Chapter 16 - Changes 010625

      Several days after the Battle of Xom Bo II, Lt. Col. Lazzell finished his tour and rotated back to the States. Soon after that, Triet’s boss, General Thanh, had his insides turned to mush, by the percussion of a B-52's thousand-pound bomb. He was rushed from the border area of Cambodia to Phnom Penh and on to Hanoi for medical treatment but died anyway. The communist cover story was that he died of a heart condition and "yeah", I suppose a thousand-pound bomb could give one a heart attack.

      A month or so later I was restored to my lofty position as P.F.C. and Dick fired my company commander, Captain Brown. The military term for being fired was “relieved of duty”. Even Captain Brown's RTO, Fred Walters, never realized that Brown had been fired. This spoke to Dick's wisdom in privately dealing with subordinates. He understood the benefits of not rippling the waters of his command. He often observed, evaluated, and if necessary, quietly disciplined his junior officers without causing a "stir". He usually marched through his ranks in accessing and then weeding people out quietly, but to his own “drumbeat”. On the other hand, there were other times when he, himself, would intentionally make a "stir". I now realize that too was by controlled design and not runaway emotion. 

      Dick had learned some of these nuances of leadership as he went along in life. However, many other examples of good leadership had been modeled before him, day in, and day out, by his father, when he was growing up on the ranch. Lauro Cavazos Sr. was thirty-eight years old when Dick was born. He was very well established in his foreman's job at the ranch by that time. Most of us grunts had fathers who were barely adults themselves when we were born. Many of our fathers had grown up during the Great Depression and World War II. Many struggled to put their own lives together, much less become consummate role models for their children. My father was only twenty when I was born. He had no opportunity to learn leadership lessons from his father, because it was all that my grandfather could do, to put food on the table. The deprivation created by the Great Depression was not conducive to my Grandfather ever being given the opportunity to develop higher level leadership skills. During this Great depression, he had no steady job for years. He and my Grandmother did live on a farm with their eight children, but it was not a working farm. Before the Civil War, it had been a thriving Virginia plantation. Now, during the Great Depression my grandfather’s family squatted in abandoned slave quarters at the back of the property. Permission was granted for him to do that by my Grandfather’s uncle, who was the caretaker of the plantation. My Grandfather fed his family with the wild game he hunted in the surrounding forests. He also bought other staples like flour and sugar with the small tips he earned by doing odd chores for the wealthy visitors at a nearby Virginia resort named the Green Briar. Like so many of that era, hunger was the driving concern in his life. On the other hand, at eighteen, Dick’s father, Lauro, had stumbled across Henrietta and her ranch. That was the thriving support system during the Great Depression which allowed not only him the stability to develop into a great leader, but his children too. As a Mexican American of this very prejudice era, had it not been for that environment, Lauro's fate and the fate of his children would have been much worse than that of my Grandfather, during that Great Depression.        

      Since Lauro was able to enjoy the stability afforded him and his family through the legacy left behind by Henrietta, he was then able to develop those higher-level skills such as those which made him an effective combat leader. The ranch legacy not only provided economic security, but it also provided an environment where Dick could consistently observe firsthand, how his father went about his business. That made all the difference in the world for Dick. It allowed him the opportunity become the great leader which he later became. However, it did not automatically make him into that great leader. God left that choice to Dick, and I am here to say that Dick made the right choice.  

      Yes, growing up on the King Ranch gave Dick an opportunity to observe and learn lessons from the complex interactions of other ranch hands. They were a self-sufficient bunch and Dick's father made sure they stayed that way. Dick observed time and again his father's skilled way of drawing out his expectations, from his vaqueros. It goes without saying that much of any young child's social development is assimilated from observing, not only their parents, but the world around them. Today, the arrival of the communication age, and the breakdown of the family, has allowed parental bonding, to be replaced by teachers, the internet and social media peer groups. A father today can live in the same house with a son without saying more than two words to that son for weeks. The opportunity for a father to model before his children, his own learned experiences in life has been terribly diminished in today's societies. Throughout his childhood on the ranch, Dick was not as sidetracked as children of this present time. He got to observe day after day how his dad performed his responsibilities, but he also had more time, free from the distractions of a computer, to interact face to face with a variety of other living souls, who had been conditioned by the healthy environment of ranch life.

      One of the live lessons Dick got to attend over and over was how his father quietly reassigned a vaquero's duties, if that vaquero persisted in being unable or unwilling to perform certain tasks as expected. Now, as our commander, Dick was mimicking those learned lesson when he made the decision to relieve my company commander. It was almost second nature for Dick to apply those learned lessons in leadership and they worked. They worked because those principles he learned on the ranch are universal principles of leadership which will work in any organization.  

