From Innocent to
Veteran
This is a fictionalized account of a
true story. Names* have been changed where necessary to protect individual’s
privacy. The information contained within is as true as I can make it, given
that it did not happen to me. The tales were told to me by Sam White* himself.
==================================
Sam White didn’t always want to be a
photographer, but then he wasn’t sure just what he wanted.
Not having many job prospects beyond
manual labor when he graduated from high school, Sam got sweet talked into the
U.S. Navy by a smooth operator of a recruiter. The recruiter promised a girl in
every port and barely enough time to rest in between ports. It sounded like a
dream job to Sam.
Drinking beer and chasing women filled
his thoughts and free time throughout navy basic training. It was pretty much
like his high school years, only with more money and some status as a military
man. Not that being a sailor opened doors for him, but it did give him an
identity.
Of the choices offered to him as he
prepared to complete basic training, photography sounded like a better job than
being a cook or engineman to him. It was certainly less physical and you would
get to see the outside world more than the other swabbies stuck below decks.
Sam did well at photography school and
finished at the top of his class, earning him his Photographer’s Mate
designation and a step up in rank at graduation. Earning that designation put
him in line to be promoted again if he did well at his first duty station. That
was the story given to him by his head instructor at school, who encouraged Sam
to immediately volunteer for sea duty. That was the real key to success he told
him.
Full of plans to be promoted to Chief
Photographer’s Mate by the time he was twenty-one (less than two years away),
Sam filled out his request for sea duty and was sent to the U.S.S. Mister
Rogers* right after graduation. He was on his way up the ranks; he was sure of
that.
The number two in his class went to
shore duty in beautiful Hawaii, the most sought after assignment in the navy.
Number three also got shore duty, but in exotic Yokosuka, Japan. All of the
rest of his classmates went to sea duty on various ships.
Sam spent a lot of time thinking about
how much either classmate number two or number three had paid the instructor to
convince him (Sam) to ask for sea duty, thus moving them up to the choice they
wanted. He even talked to himself out loud about it when he was swabbing the
decks of the photo lab or the adjoining passageway.
When test time came around, Sam proved
himself capable and “sewed on” (got promoted to) Photographer’s Mate 3rd
class. PH3 White had become a naval Petty Officer and once again had a spring
in his step. There was now someone else to push that mop around as he took on
more responsibility.
Flight operations aboard an aircraft
carrier were always dangerous and everything that happens is filmed by either
video camera or still photography. PH3 White had proven himself adept at
running the flight deck camera and captured many critical images of aviation
problems and accidents.
He had once filmed the wheel of a
fighter aircraft coming off during a bad landing and had it (the wheel) take
the camera tripod right out from under his camera while he continued to roll
with the camera in his hands. Those images were extremely useful in solving
problems and briefing aircrews.
Armed with shining recommendations
from his superiors, he once again took his rating exams and advanced to
Photographer’s Mate 2nd class. That latest success nearly got him
booted out of his job as he (along with friends) made some celebratory “hooch”
from alcohol and other items in the photo lab.
After drunkenly serenading some senior
officers in only hula skirts and their sailor hats while underway from Hawaii
to Japan, Sam and his friends were placed in custody until they sobered up and
then faced the captain for punishment. They were all docked a month’s pay and
would not be allowed liberty in Japan. Sam was also given extra duty (like high
school detention, only with chores) because he was the senior person involved.
That cruise with Admiral in charge of
the 7th Fleet aboard proved to be a problem for many of the crew and
by the time they reach the “land of the rising sun” the entire floating city
was restricted to the ship. Many of the senior ship’s company tried to
intercede for at least a couple of days of liberty, but the Admiral wouldn’t
budge.
There is a saying that bad things
happen to those without compassion.
The Admiral traveled with his own
personal military Cadillac sedan stored on the ship in the hangar bay. His aide
had sailors assigned to wash and wax it at least once a week and then cover it
back up with its fitted car cover. It was said to smell like expensive Cuban cigars
and single-malt whiskey inside. When the car was uncovered to be cleaned and
polished, the Admiral insisted that his flags be displayed on the fenders. They
even had wires in them so they would stand out and show the star.
The entire crew hated that car. It was
a symbol of everything that they couldn’t have being flaunted in their faces.
What happened next was only natural
given the fact that the ship was on its way to extended sea duty and this was
their last chance at a liberty before the grind began in earnest. From the
captain to the lowest seaman they were all frustrated and upset.
Sam was scrubbing floors (extra duty)
with a Marine guard watching him when the event took place, or it would have
been easy to point the finger at him for what happened. It was still believed,
and told in whispers behind closed doors, that he engineered the whole thing.
He had a reputation for being creative like that.
A naval vessel is never really idle,
even when parked in a port. The flight deck crew was doing drills and working
on a forward catapult. The catapult (or cat) is a steam powered device used to
help aircraft reach speed sufficient to fly off of the flight deck. Without the
boost from the catapult, airplanes would drop off the end of the ship into the
water.
When they test fire the cat it is done
either in a no-load, or loaded status, meaning that it either has no weight to
move, or weight equal to a particular aircraft type. Like a firearm, it is
generally not seen as a good thing to dry fire it (no bullet in the cylinder).
To that end “dummy loads” are made up with equivalent weights for the aircraft
aboard. We could spend a lot of time discussing dead weight vs. rolling weight
and representative equivalents, but rest assured that they knew what they were doing.
