 or 12 pads in the ASP.
Attacks continued throughout February. My journal noted I had sniper fire the 14th, 21st, 28th and 29th. Some Viet Cong must have been off work on Wednesdays! I also noted mortar attacks the 17th, 27th, and 28th. Lt. Dunn chose me to drive him to our detachment at An Khe. We got along well. We were about the same age and college graduates. I wore a Mankato State tee shirt back at Fort Carson, and he always pronounced it Man kha to. We joined a convoy when we traveled, for safety reasons. I noticed a lot of trees along the route were dead. I thought they’d been burned off to make the road safer, but there was no sign of fire. I didn't hear about Agent Orange until I was back in “the world”, and this was definitely a defoliated area. Some of my friends from Fort Carson worked at An Khe, so it was nice to visit with them. Their place was much nicer than Holloway.
We had more mortar attacks on March 5th and 6th, and on the 10th we were hit hard at 1:00 AM. Our detachment area alone took 20 rounds, so they were really gunning for the dogs. Another dog was killed, one of three we lost at Holloway, and we had shrapnel damage to our 3 vehicles, our CQ shack, and latrine. Our hootch took a direct hit in the room across from mine, and everything in my room was full of holes. I had a picture of Bernice on a little shelf above my top bunk and a piece of shrapnel blasted a small piece off the back of the frame without damaging the picture. I took this as a good omen, and my best souvenir of Vietnam. I was out on duty at the time so I didn't have to weather the attack in our cramped bunker. Pulver had recovered from his wound and finished his one year tour of duty, but he decided to extend to a helicopter company so he could get an early discharge from the Army. He was flying as a door gunner and was shot in the same arm March 13, exactly one month from his earlier injury. This was more serious, in the shoulder area, so he was sent to Japan for treatment.
I drove Lt. Dunn to An Khe again on March 15, and this trip was more exciting. We were ambushed with land mines, rockets, and small arms fire in the Mang Giang Pass, a narrow, mountainous stretch of dirt road. Homer Brown and another guy, I don’t remember who, were in the back seat. We all bailed out of the jeep, not knowing where to hide as we didn't know where the gunfire was coming from. Three semi tankers carrying JP4 jet fuel were hit and burning. We were waved by the burning tankers and there was barely room to pass on that narrow road. One of the semi drivers was calmly unhooking his tractor from the burning trailer. They don’t blow up like they do in Hollywood - they just burn out. This was by far my scariest experience. We spent the night in An Khe and had an uneventful trip home the next day.
We now had to deal with the gaping hole in the tent top roof of our hootch. Unfortunately our hootch didn't exist on the Army rolls, so we couldn't replace something that didn't exist. When the 212th came to Holloway, an aviation company was supposed to provide housing, but that didn't work out. So they bartered, confiscated, or stole materials to build their own hootch and it was never a recognized Army structure. We were in the same mode again, and somehow our Sergeant Woody Waid came up with tin for our roof. We did the work ourselves, and we had one of the few tin roofed buildings at Holloway.
Since we were a small detachment we were assigned to a helicopter company mess hall, and received our mail through another, the 119th Assault Helicopter Company. I recall the food being very good except for midnight chow which they had to provide because we worked nights. It usually consisted of dried eggs, which I ate with a lot of catsup, old bread, and Koolaid or iced tea. Later we were able to get C Rations, and even the new LRRP (Long Range Recon Patrol) rations which were freeze dried and quite tasty.
Our Conex box bunker was too small, and inconvenient as we had to run through the kennel area to get to it. Sergeant Waid came to the rescue again. He got an Engineer Company backhoe, and they dug a big hole right behind our hootch. Next he got lumber supposedly by trading some “battle loss” M16s for it. I have no idea where he got the 16s. We built the bunker with beautiful 2” by 10” planks and I don’t know where they came from as I never saw another stick of lumber like it. Busted helicopter rotor blades were used for our roof - lightweight and great tensile strength. Sandbags were piled on top and the sides above ground. (We even had gun slits.) We hired some Montagnard kids, boys and girls, to help fill sandbags. When it was complete we put in some bunks so we could sleep there. The bunker was right off our back porch, and my room was the closest to it and I really felt safe. Sometime earlier we were hit at night with no warning, and I wasn't sure I should try to get to our old bunker. I rolled out of my upper bunk and pulled Olsen’s lower bunk mattress over me. He was a little upset when he came in that morning to find his bunk pulled apart.
Roommates were usually assigned to opposite shifts so we wouldn't be in each other’s way. We had 2 man “rooms” that had no doors, and the walls only extended to the height of the outside walls so the rafters were open. We had a little critter that moved in with us and became a pet. It was a little gray guy we called a banana cat, but I think it was a type of lemur. It was nocturnal and scurried around the rafters at night hunting for bugs. It was very tame, and we could hold it and have it sit on our shoulders.
My journal listed another mortar attack on March 29th. Olsen finished his tour of duty, and Joe Bonazza, also from New York, replaced him. My good friend, Vet Tech Homer Brown moved in with me. Bonazza was a real character - loved to play poker but wasn't very good at it. Gerry Froesel on the other hand, was very good. He was from the St. Louis area, married with a child on the way, and he often sent twice his monthly salary home as a result of his winnings. This was the max you could send home, to curb illegal activities. Bonazza often lost his whole monthly salary, so would play poker for payday stakes. On payday we would have our usual pay line, with another behind Joe to collect the payday loans. Salaries were paid with Military Payment Certificates (MPC). Every denomination from a nickel to a twenty dollar bill was paper so it was possible to have a stack that was really only pocket change. Bonazza had a stack like this when 3 or 4 of us went to the EM club for a drink. He slapped his wad on the bar and called out ”Bartender, drinks for my friends.” We knew he was almost broke so we offered to pay for the drinks but he was very upset and insisted he would buy. All drinks were 25 cents, from a beer to cognac, so he maybe had enough to cover it. April 3rd I again drove Lt. Dunn to An Khe. We stayed overnight and it was good to see my old friend, Corporal Charlie Burks from Tennessee, and Sergeant Dice, a good old boy from Oklahoma. While we were there, Holloway had another mortar attack and 15 attacking VC were killed by the gunships.
April 12th Homer Brown and I visited Lt. Dunn at Camp Schmidt and even had a few beers with him. We were getting to be good friends. He took us out to the new ASP site being built way out in Indian Country. It would reportedly be the second largest ASP in Vietnam, after Cam Ranh Bay, and we would be guarding it. April was a bad month for losing good men. Sergeant Waid was transferred to Cam Ranh Bay, and replaced by Sergeant Myers who was a trouble maker at CRB. He also caused trouble at Pleiku. A Colonel came to inspect us on April 22nd so we cleaned our hootch real well because he didn't like dust. (Pleiku is dust!) I took the trash out to our burn barrel, and when I got the fire going, everything exploded out of the barrel. Someone had swept up a couple M16 rounds and they cooked off. Lt. Dunn was relieved at the end of the month and replaced by Lt. Harris. I‘m not sure if his dismissal was due to the bad inspection. Waid and Dunn were great leaders and we hated to see them leave.
