Story 13 - Service in Vietnam
By Graham Lee (AKA Joe)
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Chapter 1 - Late January 1968, Vung Tau, South Vietnam
At approximately 0300 hours in late January 1968,
the troops assembled in full battle gear on the lower decks of the
Aircraft Carrier, HMAS Sydney. The ship was moving at low speed; all
hatches battened down, running lights to a minimum and sailors at battle
stations.
There was a deathly silence on board.
Neither soldier nor sailor conversed. The look in the eyes of the sailors
appeared to reflect sadness and yet respect. One could be excused for
thinking that after 17 days together in which some very close friendships
had ensued, this would be a normal parting gesture. However, the reality
was that the sailors had undertaken many crossing with troops fresh from
Australia to South Vietnam and conversely battle-weary troops on the
return voyage. They had experienced firsthand that most of the soldiers
would return significantly changed by their experiences. They also knew
that some would never return. Except for the sailors going about their
duties, there was very little movement on board ship. A short briefing on
the order for disembarking from the ship was given. At approximately 0430
hours the HMAS Sydney slipped into Vung Tau Harbour. Most of the soldiers
were somewhat bemused, as the shipping in the harbour was lit up like
Christmas trees. The HMAS Sydney appeared to be the only vessel that was
'battle ready'. Nevertheless, the sailors were extremely sincere and
professional in their duties and their actions had an extreme effect on
making the troops take account of the seriousness of the situation that
now confronted them. For many of the soldiers, it was the first real
feeling of panic; the final realisation that as from this moment survival
depended on keeping your wits about you.
Finally, the ship came to a stop and dropped
anchor. At first light, selected small groups assembled on the flight
deck. Almost at once two Chinook Helicopters appeared out of the sun and
landed on the deck. Without undue delay the troops scrambled on board and
were ferried to the Australian Compound at Vung Tau. It took only 5
minutes before the small groups were reunited on terra firma. Whilst it
was expected that the Chinooks would ferry the remaining infantrymen
within an abbreviated time, no further flights occurred. It was not long
before word was passed along that Viet Cong had been sighted in the
Harbour and it was decided that the safest strategy for disembarking the
remaining troops would be to use landing barges. This was duly carried out
without incident. It again reinforced the seriousness and reality of the
situation. By now, even the newest of the soldiers realised that they had
arrived in the combat zone.
Later that morning the troops were advised that they might as well relax as much as possible as those going to Nui Dat would not be airlifted until approximately 1600 hours. It had been reported to the troops that Nui Dat had been under attack the night before and had received some direct hits from enemy mortar fire. It was suspected that the enemy was still in the area and, therefore, low flying aircraft such as helicopters could not be used. Caribou aircraft were therefore requested as these could fly at an altitude necessary to avoid any likely enemy ground fire.
The rest of the day was spent in sweltering
heat in barren buildings on the edge of Vung Tau Harbour. Refreshments
were made available from an Australian run canteen. The usual Army
sandwiches were provided for lunch. An American 'Sky Crane' helicopter was
working nearby; watching it helped to pass some of the time. It was
continually picking up 3 to 5 tonne trucks, lifting them to a height of
approximately 100 metres and then dropping them on top of each other. It
appeared to be such a waste of perfectly good vehicles. The troops, in
response to their bewilderment to the destruction were informed that once
a vehicle had reached its 'useful life' it would automatically be
destroyed. There appeared to be an endless supply. Chapter 2 - Australian Task Force - Nui Dat
Few of the troops appeared to really relax.
Most of them talked nervously, spoke of mates who were already in South
Vietnam and of those at home whom they missed already. The news that Nui
Dat had been attacked the previous night did little to assure the troops
who had been posted there. It was perhaps the final realisation that it
was too late to change their current predicament. The reality was that
whatever time was required to complete a tour of duty started in earnest
right now! At approximately 1600 hours, those troops
for uplift to Nui Dat were transported to the waiting Caribou Aircraft.
Without delay the troops were at 6,000 feet flying over the paddy fields
and patchwork of plantations, roads, and villages. The view was to become
a common sight for the troops during their tour of duty as many operations
necessitated the movement of troops by helicopter. It was almost dusk when the Caribou touched
down at Luscombe Airstrip Nui Dat. The encampments of 7RAR, Special Air
Support Squadron, Luscombe Bowl (entertainment area), 2RAR and
plantations surrounded it. There was some movement around the airstrip but
little around the Battalions locations. A Land Rover was waiting to take
troops to their respective units. One of the soldiers who will be referred to
as Joe was picked up for transport to 104 Signal Squadron. What
follows are his general reflections and a brief account of his experiences
of his tour of duty in South Vietnam.
It took no longer than 5 minutes to reach the Squadron encampment, being given a 'quick guided tour' of the various Units locations along the route. After being introduced to the Squadron's acting Commanding Officer Joe reported to the Signals Staff Sergeant for instructions. It was at this point that Joe requested to be placed on detachment with 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) as this was the Unit in which his half-brother was serving. The Staff Sergeant was fortunately sympathetic to his request and felt that as Joe and his brother had different surnames no one would be the wiser. Once this was approved, Joe reported to the 'Q' Store for the issue of a firearm, ammunition, and associated equipment.
A Self-Loading Rifle (SLR) was duly signed
for, still heavily packed in grease. Its bolt, complete with firing pin
was wrapped separately also encased in heavy grease. A can of petrol and
rags were supplied along with a fully equipped cleaning kit. By this time
it was getting quite dark. Joe had a splitting headache, which he put down
to the immense tension that had been evident since 0300 that morning. He
was feeling quite uneasy about the next day's events. Other than essential personnel
manning gun and observation posts around the perimeter at
the Nui Dat encampment, the remaining troops were stood
down. Joe was driven to 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) location and
directed to the Support Company tents, one of which was the domicile of
the Signalmen from the Corp of Signals. It was the duty of these Signalmen
to provide communication between the Battalion and the Task
Force
Headquarter and maintain the integrity and security of the radio
networks. They were also required to provide expert advice on and
assistance with all Battalion communications including Morse code, if
required.
2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) because the
Battalion
also encompassed two New Zealand Infantry Companies -
'Victor' and 'Whisky'. The various companies were located amongst rubber
plantations that had not been harvested since the Australian occupation.