On that day the number 1 cat had been
taken all the way down (disassembled) for a new steam cylinder installation and
that always required firing at least one dummy load to recertify it as safe for
real aircraft launches. During the early morning hours the dummy load had been
prepared and while it was still dark it had been moved to the elevator just
forward of the island. That elevator was still in the down position making it
level with the hangar bay.
At approximately 08:00 with great
fanfare (and certainly numerous one finger salutes) the admiral accompanied by
his aide and the ship’s captain departed for meetings on the base. That these
“meetings” would be full of fine food, quality drink, and most likely pretty
girls, was not lost on anyone stuck aboard.
The Executive Officer, the Navigator
and CAG 9 (commander of the embarked airwing) announced over the ship’s 1MC
(P.A. system) that all department heads would meet in the officer’s mess for a
working breakfast at 09:00. The ship’s “Chief of the boat” (or senior enlisted
man aboard), broadcast a similar meeting for all ship and airwing department
Master Chief Petty Officers to meet in the Chief’s mess, also at 09:00.
Next up was the Flight Deck officer
announcing an “all available hands” F.O.D. (foreign object debris) walk down on
the flight deck. That would normally only be done in the case of flight
operations, which were not scheduled as far as anyone knew. But, being sailors,
they just grumbled and did as they were told. Men poured onto the flight deck
from every hatch (door) and ladder (stairs.)
Meanwhile “forces unknown” were busy
in the hangar bay preparing the dummy load for its ride up the elevator and
subsequent flight through the air. By 08:45 the flight deck was full of sailors
walking around looking for a stray piece of anything and finding very little.
The announcing system once again
sounded asking the men to remain on the flight deck, but clear of catapult #1
for the test firing. The deck crew brought the large covered mass off of the elevator
and using one of their yellow tugs, dragged the palletized load into position
on cat 1 and hooked it up.
Since there was little else to do and
it was nice outside, the sailors moved forward on the flight deck to watch the
show. As the checklist was run between the flight deck crew and the operators
below, the person on the P.A. system gave time updates, which in itself was
odd.
At 09:00 on the mark the call came to
stand clear of catapult #1 and then a second announcement of “maximum power,
all eyes on cat 1!”
With a rush of steam and the thumping
sound of the catapult firing, the load very quickly went forward and into the
air. Instantly there were thunderous cheers from everyone on the flight deck,
and then the yelling from the rest of the crew below decks was heard throughout
the ship. Those on deck had a front row seat, while those below decks watched
on the ship’s TV.
The fact that they set a new distance
record with that shot was barely noted, indeed almost forgotten. The odd
circumstance of having a tarp secured to tie downs and remaining behind when
the load fired off was brushed aside completely.
Nothing known to man could have been
better, or sweeter, to that crew than the sight of the admiral’s Cadillac sedan
flying through the air as it sailed far out into the blue water of the bay.
The cheering went on for several
minutes on the flight deck and the camera operator ran the video over and over
on the ship’s TV. That few seconds was undoubtedly the happiest moment of the
cruise so far. The only thing better would be homecoming, and that was many
months away.
When the admiral returned and learned
the fate of his beloved car he was apoplectic. He tried to scream at his
orderly and could only squeak such was his rage. The ship’s doctor was called
to stand by, in case of a stroke. Those within view said that they had never
seen anyone turn that particular shade of purple before, and that the man tried
to speak but could only spit and drool on himself.
The prepared dummy load was found
“parked” in the same spot as the admiral’s sedan usually occupied. When the
cover that normally protected the automobile was pulled off, the flags that
traditionally adorned the car’s fenders popped up (via springs) into full
salute.
There was an investigation conducted
to be sure, but everyone with any authority was in a meeting and didn’t know
anything about the launch. Everyone else seemed to have been on deck, except
for PH2 White and his Marine watch dog. To a man nobody knew anything.
The crew stuck to their stories and
since A) The admiral wasn’t really supposed to have a personal automobile
aboard and B) There wasn’t anything he could do to them. The cruise went on as
planned.
1961 Vietnam
Newly elected President John F.
Kennedy was still holding to the idea that the puppet South Vietnamese Head of
State Ngo Dinh Diem, would have to defeat the communists on his own. Kennedy
had too many irons in the fire to add solving Viet Nam’s internal strife to the
list, but he also feared what was called the domino effect if he did nothing.
The domino effect stated that if Viet Nam “fell” to communism all of the
surrounding countries would as well.
At the time of this story, Diem who
was a fanatical Catholic, and his brother Ngo Dinh Nhu, who was head of the
secret police, were busy killing off Buddhists and destroying their temples. He
believed that only Catholics would truly resist the communists. The problem was
that the vast majority of both North and South Viet Nam were Buddhists. It was
these murderous attacks more than any political agenda from the communists that
created the NLF (National Liberation Front) aka the Viet Cong.
In May of 1961 Vice President Lyndon
B. Johnson visited Saigon and made the famous enthusiastic statement that Diem
was the “Winston Churchill of Asia.” This convinced the people of Viet Nam that
America supported and condoned the murderous activities of Diem.
When asked later why he said that
about Diem, someone that they all considered weak and ineffective, LBJ said
“He’s the only boy we got out there.”
Immediately following V.P. Johnson’s
visit the clandestine insertion of “flood relief” and “aid workers” tripled.
