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Untitled; excerpt from a memoir "The Best is Like the Worst"

On September 30, 1965, I went on my first operation, as a radio operator. It was a large effort, with about 8 units involved, the objective being to encircle and trap a number of Viet Cong that our intelligence indicated were operating in a certain area of Long An Province.

A portrait of a U.S. soldier named Mayer. He wears a mustache and glasses.

Captain Saunders was the adviser to a Vietnamese battalion of RF/PF (Regional Force/Popular Force), a sort of militia or National Guard or something. We were in contact with the American advisers in the other units, the US Navy personnel attached to the RAG (River Assault Group) boats, the TOC (Tactical Operations Center) back in Tan An, and the Air Force and/or Army observation plane circling overhead. I was kept quite busy monitoring radio traffic.

Captain Francis Saunders was a tall, skinny black man, a former college basketball player, as graceful as a cat. Although he did not display the zest for combat of Captain Elledge, he performed his duties in a competent, workmanlike manner. Both men were cool under fire, but Captain Elledge actually seemed to enjoy it. The latter was divorced and childless and Captain Saunders had a wife and daughter (or son?) stateside. In retrospect, this may have made a difference in their outlooks.

I had a lot of respect for both of these officers. 

U.S. soldier in fatigues, standing with two Asian soldiers in white uniforms.
U.S. soldier in fatigues, standing with two Asian soldiers in white uniforms.

Besides the 32 pound radio (a PRC 25, commonly known as a Prick 25) with extra antennae and batteries, I was carrying my .30 caliber carbine, 180 rounds of ammunition, a fragmentation grenade, three smoke grenades, and a pistol belt with a first aid pouch and canteen. I cold barely move, and never again would I make the mistake of packing so much shit.

A U.S. soldier in full gear standing in a barracks and talking on the telephone.

Captain Saunders referred to the Vietnamese battalion commander as his counterpart when talking on the radio, as in "My counterpart informs me that his men are too tired to search the treeline at (such and such map coordinates)".

We had been trucked to our starting positions and set out a 5 AM; things went bad from the beginning.

A gap in the ring was opened because some of our units started too late and had too far to go and many of the VC slipped through. Then two of our units got into a disagreement over whose turn it was to go in after some trapped VC and these escaped as well. Also, we were unable to get any support helicopters.

Our battalion reached its first objective sometime in the morning and we were in the process of setting up our command post in a dirt-floored farmhouse when our boys made contact.

In a letter to my parents written that night, I stated that there was a 15 minute firefight, but I must have been exaggerating. 15 minutes is a long, long time when people are shooting at you, and my recollection 50 plus years later is that it was over almost before it began; I don't remember even having time to be scared. There was a burst of gunshots, with bullets whizzing around, and the VC, however many of them there were, faded away, taking any casualties they might have had with them.

15 minutes is a long, long time when people are shooting at you, and my recollection 50 plus years later is that it was over almost before it began; I don't remember even having time to be scared.

We had a man wounded with what I suspected at the time to have been a .45 slug; the left side of his belly was torn open, exposing his intestines. A compress was put over the wound and the man was carried into the command post almost immediately after the shooting stopped. 

The owners of the farmhouse went on with their work of curing rice, ignoring what was going on around them. They even shared some of their lunch with us, although I don't remember what it was. Probably rice. 

I sat beside the wounded man and waved the flies away as I listened for my call sign on the hand-held radio receiver. The man never made a sound or a sign of pain although he remained fully conscious. We tried to get a medevac helicopter but were unsuccessful; none were available. The man was eventually hauled in an ambulance despite his medic's insistence that he wouldn't survive the bumpy ride over the pitted road. I never found out what happened to him. Had he been an American, a chopper would have been on the scene in 20 minutes.

U.S. soldier standing outside what looks to be a Vietnamese governmental building.
clipping from a Stillwater newspaper of Sgt. Ralph Mayer's second medal of honor: a Bronze Star.

That was the only contact our battalion had all day. 

After lunch, we had a call to go and assist another unit that was under attack, but when we got there, the enemy had disappeared. We walked for miles that afternoon through watery rice paddies and over muddy rice dikes. I fell in the mud twice and was completely exhausted by the time we came home about 5 PM.  

I later learned that the last unit to leave the operational are was ambushed while going back to its subsector and three of its men killed; this was in an area that had supposedly been cleared of VC. All in all, our side suffered about 20 casualties and we recorded no VC deaths; at least we didn't find any bodies.

 
 

Biographical Details

Primary Location During Vietnam: Long An Province, Vietnam Vietnam location marker

Story Subject: Military Service

Unit: MACV, Advisory Team 86

Story Themes: 1965, Bronze Star, Close Call, Combat, Commendation, Death and Loss, Firefight, Long An, Look, Medals of Honor, Minneapolis, National Liberation Front, Ralph Mayer, Viet Cong

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