Long K-9 story: In early 1966 the battalion was sent on an operation northwest of Di An, near the Michelin rubber plantation. This rubber plantation was a giant complex north west of Saigon and it measures some tens of miles wide by tens of miles long. This was part of a Division assault on VC strong points lead by the First Division commanding officer, Major General Jonathon Seaman. The first battalion had moved into the rubber plantation and set up headquarters in Quan Loi in an abandoned plantation villa we called Frenchies. This villa was an elaborate French stucco home for the plantation supervisor with typical thick walls and a tile roof and what had obviously been several well kept gardens. There were orchids growing in a number of the trees around the villa. It was an island of luxury in an otherwise never ending expanse of rubber trees. We encountered a bit of action at this location and I recall that the villa seemed to be a potential target for snipers so my home for several days was a foxhole dug near the edge of what had been one of the gardens. There wasn’t much opportunity to wash or bathe so it was just rough it till we got to a safer location. During this time I do recall that I wore the same pair of socks for nearly a week straight, but I did check my feet often and wash them. Just prior to the operation ending the Colonel called me in and told me to go back to base camp and prepare for the battalion return, ie., buy all the beer you can find for the battalion. So I packed my fanny pack, etc and proceeded to the airstrip. The temperature was really high and the very little rain had fallen so there was a lot of dust. This is not a good situation for helicopters because #1, they can’t bite into the thinner air so lift is difficult, and #2, they kick up a lot of ground dust so they can’t see where they are going when close to the ground – a bad situation when several are lined up to take of in serial formation. In any event I found a flight back to Bien Hoa or Tan Son Nhat airbase from which I could get a ride to Ho Nai base camp. There were dozens of helicopters coming and going at the airstrip each one loaded to the hilt with supplies, troops, etc. so takeoff was especially difficult that day. As my flight of approximately six or so soldiers plus equipment, pilot and copilot and two door gunners was being packed in the helicopter a Captain runs out to where we were loading and asked me where we are headed. I told him, and he asked me if I would take a wounded war dog back to Tan Son Nhat where I would be met by some Army veterinarians who would pick up the dog. War dogs were used extensively in flushing out the VC. These dogs were trained to detect ambushes and hidden VC before anyone had a clue they were there. As a result they were very valuable to us and became prime targets for the VC. This particular dog appeared to be the skinniest German Shepard I have ever seen, and it had been gut shot. They had put a compression bandage around the dog’s waist to stop the bleeding; the dog was really quiet and well behaved considering everything. I indicated I would take the dog and meet the Army vets at Tan Son Nhat. Now riding in a helicopter always required a bit of street smarts. Your chances (or fear) of getting shot in the chest were not as great as getting shot in the jewels, so almost everyone removed their flak vest and sat on it and then strapped themselves in. I had an outside seat next to the open door, and it was suggested that I get in and put on the seat belt and hold the dog in my lap as best I could. The dog was a bit bigger than my lap so he spilled over on both sides; I remember grasping him with both arms and holding him as close as possible to my chest. This seemed to be the most logical thing to do as they just don’t make seats for dogs in a helicopter. Our takeoff was a bit harrowing. The helicopter was loaded and had the engines going full blast, but the pilot still had trouble getting lift. It was a situation of lift six inches and move forward a couple of feet, bounce, then lift twelve inches move forward several feet, bounce, lift a couple of feet, move forward several feet more, bounce, etc., etc., until we had enough forward momentum and lift to get us well into the air. I think we bounced half a dozen times or more. Anyway this bouncing and the shaky ride of the Huey certainly didn’t do the dog any good and he started to hemorrhage at bit. I just held him as firm as possible and others helped to keep him calm. The helicopter ride maybe lasted 30 to 45 minutes and when we landed there were three Army vets right on the spot to take the dog. When I got out of the Huey I was hot and sweaty, and the dust that we had kicked up was now a thin layer of grime all over me. The dog had hemorrhaged quite a bit and the bandage around its waist had come loose, and I was covered with blood right in the center of my dirty and sweaty fatigues where I had held the dog. I unloaded, got my flak vest in one hand and my M-16 in the other, my steel pot on my head and headed towards the operations building to hitch a ride to base camp. On the way across the tarmac, three Special Forces types in nice clean starched uniforms and green berets freshly arrived in Vietnam, were walking my direction to load onto another flight. As they approached me, all three saw me at the same time and the one in the middle whose eyes were as big as saucers said: “Christ, Lieutenant! Are you all right?” And I had the presence of mind to reply nonchalantly “Nah, it’s just a scratch!” I heard them mumbling to each other “What the f--- did we get ourselves into?” as I continued on, but I refused to glance back, and I was laughing my ass off inside! We loved to mess with each other!
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 19:52:21 +0000