Snubby in Vietnam

Buck General

Later today, meeting up with my son and his two lads, flying a HS senior grandson out from KC, and we are loading up and heading down to Daytona for the Rolex 24, a 24 hour sports car race.

So will be away for a few days, but wanted to post a pic here of my Buck General, in a custom sheath from Ranger Joe's at Benning. Sitting in a cafe with the local LTC District chief. The Buck was handy for this and that task. I have since given it to my son, along with some other nice knives. Wearing it with my issue 1911 and a two mag belt case.

Oh, picked up a mint early Ruger 44 mag carbine yesterday. Wanted one for many years, about completes my collection and acquisition. Which is a good thing, as I will be at Daytona when my wife sees the charge on my credit card. Mostly will blow over by the time I get back early next week, hopefully. I will reload for it too.

So stay safe, and see you all in a few days. SF VET
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SF VET said:
Ever since armies have fought, it has always been a goal of the warring parties to convince their opponent to run away, or surrender, or perhaps just get out of the way. The best result was if a former enemy could be somehow convinced to join one's own effort. Combat has usually been a last resort, unless one fights like Genghis Khan, who much preferred to slaughter his enemies. Or sadly, like our own military excursions against the Indian tribes in our own West.

In Vietnam, there was a program dedicated to just such a purpose, getting the VC and perhaps even a disillusioned NVA to "come over." It was the Chiu Hoy program, or something pronounced like that. Sort of like a modern Tokyo Rose attempt, "... why live in the jungle when you can have a life of relative peace and luxury, and even women." I recall leaflet drops, and here is a poster on a wall in a village, recounting the misunderstanding of some local villager, who finally saw the light, so to speak, and now has the correct vision of his role in the conflict. Note he has a Garand slung over his shoulder. I can't read the language, but the pictures say it all.

I suspect he later had a bad experience when the South Vietnamese army collapsed. Of course, it worked both ways. One of my district's small detachment of troops, guarding some small bridge or hamlet, one day, just took their weapons and "went over".

When my own compound's Vietnamese troops captured a turncoat, he was put in the wire cage until an operation was mounted, and said traitor was taken along, and always tried to escape, with the expected outcome. I made sure I wasn't there when that was going to happen. I didn't see it, and didn't know anything about it.

In US slang, I often heard the phrase "Chiu Hoy" in reference to any minor project that was "...heck, I give up on this".

So all the best, and stay safe. Family still asleep, and now another coffee sitting by the fire. Then off to Church and lunch with our Charlotte daughter, who just ran a 5K, a 10K, a half marathon and then on the fourth day a full marathon at Disney. Me, I slowly walk out to check the mail at the end of the driveway.

Oh, I found my M37's truck problem wasn't the carb, it was a failing fuel pump. All good now.

SF VET
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The Chiu Hoi campaign (leaflets, radio, etc) encouraging hostiles to defect or surrender was reported as having some success. There were also reports or hostiles coming over (officially referred to as Hoi Chan), going thru the screening and indoctrination program, and becoming "Kit Carson scouts" to work with US or RVN troops, then using those opportunities to commit espionage or sabotage before returning to their NVA or VC commands.

The North Vietnamese command, the old Viet Minh who actively resisted the French through the 1950s, and the Viet Cong insurgent forces consisted of people with lifetime histories of war, occupation, colonization, political oppression, corruption, and generations of misery.

Vietnam was occupied by the Japanese Imperial forces throughout WW2, a brutal time of forced labor and deprivation. The Mekong Delta is known as the Rice Bowl of Southeast Asia. The rubber tree plantations were valuable assets for the war efforts.

The United States provided considerable material support to Ho Chi Minh's forces who resisted and harassed the Japanese occupiers using French and US military arms and ammunition. Thousands upon thousands of Springfield rifles, BARs, M1918 light machineguns, Thompsons, howitzers, and other weapons were provided to Ho's forces during WW2. After Mao's communists consolidated control in China (late 1940s and into the 1950s) the Vietnamese communists were supported in their fight against French Colonial forces attempting to return to the status quo ante.

