I wrote one other story a while back about a pipelining adventure long agowith a friend I met that summer. Part of that story was his story and I gave him credit for it. This is another such story and the words are from another friend.
I met Ed Cannon in elementary school in Oak Grove, Louisiana. He became a friend and eventually a best friend. We did a little shooting together, we were in Boy Scouts together, we played high school football together. Ed was Eddie back then and I was Kenny. Later in college we stayed friends. We both began college at Northeast Louisiana State College in the fall of 1964. It took both of us longer to get graduated than we had planned. Me, because I just wasn’t a very good student for much of the early part of my college days. Ed because he left college to go to war.
On January 31, 1969 I had the first date with my wife of the past nearly 53 years. I took her to a going away party honoring Ed who was on his way to Vietnam. I completed my time in college and in Advanced ROTC and entered the Army in August of 1969, Ed was already on his way Vietnam and I supposed I would not be far behind him, but turned out that I had a stateside assignment before I headed to Southeast Asia. By then, Ed was home and back in school finishing up a degree in Pharmacy.
The rest of this story is Ed’s. My disclaimer is this. I did go to Vietnam, I did get shot at with rockets and mortars and I did get home with a Bronze Star and all of the “I was there” ribbons. Gratefully, I also got home without a Purple Heart. I was an artilleryman in Vietnam, well actually I was a platoon leader with a machinegun battery in a field artillery group. I patrolled lots of roads providing convoy security and security on four different fire support bases (artillery bases). I was never in the Infantry in combat. I never had to duck behind a fallen log to keep from being shot, I never looked into the face of someone I killed rather than being killed. My hat is off to all the “Grunts” out there who did do that. I woke up each morning in Vietnam with one prayer on my lips, “Lord, please let no one die today because of me.” I was fortunate that for every day I was in Vietnam, that prayer was answered. What follows here is a story from Ed Cannon, who was an Infantryman and a rifleman in an Infantry squad that did bushwack through the jungle and did have to duck behind a log to not be killed.
COMBAT SOUNDS
REVISITED
J Edward Cannon
The First Cavalry Division, headquartered at Bien Hoa, South Vietnam, was responsible for all military operations in the large III Corps area of South Vietnam, during my tour in Vietnam. That Area of Operations was from generally north of Saigon all the way to the Cambodian Border, North and East. The First Battalion of the Eighth Cavalry Regiment, which included me as an infantry soldier in Company C, was tasked during this time in September 1969, with finding and destroying enemy bunkers in north Binh Long Province, which bordered Cambodia.
Charlie Company, numbering about one hundred thirty-two soldiers, was divided into four platoons; three infantry and one mortar, plus headquarters that included the company commander, radio telephone operators (RTO’s) senior noncommissioned officers (NCOs), and a forward observer (FO) for artillery support. For this day’s mission, two infantry platoons were to walk off from the FSB (artillery base) that we had been occupying to provide security, out into the bamboo and jungle to search for enemy snipers and mortar teams that had been harassing the base. We divided into two columns; each column was led by a point squad of five riflemen with an M-60 machinegun team of four men following close behind. The rest of the platoon followed in single file. Each column stretched back over thirty meters when the soldiers moved out over the cleared area surrounding the base into the brush or bamboo jungle and tall trees. When we stopped for the back of the line to catch up or waited for directions to move forward, we tried to be as motionless and quiet as possible. The heat, humidity, mosquitoes, and heavy combat load on our burdened backs made it difficult to remain still. We had moved through nearly two kilometers of jungle without any sign of enemy soldiers, when we came to a stream which was clearly shown on our map. The point squad and platoon lieutenants made the decision to cross the twenty- meter-wide stream and opposite bank at a point on the map that indicated a shoal with a rocky bottom. From their concealed vantage point in the thick vegetation bordering the stream, they could not be certain exactly where the crossing was, or how deep it was now during the rainy season. After several minutes of scanning the opposite bank, one point man moved out of his cover into the open area at the stream’s edge and entered the water. He found a crossing where the water was less than waist deep and he carefully crossed the stream. The other point man found his way across the shoal and both columns of men followed their point lead. The water was cool and refreshing; the concern of exposure to
sniper fire or ambush while in a stream in known enemy territory was not. We quickly moved up the bank on the opposite side of the stream as the point squads moved on. After all of the Troopers were clear of the stream, we quietly continued our search for the next couple hundred meters. Suddenly, a rooster crowed! Not some exotic jungle bird but a common barnyard chicken. The muffled sounds of alerted infantry soldiers dropping to one knee, shifting equipment and ammunition and the unmistakable click of M-16 selectors moving to full automatic spread down the trails. The point teams quietly moved forward and then, suddenly, M-16 fire from our point squad rattled through the jungle! AK-47 fire from the startled enemy soldiers soon followed and the calm quietness of the jungle turned into the chaotic roar of a pitched gun battle. How nearly sixty men carryings their weapons, ammunition, and other combat equipment had surprised these very capable enemy soldiers was amazing to me, but we had. We had initiated contact, and as I heard the distinctive sound of the first M-60 machinegun open fire, I felt our chances against the entrenched enemy soldiers had improved dramatically. The sound of more gunfire erupted as the second column to our left encountered bunkers or enemy positions. At the sound of the first gunshot, I dropped to the ground and checked my gear. I had two bandoleers of M-16 magazines already strapped onto me and two magazines in an ammo pouch, two grenades with their safety clips on and an ammo can with 200 rounds of linked machine gun bullets. That day, I was in the second machinegun team of the second platoon in the right column near the back. As a team, we immediately moved toward the sound of gunfire to support the point squad and the first machinegun team. They were actively engaging the enemy soldiers in the bunkers, shooting as if their lives depended on it. Several M-16s were pouring their 55gr. copper full metal jacket (FMJ) bullets into the bunkers and active VC fighting positions.
