The Bonding of Warriors
A Unit History
There and Back Again
Afterword - 2
by Sal "Jersey Sal" DiSciascio (revised 6Mar2022)
Twenty-six minutes in the jungles of Viet Nam can change one, much less twenty-six months. By the time I got to the 9th Infantry Division Long Range Patrol, I was pretty much brain-fried but when my best friend in the Riverine Force, SGT Ken Mullinax, suggested that we go join the LRRP, I responded with enthusiasm. "Yeah" I replied, "let's go join the LRRP! Ken, what's a LRRP???"
So, we wangled a ride to Bear Cat and made our way into the "E" Company, 50th Inf, 9th Infantry Division orderly room. Ken tells the Company Clerk that we want to volunteer for the unit. The clerk announces us to the LRRP Company Commander, Cpt Dale Dickey, who emerges from his offices wearing an OD green t-shirt and sporting a magnificent fiery red handlebar mustache. Cpt Dickey gives us a quick once over and calls for SGT Duane "Poncho" Alire, one of the LRRP Team Leaders, to conduct an interview to assess our suitability to serve in such august company. Sgt Alire is a man of short stature and huge presence. He, also, sported a large mustache, his black, which gave him the appearance and visage of a Mexican bandito chieftain.
As we were navigating the interview with Poncho, Cpt Dickey was looking out the Orderly Room window at the LRRP obstacle course. Sadly, hives of extremely agressive Viet Cong hornets had infiltrated the structures and it was unavailable for us to run and thus prove our dexterity and athletic prowess on this particular day. As it turned out, the LRRP were more interested with ones AFQT Scores than one's ability to run and jump.
As we watched, a lanky figure appeared. He was wearing black jump boots, fatigue pants, a class "A" jacket with a towel wrapped around his neck like an ascot, black leather winter gloves with liners and a bush hat with netting covering his head. He was wielding a broom as a weapon and commenced to swat at a hornet nest in an attempt to clean out the obstacle course. As we watched, SP4 John "Gene" Autry landed a blow on one large nest. The resident hornets took umbrage at this invasion of their appropriated space and launched a sudden, furious counter attack. Even covered as he was, Autry commenced to jump, twist and contort like a demon-possessed scarecrow in a tornado! He leaped. He spun. He leaped some more! He swatted. He threw the broom away and ran in circles! But the hornets were relentless until he made his way into the shower and turned on the water. As all of this was transpiring, everyone in the Orderly Room was transfixed by the spectacle of Autry vs the Hornets. (Hornets-1: Autry-0) As Autry was doing his dance, Cpt Dickey was just looking out the window with an expression somewhere between pain and awe then he muttered two words that gave me the best clue as to what we were getting ourselves into. "What now?" was all the Captain said but it said volumes. A unit like the LRRP, whose very mission was against normal, logical, human behavior had to find "creative" ways to let off steam. And while the telling of some of these escapist doings might sound humorous to the uninitiated, the truth is that extreme stress calls for extreme remedies. If no LRRP stole a general's jeep or pilfered a pallet of beer or swiped building materials to build rooms in a barracks or snuck "down town" to visit the ladies or got into a fight in the Club, there was something seriously wrong! Cpt Dickey knew what he was dealing with. Considering that he was the same age but for a year or two of the rest of us, he showed a lot of understanding.
From Day One, I was in awe of the company that I found myself a part of. I often looked around and said to myself, "What am I doing here???" I learned from Autry, Ron Weber and others. Then SSG Jimmy Booth joined the Unit and I was his Assistant Team Leader, Jimmy was 35 years old and a Career Soldier. He was on his second tour with the 9th and the circumstances of his first tour and his decision to return so quickly to Viet Nam is another story. Jimmy and I partnered on Hunter-Killer missions where Jimmy ran the Hunter Team and I was NCO of the Killer Team under a Lieutenant. Jimmy was my mentor, friend and battle buddy... and drinking buddy. This may sound strange but I never felt afraid when working for one of the LRRP Team Leaders. I was in awe of their calm and coolness under fire. Then, one day, I was promoted and given a team. Then I felt fear! But I had great teachers. Remember, we were writing the Book...