The promise of military and financial aid had been made but officially the U.S.A.
was still side-stepping direct involvement. Everyone knew that the situation
was about to change.
After leaving Japan the top brass
didn’t identify Viet Nam as a destination for the carrier battle group
(aircraft carriers don’t go anywhere alone), just putting out a generic
“Westpac” (Western Pacific ocean) on the itinerary. The feeling was that they
didn’t want to call attention to the American war ships lurking off of the
Vietnamese coastline.
Mekong Delta and the easy boat ride
The south (there are two: north, and
south) monsoon season was just ending in the southern end of Viet Nam and the
days were hot and sticky, but the sun was out most of the time. During the
rainy time there could be get ten inches of rain or more in a single day making
life miserable for those who wanted to be dry. Ph2 Sam White liked to be dry.
In fact, he liked to be clean and dry; it was one of his favorite things in
life.
When they had crossed the equator and
did the famous “Shellback” initiation, conducted by none other than “Davy
Jones” himself, his PHC (Chief Photographer’s Mate) had made it a point to make
Sam crawl through the nastiest and most vile concoctions he could find. Sam
took three showers after the ceremonies were over and then wiped himself down
with alcohol from the photo lab.
There was great debate as to why PH2
White drew the assignment to go on the boat ride up the Mekong River. Some said
that it was because he was the best man for the job… others believed that it
was because his chief knew that he would get hot, sweaty, and indescribably
filthy on the trip.
The mission was supposed to be a piece
of cake; just a simple boat ride up the Mekong River to photograph the power
plants for “flood control” assessment. It was all in keeping with the stories
in the international media (written by the U.S. State Department) about helping
with flood relief for victims of the huge monsoonal flow of water that had
inundated the area.
Sam saw the task as a way to get off
of the ship for a little while and see something besides grey walls. He gladly
accepted the job when he was volunteered by his PHC. That was the way things
were done in the navy, you could voluntarily go along with assignments… or you
could do them anyway.
A young Ensign from Naval Intelligence
came to the photo lab right away to get Sam and handed the chief a written
order that said for the duration of the mission PH2 White belonged to them.
That put the chief in a bad mood as it meant that he would have to fill in
wherever his petty officer had been scheduled to work. He hadn’t planned on his
underling being gone for more than a day when he volunteered him. Who will
eventually get the last laugh remains to be seen.
The briefing for the mission wasn’t
exactly like what the PHC had said. Sam was briefed by several enlisted men and
a few different officers who each seemed to have a specialty. He was allowed to
take notes during the briefings, but those notes would not be making the trip
with him; they were classified.
The bottom line was that he was to
photograph anything of a military or industrial nature, including any power
plants, but to even include such things as overhead power lines where there was
no plant. It had become clear that the navy (and others) wanted a ground level
view of everything on the Mekong River.
Petty Officer White was coached each day
on his role as an assistant for flood relief operations whose job was to
photograph the power plants to assess them for flood protection. He was told to
forget any words of Vietnamese that he might have picked up and when in doubt
play dumb. Sam waited for a few seconds expecting to hear his chief’s voice say
that he wouldn’t be “playing” dumb, but of course it didn’t happen, the man
wasn’t in the room.
To continue his cover story and not
draw any more attention to the aircraft carrier than possible, he would be
flown by helicopter from the ship to the area of Soc Trang during the pre-dawn hours. From
there he would be taken by local fishermen (really ARVN soldiers in civilian
clothes) in native fishing boats up river to Can Tho.
At Can Tho he would switch to a transport
truck and be driven to Vinh Long where he would meet BMC (Chief Boatswain’s
Mate) Black and his crew at the main channel of the Mekong River. Chief Black
usually had a crew of five ARVN (Army of the Republic of Viet Nam) aboard his
converted sport fishing boat.
Chief Black was also really a Navy
Seal working on missions of his own and Sam was cautioned not to ask him any
questions about what he was really doing there. Their joint objective was to
get through the Hong Ngu District and briefly cross the border into Cambodia,
and return. Extraction point at the end of the mission was Bien Hoa airport
near Saigon. Chief Black would get him there, somehow.
Departure day arrived quickly and Sam
was glad. It meant that they would quit giving him shots for this disease or
that fever and there wouldn’t be any more tests to take regarding briefing
materials. He was ready to go in his own flight deck gear fifteen minutes
before show time.
This was supposed to be a simple run
on fast boats and with few stops to make along the way. It would only be forty
miles by native boat, twenty miles by truck and then another eighty on a fast
boat. Of course, Sam was thinking American speed boats and trucks, and had no
idea about “Asian time.”
The big ship had arranged to be close
to the shoreline at departure time to cut down the flight time and distance.
When the helicopter launched it rapidly dropped down to the surface of the
water from the height of the flight deck. That reminded PH2 White that he
really should have gone to the head (bathroom) one more time before take-off.
A fast thirty minute flight (that
seemed to be low enough to pull water-skiers) had them flying over the coastal
fishing fleet and then “feet dry” (over dry land) in no time. The crewman
flying with him kept his goggles on and his hands on his machine gun, even
though the door was closed to hide the weapon.
Sam had been told that there would be
many people reporting their flight and if he delayed at the airport he would be
approached by government officials or even the NLF. Everyone would want to know
what he was doing there and detain him until someone told them what to do. He
was not to hesitate.
