Book Excerpt

May 12, 1969

“Saddle up, Third Platoon!” came the command from Staff Sergeant Gary Abrams. The men of the Third Platoon put on their gear and check their weapons before heading out to the main road in front of Camp Scott, to board Huey slicks for daily operations in the field. This is normal routine for the Third Platoon, preparing for insertion into enemy territory. I walk on the road to the choppers and hear someone call out my nickname, “Hey, Milkman!” I recognize the voice immediately. The person shouting is Clyde Poland, who christened me with the nickname. Clyde is eighteen years old, has a rugged-looking face, and is missing his front teeth, which makes him appear much older than his teenage years. He was raised in Round Pond, Maine, and has a distinctive New England accent. I believe he gave me that nickname because of his inability to pronounce my last name, Milliken. In Vietnam, GIs are usually addressed by a nickname or last name, rather than their given first name.    Clyde asks me if I heard anything about today’s mission. I reply, “No, nothing really important.” Pete Wood, our platoon leader, whom we refer to as Delta 3-6, told us that two platoons of the company are going to act as a support element to any friendly forces that might require our help. Pete said the platoons will catch some “blade time” in the morning while we wait for a radio response from friendly forces that need our assistance. If our support backup unit doesn’t receive an emergency assistance call within an hour, the two airborne platoons of Delta Company will change their mission to search-and-destroy insertions.

Clyde grins with a toothless smile and says, “Milkman, that’s my favorite thing to do in the field, just fly in the choppers and enjoy the scenery below.” I agree with him and just hope the day will turn out to be a pleasant one. Unfortunately, it seems every time we go out to the field, our platoon is in a combat situation. To date, according to my records, our Delta Company has incurred sixty-seven casualties since December 1, 1968. The casualties include twelve men killed in action, plus fifty-five men wounded, mostly by booby traps. Delta Company consists of three platoons, and it is my luck that I serve in the Third Platoon, which has sustained fewer casualties than the First and Second platoons.

Clyde and I part each other’s company, and get on different choppers because of our assignments in the platoon. I board the last Huey for our platoon because I was recently assigned the position of squad leader in charge of rear security for the platoon. I notice that the Second Platoon will accompany us on our mission for the day. We have eight Hueys loaded with troops and have an escort of two Cobra helicopters. To most people, this would be an impressive sight, but to the troops of Delta Company, this is how we are transported to do our job.

The choppers fly to our objective for the day. Once we arrive at the assigned area, we fly over the countryside, awaiting a distress call. Clyde is right. The checkered pattern of the rice paddies below between the woodlines and waterways are a breathtaking natural spectacle. I sit on the floor of the Huey with my feet dangling outside the chopper and enjoy the gentle, refreshing breeze rushing by. My mind has blocked out the distinctive sound of the helicopter rotors at work and the pilot’s conversation over the radio. I imagine I’m in heaven in a suspended state of euphoria, enjoying a moment of total relaxation and calm.

Quickly I come back to the reality of war when an emergency call comes over the radio. The transmission is garbled and difficult to understand, but it’s apparent from the sender that a group of soldiers are in danger of being overrun. Terry Terhune, a rifleman in the Third Platoon, is close to the radio and clearly overhears the message. Terry says, “A squad of men from Alpha Company has been hit by a large force of North Vietnamese Army soldiers. The squad leader says his men are completely surrounded by an enemy force and already have three wounded men.” The squad leader is told to hold the position, and the rescue force will be there within ten minutes.

Everyone in the chopper tries to listen to the frantic messages that are sent. The guys talk in a feverish pitch, psyching themselves for the rescue and the imminent confrontation with the NVA. Adrenaline pumps throughout my body. It feels like shocks of electricity bouncing off the insides of my chest. My body and mind are hyped to the highest state of readiness that I can attain. In the last six months I have developed a tremendous capacity to handle stress. I can adjust from a completely relaxed state to a heightened, stressed state within seconds during the excitement and intensity created by combat and fear of death. It takes many months of training and combat experience to achieve this response. I believe it will take even more time to readjust to an everyday environment back in the States. Because of my high tolerance for stress, my system craves a certain amount of danger and fear to get through the day.

The choppers approach the insertion point. The Hueys are in a line formation. The Cobra gunships follow on both sides of the formation. As we approach the rice paddies to land, the Cobra assault helicopters begin strafing and rocketing the enemy positions to provide protection for our landing. The Huey machine gunners open up on enemy woodline positions. Usually soldiers aren’t permitted to fire out of the transporting helicopters, but this situation is an exception because there is a large enemy force on the ground. The landing zone is extremely hot and enemy soldiers run everywhere. I begin to fire at some NVA soldiers who run parallel to the paddy dike system the choppers are approaching for landing. There is little chance of my hitting them because of the speed, altitude, and angle of flight on our descent. The goal is to obtain firepower over the enemy for a safe insertion.

The squad pops yellow smoke in order for us to locate their position. The pilots spot the identifying smoke and deploy troops without actually landing on the ground. This is a tactic used on hot LZs to protect the helicopters and the troops. The Hueys fly into the landing zone and hover several feet off the ground for a few seconds, which allows us to exit so they can depart immediately from the landing zone.

Our leaders begin to assemble the men to fight and defend positions. Lieutenant Wood gives orders to me and two other men to approach the ambushed squad’s location and provide cover for their safe exit. Sergeant Larry Field, Terry Terhune, and I begin to low crawl beside a paddy dike in the direction of the men. As we low crawl in the mud and water toward the squad, we keep our bodies next to the paddy dike because there is intense enemy fire on our position. We hear the bullets whistling a few inches over our heads. An inch in combat can mean the difference between experiencing life’s many opportunities and being denied what many people take for granted. I find it amazing how the mind reacts to conflict when you think about your future knowing death could be only a moment away. We low crawl for approximately seventy-five feet before we meet the men, who are low crawling in our direction and using the same dike system for protection.

The men look completely exhausted from their escape and evasion tactics needed to survive the ambush. Field, Terhune, and I open up fire on the enemy positions in order to provide cover for the squad’s safe return to our lines. Three of the men are wounded. They strip down to only necessary gear because the men are suffering from extreme heat fatigue. The temperature is over one hundred degrees, and I begin to feel sick from low crawling and firing at the enemy. My M16 is scorching hot from the many magazines of ammunition I expended. The three of us wait until the squad is near our lines before we begin our hasty low-crawl retreat. I trail the other two because I carry an M60 machine gun, which the squad’s gunner gave me. The gunner is too exhausted to carry the twenty-pound weapon. While low crawling with the machine gun, I quickly understand how fatigued he must have been. When we return to our platoon’s defensive position, Field, Terhune, and I strip off our gear and camouflage shirts and lie in paddy water to revive ourselves. We suffer from heat exhaustion, so we relax in the water and cool down our bodies while the fighting continues. I get out my Instamatic camera and shoot a few pictures of the MEDEVAC helicopter picking up the wounded. Then I take some pictures of Field and Terhune cooling off in the water. Finally, I take shots of jets on bombing runs. Fighting is going on all around me, and as in many other similar situations, I took an Instamatic break to shoot a few pictures. I begin to feel better and recover, so I stow the camera inside my helmet to protect it from the elements.