‘The Attempt on the Land Speed Record in a Jeep or, How I Came
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
It was almost dark when I threw my junk aboard Ray Donnelly’s jeep and off we went in the general direction of the Drama hooch. On arrival I was a little surprised to see clouds of smoke accompanied by an ear-splitting racket billowing forth. As we walked towards the building the door opened and smoke continued to belch out closely followed by the principal noise source; no, not incoming, but a motor bike travelling at about Mach 1. Strangely enough it wasn’t quite what I expected and Ray, on noticing my somewhat fearful countenance, merely shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and said it seemed the troops were enjoying a ‘fairly quiet night’.
Not long after the smoke cleared and I found a bed, Buts arrived. It was great to catch up on the latest and greatest and, after a few beers he suggested we should celebrate and enjoy a steak at a particular army club in Long Binh. It seemed a reasonable idea so we roared off onto the night. The steak was good and one’s thoughts as to the prospect of life in Vietnam went up a few notches. The evening wore on and, through the light of a few more amber sandwiches, the floor show was even better than the steak! However, Buts thought it needed a bit of livening up and put on his impromptu act including a friendly mauling of the singer. I later learned he had the endearing habit of greeting any female performer with a bite on the thigh! The audience thought this great stuff and the party began to swing. Management thought otherwise and threw us out with yours truly being found ‘guilty by association’.
Around this time I began to entertain doubts as to the likelihood of a safe return to Bien Hoa bearing in mind Buts’ state of lubrication. I even suggested, despite being unfamiliar with driving on the wrong side of the road, that I have a go at getting us home. He’d have none of that and with a ‘She’ll be right Sems, no problem’, the engine fired, wheels spun, and we were off.
While jeeps were not renowned for either serviceability or speed, this one must have been the best of a bad bunch. Buts had long since run out of accelerator travel and pretty soon we were at M.crit, going like a blur. Fair dinkum, I was petri- fied. As we hurtled through Long Binh miraculously missing human and more solid obstacles, visions of one’s life flashed through the mind. Somehow our mount found that extra knot or two and the attempt on the land speed (jeep) record was on. Imagine, just arrived in Vietnam and killed, not in some heroic last stand against the seething hordes but in a jeep prang while driven by a drunken Butler. What would Mum and Dad think? Bien Hoa was getting close and then a flaming great bus appeared in our sights and Buts decided to do a head on tracking pass. It was time for heart failure but, praise the Lord, the guardian angel was working overtime and we missed!
Interestingly enough we weren’t the only ones attempting the land speed record that night. As home base came in sight it became apparent that a similar vehicle was following; only this one had a blue light on top! Our trusty steed was about to suffer an internal haemorrhage and didn’t quite make it to the hooch before the blue light overtook us. Ah well, nice try. This exceedingly large MP with a very dark suntan gazed down from a great altitude. So began a fascinating dialogue. In fact it was more of a monologue with Buts haranguing the MP about being an officer in the Royal Australian Air Force etc., etc. This went on and on making me feel it would be safer to slip on a pair of black pyjamas and disappear into the night than stick around and await the outcome of the encounter. The exceedingly large gentlemen with the dark suntan had obviously never before confronted an aggressive red-headed Australian in a strange uniform so eventually returned notebook and pen to pocket, put on his jeep, and drove slowly away. Buts coaxed our reluctant conveyance into life and we too drove slowly away. However, the long arm of the law was not to be beaten with the outcome being a loss of licence for a few weeks. This was all rather hilarious since Buts still had to fly but was not allowed to drive!
With the hooch some distance from the flight- line I was happy to take the role of chauffeur and, a day or so later just before sunset, there was a scramble for a TIC and off we went. The fun and games was underway due east, beyond Xuan Loc and Nui Chua Chan, not far off the old rail- way line. Interestingly enough, this patch of real estate remained a happy hunting ground since, later on towards the end of 1970 when flying for the Air Cav, there was always something cooking. I often felt that, had a little more patience and stealth been used in army operations the results would have been more significant, but that’s another story. Back at the TIC I enjoyed a ringside seat as Buts put in a couple sets of fighters in the gathering gloom. Having been used to gazing at the night sky and seeing the twinkling of the heavens I was fascinated to see a similar but somewhat more concentrated twinkling coming from ground level! The opposition appeared really upset but I guess that was reasonable considering the amount of ironmongery which was descending around their ears. Welcome to the happy world of the FAC. Thanks Buts!
Thus began the FAC tour, a job I’d been after for years. For some funny reason I had long been interested in joint warfare. By that I mean, not the services fighting amongst themselves but employing each other’s strengths to achieve a common aim. Believe it or not, it can happen! During 68 I hitched a lift with a friendly O-2 driver out of Ubon and enjoyed a trip over the trail. That strengthened yours truly’s resolve to enter the FAC world. Along with the other 35 Aussie blokes who flew with the USAF as FACs at one time or other, I’d had a fair bit of fighter experience, both air to air and air to mud so the FAC job was tailor made.
