Shenandoah is the name of a town in Virginia. It is the name of a county in Virginia. It is also the name of a river in Virginia. That river runs through the northern portion of the most beautiful valley in the world. That valley is located between the Allegany and the Blue Ridge Mountains. The name of that valley, too, is called The Shenandoah Valley". I spent many of my boyhood days in that valley. I was born in that valley. Shenandoah was also the name given to the last and bloodiest operation of the war for my 1/18th Battalion while being led by Lt. Col. Dick Cavazos.

     Operation Shenandoah II kicked off on the 29th of September 1967. That was around two weeks after "Landing" my new job. Jack Toomey's 1/2nd Battalion would be the first to see significant action in this operation. On the first day they established an NDP about 4.5 Klicks (4.5 kilometers) N.W. of Lai Khe. According to a grunt's timeline, it had been ages now since Jack had been welcomed to his unit, where he was immediately given mid-section seating (2 klicks away) to the "Alexander Haig Show" at LZ George. Sgt. Murry and his boys had hogged all the upfront seating (500 meters away). In the aftermath of that battle known as Ap Gu, it had not taken Jack long, at all, to realize that it would be a very good idea to provide himself with all the fire power he could muster. So, he volunteered for the job of platoon machine gunner. On the 30th day of September, my unit was flown from Di An to Phuoc Vinh as a ready reserve force for Jack's 1/2nd Battalion. Jack's unit began a "search and destroy" operation just east of highway 13 and about 15 Klicks north of Lai Khe. My truck and a water trailer, which I was pulling behind it, were flown to Phuoc Vinh in a Chinook. I sat in the driver's seat during the twenty-minute flight because there was no place else to sit.    

      On Oct. 4th, as the 1/2nd Battalion's recon platoon left the NDP, they were ambushed by a sizable enemy force. The battalion was tasked with making a large sweep in a westerly direction. Recon platoon was running point, while C Company followed behind. Jack Toomey's A Company and the newly formed D Company were supposed to bring up the rear. However, they were still "milling around" inside the perimeter when the shooting started. Part of C Company was also saddling up to join the march. The newly created D Company had just been flown out from Di An to join the rest of the Battalion for their very first combat operation. Plans were changed the previous evening for Capt. Bill Hearn's B Company to now stay behind and protect the NDP, while D Company took their place in the line of march. The unit had not gone 300 meters when they walked into the jaws of this enemy ambush. Recon platoon's point man, Terrance Schneider, was the first to be fatally wounded. His death was just a repeat, of the same constant forever present with that job of point man. Men like Terrance were always going to be the first to go down. It was built to this mindless way in which our leaders had chosen to fight this war which falsely assumed if we killed more of them than they killed of us, we would win.

      Unfortunately for Jack and his cohorts, their battalion commander was new with no previous combat experience. In other words, he was a "babe thrown to the wolfs".  This was his first major engagement and as the firefight continued, Jack's A company, along with D were forced to shuffle back into perimeter positions while the soldiers in C Company were naively ordered forward to defend the beleaguered recon platoon. It was just another repeat of past actions, which once again played into Triet's hand and that of the 271st NVA Battalion and other elements of the 9th Division. It was a long fire fight which lasted until 1100 hours. The duration of the fight and also the number of casualties, tells me all I need to know about the ineffectiveness of the American response to this ambush. Instead of ordering a couple fire teams to immediately "fan out" to the left and right flanks and lay down covering fire long enough for others to recover the wounded and withdraw through their ranks the short distance toward the perimeter, recon platoon was made to "stay put" and slug it out with the enemy. It was an enemy, who already had the advantage of choosing their fighting positions beforehand. To make matters worse, as C Company men rushed forward to join the recon platoon, they exposed themselves, like cardboard cut-outs, to tremendous amounts of fire, coming from the well-situated enemy machine gunners and tree snipers. C Company quickly sustained 25% casualties, making it much harder now to withdraw, while taking care of the wounded at the same time. As with Haig's boys at the battle of Ap Gu, all recon platoons in the First Division had one thing in common. They were usually hardened veterans armed more often than not with the deadly M-14. 1/2nd recon platoon was no different. As they hunkered down for the "long haul", they were able to lay down extremely effective return fire. They were every bit as formidable as the enemy sappers leading the charge on Triet's side of the battle. Reviewed causality reports prove to me that they did an excellent job of holding that ground. I know their mindset well because I served alongside of men like these. I was in a position to observe them day in and day out. I also know how to read casualty reports to decipher more than just numbers. For instance, only two out of the twenty-eight or so recon patrol members were killed, yet they were in the forefront of the fighting from early in the morning until 1100 hours. That information says two things to me. First, it says that artillery units were not able to be utilized as effectively as they needed to be, or the fire fight would not have lasted as long as it did. Secondly, it says that recon platoon did some "mighty fine shooting" or there would have been many more Americans killed, over such an extended period of time.