I volunteered to fly door gunner on a Chinook one day so I could see some more country. We flew troops to locations around Dak To and Dak Pek. We also supplied remote fire bases with water, food, ammo, and any materials they needed. These were sling loads hung on a long cable, so we didn't have to touch down. This was the first time I’d flown in a helicopter and the first time I had my hands on a .30 caliber machine gun with butterfly triggers, and I was flying combat missions. Fortunately I didn't have to pull the trigger. Actually these were very safe missions, but it was a thrill to sit in the open doorway of a Chinook. A dog handler at another detachment who had volunteered to fly door gunner on a Huey was injured when the pilot was auto rotating and had a rough landing. Our Captain put an end to our chopper escapades after that. We also volunteered for a more sedate cause. We did some physical labor at an orphanage run by French and Vietnamese nuns. They served us hot coffee in the heat of the day, and surprisingly, it was very refreshing.
June was quiet with only two mortar attacks. Unfortunately it was a sad month as our friend and neighbor, Sergeant Baker of the EOD team, was killed by explosives he was disarming. I went to his memorial service, one of the few times I was inside a church in Vietnam. Sergeant Baker had a native dog named Becky that he dearly loved. She looked like a small German Shepherd cross and he would take her in our training area and work her on commands and on the obstacle course. She was very good and might have made a good sentry dog.
June 30th I had some sniper fire at post 6 on the runway. It was raining hard and Hanz and I were taking a break behind the bunker. I could hear AK47 rounds cutting through the rain and hitting the bunker. I heard the rounds a long ways off as they made an eerie sound in the rain. Those sandbag bunkers were rat infested, so the guards would build another bunker on top of it with a tarp roof. The guards were above me and talking so much that they didn't realize they were being fired on until I told them. Then they got real quiet. This happened on early shift, and I decided when the CQ came out to relieve me I would say “No thanks. I’ll just stay here behind the bunker where it’s safe". Fortunately the firing stopped, but I was scared for awhile.
July brought a big change as the rumor about guarding the new ASP came true. We shut down our posts at Holloway and moved to Camp Schmidt on July 5th. We took our dogs out to clear the area which was quite large. Then on July 8th Hanz and I had the honor of being the first dog team posted at the ASP - Post #1 on the early shift. I became comfortable working the new area, but never felt safe on the long ride to and from the ASP. Also, Schmidt was more “stateside” so I didn't like it as well as Holloway even though we were never hit. I think this was when they first started giving us quinine pills for malaria. They did this on guard mount so we didn't have water to wash them down, and I often just flipped them over my
shoulder.
Diet and her daughter Kim were our loyal housemaids at Holloway, washing clothes, polishing boots, and keeping the place clean. We wanted to keep them employed, but they wouldn't let us hang out wash at Schmidt - too unsightly. For a short time we collected the “Holloway” laundry, loaded it in a jeep and took it to their home in Pleiku. I drove them, and Diet told me to turn down a narrow alley, barely wide enough for the jeep. I looked over at her and she smiled and said “Ti Ti” which means small, meaning it wasn't far. We drove quite a ways and I looked over at her again. She had a bigger smile and a little laugh, spread her arms apart and said “Beau Coup” which means big. Their home was a small concrete block dwelling and I’m sure it had no electricity or running water. I could see this venture wouldn't work and unfortunately we had to let them go and use the military laundry. I used to collect the money that we paid them back at Holloway. Diet didn't speak much English and Kim did the translating. One day Diet asked for a raise - “Beau coup work, Ti Ti money.” I said “No, Ti Ti work, beau coup money.” I regret that I didn't ask the guys to give them more as they were good people and could have used the money.
August 16th the VC hit the new ASP with sniper fire and B40 rockets, and then a mortar attack on the 23rd. The Air Force Base was hit with everything on the 22nd and Artillery Hill was also hit. Artillery Hill was hit again with rockets August 30th, as well as the Engineers and Pleiku town. Holloway was hit with mortars on the 25th. September 1st Pleiku was hit again with 122mm rockets, and Artillery Hill on the 14th. The ASP was hit the 20th, and took 30 mortar rounds at 11:00 PM on the 26th.
One early shift as we were loaded on our deuce and a half to go to work, the guy across from me thought he was cute, bothering Hanz. Some guys used to get a charge out of just flinching or making a sudden movement as Hanz was super aggressive and would try to get loose from my grip and attack them. The dogs wore their heavy leather “attack” collars when we loaded up so their personality changed completely when the choke chain collars came off. This guy went too far when he tapped Hanz lightly on the nose with his M16. I let my hand slip off the leather collar and Hanz was all over him. The guy tried to push Hanz away and got his thumb in the basket muzzle. Hanz bit through the thumb and we lost a dog handler for the night. I remember him saying “Al, I think your dog bit me.” I thought “He sure did you dumb ----.”
October was fairly quiet with the Engineers hit at 10:30 on the 25th and the AFB the next night. One perimeter side of the ASP was crescent shaped with the horns pointing outward around a large ravine. A couple of our new guys, Puerto Ricans, got into a heated confrontation with a couple other new guys as we loaded up to go on early shift. They were posted at the point of one of the horns and I swear they were shooting at the perimeter on the other point. We had an African American guy who was a character. His last name was Dean and he claimed to have played marimba in a jazz band in Washington, DC. The Sergeant of the Guard was checking posts one night, and all he could find at PFC Dean’s post was his steel pot and M16. He found Dean wandering around on the road - stoned. One night at guard mount one of the new guys asked Dean how he liked walking a dog at Pleiku. He had this high, squeaky voice and he replied “I thought it was OK until I went out on duty sober one night. And you know what? I don’t like it at all.” Our new guys weren't the same quality as the Holloway bunch and sometimes I wished we could have stayed there. On the positive side, Lt. McCloskey, a good guy from Minnesota, told about 10 of us old timers that he was putting us in for Army Commendation Medals. That never happened. I guess the desk clerks in Cam Ranh Bay got them.
November 3rd the Pleiku old timers were transferred (sentenced?) to Cam Ranh Bay Headquarters to finish out their last month. I don’t recall much about our duties, but I do know it was almost like serving back in “the world.” We stood inspection with the new Top Sergeant when we arrived, and all of us were sent for haircuts. Our hair was not long, but it did not suit his military mind. We had to report to him when we got back and my hair was still too long. I had two haircuts in one day! The whole scene was not about hair, but about showing we were no longer in country and would have to play by different rules. This was really apparent when the attack sirens blew one night. I rolled out of my bunk, pulled on helmet, flak jacket and boots and started for the bunker. Someone stopped me and said I had to get fully dressed because we weren't going to the bunker - we were going to stand inspection. We stood in formation and were counted over and over again. Some were missing and some were drunk and had to be propped up for the head count. We answered as our names were called off, and I think someone usually answered for the missing so the head count never worked out. I wondered how they would tell a drill from the real thing if they were ever attacked. We never did go to the bunker, but I knew we were safe because they had posted a guard on a high sand dune a hundred meters out to watch for infiltrators. I knew he was there because he had a lit cigarette giving away his position. I wonder if they gave him ammo for his rifle. I wonder if they gave him a rifle!
