Story 76 - 1971 Army in South Vietnam
By Russ Swan
Russ Swan, 104 Sig Sqn on Nui Dat
Hill in South Vietnam (1971)
Introduction
I never really knew much
about the Vietnam War before I was called up to do National Service
in the Army. Where I grew up there was no television and just one
parochial newspaper published on a Friday. Even news about
Barcaldine, another town about 70 miles away was considered a bit
irrelevant. There was radio of course. The ABC and a commercial
radio station, but I was more interested in what music they were
playing.
But then as I was nearing my
20th birthday a letter arrived addressed to me personally. This was
a bit of a turn up. Who would write to me? Looked official. Tearing
it open it proceeded to give me instructions on what was required of
me to register for National Service.
To cut a long story short my
birth date was drawn out of a ballot box, and I subsequently
received another official letter. This one with some documents to
fill out and telling me to report to the local Government Medical
Officer for a medical check up. Everything must have been
satisfactory because I then received my travel arrangements to
report to the 3rd Recruit Training Battalion at Singleton in New
South Wales.
The Army – Recruit and
Corp Training
In company with another bloke
Russ Milota from Longreach, who just happened to be one of my best
mates we took the Midlander Train to Rockhampton on the Queensland
Coast. We were met by an officious looking Corporal who herded us
onto the Sunlander Train to Brisbane. From there we travelled by
train and road until we reached our destination on the 8th July
1970.
The less said about that trip
in a train replete with young, larrikin men with a gleam in the eye;
full of beans and vigour the better. I remember our Commander
calling us in individually some weeks later following a complaint by
the Railways Department. But of course no one knew anything about
it…. never seen or heard anything!
It was mid-winter. Not the
best time to be roused out of bed in the freezing pre-dawn hours for
physical training. At the mid point of the training we all got some
leave for a few days. I spent my 21st birthday walking the streets
of Sydney’s King Cross on a Sunday looking for a beer, after
spending quite a bit of energy giving the slip to a Corporal who had
been assigned to watch over us. Nothing was open.
Back at the Recruit Training
we were asked for 3 choices in which area of the Army we would like
to serve. I opted for Signals, Cavalry and Gunnery. Nobody wanted
Infantry. By now we’d seen and heard a LOT about Infantry from some
of our instructors who were now veterans from the conflict in South
Vietnam. I was lucky enough to get my first choice.
In due course I was posted to
the Royal Australian Signals Corp Training School at Balcombe, on
the Mornington Peninsula south of Melbourne, Victoria. Just
basically wooden huts built about the time of Noah’s Ark but
survived the flood. I chose to be a Radio Operator which included
training in Morse Code, antenna theory, basic electronics and other
useful information. My thoughts were that maybe after my 2 years
service was up, I might find a job in communications somewhere and
thus escape a life of drudgery in the shearing sheds.
On successful completion of
this course we each received our much anticipated postings to our
first units. I was posted along with about 9 or so other fellows to
139 Signal Squadron at Enoggera Barracks in Brisbane, Qld.
Pre Vietnam
The preferred method of
moving people about by the Australian Army at the time was rail, so
our little group spent a couple of uncomfortable days and nights
sitting in economy seats all the way from Melbourne to Brisbane. It
was the beginning of a skill learned through experience to be able
to sleep sitting upright.
On arrival at Roma Street
Railway Station we were unceremoniously bundled into the back of a
truck and driven to Enoggera Barracks on the north side of the city.
Here we went through the process of “marching-in” to the unit which
involved a sheet of paper with a long list of places to go and get
signatures. This included a trip to the Q – Quartermaster Store to
pick up our DP1 field gear including all the equipment we’d need to
be able to operate in the field such as a combat harness, packs,
cooking utensils, blankets etc. We also signed for a rifle which was
kept stored in the armoury.
139 Sig Sqn was a Field Force
unit which meant it’s job was to go out into the bush and provide
communications support to other units in the field. It also
functioned as a reinforcement unit of personnel to replace those in
Vietnam who had served their time and come home. It didn’t take long
before they started putting us through our paces. Several Exercises
of varying duration were to follow, both locally and further afield
such as the Shoalwater Bay Training Area.
Russ
Swan training in
Shoalwater Bay Training Area (SWBTA) with 139 Sig Sqn (1970)
I also attended a Battle
Efficiency Course at the Jungle Training Centre located at the hill
infested Canungra in south-east Queensland. Not an experience I’d
recommend for fun and entertainment. It’s been described as the only
place in Australia where you have to climb a hill to get into it and
climb another one to get out. Climbing hills is something you get to
know about especially with “Heartbreak Hill” – a series of long
ascents with a series of false crests, being particularly well
known.
But it was a necessary
pre-requisite for everyone who were to go to the Vietnam Area of
Operations where we were taught about our enemy, his tactics, how
best to fight him and defend against him. It’s been said that no
Australian had to that point ever gone to war better prepared.