Short version: The North Vietnamese leadership were highly experienced and committed, and the Vietnamese people in general were susceptible to promises of a bright shining future after many years of war and oppression. The folks we were engaging with by the 1960s were not amateurs by any standards, and they used every advantage they could exploit.

Our unit interpreter, ARVN Sergeant Tranh, summed it up pretty well when we discussed efforts to "Vietnamize" the war, relying more upon RVN forces with US efforts evolving into more of a support effort rather than active combat forces. Tranh simply said "Not our war, your war". In retrospect, 50 years later, I realize that the Vietnamese people (including RVN troops) were simply doing the best they could every day to survive after several generations of conflict without much hope or vision beyond the challenges of each day.
 
Desert Storm, as it happened

Been busy with this and that. As I have posted previously, I was deployed Christmas Eve for Desert Shield, which was to become Desert Storm. I just finished this book, and it was quite revealing about events I was part of but had no knowledge of. If you were part of that War, you might find it likewise very explanatory of your role in that conflict. The book was written in 1997, and begins with the story of General Franks' early career, his loss of a leg to a NVA grenade, his post war convalescence , and vows to never let that happen to his soldiers again. And then how he and others began to rebuild our broken, shattered even, military.

I recall those times, the depths of the morass our military had fallen into, and the gradual recovery. The book continues thru his subsequent career, the development of the Combined Arms Warfare theory, and then the build-up and the actual battle. There were other parts of that attack, the VII Corps, the XVIII Corps, the British, the Egyptian forces, and of course the Marine and Naval and AF missions. Most of the war account relates to the day by day action of the VII Corps, which was the armored fist of the "left hook".

For instance, I was soon 300 miles out in the desert, at a small group of tents, I knew it was some sort of field HQ. I just read that for about six weeks, it was the Log base for VII Corps. I didn't know that, I just tried to keep a very low profile. And the small town and airbase a short walk form my EVAC's desert site was a tactical HQ for the Corps. Didn't know that either. I knew it was wet and cold, but it was the wettest Jan & Feb in at least ten years. Or that an armored division uses 800,000 gallons of fuel per 24 hours, and getting that fuel and ammunition was a difficult, complex and dangerous operation, requiring many hundreds of fuel tankers. That one Div was going to run out of fuel in less than two hours when in battle with two Iraqi divisions. An Abrams' tank uses as much fuel idling as it does at full speed.

I always thought that modern, high-tech commo and navigation was every where, and now to find out one division had NO GPS, and had to rely on Loran. And that commo was often only "line of sight", and sometimes General Franks was out of contact with his fighting divisions for hours. Accounts of fratricide, and violent armored combat.

Gen'l Franks talks about the move of one of his divisions forward across Tap Line Road, and I happened to drive right the that movement-to-contact, and got out and took some pictures of what an Armored div looks like in the attack. Maybe the Ukrainian front line troops should consider what is going to come at them.

And then the accusations of Schwarzkoph, of which I am aware. And the "hogging" of the glory at the surrender site. And how CENTCOM was 12 hours behind on knowing what was actually happening.

Much of the book is an hour by hour account of the VII Corps' battle. I experienced only a tiny part of that War, and did meet Genral Franks when he came to visit his wounded at our EVAC.

So if you were part of that War, I highly recommend you read why you and your unit were ordered to do what you did.

Be back soon, SF VET


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Thanks, SF VET, for the recommendation - I'm a sucker for a good history book - especially one on a subject, as like you, that I had a small involvement.
Another good one is "Crusade" by Rick Atkinson. It's a big picture book that covers the lead up, the war and aftermath (as of 1993) and the Navy/Marine Team contributions - something that interest me. :)

Thirty one years ago, the end of this month,…..my, oh my…..how time moves on…….
 
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Pave Low

Just before I left active duty, for about the third time, spring of '84, was a staff pediatrician and sometimes Chief of Pediatrics at Womac Army Hospital, Ft Bragg, NC, heading to Topeka for private practice, and transferring to the Army Reserves, the 410 EVAC, with whom I would reply to Desert Storm about 6 years later, I was at a party with an old friend, the Group Commander, 5th SF. He mentioned that in 24 hours he was taking a company of the 5th SF to Morocco to train with the Moroccan SF. Asked if I wanted to go to. Asked my wife, she said sure, called my hospital Co, he said I had earned it.