I was excited on December 4, 1968 when I left Vietnam for “the world.” We had a real long layover in Japan as there was a problem with the plane. Someone asked a sergeant about the trouble and he said the pilot didn't like the sound of the left engine, so they were looking for a new pilot! We finally took off and I arrived at Fort Lewis the same day. There I was issued a new dress uniform for the trip home and was discharged from the same place I began my service 23 months before. I still had a month remaining on my 2 year commitment, but the Army knew that month would not be productive. I was a civilian again!
I was drafted into the Army January 4, 1967, about three weeks after graduating from Mankato State College. Serving in the military was pretty much accepted in those days. Eleven of the twelve boys in my Adams High School graduating class of 1961 served, either enlisted or drafted. The only one who didn’t had a medical condition that made him ineligible. I was the last to enter military service and the only one to serve in Vietnam.
By 1967 there was a lot of opposition to the unpopular war in Vietnam, and many young men searched for ways to avoid the draft. Some enlisted for four years to lessen the chances of serving in combat. The Air Force, Navy, and National Guard were popular options. Others became professional students, married, ran off to Canada, or bribed their way out. The draft in 1967 was based on selecting the oldest eligible individuals on the County Selective Service rolls, so at age 23 I was at the top of the list. There must have been an alphabetical component as well. The four Mower County men who left for St. Paul were Haskins, Hedstrom, Hoag, and Huseby. Later on the Selective Service introduced a lottery system based on the Julian date of birth.
We were put up in a cheap hotel in St. Paul near the Induction Center. The next day we were tested and screened to make sure we were physically, mentally, and morally fit to serve our country. Minnesota and Iowa had the lowest number of rejects which speaks well for the condition of young men from this area. Duly sworn in, we boarded the train bound for Fort Lewis, Washington.
The old Great Northern route through the northern tier of states is beautiful, and I enjoyed the scenery. Our group of approximately 50 Minnesota young men was intent on drinking as much beer as they could- no I.D. checks. They were proud that they drank up all the beer on the train, and Great Northern had to restock during our stop in Havre, Montana. Perhaps the only sober recruit other than me apparently decided to head for the nearby Canadian border as we were one short when we arrived at Fort Lewis. I was a group leader but they didn’t hold me responsible for the loss. I was awake and sitting in the dome car late at night when we passed through the Rockies in Montana and Idaho. The moon was almost full, the trees were covered with snow, and I’d never seen such spectacular country.
Our arrival at Fort Lewis brought us back to reality. We got our GI haircuts and were issued our clothing and gear. Shortly after we arrived we were informed that our whole Minnesota contingent would be sent to Fort Ord, California as Fort Lewis was filled to capacity and more. This was good news as we never saw the sun during our 10 rainy, overcast days at Fort Lewis. My most vivid memory of Fort Lewis was the beginning of our transformation to the military way of life. All the new recruits, perhaps 200 or more, were gathered in a huge hanger- like building and seated on folding chairs. We were ordered to stand up. “Not fast enough! Sit down! Not fast enough!" Drill Sergeants were shouting in our faces, just like in the movies except it wasn't funny. Wise guys who thought it was funny were dropped for push-ups. Everyone, including me, was scared and wondering what the Army could do to you if you messed up. We went through this drill countless times, and finally, the sound of 200 men sitting and standing in unison had given us our first military lesson - follow orders immediately and without question.
We were flown to San Francisco and then bused to Fort Ord on the Monterey Peninsula. It was warm, sunny, and no one was hollering at us. We began our basic training on January 16, 1967 as members of Company D, 5th Battalion, 3rd Brigade. We Minnesotans made up about 50 of the 175 in the Company and we were all assigned to the same platoon. We were housed in WWII barracks, and since there had been some cases of meningitis, we had to sleep with windows opened 8 inches, alternating each window top or bottom. Chilly! We were also restricted to our Company area when not training. We only left the area twice to go to the PX, and once to a movie during our 8 weeks training. The California boys usually had friends and family visiting them on Sundays, so that was a lonely time for us Minnesotans. But we stuck together and our Platoon had the highest scores in Physical Training and Marksmanship.
I bucked off a colt and banged up my ribs prior to being inducted and I was sore throughout basic. Part of our final PT test was a low crawl under barbed wire. I made good time but the sergeant said my backside was too high so I had to go right back and do it again. That really hurt my time and my ribs. We had a similar exercise when they hit us with tear gas as we crawled through the wire, and we had to get our gas masks on immediately. Private Reuter, who had earned the nickname Roto Reuter lost his gas mask as he crawled through the wire. When the gas hit he couldn't see and was running into things as he tried to get away. Sad, but a valuable lesson.
Basic went well and I met a lot of good people- the Minnesota bunch, Wesley Amakuk, an Eskimo from Nome, Alaska, and Sooktis, a quiet Coastal Native American. Our platoon Drill Sergeant, Sgt. Aven was a John Wayne type who had served in Vietnam. Good guy! Our Training Sergeants, Garcia, Santiago, and Sanchez were great. Sergeant Santiago led our bayonet training and he would call out “Gentlemen, what is the Spirit of the Bayonet “Our response in unison was “To kill, sergeant.”, and he would reply “No. You don’t want to keel your sergeant.” Our sergeants were career military and our second lieutenants were young and inexperienced. One little second lieutenant came to inspect our barracks in the middle of the night. I had been reading a paperback novel from our barracks “library” and had tossed it on my footlocker. He grabbed it, kicked it across the floor, and demanded to know who it belonged to. I had to admit that I read books, and it was mine. We graduated from Basic Training March 11, 1967, and were scattered across the country for Advanced Individual Training (AIT).
I was assigned to Military Police Training (MOS 95B10) at Fort Gordon, Georgia. I flew on a commercial DC 3 from California direct to Georgia. It was a nice sunny day and I could see ground all the way. Fort Gordon, near Augusta, was a typical Army post with sand and pine trees. Our eight week course would run from mid March to mid May. The Georgia mornings were cold and damp. We ran a mile before sun up and it took a while to warm up. We were supposed to be housed in new barracks, but they weren't finished so we lived in 16 man tents with no heat. We were issued bedding for barracks - two sheets and a wool blanket, so of course we froze. We had a wind storm one day and everyone had to go out and hold down the guy ropes to keep the tent from blowing away.
We had a lot of classroom training in Military Law, etc. I qualified with the Colt.45 pistol but wasn't a great shot. Our “Judo” class was interesting and fun, learning various throws and holds. We learned “come along" holds putting pressure on finger and elbow joints to subdue a bad guy. We felt a nightstick upside the head would be more effective. We had a very large gentleman named Koops from Michigan. His feet were so bad that he couldn't march in formation with us when we went to classes, so he walked behind us on the sidewalk. He was pre-law in college, so it’s surprising he ended up in the MP’s, and then Sentry Dog School. He injured his legs jumping off the back of a deuce and a half in Vietnam and was medically discharged. The Army didn't get a productive day from a guy who should have been in the Army legal department.
Sergeant Neeley was a block of a man who everyone feared but respected. He had no neck - his black head just seemed attached to his broad shoulders. When he had a problem with trainees he would get 2 inches from their face and shout “You dumb _____.” Then he’d drop them for push-ups. My only confrontation with him was when he was looking for a perpetual trouble maker named Nickens. He got in my face and roared “Where’s that ugly ------- ----- Nickens?” I had no idea and told him so, and couldn't help but smile. “What are you smiling about?" he asked with a half sneer, half grin. Then he ran off to look for Nickens. He intimidated us but treated us fairly. He was a good sergeant.