In hindsight I suppose there
were a few funny incidents such as spiders in boots and snakes in
sleeping bags in the dead of night. The expressions of joy by those
who found such items under tactical conditions of no lights, no
noise and no unnecessary movements, make for some ribald comments
later on. At one point I was not so fortunate to badly twist my
ankle whilst on a night ambush on the slope of a very steep hill. I
had to suffer through the night with it and then walk out the next
day using my rifle as a crutch.
In the meantime between
training we investigated the night life of Brisbane City. I must
admit that at times we could get pretty rowdy with hotels being the
destination of choice for many. I think most of us knew we could end
up in Vietnam. It was during a daylight sight-seeing sojourn into
the city one weekend that I was to meet my future bride, and my
spare time now began to revolve around spending as much time as I
could in her company.
There was a constant rotation
of men coming to the unit and then going to Vietnam, so there was a
shortage of experienced NCO’s to command the various detachments. It
was common practice for nasho’s – National Servicemen, to be
appointed as Detachment Commanders. This was the case with me. One
day I was on exercise with my detachment out at Wacol Barracks,
another Army base outside of Brisbane. One of the men with me said
he’d just received a radio message ordering me to report back to HQ.
“What had I done?” I wondered
as I was driven back to Enoggera.
It was lunchtime by the time
I got back and the Orderly Room at SHQ – Squadron HQ was almost
empty except for one bloke, who didn’t know what it was about. So I
waited in anticipation until the Officer Commanding (OC) and Squadron Sergeant Major
(SSM) arrived and was marched in to front the OC.
With no
preamble he said, “Do
you want to go to Vietnam?”
Slightly stunned I saluted,
about-turned and marched out. Back out at the front desk I was
relieved to be told by a colleague in the Orderly Room that the OC
had only meant for me to go to Sydney, not Vietnam. Seems that
reinforcements to Vietnam were sent by charter flight from Sydney
and I’d have to wait there at the 1st Signal Regiment Barracks until
I could be allocated a flight. My Orderly Room friend got me onto a
flight for the next day to Sydney so that I’d have some time to say
my goodbyes to my girlfriend.
At this point I’d like to
digress a moment and reflect on my decision to go to war. I believe
my reasons would have been much the same as many others, if not most
of the men who volunteered to serve in South Vietnam. First I was
young and adventurous. The expression 10-foot tall and bullet proof
comes to mind. But there was also another very real threat to our
country, at least to me.
We lived in an era when the
communist doctrine was actively spreading across Europe. The
so-called Cold War was at its peak. We were taught our prime enemy
was communism. As radio operators we knew about Russian fishing
trawlers bristling with antennas hugging the Australian Coastline
gathering Signals Intelligence, especially when American forces were
involved in training with us.
We were taught about the
Domino Theory which explained to us how the communists spread their
doctrine into other countries by stealth through the grass levels of
society, such as trade unions and universities. We were seeing
agitation by socialist factions in our own trade unions and
universities. We saw it had already happened to some of the Baltic
Countries. Australia had been involved in several anti-communist
wars and insurgencies such as Korea, North Borneo, Malaya and
Indonesia. Now North Vietnam was trying to take over the South. It
seemed to me that if it needed to be stopped, then it would be best
to do it over there than in the streets and countryside of
Australia.
I haven’t intended to get off
sounding noble in this. But it was a real issue at the time and I
think that is how most of us, at some level thought about things.
Now to get back off the
soapbox….
As it happened there were
several of us on the waiting list being posted with me to 104 Sig
Sqn at Nui Dat including a new mate Dave Edwards, a fellow Radio
Operator. We didn’t spend too long at 1 Sig Regt before being
bundled off to Sydney Airport to board a chartered Qantas aircraft
for the long flight to South Vietnam (SVN).
Embarkation
The International departure
lounge at Sydney airport was full of uniforms of all ranks. My mate
Dave and I plus a couple of others were able to indulge in a couple
of cold beverages while we waited, and we made good use of the time.
The flight to Darwin was unremarkable. We stopped there in the
middle of the night for refueling. No one was allowed off the plane
of course. Couldn’t see much outside the porthole anyway except for
a singe weak lamp-post light.
Early in the morning we
stopped at Singapore to change aircraft, our first introduction to
heat and humidity. Before we could leave the aircraft we were
required to change our uniform shirts for civilian ones. Seemed the
Singaporean Government didn’t want to be seen overtly supporting
Australia in her war against North Vietnam. Looked a bit ridiculous
though, all those men wearing different shirts but the exact same
khaki trousers and shoes or boots.
After 2 or 3 hours with nothing to do but wait we were boarded onto a Hercules C130 aircraft for the journey to Ton San Nhut, the major airport of the capital city of Saigon, South Vietnam. Shirts were changed again.
Phouc Tuy Province for
which Australian and NZ forces were responsible
As to be expected there was a
huge US presence here with various types of aircraft and personnel.