      This was a well-planned ambush. By now, the enemy knew they could count on us Americans to patrol certain areas and respond to attacks in the same manner almost every time. The 1/2nd had been operating in this area for four days. By process of elimination, over the last four days, Triet would have been able to calculate on this day, with a high degree of probability, what side of the perimeter the Americans would be entering the wood line. So, that's the side they chose to stage their ambush. He also knew, that once engaged, it was likely that this new commander would "hunker down" while getting his artillery and air strikes going. This would give Triet time to kill and wound a lot of Americans before escaping out the flanks, taking hidden trails, which would allow his conscripts to exit the area faster, before artillery and air strikes could do bad things. Why did senior leaders allow us to continually be played like this? I wish I knew. However, my criticizing our bad tactics is like some one criticizing the way a bandage is placed on a massively infected wound. The greater problem was not in correcting the band aid of failed tactics. The greater problem was in the widespread and deadly infection starting to take hold of America in general. We emerged from World War II as the most technologically advanced and wealthiest nation that the world had ever seen. In 1967 we were getting very close to being able to send a person to the moon and back but we were also turning our back on the very Judeo-Christian principles which had undergirded our rise to worldwide power. 

     Now, by October 1967, however, in some small way, against all odds, Dick's boys, had fast become a haven unto ourselves, though operating at almost half strength. 

      Cavazos blunted Triet's plans as he landed "smack dab" in the middle of his "living room". This "up close and personal" landing went off without a hitch, because Dick fine-tuned his use of napalm, anti-personnel bombs, and artillery, to kill almost every one of Triet's most valuable local assets, which he was counting on, to spring the trap he had in mind. Dick had his FO mark the target area around the landing zone with white phosphorus artillery rounds, so the jets would be sure to see where to drop their ordinates. Dick liked his artillery close-in near the clearing, and his air past the demarcation line which was clearly marked with white phosphorus. Not only was this sure to take out enemy spotters and guides, but it also destroyed como-wire used to transmit communications from the battle field to Triet's command location. Triet had no way now to guide his teenaged NVA conscripts into position in time for a quick attack before Dick's men had time to land and dig in. You see, the enemy's overhaul plan had always included launching a main attack on whoever showed up to help the 1/2nd and that unit just happened to be the 1/18th. The initial attack on the 1/2nd was just a blow to get the ball rolling. Triet had 4000 troops in the area. That was more bodies than the entire nine battalions of the First Division could muster on any given day. Triet had more than enough human resources to throw at several of our battalions at the same time. Now, however, what he didn't have were the local VC, so necessary to guide those NVA troops into battle positions. Cavazos had just stuck a pin in that balloon and Triet was mad. His long-desired dream of finally over-running a First Division defensive position was falling apart before his very eyes and he was mad. People do crazy things when they get mad, especially when that anger is rooted in fear, and Triet lived in constant fear of not pleasing Hanoi.