      The ranch was huge and the various job sites were sometimes separated by many miles, not so unlike the command environment Dick had experienced in Korea and now in Vietnam. Consistent job awareness on the ranch was needed to make sure the right supplies, tools and competent workers arrived on site, without having to send many miles back for items which had been forgotten. Whether repairing miles of fencing, rounding up hundreds of strays or repairing a critical water pump for a watering tank, these jobs would never have been completed, if supplies and tools were delivered piecemeal, or if the job was left to inexperienced, unmotivated or just "plain down" lazy minded ranch hands. To prevent this, Lauro was quick to voice his expectations. Each ranch hand knew that he was expected to pull his own weight. He also knew never to play the “excuse game” with Lauro or there would be consequences. His two sons were expected to do the same. They were assigned daily chores and held accountable.

      Thinking outside the box was also encouraged on the ranch. Years later, it became second nature for Dick to not only do this but encourage his men to do it too. He was good at improvising, especially while handling the logistical side of his job. Most other commanders delegated and then skipped thinking about this part of their job, altogether. Yet, thinking outside the box and then following through by improvising was a key factor in creating a more effective command. Dick knew this and encouraged it. Someone thought of using those mattocks and Marston Matting. The idea may not have originated with Dick, but he recognized their usefulness and put his weight behind making sure that these tools were provided to us, just as he had seen his father do to provide the tools needed on the ranch to get the job done.    

      The ridge cap of Dick's good leadership skills was his temperance. That was also something which Dick had learned from his dad. Lauro understood that heavy-handedness, in disciplining, could be damaging to a subordinate or a son. Yet, corrections had to be made. As children, Dick and his brother Lauro Jr. were as foolish as any other child. They were not born with the ability to know how to relate to others. Just like everyone, they began life largely as blank slates. No doubt, discipline needed to be administered, but a balance needed to be struck. Too much heavy-handedness with a vaquero or a son and their spirits would be crushed. Too much heavy handedness with a grunt and Dick knew the same thing would happen. Dick was very aware of this for the following reason. As a child, his malleable mind had been imprinted by his father modeling this skill over and over in front of him. Now, Dick would automatically follow this model of temperance every time. It was already subconsciously programed into his brain. It never crossed his mind  that he needed to mimic that very destructive Army model, which defined temperance as anything short of corporal punishment. 

      One’s environment can never change the truth. However, the truth will always change our environment for the better if we are willing to walk by the light of that truth. Dick was made aware of the benefits of walking in this light by his father and ranch culture. Yet, I doubt he understood the source of that light any more than Triet understood the darkness which was engulfing him as he was being molded by the communist ideology. We don’t have to understand good or evil to be influenced by either. I can walk in light without knowing what the source of that light is, and I can stumble around in the dark without knowing why it’s so dark.  

      Yes, sons, vaqueros and later soldiers of my Dogface Infantry Battalion quickly learned the same lesson. That lesson said that there would be a response to our failures but in a fashion that sought to correct the problem and not to simply mead out punishment to the person. Lauro Sr. had been a master at using the talk to affect positive change to bad behavior. He could heap more conviction on the recipient of that talk, than a hell fire and brim stone preacher could heap on his audience at a tent revival. Young Dick watched him do it over and over again. Notice, I say conviction and not condemnation. What's the difference? Convicting words are words spoken with respect and yet firmly and unyieldingly state the truth concerning a particular situation. On those very rare occasions when more harshness is used, then a good leader needs to make sure that he has received enough feedback from the offender to justify those harsher measures. When Lt. Colonel Denton spoke harshly to me during our first and last interaction on Highway 13, he never gave me a chance to give feedback before he lit into me. After that, I never liked the man, and he certainly lost my respect to never again be regained, while serving under him. On the other hand, Dick always spoke kindly to his men in a group setting, and he was never harsh with an individual until he had gleaned enough feedback to justify more harsh remedies. Many times, Dick’s Talk, and not berating words would become the chastisement, thus putting an end to the matter. All the sinner had to do afterwards was turn from his wicked ways and all would not only be forgiven but forgotten. During Dick's engagement with the "cussin soldier" that night, our battalion commander was simply regurgitating what he had witnessed his father do many times before. Dick was simply giving his version of his father's talk to that man. It worked just the way it had worked for his father time and time again. I witnessed that “Cussin Man’s” behavior completely change.  

      Unfortunately, today, even enlightened fathers, cut from the mold of a Lauro Cavazos Sr., are many times not provided with the time and means to model those sterling leadership qualities before their own children, and it must be modeled to be affective. Most work environments today separate fathers from their children, unlike the ranch environment, which brought families together.