Each tent had its own six-foot mortar pit and except for the entrances to
the tent, they were surrounded by sandbags some 3-foot high. It was mostly
deserted as the Battalion was out on an operation.
Joe had no idea how to see what was inside
the tent; he did not even have a torch. On entering the tent he found
strung between the tent posts a crude two-strand wire that turned out to
be the lighting and power source. A light globe was 'borrowed' from a
neighbouring tent and after screwing in a light globe Joe sighted an empty
bunk pushed up against the sandbags, there were no tent walls. There were
a couple of bare shelves made from a packing crate that made it look a
little more inviting. The other three bunks had shelves that housed
photographs and other personal effects, which tended to greatly improve an
otherwise drab interior. There were several wooden duckboards on the floor
so at least there would be dry feet in the wet season. It would enable the
floor to be swept, which would ensure that some cleanliness could be
maintained. This was 'home' away from home and a location Joe was going to
cherish, especially after being out in the field for three weeks at a
stretch. Joe pinned up a photograph that he had
managed to keep reasonably intact during the voyage. It was a photograph
of a Jenny, a girl he had met in Bundaberg, Queensland, during an Army
exercise. She was all decked out in her Nursing Sisters uniform, complete
with veil. It added that delicate touch and helped to at least make the
existence of 'home' more of a reality.
He realised that with the intensity of the
day's events he had scarcely thought about his personal ablutions and felt
the sudden urge to find a toilet. Conveniently placed not more than thirty
paces from the tent was a small building which housed some three neatly
arranged 'thunderboxes'. You certainly did not need to get directions; all
you had to do was to follow your nose. However, it was quite chic as there
was a fair amount of privacy and real toilet paper on the hangers. He felt
quite relaxed as he sat down on the wooden seat which was still warm - it
had obviously supported someone not too long before.
Suddenly there was a loud bang followed
about one second later with a similar sound and then a powerful gust of
wind lifted Joe physically up off the toilet seat. Joe with his heart in
his mouth and fearing Nui Dat was again under attack, bounded out of the
door forgetting all about the pants around the ankles. A soldier who was
passing by and had obviously seen this reaction many times, just
commented, “You'll get used to it, 'fire missions' are usually scheduled
for this time each night, so adjust your throne time.” A
much-relieved Joe re-entered the block to continue where he had left off
only to hear the same loud bang again. Joe lifted a cheek the seat and
moved to the right to allow the blast of air to pass. He was somewhat
amused at his initial reaction and now that the initial shock had subsided
the whole act he imagined was like riding a horse at a slow trot. On returning from his ablutions Joe found a
Jerry can of water and had a "Pommy" shower and cleaned his teeth. He put
up his mosquito net and laid out his bedroll on the canvas stretcher. He
threw off his boots hung up his greens on some wire and slid underneath
the mosquito net donned only in his drab green underdaks, military issue.
He could not fall asleep no matter how much he tossed and turned. The fire
missions continued for some time and some small arms fire could be heard
some distance away. He could not believe that he was here, in this place
alone. At 0600 the next day, a parade was called
for all those soldiers left in the Support Company. Many of these were
Cooks, Armourers and some returning from R&R. Each soldier was handed a
small white paludrine tablet to ward off the effects of malaria. It was
very difficult to swallow without water and tasted like bile, but the
NCO's insisted that you take it then and there. Some of the troops managed
to slip the tablet under their tongue and get rid of it after parade. Joe
tried this only once but felt it was better to try and swallow it than to
be subjected to the vile taste. This tablet parade was to continue
throughout the tour of duty.
After being dismissed from the parade, Joe
was called over by the Sergeant Major who directed that he collect three
days rations. These rations were American issue and Joe was not familiar
with the contents of the ration packs. Therefore he packed nine boxes, one
for each meal. This amounted to a full number 37 backpack. Chapter 3 - Joining the Battalion in the Field
Joe had no idea where the 104 Sigs
detachment was located but he had gleaned from a brief conversation with
someone he met at the kharzi, that 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) were engaged in Operation Coburg.
He had been told that he would be airlifted out to their location so it
was obviously some distance away. He knew that he was to replace one of
the 104 Signalman from the detachment who was going home. He was thankful that the experience gained
from exercises with the Infantry at in Shoalwater Bay Training Area had given him a good
grounding in what he needed to take into the field. Nevertheless, that old
saying “hurry up and go slow” seemed to be quite appropriate and so in
keeping with that thought, he had spent a few hours during the night
working out how best to carry the bare necessities. In addition to his 'personal' items,
hoochie, mosquito net, bedding rations and four water bottles he found it
was quite an effort to jam them into the old Australian
Army 37 Pattern Web Equipment. Somehow he
was able to roll up and secure the bigger items and strap them onto
webbing. The standard issue, SLR L1A1, straight out of the
grease from the night before, still smelt like petroleum and oil although
he was confident that it had been well-tested by the armourer. He had no
desire to know to whom the weapon had been issued to before being returned
to store. At least the 60 rounds of 7.62mm ammunition which he had already
inserted into the well-worn magazines, slipped comfortably into the front
pouches.
for Op Coburg. Photo supplied by Norm Munro (131-14)
Within a few seconds the whole of the Nui
Dat Task Force Base became clearly visible. The view was not that
spectacular looking very much like an oversized railway fettler's camp.
Rows upon rows of dirty dishevelled stained canvas tents surrounded by
sand-bagged bunkers located within the confines of a rubber tree
plantation. The foliage was extremely dry, the occasional tin-roofed shed
flashed out from the earth-coloured buildings. A maze of roads and tracks
and the outline of the perimeter gun pits were easily spotted. As the
helicopters passed over the perimeter line, Joe realised that the relative
safety of the Australian Task Force base of Nui Dat was left behind.