So the next day, was on a C5A flying to Morocco with them. We stayed at Rabat, the capitol of that country. Mostly I did clinic work with the local French army docs, and shopped and toured a bit, like to Fez. More about that later. Prescribed mostly French meds, was surprised to find that the usual way to administer their meds was via rectal. Must be a French thing.

We were going to jump with the Moroccan SF, but that was cancelled because it was just too dangerous. So no Moroccan jump wings for us.

We did some desert time, and here is a Pave Low, also known in the Navy as a Sea Stallion, and in different armament, a Jolly Green. These are some of the 'choppers which collided at Desert One, the failed Iranian hostage rescue. I never understood how they were hoping to accomplish that mission anyway. It was a signal event in our military's reconstitution from the morass of Vietnam.

Superb pilots, nap of the earth flying in the dark and rain just feet over the desert. Awoke with a sudden jolt one late night when they pulled up just before colliding with high wires in the middle of the desert.

Military pilots really are the best of the breed. Here, flaring in to pick up a load of Moroccan jumpers, a few of whom were dead in the drop with failed 'chutes. As usual, my trusty Pentax on K'chrome.

Oh, found the slide of the French lass sunning on the beach, but while the moderators have been pretty tolerant of my pics, they would not be happy with me putting that one here. I had lots of adventures in that short op.

Found out on my return several weeks later, that my wife discovered both of our youngsters had chicken pox on the way back from dropping me off at Pope AFB. So she was in quarantine about the whole time.

So stay safe, an all the best... SF VET
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couscous

Amazing how life can be so busy every day for us retired guys. Always more to do, chores, but then lots of time for the fun things. Decisions....

As I mentioned, just before leaving active duty at Bragg, where I was a staff pediatrician and sometimes Chief of Pediatrics, I went to Morocco with an SF unit. We trained with their SF troops, but also provided medical care to solders and dependants at the Moroccan air base we stayed at. We had to work with what they had, dispensing French medicines from their pharmacy. Which was pretty limited.

We were welcomed by their staff, and will add that the Moroccan nurses in their clinic were stunning. French DNA adds beauty to any female lucky enough to have some.

The national dish of Morocco is Couscous, a grain cooked with assorted spices and usually lamb. It is eaten out of a communal bowl, scooped up with one's right hands fingers. Never, ever with a left hand. Here, some of our unit's nurses trying to get a handle, so to speak, on how to eat it for dinner.

This would have been in late spring of '84. I still really like couscous, and often fix up some when my wife is away. This particular operation was just a great experience for me. Brought back several hand tied rugs, and leather purses and jackets for the ladies and daughters of my Ft. Bragg neighbors. At the time, the Member's Only jackets were all the thing, and finely made leather jackets were about 20 bucks each. I passed them out to our housing neigbor kids when I got back.

One thing about being in a military service, you sure get to see the world on Uncle Sam's dime.

I miss it sometimes.

All the best,,, SF VET
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SF VET said:
We were welcomed by their staff, and will add that the Moroccan nurses in their clinic were stunning. French DNA adds beauty to any female lucky enough to have some.

One thing about being in a military service, you sure get to see the world on Uncle Sam's dime.

I miss it sometimes.

All the best,,, SF VET
\]
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I as stationed for a brief time at MCAS Iwakuni. After a temporary assignment to Atsugi around Christmas of '66, I got into the life around the base. Becoming friends with a Mamma San at one of the local bars kept the bar girls away from demanding "buy me drink" requests. It's a a wonder what a jar of Ponds hand cream can do. I also became friends with the head bar maid. She was probably in her late 20's and no longer worked the tables.

One night a stunning young Japanese girl came into the bar on the arm of a Master Sgt. It was explained that she was a working girl who was part French. Slightly taller than most of the locals and with western features. The Japanese really did not like mixed race people. Well it was known that she only went out with E-8's and above. She preferred officers. Oh well such was the life of an E4.
The orphanage we went to had a large mostly mixed race kids in it. It was a shame.
 
My Greatest Regret.

As an American that regrettably did not serve, I could not be more grateful for those that have served or, are currently serving our great country.

