With the Red Hats
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
Just about the entire ALO/FAC Section was deployed to Tay Ninh at the time, so I flew there to join up. Right away, I knew it was going to be different. Someone directed me to the mess hall to meet my fellow FACs. The building was made of concrete, and was dark, dingy, and rust-stained. I believe it had been built by the French, and the architecture appeared to have been modeled on the Maginot Line. The two FACs and two ROMADs I met were also dark and dingy. I was a clean-cut young first lieutenant. They were wearing the ARVN/ABNDIV camouflage uniform complete with red beret. Two of them – Captain Joe Granducci, and Staff Sergeant John Balasco were of Italian/Hispanic aspect, and they all sported mustaches which went way beyond the regulations. The scene reminded me of a cantina in a “Spaghetti Western.” They quickly brought me up to speed, and in the process, advised me that the boss, LtCol McCutchan was out flying an O-1 with a cracked cylinder back to Bien Hoa for a swapout. That was not normally done! I met him later in the day. He was, at the time, 47 years of age, and was on his second tour with the Red Hats, a tour which like his first, would be extended. He had flown bombers in WWII and fighters in Korea. He was a decent and courageous leader who, because of the age difference, was like a father figure to us. Most of all, he was a warrior.
Editor’s/Author’s Note: LtCol McCutchan’s own story of the early days in SEA is presented near the beginning of this chapter. At this writing, he is alive and kicking and living in Phoenix.
At this point, some background information might be useful. The ARVN ABNDIV was the Vietnamese “national reserve.” As such, it was under the direct control of the JGS in Saigon. It normally deployed in battalion strength, and normally to reinforce Vietnamese units throughout the four CTZs. This concept was in contrast to essentially every other US or Vietnamese unit in that they were more or less permanently located in one place. Partly because it needed to be on an airfield for speed of deployment, it was based at Tan Son Nhut. Most of the members of Advisory Team 162 were from the 82nd Airborne Division, and as a practical matter, most of the coordination between deployed units and the FACs who deployed with them was through the Advisors.
As a matter of interest, Saigon constituted most of the CMD, a special military district separate from III Corps, controlled directly by the JGS. That arrangement was necessary because of the weakness of the central government in Saigon vis-a-vis the very powerful Corps Commanders who had control of territory, population, and military forces, and who were often as interested in securing their own territory for their own purposes as they were in fighting a war at the national level. As a result, the location of the ABNDIV at Tan Son Nhut was partially “political” and was intended as a defense of the Government against potential upheaval.
History makes it clear that there was a good deal of turbulence in the Government, that change frequently came from within the Saigon “elite,” and that the changes were often with the concurrence of the JGS and the ABNDIV. In essence, Vietnamese politics was governed by what I would describe as a Chinese emperor/warlord/ serf system with the “emperor” in Saigon, the “warlords” in the Corps, and the “serfs” in the cities, town, and countryside, watching competing armies charge back and forth destroying their homes and fields in the process. In that context, the ABNDIV was at least in part, the “emperor’s” elite guard.
There was also a heavy and divisive religious overlay due to the fact that the Country was about half Catholic and half Buddhist, with a small but vocal Cao Dai population in the mix as well.
All of these forces were interplaying against the backdrop of an active civil war with the VC, supported by an ever-increasing number of forces from North Vietnam which, although essentially no different from the South in its political make-up, was united under Communism and supported vigorously by China and the Soviet Union. In fact, there was never a coherent war-fighting effort at the national level in South Vietnam, and we were almost undoubtedly doomed to failure from the start!
Back to the details
The four Red Marker FACs, not including Gene who had his own place in town, lived in a rented villa at #314A Yen Do Street in Saigon. It was, by Vietnamese standards, plush. Our normal routine was to spend about 10 days in Saigon relaxing, doing some routine paperwork, assisting in planning, and ferrying aircraft back and forth from Bien Hoa to our deployment locations.
Once deployed, we typically located ourselves and our aircraft, MC-108, ROMAD, and Crew Chief at the nearest suitable airfield to the planned AO. We then either used helicopters to visit the supported unit for planning and coordination, or we did that work via encoded radio transmissions. We were almost always on our own, and made only brief reports daily by HF radio to Red Marker Control at Tan Son Nhut.