The naval intelligence guys had given
him an additional camera for night shots, which made a total of three in his
borrowed army backpack, along with waterproof bags and film. He wasn’t sure why
they had insisted on extra socks and antifungal ointments along with boots,
fatigues and field jacket he had been given by the Marine detachment aboard his
ship. This was just supposed to be a fast run on a fast boat and then he was
out of there!
The helicopter barely slowed down to
let him out before they took off and flew farther inland before turning towards
Saigon and from there back to the ship. Sam supposed that they didn’t want to
help anyone pinpoint where they might have dropped him off, assuming that
anyone would think that.
The monsoon might be in its waning
days but it still had some water to drop, as he found out half way to the
nearest shelter. He had not seen it rain so hard since he was in south Florida.
Visibility was less than ten feet, which was a good thing as two
soldiers walked out to where he had just stepped off the helicopter. They had
their heads down and missed the decidedly white Sam White, as he ducked into a
shed.
After the soldiers made a half-hearted
(and thoroughly wet) look around the pavement they went around the building out
of sight. Sam took the opportunity to quickly walk the other direction and caught a ride on a passing delivery truck. He wasn't sure where it was that he had been dropped off, it certainly wasn't the airport, but he was sure that it wasn't safe there.
He spotted the river during a short break in the rain and banged on the side of the truck to be let out. There tied to a stick
jammed into the bank was the fishing boat with two men waiting for him as
planned. Sam was proud of himself for making his first connection and avoiding
detention. This mission was quite the thrill so far.
Once on the fishing boat and underway
Sam had checked his gear to make sure that all was still dry and undamaged. It
was all still safe and ready. He wished that he could say the same for himself.
The rain had drenched him from under his hat to inside of his boots. His
clothes were so wet that he felt like he was sitting in hot mud, and it was
still morning. It would get hotter.
His guides spoke to each other but
never made eye contact with Sam. He wondered if that was so they could say that
they had never seen him. He desperately wanted to ask them when they were going
to speed up as it seemed that they were only going at about a fast walk (4
mph). That rate would barely get them to Can Tho by nightfall. He was learning
about Asian time the hard way. They would get there, when they got there.
Back at the ship the admiral had
directed the captain to turn seaward and put some distance between them and the
country of Viet Nam. He did not want to be the reason for any more
international press coverage. It was said later that he expected the worst from
the mission that young PH2 White had been sent on and never expected the man to
return.
Sam made the decision to save the
military ration chocolate bars for later and just share food with the
Vietnamese men. Had he tasted those candy bars he would have traded them at the
first opportunity. That way at least he would have gotten some revenge.
To say that the food of Southeast Asia
can be hot is like saying that gasoline can catch on fire. The simple appearing
meal of rice and fish with green and red “seasoning” that they willingly shared
with the young photographer had “consequences.” The immediate short term effect
was intense searing pain on his tongue and lips as the peppers burned his
mouth. It was the second, long term problem that nearly did him in.
Sam wasn’t sure how long he rode with
his butt hanging over the side of the boat as the explosions in his insides
happened over and over again. He didn’t immediately catch on to what was going
on when one of the men flipped the tail of his shirt over his very white
posterior. He was flying the pale butt flag of an American, which anyone along
the river would recognize as a foreigner.
Arriving at Can Tho around 18:00 they
were met by two more ARVN soldiers driving what Sam understood to be a stolen
truck. Those men were very insistent that they depart for Vinh Long
immediately. He hoped with all of his remaining body fluids that the ride would
not be bumpy.
As he tried to thank the men who
brought him up the river he was grabbed and pulled into the truck by his new
guides. Panic nearly consumed him at that point as he thought that he was on
his way to interrogation for sure. Once they had sped away from the river he
was told in Queen’s English that the men he had just left were NLF and were
about to hand him over to their superiors. He once again felt the urge to be
sick but held on and it passed.
Sam told the man sitting in the
non-driving spot (he was in between them) that he had eaten food with the river
men and he had been in distress ever since. The man reached into his bag on the
floor of the truck and pulled out a piece of root of some kind. He said, “This
will help you. Chew it up and then spit out rest.” Then he bit off a piece,
took it out of his mouth and handed it to Sam. By then Sam was ready to die
from the cure, rather than continue to suffer. To his surprise his problem was
gone before he spit out the chewed up mass of root. He never did learn what
that root was.
Once within sight of the river they
drove parallel to it for a short distance until they spotted the converted
sport fishing boat. They had Sam get out on the road and they kept going, again
hoping to disguise his movements. He was able to say his thanks before he
hopped down from the running board of the truck and nearly broke his ankle
stepping into a pothole.
Chief Black looked like a grizzled old
fisherman with his short grey beard and Greek fisherman’s cap. The hard steel
gaze that met Sam’s eyes belied the soft voice that came from his mouth. He grabbed
Sam’s bag and helped him aboard, while simultaneously calling to his crewman in
Vietnamese to get underway.
As the young photographer looked
around the boat in the fading light he could see .50 caliber machine guns
mounted forward and aft, plus machine guns stowed on either side abeam the
steering wheel. He began to worry that maybe this was going to be more of a
challenge than he wanted.
Sam asked the chief if they were going
to keep going up river as the darkness fell, noting that they couldn’t see anything.
Chief Black then pulled a pair of Russian night vision goggles out of a cabinet
and said that night was his favorite time as he could see everyone and they
couldn’t see him.
There were only four ARVN crewmen
aboard as the chief wanted his crew number to stay the same. Villagers and
fishermen reported the number of people on his boat every time they saw it and
adding an extra would arouse suspicion.