We were given lunch on a metal tray though not sure now what was on
it. True to the old Army adage “Hurry Up and Wait” …. we waited …
and waited. Finally we were sorted out and those of us bound for Nui
Dat were directed towards a Caribou aircraft.
104 Sig
Sqn was located between HQ 1ATF and Kangaroo Pad (1971)
Onboard as we flew along in
the noise filled aircraft it was pretty hard to talk, so we were
mostly left to our own thoughts. It wasn’t too long before the
aircraft began to bob and weave about slightly. I looked out the
window and was taken aback to see a short airstrip rising directly
towards my window! The aircraft dropped quickly at an angle to the
airstrip before straightening out and immediately the pilot sharply
hit the air brakes. We lurched to a stop.We’d arrived at Luscombe
airstrip at the 1st Australian Task Force – 1 ATF, located in a
rubber plantation within Phouc Tuy Province right in the middle of
hostile Viet Cong territory. But it was also home to around 5,000
Anzac troops, many of whom would be deployed on operations at any
given time.
A Caribou aircraft at Luscombe airstrip
with troops disembarking
Strange to think that about
24 hours ago we were at home in a country at peace. Now we stood in
a place where outside the wire in the distance were people who
seriously want to kill us.
Nui Dat
The rest of the day is spent doing our
march-in procedures and getting settled into our tent
accommodations. They’re simple but they keep the rain out and let
whatever breeze is available through. Sandbags have been
stacked around every tent as a precaution against mortar attack,
and a covered trench is situated just outside the entrance for
extra protection. It would have to be a dire circumstance indeed to
want to get down into one of them though. Who knew what was living
down there in these things!
Tented accommodation at Nui Dat. Sandbagged walls are lined with
corrugated iron.
A sandbagged overhead protection pit can be
seen at centre left (1971)
My mate Dave “Eddie” Edwards and I
change into our field green uniforms, already profusely sweating
from the heat and humidity. We then start assembling our DP1 field
webbing, field gear and taking a good, first inspection of our
rifles.
Some of the older hands drop by to say
g’day, introduce themselves and give us a couple of tips. The main
points are meal and boozer times. As we work the regular throb of
helicopters coming and going from nearby Kanga Pad was to become
something of a feature we’d have to get used to. We were also to get
used to the sharp cracking noise as nuts exploded off the rubber
trees in their bid to propagate more trees. If one hit you it could
cause a bit of a sting.
After the evening meal Eddie and I make
our way to the boozer. It had been named the Abraham Club after one
of the men in this unit who had been killed in action. All up 104
Sig Sqn lost 4 soldiers killed during the war. There may have been 8
or so others from the Royal Australian Signals (RASigs) Corps
killed. In 2013 the unit still exists and it’s nice to know that the
name for the soldiers boozer is still called the Abraham Club.
Alcohol consumption is supposed to be
limited to 2 cans per man per day. But someone is always on duty
somewhere so those not on duty can often squeeze in another can or
two. The night is rolling along quite well. Eddie and I are
beginning to get acquainted with some of the men when suddenly some
sirens start. Out go the lights. One of our newly met brethren
Barabas calls urgently, “Stand-To! …… follow me…. quick!”. Not being
totally new to the concept of what a stand-to was we dutifully
follow him as he ducks and weaves his way down to the tent line in
total darkness, jumping from tree to tree with us following his
example. I wonder briefly what on earth we are getting into and
neither of us yet had a clue where the perimeter trenches were, but
eventually we reach them.
Barabas dives into one of the trenches
urgently whispering, “Get in here…quickly .. Quick …..!” Eddie in
his haste jumps into the nearest trench a little too quickly, badly
twisting his knee in the process. Under the circumstances it might
have been acceptable except everyone nearby starts guffawing. Some
ribald comments about reo’s (new reinforcements) and sniggering keep
coming as they start climbing out of the trench to sit on the edge
and commence lighting up cigarettes. We’d been set up.
A warning hiss comes along the line.
Smokes get snuffed out and blokes get back into the trenches as one
of the Sergeants came along the line. After he’d left we all sit
back up on the edge of the trench, listen as the artillery blasts
out next door to us and watch the glow of parachute flares floating
down to earth in the distance.
Over succeeding days we reo’s are soon
allocated to various detachments. I had hoped to get into one
attached to an Infantry Battalion but it was not to be. I found
myself reporting to the Comsec – Communications Security Bunker for
comsec monitoring duties. Corporal Graham Woodfield was my Det Comdr
– Detachment Commander. My job was to listen across friendly radio
frequencies and report any breaches of voice security or radio
procedures. I also had to maintain a watch on an encrypted voice
radio link to our American allies. We knew the enemy were always
listening in to our transmissions, so altogether it’s a necessary
job which might help prevent someone getting killed, but pretty
boring stuff actually.