 104 Sig Sqn from the air. Nui Dat Hill on the right and HQ 1 ATF to the left of the Sqn in the centre. Photo supplied by Denis Hare (A-1 with labels) On route, the helicopters flew in a tight
formation, two abreast but in a staggered line. The patchwork of rice
paddies, tracks, heavy foliage appeared to extend out to the large hills
in the distance. The drone of the engines, the occasional atmospheric
buffeting affecting the flight level was quite noticeable. The clack of
the Iroquois' blades, although noisy added a feeling of confidence that
they would stay airborne. The wind blowing into the cabin was quite warm
but at least it subdued the sweat as the heat of the day climbed. Joe’s
mind quickly strayed to more pleasant times and he drifted far away from
the present situation. Even though he felt completely alone he knew that
he would soon be able to meet up with his half-brother at 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC). Since he had been conscripted he had managed
to cope with ten weeks of Recruit training and six months Corps training.
Several of the soldiers that he had gone through recruit training with had
also been posted to the Signal Corps. Over the nine-month period a strong
group bond had been developed. However, on completion of Corps training
the group were posted to various locations but he was the only one posted
to the 139 Signal Squadron at Enoggera in Brisbane but they showed him the
ropes as well as keeping him out of trouble, most times.
As his thoughts returned to the present, he
started having doubts about how he would measure up as a radio operator.
Whether he would fit in with the other detachment members and the
Infantry's Support Company. Sure, he had qualified as a Radio Operator and
had trained with Infantry Battalions on exercises back in Australia so he
should be okay. But it kept coming back to him that this was not an
exercise, it was not with people that he knew and he did not have a damn
clue as to what was going on. This was the real thing and any mistake
could result in casualties. After some time the helicopters began to
descend and radioed ahead for clearance. Within seconds, orange-coloured
smoke was visible. It was duly acknowledged by the pilots, indicating that
the landing site was clear. On the port side were tents, artillery pieces,
bulldozers, heavy machinery, mortars, and perimeter defences.
Upon landing it did not take much time for
the troops to disembark and quickly disperse. It appeared that most of the
troops were destined to stay on the base. There was a lot of movement of
supplies across the large expanse so jeeps appeared to be the order of the
day. There was not a lot of time to look around as Joe was ordered to be
on standby for an airlift forward to the 2nd Battalion’s Headquarters. It
was a relief to see that everybody just went about their duties in what
appeared to be a relaxed manner. Most were wearing Americans style
camouflage outfits so it was only the accent that identified them as
Aussies. It did not take long to find the 104
position and surprisingly met up with Alan
Ball who was in the same platoon at
recruit training at Kapooka. Alan informed him that this was Fire Support
Patrol Base 'Andersen'. It was located near a rubber
plantation on Highway 1 which was a well-known enemy route.
After exchanging the latest news, Alan
informed him that he was the current Batman to the
OC of 104 Signal Squadron. Joe was
absolutely flabbergasted as Alan had been posted as a Driver and seemed
happy to see it out to the end of his two-year conscription. Nevertheless,
Joe was confident Alan would never have ‘volunteered’ for such an occupation
but he obviously seemed assigned to his lot. Joe often wondered how the
OC managed to handle the spasmodic
outbursts that Alan was
often to display.
In recruit training when the platoon
Sargeant made a comment concerning respect for rank, Alan could not contain
himself. At the mention that no matter what you thought of the holder of
that rank, you should keep it to yourself. Alan put his hand up and the look
on the Sargeant’s face said it all, but he politely gestured for Alan to ask
his question. Alan asked whether he meant that you could not be charged for
what you thought. Of course, the Sargeant agreed, but before he could
clarify his answer, Alan just jumped in and said that 'he thought the
Sargeant was a c@#t'. He was lucky all he got was a couple of days
of cleaning up the orderly room after hours. It was how he was and yet as
far as I know, he managed to breeze through the recruit training without
further mishap. Joe had not received a briefing on the
Battalion's whereabouts, what action they were involved in or even how
many Signalmen formed the detachment which was located with the Support
Company of the Battalion. Neither had he seen any of the 139 Sig Sqn
members who had travelled over on the HMAS Sydney to join 104, so they
must have been deployed as quickly has he had been. During the brief time
with Alan he was to learn snippets of what had been going on around the
area. Whilst Alan had supplied some insight he also made it clear that he
did not envy him at all and wished him the best for where he was heading.
Joe had no idea what he meant but it did not sound very encouraging. He
did get the general thrust of the operation so far and that engagement
with the enemy seemed highly likely given the skirmishes in the last
couple of days. Intelligence reports indicated that this was caused by the
build-up of enemy troops in preparation for the TET Offensive. It only
seemed like 10 minutes after that before Joe, along with the other
replacements boarded the four Iroquois for uplifting to the 2RAR/NZ
(ANZAC) Support
Company.
It was an extremely uncomfortable trip for
as the equipment was heavy and his right leg had gone to sleep. He could
not get the feeling back in his leg no matter how he tried given the
limited space and his precarious position on the outer edge of the
helicopter. On arrival at the Battalion's Headquarter, the helicopters
hovered some six feet from the ground which was normal operating procedure
as it was an extremely vulnerable time for aircraft and the pilots who
were wary of being caught on the ground. The troops had no alternative but to jump. Joe prayed for a safe landing and on hitting the ground he could not feel his leg and collapsed immediately with his face firmly planted in the dirt. His entire equipment landed on top of him but he still had hold of his SLR. He was slightly winded but fortunately, no one seemed to notice, as they had all 'hit the deck' when they landed. It was probably a blessing in disguise as it soon became obvious that the Support Company had still not secured the area to grant access through the perimeter. Despite Joe’s embarrassment, at least one of the reinforcements made mention that Joe had shown good training, 'for a Signalman,' in holding a defensive position immediately on contacting the ground. Joe nodded his thanks but had no intention of disclosing what really happened. However, it certainly brought home just how stupid he would have looked had he jumped straight up and started walking toward the perimeter. It was a good lesson, 'hurry up and go slow'. Once clearance was given, the reinforcements entered alongside a gun pit on the perimeter of 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) Support Company. All reported immediately to the Duty Officer who referred them to the Senior NCO in charge of support company personnel. The Senior NCO pointed in the direction of a couple of hoochies and informed Joe that he would find his mob camped around that area. The Signalman Joe replaced had already moved out towards the Chopper and was quickly lifted on board and whisked away. Lucky bastard! The look of the place surrounding the hoochies was somewhat untidy and not really what Joe had expected from the usually well organised signalmen. It was about to get worse as twenty yards from the living area was a large bomb crater which was almost full of dirty army green coloured 16oz cans. These turned out to be tins of food from the American ration packs, which Australians found unpalatable, e.g. Ham, and Lima Beans and Frankfurts with allegedly spicy tomato sauce. Whilst Joe did not know any of the signalmen, they went out of their way to make him feel welcome. They were quite laid back but had a bit of a laugh at the 'new chum' stuffing all those American meal packs into his 37 pack when you couldn't eat half of the stuff. They quickly pointed out which ones were worth keeping and taking them at their word, the remainder finished up in the bomb crater.