Weekend passes were rare and I remember only one, and that was the weekend of the Masters Golf Tournament in Augusta. We GI’s were not aware of this, but I’d guess our officers were. They knew we’d not find a place to stay in Augusta and would have to return to Fort Gordon. We did wander through a few hotel lobbies and were amazed by the number of beautiful women who did not appear to be wives or true golf fans. My other recollection of Augusta was seeing actual tar paper shacks on the outskirts with big Cadillacs parked out front.
Fort Gordon wasn't as much fun as Fort Ord, but I successfully completed my MP training. We stood in formation as Sergeant Neeley read our next duty assignments. A few went to Japan, Korea, Germany, or stateside. Then he got his big smirky grin going and said “The rest of you gentlemen are going to the bow wows. “ We had heard the rumor that a new Sentry Dog Company was being formed for duty in Vietnam, so we weren't totally surprised. We would be sent to Fort Carson near Colorado Springs, Colorado, to form the 981st Sentry Dog Company. This was rather unusual as many of us were draftees with a 2 year commitment, and normally only Regular Army enlistees were accepted into the dog program because of the longer training period. They just needed dog handlers in a hurry.
We arrived at Carson mid May and there were no kennels and no dogs. We would be going Temporary Duty (TDY) to Lackland Air Force Base near San Antonio, Texas, where we would be matched with our dogs for eight weeks training. Of course we would not go altogether, so we left in platoon sized groups of about 30 men staggered over the summer. As dog handlers with no dogs at Fort Carson we pulled guard duty, did physical training, and worked on the kennel area. Our kennel area would be quite primitive as it was only temporary. Dogs would be housed in their shipping kennels with tarps over the top for shade. Our company began to take shape as the first dog teams arrived from Texas.
Fort Carson was my favorite post, located on a high plateau with nearby mountains. We could check out Gibson guitars to play at the post recreation center, and I even did a little horseback riding. We had more freedom to get passes to check out our favorite nightspots in C Springs. One time three of us hitched a ride into town with a GI in an old beater of a car with incense burning in an ashtray on the dashboard. A real Military Hippie Flower Child! I met up with Bob Olson, my college roommate who was working nearby, and we drove up Pikes Peak. Unfortunately it was overcast so we couldn't see much. Herb Kiefer from Taopi drove down and took me back to visit him at his duty station, Rocky Mountain Arsenal near Denver.
Until we got our dogs we were in a “make work" mode. The ultimate project was painting rocks white. Football sized rocks were placed around parking lot perimeters, and they needed a fresh coat of paint. Our crew consisted of my friend, Donis Montoya, an African American kid whose name I don’t remember, and me. I don’t know if they had diversity in mind, but that’s what they got. Our barracks were WWII vintage and I had a top bunk next to Nickens, the guy who was always in trouble at Fort Gordon. I got along well with him, but never realized he wore a .25 caliber pistol in a shoulder holster under his fatigues. He assaulted an officer, did hard time in jail, and missed out on going to Vietnam with the rest of us.
I was in the last group to go to Lackland in mid-July, 1967. It was a good group that included four of my best buddies. The Air force differed from the Army - nicer facilities and a more relaxed atmosphere. But it was hot, and physical training was suspended when temperature and humidity reached a certain level.
We went to the kennels to meet our dogs. The individual kennels were “bird houses,” dog houses mounted on a single wooden post about 18 inches off the ground. The dogs were collared and chained loosely to the post so they could move around their individual perimeters - no fences. The area was covered with pea rock, so poop scooping was a challenge. It took some time to “get in” on our dogs as most were wary and aggressive. I drew King, a rangy 72 pound gray and white German shepherd. He was a good dog - smart, aggressive, and very devoted to me. We took classes on care of our dogs, basic voice and hand commands, obstacle course, scout and patrol, and attack training. Part of attack training consisted of turning your dog loose on a man in a padded suit. King was so aggressive he didn't need a lot of attack training. When he latched onto someone I had to choke him to get him to release, then he’d turn around and lick my face. I spent more than my share of time in the attack suit. It was exciting, but very hot and uncomfortable.
Unfortunately King developed an upper respiratory infection (URI) about halfway through our training, and had to be quarantined to recover. I really hated to lose my good dog. Every effort was made to match up a handler with a previously quarantined dog with a similar amount of training, so I acquired Hanz (M333). He was a solid 82 pound black and tan Shepherd, and we were wary of each other at first. When I tried to put him in the “down” position with a verbal command and a tug on his choke collar he would bite me - not hard enough to draw blood, but a firm grip. My sergeant told me to jerk up on the leash as hard as I could when he tried to bite. He said it wouldn't hurt the dog, and if it did they’d give me a new one. I did exactly as instructed and caught Hanz by surprise as he attempted to bite. I jerked that big dog in a complete somersault and he landed straddle legged with a startled look on his face. We were best friends after that and he became a very good dog. Our 8 weeks training passed quickly. Hanz and I learned a lot and when we graduated I felt I had one of the best partners.
Our trip back to Fort Carson was very interesting. We traveled by bus, and our dogs by truck to Dallas where we would board a train for Pueblo, Colorado. The train station was near the place where President Kennedy was assassinated so we had a little history lesson. The dogs were loaded in boxcars, we traveled in passenger cars, and I think we were the only ones on that train. We had a long layover in Newton, Kansas to allow other trains to pass. As we sat on the side track we were allowed to exercise our dogs or go downtown. I decided Hanz could exercise when we got back to Carson, so a bunch of us walked a few blocks to downtown. We were wearing our fatigues and boots, and were invited into the VFW club. There they told us we should go to the American Legion club where there was a wedding dance going on. Our money was no good as people kept
buying us drinks, and we even danced with the wedding party. This was at a time when a lot of young people were demonstrating against the war, but the good folks in Newton, Kansas sure made us feel welcome.
We got off the train at Pueblo and headed to Fort Carson to begin preparation for deployment to Vietnam. We trained with our dogs, pulled guard duty, and tried to stay out of trouble. We had some good pickup basketball games and unfortunately I rolled my ankle. The Army doctor thought I had a possible hairline fracture, so he applied a cast that was solid on the sides and bottom, but just taped across the top. I had a week leave and returned home to Adams. I wanted to dance with Bernice, so I cut the cast off and figured I’d tape it back on before I returned to the Army doctor. But it was in pretty bad shape so I threw it away. That may have been a mistake as it took a long time to heal fully.