Eddie says he didn’t but I was told
he was tasked to do an SDS – Signals Despatch Service run. He
allegedly reported to the Commcen – Communications Centre, to
pick up a bag of signal messages and boarded an Iroquois helicopter
to deliver them to some outpost or other. The chopper was full so
the Loadmaster told him to sit on the floor. During the journey at
one point the pilot for some reason maybe known only to himself laid
the chopper steeply over onto it’s side. Eddie’s rifle which had
been sitting comfortably on the floor, to Eddies chagrin immediately
slid out the door and disappeared from view.The Loadmaster informed
the pilot who circled around the paddy field below before flaring
down to just above the water so that Eddie could jump out, search
for and retrieve his weapon.
All good so far… except that as soon as
Eddie hits the water the chopper takes off leaving him to take new
stock of his situation, unarmed, alone in a paddy field, potential
hostiles around. The chopper continues to circle the area though.
They are highly vulnerable to ground fire while stationary, and can
give cover to Eddie should he have needed it. But the rifle was
found, Eddie completed his SDS run and had a story to tell that
night in the boozer.
T
This photo shows a Landrover spraying pesticide in the 104 Sig Sqn
lines near the Transport
compound with our tentage on the right
(1971)
I’m not sure but I think Eddie was
eventually sent to the Artillery unit where among other duties of
manning the radio on the Task Force Operations Net, he also had to
man the telephone switchboard for that unit. Things settled pretty
much into a routine. No days off. You are either on duty
or resting. Spare time is filled with washing clothes, reading or
grabbing a can or two at the boozer when you can, and spending a bit
of time in the perimeter trenches when the Stand-To sirens go off.
Occasionally I’d pull shifts manning
one of the unit Machine Gun Posts overlooking Kanga Pad. To pass the
time I’d watch the twinkling lights of fireflies in the nearby
bushes. Now and then I’d toss a pebble at the bush and the lights
would all blink out before tentatively coming back. Somewhat odd to
be distracted by such pretty lights and thoughts of nature while the
guns of the artillery would often crash out their song of death to
people out in the darkness. Nothing to complain about though
compared to the poor buggers we often saw taking off in the choppers
from Kanga Pad heading out into the bushes. Although having said
that, there was always the chance some of us would be selected to go
out on a Task Force Patrol.
Saigon
In due course I’m selected to go to
Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) as part of a Guard Detachment.
We are to guard what is colloquially known as the Hotel Canberra,
which accommodates Aussie soldiers who work in Saigon. This task is
apparently shared by most units at Nui Dat and now it’s our turn.
For this job we’ll need our best
ceremonial greens, so we pull out our best green uniforms and iron
them up. Also locate and polish our mouldy black, web belts from the
bottom of the storage trunk, clean the brass buckles and spit polish
our best boots. If I remember rightly we had two sets of boots and
always kept a good set of “greens”.
The day to go soon comes and we
dutifully climb into the Caribou aircraft arranged for us, and take
off for Saigon.
On landing at Ton San Nhut airport we
are taken by bus through the city in the rain to some Headquarters
or other. We are required to wait …. and wait…. in true Army
fashion, at the back of the building.
Eventually we arrive at the so-called
Canberra Hotel. We are confronted with a building protected on the
outside with a wire cage which extends to either side, and up to the
second floor. The purpose of this I guess is to stop any thrown
explosive such as a grenade or satchel. The driveway entrance was
closed and sandbagged with the only access being through a
pedestrian side gate. This would be home for the next week. We are
told to find an empty bunk upstairs, then report back downstairs for
a briefing.
Hotel Canberra that housed the
Australian Army enlisted soldiers working in Saigon (1971)
At the briefing we received detailed
instructions on what we are required to do, guard rosters and meal
timings and local leave whilst off duty.Our task is to make sure
nobody lingered out the front of the premises. If anyone stops we
are required to give them a blast on a whistle. Sometimes they
stopped. Perhaps deliberately. Usually the sound of
cocking the gun gets them moving again.At least one or two women
squatted on the road before me and left behind little puddles.
Their modesty was preserved by the length of the shirt-tops they
wear. Perhaps they were VC – Viet Cong sympathisers.
Perhaps they just needed to pee. Who knows? You can never tell
who the enemy is in this war.
There were two machine gun posts.
The guns are just a modified version of our standard 7.62mm L1A1 SLR
– Self Loading Rifle, which can be set only on semi-automatic mode.
This version allows the weapon to to be set to automatic to enable
short bursts of fire. It’s also fitted with a bipod on the barrel to
steady it.
I learned why the front of the hotel
had a wire cage. This cinema was located just a few doors along the
same side of the street as the Canberra Hotel. The photo was
taken a day after it was bombed. A close look at the third
floor on the left side shows a dislodged billboard and part of the
concrete overhead has been blown away. At the time I’d been
off duty and across the street. Up until the blast occurred I hadn’t
taken any particular notice but apparently a pillion passenger on a
motorcycle threw something up there and took off down the street.
Cinema next to the Hotel
Canberra before it was bombed in 1971
The blast took me by surprise.