Chapter 4
- The Joys of being a Signalman
Photo: AWM CAM/67/1070/VN The number one question on Joe’s
mind was what was expected of him. It was quite awakening
when he was told that the official role of a Signalman was
somewhat irrelevant. For all intents and purposes, Signalmen
were considered an infantry resource and therefore operated
as a battalion operative under the direct control of the
battalion. It was intermated that you could not operate by
the Royal Australian Corps of Signals handbook. Whilst the
key job was to man the radio network for 1ATF and to monitor
the ‘correct’ usage of the radio network, Joe learnt that it
was normal practice to operate the battalion nets and if
required the mortar and artillery nets. This meant that
duties were shared between all. If not on duty, Signalmen
were required to stand to and man the perimeter as required.
He was reminded of the old war movies, this is war and the
bullets are real, get used to it. After putting up his hoochie, he joined the
team and reported for his first shift in the Command Post (CP) at 1400
hours. The CP was a six-foot hole in the ground with a rebated edge on
both sides on which to sit. It was covered by a heavy-duty tent, which had
double flaps some distance apart. These flaps enabled personnel to enter
and leave during the hours of darkness without permitting the light to be
emitted. In this cramped location there were four Radio Operators,
Artillery, Mortars, Infantry and Task Force together with several
officers. During the night usually one officer was on duty. However
whenever there was a contact the number swelled dramatically.
He hated being cooped up in the field CP,
as he felt positively claustrophobic surrounded by that heavy duty canvas.
Most of the troops smoked continuously, including Joe, who had only
started smoking when he was called up. His smoking intake increased
dramatically, sometimes chain smoking to relieve the tension. Cigarettes
were provided in ration packs and free cartons were often dropped with
other supplies. At any rate they only cost 15 cents a pack if you needed
to buy them. Ventilation in the CP was almost zero, which meant that
passive smoking combined with Joe's increasing intake meant he was always
looking to light up.
Once the flaps were closed at last light,
heavy 9-volt fluorescent lights were the only illumination and the light
tended to fade in and out and did not last for any significant period. Joe
always had sore eyes and found it difficult to breathe and get any relief
from the stale air. The smoke and poor lighting made it extremely
difficult to read, write or encode/decode messages. It was usually damp
and noisy and sitting on the earth did nothing for Joe's rear end.
Joe recalled his brief experience in
exercises back in Australia as just how vulnerable you were sitting in a
field CP. During these exercises, on several occasions 'the enemy' broke
through the perimeter defence and took over the CP. He found it difficult
to shake the visualisation of Viet Cong getting through the perimeter
defence and charging through the tent flaps blasting away with their AK47
rifles. Being the communications centre there was always the fear of being
targeted with mortars, particularly if any light was emitted after dark,
or if aerials were visible, which the enemy could use as directional and
range markers for mortar attacks.
There were instances where youth's from the
hamlets in close proximity to the support bases often played in the scrub
which surrounded the defence perimeter. As the scrub provided an ideal
screen for their activities, it gave the youths an ideal opportunity to
drop mortars, embed mortar base plates and ammunition at strategic points
around the perimeter. This action enabled the fighters to launch hit and
run attacks from all sides with very little chance of coming under fire.
The use of their children to further the cause, regardless of the cost,
was endemic during the Vietnam Campaign. Fortunately, there was not too much activity
during his first shift so he was able to spend some time just listening to
the interaction between officers and operators. He felt a bit
uncomfortable sitting there watching a senior officer using the radio set
as if it was his home telephone. Whilst the content of the conversation
was somewhat vague it was about a report on some activity being provided
by one of RAR’s Intel officers. The radio procedure drilled into Signalmen
was to keep the conversation brief and of no more than 30 seconds duration
in an effort to stop the interception by the enemy. As it was Joe’s first
shift he did not have the self-confidence to explain the correct voice
communication procedures to this high-ranking officer. No one seemed to be
taking any notice so it appeared that he had been doing this for some time
without restraint. He did raise the matter when he got back to his hoochie
but was informed that as we were considered a resource for the battalion
we should abide by their operating protocol.
Having come out of the CP ‘unscathed,’ Joe was heading back to my hoochie when he saw a couple of Assault Pioneers setting up or reciting a mortar base plate. There did not appear to be any rush to complete the task. He introduced himself and explained that it was his first day with the Battalion and would they mind if he just watched what they were doing. He was invited to take a seat. It was like I had switched on some hidden element as the whole mortar platoon became a well-organised team, taking bearings, quickly siting the mortar base plate, and securely embedding it into the hard ground. They even had a small level of sandbags surrounding the site to protect the mortar tube and rounds.
The NCO patiently explained the distances
and capabilities of such a small but deadly deterrent and stated that it
was far safer and much more dependable than the drop-short artillery.
Better still was an invite to watch them in action later on as there was
to be a perimeter testing once the listening posts and clearing patrols
had returned to camp. Joe went off to his hoochie and made a cocoa from the
American ration pack which along with the cream biscuits went down like a
treat. He did take a look at the waste of canned food piled up in the
crater and thought that it would probably be sufficient to feed a small
village for a month. He was tempted to scavenge through the cans in the
event that someone had missed a tin of fruit or another cocoa but that was
highly unlikely. Having been politely ridiculed for filling a 37 backpack
with American rations, he felt that he should let sleeping dogs lie.
Laying down on his treasured bedroll he quickly dozed off as it had been
quite a day.