     However, Triet's type of "crazy" made him work ever more feverishly. It would take a couple days to find replacements for the knowledgeable people whom he had lost to Dick's thorough bombing and artillery fires. However, in the meantime, Triet was already working on another plan to destroy this upstart unit. The weather would help some. During the necessary lag time, needed to recruit more local sappers, Triet could count on the predictable monsoon rains to start falling every afternoon and not stop until late in the evening. The 1/18th's DePuy bunkers would have their bottoms soaked, producing a gooey red mud. That would make the middle of the night a perfect time to attack. Many a rain soaked American would be trying to sleep outside his muddy defenses and perhaps be preoccupied with hiding under a poncho, not from the rain, but from the "drone sized" mosquitoes. These miserable weather conditions would definitely make a defending soldier just a little slower to react. Perhaps this time, would be Triet's time to shine. Perhaps, just perhaps, this time "waterlogged" brains would react too slowly, allowing him to overrun his very first "Big Red One" night defensive position. One could only dream, but what a marvelous dream this was.

      When I left the field, I by no means, put my squad in a lurch. By now, my B company was composed of mostly veteran grunts, who had experienced many small-time shoot-outs, although nothing big. Furthermore, for the most part, these veteran buddies of mine had figured out ways to fight the war on their own terms, requiring very little guidance, from an NCO. Walker didn't need much of an invitation to take out anything that looked like a threat to our front, using his hard to spot and very deadly accurate thump gun. If a dark spot ahead of our patrol looked a little out of place, then a couple of Walker's M-40 grenade rounds would make sure it did not look that way anymore. Milliron could navigate as well as I could, and Bowman had the uncanny ability to watch and listen to every word the jungle around him was saying. The Indian in weapons platoon, who went on many of our patrols, was methodical in his handling of the M-60 and his ammo bearers never left his side. Besides that, we were grunts, with a "poppa", who could call down the world on the landscape around us, without getting us killed in the process. Simply put, the guys I just left behind were a stand-alone force, who would not miss one guy like me. Before Cavazos arrived, that wasn't true. Back then, they needed every backwoods hillbilly, whom they could get, but not anymore. Dick had very quickly and very methodically changed things on a battalion level, and the men in my squad had changed too. Heck-fire, at this moment in time our entire battalion had been transformed into a very superior fighting force, in no small part due to the King Ranch Legacy, but also due to a number of young Christian grunts, as well.

      Here is one big factor, which allowed us to become so competent so quickly and it is something every young leader should know. Cavazos had a very keen ability to weed through officer replacements and chose some very astute leaders, like Watts Caudill. They were leaders, who didn't think that they had to spout-out orders like "know-it-alls" until they took the time to learn from veteran NCOs, who actually did know a thing or two. Here is one very colorful example of how Dick weeded through a batch of new lieutenants, to cull a misfit before he had a chance to cause trouble. This incident took place shortly after Dick had commandeered Watts Caudill, from D Company, in July. Three new lieutenants were assigned to our battalion. Among those three was a committed believer in Christ named Dale McCall, and Dale's OCS buddy, Larry Arbuckle. There was also one more who remains nameless. All three found themselves waiting outside a large hooch, to be interviewed by Dick. The nameless guy went in first, while Dale and his buddy waited outside. It was a very short interview, but it left a lasting impression on both Dale and Larry. They could not hear a word which was said during the entire interview, but that wasn't necessary because Dick transformed the interview into a "Kodiak moment", which they would never forget. Here's how. Shortly after entering the hooch, that first man, came flying out again, helped along by Dick's stubby hands, one on his collar, and the other grasping the baggy folds in the rear-end of his britches. Obviously, Dale and Larry were amazed at what they were seeing. After throwing the man out of his hooch, Dick quickly turned to go back inside, while calmly shouting over his shoulder, "Who's next?". This left Dale and Larry staring at each other for a few long seconds. Finally, Larry broke the silence and stammered, "Dale, why don't you go next?" Without replying, Dale started walking slowly toward the entrance to the hooch, while the other man slumped away in disgrace. In a gruff voice, Dick asked Dale what job assignment he wanted, and Dale immediately answered back, saying that he had been trained to lead a combat platoon. Now, Dick's voice softened, as he began to explain, that the guy he had just booted out had ask to be put in charge of the officer's club at Di An. "Dale, you will do fine", Dick said in that very same fatherly tone of voice , which he had used to address the "cussin man" at fire base Thrust.    