The chief had his first mate take Sam
below to put camouflage paint on his face and hands, to hopefully help disguise
him. They couldn’t do much to hide his 6’1” height and 180 pound frame, so he
would have to go below when they encountered people.
They moved cautiously up river under
the cover of darkness with a crewman on the bow, one on the stern and one each
on the port and starboard sides. Chief Black said that he knew the river in
this section and there was nothing to photograph so he suggested that Sam go
below and sleep while he could.
That was where Sam was at 05:00 when
the fire fight began.
The chatter of the 50 caliber gun
going off above his head rolled the young man out of his bunk and onto the
floor. It was fortuitous that he had reacted in that way as a round came
through the hull of the boat and knocked the blanket roll that he had been using
as a pillow off of the bunk. He most certainly would have been shot in the head
had he not moved.
The twin diesel engines roared as the
chief pushed the throttle and spun the boat to the opposite bank and then
quickly back down the river out of range. The boat had taken damage and would
need repairs before they could try again.
Finding a side channel that looked
good about thirty minutes downstream, they pulled in and assessed the damage.
No one was hit, which was a great thing as far as Sam was concerned. He had
survived his first fire fight and was scared and exhilarated at the same time.
It was like the time when he rode a motorcycle off of a pier and realized that
he wasn’t dead when he bobbed up in the ocean. His adrenalin was still pumping.
Chief Black barked orders to his crew
in Vietnamese and had them scrambling all over the boat checking things and
fixing holes that were low enough to possibly leak. The river was pretty high
and fast with the monsoon drainage still running hard. He didn’t want to chance
taking on water.
When all was in readiness on the boat,
they stopped what they were doing long enough to eat a small cold meal. Two of
the crewmen were gone for a few minutes going to the bathroom and looking for
some kind of plant to either eat or use for medicine. Sam wasn’t sure.
Chief Black sat watching the men, the
sky, the water and smoking his hand-rolled cigarette that smelled awful, until
he felt that the time was right. Whatever he had been waiting for happened and
he gave a couple of quick, gruff orders to the men. They pushed off and the
diesels came to life.
Everyone was on full alert with
weapons at the ready as they approached the place where they had been attacked
earlier. Sam felt the need to go to the bathroom but doubted that he could get
anything past his clenched butt cheeks if the opportunity to go presented
itself. It was then that he realized that he was actually shaking.
As they passed by the farthest point
they had yet attained on this journey Sam felt a sense of relief and said so
out loud. That was one of those times where you think back and say, “I never
should have said that; it jinxed everything.”
The words had barely cleared his lips
when the engines began to sputter and cough.
The chief cussed and yelled to his
first mate to take the helm while he checked the engines. For some reason the
other, crewmen didn’t seem upset or even look back at what was going on. Sam
thought that they must just be staying alert for an attack.
Before Chief Black could even get the
engine housing open the motors conked out, causing a lot of excitement. More
orders were barked out and the first mate spun the steering wheel bringing the
craft around to go back south with the current.
Sam was told to grab a machine gun
from storage and to watch the river bank on the starboard side. His
instructions were to shoot anything that moved. They were really vulnerable as
they drifted along without the power to get away or even maneuver.
Crawling back to his feet, the chief
went quickly forward again and tapped the fuel gauge dial with his finger. It
was sitting on zero. Flipping a toggle switch on the dashboard next to the
gauge he again tapped the dial and got the same results… zero. Both of their
fuel tanks were empty.
The boat drifted with the current and
everyone maintained their positions of watchfulness while their leader
continued to investigate why they had no fuel. Only he (Sam) seemed nervous, he
thought, as he looked around.
Sam was sweating so much that he got
dehydrated and nearly passed out. He didn’t even realize that he was thirsty.
The older American told him to eat a couple of salt tablets and drink some
water from his canteen. That helped a lot and he felt better.
The chief eventually found a puncture
in one tank that he thought was a bullet hole. But, as he thought about it he
changed his mind. “Bullets don’t make square holes” he said to himself. The
discovery of a fuel line that was not only disconnected but routed so that it
poured the fuel out through the back drain, made the old Seal see red.
Both tanks had drained into the muddy
brown waters of the Mekong and the smell of diesel fuel had been masked by the
ever present stink of the river. There was an automatic crossover between tanks
to avoid running the engine dry and it had worked. The distance they had
covered was on what they got from the leaking tanks together.
The river was running swiftly and
there was no further incident as they drifted back to a place where they could
get diesel fuel from a large farm that actually had a tractor. Most farms used
either people power or had a water buffalo that they harnessed.
The farmer was not very trustful of
the several 1 dong (currency of Viet Nam) coins that the American gave him for
the fuel, as he was afraid that the government money wouldn’t be any good. The
chief being an experienced horse trader brought out a good steel axe from the
tool box on the boat and the old man was all smiles.
Sam saw that the navy man treated the
elderly farmer with respect and that the farmer seemed to like him very much.
He also noted that for some reason the ancient man would not even look at the
boat crew. Again he figured that it was so he could say that he never saw
anyone.
He said that he felt odd sitting
exposed at that small dock out in the open, like everyone could see them and
was reporting them as they sat there. He was no longer sure who they would
report to, as he was not sure who the good guys and bad guys were any more. It
was all very confusing.