It only seemed like a few minutes when his
slumber was prematurely ended. He was suddenly wide awake and cautiously
crawled out of his hoochie. The other guys were still in their hoochies
seemingly oblivious to what had occurred. Then there was another bang and
he could see that the mortar platoon were in action. Joe presumed that
they were testing out their new bearings and destroying anything within
the various distances that should not be there. He walked up to the NCO
who told him that he was just in time to see a few more rounds being
peppered around the perimeter. The action was quite impressive until a
mortar was dropped into the firing mechanism and it made a fizzing noise,
came out of the tube, and dropped a few yards in front of the mortar. I
was ready to run until the NCO nonchalantly walked over, picked up the
mortar, examined it and handed it back to one of the operators. He just
mentioned that it cannot arm itself unless it flies a specified distance.
Joe thanked him the demonstration and information but from that day on,
Joe steered clear of the mortar platoon.
Joe did not sleep well that night and was up
early the next morning and after stand to, he wandered over to the CP. He
thought he heard a familiar voice coming from one of the gun pits. He made
his way towards the perimeter and was relieved that the voice belonged to
an old school mate, Andy. It was such a relief to finally see someone with
whom he shared some of his earlier years. It would have been a bit
embarrassing, being a relative stranger to front up to a gun pit
unannounced.
It was hot and humid but there was an awful
stench in the air. Joe was almost gagging and asked Andy if he had a
latrine inside his gun pit, or words to that affect. The smell was
completely different from what Joe had experienced in the bush. It was not
like a dead carcass which had been a regular sight on the sheep and cattle
properties. Andy gestured towards a spot approximately 30 yards from the
gun pit where there were two extremely bloated corpse partly covered in
what looked like black pyjamas. There were flies crawling all over them
and the blood was caked over their hair and face and on the ground
surrounding them. As the sun rose the bodies seemed to bloat even further
and looked like they would explode. It was really grotesque. Hard to
imagine they were once living and breathing human beings.
Andy replied, in a rather blase manner that,
'the two gooks had copped it two nights ago in an ambush'. Neither
he nor any of his mates seemed to care that the bodies were laying so
close to their gun pit decaying in the sun. Andy said that if it not been
for the smell, their remains would have gone without notice. Joe was
surprised that he didn't feel any emotion and just put it down to the fact
that he had seen many dead animals whilst working on the land. After all
they were like animals in structure. He kept telling himself that they
were the enemy and they were trained to kill, so it was self-defence.
Andy invited Joe to have a brew and they
talked a lot about past times. It was funny that Andy’s demeanour had not
changed one bit. He was still able to cajole his mates into making a brew
for his ‘visitor’ and of course himself. There was some sarcastic remarks
but they fell on deaf ears as he pleaded that he had to entertain his guest
and could not leave his machine gun unattended. Andy told him that he had
not seen Jack, his half-brother since leaving Nui Dat at the commencement
of operation Coburg. However, he said that Jack was out with 'A' Company
as a Radio Operator so he would hear from him when the company radioed in.
Andy filled him in on the whereabouts of the battalion and told him that
his brother was all right as he was smart enough to keep his head down.
Joe then learnt to his sorrow that another
school acquaintance, Timothy Cutcliffe,
had been blown up by anti-personnel mine. He had a lot of
respect for Tim and many fond memories of playing football against
Tim's De La Salle team. Tim was different from the general run of those
attending private schools. He often stayed back after the match and kept
the school team company until the old school bus collected us. Many times
his teammates would yell at him to join them, usually with some snide
comment about the company he was keeping. This never changed Tim's attitude
and he really was a genuine friend. Joe and Tim had met up again after
leaving school at the Kapooka Recruitment Training Camp and were able to
relive old memories. Joe hadn't realised that he had blurted out, 'how, why, what happened'. In response Andy went on to explain, in a rather nonchalant manner, that during a lull in an operation the troops were playing football on the beach. Tim just went to have a rest under a tree and 'boom'; he had plonked himself down on a mine. Joe felt sick in the stomach and wanted desperately to leave this place alive. The death and manner in which Tim died played on Joe's mind throughout his tour of duty. It made Joe extremely hypersensitive and he found it difficult to trust anyone. He was suspicious of anything that appeared 'normal' and unfortunately created an immense dislike of the Vietnamese which prevails to this day. He has never nor will he enter a Vietnamese restaurant as the smell just brings back those memories. He cannot be objective about the Vietnamese people even though they were just defending their county. It did not matter whether they were North or South Vietnamese soldiers, Viet Cong Guerillas, Interpreters or Peasants. A sad deliberation he acknowledges but one that he endeavours to keep to himself. Chapter 6 - The Dreaded Nighttime
There was an unwritten rule that you keep a
wary eye on the battalion’s Vietnamese interpreter at all times. If he dug
deep fox hole or just made a shallow scrape, then you would be careless
not to do the same. The one with the 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) BHQ was a young man, a teacher who
appeared quite at ease amongst the troops. He was a great chess player
made even more amazing as he always had one ear glued to his radio,
listening to the local Vietnamese networks. He knew what was going on and
was obviously concerned for his own safety so respect was afforded to him.
To trust him was another dilemma as there were instances where friendly
troops had been ‘deliberately” detoured into a mine field or an ambush
with the interpreter mysteriously disappearing when these incidents
occurred.
During stand-to, everything seem to stop
whilst the clearing patrol completed their sweep outside the perimeter. It
was so silent, that you could not hear a bird tweet or an insect chirp and
nothing seemed to be moving. The mossie was still very active although the
stinky army-issue repellent did seem to work, probably because of its
viscosity. Just sitting there either in your fox hole or scrape or within
easy reach of it, everybody seemed to be waiting for something to happen.
Even so, there were occasions where Joe found it difficult to restrain
himself from bursting out laughing at the antics of some of the characters
amongst the
On several occasions, one particular
signalman who I will not name for fear of jeopardising his good name, was
so good at miming the actions of the soldier in action to the extent that
he would feign being shot and the dramatically fall into his pit. The most
demanding thing is trying to stifle laughter and Joe found that when
'stand-down' was called, his side were aching from holding it together. At
least it made the nightly routine a little less tedious. After the troops were stood down, Joe lay in
his hoochie trying to rest up before his next shift in the CP. There was
nothing else to do in the middle of nowhere, and it was a little warm to
be reading a book under a blanket by torchlight. Everything was so quiet
and peaceful but still with an air of apprehension. At approximately 1900
hours a fire mission began from Fire Support Patrol Base Andersen that Joe had
left from a couple of day before. Unfortunately, the direction of the
mission meant firing directly across the position of the Battalion HQ. It
was bloody inconvenient to say the least.