In 1973 the draft ended a few months before my 18th birthday. Up to that day, I had been acting like anything but a Christian, thinking I would be drafted and sent to the front line of the Hell of the Vietnam War that I had seen in the news for much of my life up to that point. I had friends that were there and others that had served there and come back. Like many, I also had friends that didn't come back.

At the time I couldn't see the trees for the forest. One of my best friends was trying to persuade me into enlisting in the U.S. Marine Corps. At the time they were offering the Buddy Program where we would have gone through Boot Camp together. I was very close to enlisting with him because my Father and 8 Uncles had served in WWII. Seven came back. I felt compelled to serve if drafted. My father had quickly achieved the rank of Staff Sergeant in the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. He shared stories about his time in Europe sometimes but he had memories he wouldn't talk about as well, just too hurtful. He raised me as a patriot and at times I felt like one of his Privates when I messed up. By the time I was seriously thinking about enlisting I could only see a Staff Sergeant in my face and I didn't want the one thing I needed most, discipline.

I will never forget the day I decided to apply for a factory job
rather than enlisting with my friend. As I was filling out the application for the job there was a USMC recruitment sign at the table I was using. My adrenaline was flowing because if the life changing decision I was about to make. The choices were there right in font of me. I decided to put the job application in and if not accepted I would enlist. My friend served 25 years before retiring. I worked in the factory for 39 years before retiring. He saw the world both good and bad. He enjoyed the camaraderie of many friends and was treated with respect for his service. I saw the chain link fence that surrounded the factory. I worked with many Veterans as well as Vietnam Refugees. May of my friends and family served in Vietnam as well. I have heard many stories and developed a much deeper understanding of why our troops were there and a much deeper respect for those that served. The factory job had good benefits and the pay was good and I was able to work my way up the ladder. Even with that I have truly regretted not enlisting with my friend ever since 1974. After 9/11 I felt compelled to serve. I tried to enlist but missed the age limit by a few years.

When I say this please understand I truly mean it with all my heart. May God bless and protect those that have served or are currently serving or ever will serve in the future. May he guide us to a lasting path of peace in this world one day.


My ultimate gratitude to everyone sharing their experiences in this thread.

To SF VET, I hope you publish all of the contributions to this thread one day. When I stumbled across this thread I could not stop reading it to its end and was very glad to see it is still active to this day. It would make a great book and would be well received by many but on the other hand it could never be complete.
 
F8F Bearcat

I had grown up around Naval Aviation, since my dad was a career Naval aviator, getting his wings in about 1940, at Pensacola, FL. His younger brother also got his wings a few months later. They were seamen, and had left the USS Langley, which was sunk in the Java Sea in early '42, with great loss of life. My dad was always a little proud that he arrived for his training after his brother Jimmy, but graduated before him. Much of their training was in the Yellow Pearl's, officially the SNJ, I think. The bi-wing trainer of the ra

So when I saw a vintage aircraft, I usually already knew a lot about it. Here, just outside the VNAF (Vietnamese Air Force) officers club, at Tan San Nuht, the big airbase at Saigon. This is an F8F Bearcat, designed to supersede the F6F, by putting the most powerful Wright Cyclone radial engine in the smallest possible airframe. It arrived in the Pacific just days before the Japanese surrender. For some time, it held the record for the quickest to altitude for any piston engine plane. It went on to become, along with the F4U our navy's primary interceptor.

Some were converted to Night Fighters, in fact, one of my dad's squadron mates went missing on such a flight. Usually armed with four 20mm wing guns. Many were given to the French and continued to operate with them in their own Vietnam conflict.

I had only been "in-country" several days, and another young Captain and I walked over to the VNAF O Club, having heard it had the very best Vietnamese/French cooking. True, it was fabulous.

And in the back of their club was a bar, with the usual illicit activities for rent. I was pretty naive, and just was amazed that an official base officers' club even had such a bar. I was soon to find nothing in that War and Country was comprehensible to me.

I have seen other official pictures of that Club, and it still had at least for awhile this former very formidable fighter.

