The Big Trip
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
My trek started at Saigon. I finally found my way to DaNang, but they did not need or want a lieutenant so it was on to Quang Tri. I joined Jim Shugart, the captain in charge, and was roomed with Gary Sipple, another lieutenant (Later a B/Gen).
Somehow, someone decided the 1st ARVN Regiment of the 1st ARVN Division of the 1st ARVN Corp needed an ALO. It worked out well, because I did not know much about ALO’n and, since they had never had one, they didn’t either. There was another side of this job that did provide very unique experiences, like getting shot at a whole lot while walking around on the ground. The regimental commander, Colonel Ohm and I hit it off pretty well, so when a search and clear operation was going on he felt I should be close by, in case we needed to talk about air support.
Our togetherness included a heli-lift into the Danai Jungle area south west of Quang Tri. It took a week to walk out to our pick up point. I logged many a mile in M-113’s (APCs) cruising the Street Without Joy. I learned to never stick your head up to see where you were or what was going on, when shooting started. On Christmas Eve of 1965 our army adviser from Hue did just that, and took a round through his helmet and head. I learned that when the vehicle you are in
takes an RPG hit be very grateful it was an HE and not armor piercing. The HE leaves a nice rising sun imprint in the metal and does not get inside with you. However it impairs your hearing for many hours.
Another APC/M-113 fact worth knowing is that they are designed to be amphibious. However, they will not float with 17 Bennies carrying M-1 Garand rifles and draped with bandoliers of ammunition sitting on top of them. We spent some time recovering the bodies of those who were not quick enough shucking their weighty gear.
The depth of my relationship with the Vietnamese was illustrated when I had need of their help and they responded quickly (If you spent much time with them you know how rare that was). I was out doing the Recon thing in my trusty O-1 and had found several PAVN, the guys from up north who were coming down to visit, fording the Quang Tri River out by the Ba Long valley. They were within range of the 105’s so we put a little quick and VT on them. (Editor’s note VT = air bursting antipersonnel rounds).
While this was transpiring I was circling and did not notice that I kept moving the throttle forward until it hit the stop. That got my attention. In the heat of the moment I had not noticed the gradual decline in RPM and the zero oil pressure. This was brought home quickly when a connecting rod broke and knocked out the top of the engine. I headed toward Quang Tri away from the jungle and down the river about 10 miles. It soon became obvious that as a glider the O-1 had severe limitations. I picked a bend in the river where the water ran over the bend area at flood and the vegetation was sparser then on the sides of the river.
I called our radio people at the MACV compound and explained my need as I repeatedly tightened the seat belt and tried to think of other requisites. I can only say I was totally surprised at the outcome. I used full flaps and tried to stall right before contact with the brush. The plane plopped to the ground, rolled about 30 or 40 feet, and stopped totally unharmed except for a small fire in the engine compartment.
The biggest problem I had was getting the seat belt loose. I had it so tight it would not unlatch. The radio operators did their job and called an Army helicopter in the area. The Army advisor to the Vietnamese was in the compound and he was told of the situation.
The Army helicopter arrived in a few moments and wanted to pick me up. I suggested the two door gunners deplane and help set up a perimeter to guard this perfectly repairable airplane. The thought was obviously wasted, as the pilot declined and left the area. The Army advisor went out to the regiment and advised the colonel of the situation.
The Army advisor said he had never imagined it could happen. The colonel shouted orders and the bugler started a frantic blowing; six-bys came smoking, troops poured out of the barracks. Within minutes two companies of infantry were in trucks and headed to rescue the Trung Uy Speckman. It did take them a couple of hours but they were successful.
One of the crew chiefs came with them. We pulled the wings from the airplane, put ten bennies under each, tied ropes to the fuselage, and started back to the regiment. I don’t know how many FACs can claim bringing back their L-19 on the ground but in pieces.
During the first part of May, 1966 a large force of PAVN came out of the DMZ and over-ran a Vietnamese artillery outpost near Kon Tin north east of Dong Ha.
It took nearly all night. We listened to the radio traffic. It was dark and very rainy with low clouds and air support just could not be brought in. All perished, including the American advisor. It was a May Day/Ho Chi Minh’s birthday celebration, according to reports later. I was airborne at first light and found several, long, litter-laden strings of khaki clads fleeing back into the DMZ.
Fortunately the clouds had started to lift and my very favorites for this sort of thing, a flight of four A-1’s, was able to let down over the ocean so I could vector them into the area. At this time the DMZ was still a very sacred, not to be violated, cow, at least on our part. I had more bad guys than I had ever hoped to find, in one place, on trails, in a hard-to-hide-in area. My map reading was never what it should have been, but we worked those 20 mm’s all over and around the fleeing foe. We chased them all the way to the Ben Hai River.
It turned out a lucky thing that the other ordnance was rockets and a few cans of napalm. Fortunately we did not leave many noticeable marks. The bad guys must have told on me, because two days later an RF-101 was scheduled to photograph the site where that air strike was put in. Lo and behold, I was assigned to point it out to him, and my old map reading problem cropped up again. He photographed an air strike with nice clear bomb craters just a mile or so south of the DMZ, very close to the actual air strike. Thanks to Jim Shugart and a lot of other help, I can claim the first known/unknown air strike in the DMZ.
It was early spring in 1966, a bright clear morning, and I had the first flight around the AO. It went normally east to the ocean, north to the DMZ, west to Laos, south to a point where the flight back to the east took us over Khe Sanh, down the Ba Long valley to Quang Tri. When I got to the coast I couldn’t figure out what was happening. There were ships galore, landing craft circling by the dozens, and all sorts of lights, smoke and confusion. Unannounced to anyone in our world, the U.S. Marines were landing. I called our radio people and asked that they contact DaNang and confirm the operation was really ours and not a northern invasion in disguise.
For the first few weeks I was the liaison between the Marines and the Vietnamese. Then I did the unforgivable and put in an air strike after being told not to by the marine colonel. Before everyone boos and hisses let me explain my reasoning. A platoon of marines was ambushed, and the lieutenant was literally crying for help on the FM. He had several wounded and dead. Every indication was that they would all soon die. I located them and, since it was a troops in contact situation, had two B-57’s diverted and ready to work within minutes.
I requested permission to start using the air. The marine colonel explained that he had called for marine air and that it was launching, and should be there in 30 minutes, and I was to wait. Well, to me, it did not seem wise for the people on the ground to die so the marines could justify using their own air. I was able to drop a smoke at each end of the marines on the ground, and the nose full of 50 caliber machine guns on those B-57’s chewed up a lot of jungle. They bombed within 30 to 40 yards of the platoon and hit no friendlies, while allowing the platoon to disengage and retreat to safety.
My radio people at Quang Tri were playing with a new Akai reel to reel and captured the whole thing on tape. Another bit of luck, or I would not have survived the colonel’s wrath. The lieutenant’s vivid explanation of his situation, which was heard by the colonel, was also on tape. I offered to play it for the world, especially the press, if he did not back off the threat of sending me home in shame.
Trying to stay out of trouble in a combat zone is worse than the combat.