In general, the support missions I flew were no different than those I flew at Duc Hoa and Tan An, that is, VR, LZ preparation, preplanned and immediate airstrikes, artillery and naval gunfire adjustment, and convoy escort.
During the summer and fall of 1966, the ABNDIV was operating both in the area of Hue Phu Bai and Hue City, and later Dong Ha in I Corps, and in the area north of Qui Nhon in II Corps. The following stories relate to my deployments in support of those operations. As is the case with most FACs, I have memories that are sometimes vivid, and sometimes hazy. It is equally true that they run the range from comic to horrific.
In the summer of 1966, I was rotating in and out of Qui Nhon in support of a fairly extended operation along and east of Highway 1 from about Phu Cat to Bong Son, a (South to North) stretch of about 40 miles. We operated out of small airfields in both the Phu Cat and Bong Son area, and occasionally, out of Qui Nhon itself. One airfield was called “Old Phu Cat.” It was a small strip just north of the large base at Phu Cat, and just east of Highway 1. The other two were LZ English/Dog just north of Bong Son, and a very small strip collocated with SF Team 331, also in the Bong Son area. As usual, we “moved in” with whatever local forces were in the area. My notes also indicate “Pleiku, 2 September 1966, elections,” although I have no details or recollections of that deployment.
As best I can piece it together, there was a situation in I Corps in June or early July of 1966 which called for deployment of Red Hat forces. The Buddhists were in full revolt, and there was some question about whether the Corps Commander was going to be able to hold things together. In fact, there was some uncertainty about whether he might cut a deal with the Buddhists and/or the North Vietnamese, and essentially withdraw from South Vietnam. The Red Hats deployed to positions north of Hue, ostensibly to battle the VC and NVA there, which we did, but also to intimidate the Buddhist leadership, and to create a blocking force between potential defectors in Hue, and the North Vietnamese. Whether I have the political history exactly right or not, the fact is that the Buddhists quieted down over time, and the Corps remained part of the RVN for the duration of the War.
I have another story which now is amusing which came out of that deployment.
While we were at Hue Phu Bai, then LTC Guy S. Meloy (Gerry or Sandy to his friends) was the Senior US Advisor to the deployed Red Hats. He was both brave and ambitious, and a bit thick headed. He was also very much ARMY. I think his father had been a brigadier general, and he had graduated from West Point. In fact, he went on to become a major general, and the Commander of the 82nd Airborne Division – the most prestigious assignment a paratrooper could ever hope for.
One evening, several of us were at the bar at the O’Club discussing planned operations when Meloy announced to me that he wanted me to go into the field with him the next day in an APC. Unfortunately at the moment in question, he advocated a position that the Army officially advocated, and the AF did not – i.e. that FACs should operate from the ground with their Army counterparts. The AF position, elaborated on more than once in this book, was that that made “two blind mice instead of one” and that the FAC belonged in the air. That in the ensuing years, and given the realities of terrain, vegetation, and communications, most people came to accept the AF position didn’t help at that moment.
Unfortunately, the discussion became heated when I refused, and he ordered me to follow his instruction. I told him I wasn’t in his chain and that it was a stupid idea in any case, and refused again. At that point, he made a comment to the effect that I was afraid to go. We had both had a few beers, and as I recall, I foolishly offered to settle the matter “out back” with knives. Fortunately, the others separated us, we went to bed, and nothing was ever said about the incident again. Seems stupid now, but it was sure serious at the time!
The funny thing was that in a way he was right. I was afraid to go, but it had nothing to do with being in the field in an APC. I was certain that if I had gone, and if Gene McCutchan had gotten wind of it, he would have skinned me alive!
To illustrate again what Meloy was like, I recall that a few days later, he got very sick in the field – malaria I believe. Rather than come out and let the other advisors continue, he had them rig a stretcher and some of the troopers carried him around in the field. Very “Julius Caesar,” but not too smart. But then again, he made major general!