Each time a round was fired there would be a
loud bang followed by a second loud bang about a second later if the
Americans were firing the track mount 199's and only a single loud bank if
the Australians were using the 105 Howitzers. Usually both were involved
in the fire missions, and from all accounts enjoyed the competition for
accuracy and quantity of rounds still in the air before the first shell
hit the ground. After the bangs, the projectiles would make a noise like a
jet aircraft in dense cloud, or continuous rolling thunder. At first
softly from a distance then getting louder until it appeared to be
directly overhead. It would then pass out of hearing and everything would
be silent until many seconds later when an explosion would be heard as the
projectile hopefully reached its intended target.
Between the silence and the projectiles
explosion, Joe found that he was holding his breath, his heart racing.
Finally the mission would terminate and there would be silence. Sleep did
not come easily. Any sound was a cause for apprehension and the
imagination could do terrible things to affect reality, especially when
combined the day's events. It was better in the daytime as it was easier
to nod off. There were reconnaissance patrols and plenty of activity in
the skies. There was a feeling that an early warning scheme was in place
and there was some protection.
The operation continued and Joe, although on
edge, settled into the routine required for the performance of his duties.
He felt that he was now a useful operative and worthy of being considered
as one of the lads. During the remainder of this operation, Joe was
exposed to many of the pressures, but more particularly of operating by
the seat of the pants. Some of the training and experiences in Australia
had certainly assisted him in getting over the initial hump, however in
the real situation, accuracy that had been pummelled into their heads at
signals training courses was paramount. Being at the centre of communications always
meant that the radio operator was probably the first to know what was
happening. He was acutely aware of the pressure on himself and
particularly the Company Signalmen; his brother being one of them. These
radio operators were constantly on the move during the daytime and often
in an ambush position once the light had faded. Joe respected all radio
operators working in the field who had to call in Locstats, Sitreps, daily
reports, log all transmissions including encrypted messages then decrypt
them with a torch being the only available lighting. In addition, they had
to achieve this whilst keeping undercover no matter the weather
conditions.
They were fully aware that their voice would
travel given the silence surrounding their locations yet they still
responded throughout the night to the regular radio checks. Often
depending upon their location they often resorted to using the “pressel
switch” to signify satisfactorily communications. Joe tried to put himself
in their shoes and made every effort to assist operators who appeared to
be having difficulties. Often it was necessary to repeat several segments
of messages but Joe felt that was a lot easier for him being in a
‘protected’ environment. The radio operators were a very close-knit group
and it was always a relief when their call sign was heard each day, even
if it was only a radio check. It was a terrific way of knowing who was in
what area and how they were going. It had a downside in that if one was
wounded or worse, it hit every operator at the same time.
The most difficult calls were when a contact
was made. The emotion in the voice of the operator gave a good indication
of how bad the situation was. After the contact was over, the operators
had to regain their composure to transmit the statistics that were used to
assess the success of the mission. The “ghouls” back at Nui Dat eagerly
awaited the statistics so that they could despatch it to the politicians
for manipulation and propaganda release. Of course, there were some comical situations
that helped to relieve the situation. I remember after one contact by the
Kiwis who had relayed the ‘required’ contact information I was asked to
request confirmation of the stated body count, which went something like
this:
“Whiskey One this is Zero Alpha, request
confirmation that (code) body count is three. Over.”
“This is Whisky One, (code) body count is
three. Even pulled them inside After another contact had been proclaimed,
where two VC had been sighted approximately 300 yards away. They were
engaged and then suddenly disappeared into the scrub. The usual coded
report was received and analysed and as there were no friendly casualties
it was accepted and recorded without too much concern. However, about five
minutes later a call came in from the same call sign, again in code,
seeking a resupply which also included four hand grenades but no
ammunition. One the officers quick as a flash radioed to offer
congratulations to soldier who was able to throw the four grenades 300
yards. On subsequent inquiry, it appeared that the grenades had been used
to go fishing. Nevertheless, Joe was always aware that he had to be meticulous when transmitting and deciphering code no matter what difficulties might be encountered. He was fully aware of the difficulties that would be experienced by operators recording and deciphering code by torch light under the cover of a hutchie. His efforts did not go without notice as several of the officers complemented him on his efficiency, effectiveness, and considerate manner. This did little to ease the continual knot in the stomach and uncontrollable palpitations.
Chapter 7 - Back to Nui Dat
At the end of their part in this operation, the
Battalion was airlifted back to Nui Dat for some well-earned rest. The
troops had not had a change of clothing for some days and only a "Pommy"
shower was possible. There had been no rain for several months so there
was no relief from the heat. It felt good to be able to have shower and
don clean clothes, especially socks and undies. The socks could just about
stand up by themselves and undies needed a great deal of scrubbing. At
least the greens could be sent off to the local village of Baria to be
laundered. It was amazing to see what a tub, a feed and a few beers could
for the morale of the troops. An amount of beer was flowing and Joe
finally caught up with his brother. They had a lot to talk about and after
a few beers, South Vietnam didn't seem to be all that bad. They even were
able to watch a movie. The next day duties were performed in 2RAR/NZ
(ANZAC) CP, which was located underground but not far from
2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) RAP, Officer’s Mess,
and the 'home' and depot of the small 104’s detachment. Whilst being
underground it was quite comfortable as it was equipped with desks and
chairs and had a large military map on one wall and several smaller ones
on the desktops.
The larger map was constantly updated to
keep track of the various call signs as they were constantly on the move.
There were Artillery, Mortar, Infantry and ATF operators on duty whenever
there was a contact, fire mission or other action. Otherwise, it was the
104 radio operators who manned the radio networks during the
non-operational periods. Of course a duty officer was always in attendance
and it operated 24/7. The lighting was from the main generators and large
maps and office equipment was well laid out. Joe's brother worked as a
radio operator with A Company and manned the telephone switchboard for the Battalion, when
back in Nui Dat.