Having survived the Bien Hoa hospitality of Buts, McEvedy, and Ray Donnelly, it was with relief that one headed to DaNang to dry out and complete the introduction to the beloved OV-10. Buts’ advice was ‘the flying’s easy – it’s the bloody radio work that takes a bit of getting used to’. He was right! The day came to be introduced to one’s trade, by punching off a few 2.75s. In common with all RAAF fighter jocks, rocketry was part of our scene, albeit some years backwards, via that other sports car, the ‘Oz’ version of the F- 86. However, that was with the three inch rocket which, unless one got in really close, had the trajectory of a tired brick. Anyway, we headed north out of DaNang and, when the moment of truth came, gave it a generous allowance for expected gravity drop, pressed the tit and watched in startled amazement as, off it went, like a rocket. Well, you silly clown, what did you expect it to go like? The ruddy thing went for miles mate. From the friendly IP in the back seat came the comment ‘not bad’– could never work out whether he mistook my aim point or was just being sarcastic!
During the stay in DaNang I shared a room with a bloke flying C-123s on the ranch-hand operation. One night we were yarning and he was delighted to learn that I’d come from 77 squadron to Vietnam since he’d been flying out of Kimpo when 77 was there during Korea, operating Meteors. Years later, on reading ‘The Invisible Air Force’ I recalled our conversation. In the book, one of the characters states ‘When anyone puts on a war, the same blokes turn up!’ I immediately thought of my mate, the 123 driver.
From DaNang it was back to III Corps to fly with the 25th Div out of swinging downtown Cu Chi and later in 70, based at Bien Hoa in support of the 1st Air Cav. What is significant about that era is, with the VC having the stuffing knocked out of them in 68-69, the opposition was solely NVA and some of the III Corps areas were returning to a vague sort of normality. I did my apprenticeship between highways 2 and 15 south of Saigon. While it was a small patch of dirt, all one needed was patience to produce results. For example, one morning for lack of something better to do, was working over a few bunkers per kind favour of a RAAF 2 Squadron Canberra when a chopper spied some NVA sunning themselves just up the road, probably having morning smoko while watching the airstrike. With the help of the remaining bomb on board the Canberra and two flights of A-37s, the unit was wiped out, enabling our troops to move through without casualty. It made me think of the flight up from ‘Oz’ where, to pass the time, I yarned to an army warrant officer who, on learning I was more or less a FAC, stated if the dark stuff hit the fan he’d use artillery rather than air. One hoped that the silly bugger lived long enough to learn the error of his ways.
Circumstances matter little; regardless of where one lives, one can live like a slob or live well. At Cu Chi we lived well. What could be better than an outfit with a Kiwi, two or three Yanks and a like numbers of ‘Strines’. We did our own cooking, with the evening meal often the high- light of the day. It’s remarkable what can be done through a little scrounging, a little bit of trading and, dare I say it, pinching. Our hooch entertained a very select clientele and I recall a Ranger whose eyes locked on like a radar at the fare set before him. The mouth still waters at the thought of the John Freitas specialty, barbecued spare ribs and our hot curries. Mind you, it wasn’t always like that but we enjoyed our tucker and much appreciated the kindness of the Australians at Vung Tau who, during our occasional visits, took pity on their countrymen living in the bush and loaded the trusty OV-10 with goodies. The latter included frozen mutton which went down very well, either on the barbecue or as a roast. I had a heck of a job trying to explain to Mamasan what a sheep was. The best I could come up with was a sort of woolly goat! However, one does not live by bread alone. Methinks one of my major contributions to the war effort was the installation of our hot water service. It’s remarkable what a fellow can pick up if he keeps his eyes open and uses a bit of coercion in the form of a carton of Aussie beer. By the way, we also put in airstrikes!
The aviating was really good with over two months before there was a day without a trip. I liked looking under trees and thinking up schemes to try and catch out the opposition. Oh, how we looked forward to going with our 2nd Bde across the fence into Cambodia to even up a score or two. As we well know, politics stinks and the Australian heavies decreed we were not to cross the border. What a load of ...!!? The thought of that still angers me, however, our AO expanded to include all of the real estate west of Cu Chi so things were fairly busy. Often the action was tinged with sadness. For instance, one of the NVA’s favourite pastimes was to inflict extra air conditioning on choppers flying out of Dau Tieng over the Michelin plantation. Why chopper drivers were silly enough to fly casually across there under a low cloud base I do not know. On one such day the inevitable happened – again! The survivor of the three on board grabbed his trusty M16 and sprinted, straight into the clearing where the NVA were gathered around patting each other on the back over their success, only to have the M16 turned on them to very good effect. It must have spoilt their whole day! On emptying the magazine, the bloke turned and ran with fear lending him wings. John Denton, our Kiwi, was airborne and did a good job of sorting out the pick-up while keeping the opposition at bay. The tragedy was that one of the two who bit the dust was due to go home. He had hitched a lift just for something to do.