      Now, back to my story. The rain was relentless during this period of my tour. The best comparison that I can think of to make the reader realize how bad it was is to compare it to the ole Chinese water torture story where the victim is tied down and submitted to drop after drop of water striking the forehead for a lengthy period of time. It was during this period of our tour that the brave Winstead came to me and announced that he couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't talking about the combat part of the job. He was referring to being exposed to the rain night after night and day after day. I never saw Dennis again after that. He extended his tour another six months to become a door gunner on a Huey just to have a dry place to sleep. I learned from his daughter many years later that Dennis was shot down three times and won three Distinguished Flying Crosses.

      On July 21, 1967 a transport ship named "Geiger" landed at the South Vietnam Port of Vung Tau near Saigon. It had made the three-week trip with 1600 troops who had trained for six weeks at Fort  Lewis, Washington. Now they would become the new D Companies in the nine battalions of the First Infantry Division. Before these men showed up, each battalion had only three companies, A, B, and C. Once these “D” Companies arrived at Di An and processed in they would train for another six weeks before going into actual combat operations, around the middle of September. As important as I was to the war effort (Ha Ha), I was not made aware of these changes and only found out about them some fifty years later. Obviously Dick had wanted to get rid of My “B” Company commander for some time now but replacements for infantry captains were hard to find. Many times, platoon leaders would be assigned temporarily as company commanders but in our case the most experienced Platoon leader in our “B” Company was only 18 years old. I have no idea what had caused Cavazos to lose faith in Brown. Fred Walters was his RTO and years later Fred told me that he really liked the guy. Nobody would have been in a better position to know Brown than the very respected Fred Walters. I really knew nothing of the change in company commanders and actually thought, until very recently, that Brown was my Company commander throughout the remainder of my tour of duty.

      Brown's replacement was a twenty-six-year-old West Point graduate and career lifer named Watts Caudill. Watts had arrived in country as commander of one of the new D Companies. He had personally trained this unit at Fort Lewis, Washington. When these companies finished that training, they boarded the transport, "Geiger" and took this slow boat to Indochina. Cavazos had waited for Caudill to hit the processing mill at Di An before relieving Brown as commander. He then sent word from the field, to get his new “D” Company commander on the next helicopter headed for the boonies, as soon as our supply sergeant could get web gear on his back and the new shorter AR-15 rifle in his hands. However, this shorter version of the M-16 was out of stock. Instead, he was given an old "beat-up" M-16, probably as worn out as the one I was carrying. With head spinning, Caudill was soon on his way. “D” Company was scheduled to train in and around Di An for six weeks. This would give Dick plenty of time to find another commander for “D” Company before that company joined the rest of the battalion. It did not take long for this smart math major to understand that the advantages of taking over a unit made up of mostly veterans was a good thing. Caudill realized that this change-up in his orders would allow him to better get his own newbie feet on the ground, because he would be surrounded by these more experienced people. There were 1999 Americans who held the pay grade of "captain", who were killed during the war. I believe that was the highest per capita death rate of any pay grade in the American military. Watts was married and had a small son. His wife, Sally, and he, were believers in Christ, who had committed their lives and their marriage to Him.

      That last week in July, we had established an NDP just north of Di An. Caudill was met by First Sergeant Pink Dillard and a platoon sergeant, as he hopped off the Huey that brought him from Di An to our NDP. The platoon sergeant quickly handed Caudill a relatively new M-15 and took the old "beat-up" M-16 from him. He was then led by "Top" to Cavazos who was sitting on a five gallon "jerry can" just a few feet from the battalion command bunker. Dick was eating something out of a green tin can from a C-ration box. Cocking his head and looking up at Caudill, with not so much as a "howdy-do", the battalion commander unloaded on him with two stock remarks designed to be brief but to the point and a little disconcerting. They concisely expressed his core expectations for each of his company commanders. “I expect you to kill the enemy and don't lose a single man. For now, I want you to keep your head down and listen to those who have been here for a while". Those few words just happened to match Watt’s own sentiments as well. Caudill turned and walked away without saying a word. What was there to say? And he certainly was not going to wait to be dismissed. Why should he give this stranger any indication whatsoever that he was “sucking up”. He might have been a “wet nosed kid” in the jungle, but he had already learned a “thing or two” about how to act the first time he was meeting a new boss. If the boss was brief then he needed to be more brief. He had also learned something else. Although there was no warmth in his new boss's curt remarks, it definitely wasn’t time for him to be forming hasty opinions. However, as the twenty-six-year-old Captain continued to walk toward his new home for the night, he couldn’t help but ask himself the following question. “After getting to know this guy a little better, would his private nick name for his new boss be "Dick", or would it wind up being “Dick Head”. 