There’s some screaming. Rubble over the road. My immediate thought
is that there might be some kind of follow-up attack, either by more
hand thrown explosives or gunfire. Run across the road as quickly as
I can taking care to identify myself to the gunners at the front of
the hotel. Nothing else happens. Not much more to see. The
screaming soon dies down and I go up to my room. The civilians seem
to just take this sort of thing in their stride.
On another day Eddie and I are
exploring one of the local vegetable markets. Lots of people
mingling around and it’s difficult to move due to the congestion.
Even though we’re in “civvies” we stick out among the local people
like sore thumbs. Out of the crowd in front emerges a man holding a
wicked looking knife pointing at us. He’s not happy. Starts
volubly giving us an earful, punctuating his points by waving his
knife around. I get it. He doesn’t like us behind here.
One of many monuments showing an
heroic Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN).
They were all destroyed by the communists after the fall of Saigon
Looking around I think I see others
moving around the stalls to either side so it’s high time to
retreat. Eddie and I about turn and get out of there as fast as we
can. I can hear the man still yelling but his voice drops
back. We decide to just get out of the area anyway since we’re not
at all sure whether anyone else wants to play pin-the-digger.
War’s End
Back at Nui Dat I resume my duties in the Comsec Bunker but it’s not long before I’m told I am to be part of a Task Force Patrol, and that a group of us from our unit would be reporting to TFHQ – Task Force Headquarters early next week to begin preparations. This will mean briefings on the aim of our mission and practices in patrolling as a group, and enemy contact drills as a patrol formation.From what I understand these patrols are Recon patrols, not Combat patrols.Basically our job will be to go out beyond the wire and wander around the countryside to see if we can find anything. However this may, or may not involve actual contact with the enemy, so we have to be prepared for that. I am kind of looking forward to it. I mean this is what we’d trained for – to go out into the bush where the enemy lived. Yet at the same time I admit to a little bit of trepidation, never having been on a “live” patrol before. It hasn’t been unknown in the past for similar patrols to run into the enemy and become involved in a fire-fight. And I’d heard about a patrol composed of Sigs who had once spent a night dodging a battalion of Provincial VCs. I wondered how I would conduct myself.
The week
drags by and I hear no more about it. Then the word comes that
all active operations against the enemy are cancelled. What
does that mean? It means for a start that we will not be going
out on any patrol. I don’t know how to take this news, whether to be
disappointed or relieved. And for the rest of my life I wouldn’t be
able to rationalize it. In later years I was to learn that by
1971 that most of the Provincial VC in the province had been pushed
back to the boundaries of Phouc Tuy Province – the only place in the
whole of South Vietnam where this had happened. Allegedly the
top-brass had thought the VC and NVA – North Vietnamese Army might
mount an attack to take over Nui Dat as we withdrew. Perhaps
this was why that last patrol was being planned. If so then maybe
they got some new intelligence to infer that an attack wasn’t going
to happen anyway. All existing patrols come in out of the bush and
the voice-radio TF Command Net becomes relatively silent. I am now
removed from the Comsec Bunker and Cpl Woodfields detachment, and
re-assigned to “clean-up” tasks under the direction of the SSM –
Squadron Sergeant Major and my Radio Tp SGT.
A Truck moves through the rubber
trees carrying a load of discarded items for burning
We learn that ARVN forces will be
moving in to take over our camp. Most of the pre-fab buildings we
used are either pulled down or left standing, I guess depending on
their state of repair. In any case all buildings are stripped
and whatever can be taken back to Australia is stored away.
There doesn’t seem to be too much left.
Those of us who are not involved in
driving the unit’s vehicles down to Vung Tau in convoy, or in
communications tasks escorting other elements of the Task Force,
will be flown down to Vung Tau by Iriquois helicopter.
On the day our unit is to move I am
sent up to Nui Dat hill on some task or other with a man we called
Tarzan. A monkey had jumped on his head and the antics to remove the
beast, and the monkey’s equally grim determination to hang on earned
Tarzan his nickname. Or so I’m told.
As I look at the ARVN vehicles lining
up at the gate. No doubt in my mind that the VC, probably
supported by the NVA – North Vietnamese Army will hit them pretty
hard once we are gone. I never got over the feeling that we were
letting them down – were running out on them. And so it proved. The
camp was overrun by the communists once we’d left.
Back down at the unit we are allocated
to “packets” and line up next to Kanga Pad to climb aboard one of
the choppers and take off.
Soldiers leaving Nui Dat for the
last time
Vung Tau
On landing at 1 ALSG we are soon
bundled into the back of an open truck to be conveyed to the Recreation and Convalescent Centre
(R & C). This place was a kind of
home away from home for soldiers who had been out in the field for a
while. Typically the infantry for example, might spend
several weeks in the bush then come down here for a few days
of rest and try to unwind.