Four missions stand out in my mind. The first was a patrol deep into the Delta. Ron Weber was the Team Leader and I was his assistant. We had set up in one of the few and rare dry spots, basically, a grassy hillock when we detected noise to our front. Ron pulled us back about 20 meters to a better position. Ron asked me to call in a SITREP but my radio did not work. Ron looked at it and asked, "Where's your antenna?" It had fallen off at the first position. Then he said, "Go get it." Swell!!! Garth "Vic" Volbright volunteered to go with me as we crawled down into the mud and made our way back to the old position. As luck would have it, I found the antenna in short order, screwed it back into the radio then I turned and tapped Vic on the shoulder to start back. But when he turned, it was not Vic! I fired one shot and the enemy soldier dropped. Vic was a few feet away and we charged into the muck toward our team's position. And they opened up!!! Remember that "Crawl of Death" in Basic? Well, it paid off. As the Team fired into our recently vacated position, Vic and I crawled as low as possible, without sucking mud... much, until we reached the team. Needless to say, every time I strapped on a radio, the antenna was screwed in TIGHT!
The next vivid memory was during a firefight in a remote village with Jimmy Booth as Team Leader and I, his ATL. As we were exchanging fire with a few local VC, Jimmy saw a head and a blue shirt in the tall grass. He swung his AR around and called "Lại đây!!!" (COME HERE!) but the individual didn't move. As Jimmy was getting ready to open fire, I had a different angle and saw a young women standing in the door of a nearby hooch, obviously terrified, crying and looking toward the person in the grass. I looked closer and realized that it was a little boy and yelled for Jimmy to hold fire. For some reason, I held my weapon in the air and yelled "STOP!" There was a lull as both the VC and the LRRPs held their fire as the young woman dashed out into the battlefield and scooped up her terrified baby and ran back to her home.
The VC had evaporated after that and we continued to look for trouble in the village but there was none to be had. I heard Jimmy mutter, "DAMN! I almost shot a little kid!" "But you didn't, Jim, you didn't." I replied. I thought SSG Jimmy Booth was made of iron. Yet, I saw how that close call, not to himself or even his men, but to a little, innocent kid, shook him up. He had his own flock of young back in Georgia. That night's after-mission festivities were subdued.
The third most memorable incident still gives me a case of the tight butt. I had formed a Team of, mostly, Vietnamese PRU's. These guys were TOUGH and stone killers! We were on patrol and had taken up a hasty ambush at the edge of an anemic tree line that surrounded an open field. As it was afternoon, we were hiding and watching until dark. Then I heard the familiar "WAP WAP WAP" of a helicopter. A Light Observation Helicopter came in low over the trees. I told my team to hunker down as I had no idea if they had any idea that we were there. Suddenly, from across the clearing, a VC popped out of the grass and started shooting his AK at the chopper. I knew what was coming next. Our of the Sun came a Cobra Gun Ship. It's mini-gun spewed, what appeared to be, a solid stream of RED. Between every "red" were 4 "ball" rounds. The VC "melted" in front of our eyes in a spray of red blood and bone!!! I had my guys line up head to toe a few feet from the edge of the tree line. I knew what was coming. Either we all make it or... The Cobra wheeled and open up that Hell Bore and stitched up the edge of the tree line. As I lay there, I could see the Earth being chewed up by the mini-gun rounds. I was screaming into my radio for SOMEONE to get this asshole OUT of MY AO!!! The Cobra and LOH finished their run and left. The sight of the tail rotors disappearing over the trees was the signal to commence breathing, again. As soon as it was clear, my PRUs wanted to go see what was left. I just wanted to take a nap. After the mission, we were extracted and as part of my after-action report, I verified that WE were in the right place. I never did find out who was flying those choppers... Probably for the best.
Another incident came a few months later. I was a newly minted Staff Sergeant and my six-man Team had an ambush mission along a road that ran to the old French Fort at Rach Kien. On a regular basis, VC sappers would plant mines along the road necessitating a daily "clearing" operation. We were positioned a bit off of the road and hunkered down to wait. There was a dusk to dawn curfew on the road and it was designated as a Free Fire Zone, meaning that if it moved, we could kill it without asking permission from "Higher", first. I had the team on 30% alert, four sleeping, two on watch for two hour shifts. At about 4:30 AM, my tail gunner rouses the team and whispers that we have movement on the road. Six figures, dressed in black were moving toward the Fort. As I watched them approach I had a flash. I went to a Catholic Grammar School and was taught by the Sisters of Charity Order. Ther distinctive habits made a lasting impression. In the dim, moonless and cloudy night, I could not be sure but better to risk getting shot than to shoot a nun. I mightn't have been a very good Catholic but I was not about to tempt fate by posibly killing six nuns!!! I slung my M-16 over my shoulder and told the Team to be ready, took a deep breathe and said one more "Hail, Mary", then I stepped out of my cover, onto the road to confront whatever was there. It was six Vietnamese nuns. Between my highschool French (Thank you, Mr's Halk and Freund...) and the Mother Superiors French and broken English, we managed a dialogue. They were travelling to a market near the Fort and had timed their journey to arrive as the curfew was lifted. I explained, I think, that that's not how it works and told them to stay with us until the Sun came up. They joined us in the bush for an hour or so until the road clearing detail came down the road we all caught a ride in a 3/4 ton up the road to the Fort. The look on the road details NCO's face, as six cammied, painted, armed to the teeth LRRPs broke cover accompanied by six tiny women dressed in black was priceless. We feigned nonchalance as if such occurances were a daily event. At the Fort, Mother Superior, who stood about 4 ft nothing, pulled me down and kissed me on the cheek and told me she and her sisters would pray for me and the Team. Must have worked. We all made it. My greatest pride is that all of my guys made it home...