Once again they found a side tributary
to hide in and the chief cut a piece of wood to roughly fit the hole in the
second tank and hammered it into place until it sealed the puncture completely.
Then he had a crewman pump diesel from the 55 gallon drums into the tank with a
hand crank device. He explained that the fuel would cause the piece of wood to
swell inside of the tank and it would be locked into place and completely leak
proof.
They decided to spend the night at
that location and try again at first light the next morning. The Vietnamese men
went ashore and made a fire to cook fish that they caught and smoke what
smelled like hashish or something to Sam.
The old farmer had given Chief Black a
cloth with some cheese and peppers and other vegetables that Sam didn’t
recognize in it. He thought it odd that the old man had specified that it was
for the chief and Sam only.
The young photographer wondered if
they should be afraid to eat it, but trusted his leader with his life and so
just followed the older man’s lead. The chief was kind enough to warn him away
from the peppers which would have burned him up, again. Sweat poured from the
Navy Seal’s head and face as he ate the hot morsels proclaiming how good they
were. Sam was happy to pass them up still remembering the suffering he endured
from the first meal he had in Viet Nam.
Sam was awakened by a nudge from the
chief’s boot as he lay sleeping on the deck of the boat. It had been too hot to
sleep below decks in the bunks, and he still had visions of that bullet
knocking his pillow off the bed. He was just fine on the deck.
With the sun just beginning its climb
into the sky and the chief confident that his fuel tanks were full, they once
again powered out into the main stream. The chief had Sam take a turn at the
wheel of the fast boat as they cruised at about half speed. He liked it and
felt good about their day; everything was falling into place finally.
Chief Black made the rounds of the
mounted weapons, checking that were loaded and ready and speaking with each
crewman briefly. He wanted to be sure that none of them were still high from
the previous night. The man seemed to Sam to be smiling more than usual. What
he really didn’t understand was why that made him so nervous.
After they cleared the narrows where
they attacked the first time the chief told Sam to see to his camera gear while
he took over the helm and increased their speed. He felt that there could be
photo opportunities a few miles ahead and wanted to be ready.
No one saw the log submerged just
below the surface, or the green ropes or vines that held it in place, until
after they hit it.
All four Vietnamese crewmen were
thrown from the boat by the impact. The chief was knocked over the side but had
a rope around his wrist which was tied to bulkhead next to the steering wheel.
Sam had been standing in the cabin below decks facing aft towards the opening
and was thrown towards the bow.
Everything happened in a split second
but seemed like slow motion to Sam. He was trying to get up when the second
bump hit as the boat went over the log and struck the propellers. That jolt
sent him face first into the ladder coming down from the main deck. Once more
he got to his feet and was dizzy but recovering.
As the fog cleared he had an image
stuck in his head of the crewman at the rear machine gun standing on the rear
wall of the boat and jumping off right before the first impact. He couldn’t
make any sense of it and kept shaking his head trying to clear it out.
Sam and Chief Black made it back to
the main deck of the boat at the same time. His Navy Seal training had served
him well as he held onto the rope that secured him to the boat and was able to
clamber back aboard with only minor bumps and scrapes. Once standing he looked
at Sam and threw him a cloth.
The younger man had no idea what it
was for and said so. The chief actually laughed and said, “You’re bleeding on
my deck son.” Sam had struck his nose and lips and had no idea that he was
losing blood.
As the younger man saw to his injuries
the chief scrambled forward to the machine gun and held onto it as he scanned
the river banks and the jungle beyond. He quietly called out to his crewmen in
Vietnamese but got no answer.
Sam was a little faint as he realized
how much blood he had lost, but felt alright in general. What amazed him was
that he wasn’t scared. He really should have been, they were in a nasty spot if
the bad guys attacked. As his eyes were able to focus he could see their four
crewmen still swimming with the river and moving farther away from them. “Why
don’t they make for the bank?” he recalled thinking to himself.
The log had lifted the rear of the
boat clear of the water as they balanced there, still hung up on it. That
precarious position gave the chief a chance to inspect the drive shafts and see
that while their propellers were damaged, the drivelines were still good.
It looked like another drift down the
river was in order as they had to get replacement propellers in order to make
it to their destination. They would be able to fire up the motors and use them sparingly
to control the boat, but wouldn’t get much power from them as they were.
When Chief Black stripped off his
boots and shirt to get in the water to check the boat Sam saw scars on his
chest, back and arms. The man had been through Hell and never spoke of his
past. He gained more respect and understanding for the older man’s sometimes
gruff ways that day. He was a survivor; he did what he had to do.
The chief had Sam go all the way
forward to the point of the bow to use his weight as a counter balance while
the extremely strong old veteran stood on the log that had stopped them and
lifted and pushed on the stern of his boat. In just two tries he had them clear
of the log. Once they were clear he took a machete and hacked through the ropes
holding one end of the log. He had thought of just cutting the rope before but
he was afraid that the freed log would strike the propellers again and make
things worse.
Sam watched the log swing to the side
of the river and thought again about what he had seen just prior to impact. As
the chief swung the craft into the current with little bursts of power from the
engines, Sam told him what he had seen. He added, thinking out loud, “He
couldn’t have seen the log from where he was all the way aft. The boat would
have blocked his view.” A very dark scowl came over the old veteran’s face as
he nodded and remained quiet.