Our deployment to Nam was quite unusual. Most soldiers went individually to report to existing units. The newly formed 981st MP Company would go as a unit. Some of our sergeants were the first to go, accompanying our equipment and vehicles. They were loaded on to C124 Globemasters, huge propeller driven planes with front loading doors large enough for our 2 ½ ton trucks. The men and dogs followed, leaving over a period of a few weeks. We flew in C141 Starlifters - large jet transports. Our tranquilized dogs were stacked in their shipping crate kennels in the back, and we sat in four rows of webbing jump seats towards the front. The two rows on the fuselage faced in, and the two middle rows faced out. They were so crowded that our knees overlapped with those across from us. We left Ent Air Force Base in mid December 1967, refueled at Peterson Air Force Base in California, and headed for Hawaii. There I had a bowl of delicious fresh pineapple at the terminal and shed my long underwear in the restroom. Then we headed for Guam, the next fueling stop. The crew invited us individually to the cockpit if we wanted to look outside. We had to crawl over everyone's lap to get there, but it was worth it. It was a nice clear day and I was in the cockpit when we flew over an atoll that looked like a little green ring floating in the air.
We arrived in Cam Ranh Bay, the world’s largest sand pile. It’s hard to describe the sight and smell as we set foot on Vietnamese soil. We soon found where the unique smell came from. The deep sand base made it impossible to dig footings for buildings, or holes for latrines. Latrines were built on stilts, and sawed off 50 gallon drums were positioned under the openings. As they filled, some poor soul would have to hook them out, pour in some diesel fuel and light it. There is no way to describe that burning odor - you have to experience it.
Cam Ranh Bay was our company headquarter and we were held there until we received our in country orders. One day, 18 of us drew rifles, pistols, and 90 rounds of ammunition and were placed on standby for protecting a visiting VIP. We didn't learn until later that President Johnson was paying us a visit on December 23, 1967. We never left our stand by area so I didn't get to see him. I did, however, see Bob Hope’s Christmas show with Raquel Welch. We didn't all fit in our Company barracks, so those of us going up country were housed temporarily with another outfit. I was trying to get some sleep on Christmas Eve when a drunk spilled beer on me. A soldier in a top bunk a couple bunks away was entertaining his Vietnamese girlfriend. I suppose everyone has their Christmas traditions!
I was happy when I got my orders for Pleiku in the Central Highlands. I arrived at Camp Schmidt January 5, 1968 and moved to camp Holloway on the 6th. Holloway had been a French outpost and still had some French concrete tin roofed buildings, concrete bunkers, and concrete light poles. Most of the camp was American engineering- wood frame tent top hootches and lots of sandbags. Camp Holloway was a helicopter base with small observation choppers, bird dog planes, Huey slicks and gunships, Chinooks, and Sky Cranes. Later they added the brand new Cobra gunships. There was a short Perforated Steel Plate (PSP) runway to handle these aircraft. There was also a Petroleum Oil Lubricant (POL) yard, and an Ammunition Supply Point (ASP) and these were the three areas we guarded. Camp Schmidt, the Air Force Base, Artillery Hill, an Engineer Compound, Fourth Division Headquarters, and the village of Pleiku were all nearby.
Our detachment area consisted of our hootch which was a wooden frame building with a 16 man tent covering it, two rows of dog kennels for 16 dogs, a Sergeant of the Guard (SOG) shack, Charge of Quarters (CQ) shack, and a small Conex box bunker. We had room to park our three vehicles, and a fenced in dog training area that doubled as a volleyball court. We originally stored our weapons and ammo in the wall lockers in our rooms, but later our captain felt it wasn't safe for us to have weapons, so we stored them in the CQ shack. We had a pit latrine and actually had a hot shower. All you had to do was haul water up a ladder to a 50 gallon drum on a raised platform, make sure the tank heater had fuel, and light it. Then you waited for the water to heat. We found a better alternative. There were officer showers across the street where they had hot running water, so we’d sneak over there.
The dog teams did not follow the usual squad and platoon configuration, but were based on the need at the various camps. Holloway had about 15 dogs and handlers and a couple NCO’s. The 212th MP Sentry Dog Company had been in the country since 1965, with detachments throughout Nam. The brass wisely decided to mix the 212th with the 981st so we could have experienced handlers helping the new guys. Thus, some of the 212th became members of the 981st and some 981st became 212th. Holloway and Schmidt were 981st. Some of the old 212th were my roommate John Olsen, Charles Pulver, Bill”Mad Dog” Morris, Charles Dobash, and Sergeant Acie B. Chapman. The 981st guys included Vet Tech Homer Brown, Gerry Froesel, Les Kincannon, Dent Laney, Dave Miller, Cpl. John Jefferson, and me. Our Platoon officer, Lieutenant Greg Dunn was over 4 or 5 detachments so we didn't see him too often. Our Company Commander was Captain Peter Feddo in Cam Ranh Bay. I think he only visited us once. (How could we not refer to him as Captain Fido!)
We had two working shifts - early, 6 PM to midnight, and late, midnight to 6 AM, switching every other night. My first night of duty was January 7th. The next night the Engineer Compound a few miles away was infiltrated and hit with satchel charges and small arms fire. The following days were relatively quiet as I learned my duties on the various posts. Then on January 23rd the Hospital at Camp Schmidt was hit with mortars and 122 mm rockets. The VC apparently used the big red cross on the roof to sight in. We heard that one of the regular MP’s who was hospitalized had a dud mortar round come bouncing under his bed. Those MP’s were responsible for clearing Highway 19 from land mines and leading convoys. January 24th I had sniper fire at Post 1 and the next night Holloway was hit with a mortar attack.
January 29th was the eve of Tet, the Lunar New Year celebration. I was on early shift, and before midnight the ARVN’s (Army of the Republic of Viet Nam) in the listening posts outside our perimeter fired their weapons in the air in celebration. Then all hell broke loose and the Tet Offensive was on. Holloway was hit with mortar rounds, and an HE (High Explosive) ammo pad was blown. I was back in the bunker in our detachment area when it blew. Our bunker was a small CONEX box buried underground and it was crowded. Some of us stepped outside to see what was going on, and that’s when the ammo pad blew, all at once in one big explosion. We were about a half mile from the pad and I hit the ground when I saw the flash. When the sound and shock wave hit it felt like I was lifted off the ground and I was covered in red Pleiku dust.
The next morning we heard the NVA (North Vietnamese Army) had taken the town of Pleiku, and had mounted attacks throughout the country. January 31st Holloway was hit again with mortars and 122 mm rockets, and one round was a direct hit on the NCO Club. They were very accurate and I think if you monitored the Vietnamese workers on post you might find someone walking off distances between buildings so they could draw an accurate map. Pleiku village was taken back a few days later with most of the NVA attackers killed. Some of us went into town, and the damage there was minimal. There was a perception in the United States that Tet was a big victory for North Vietnam. Actually they were soundly defeated everywhere, but it did show they could mount a coordinated attack all over South Vietnam.
February 1st we had another mortar attack. I was working Post 6 at the end of the runway. I could see the flash of the mortar tubes and hear them as they were fired. I fired a few magazines of my M16 in their direction, but I’m not sure if they reached. In the still of the night you could plainly hear the clink of the mortar rounds as they were dropped in the tube and the muffled “whumph” as they were fired. The 122 mm rockets were fired from quite a distance, but you could hear them incoming. To me they sounded like a far off jet plane as they sliced through the air. When you hear that you hunt a place to hide. A Huey gunship went up to attack the mortar placements and flew over me as I walked my post. They started firing right over my head inside the perimeter. Too close! I got a feeling of what it would be like to be fired on by a gunship.