Troopers with M-79s, were shooting their goose-egg sized grenades like small mortars, making their unmistakable “thump”. This sound was soon followed by a “wham” as the grenades dropped on their targets. My team could not move close enough to open fire with our machinegun without endangering our own soldiers who were ahead of us and who had sought whatever cover they could find. I was close enough to see a bunker, and I watched as a Staff Sergeant from our platoon, who was in his second
infantry tour in Vietnam, took a LAW antitank rocket from one of the Troopers. With a couple of his hand grenades, he moved forward to a somewhat protected position by a tree. He armed and fired the rocket and hit the exposed top of the bunker. There was a loud explosion as the 2.75-inch rocket impacted the bamboo and earthen bunker but it caused little damage. The LAW rockets, designed to penetrate tank amour with a blast and concussion, had limited shrapnel discharge but were used often in close combat for their stunning explosive effect. Immediately after the sound of the blast subsided, we heard a Vietcong (VC) leader give orders to his soldiers in a clear, distinctive Vietnamese voice, mixed with the high-pitched screams of at least one of the terrified female soldiers with them. I did not understand one word they said, but I feel certain the subject of the conversation was for them to leave quickly, which they did, through trenches or tunnels. The blast of the LAW rocket also hit a small bamboo structure behind the bunker that caged a number of chickens. The chickens and their cage flew in all directions! Most of
the chickens survived, and one can only imagine the ensuing squawking! This cacophony did not stop until the firefight was over.The Staff Sergeant moved forward again and accurately tossed a grenade into the gun port of the nearest bunker and another into a connecting trench through which the VC soldiers quickly exited. After the grenades exploded, all gunfire ceased except for sporadic M-16 fire from the middle column to our left. The first machine gun team and rifle squad ran to the bunker and fighting positions and cleared them without further gunfire.
The VC were gone. Calls for the medic rang clear above all other sounds. The rifle squad and first gun team moved back to secure an open area near the stream for a helicopter to land and medevac our wounded. The second machine gun team and rifle squad, which included me, moved through the bunker area and then along either side of a trail that led into the jungle. We moved carefully beside the trail, which soon led us to an opening and a small stream with a high bank on the opposite side. The stream must have been the water supply for the VC, and the well-used path was also a quick route of escape. I was on the left side of the trail and could see the squad leader, who directed me with hand signals, to position myself at the edge of the open area and to cover the top of the far embankment. I was not sure if he wanted me to provide cover fire or lead the charge up the trail and over the embankment. At that point, I was the only soldier on the left side of the trail close to the clearing. As I followed the VC sandal prints down the trail with my eyes, I noticed spots of blood and one of the tracks still filling with muddy water. The VC had used this trail only moments before! I had a very bad feeling about crossing that trail, either to join the rest of the team or to charge up that embankment; so, with that concern, I awaited my orders. The early afternoon rain had begun to fall and as I lay prone in a cluster of bamboo stalks on a bed of decaying foliage, I hoped the cover hid me from enemy eyes. Water dripped off my helmet, into my eyes as I held my head up to look down the barrel of my M-16. It also trickled off the back of my helmet onto my neck. Neither distracted my attention. My M-16 barrel was exposed only enough for me to point it at the most likely sniper position or to return fire if needed. When the time came to move, the squad leader would yell, “Move out” or “Cover fire,” and I would know my assignment, either to move up the trail or stay in my position and fire my M-16 to cover other soldiers’ movement. Time passed slowly as I waited anxiously for the order that could determine my fate. Wait, watch, listen, too much time to think! Meanwhile, the second column of our company cleared their contact area to our left and moved forward ahead of us to the edge of the trail. Our platoon leader received the “all clear ahead”, by radio; then, with his strong combat voice, ordered us to hold our fire and to move forward to join the other column. I stood up, ran across the small stream, up the far bank and down the trail with the rifle squad and my machine gun team, always on high alert.
Following enemy trails resulted in casualties to many infantrymen in Vietnam during the long war. Several months after this incident, a friend, who had joined the company the same day as I and who was in the rifle squad across the trail from me that day, was killed during a heroic attempt to provide cover for, and save, other members of his squad as they followed a trail into an ambush.
The bunkers were cleared, the wounded were medevac’d, all of our ammo and equipment recovered and VC equipment destroyed or kept to carry with us. We gathered into squads and platoons and returned to the firebase by a different direction. All this before sunset!
This relatively light enemy contact was not remarkable for a combat infantryman and I had not even fired a shot, but the surreal combination of sounds I heard that day were forever etched in my memory. These sounds would randomly return to me for years to come, just as intensely as on that day.
Thank you, Ed. Great story and, I am sure, one of many you have. I will add some of them to this blog from time to time because the point of the blog is to share memories of growing up. You and I grew up differently in the Republic of Vietnam, but we did grow up fast there.
granddaddystories 