      So, with these brief descriptions of how things were shaping up, leading up to my unit's first big battle, I believe it's easy for the reader to see that a self-sufficient crew, like mine, was not going to miss one "ole grunt", when he quietly slipped off to take a rear echelon job. If I had stayed in the field and lived, I would have been going home soon anyway, and if I hadn't, well I think the reader can get what I am trying to say. Besides, by now, my relationship with my squad had been cemented by so many narrow escapes, that such a petty thing like jealously had no place to sprout. The guys I left behind would still remain part of me and I would still remain part of them. Furthermore, I found myself regularly hanging out with them in the evenings after chow, each time they came in from the field. However, I had spent over 240 days in the field, as a point man, without experiencing what my unit was about to experience. I had been shot at and mortared more times, then I can remember, but the fights I had experienced were "small time", compared to what my unit was now facing. The big engagements were finally coming my unit's way and how would my guys fare, when that happened?

      Surprisingly, these upcoming big fights would not be perceived, by most of the men in my unit, as being all that different. On October 13th, when my unit returned from their first big fight, I only learned from my former squad members small tidbits about this fight, although it was a big one, with a lot going on. As we sat around in the wet darkness visiting, however, I didn't get any sense from our conversations, that they thought they had been through anything much more traumatic, than what we all considered normal. Looking back now, I realize what none of us realized back then. Many people, who go through large scale combat, after going through numerous small-time shoot-outs unscathed, are usually not as traumatized, as one might think. The brain seems to limit itself, from absorbing the full extent, of what it's going through. Those other few, who do possess a keener awareness, may be the very ones, who lose their minds. Many times, one's mind focuses on specific events, blocking out the larger picture. Afterward, that narrow focus forever dictates how we remember those battles and thus how we are able to describe events to others, as was the case with my guys as they talked about their most recent experiences with me. Quite frankly, their narrow-minded descriptions sounded so similar, to what we had experienced together, while I was still with them, that I too, for years, failed to snap to the magnitude of what they had just been through. It was years later, after reading "after action reports" and talking to other veterans across the country, before I was able to come to a better understanding. For example, in a conversation with Bowman, he calmly explained how he had decided to get rid of his pump shot gun. He announced this decision with such little emotion, in much the same way that a guy might announce that he was trading in his pickup. "Okay. So what?", I thought, until after a long pause, he went on to explain how this shotgun almost got him killed by a tree snapper. It seems his gun's buckshot was not powerful enough to shoot through the dense foliage and reach the sniper, trying to zero in on him from the top of this very tall tree. The "cussin" red faced guy calmly chimed in, telling me how he killed that sniper with several bursts from his M-14. There was no great emotion, however, in either of their voices, as the conversation progressed. This made it sound pretty routine to me. In reality, it wasn't at all routine. There were scores of NVA conscripts firing at Bowman's position, at the same time this tree sniper was shooting at him. However, partly because my buddies could not see the larger battlefield and partly because not a single member of my squad was seriously injured, there was not much emotion in talking about that battle, and secondly, not much remembrance of details about the larger battle.

      Actually, there was much more emotion in their voices, as the conversation turned to another topic, which was not nearly as serious as combat. Yet, this topic caused voices to raise and created emotional expressions of dismay, from almost everyone. The "cussin" man kicked off the conversation when he looked straight at me and shrieked that Bill Milliron (who wasn't present) had just been promoted to buck sergeant. It seemed that Bartee had given the nod to have his pot smoking buddy promoted as soon as he had returned from his faked emergency leave in the states. I could tell that almost everyone thought this was unfair and perhaps some also thought that maybe Bartee's favoritism was the reason I left. Hearing about Bill's promotion did cause me to feel a slight pang in the bottom of my stomach, and yes, favoritism did play a small part in my leaving, but it wasn't the primary reason for me leaving the field. With all their faults, I really liked Bill and Bartee, because both men took my input in the field to the bank and Bartee treated me with respect, even when sending me on the next chopper out of the field to peel potatoes or burn latrines. The primary reason, hands down, for my wanting to get out of the field was the unrelenting rain. It was for the same reason my buddy Winstead had, when he signed up to become a helicopter door gunner. It would be years later before I gave a second thought to the fact that Bartee had not only given the nod for Bill to become E-5, but earlier had promoted Bill, around me, to become SP-4. The only reason for bringing this subject up is to give the reader an example of how such trivial squad drama could evoke much stronger feelings in us, than actual combat. I now believe this is a common occurrence amongst many combat veterans, especially the more self-centered ones. Unsanctified minds have a propensity to wallow in pettiness, while minimizing the very traumatic events of their lives.

