Snowball

Phan Rang Airbase Republic of Viet Nam 1968 to 1969.

When my dog Duke was relieved from duty, he did not get to retire and spend his life in comfort in a nice home some place. Sentry dogs are not rehabilitated but euthanized. I loved my dog and went to his necropsy. I probably should not have done that because I nearly passed out from the odor when his stomach was cut open. That is why I never went into the medical field.

If you have read my previous posts, then you know I had to choose between several available dogs after Duke was relieved from duty. I chose a dog named Tusky. Tusky had one major problem, he was basically white with a patch of black on his back. All white german shepherds were not eligible to be sent to Viet Nam, but the black spot on Tusky's back made him eligible.

Unless you were in a helicopter, Tusky was an all white dog. What is the problem with having a white dog? You probably already answered the question, white is easily visible at night. If you were me and walking a dog along a fence line in enemy territory, what type of dog would you want? Okay, black, so that the dog is as invisible as you.

Well, Tusky and I performed well despite him being white. I wore camouflage fatigues and blended into the background at night. One night one of the tower guards told me that he could not see me, but that he could see my dog as we approached the tower.  When I was close enough for the tower guard to see me, he said that it looked like I was walking a snowball.

Bad Decision

Most of the war stories that I have shared showed my good judgment, but this one was not one of my best moments. It was January 1969, I was 22 years old, and I was on post in the Echo sector of the perimeter. I had less than 30 days left in country, therefore I was a "short timer." I even wore a short timer ribbon tied in a bow to my button loop; a ribbon that comes on a bottle of Seagram's VO Gold. When you are a short timer you start thinking about just surviving a few more days so that you can go home. Odd, but prior to the 30-day countdown, one does not really think about the possibility that the trip might be made in a pine box. Over 58,000 Americans lost their lives in this senseless war.

At guard mount, the H & I (Harassment and Irritation) fire missions were announced. H & I fire missions were missions where a heavy weapons team would fire at possible enemy infiltration routes. It was a way to train our heavy weapons teams in case they were needed in combat. On the night in question, a 50 caliber machine gun, mounted on a jeep, was going to set up to fire off base a half mile down the perimeter from my post. The 50 caliber machine gun fired tracers and exploding rounds with a .5-yard kill radius. That means that the bullet does not have to hit you; it just has to hit close to you.

Prior to the heavy weapons team setting up, Control contacted all of the posts and told us to clear our posts by withdrawing to the perimeter road. I was sitting behind the metal dump, seeming well protected and decided that I was safe. Even though I was notified to clear my post, I was comfortable and decided to stay where I was and I called in that I was clear. I was not alone. The handler on the post next to mine had stopped by for a visit. He decided to stay where we were sitting and he also called in that he was clear.

Once everyone had reported that they were clear of the line of fire, the heavy weapons team set up to fire. They were not a half a mile down the perimeter. Someone had changed the fire mission or they just set up at the wrong post. When they chambered a round, it sounded like they were directly behind us. They were actually 150 feet from the fence line where we were sitting and 100 feet to our left. It was too late for us to withdraw to the road. We could only hope that the eight-foot high pile of metal junk would be enough to protect us from the bullets.

Even though I was scared and afraid that I might not survive, I watched in amazement as red tracers and exploding rounds impacted the area just a few yards from me. Because you are reading this, you know that the metal dump saved the life of a very foolish young man. Life is full of decisions and we cannot escape the consequences of those decisions. I was fortunate to survive my poor decision and vowed to do better with my decision-making in the future.

Complaint

After posting the dog handlers and posting my squad leader, the Flight Chief pulled me aside to talk to me before sending me to post. He started by telling me that one of the 35 dog handlers had complained that I did not like him and that I was assigning him to all the bad posts. As Assistant Flight Chief, my duties included assigning each dog man team to their post every night. It was not an easy task, but one I took quite seriously. It was important not to keep a dog in the same area night after night so that they would not become too familiar with the area. If the dog became too comfortable with the surroundings, he might become less alert. It was also important that the same dog teams not be posted together night after night for the same reason. So I continually shuffled them around the perimeter mixing up the handlers and areas. I treated everyone the same.

What do you do when the person complaining really thinks that every post is a bad one? What do you do when the Flight Chief does not realize that is the real problem? Well, I did the only thing that I could, I pulled out his dog's record and showed the Flight Chief that he was moved continually around the perimeter just like everyone else. He was never in the same area or on the same post two nights in a row. There it was in black and white. When we wrapped up our meeting, the Flight Chief told me not to let it happen again. How do you think I felt as I walked my dog out to our post?

Monsoon Season

I arrived at Phan Rang Air Base in February of 1968. It was the dry season. The Phan Rang area was the closest to a desert area as it got in Viet Nam.  It was not a jungle area and the trees were small and had to survive a few months with very little rain. The monsoons started slowly. I do not remember what month, but one afternoon about 4:00pm it rained hard for five minutes. Each day after that, it continued to start raining right a 4 o'clock and rained a little longer each day. It was so regular that you could almost set your watch. The good thing was, it stopped before I had to go on post.

Then, suddenly one night it started pouring after I was on post and it did not stop. In the middle of my post was a small clearing amongst the tall grass with a log that I could sit on, cook my C-rations, and relax between sweeps of my post. Fortunately, I had cooked my C-rations before the rain started. I put on my poncho and sat there while it poured. I was miserable. It was so hot and humid that I would have been more comfortable without wearing the poncho. In the days and weeks to follow, I finally figured that out and started wrapping my gun in the poncho to keep it dry, because there was no way for me to stay dry.

As I sat there in my misery, I did not notice the water rising about my ankles until my dogs leash floated out from under my poncho. I decided that I should head for higher ground. I followed my dog up the path towards the tower that sat on higher ground. What I did not realize until too late was that I had been sitting on an island in the middle of a dry canal, which was no longer dry and no longer an island. As I followed my dog, I suddenly stepped off the edge of the island into chest deep water. I had not realized that my dog was swimming. Fortunately, the stream was narrow and my dog pulled me up the bank on the other side. When I got to the tower, I had the tower guard call my supervisor to bring me a dry gun and a new radio.

I am so thankful that Tusky was a good swimmer. With combat boots and a gun, I would not have been able to even float.