      There was no doubt that Dick was aware of the fact, that his new “B” Company Commander was a very unknown quantity. He had no combat experience but that was the norm. However, his new company commander did get going without trying to hang around ingratiating himself. Dick liked that. He would let “B” Company's Korean veteran first sergeant deal with the new commander before making any hasty judgements. Soon enough, reports, good or bad, about the new “B” Company Commander would start flowing in from the grapevine. Dick was wired into that grapevine better than Google is to the reader’s personal computer.  

      Pink Dillard was a heavy-set black guy who had served in Korea. Caudill, to this very day, just calls him "Top". "Pink" had not been in the unit more than a couple months, himself, but was a guy who knew his job. That job did not usually include calling the shots on tactical maneuvers. Officers did that for the most part. Top's domain was that of managing the day-to-day routine duties in the company, assessing the weaknesses and strengths of the sergeants under him and keeping his company commander up to date on any important changes in the performance of those platoon leaders, squad leaders and men in the company. A good first sergeant would not only keep his company commander informed of the bad but also the good. All leaders should beware of subordinates who are bearers of bad news only. A first sergeant could make or break a company, and a sergeant major could make or break a battalion. They always had the ear of their commander. A grunt might cross his O.C.S. platoon leader once or twice and get away with it, but he learned quickly never to cross a "Top", unless he had first added suicide to his “to do” list. In those first few days "Top" would have been there, when Caudill was introduced to the company forward observer, the four platoon leaders and also various sergeants. He would have been able to give critical assessment on each of these individuals. Every human being has strengths and weaknesses and a good "Top" like "Pink" would have made it his business to know a little bit about every man under him. At this point, however, it goes without saying, that every veteran in the company knew more about their job, than did Caudill and probably always would.  

      That being said, the everyday non-combat military experience of most new army captains, of the Vietnam era, greatly outpaced that of most lieutenant platoon leaders. Many platoon leaders were "ninety-day wonders", who were civilians just a few short months before. Army captains, on the other hand, were usually R.O.T.C. college graduates with at least two or maybe three years’ experience in dealing with the regiments of military life. Full-time military school graduates, like Caudill, were usually the "cream of the crop" of this group. Notice I say "usually". Caudill had served in Germany, before coming to Vietnam, which gave him even more experience. Most officers, who had achieved the rank of captain, were seasoned enough to have acquired the needed interpersonal skills to successfully navigate through the "prickly pears" native to the bureaucracy of the military. Army life, outside combat, was still a harsh environment on many levels. One simply could not make the adjustment overnight. To expect any human being to perform adequately, while learning both the art of war and the military routine, at the same time, was, quite frankly, madness. However, that is exactly what the Army expected of our platoon leaders in Vietnam. Caudill, at least, had avoided this severe disadvantage by volunteering and attending West Point. His service in Germany was also a tremendous help in preparing he and Sally for what they now both faced. They had become much more acclimated to Army life. Now, he only had to bite his tongue while learning the art of jungle warfare. However, Watts was soon to learn that he was going to have to write some of those lesson plans himself. He would have one huge advantage. He had an ongoing relationship with The Holy Spirit. Even if a little voice inside kept telling him that relationship wasn't what it should have been, I am here to tell the reader that his relationship was much better than most.  

      Mentally, at this point, from just after the battle of Xom Bo II until my truck driving job came through, things were really on a downward slide for me. I found out that Bill Milliron had gotten injured in a car accident while on his emergency leave in the states; a leave which was issued for faked reasons. This would delay his return until after I had left the squad. Bowman and Walker were still there but neither were very chatty, and my personality was such, that I needed a friendly and chatty personality like Bill to "jump start" me. Bill was that "jump start". He had always had a way of bringing the rest of us to life. In my case, my ability to bond with Bill had something to do with him being so outgoing. His age difference also allowed him to bridge the gap between us youngsters and Bartee. Although I was the oldest veteran (combat time served) in the squad, I was also a completely empty shirt when it came to taking a leadership role unless there was a life and death situation. At that point the Holy Spirit would take over so I can’t take credit for that. Bill helped me with that problem too. He was on the other end of the squad spectrum of personalities from me. They say opposites attract. So, that meant that I missed this guy when he was gone and was a little more depressed because he had been gone so long. Yeah, one might say, that Bill and I were able to form a very good match. One might even say that our friendship was a match made in hell, although certainly not made by hell.