About a mile down the river they
caught up with the four crewmen who were just climbing out of the river onto
the bank. The men called out to us in Vietnamese and moved to a good spot on a
sheared off bank. As the chief maneuvered the boat next to the bank the men
jumped back aboard and they were able to continue on down the river at drift
speed.
The chief was strangely quiet and
seemed to be doing a slow boil. When they reached his private dock up a small
hidden side tributary well clear of the villagers, the ARVN crew got off the
boat and got in smaller craft and paddled off.
Chief Black brought a bottle of
whiskey up from below decks and a canteen cup. The older man poured Sam a
healthy amount of the brown liquid into the canteen cup and then tilted the
bottle up and drank deeply.
Once that ceremony of survival was
completed the chief said what was on his mind. “It could be bad luck or just
freak accidents, but I got a bad gut feeling” he said. Sam asked what he meant
by that.
The man continued, “No one but my crew
knew that we would be going up the river that first night and the attack came
at the narrowest part of the river.” He added, “I think my crew was shooting
high (intentionally missing) too.”
The fuel line and the hole in the tank
were no accident; he had found a pick that matched the square shape of the hole
in the tank.
Chief Black had been up the river past
where they hit the log just a few days earlier and it wasn’t there. The crewmen
jumping off the boat before they hit the log and then swimming away from either
an explosion or an attack that they expected to happen clinched it for him.
These were not random occurrences,
they were sabotage.
Sam had orders to complete the mission
and there was no time limit set. He just thought that it was because he would
be done so soon it wasn’t an issue. The latest developments proved that theory
was out the window. He wasn’t sure when he would finish his task, but he wasn’t
as fearful as he had been. The bad guys had thrown a lot at him and he was
still in one piece. He could do it.
Chief Black took Sam below decks,
opened a locked chest and withdrew a Colt automatic pistol and handed it and a
box of bullets to the young photographer. “Keep this on you at all times,” he
instructed.
They set about replacing the bent
propellers and repairing some bullet damage as best they could with the
materials on board and salvaged from a nearby similar boat. Sam had no idea if
the other boat belonged to the chief and wasn’t about to ask. The older man
brought a couple of pieces of plate steel from a shed and installed them on
either side of the engine housing as a kind of armor plating. Sam was thinking
that he might like some of that plating to get behind if bullets started flying
on their next attempt.
Occasionally a small boy would come to
the boat and speak to the chief in Vietnamese and then leave again. After the
third time Sam had to know and asked the chief what the boy was doing. The
older man smiled and said quietly that the boy was his adopted son and was
keeping watch on the road for anyone coming their way.
Prior to that Sam had not entertained
the idea that anyone might be actually coming after them. He wasn’t at war with
anyone, but he was no longer sure that the other guys knew that. The young
sailor really didn’t have a clue about the politics of Viet Nam.
Chief Black satisfied with his repairs
and alterations, took a small canoe out to the main watercourse to send a
message to his crewmen via a passing fisherman. It was a system that they had
used many times over the last year that he had been in country.
The message was simple: come to his
landing in three hours. All the way back the old veteran was upset because he
had that nagging gut feeling again. He had stayed alive for his entire
twenty-two year military career by always trusting his instincts.
Sam had decided to take it easy while
the chief was away and lay down on the grass above the boat dock to take a nap.
It was nearly a permanent nap.
The chief glided back towards the dock
silently on the water, easing around the larger boat and stood up to throw his
knife. Standing over the sleeping photographer was an assassin about to drop a
poisonous snake on him. As the Navy Seal threw his knife he leapt from the boat
and ran up the dock pulling a machete from behind his back.
Sam woke up when the big knife hit the
ground next to his head, severing the head from a Krait, also known to locals
as a “step-and-a-half,” because that is how far legend said that you would get
before you died if bitten. The bite was always fatal; how far you could walk
was unimportant.
The younger man could barely speak as
the veteran stepped across him to retrieve his knife from the body of the man
he had just killed. “We need to get ready to go,” the chief said calmly. All
Sam could do was nod his head and scramble to his feet. He barely dared to look
back as the Chief Black drug the dead man into some tall grass out of sight.
When he had pumped his fuel tanks full
and topped off his extra 55 gallon drum on the deck the chief gave Sam a flak
vest to put on. He also told him to make sure that his Colt was loaded with one
in the chamber and ready to go. The younger man could only nod his head as the
feeling that something drastic was about to happen lay heavily on him.
Chief Black went out of sight around a
bend in the trail and was gone several minutes before returning at a trot with
his adopted son Nyuen running along behind him. Both of them grabbed lines and
cast off as they jumped aboard the boat. Sam sat on a bench seat on the boat
with his Colt .45 in his hand awaiting orders.
It was nearly time for his crew to
arrive and the old chief decided to go across the main channel and tuck the
boat into the reeds out of sight and wait for them. A few minutes before the
ARVN boat crew would be at the landing they heard a tremendous explosion,
followed closely by two more.
Nyuen smiled at his father as the
chief said, “I thought so” and nodded at the boy. Sam was at a loss as to what
had happened and started to question his benefactor but kept quiet as the chief
held a finger to his lips.
Around a bend in the river came a
motor launch filled with NLF soldiers towing a smaller boat with his crewmen in
it. As they reached the tributary the head man in the launch said to the
crewmen (in Vietnamese) “If anyone is still alive join them like nothing has
happened and report to us later tonight.”
