“You Don’t Know War!”
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
I was flying as an O-2 copilot in late 1971 using the Sundog call sign near Phnom Penh, Cambodia. With the passing years my memory dims and my notes make less sense as to the exact date, mission, who I was flying with, and the words spoken blur a little, but I’ve tried to rephrase it as best I remember.
Phnom Penh was already under siege from guerrilla operations. The Cambodian military forces were constantly hunting the enemy or being hunted and we helped as best we could. Those particular “out-country” missions were conducted under some of the more whimsical “Rules of War”. We could act as observers and do the things that FACs normally do, except that we couldn’t directly control combat operations and we couldn’t shoot, or shoot back, at the enemy. Only trouble was that the “bad guys” didn’t have the same handicap, and they had a copy of our rules! Sometimes that made it really interesting.
As we neared Phnom Penh that day, the airborne command post called us.
“Sun Dog you need to contact a Cambodian Colonel on – frequency. Seems he’s pinned down by mortar fire and would like your help in locating the bad guys!”
We “rogered” the call, changed frequencies, raised the Colonel and exchanged the locally expected pleasantries of war. We complimented each other’s bravery and skill as warriors, talked about the weather, etc. It was always overdone but that’s just the way it was in some aspects of the Cambodian war. As we talked we located him and his men dug in beside an ancient white temple. Like many of the Cambodian officers he spoke perfect English and seemed never to get excited, even when the fighting got really hot. The Colonel told us that he was taking fire from a mortar North East of his position and asked if we would mind flying over and looking for it. He knew that we’d get shot at if we found it and suggested that it wasn’t really necessary but he and his men would like to get out of the area before dark. We told him that we wouldn’t want to be in his place day or night (And really meant it!) and would be happy to see if we could find his mortar. It turned out to be easy. The mortar was sitting in a sandbagged pit in the center square of a small (abandoned by Cambodians, occupied by bad guys) village. As we flew over the site the gun crew took cover and we could see the “sparkles” of soldiers in the surrounding buildings firing small arms at us. There wasn’t any real anti-aircraft fire visible so we didn’t worry.
We told the Colonel that we’d found the gun and pinpointed it for him. He replied that he had a flight of four Cambodian fighter aircraft that would attack the position if we’d provide the directions. I didn’t really like to “work” Cambodian fighters because of the difficult rules. You couldn’t talk directly to them and we’d have to pass instructions through the Colonel and he’d relay to the fighters. But by the time we were through objecting he already had the flight airborne. I could see all the way north to Phnom Penh and the airport and could see the fighters climbing out. It was too late to object any more so we told him to have them fly due East of the city for about five “clicks” (Kilometers). There they would see a prominent road running due south. All they had to do was turn right and follow that road south about 20 “clicks” and they’d be right over the village. We told him that we would advise him when they were over the target. Standard procedure. Ought to be easy.
The flight followed the directions east and started south along the road. But after about 10 Kilometers they began to “wheel” over another small village.
“Colonel, your flight is wheeling over the wrong village, they need to come about 10 “clicks” further south”.
He came right back: “Don’t worry Sun Dog, I’ll take care of it.”
We called again right away. “That’s a “live” village, you have people there! Stop the attack!”
We were frantic by then and could see the lead fighter already rolling in. The Cambodian Colonel came back then and said “Sun Dog, I’m sorry, I can’t contact them anymore, they’re not listening.”
We tried every frequency as they began their attack and began to curse them, then the Cambodian Colonel and finally the stinking war that put us there. My voice was shaking when I called again:
“They’re bombing the wrong village! There are innocent people there! You’re killing your own people! Stop!”
But no one replied. And we watched that flight of four aircraft bomb that little village and it’s people off the face of the earth. I’d directed many an attack against all sorts of positions. I’d shot at, and been shot at, too many times to remember, but had always taken great pride in never hitting a “friendly” or “non-combatant”. But now we watched helplessly as the flight finished it’s work and started back toward their home base. As the village burned we turned east, toward Saigon.
“I don’t want any more of this, we’re going home.” I told the Colonel.
He replied “Roger, your RTB (Return to Base).”
We flew in silence for about five minutes and then the Colonel’s voice came on the radio again. And to the best of my memory, he said:
“Sun Dog, listen to me. I am sorry about the village that was destroyed. That was bad. But you don’t understand. You don’t know war! My people are fighting a war for their survival. If we win this war, we will rebuild that village and my people will live there again. Then the loss of that village and its people will be remembered as a small price paid for our freedom. But if we lose this war, the Cambodian people will be lost from the face of the earth. Sun Dog, you are brave to come and fight a war so far from your homeland and family, but you fight for a cause. We are fighting for our very existence! So you see, Sun Dog, you really don’t know war!”
He paused, through admonishing us, and then said: “But Sun Dog, I make you this promise. In the days to come, around the campfires of my people, my children will tell their children the story of a brave American pilot who fought for, and cared for, the Cambodian people!”
And he finished: “Have a safe flight back home Sun Dog.”
We flew on back to Saigon that day and after that I flew many times back to the war and months later back home to my family. I never again talked to that Cambodian Colonel. I don’t even know his name or know if he’s dead or alive. I do know that the Cambodian people lost their struggle for freedom, and that area around Phnom Penh became known as “The Killing Fields”, where millions of Cambodians were driven to and slaughtered after they lost their war. So I guess that one small village really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But it taught me “to know war” and so it will always matter to me. And sometimes now when I’m down and feeling sorry for myself, I dream of a jungle campfire and of children being told a story about an American pilot, and my little problems just melt away. For I believe that the Cambodian Colonel kept his promise. And if he’s still alive I’d want him to know that I’m also keeping a promise as I tell my children and their children his story. It’s important that they hear it, because I never want them to have to “know war”.