The next night Hanz threw a strong alert and we received some gunfire. February 3rd we heard that one of our original 981st men, Gordon Currier was killed at Long Binh when his post was overrun. We also heard that Landis and two other handlers in Ban Me Thuot had shrapnel wounds. Also about this time our Sergeant Acie B. Chapman was relieved of duty and replaced. Acie was a nice guy and good with the dogs, but he had a bad drinking problem. He was an old timer, but only a buck sergeant, promoted and demoted over the years. He shot an M16 clip on fully automatic through the roof of our CQ shack, and told the MP’s that it went off by itself, “So I grabbed it!” I liked Acie but he had become dangerous.
Walking a dog at night could be boring, or very exciting. Our perimeters consisted of concertina wire, two rolls on the ground and a third on top of them. They were loaded with trip flares that hopefully would go off if Charlie tried to cut through. Next were the bunker guards in sandbag bunkers. The airstrip and ammo dump also had tower guards that served as command posts. The end of the runway even had floodlights, and the bunker guards had Claymore mines. Our lieutenant came out one night and advised me I should be walking nearer the perimeter, under the lights and in front of the nervous bunker guards and their Claymores. I nodded in agreement, and when his jeep pulled away I went back to walking where it was safer.
We wore helmets and flak jackets on duty, with a radio receiver and antenna clipped to the helmet and the transmitter in our flak jacket pocket. We carried a GI flashlight - most were olive drab, but some were pink for reasons unknown to me. Our weapon was the M16, and we carried as much ammo as we wanted in magazines with 17 or 18 rounds, and bandoleers. They were loaded with tracer rounds - I think one in seven. Most important was our dog on a 6 foot leash.
The tower guards were good guys and we’d talk a lot, mainly on early shift. They knew Hanz because he was so aggressive. They’d greet him “Hello Hanz, you old goofus woofus.” I’m not sure they even knew my name. They always liked to know where we were and we’d announce “Dog handler coming up” when we approached the tower. One called down to make sure I was out of the way because a rat in the sandbags was stealing his M&M’s and he was going to blast him with his M14. He did! The towers were the command posts for the bunker line and we sometimes heard their radio communication, often humorous. Tower - “Do you see that tank about 200 meters out?” Bunker - “Yeah. Do you want me to take him out?” Tower - “No! No! It’s one of ours.” Some of the bunker guards were full time and others rotated through from their regular duties. Some were good and others were a bit scary. One told me he shot at a monkey in green tennis shoes coming through the wire. He may have been smoking pot, but I think he was just trying to be cool and original. A Native American guard in the POL yard saw a rabbit out in front of him and said he was going to shoot it. He did, with just a short burst from his machine gun. I was impressed. Another POL guard let me shoot his M79 Grenade Launcher in exchange for a burst from my M16. We were fortunate to have M16’s as a lot of other folks didn't, including bunker guards and helicopter crews. They still had the old M14’s as their personal weapons.
We guarded the PX yard for a short time. We cut down on thefts, but we were minor thieves ourselves. A case of soda or beer might end up in the CQ’s jeep when he came out to check on us. One of our detachments guarded a refrigerator yard so our lieutenants worked some trades – refreshments for steaks and chicken. We had some good cookouts. We bought native charcoal, and our next door neighbors, the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team provided C4 explosive for our fire starter. They would just slice off a piece like cold butter and light it. I know it was safe, but I stayed in the background when it was lit. Sometimes the CQ would take soda or beer out to us on duty when he checked on us. I doubt the Army would have approved of the beer. I was CQ one night and had the soda and beer in the back seat of the jeep. I checked on Dent Laney in the POL yard and he hollered for me to get down - he was taking sniper fire. I said “OK. Do you want a beer or soda?” I think he went without, and I remember not being scared. Do we have a feeling for safety or danger?
Our workday went beyond the 6 hour shifts walking our dogs. We fed and cared for our dogs, cleaned up after them, did some training, and other tasks around our area. We took our turn at CQ duty as an assistant to the Sergeant of the Guard. We posted the guards, checked on them during their shift, and picked them up when it was over. We also monitored any radio calls and reacted accordingly. We only had a formal Guard Mount Inspection if our Lieutenant was around. “Mad Dog” Morris was goofing off before one Guard Mount, doing a Nazi goose stepping sort of manual of arms. He forgot that he pulled back the ejector rod on his M16, chambering a round, and when he pulled the trigger he fired off a shot in the air. Lt. Dunn came charging out of the SOG shack. “What the hell was that?” Au, in his soft Georgia drawl replied “Sir, Ah thank it was a fahrcracker.” We all just laughed about it, except Morris.
Action heated up through February. We had a rocket attack at Holloway on the 6th and the Air Force Base was also hit. Olsen was on duty and firing his 16 that night when his dog jumped at the muzzle flash and was shot and killed. We were instructed to stand on the leash or somehow keep our dog out of the way when firing because the gunfire and flash of tracer rounds was irritating to the dogs. February 8th I had some close sniper fire at Tower 8, and we had another mortar attack. The next night we were hit again with five rounds landing in our detachment area. A dog was killed but I can’t remember whose. Our new Enlisted Mans Club which had not yet opened was also hit.
February 12th I was on early shift at Post 4 in the ammo dump. Hanz threw a very strong alert as we walked the lower road. The area between the road and the perimeter was swampy with 6 foot tall grass. There were bunkers close to the perimeter and the guards had to walk on boards laid down across the wet areas to get to them. Hanz was jumping in the air trying to catch a better scent in the tall grass. I radioed the SOG to check if the area had been cleared as it was near the ammo pad that had blown. He said OK, but then called back and told me to wait - he’d come out and we’d check it together. He did, and Hanz continued to go crazy but we didn't find anything. I kept close watch on that area, and when Pulver came out to relieve me at midnight I pointed out the area and told him to be careful. Later, Pulver was shot in the forearm as he walked that area. He said his dog alerted, he stopped in mid stride and was hit. Another step might have been real serious. The next morning they burned off the swampy area and we checked it out with our dogs, but found nothing. Hanz kept me from harm that night, but I thought we could have done more. I had alerted the command tower who alerted the bunker line, but I think they should have directed some firepower to that area. We normally did not fire in the ammo dump, but this was an exception.
Dent Laney was an exception - he did fire in the ammo dump sometime later. He said he saw intruders around a pad. Dent was a Texan - a good soldier, super alert and vigilant. Like his dog he was slender and wiry and they had similar personalities. Some thought he was jumpy and just seeing things, but I think he saw someone and was justified in firing. He probably saved another ammo pad from being blown up. I should explain the ammo pads. There were U shaped earthen berms around 3 sides, a road running in front, and another berm across the road. This design would contain a good part of an explosion. I later saw a white phosphorus pad that was hit and it looked like a white volcano as it cooked off. I would guess there were 10 or 12 pads in the ASP.