In the midst of the insanity of war, there does occur rare moments of sanity, compassion and even love... but ya gotta look for 'em 'cause they pass quickly.
While serving with the LRRP, I became acquainted with and worked, closely, with, SGT Fred Wheeler and his crew of Vietnamese PRU's. Fred was a fisherman from Georgia but his skill in the jungle was other-worldly. The PRU were "Provincial Reconnaissance Unit"; obsensibly, local recon assets but in reality, they were, pretty much, mercenaries, working for American Units as Scouts. It was rumored that they were recruited and trained by the CIA and Aussie SAS for Operation Pheonix. I won't go into any hairy-edge tales of derring-do but to say it was then that I met Nhan, Kiet, Sa, Bao and Nghia. Bao and Nghia are a husband-wife team and as beautiful as Nghia was, so was Bao deadly. And, yes, Nghia joined us in the field and I never had to worry about my back when she was watching it. But Nhan was the obstensive leader and he and Wheeler worked closely together. Somehow, I became woven in to their merry band and worked extensively with Fred and Nhan as well as other PRUs. They were truly courageous, and powerful assets in a fight. When Fred left Viet Nam, Nhan and I picked up.
Nhan had been a Vietnamese Marine for four years before joining the PRU. All in all, he fought for 11 years until 2 months before the fall of Saigon he was hit while working with an ARVN Ranger unit. He lost his right arm and leg as a result. Most men would roll over and just die but Nhan managed to make a good life as a restauranteer and as a Boy Scout Leader as well as writing over 70 books with the three fingers left on his left hand!!! When I get to feeling sorry for myself and feel that my fight is lost, a thought of Nhan re-energizes me for another round.
After Nam, I did all the usual things to try to fit back in to life in the USA and to pursue the American Dream. I drank, I married, we had kids and I worked for Fortune 500's as an IT manager... but I also rode with motorcycle clubs and drank like a fish. I didn't fit in my own skin.
In 2006 I got an e-mail from Viet Nam. At first, I thought it was a scam but continued correspondence finally broke through my fog and I realized who was writing to me: it was Nhan! Over the next four years, I planned to go back to Viet Nam and visit my old comrades but always found a reason to procrastinate. I had been in touch with fellow LRRPs since 2000 and the huge void in my soul was at once filling and hurting. It was time to go back. But I kept putting it off until 2010. In February of that year I had a stroke. My left side was severely weakened. I rehabbed, intensively from the first day. On April 10th I went home to Viet Nam, exactly 41 years to the day since I left.
At Tan Son Nhat Airport, I picked up my Visa, grabbed my baggage and stepped into the heat and humidity and a mix of uniquely Vietnamese odors of midnight in Siagon. As I passed out of the doors of the terminal I scanned the crowd until I spotted my friend, comrade and battle buddy, Nhan. He was flanked by two young women; Nhi, his ward and Lan, a friend and chef from a neighboring restaurant in Ba Ria. Lan was holding a small bouquet of flowers but when Nhan called to me and I waved back her eyes fell on me and I could see that she was, visibly, shaking... I'm guessing that she never saw anything as big and as hairy as me without a large ring in its nose. Not an auspicious start for what was to be the most exciting, intense and reality altering relationship of my life.
Lan, Nhan and I travelled around Viet Nam for a month that first trip back. We went to Da Lat, the City of Flowers and to Ban My Thout, Tan An, My Tho, Dong Tam, Toi Son Island but all signs of the war were gone from the landscape. There are a few static displays in Saigon and the American War Museum in Hanoi as well as the Tunnels of Cu Chi but they hold nothing for me. During this time, Lan and I had some epic misunderstandings as neither spoke the others language. We depended on Nhan to be our Middleman.