      By October 6th, Triet had again arranged for things to fall in place for a perimeter attack on my 1/18th Infantry battalion and his plans came together not a day too soon. You see, so many rice caches had been destroyed in this area around Thunder Road, that his conscripts were starving. It was so bad that he was soon going to be forced to move these starving NVA conscripts deeper into the Long Nguyen Secret Zone, if he didn't quickly make something happen. There were some supplies further in, but even with fresh supplies, it would take time for his worn-down troops to gain back their strength. However, there was always that plan B, which would allow him to continue his campaign, without slowing down and running the risk of incurring Hanoi's wrath. It would also address the worn-down state of his conscripts, as well. Hanoi was a tuff task master, who cared nothing for the loss of individual lives as long as those losses brought results. Triet was well aware of this and also aware that Duan had already eliminated some slackers, much higher up than him, whose actions didn't seem to fully support his "big battle" idea. That was not going to happen to him. So, plan B was on. With more fresh bodies arriving every day, via the Ho Chi Minh trail, and with six months being the average expiration date calculated by Hanoi, before these teenagers were either dead or no longer fit for service, plan B sounded like the perfect solution. He now had enough local guides, scouts, and sappers in place, to be able to immediately guide a three prong attack on the 1/18th NDP and over run it or at least get rid of some mouths to feed. Most importantly, win or lose, plan B would make his timely efforts look good to Duan and thus secure his standing with the boss. Lastly, he would not need to waste precious time nursing physically and mentally worn-out conscripts back to fighting shape because many of them would die in the upcoming battles. Actually, that was just another beautiful aspect of plan B. Dead conscripts could so quickly be replaced, and they also sidetracked the gullible Westmoreland, because their body counts continued to give him a sense of fulfillment, while buying time for Duan to stage his grand faunally, the Tet offensive.

      By now, the 1/18th had been in camp long enough for most of her men to have gotten a feel for their surroundings. Everyone, both men and officers knew that they were in a great deal of danger. There were no civilians to be seen anywhere. The jungle was mostly triple canopy, with small clearings here and there and the area was laced with well-worn trails. On the 5th, C company had made a sweep and discovered a large recently used enemy base camp. Afterward, as C Company turned and headed back toward their NDP, they were fired upon by a large enemy patrol. James Dossett was the point man and immediately took it upon himself to maneuver toward the threat. He single handedly laid down covering fire, while the men behind him spread out and took up firing positions. The Viet Cong patrol quickly realized that they were up against a much larger force so they fled across a small clearing. After crossing the clearing, several of them turned to watch the clearing and cover the retreat for the others. Dossett was the first and only American to cross that clearing and was shot down by the ambushers as soon as he entered the wood line on the other side. After all these years his widow has never stopped grieving. Dossett had been in the field a little less than 21/2 months, hardly enough time to get his feet wet, much less be walking point for his entire Company. However, the battalion strength was down, and compromises had to be made. No one was made to walk point. I am sure Dossett stepped up to the plate and volunteered. That's just the kind of person he was.

      Now on the afternoon of the 6th, Triet set his attack plan on our NDP into motion. Five enemy registration rounds landed inside the south side of the perimeter, just as my boys had finished their nice hot meal, which I had loaded on helicopters for them a couple hours earlier. No one got too alarmed about five mortar rounds landing inside the perimeter, but the shelling did serve to perk up the entire unit, from the afternoon doldrums. Of course, Dick took note and gave a couple guys a job, who were extremely good at estimating distance by sound. They were tasked with guiding a couple gunships in the direction of the sound coming from those enemy mortar tubes. After our own mortar platoons answered back too, no more rounds fell on the NDP.