We pull up outside what might have once
been a 3-story block of units, dismount and file inside. Once
established into our respective rooms we are given a briefing on
what we will be doing in the forthcoming weeks, and details about
security piquets, local leave and meal timings are notified.
Of note there will be a curfew on local leave meaning we will have
to be back inside the front gate by 2300 hrs. We are told the
operational state at the moment is Condition Green – meaning no
immediate enemy activity is expected. Amber is expected and Red
means imminent.
R & C Centre, Vung Tau where the
main body of 104 Sig Sqn were located pending withdrawal
from South Vietnam in 1971
Lists of work parties and security
piquet duties are soon posted for the next week, and we spend the
rest of the day getting settled into our new “home”. Taking a
look out the back window to my room I’m a little surprised just how
close the civilian houses are. I mean anyone wishing to
penetrate this building wouldn’t seem to have much trouble doing it.
Over the following days and weeks we
are to be sent out on various work parties. My jobs are generally
laborious and tedious, cleaning and steam-cleaning all traces of
Vietnam from the unit’s stores including such things as tent poles,
canvas, vehicles and equipment. Other parties are probably
crating stuff, conducting audits or whatever else the SSM can think
up to keep us busy.
A work-party mounts a Mk5 5 ton
truck at the front of the R & C Centre heading out for
a days work somewhere
One day Eddie and I are standing at the
front balcony looking out at the goings-on down below. Casually I
notice an ARVN soldier riding a bicycle down the centre of the road
down to our left. Coming up behind him is a big front-end loader
that stands much higher than a 5-ton truck as shown in the above
photo.
The ARVN heard it, looks over his
shoulder and moves to one side of the road. The loader driver has
already anticipated going around the bike and also moves to the same
side of the road. Alarmed, the ARVN quickly moves to the other side
but the loader by now is doing the same thing. The ARVN quickly
changes course once again. But it is too late. The
loader drives straight over the ARVN and pulls up about 10 or so
metres further along the road.
Eddie and I dash down to see if there
is anything we can do – direct traffic or something. By the
time we get down there a large crowd has already gathered. We rush
to the man to see if we can give him first-aid but he’s way beyond
it. The huge truck tyres have run clean across his middle
section effectively cutting him into three pieces of legs and torso.
Someone has already put a sheet of paper of his face.
But what disgusts me are the local
civilians. Some are gawking at the poor man standing in his
blood and entrails and spreading them around with their movements.
Others, most likely from the nearby shops are already out hawking
soft drinks and candy. Attempts to establish some kind of
perimeter around the dead man are futile as they push back against
us trying to get a look, and we have to just walk away.
Downtown Vung Tau is an eye-opener for
first time visitors like us. It’s not long before a young boy
would offer “cigarettes” – probably pot; or offer his sister for
“boom-boom”. The bar-girls rate bar customers on a number
system. Number 1 for a good bloke or Number 10 if they
consider you a bad bloke. If you don’t buy a “Saigon Tea” –
supposedly alcohol but actually soft drink, then you’ll no doubt be
a Number 10. The buying of a Saigon Tea is the introductory
pathway to obtaining sex. The “house” has to earn some dollars off
you first before you can negotiate a price for a ladies favour.
Some of the ubiquitous and
notorious bars downtown Vung Tau
All pretty sad for a society that has
to try and live as best they can in a country torn and divided by
war for so long. It’s pointless judging them by western standards.
There are no social services. People have to work or beg in
the streets.
The following song was quite popular
among the diggers:
Uc Dai Loi cheap charlie, he no
bring me Saigon Tea. Saigon Tea cost many, many Pee, Oc Dai Loi
cheap charlie.
Translations: Uc Dai Lai (pron
incorrectly Australian fashion ughk, da, loy) – common name for
Australians. Cheap Charlie – self explanatory I think.
Pee – Piastres, the unit of currency.
Word comes down from above that
Condition Yellow – enemy activity is anticipated (or something like
that). Local leave is cancelled and it’s my turn to mount
piquet duty. On reporting I’m handed a helmet liner painted
white. A helmet liner is normally placed inside a steel helmet to
help keep it on your head. Am a bit taken aback at having to
wear this excellent aiming point for someone wanting to take an
opportune pot shot at an Uc Da Loi.
No amount of dissention removes the
requirement to wear the bloody thing. It’s late at night.
Suddenly shots ring out from the main road down to the left. Peering
down there and being careful to keep my beautiful white target
marker headgear in shadow, I can see several black pyjama clothed
people moving around and waving rifles about. Oops!
One of the Rules of Engagement
basically states that black pyjama people running around after dark
carrying and shooting weapons should be shot at – as opposed to shot
by. But we’d stopped active operations now hadn’t we?
Quickly moving inside to report to the
Duty Sergeant I find he’s already on the phone to somewhere, while I
stand itchy-footed wondering whether I should go back outside and
start shooting at something myself. He’s STILL on the bloody
phone so I decide to go back out and watch to see what’s happening …
I mean the buggers could already be climbing over the bloody FENCE!