After a month, I left Viet Nam. An ache that I had never understood throbbed even more. After four months in North Carolina, I went back to Viet Nam and Lan and Nhan, this time for 3 months. Lan and I managed to understand enough about each other to begin planning to marry. That is when I went with Lan to her village of Tra Nu, in the Central Highlands and met, face to face, her family and many old VC fighters and one former NVA Captain. That WAS her family... There was a tense moment when I sat across a low table from her uncle, who was the NVA Captain. He looked at me hard and asked, "You fight Viet Nam?" I replied that I had, indeed, fought in Viet Nam. He looked at me for another minute then asked, "Where?" I replied, "Mekong" He stared at me and I could see flames and smoke in his eyes then he reached down, pulled up a beer, pushed it across the table and said, "Long time ago." A few days later they had a "feast" in Lan's village and there was wall to wall food and people. They came down from the mountain to see Miss Lan's Người Mỹ (American). I sat on the floor and ate whatever was put in my bowl. One grizzled old man told Lan, "I like him. He doesn't sniff at his food like a Frenchman!" Heady praise, indeed. Of course I had to keep reminding myself that if it doesn't kill them it PROBABLY won't kill me! And I never, never asked what was in my bowl!!! On a subsequent trip to Viet Nam, Lan and I were honored guests at her uncle's daughters wedding. Her cousin, Miss Kha, married a young Vietnamese captain of Infantry and half the Province turned out. I met many old fighters and we drank and hugged and laughed and cried. One little guy told me, in pantomine, French and some English, how he had been caught in the open by a chopper and had been torn up from his feet to four hits in his torso from the door gunner's M-60. How he survived is a miracle. As I listened to him I put my arm around him. He broke down and buried his face in my chest, threw his arms around me and cried as I patted his back. The other old men there looked on and nodded in approval. We both dropped a ton of emotional rocks that night. VC get PTSD, too, but they have a village. I have seen him on every trip back. He gets it.
I won't go into how the villagers were "drafted" to fight or how "Political Officers" were embedded to "assure" Communist Orthodoxy or the propaganda that both sides fed their warriors. But I am more comfortable in a tiny mountain village in the Central Highlands of Viet Nam with those battle scarred old men... and women, than I am in the local Wal-Mart in North Carolina. Three old men walk for hours when they hear that we are in the village just to sit with me on the porch overlooking the rice fields and the cattle, gazing across the valley floor where once young men fought each other, and sharing a few beers. We, Old Warriors, have more in common with each other than we did with the assholes who set us to kill each other. But like soldiers from time immemorium, ours was not to reason why... I have no regrets, whatsoever, for my service.
That first feast in Tra Nu was our first "wedding". That was followed, a few weeks later, by a visit to Lan's Buddhist Guru, Mr Tai. He performed a "Purification Ritual" to exorcise my demons. He was done this four times. Hmmmm... He has blessed our marriage (that's 2) and even came to our home in Ba Ria to drive out any evil spirits that might be lurking about. Eventually, we had to travel to Tam Ky, the capital city of Quang Nam Province to be officially married. It took four trips from Ba Ria, the first, 22 hrs by bus... Never again. Then we took the train with a sleeper cabin and one trip by air. This was necessary because Lan was marrying a foreigner and the union had to be investigated and approved by the Officials in her home province. I had to pass an interview and all manner of beaucratic machinations. We were married, for the 3rd time, in Tam Ky by a local official in front of a bust of Uncle Ho, along with three other couples. The "ceremony" consisted of signing some papers... Tea and apple slices were served. The communists do not go in for much pomp. Finally, after wrestling with our own State Department, Lan was granted a K-1, Fiance VISA because some nitwit at State gave me bad information but that's another book!!! So, we finally married, for the fourth time, in Jacksonville, Florida.
We have three homes in Viet Nam; one on Ba Ria, very close to Nhan, one nearby in Long Dinh and one in the village of Tra Nu. The small children in Tra Nu call me "Ung My", "American Man" or "Big Grandfather". We bought 110 acres of wooded land with the intent of harvesting about 20 acres every year to provide a continuous income. We recently opened a small "convenience" shop in Tra Nu and will build another, combination shop with a motorbike repair facility in the back. Our nephew had apprenticed with one of the best mechanics in Ba Ria before returning to Tra Nu and starting his own business. My children understand and are supportive of us. That is important. Lan's three children are here working. Two are married and we have Jack and Shawn, our grandsons, as a result. Lan's youngest is working and saving his money... Talk about coming Full Circle!!! From the first time that I went back to Viet Nam, I have tried to live as they live, eat as they eat, drink as they drink while there... It pays off in dropping barriers and being welcomed into the tribe.
Sebastian Junger is a writer of extraordinary perception. I was exposed to two of his works by my former Leiutenant, Tom Deutschlander. The first book of his that I read was "War", about a platoon of the 173rd Airborne Infantry Brigade in Afghanistan. The second was "Tribe" which explains why warriors bond the way they do and why "coming home" can be the worst part. Both books are insightful and more than worth the read... Enjoy.