      For the next couple months, we operated around Di An and north in the jungle surrounding Lai Khe. We also took several jaunts, as far north, as Quan Loi. I don't remember the exact spots and dates. We were continually air assaulting into one LZ after another in the eastern part of War Zone C and possibly the western edge of War Zone D. Enemy fire fights on a small scale seemed to escalate. It was common, at night, on listening post duties, to find myself playing footsies with one or two sappers, who regularly harassed our perimeter. I would try various boobie trap tricks on them, and they would do the same to me. Actually, a mental health expert could have had some very interesting sessions with both me and them.

      I remember one incident in the middle of the day that happened just after I had returned from running a security patrol. I was sitting down with my jungle boots off to dry out my feet before the next rainstorm hit. Suddenly, a rather large explosion occurred. It happened near the LP which I had been manning for the past several nights. There was no doubt in my mind that it was my sapper friend trying to pull some kind of trick. With this thought in mind, I was definitely not going to react and do something stupid. So, I continued to wring out my wet socks, as an officer came running by. He screamed at me, by name, to get my boots on and come with him. As he ran past screaming, I thought to myself, “Sure, I’ll be right there just as soon as I get my boots on. I tell ya what, why don’t you run ahead, and you can count on me to catch up”. The officer was probably our battalion S3 since he knew my name. I would have made it out to the site of the explosion, but those wet socks just took so long to put back on my feet. If it had not been for that, I would have made it out there for sure. Does the reader understand what I am trying to say here, in a “tongue in cheek” way?

      Shortly after that captain disappeared, I heard shots coming from that same side. I could just imagine him getting his fool-self drilled. Hearing those shots made it even harder for me to get those darn boots on. Finally, I did manage to make it over to the scene of the explosion and was able to see, for myself, what had happened. I had guessed correctly about what that sapper was trying to do. A sapper had set up three claymore mines targeting our perimeter. He then exploded the one in front of the other two, to draw out anyone dumb enough to come take a look. However, the back-blast from the first one knocked the others over, foiling his plan to kill some curious Georges. The officer who mindlessly ran to investigate would most surely have been killed if the sapper had set the other two claymores just a little further back to avoid the back-blast coming from the first explosion. As three or four more B Company people approached the botched ambush scene, Sergeant Gerry Chesnut emerged from the jungle, coming from the direction of the rifle shots. We quickly learned that he had been the source of the shots fired. Here's what happened. At the sound of the blast, he too had joined that same officer who had run toward the blast. However, Chesnut then quickly veered onto a trail, which the veteran sergeant suspected these sappers would use to make their escape. Chesnut double timed down that trail and caught up with two sappers. They were probably the ones who had discharged the claymore decoy. When they heard Chestnut coming, they turned to fire at him, but by then their fates were sealed. With his M-16, Chesnut quickly stitched them both up the middle at very close range. Truth is, in a thousand years, those sappers never expected an American to chase after them in a situation like this. But then again, they had never met an American like Sergeant Chesnut. Quite frankly, neither had I. On average, I doubt that any First Division company sized unit could boast more than one Sergeant Chestnut amongst its ranks. The guy was actually fearless, and I do mean fearless. To top things off, Gerry had recently signed up for a second tour. It's too bad that Caudill was so new, that he had not found time to size up some of his people. If he had, he certainly would have found some way of not letting Gerry slip through his fingers. Shortly after this incident, Chestnut was transferred to the new “D” Company, as a platoon sergeant.  

      Just before I left the field, around the middle of September, Captain Caudill was well on his way to completing his baptism, not by fire, but by water. The monsoon had preceded his arrival, in all its glory. During that time, until I left the field, I doubt we were dry more than the number of days I can count on one hand. Although water never stopped dripping from his nose and chin, night and day, while in camp, and on the march, Caudill did not allow the circumstances to keep him from doing a good job of training himself to at least come to a working understanding of the routine parts of his job. He was blessed with an analytical brain. This allowed him to adjust to this new combat environment much better than most. He was good at math and almost everything we did had something to do with math. In an air assault, it was the number of troops a helicopter could carry divided into the total force to get the number of helicopters needed. In establishing a perimeter around an NDP, it was the length of our company's side of the perimeter, divided by the number of grunts per fox hole. This calculation determined how many DePuy bunkers should be constructed, and at what distance apart. On a sweep through the thick jungles of War Zone C, it was the average number of paces necessary to step off one hundred meters, and he did not leave this pace counting solely in the hands of the point element. In Caudill's world, this would not be good reasoning. Why? Because there was a high probability that the point element could be shot to pieces. What then? He could not take that chance. He would always count paces himself. Counting paces guaranteed that he would not have to depend on others to always know his exact location on a map. That meant much faster responses, from artillery support, because Caudill could instantly give his own location to fire support bases, without having to wait for one of his subordinates to tell him where he was.