Outside the suspects are now moving
through a vacant allotment across the road and away from the
building, still firing off the odd shot or two. Well … that’s
okay then. They look like they’re firing into the air having a
bloody party!
Back inside the Sergeant has gotten off
the phone and seems to be sitting back all relaxed. I’m
wondering if he’s willing to tell me his good news when he mentions,
in an off-hand way that these people are Territorial Rangers.
At least I think that’s what he calls them. Seems these boys spend
their time hanging out with the VC to provide valuable intelligence,
and then come to town to let loose for a while. “They’re just
blowing off steam and you aren’t to shoot them”, he says.
Okay. I can handle that. Going
back outside I find my white helmet where I’d thrown it into some
boxes, and resume my sentry duties. Nothing else happens that
night. Condition Yellow is cancelled a day or two later.
104 Sig Sqn Farewell Dinner in Vung Tau early Nov 1971.
OC, Major Tony Roberts addressing the Sqn. Photo and insert photos
supplied by Nev Haskett
Eventually the OC decides to hold an
all ranks luncheon. We all assemble on the balcony of the top floor
sitting around a row of trestle tables. Speeches and toasts are
made. And we are told that very shortly we will be returning to
Australia on the troopship, HMAS Sydney.
104 Sig Sqn Comes Home
HMAS Sydney was an old girl. She’d been
built by the Brits in 1944 and commissioned by the RAN – Royal
Australian Navy in 1947. She’d seen active service but was now being
used for supply and troop transport for the Vietnam War, and was
affectionately known as the “Vung Tau Ferry”. Without local leave
the men anticipated the arrival of the ship that much more keenly.
Finally the day arrives and we’re all sorted into groups and taken
out to the landing pad. We’re to be carried out to the ship by
Iroquois helicopters.
On the flight deck of HMAS Sydney waiting to be met by our
guide. From left: “barabas” (surname not known),
unknown at rear, Don Willis front holding rifle, Ray Jenkins front
behind “cricket” bag, Russ Swan
background holding a camera, Dave Edwards hands on rifle muzzle, STT
Ron Stefan at right.
The Trip
In all the trip took about 14 days or
so. The “pussers” were very good to us. Mostly we didn’t have much
to do and just needed to keep out of the way of the sailors as they
went about their daily jobs. Some of my memories include games of
badminton in one of the aircraft hangers, now empty of aircraft of
course. There was a large map which displayed the route being taken
by the ship. The pussers kept updating it with pins every day to
show our progress. At times it was astonishing to see small native
canoes with a sole occupant in the middle of nowhere. Where did he
come from? What was he doing way out here?
The last day. Dusk on the South China Sea closes a chapter
on the 104 Signals Squadron
operational deployment to South Vietnam
We slept in wardrooms which were
normally used as crew quarters. Apparently the sailors slept in the
hangars. Every morning we would be required to fold away our
hammocks and stand by until one of the ship’s officers came by on
rounds to check everything was neat, clean and tidy. At night we’d
string the hammocks up again. There was usually a rush to get in
early so you didn’t end up with a daggy one.
One memorable day an RAN frigate I
think it may have been, came alongside the HMAS Sydney running
parallel at the same speed. A line was sent across and someone was
passed across on a boson’s chair between the ships. After that
another heavier line was passed and so on until a fuel pipe
connected the two vessels. It was all professionally done even to my
eye, considering there was a bit of a seaway running at the time. It
was amusing to watch the frigate’s crew at work but I had to admire
their seamanship. As the bow of their ship plunged into a wave the
line crew would bustle into the safety of a nearby doorway while the
resulting wave swept over. When the ship started to rise again
they’d bustle out again like little manikins to resume what they’d
been doing. This was repeated time after time.
When not required for duties such as sentry or gelley, the
men are left pretty much to laze away the days. Sunning on the
flight deck is a popular thing to do
Then as I was walking along one of the
passageways I saw an open room. Fairly small inside but two burly,
sweaty sailors were in there behind a large wheel working it for all
they were worth. All they had for guidance was a compass. No windows
in the room and they certainly couldn’t see the frigate outside. It
was fine work to keep the ship tracking perfectly straight in the
conditions.
The Landing Crafts are lowered for the troops to take a dip
on an island somewhere
along the Great Barrier Reef
Sometimes at night a movie would be
played in one of the hangars. I often sat there looking at the stars
as they gyrated about through the open elevator hatch above. One can
of beer per man per day was the rule. We were happy to see they were
large cans but it was difficult to cadge someone else’s ration since
there were few duties to be done. I think I scored a couple of
piquet’s, one of which was to sit at the stern and watch in case
anyone fell overboard.
The March
Finally we disembarked in Sydney, New
South Wales. Customs came aboard and went through everybody’s gear
but I don’t think they were overly concerned. Afterwards we dressed
in our ceremonial greens with polished brass and spit polished boots
and assembled on the quayside. Here we were sorted into various
columns and given a brief as to what was going to happen. We were to
march through Sydney and give a salute somewhere – probably the Town
Hall.