One of the largest actions in which I was involved occurred while I was living and flying out of the USMC Base at Dong Ha in the extreme north of the RVN. On 15 October 1966, I was flying a routine patrol in support of my troops, when they ran smack into a large force of NVA who had crossed over into the RVN only hours before. Both sides were taken by surprise, and a confused firefight ensued. In an attempt to keep my troops from walking into trouble, and in an attempt to help them formulate a coherent attack, I flew repeatedly over the battle area. Because the vegetation was relatively sparse, I could see clearly what was going on on both sides. I used various techniques to direct the ABNDIV forces. I had an American Advisor lay on the ground with a map over his face and I directed him to rotate his body until he was sighting through his feet at one of the main enemy concentrations. I fired my rockets and threw red smoke grenades into the enemy positions. I remember one landed in a trench containing three NVA. Those grenades were hot, and produced intense smoke. The three NVA leaped out of the trench and were immediately cut down by the Red Hats. Of course I had already called my ROMAD, Ken Carnes, back at Dong Ha, and he had fighters on the way from DaNang and elsewhere. Unfortunately, and even though I was a very experienced FAC at this point, I made a mistake – the same mistake several other contributors to this book have written about. In my enthusiasm and fixation on the enemy, I had allowed myself to drift lower and lower. I had drifted to about 600 feet when an NVA soldier stepped out of a clump of bushes and unloaded his AK-47 at me. I can see him perfectly even today, right down to his silver-painted pith helmet and khaki shorts! He hit my aircraft several times, stripping the metal manufacturer’s label off my generator, and shattering my left rudder pedal and both windows. I remember saying over the radio, “I’m hit!” Carnes didn’t wait for instructions, and by the time I had assessed the situation and determined that I was OK and my aircraft was still flying, he had a rescue helicopter on the way.
Because the action had begun late in the day, I was running on fumes, and had to go back to Dong Ha. I was relieved by a local FAC by the name of Dan Riley (Trail 65 flying out of Quang Tri I believe), and he put in the fighters. The landing at Dong Ha was not one of my best. It is very difficult to land a “tail-dragger” without full rudder control, and I had a lot of grit that had flown up from the floor of the aircraft in my eyes when the rudder shattered. By the time I got back with a borrowed aircraft an hour or so later, Dan had done significant damage to the NVA, and they had retreated back into North Vietnam where we could not attack them – POLITICS! All I had left to do was help my people organize their positions for the night and insure that there were fighters and a flare ship available in the event the NVA attacked in the night – which they did not. I slept next to my aircraft that night and Ken Carnes slept in the MC-108 with the radios on.
Postscript: I returned to Saigon for a normal rotation about a week later. I thought I had shrapnel in my right eye, but I had kept quiet about it until I got “home.” On 28 October 1966, after seeing several doctors in Vietnam, I was medevaced to Yokota for observation and tests. In fact, the trauma of being shot at and hit had caused me to become conscious of a “vitreous floater” which had probably always been in the eye. I argued vociferously that I was all right, but by then, the medical system had developed a momentum all its own, and they insisted on going all the way. As a result, I spent a boring and useless week in the hospital at Yokota – and they wouldn’t even let me go to the O’Club at night!
Here is an amusing story from my days at Dong Ha
I was sleeping nights on a borrowed cot in a tent used by junior officers in what I remember to be the northeast corner of the Camp. Just about 50 feet from the tent, and between it and the Song Meiu Giang River, was a long building oriented east and west. Against the wall, there had been dug a trench about two feet wide and three feet deep. It was there for shelter in the event of mortar or artillery attack. One night, in the middle of a series of violent thunderstorms, we came under attack by 122 mm rockets – a very accurate and dangerous weapon that the VC and NVA had in large numbers from the Chinese and the Soviets.
It didn’t take long before I had rolled out of my cot and into the ditch, where I lay in my underwear, up to my nose in muddy water, with the other occupants of the tent. Soon I became aware of some sort of solid objects floating in the water, but I could not make out for certain what they were. At first I thought “rats,” but they were not moving. Fortunately, I was occupied watching the spectacular light show made by the combination of the lightning and the rocket explosions, and I did not explore the matter further.