Joe undertook many operations with 2RAR/NZ
(ANZAC)
that had some strange names such as: Coburg, Oakleigh, Clayton, Pinnaroo,
Ashgrove Tram, Cooktown Orchid, Toan Thang. Some involved reconnaissance,
ambushes, and search and destroy and village searches. The Village
searches although essential were not humane in the sense that all citizens
were literally mustered into a fenced off area like animals being penned
for slaughter. It reminded Joe of the WWII rounding up and corralling
those citizens who were not of the Aryan race. Troops searched the village
for caches of weapons, supplies, excessive rice caches and signs of any
enemy occupation. Scant regard was had for their personal
belongings, however. some medical aid was provided to some of the citizens
but more as a public relations exercise although it did have the effect
that there was a humane side to the proceedings.
Photo: AWM CAM/68/0137/VN Even Joe’s brother thought the whole
exercise was a bit of a game, much to my disgust. He requested Joe not to
show any emotion whilst he called out an old man and gestured that he
wanted to see his ID card. The poor old man produced a well-worn card that
was many years old and probably issued during the French occupation. He
kept touching the card and trying to indicate that it really was him in
the photo. Joe’s brother showed him the ID card and then shook his head.
The poor old man was beside himself outlining his face and body and
pointing to the ID card. It was shameful and Joe could not keep up the
charade, smiled and nodded to the old man which brought forth a toothy but
relieved smile. Nevertheless, Joe had to acknowledge the real purpose of
the search and accept that the discoveries made life better for both
sides. Often VC and supporters were arrested which was a relief for the
Villagers who had been forced to provide precious supplies and support for
them.
Operations just seem to come around so quickly but Fire Support Patrol Base Horseshoe was probably the pick of all of Joe’s placements. Although there were only two Signalmen from 104 Sig Sqn, it meant being rostered 4 hours on and 4 hours off for the 3 weeks whilst the Battalion’s Support Company remained. There a was not a lot of free time but it was an interesting time as there was so much going on every day. There were regular patrols in and around Dat Do, ambush patrols and 105 Howitzer fire missions. When the Americans conducted Napalm bombing using B52’s the explosive fire flashes could be seen “walking” up the Long Hai mountains. There was no sign of the B52 aircraft as they purportedly bombed from 60,000 feet. The Horseshoe had a great perimeter defence including the mine field from the lowest part of the hill to the sea. You could see for miles from the elevated fire pits and the pitch was so steep that it deterred any thought of an enemy attack from the direction.
Re-supply and changeover of troops was
usually managed by the Chinook Helicopters. It was amazing to see how much
they could carry. They always looked like something out of a headless chicken
cartoon but they were so reliable and real work horses. Slinging a 105
Howitzer and ammunition did not appear to affect its operation.
His mate Andy had always been a mite crazy
when at school and a few years before being called up. Yet somehow, he had
become an Assault Pioneer with 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC). He had ready access to plastic
explosives, detonators and all those things that go bang when they
shouldn’t. Anyway, he discovered that Andy and his brother who was with A
Company had moved to the Horseshoe a few days earlier. So when Joe got out
of the CP one evening he joined them for a chat, as happens when there is
not much going on around the place except a fire mission.
Of course, everyone had to have a brew, so
Joe fetched a billy of water and asked where the hexamine tablets were to
boil the water. Andy and my brother just told him to put it down and they
would fix it. Being quite happy to just sit back and be waited on Joe sat
on his tosh. They were talking about something that had happened that day
when Andy pulled a small lump of white stuff out of a square tube that
looked a bit like lard. He stuck it on the hexamine stove and told Joe
that it was C4 a plastic explosive. Joe nearly crapped himself and was out
of that tent in a flash. There was quite a bit of laughter so Joe
thought that they had only been messing with him. To save a bit of face he
reluctantly returned to the tent. Andy assured him that the white stuff
was completely safe as it needed a detonator to set it off. Andy put a
match to the stuff and it flared brightly and in a fleeting time the
outside of the billy turned bright red and of course the water was boiling
in a flash. Still wary of Andy but as the brew was ready, Joe decided
to pretend that he was fine. Andy then told him to catch as he pulled the pin
from a grenade and let the clip fly. Joe was out the tent and pretty
pissed off at that time so went back to his hoochie. The following day
they told him that they had removed the detonator so the grenade was not
able to explode. Somehow, Andy got back to Australia unscathed, which had
to be a miracle. On 31 May 1968 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) held a
Memorial Service at Nui Dat to commemorate the men of the battalion, both
Australian and New Zealand, who died during the battalion’s tour of South
Vietnam. There were twenty-eight good men who lost their lives in what was
supposed to be a war against the Communist Aggression. History now tells a
different story.
I went to see my brother and mad
mate Andy depart Nui Dat in a large convoy on their way to
Vung Tau to board
HMAS Sydney (AKA Vung Tau Ferry) for their return to Australia. With the
arrival of 4RAR to replace 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) there was a feeling that operating
procedures would be changed to encompass the new Battalion’s Operational
culture. Within two weeks, with changes happening quickly, Joe was
recalled to 104 Signal Squadron which was somewhat of a relief after
four and a half months being a Clayton’s Infantryman. Starting all over
again to new procedures did not look that attractive to Joe but he
wondered where his next deployment would be.
Joe said his goodbyes to Blue Joseph, Rose
Thorne, Marty Pandelus and
with his gear thrown in the back of the Squadron’s Land Rover, he
travelled back to 104 Signal Squadron’s HQ. He found a place to put his
head and to stow his gear in a well-used tent that had a decent set of
sandbags, and deep foxholes surrounding its sides. It was located next to
the RAAME Workshop where a few vehicle casualties lay abandoned. He was
ordered to report to the OC upon arrival so he had done everything
possible to look presentable and had even worked on shining up his boots.
His SLR was also thoroughly cleaned and oiled with nothing up the spout
just in case an inspection was on the cards. Joe assumed that he was welcomed
back as they knew who he was and he wasn’t balled out, so
that was a good start. Without too much formality Joe was
referred to 2nd Lieutenant (2Lt) Ken Twining who took him aside and was
requested to followed him around the Squadron’s layout with the purpose of
familiarisation in case there had been changes since he was last there.