      The most important skill needing to be developed was a thing some called situational awareness. It was amazing to me how many young officers had no understanding of how important this awareness was. Ours was a tiring job, especially if there was no significant enemy contact for days. Many young commanders didn’t drop their guard. They just never put it up in the first place. Yet, it was paying close attention to the little things which prepared a young commander for the big things. Fortunately, for Caudill and “B” Company, there were no big things in August and September. Caudill, unlike many of his peers, used this time to improve his situational awareness. His mind already had been schooled to pay close attention to small details. He observed, and then he remembered the blast radius of a 155mm round, by the amount of shrapnel which whizzed over his head when that last round landed. Believe me, it becomes real easy to tell when a round is called in too close. Another thing he took note of was the average length of time it took for a patrol to reach a 500-meter check point. That could tell an astute commander, that his point element was overdue and may be off course. Learning this kind of stuff didn't mean that he would be ready for the big one, but it helped. After only two months, no one was ever really ready for the big one.

      It was during this period, while on jungle air assaults and marches in the rain, that Caudill was able to quickly adjust from the previous "spit and shine" way of doing business, while serving in Germany, to the day to day realities of War Zone C and D.  Since there was no real way of preparing for a real battle unless there was an actual battle, he did the next best thing. He played the "what if" game in his mind, while so many young commanders and even some older ones chose to play the "why don't you surprise me" game. Unfortunately, in this war, when the surprise did come, all too often many commanders tended to knee jerk instead of stopping and thinking about what they were doing. The generals flying around above them asking for sitreps (situation reports) every five minutes didn’t help either. Things on the ground could instantly go from months of boring marches to a few minutes of hell on earth. Caudill was a listener and a ponderer. Maybe it was his math training that made him this way, but I know that God had a big hand in it too. Many times, he would ponder the "what ifs" while looking at a map, under a wet poncho, in the pouring rain. Truth is, winning battles in any war will always fall to those who never stop pondering the "what ifs". Alexander The Great was a ponderer and no, Caudill wasn’t the reincarnation of Alexander, but he was a ponderer.

      Unfortunately, Lazzell had not done enough pondering before the Battle of Xom Bo II. This being said, pondering is only a first step. A good commander must also be a good planner and someone who is willing to overcome the inertia in himself and subordinates to put those plans into action. Like, Dick, Caudill was a proactive planner. His extensive training at West Point, his tour in Germany, and more recently, his command of a unit training for Vietnam at Fort Lewis, did nothing but strengthen this attribute in him. Beyond these factors, there is one other leadership ingredient needed to turn a good leader like Caudill into a great leader. A great leader must not only be a critical observer of other people and situations, but they must also be critical observers of their own actions. Years, before Vietnam, Caudill had spent a lot of time studying the best book ever written on the topic of self-observation. That book is the Holy Bible.

      Even when a new commander was given time on the battlefield to adjust his thinking there were other factors which did not directly affect the battlefield, but could distract, and blur his focus. Trouble at home was a huge example of this. That sort of trouble could shut down even a great commander's ability to command. It actually cost more lives in Vietnam than we will ever know. With this said, I now know that Sally Caudill and Carolyn Cavazos made things a lot easier for their husbands and thus the men of the 1/18th Battalion. Why? Because they maintained a stable home life. This became a very powerful hope which their absent husbands could cling to.

      There were always going to be small distractions no matter what. That couldn't be avoided. The trick was not to let small distractions pile up. For example, after fifty years Caudill still remembers being distracted by a sergeant, who was good at playing the system for his own personal gain. The sergeant actually seemed to win the game when he was finally able to work out a transfer for himself. In reality, when he left, we were the ones who won, because he left before he could get someone killed. Here is another example of what a major distraction could be. There were no seminars given to company commanders on how to screen incoming 2nd Lieutenant platoon leaders and an inept platoon leader could really become a major distraction, degrading the morale of the entire company. It was relatively easy during the Vietnam war for anyone with some college, to find themselves wearing gold bars. A large percentage of these guys who crossed my path should never have been there in the first place. Many had not had enough time to gain the necessary understanding of military life in general, much less the understanding to lead others into combat. Caudill learned quickly how to avoid this most deadly unit distraction by coming right out and asking a replacement platoon leader whether he wanted to be leading a combat platoon or not. If he said no, than Watts would try hard to find another job in the battalion for him. If that lieutenant hummed and hawed instead of giving a straight answer, then Watts would alert Pink to keep a close eye on him. Naturally, Watts would also watch this guy like a hawk, himself. Pink was a very savvy first sergeant who knew quite well how to stay in the communication’s loop with his subordinates, without setting off the rumor mill. In short, he knew quite well how to exploit the grapevine without getting himself or his commander entangled in the briar patch surrounding it.  