I have my father's flight log books, and it is filled with all sorts of aircraft. I bet if I looked thru each page, I could find him in an F8F. After all, I know he flew just about every plane the Navy had. And thousands of WWII hours in PBY's. So many lost and missing aircraft in his squadrons. So many men.......

All the best, and I pray that God will help the Ukrainian people in their great struggle.

SF VET
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The AC130, Steve McQueen, Ali McGraw, the magazine, & the Embassy girl

Looking back over the past months, I can find where I mentioned this connection, but not anything more.

So.. I went up to Saigon every two months or so, for a resupply run to the PX there, and to try again to rectify the double payment the army was depositing monthly in my account back home. Hopped a chopper ride over to Can Tho, the big city and airbase in the lower delta, and wandered then over to the US military terminal there. Was offered a seat in an Air America (The CIA's airline) C47/DC3, leaving soon. Boarded, and wedged myself into a seat next to a lovely Round Eye, and in chatting, she informed me she worked at the US embassy in Saigon. Before we landed, she offered me a home cooked meal at her apartment that evening.

So went with her to her place, and we talked about this and that, as she whipped up an American meal, which I can't now remember what it was. During our meal together, she got a phone call that her boyfriend, an AC 130 pilot, was overdue. Later I left her place and went back to the base for the night, or maybe went to the Ramada, the Vietnamese motel with the dubious reputation. But I did not stay with her. Never saw her again.

Heard later that indeed her boyfriend's AC had been shot down with no survivors.

In 1972, saw the movie The Getaway, with McQueen and Ali McGraw, and there is a scene where a chump has grabbed Ali's briefcase with the stolen loot, and is sitting smug on a bus, when McQueen sits down next to the chump, and knocks him out, then covers the chump with a newspaper. The headline on the newspaper is Gun Ship Shot Down. I am sure this production time frame of the movie was precisely when I was at dinner with the embassy girl, and the Gun Ship in the headline was the same aircraft.

Fast forward to about 1992 or so. I was covering a neonatal unit one night, and in my call room picked up a magazine, I think it was the Atlantic or that sort of literary magazine. In it was a long article about the recovery mission at the crash site.

So I reflected how that long ago incident, where the life and loves of such disconnected people had come to a full circle over decades. I suspect the young embassy girl also heard about the recovery mission, and had a much more intense connection to her own time in Vietnam.

On a personal note, tests show my Prostate CA remains surprisingly in remission, but something else has turned up I need to have worked up. At our ages, it is always something.

God Bless and protect the Ukrainian people in their own war.

All the best... SF VET
 
Another outstanding remembrance put to words.

You surely have a gift for writing and an interesting range of experiences to supply it.

I really enjoy your posts.

I guess that you are a little bit older than me. I will be 75 soon and my service time was 1965-1972 in the early days of the SSBN nuclear submarine program.

3 knots to nowhere twice a year stories won't put anyone on the edge of their seat but those were interesting times and I look back favorably on those years.
 
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Gunship down

SF Vet's writing of the AC-130 being shot down took me back to a night in Oct. 69. I was on the flightline at Tan Son Nhut AB as a USAF airplane mechanic. I noticed an an AC-119 gunship about to take off so I gave it my full attention. All appeared normal until right after it lifted off, and then went it down into an awful huge fireball, aircraft loaded with fuel and munnitions. I thought I just watched a whole flight crew of my brothers in arms perish, damn! I thought no one could have survived. I found out not long ago that 2 guys on the airplane did survive the crash. The Call sign of the Gunship was "Shadow 76". One of the survivors wrote about that night and it is a real testament to what some of our fellow airmen went through. It is called, "The Crash of Shadow 76".
 
While going to lunch (?) at Chu Lai one afternoon, we had to walk up a dirt road to the mess hall which was between two airfields. We watched an A-4 as it was landing. It's wheels touched down and a huge flame erupted from the plane. The pilot accelerated and the canopy flew off and the pilot ejected. The plane continued until it hit a huge mound of dirt at the end of the runway. The Pilot was drifting down into the flames of the wrecked plane. We thought he was a goner. On the flight back to the states, I was sitting next to a guy and as we were talking I mentioned the plane crash. He was part of the crash crew that arrived at the burning plane. He found the pilot and was trying to remove him from the seat. Apparently the oxygen hose was stuck. He pulled out his k-bar and cut the hose off his helmet. It was than that he saw a thin red line of blood. He thought he cut the pilots throat. Luckily it was superficial and the pilot survived. Oh the fun we had.