Attacks continued throughout February. My journal noted I had sniper fire the 14th, 21st, 28th and 29th. Some Viet Cong must have been off work on Wednesdays! I also noted mortar attacks the 17th, 27th, and 28th. Lt. Dunn chose me to drive him to our detachment at An Khe. We got along well. We were about the same age and college graduates. I wore a Mankato State tee shirt back at Fort Carson, and he always pronounced it Man kha to. We joined a convoy when we traveled, for safety reasons. I noticed a lot of trees along the route were dead. I thought they’d been burned off to make the road safer, but there was no sign of fire. I didn't hear about Agent Orange until I was back in “the world”, and this was definitely a defoliated area. Some of my friends from Fort Carson worked at An Khe, so it was nice to visit with them. Their place was much nicer than Holloway.
We had more mortar attacks on March 5th and 6th, and on the 10th we were hit hard at 1:00 AM. Our detachment area alone took 20 rounds, so they were really gunning for the dogs. Another dog was killed, one of three we lost at Holloway, and we had shrapnel damage to our 3 vehicles, our CQ shack, and latrine. Our hootch took a direct hit in the room across from mine, and everything in my room was full of holes. I had a picture of Bernice on a little shelf above my top bunk and a piece of shrapnel blasted a small piece off the back of the frame without damaging the picture. I took this as a good omen, and my best souvenir of Vietnam. I was out on duty at the time so I didn't have to weather the attack in our cramped bunker. Pulver had recovered from his wound and finished his one year tour of duty, but he decided to extend to a helicopter company so he could get an early discharge from the Army. He was flying as a door gunner and was shot in the same arm March 13, exactly one month from his earlier injury. This was more serious, in the shoulder area, so he was sent to Japan for treatment.
I drove Lt. Dunn to An Khe again on March 15, and this trip was more exciting. We were ambushed with land mines, rockets, and small arms fire in the Mang Giang Pass, a narrow, mountainous stretch of dirt road. Homer Brown and another guy, I don’t remember who, were in the back seat. We all bailed out of the jeep, not knowing where to hide as we didn't know where the gunfire was coming from. Three semi tankers carrying JP4 jet fuel were hit and burning. We were waved by the burning tankers and there was barely room to pass on that narrow road. One of the semi drivers was calmly unhooking his tractor from the burning trailer. They don’t blow up like they do in Hollywood - they just burn out. This was by far my scariest experience. We spent the night in An Khe and had an uneventful trip home the next day.
We now had to deal with the gaping hole in the tent top roof of our hootch. Unfortunately our hootch didn't exist on the Army rolls, so we couldn't replace something that didn't exist. When the 212th came to Holloway, an aviation company was supposed to provide housing, but that didn't work out. So they bartered, confiscated, or stole materials to build their own hootch and it was never a recognized Army structure. We were in the same mode again, and somehow our Sergeant Woody Waid came up with tin for our roof. We did the work ourselves, and we had one of the few tin roofed buildings at Holloway.
Since we were a small detachment we were assigned to a helicopter company mess hall, and received our mail through another, the 119th Assault Helicopter Company. I recall the food being very good except for midnight chow which they had to provide because we worked nights. It usually consisted of dried eggs, which I ate with a lot of catsup, old bread, and Koolaid or iced tea. Later we were able to get C Rations, and even the new LRRP (Long Range Recon Patrol) rations which were freeze dried and quite tasty.
Our Conex box bunker was too small, and inconvenient as we had to run through the kennel area to get to it. Sergeant Waid came to the rescue again. He got an Engineer Company backhoe, and they dug a big hole right behind our hootch. Next he got lumber supposedly by trading some “battle loss” M16s for it. I have no idea where he got the 16s. We built the bunker with beautiful 2” by 10” planks and I don’t know where they came from as I never saw another stick of lumber like it. Busted helicopter rotor blades were used for our roof - lightweight and great tensile strength. Sandbags were piled on top and the sides above ground. (We even had gun slits.) We hired some Montagnard kids, boys and girls, to help fill sandbags. When it was complete we put in some bunks so we could sleep there. The bunker was right off our back porch, and my room was the closest to it and I really felt safe. Sometime earlier we were hit at night with no warning, and I wasn't sure I should try to get to our old bunker. I rolled out of my upper bunk and pulled Olsen’s lower bunk mattress over me. He was a little upset when he came in that morning to find his bunk pulled apart.
Roommates were usually assigned to opposite shifts so we wouldn't be in each other’s way. We had 2 man “rooms” that had no doors, and the walls only extended to the height of the outside walls so the rafters were open. We had a little critter that moved in with us and became a pet. It was a little gray guy we called a banana cat, but I think it was a type of lemur. It was nocturnal and scurried around the rafters at night hunting for bugs. It was very tame, and we could hold it and have it sit on our shoulders.
My journal listed another mortar attack on March 29th. Olsen finished his tour of duty, and Joe Bonazza, also from New York, replaced him. My good friend, Vet Tech Homer Brown moved in with me. Bonazza was a real character - loved to play poker but wasn't very good at it. Gerry Froesel on the other hand, was very good. He was from the St. Louis area, married with a child on the way, and he often sent twice his monthly salary home as a result of his winnings. This was the max you could send home, to curb illegal activities. Bonazza often lost his whole monthly salary, so would play poker for payday stakes. On payday we would have our usual pay line, with another behind Joe to collect the payday loans. Salaries were paid with Military Payment Certificates (MPC). Every denomination from a nickel to a twenty dollar bill was paper so it was possible to have a stack that was really only pocket change. Bonazza had a stack like this when 3 or 4 of us went to the EM club for a drink. He slapped his wad on the bar and called out ”Bartender, drinks for my friends.” We knew he was almost broke so we offered to pay for the drinks but he was very upset and insisted he would buy. All drinks were 25 cents, from a beer to cognac, so he maybe had enough to cover it. April 3rd I again drove Lt. Dunn to An Khe. We stayed overnight and it was good to see my old friend, Corporal Charlie Burks from Tennessee, and Sergeant Dice, a good old boy from Oklahoma. While we were there, Holloway had another mortar attack and 15 attacking VC were killed by the gunships.
April 12th Homer Brown and I visited Lt. Dunn at Camp Schmidt and even had a few beers with him. We were getting to be good friends. He took us out to the new ASP site being built way out in Indian Country. It would reportedly be the second largest ASP in Vietnam, after Cam Ranh Bay, and we would be guarding it. April was a bad month for losing good men. Sergeant Waid was transferred to Cam Ranh Bay, and replaced by Sergeant Myers who was a trouble maker at CRB. He also caused trouble at Pleiku. A Colonel came to inspect us on April 22nd so we cleaned our hootch real well because he didn't like dust. (Pleiku is dust!) I took the trash out to our burn barrel, and when I got the fire going, everything exploded out of the barrel. Someone had swept up a couple M16 rounds and they cooked off. Lt. Dunn was relieved at the end of the month and replaced by Lt. Harris. I‘m not sure if his dismissal was due to the bad inspection. Waid and Dunn were great leaders and we hated to see them leave.
I volunteered to fly door gunner on a Chinook one day so I could see some more country. We flew troops to locations around Dak To and Dak Pek. We also supplied remote fire bases with water, food, ammo, and any materials they needed. These were sling loads hung on a long cable, so we didn't have to touch down. This was the first time I’d flown in a helicopter and the first time I had my hands on a .30 caliber machine gun with butterfly triggers, and I was flying combat missions. Fortunately I didn't have to pull the trigger. Actually these were very safe missions, but it was a thrill to sit in the open doorway of a Chinook. A dog handler at another detachment who had volunteered to fly door gunner on a Huey was injured when the pilot was auto rotating and had a rough landing. Our Captain put an end to our chopper escapades after that. We also volunteered for a more sedate cause. We did some physical labor at an orphanage run by French and Vietnamese nuns. They served us hot coffee in the heat of the day, and surprisingly, it was very refreshing.