      Unlike other wars, the Vietnam soldier was on the battlefield almost all the time. Relatively small but life-threatening events occurred daily. These small events served as rehearsals for the big show when it came. In general, the more small rehearsals a young commander could get under his belt, the better he could perform when it was time for that big show. Five or six mortar rounds landing inside the perimeter was a small thing for everyone. Calling in marching fires and registration rounds was also routine. Caudill's FO and his sergeant handled that business quite well, but just the same Caudill observed their actions. He knew that the "what if" factor needed to be rehearsed. He forced his disciplined mind to watch and listen and learn as much as he could while calling in spotter rounds and marching fires. When the big show did come to town, he knew that he wouldn't have to wonder how loud a 105 mm shell sounded when it landed fifty meters away. He would know. He also learned when and how to intervene to calm an OP or ambush patrol down because they heard something in the bushes. Just as important, he learned when not to insert himself into particular situations before allowing subordinates the opportunity to handle things. There was such a thing as jumping in too quick. There were boobie traps, and unexploded bombs, and enemy bunkers to be explored or not. There were always sappers and snipers probing the line. I could go on and on describing common events surrounding the day to day activities of “B” Company and the learning environment it presented to a young commander. Most events required no intervention from him whatsoever, so he did exactly what Dick had told him to do on their first meeting. He just watched and listened to this veteran combat machine go about its day to day business for the most part. Cavazos had already set the tone for commanders like Watts to follow in not overreacting. He soon learned that The "Ole Man" was as consistent and readable as anyone he had ever worked for. Almost everything this guy did made sense and that wasn’t always true of others whom he had worked for in the past. Years later, Watts would say that serving under Dick was not only a real pleasure but an honor.

      Some events Watts experienced in those first few months were just downright weird. They didn't fit into any learning curve which would be repeated ever again. Here is a humorous example. When patrolling up and down the deep ravines surrounding Quan Loi, we would have to walk through waist deep water at the bottom of each ravine. It was important to periodically check for leeches, or they could make a guy get weak and maybe pass out. On one of these company sized sweeps, Caudill was moving through thick jungle, in the pouring rain when his normally steadfast RTO, Fred Walters, suddenly turned around and started laughing uncontrollably. As Fred continued to laugh, the first flashing thought that entered Watt's mind was that his RTO was experiencing some kind of mental break down. Perhaps Fred's actions were just another way for a fellow like Fred to finally lose it? However, this was not the case at all. Fred wasn't having a nervous breakdown. His uncontrollable laughter was a totally sane response to a most bizarre sight. You see, Fred had turned to say something to his commander only to witness a black leech, swelled with blood, and looking like a partially inflated balloon, dangling back and forth from Caudill's chin.  

      Here is a final comment about new company commanders getting settled into the job in Vietnam. Truth is, a company commander in Vietnam did not have access to face time with his battalion commander, as much as one might think. This actually allowed a young self-motivated commander like Caudill to become better at his job, but it could work the other way for those who were not that motivated. There were plenty of those types too.

     A young commander’s fit to his RTO was very important. SP-4 Fred Walters was a real find who was able to take some routine responsibilities off Caudill’s shoulders. Caudill was able to empower the smart Fred Walters to handle certain routines, during a period when delegating was not very well understood by the First Infantry Division senior people. Rank was everything. In today's world, that old rigid structure has sometimes swung too far the other way. However, a healthy balance is very important. Today, some managers are learning to become good team leaders, instead of angry bosses. Caudill was one of the rare few who innately understood the importance of this during this period. However, his delegating never included allowing Fred to make tactical decisions. For example, one such tactical command might require giving instructions to a F.A.C. (forward air controller) flying over the battlefield. Caudill realized that those communications were listened in on by generals. They needed to hear his voice on the horn and not that of his RTO. Additionally, he wanted to be the one who verified coordinates for fire missions and he alone. Still, there were many items of company business, which Fred could handle for his commander. It didn't take very long at all for Caudill to sort out what should and shouldn't be delegated, not only to Fred, but also to other key members of our company. Underpinning the efforts of a very functional company commander like Caudill, however, was a battalion commander who also understood how to back off and give his company commanders the freedom to run their own show as long as they kept their command between the ditches. Dick was well aware of how wide and deep those ditches could be, and he had almost a sixth sense in knowing when one of his young commanders was steering toward one. 