Chief Black watched the motor launch
go out of sight down the river and then idled his powerful boat out of the
reeds and into the tributary following his crewmen. Once he had all four of
them in sight he whispered to Sam that they were going to have to kill those
four traitors or they themselves wouldn’t make it through the night. It was a
terrifying prospect but events left them little choice if they were to succeed
and survive.
Not wanting to make any more noise
than necessary in case there were reinforcements nearby, the veteran Navy Seal
once again used his weapons skills and killed the back two men with thrown
knives. While he did that Nyuen shot a third man with his crossbow killing him
instantly. When the last villain turned with a gun in his hand Sam had no
choice but to fire his pistol. The bullet ripped through the man’s head and he
fell from the boat.
Sam was in shock and scarcely believed
what he had just done. He had shot guns all of his life, but never at anyone.
Chief Black and his son were scrambling to strip the men of their soldier
uniforms and throw the bodies in the river. They threw the clothing into the
bushes where the body of the assassin he killed earlier lay bloating in the
heat. There was no time to spare; they had to get away from there.
As the boat eased out into the river
current in the afternoon sun, the chief was able to push the throttle and make
good speed away from the area. Sam still sat on his bench with a blank
expression on his face, not comprehending what had just happened to them.
Feeling safer now, Chief Black had
Nyuen take the wheel while he readied the machine guns both forward and aft. As
he did so he explained to Sam that he had rigged his own living quarters with
explosives in case he was correct in his gut feeling that his crewmen were
actually NLF (Viet Cong) and had informed on him. First the assassin, and then
the explosions they heard, were the proof that the bad guys were after them.
Had they not acted as they did, none of them would have survived.
When they reached the point where they
had been fired upon on their first attempt, Nyuen was manning the forward gun
and Sam was stationed on the aft weapon. Chief Black was all eyes as he scanned
the river itself for log traps, and the river’s edge for assailants. Nothing at
all happened.
Beyond that point Sam was reminded
that he was there to take pictures and he got out his camera and stood by. The
young photographer used all three cameras before he was done on that trip and
shot all of his film.
He never really told me what all he
photographed but he did say that there were power lines across the river in
weird places and concrete landings on both sides of the river like heavy
military amphibious vehicles might use. There were power plants and strange
installations in the middle of nowhere and he shot them all.
Chief Black left the boat briefly
inside of Cambodia and when he returned he was carrying a black bag the size of
bowling ball. As they left the area heading south again, several loud
explosions were heard. When Sam looked at the older man questioningly, the
chief said, “Don’t ask.” So he didn’t. He didn’t really want to know anyway.
Sam just hoped that all of his
photographs and whatever the chief did, were worth the lives that they taken.
He justified the killings by saying to himself, “It was them or us.” But he
never really convinced himself.
The Navy Seal had completed his
assignment and worn out his welcome in the area so he was leaving too. He was
able to arrange for a truck above Vinh Long and sold his boat, machine guns and
all, to another American who was helping the Buddhist refugees escape from Ngo
Dinh Nhu’s secret police.
Wars have always done unseen damage to
people.
That quiet American with the shy smile
that Chief Black gave the keys to the boat to was a Korean War veteran who
never went home. He said that he couldn’t, not after what he had seen and done.
The man felt that he wasn’t fit to be among innocent, unsuspecting people who
would think that he was a decent human being. Sam understood what he was saying
and wished that he didn’t.
The old chief jokingly told his friend
that he should probably paint the boat a different color and avoid the area he
used to live in as it might prove “unfriendly.” The other American said that it
wasn’t a problem, he was used to not being popular.
It took them nearly four hours of
driving as fast as possible on roads with huge holes and clogged with farmer’s
carts, to reach Bien Hoa airport. Within thirty minutes, an all black C-130
showed up which was to carry Chief Black and his son (all though they didn’t
know that part) to Thailand.
A message had been sent to the
aircraft carrier by some means unknown to Sam and a mail plane was sent to pick
him up and return him to the ship. He and his precious cargo of film were safely
extracted from Viet Nam and returned to the relative safety of the big grey
floating city.
As soon as he stepped foot off of the
aircraft he was divested of his bag by the same young Ensign from Naval
Intelligence that had first contacted him in the photo lab. He was allowed to
shower, eat and sleep for eight hours before he was taken to a viewing room to
be debriefed on every photo that he took. They kept at it for several days
which angered his PHC to no end because he still had to cover the duty roster
without PH2 White.
In a ceremony held at sea and with no
press release or notification of next of kin, Sam was awarded the Navy
Distinguished Service Medal. He was also instructed to never discuss the
mission he had been on and what he had photographed there.
We didn’t discuss it…he talked and I
listened; there was no discussion. He never said a word until twenty-three
years after it happened and the war was long over.
P.S.
On the next deployment (of his
carrier) that was heading towards Viet Nam, PH2 White managed to get himself
drunk enough to pass out on the beach in Hawaii and get badly sunburned. He
missed ship’s movement and didn’t get out of the hospital for six weeks (that
took a lot of sweet talking.)
Subsequently he was in big trouble and
got demoted to Photographer’s Mate 3rd class and did 30 days in the
ship’s brig upon arrival back on the carrier. He managed to miss all of the
Viet Nam duty station activity and wasn’t sad about that.
Rumor had it that Sam and a certain
Marine Sergeant that had a fondness for flying Cadillacs, were running a
nightly crap game in the brig. I don’t know for sure as I wasn’t there… but I
wouldn’t doubt it.