     Only the Korean veterans in our unit had ever experienced an all-out frontal attack, while in fortified bunkers. At this point, most people in my unit were doubtful that such a thing could happen. Only these crusty "ole veterans, thought otherwise, of which, Cavazos was one. From habit, he had already started allowing his imagination to make sense of clues which Triet was leaving behind each day. Sometimes, he needed a few moments of uninterrupted quiet time to read Triet's mail. Many times he exercised this mental discipline, while sitting on a water can, pretending to eat a can of cold ham and lima beans, or starring aimlessly at map. At times like this, his S3 (operation's officer) would shield him from the constant flow of routine interruptions, which often required a bevy of routine decisions to follow. If his S3 couldn't handle those routine interruptions, himself, Dick would find one who could.

      Rain clouds started forming "right on time" as ambush patrols from each of the three companies readied themselves to move out. The sun was going down. The rain was becoming more intense. Flares would soon be popping overhead. Ambush sites were to be no more than five hundred meters from the NDP. Every "ole grunt" in the battalion sensed deep in their bones that something bad was going to happen, but Dick needed one more clue from Triet before he would be ready to draw any conclusions. That final clue was not long, in coming.

     McCall had been with Mike platoon almost two months now but the first month he had allowed his very experienced platoon sergeant, Loren Malone, to run the platoon. McCall was a fast learner and in about three weeks Malone came to him and announced that he was ready to take over. At this point in time, McCall was doing a pretty good job for a newbie. New as he was, however, even he sensed that tonight was going to be different.

     When the sun set, the rain started coming down in sheets, as the front blew through. On the way to their ambush site, B Company ambush patrol walked only 250 meters from their base camp perimeter, before they collided with a platoon sized force of sappers and guides. The fire fight was short, but intense. These enemy fighters were no novices. They were Triet's local hardened communist replacements for the one's killed by the bombings on the 4th. This fresh supply of sapper guides were on the way to positions around the perimeter, stringing fresh como wire as they went, so they could talk to Triet as they guided NVA conscripts into assault positions around B company's side of the NDP perimeter. Needless to say, any conscript who refused to comply would be immediately shot. Few actually were shot, because of the adroitness of their cadre in breaking down their will, using a well thought out combination of fear, coercion and drugs. Once everything was ready and Triet gave the order, NVA conscripts would be double timed down ox cart trails and herded by their guides into positions for a human wave attack. However, now, those essential guides had been shot to pieces by Caudill's veteran ambush patrol, which meant there would be no one to guide Triet's cannon fodder into their final attack positions on B Company's side of the NDP. Two men in B Company ambush patrol, were wounded and a third man, Paul Oestreicher, was killed. Paul's body was not immediately found. As the fire fight subsided, mortar rounds started raining down on B Company's side of the perimeter, which did two things. Number one, those rounds wounded one of the most well liked members of B Company, my buddy, Earl Dingle, as he was returning with that same patrol, which had just been involved in the fire fight. Secondly, it removed all doubt from anyone's mind that an all-out attack on the perimeter was imminent. Taken from pieced together information of conversations and reports, here is a probable word picture of events, as they happened next, on B Company's side of the perimeter.