With some of the units, including the 199th Light Infantry pulling out, Buts and Ray Donnelly joined us from Bien Hoa so one could never complain of dull company! With Bill Dorroh as Division ALO, we had a second tour FAC and a good bloke as leader. His favourite saying was ‘I’ll have no pussy’s in my outfit’ and, for entertainment, would thrash anyone unwise enough to challenge him at arm wrestling. Later, as the Rustic push gained momentum, it looked as if we’d run out of OV-10s and was lucky in getting a shift to the Air Cav for the rest of my tour. Ah yes, the beloved OV-10; what a delightful aeroplane and, with the AO s expanding, was well suited to its role. Often, its armament plus that of a chopper or two which happened to be wandering past was enough, in a company size fight, to keep the opposition’s heads down while getting fighters on station. A better slow speed capability would have come in handy for looking under trees and more engine grunt to maintain performance during a hectic airstrike would have come in handy but, overall it was a little ripper mate. Even the HF was useful since, on Saturday nights, was able, via Radio Australia, to get the Aussie Rules footy scores. The HF also brought closer one of the paradoxes experienced, not only in Vietnam, but in any conflict. On Sunday mornings one could tune in to the ‘Lutheran Hour’ and hear Dr Oswald Hoffmann’s Gospel centred words of hope and encouragement. Vivid memories are retained of, one sunny morning, hearing part of the broadcast before slipping into gear during a fight up the road from Cu Chi, in the Ho Bo Woods, where one of our units was up to its ears in the dark stuff.
When doing duty ops spells with the army, I enjoyed getting to meet some of the blokes we supported in the field, and stood in awe of those on their second or third tour. While with the Air Cav, Bde HQ was at the foot of Nui Chua Chan, east of Xuan Loc. Occasionally of an evening, a trio consisting of Major Coyne, whose family supplied excellent cheese, Doc Arnold, a funny bloke on whose exploits the MASH TV series could have been based, and yours truly with a few cans of Vic or Fosters, would retire to the Major’s hole in the ground to share and enjoy our luxuries while listening to the Doc’s end- less supply of country and western tapes. Those are happy memories. It’s funny in that I usually remember where I’ve been by what I’ve eaten!
There were good outfits which really had their ‘sierra’ together but, one often looked on at the lack of patience and forward planning in the conduct of army operations. It both surprised and saddened me that, as a FAC, one had to pull the wandering minstrel act and remind some that air support was good for the health of the blokes under their command. Overall I marvel at what was achieved militarily, considering the restrictions placed on the use of the assets supposedly at our disposal. While the rules were, whenever necessary, conveniently thrown out the window, the tragedy was that many lives were wasted because of political rubbish. Ernest Brace, in ‘A Code to Keep’, on being driven to Gia Lam airport after seven years, ten months, and seven days imprisonment, wrote ‘we passed through a heavy-industry area that had been practically obliterated by the B-52s. I saw railroad cars on their sides, twisted track, and flattened warehouses. I thought, if only some President had had the courage to do this type of bombing back when it all began, how many lives on both sides would have been saved in the long run’. We fought with one and a half hands tied behind our backs. Ah yes, ‘what the Captain really meant to say ...!!’ All gave some...some gave all.
Stories need to be told and each is of no lesser or greater importance than another which reminds me of when the phone between our hooch at Cu Chi and the flight line was out. Eventually Graham Neil, our ALO, got sick of it and, for the umpteenth time, called the repair bloke. So began an interesting conversation. It went something like this. ‘Our phone has been u/s for days’. ‘What fan?’ ‘No, not fan, phone!’ This exchange continued, getting nowhere until an exasperated ALO said ‘This is Major Neil and it’s our telephone which needs to be fixed.’ The reply was ‘Ah’m sorry Sir, ah didn’t understand your reticulation!’ As we get older some of us do have trouble with our reticulation, however, what’s important is that we sharpen our ‘articulation’ to share and record thoughts and experiences.
As I go about the business of growing grapes and extracting a living from God’s good earth, thoughts often return to the FAC days. I think of friendships and how good it was to see some of the blokes in San Diego, Sydney, and at the never to be forgotten Memorial Service at Hurlburt, as well as the privilege of meeting folk such as Bud Day. I think of the hope of catching up with even more in the future. Most of all I think about the job and, despite the frustrations, how good a job it was. The Bronco; what a magnificent flying machine it was and would love to have one in the back yard. The situation while at Cu Chi where, as an independent unit we went about our business with little interference, was great. Oddly enough, one of the saddest days of my life was the return to Australia. It felt completely unjust to leave a job half done and turn one’s back just as real gains were being made. However, if ever I have bad dreams it is never about that near miss or being used for target practice while landing but, a spectacular vivid recollection of a head on tracking pass on a bus somewhere between Long Binh and Bien Hoa!