We knew about the animosity of certain
sections of the Australian public. One incident we understood had
happened at a previous march was that someone in the crowd threw red
paint over some of the marching diggers. Whether that happened in
truth or not it was widely believed something similar could happen
again. We were officially warned as we stood there at the start of
the march that no-one, NO-one was to break ranks and retaliate under
sufferance of severe consequences.
Along the way I noticed marching across
a couple of small wet patches on the roadway. We were later told
water had been thrown at one of the columns ahead of us. Maybe it
was just a rumour. As we marched we received some desultory clapping
among rather thinly lined streets. There was no ticker tape not that
I actually expected it. Occasionally a bored sounding voice would
say something like, “Good on yer boys”. I don’t know what I was
expecting but it all seemed a little lame to me. Perhaps the public
was just a bit too jaded with all these men coming home. Perhaps
they’d seen it all before just once or twice too often?
In any event we handed our weapons in
for the last time. I don’t remember exactly what happened after
that, where we went or or how long, but I ended up travelling to
Brisbane to report into HQ Northern Command Personnel Depot for the
purpose of being discharged from the Army. This had really taken me
aback since I had planned on doing my 2-years National Service
including the 12 months in Vietnam. I had hoped to be able to find a
civilian job rather than return to the shearing sheds in outback
Queensland. Suddenly I was looking at unemployment!
Post Vietnam
First order of business was to meet up
with my girlfriend – later wife Delma, and promptly overstayed my
disembarkation leave by 5 days. Upon returning to duty I was charged
but since I was to be discharged the penalty was quite light – 5
days loss of pay and a small fine. I hadn’t told them I was going to
re-enlist. To do so would have meant a more severe punishment I’m
sure, so after the hearing I went around to the Orderly Room and
signed on for 3 more years. I figured this would give me time to
look about for a civilian job. On application I was given three
choices of posting area. I asked for Singapore, New Guinea or
Townsville. They gave me the 1st Signal Regiment at
Ingleburn, New South Wales. So much for choices.
1st Signal Regiment,
Ingleburn - Front Gate (Internet Source)
I was to spend those next 3 years at 1
Sig Regt during which time Delma and I married and had our two
children. We both found we enjoyed the life and so I continued until
I’d reached 20 years service. At this point it was generally viewed
by most servicemen and women that the superannuation benefits had
maximised at 20 years and was a good time to retire from service. We
were in Darwin at the time and that’s what I did.
Public Antipathy
I suppose to some extent having stayed
in the Army I was shielded from fairly commonplace civilian
attitudes towards ex-Vietnam servicemen and women – antipathy or
apathy. It was there in almost any gathering where there were
civilians. For the most part I never volunteered information about
my service or the war generally. It too often ended up in an
unthinking quip or barb. For at least the next two decades we bore
the brunt of the spineless political decisions and a sensation
seeking press during the war years. Unfortunately for us the
Australian Press never served us well towards the end or after the
war, and I believe was much of the reason why animosity was so
widespread through the Australia public.
One other incident soured me when I
applied for membership at the Gaythorne RSL in Brisbane. There was
some resistance in that Vietnam was not considered a war because it
had never been actually declared. There was a belief that it was
only a Police Action despite that around 500 Australians died,
rightly or wrongly in hindsight trying to keep communism out of this
country. With obvious reluctance I was accepted as a member. I never
reapplied or signed on with any other RSL since. I couldn’t believe
that as a returned serviceman I would have to fight so hard to join
that organisation.
One of the common myths of the time was
that National Servicemen were being sent to a war against their
will. Of the 50,000 or so that served in that conflict the majority
would most likely have been mostly volunteers. There is no doubt
that in units which rotated as a whole such as Infantry Battalions
there would have been individuals put under pressure to go. To serve
in such units and not go to war with them would have been seen as
cowardice. But to my knowledge anyone who went an individual
replacement were volunteers. They would have been asked if they
wanted to go in much the same way as I was, and then sign the dotted
line. And that was the majority.
Unfortunately this myth may even have
been perpetuated by some diggers as a way of shielding themselves
from hostility or remonstrance. I don’t blame them. There were times
when I was tempted to exonerate myself this way too but thankfully
for my own peace of mind never did.
Today attitudes have changed. The
Australian public recognises that their countrymen who go to war are
doing so primarily for patriotic reasons. The Australian Press and
other media are also supportive of our troops and direct their
attentions to where it belongs – the political and military
leadership. And there is a wider understanding that operational
service means not only possible physical injury or death, but also
that it often leaves unseen scars to the soul and mind.
Based on the orginal story from Russ Swan's Wordpress Blog 'The travels and adventures of Russ Swan'
https://russwan.wordpress.com/02-military-service-and-tours/1971-south-vietnam-war-2/