     The enemy shelling stopped, but the rain did not. Never-the-less it was time for Caudill to put himself into motion and check on his ambush patrol, which was now returning to the NDP (night defensive perimeter). He had just finished giving a very brief update on his patrol's shoot-out, to the "ole man" (Cavazos). He gave it over the radio, from his bunker, which was located only a short distance from the "ole man's" command bunker. As Caudill stood to go check on his wounded patrol, he blurted out a short command to his heavy set first sergeant, Pink Dillard, who was squeezed into the tight confines somewhere behind him. "Top, make double sure your people are ready for an attack on the perimeter". He then reached for his short barreled AR-15 and headed for the command bunker entrance located only two steps away. The entrance was nothing more than a "misty looking", gray-orange opening, between a wall of slimy slick sandbags. His Battalion net RTO, Fred Walters, needed no verbal communications to know that he needed to follow Caudill. He knew the drill well, which was always to anticipate the next move his commander made, and without continually being told to do so, stay close. Stay real close. Fred followed Caudill through the opening with his rifle in one hand and the tip of his radio antenna in the other, to keep it from getting hung up on the low ceiling of the bunker. The Company RTO, David Eaton, followed suite behind Fred. Once on the outside of the bunker, the three men were immediately hit in the face by stinging pellets of rain, which felt more like bird shot than rain drops. Through squinting eyes, they viewed the macabre world around them. An overhead flare, drenched in the torrential down-pour made everything look pale orange. Men were congregating at one spot on B Company's perimeter only a few yards away. As Caudill reached the little gathering, medics were already checking over his three wounded men. Dingle was hurt the worst. He was lying on his back and his entire right side, from shoulder down was covered in blood. Watts knelt down beside him, grabbed his hand, and was searching for some comforting words to say, when a stocky figure, surrounded by several taller ones appeared out of the rainy mist. The figure was Dick Cavazos. Watts looked up at Dick and Dick looked down at him. As the battalion commander tilted his head downward, Watts immediately became distracted by two little continuous streams of water running through the cloth camouflage and off the bream of Dick's steel helmet, one in front of each eye. It's funny how a detailed mind like Caudill's could not help but be pulled away by seemingly trivial details at a time like this. Soaking wet, but unfazed by his drenching shower, Dick spoke to Watts in that same measured tone his men had become accustomed hearing. First, he reiterated what Watts already knew. "Captain, It's likely they will hit our perimeter." Then, in a more quieting tone, he used three more words to shoo Watts back to his most urgent duty at hand. "Attend your men captain". Lastly, Dick then injected a comment meant to relieve his young captain of any distracting guilt he may have been feeling for his wounded men. "In this storm Watts,  you better let me work on getting a medevac out for our wounded". With that said, the two commanders now exchanged places. Dick knelt by a very distraught Earl Dingle and Caudill stood and headed down the perimeter a ways to join a dark figure in the distance. That figure was his Top sergeant, Pink Dillard, coming from the other direction. "Captain, we are ready", said "Pink". Watts nodded and both men and their two RTO shadows turned toward B Company command bunker. A stretcher was found to move Dingle to Dick's own command bunker. "Son, I am going to get you a "dust-off", he said as he squeezed Dingle's hand. Then he stood up and moved ahead of the stretcher, toward his command bunker radios to do just that. No one realized until later that Triet would not be able to launch a human wave attack on B Company's side of the perimeter. The contribution which Dingle and Oestreicher's ambush patrol had made, by shooting up Triet's guides would prevent that from happening. Oestreicher was killed in the fire fight, but Dingle was helping other members of the patrol to reach the safety of the perimeter when he was hit by one of those mortar rounds which fell on B Company's side of the NDP. My research came up with one report, which said that Dick, himself, held Earl in his arms to calm him, while trying to get a medevac "dust-off" to fly into the storm. All helicopters were grounded but one crew volunteered to come anyway. Gene Burlingham was captain. Robert Porea was copilot. Joseph Hoggart was the medic and Lewis Trask was a mechanic who volunteered to go along as door gunner. They almost made it but their chopper crashed in the storm just a short distance from the NDP. The entire crew was killed. According to a personal recanting from one of the men in my unit, Earl Dingle bled out and died in Dick's arms.

     Cavazos now knew that an attack on the perimeter was imminent so he ordered all ambush patrols to return to the relative safety of the NDP. On the way home, C Company ambush patrol encountered and shot-up two more teams of sappers and guides who were to guide conscripts into attack positions on C company's side of the perimeter. This action further whittled down the number of guides needed to launch Triet's attack. Now he would only be able to launch an attack on D Company's side of the perimeter. and so he did. At the same time, to confuse the Americans, Triet ordered sacrificial machine gun crews to move in close and fire on B and C sides of the perimeter. They were turned into mince meat by pre-registered American artillery barrages.