It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets. Voltaire
 
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SF VET said:
In 1972, saw the movie The Getaway, with McQueen and Ali McGraw...
Click to expand...

I was in High School in El Paso (ended up there as a result of Dad going to the Vietnamese Language School, a tour in VN, and then retiring) when that movie came out, and most of it was filmed there. In 1972 I turned 14. I was smitten with Ali MacGraw, she made my heart flutter and seriously messed up my teenage hormones.

In my 50's, I had a co-worker in Santa Fe who actually rented from Ms. MacGraw. I had an opportunity to meet her, and she was still as lovely as she was in her prime.
 
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Just wanted to post and say how much I appreciate SF VET posting his stories and pics, as well as the other veterans who contribute on this thread as well.

Just a side note, it's Ali MacGraw, not McGraw.

Fun fact, there are no McGraws in Ireland, only McGraths. Somehow McGrath became McGraw for some of us.

Besides, Ali MacGraw is way too pretty to be related to me LOL.
 
Back....

I have been away from this forum for a month or more, first had to resolve a potential medical issue (all OK now), and just back from several weeks on a river cruise in France.

First I sincerely appreciate the hope from others on this forum that I would be back....eventually.

But now about to be gone again on some travel for several weeks, so will just post this until then. Was in Europe about five years ago, and being familiar with the heroic and patriotic killing of the Nazi Heydrich, surely as evil a man as ever existed, I wanted to see where those brave men died. Heydrich was killed on a street in Prague, mortally injured, actually, and the Nazi's hunted for them for a week before cornering them in the "basement" or tombs of a church. They were betrayed by one of their team, he paying for that treachery after the war, and when escape was impossible, they took their own lives.

Some years ago, I talked with a Czech friend about it, and he told me that for years the Czech's thought the horrific reprisals were not worth it, and only in the past few years was there an appreciation of what these few men did. Here, the window into the lower small room where the Nazi's hammered it with MG fire from across the street. The church has a memorial inside. By the way of course the clergy who hid them were also executed. Thousands of Czech's were too.

In this time of the Ukrainian resistance against a brutal attack, we must recall the heroism of the past, and remember how small groups of patriots can change their country's destiny by their own sacrifice.

Be back in a few weeks....

All the best.... SF VET
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SF VET, glad you're back and fit enough to be heading out again. I'll be in Prague later this Summer and plan on visiting the Karel Boromejsky church where the final scene of Operation Anthropoid played out.
For those interested, there is a movie on Netflix "Operation Anthropoid" which is accurate and graphic. Also the book "The Killing of Reinhard Heydrich" by Callum MacDonald provides lots of background on the planning, training of the Czech commandos and execution of the operation.
 
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I could read your stories day and night. Waiting on your book. Recently read Chicken Hawk. I was a kid during Vietnam. My cousin and I would watch the draft lottery on TV and bet who's birthday would be picked first.
Thanks for your service and sharing amazing stories.
Be safe.
 
Spent a few hours today at my VFW post. The post commander is a retired Army first sergeant, veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, genuinely good guy. Learned today that he is 3 days younger than my second son, also a Gulf War veteran.

The good first sergeant mentioned to me a couple of weeks ago that he needed some .357 magnum ammo, couldn't find any. So I took him a couple hundred rounds from my personal stash. Seemed like the only thing I could do.

One thing leads to another. One round leads to another round. Retired the old flag and ran up a new Stars and Stripes today in front of the building, always a moving emotional experience for me. I had to take an hour nap in the car before driving home.

In the meeting hall of the VFW post is a cased display including uniforms and field equipment from members serving in WW2, Korea, Vietnam, and the current (perpetual) nonsense. My old Vietnam jungle boots, boonie hat, jungle fatigue shirt, and Purple Heart medal with 3 oak leaf clusters have found a place there; 50 years in a box in the garage seemed like enough time to let them go. When the guys ask about that I always tell them it was the Slow Learners Award.
 
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