They must have forgotten that he had never spent a night there as he was
shipped out to 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC) the night he arrived way back in January. Joe didn’t
think it wise to mentioned that so kept his mouth shut and just paid
attention. It was a good thing that was being shown around as he genuinely
had no idea where anything was located.
Then Ken said, 'I have been looking at your
record' and Joe thought, oh shit, who did I upset back at 2RAR/NZ (ANZAC). But that
was not it. He said, 'you used to work in a shop before you were called
up'. Joe thought, I am not the smartest chip in the wood pile but I had
no idea where he was going with this so I just acknowledged that he was
correct. Then he said I know you are a radio operator but with your retail
experience you are to be placed in charge of the OR’s Mess.
Joe had no idea what Ken was trying
to tell him, and forgetting that he was still in the Army,
he said, “Sir, You, have got to be joking. Ken did
not seem to hear me, as he went on to explain what my duties would be and
here is the kicker. He said, 'You will be promoted to Lance Corporal to
enable you to effectively manage the role'. That really got Joe’s back up
and he told Ken that he would have been happy if his time spent with 2RAR
had been duly recognised in this way but not for this job.
Joe said he was not interested and would prefer if Ken could place him back in the signal’s detachment
with 4RAR or on to another unit as a radio operator which is what he was
trained to do. Then in a round-about way the 2Lt
emphasised that Joe was still in the Army and only had about
three more months before he would be returning to Australia
for discharge. This could be extended by some time should
disciplinary action be taken whereby time spent in detention
would not be considered as time served. Joe was speechless,
but reluctantly agreed that he would take on the duties but
would do so as a signalman as he did not believe he deserved
a promotion in such circumstances. The 2Lt told
him it was not
negotiable and gave him 30 minutes to choose between the
OR’s Mess or face disciplinary action for insubordination.
Joe had to admit, the 2Lt had him over a barrel but at least made him wait the
full 30 minutes before Joe capitulated. Joe fronted up to the OR’s Mess which was just a
shed (but with a great history), with tables and seating separated by a
section which was politely called a bar but was just a dividing counter.
Anyway, his first duty was to do an audit of the supplies. Beer, soft
drinks, cigarettes, matches and some other long-life snacks, which
remarkably tallied up with those recorded in the ruled-up exercise book
posing as the OR’s Mess Ledger. Joe signed for the stock and was issued
with the keys to the rusty steel mesh door which was the security for the
squadron’s most ‘valuable asset’. Joe tried to gather as much information
from the departing maestro and received an introduction to an American GI
who ran a facility in close proximity to the Mess. Whilst the retail process was straight forward there was a financial constraint to ensure rigid stock control. Getting the supplies was the most difficult to arrange as transport was needed to ferry supplies from the American PX to the OR’s Mess. As stock was often audited by the 2Lt it was necessary to ensure both the ledger and stock count balanced and were within allocated controls. Difficult to hide additional resources in a tin shed.
In an environment where the Squadron operated 24/7
the OR’s Mess was an important meeting place to let the hair down, relax
and have a bit of fun. Two cans, per man, per day, then back to duty or to
the canvas tent became somewhat tedious. What was needed was the
occasional celebration for a birthday, a visit from our outposted radio
operators, someone going home, a happy hour or just to get pissed. Such
events were good for morale and great for getting members of Squadron,
many who were outposted to other units, to meet up with their colleagues.
To enable such important occasions to be
successful it was essential that sufficient supplies be obtained. This
could not be done through the severely restricted OR’s Mess fund. However,
funds were readily available and easily collected in advance from all OR’s
who wished to participate in the celebrations. This money was then passed
on to our American friend who on our behalf was able to purchase unlimited
amounts of booze and store it in his cooler until the hour of need. It
worked a treat although heavy heads in the morning and the occasional
reminder that some members really made a mess of themselves did tend to
draw unwanted attention from those outside the Mess. But two cans, per
man, per day was allegedly sufficient to put most of us on our ears was my
response when ‘unruly’ behaviour was noted. There was so much laughter, singing and even some
forms of dancing once celebrations were well underway. Of course we had
plenty of music from our PX purchased Tape Deck. All Joe had to do was
keep the supply coming and dole it out to all the contributors. Our
American benefactor was an honoured guest so was on tap to replenish the
supply from his refrigeration facility. Very little money changed hands as
it was only for smokes, long-life accompaniments and from the occasional
purchase from those who had not contributed.
One person not happy with proceedings just
happened to let a certain officer know that alcohol had been issued to a
member after hours. It was claimed that this member was on duty and whilst
contributing to the celebrations was unable to attend. Of course, this was
absolutely denied, and not one person had witnessed such an act. When
questioned as to the condition of some of the troops, Joe replied that
when in the field where no alcohol was available it only took a couple of
cans of beer to affect them yet refusal of further supplies to those
exhibiting any forms of aggression was for firmly enforced. Joe could never
recall any acts of violence occurring during the celebrations. Cleaning up afterwards should have produced a mass
of empties but our benefactor took care of those as well. All Joe had to
do was ensure that the stock on hand, money and ledger tallied. It was not
a difficult job. Trading commenced again that evening as the hair of the
dog was a necessity.
Joe’s last recollection of the OR’s Mess was on
his last night in Vietnam where he had to face the traditional challenge
of sculling a “Vietnamese Slipper.” Refusal was not an option and with the
constant vocal encouragement of “down, down, down” Joe somehow managed to
drain the Yard Glass without spilling too much. Joe steadied himself and
as the cheers of the mob subsided, staggard out the door for some fresh
air. He fell over the sandbags surrounding the mortar pit and brought up
all that bravado. When he awoke up he was still fully dressed although
covered in mud. The overnight rain had all but cleaned up any remnants of
the night’s celebrations so there was no incriminating evidence and so
Joe’s successful accomplishment of seeing through the departing ritual was
safeguarded. After a quick clean up and already packed for
movement to Tan Son Nhat Airport Joe, although extremely seedy said his
final farewells.
Joe wished to advise that he was not responsible
for the behaviour of F Troop (AKA Radio Troop) although the OR’s Mess may have been a
venue that they occasionally frequented.
After much stuffing around, finally boarded a Qantas Flight to Sydney yet did not relax until we had cleared the shores of South Vietnam and had a couple of tinnies as well.
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