      At 2200 hours, William Fee, who was a grunt in D Company, started receiving heavy small weapons fire on his position, but not before his side of the perimeter was subjected to a heavy enemy mortar attack. Triet was now able to initiate a close-in human wave attack on D company's side of the perimeter, since the American artillery had been drawn away from that side, using sacrificial machine gun squads to quickly set up positions and then fire on B and C sides of the perimeter. At one point so much enemy small arms fire was directed at Fee's bunker that it sounded like a very loud bag of popcorn, only much louder than that. The popping rounds which were flying over and even into the firing ports of D Company bunkers were so numerous, that it is a miracle no one was hit. The Americans blew every claymore mine on that side of the perimeter, killing and wounding scores of conscripts who had been forced to charge the American defenses. Fee's M-16 jammed at some point as I am sure many others did too. Dick was aware of this weakness in maintaining a strong defensive line using just the badly flawed M-16. He compensated for it by requiring us to place at least ten claymore mines in front of every bunker.

     The shear terror of the moment for the Americans was far surpassed, by the horror which Triet's conscripts were subjected to. While in staging areas well out of range of air strikes and artillery, these hopeless creatures, who were already suffering from malnutrition, were provided with some of the best hashish in the world, and larger servings of boiled rice with assorted meats, than they had ever had since marching south. Triet was an old hand at this and he knew he could double up on rations because half these conscripts would not require rations the following morning. Most were replacements and had obviously never participated in an attack like this. I say "obviously", because the high mortality rate associated with this tactic and the large number of recent attacks initiated by Triet dictates that any objective analysis could not be otherwise. The first wave hurled at the Americans would have created some horrific sights for those conscripts who lived through it. The American claymore mines would have each sent 750 buck shot pellets in a 45 degree radius to the front and through the bodies, of anyone in front of them. Rifle fire would have also taken down some, but not as many as one might think, due to the poor performance of the M-16. As I said, but bares repeating, D Company's William Fee wrote later that his M-16 jammed and it took him a few minutes to get it working again. Fortunately, he was in his DePuy bunker and the third man, Pvt. Fierro, took his place while he worked on his rifle. More than likely this would have meant his life if it were a fire fight in the more open jungle. Enemy conscripts in the second wave would have experienced even more hell than the first. Some made it within ten yards of the DePuy bunkers on the perimeter. By now Cavazos had artillery gunners dropping 155 rounds just outside the perimeter. Body parts were flying everywhere. The small number, who were able to walk, after this shelling subsided, were trained to grab a body, either alive or dead, and start dragging it to the rear with them. This withdrawal tactic would help keep the Americans from getting a realistic idea of not only how completely they had slaughtered their enemy in regard to numbers, but also how young they were, what kind of physical shape they were in, etc.

     By midnight the rain had stopped completely and even the American shells falling around the perimeter had ceased. An occasional popping of a flare was all that could be heard. It was a very surreal moment giving everyone an eerie feeling. Always thinking ahead, Dick realized that artillery support played a big hand in repelling the attack, but he also knew that those resources were limited, especially since some of the artillery was needed to shoot flares into the air around the battle field. Dick also knew that there was a mechanized unit nearby, which had some tanks. Those tanks had powerful search lights mounted on them. So, Dick called that unit and had them point their search lights at the low hanging clouds above his NDP. The torrential down pour had ceased leaving these low hanging clouds in it's wake. It was perfect conditions for those tanks to bounce their light beams off those clouds, providing lighting for his NDP. Shortly after dawn resupply helicopters started arriving, bringing not only resupplies of munitions, but also hot coffee, dehydrated vegetable soup and fresh hot donuts. Back at Phuoc Vinh I had started setting my alarm for 0300 hours so I could wake up and start helping our battalion baker, known only to me as Tex, make those hot donuts. I would not know any of the details of this first big night battle until the middle of October, when the entire battalion was flown to a large base at Song Be, which was near the Cambodian border.