When the attack ended, we all took the opportunity of the thunderstorm to take a quick “shower” (a not-unusual practice in Vietnam), after which we retired for the night. Next morning, curious, I returned to the ditch. The water level had gone down, and there in the bottom, I saw the objects of my curiosity – turds. The building in question was, among other things, a latrine. Either the turds had floated under the wall from the other side, or someone had been using the ditch as a latrine! I immediately headed to the “shower point” and gave myself a good scrub- bing. Some things are worse than dying, and I resolved that if another attack came, I would “die in place” rather than return to that ditch. Fortunately, my resolve was never tested, and we redeployed before another attack came.
With one exception, there was nothing unusual about the FAC support I provided during my time in the Phu Cat/Bong Son area. Sadly, it was during this time frame that one of the Red Hat advisors, and one of the finest soldiers I ever knew, SFC Clifford L. Robinson, was killed. I recall that the Senior Advisor, LTC Anthony (Tony) Labrozzi, took it very hard – in fact, I doubt that he ever really got over losing Robinson.
I am writing this in a more or less “stream of consciousness” mode, and I had intended to tell an amusing story or two, but, after my last comment, I don’t think I can, so I’ll end this portion of my narrative here.
One last story
I jump all the way to 20 January 1967. Lieutenant Colonel McCutchan had decided that I was too close to going home to send me to the field again. Unlike 1965 when he had lost three FACs in rapid succession, our luck had held in 1966, and I think he didn’t want to press it. So, on this particular day, I was ferrying an O-1 from Tan Son Nhut to Bien Hoa for a simple change-out of aircraft. I had a Vietnamese lieutenant from the Division in the back seat – just along for the ride. Out of habit, all the radios were tuned to the local ground force frequencies, and we had a full load of rockets and smoke grenades as well as our personal weapons, and a full load of fuel.
Halfway to Bien Hoa, he excitedly tapped me on the shoulder and said that one of our units out patrolling northwest of Tan Son Nhut was in trouble. He had heard the ground forces talking on the FM frequency. I immediately turned in their direction, and was over the scene in a matter of minutes.
What had happened was this. Our unit had walked into a small one-street village from the south at the same time that a VC unit had walked in from the north. They met in the center in what must have looked like something out of a Western movie – High Noon, or something along those lines. What could be described as a running gun-fight ensued in and around the village. Neither unit was really prepared for the fight. The lieutenant was talking to the Vietnamese Commander, and I was talking to the US Advisor. As was the case in the story I related previously, the vegetation was relatively sparse, and we were readily able to spot enemy concentrations and direct our troops to both avoid ambushes and to concentrate their fire and maneuver most effectively.
I was also directing the fire of the artillery located at Tan Son Nhut. Soon thereafter, US Army helicopter gunships from (I think) both Tan Son Nhut and Bien Hoa entered the battle, firing rockets and machine guns from extremely low altitude. I was also in control of their fire and maneuver. Finally, F-100 fighters from Bien Hoa arrived, and I directed them as well.
At one point, I was talking to the US Advisor on the ground, the lieutenant in the back seat, the gunship commanders, several fighter flight leaders, the artillery FDC, and our base station (Red Marker Control) at Tan Son Nhut – all on different frequencies, and more or less all at once. In that sense, it was the most demanding action of my entire tour. Again, because of the terrain and relatively light vegetation, I could see every detail of the battle, and we killed more than 100 enemy troops in just an hour or so.
Not too many days later, I boarded a World Airways B-707 at Tan Son Nhut and, although I would return many times thereafter as a transport pilot in the C-133B, left Vietnam behind. Perhaps not surprisingly, although many of the passengers cheered when the wheels left the ground, I did not. I was not elated, but was, in some strange way, subdued. I was sad to be leaving an unfinished job and good friends behind, uncertain of what the future might hold, and probably aware that I would never again live life so intensely. I sat next to Phil Tague with whom I had trained at Hurlburt over a year before, and I helped him finish a very large bottle labeled “Lavoris”, but which was actually filled with Creme-de-Menthe.
Author’s Note: Whereas most FAC units had assigned aircraft, and “had to go without” while their aircraft was at Bien Hoa for maintenance, the Red Markers had a special arrangement whereby we could bring a “spent” aircraft to Bien Hoa and receive a fresh one immediately. I think this arrangement had a lot to do with Gene McCutchan’s personality and the fact that he seemed to know all the senior leadership in the AF contingent in Vietnam.