June was quiet with only two mortar attacks. Unfortunately it was a sad month as our friend and neighbor, Sergeant Baker of the EOD team, was killed by explosives he was disarming. I went to his memorial service, one of the few times I was inside a church in Vietnam. Sergeant Baker had a native dog named Becky that he dearly loved. She looked like a small German Shepherd cross and he would take her in our training area and work her on commands and on the obstacle course. She was very good and might have made a good sentry dog.
June 30th I had some sniper fire at post 6 on the runway. It was raining hard and Hanz and I were taking a break behind the bunker. I could hear AK47 rounds cutting through the rain and hitting the bunker. I heard the rounds a long ways off as they made an eerie sound in the rain. Those sandbag bunkers were rat infested, so the guards would build another bunker on top of it with a tarp roof. The guards were above me and talking so much that they didn't realize they were being fired on until I told them. Then they got real quiet. This happened on early shift, and I decided when the CQ came out to relieve me I would say “No thanks. I’ll just stay here behind the bunker where it’s safe". Fortunately the firing stopped, but I was scared for awhile.
July brought a big change as the rumor about guarding the new ASP came true. We shut down our posts at Holloway and moved to Camp Schmidt on July 5th. We took our dogs out to clear the area which was quite large. Then on July 8th Hanz and I had the honor of being the first dog team posted at the ASP - Post #1 on the early shift. I became comfortable working the new area, but never felt safe on the long ride to and from the ASP. Also, Schmidt was more “stateside” so I didn't like it as well as Holloway even though we were never hit. I think this was when they first started giving us quinine pills for malaria. They did this on guard mount so we didn't have water to wash them down, and I often just flipped them over my
shoulder.
Diet and her daughter Kim were our loyal housemaids at Holloway, washing clothes, polishing boots, and keeping the place clean. We wanted to keep them employed, but they wouldn't let us hang out wash at Schmidt - too unsightly. For a short time we collected the “Holloway” laundry, loaded it in a jeep and took it to their home in Pleiku. I drove them, and Diet told me to turn down a narrow alley, barely wide enough for the jeep. I looked over at her and she smiled and said “Ti Ti” which means small, meaning it wasn't far. We drove quite a ways and I looked over at her again. She had a bigger smile and a little laugh, spread her arms apart and said “Beau Coup” which means big. Their home was a small concrete block dwelling and I’m sure it had no electricity or running water. I could see this venture wouldn't work and unfortunately we had to let them go and use the military laundry. I used to collect the money that we paid them back at Holloway. Diet didn't speak much English and Kim did the translating. One day Diet asked for a raise - “Beau coup work, Ti Ti money.” I said “No, Ti Ti work, beau coup money.” I regret that I didn't ask the guys to give them more as they were good people and could have used the money.
August 16th the VC hit the new ASP with sniper fire and B40 rockets, and then a mortar attack on the 23rd. The Air Force Base was hit with everything on the 22nd and Artillery Hill was also hit. Artillery Hill was hit again with rockets August 30th, as well as the Engineers and Pleiku town. Holloway was hit with mortars on the 25th. September 1st Pleiku was hit again with 122mm rockets, and Artillery Hill on the 14th. The ASP was hit the 20th, and took 30 mortar rounds at 11:00 PM on the 26th.
One early shift as we were loaded on our deuce and a half to go to work, the guy across from me thought he was cute, bothering Hanz. Some guys used to get a charge out of just flinching or making a sudden movement as Hanz was super aggressive and would try to get loose from my grip and attack them. The dogs wore their heavy leather “attack” collars when we loaded up so their personality changed completely when the choke chain collars came off. This guy went too far when he tapped Hanz lightly on the nose with his M16. I let my hand slip off the leather collar and Hanz was all over him. The guy tried to push Hanz away and got his thumb in the basket muzzle. Hanz bit through the thumb and we lost a dog handler for the night. I remember him saying “Al, I think your dog bit me.” I thought “He sure did you dumb ----.”
October was fairly quiet with the Engineers hit at 10:30 on the 25th and the AFB the next night. One perimeter side of the ASP was crescent shaped with the horns pointing outward around a large ravine. A couple of our new guys, Puerto Ricans, got into a heated confrontation with a couple other new guys as we loaded up to go on early shift. They were posted at the point of one of the horns and I swear they were shooting at the perimeter on the other point. We had an African American guy who was a character. His last name was Dean and he claimed to have played marimba in a jazz band in Washington, DC. The Sergeant of the Guard was checking posts one night, and all he could find at PFC Dean’s post was his steel pot and M16. He found Dean wandering around on the road - stoned. One night at guard mount one of the new guys asked Dean how he liked walking a dog at Pleiku. He had this high, squeaky voice and he replied “I thought it was OK until I went out on duty sober one night. And you know what? I don’t like it at all.” Our new guys weren't the same quality as the Holloway bunch and sometimes I wished we could have stayed there. On the positive side, Lt. McCloskey, a good guy from Minnesota, told about 10 of us old timers that he was putting us in for Army Commendation Medals. That never happened. I guess the desk clerks in Cam Ranh Bay got them.
November 3rd the Pleiku old timers were transferred (sentenced?) to Cam Ranh Bay Headquarters to finish out their last month. I don’t recall much about our duties, but I do know it was almost like serving back in “the world.” We stood inspection with the new Top Sergeant when we arrived, and all of us were sent for haircuts. Our hair was not long, but it did not suit his military mind. We had to report to him when we got back and my hair was still too long. I had two haircuts in one day! The whole scene was not about hair, but about showing we were no longer in country and would have to play by different rules. This was really apparent when the attack sirens blew one night. I rolled out of my bunk, pulled on helmet, flak jacket and boots and started for the bunker. Someone stopped me and said I had to get fully dressed because we weren't going to the bunker - we were going to stand inspection. We stood in formation and were counted over and over again. Some were missing and some were drunk and had to be propped up for the head count. We answered as our names were called off, and I think someone usually answered for the missing so the head count never worked out. I wondered how they would tell a drill from the real thing if they were ever attacked. We never did go to the bunker, but I knew we were safe because they had posted a guard on a high sand dune a hundred meters out to watch for infiltrators. I knew he was there because he had a lit cigarette giving away his position. I wonder if they gave him ammo for his rifle. I wonder if they gave him a rifle!
I was excited on December 4, 1968 when I left Vietnam for “the world.” We had a real long layover in Japan as there was a problem with the plane. Someone asked a sergeant about the trouble and he said the pilot didn't like the sound of the left engine, so they were looking for a new pilot! We finally took off and I arrived at Fort Lewis the same day. There I was issued a new dress uniform for the trip home and was discharged from the same place I began my service 23 months before. I still had a month remaining on my 2 year commitment, but the Army knew that month would not be productive. I was a civilian again!
Photos from Pleiku, Vietnam