     Soon, the middle of September arrived, and my long-awaited truck driving job came through. I cannot remember who notified me to report to the motor pool Sergeant. I only remember one detail shortly after receiving the news. This detail includes a picture in my mind of Sergeant Bartee standing in a half-dug fox hole and looking very dejected as I told him the news. Milliron was still back in the states. We had several new inexperienced guys in the squad and now he was losing a trusted point man. Oh sure, I could easily be replaced, by a warm body, but not by someone who was just the type of crazy it took to put his heart and soul into the job of walking point. Yet, Bartee still had Bowman. Bowman had worked up front with Milliron and I for some time, so I felt that I was not leaving Bartee in a lurch. However, what he would really be missing was The Holy Spirit working through me. Bartee did ask me to reconsider, but after the sniper training fiasco, where the Army had taken away my M-14, there was just no way that I would have ever reconsidered turning down this job. I had felt naked every day since that event. My M-14 had been my security blanket. As a matter of fact, feeling naked didn’t come close to describing how I felt without it. I felt violated. Yes, that's it. I felt that I had been violated, and no one had come to my rescue. I felt as though Bartee had continued to hold me down, while the Army continued to abuse me. I felt they were in it together and who cared whether it was out of malice of forethought or just plain old stupidity. I had shown him the fogged-up scope and the worn-out M-16 months ago, but he continued to do nothing about that either. I grew angrier at him each day. Why wouldn't a squad leader want his point man to carry the best weapon available? The worst part was that Bartee had no idea that I felt this way or that this one event had caused me to lose respect for him. Of course, years later, I was able to view him under a much broader and forgiving lens, but this was now. Truth is, I should have done something about it, myself, but I was too afraid of making waves, so I just tucked these awful feelings of abandonment in, and blamed Bartee, while seething more and more each day. When that day came to fly the coop, reconsidering was as much a part of my mind as not cashing in on a winning lottery ticket. I felt just like a wild bird in a cage when the door is opened. There was just one thought in my mind at that point and one thought only. “Fly baby fly”! 

      The new job was unbelievably simple. I was given a small 3/4-ton truck with fold down bench seats in the back so it could transport around eight people or a squad sized group of soldiers with all their gear. However, my job was not to transport fighting men. My job was to transport the mess hall equipment from place to place as needed. Once a day, when the battalion was in the field I would transport hot food in Meramec containers and a cook to a helicopter pad so they could be flown to the men in the field. This took less than an hour a day of my time. 

      No more sleeping in soggy fox holes for me for the rest of my life. I slept where the cooks slept and the cooks were always provided with at least big hex tents or better yet, screened-in tin roof hooches. Brown & Root and Lady Byrd Johnson made a fortune building these buildings for the Army. If we were in a place where a hooch was not able to be built, then we were at least provided a heavy canvas World War II era tent, which was just as good. Fold up canvas cots were also part of the décor along with electric lighting. To use the vernacular, I thought I had just arrived in Hog Heaven. Never again for the remainder of my tour did I have to eat meals from tin cans carried in my socks, which were tied to my rucksack. The mess hall was always well supplied with good ole down home food, which was the makings for meals at least as good as most Americans ate back home. Ham, steaks, pork chops, frozen fruit, potatoes, green beans, corn, spaghetti, mac and cheese and all the garnishments that came with these food stuffs were at my fingertips. Many times, at the end of the day, several of the cooks and I would prepare our own gourmet dinner and top it off with some strawberry short cake and ice cream.

      I had no one but Tiny and his cooks to answer to and all our cooks loved us grunts. There was no squad leader to eyeball every move I made. I remember the first time our supply sergeant ask me to take him to pick up supplies that he couldn't wait to receive by regular delivery. I must say that I would have enjoyed helping him more by running other errands, but he rarely ask me to give him a ride after that first trip. When he did, he always seemed a little nervous. More often than not he had a subordinate go in his place. I was really a little disappointed about that. I would have loved to give him a ride anytime. Sure, on that first trip, the roads were packed with civilians in all types of vehicles. However, they were all very considerate of me. I hardly ever had to slow down under forty miles an hour. Most would drive their vehicles off the road and even into the ditches just to let me pass. When I did have to swerve into the other lane to avoid a collision, the oncoming traffic was careful to do whatever it took to allow me to pass safely by. To top things off, I know that sergeant was enjoying the heck out of that first ride because he became so animated. At times I caught a glimpse of him pretending to hit the brake and once or twice even pretending to turn an imaginary steering wheel. So, I know he was having fun. He even told me as much when we returned from the trip. He said that he had never ridden with anyone in his entire life who drove like me. Yet, he rarely used my services after that first ride.

     I did visit with some of the people in my unit during their rare breaks from combat missions, but they didn’t get many opportunities to spend time in the rear. Elevated enemy activity gearing up for the Tet offensive was requiring them to spend almost all their time in the field. 

     As I settled into my new support job, something began to become very apparent. Although most grunts looked down on support troops, on the other hand, most support troops looked up to us. Our environments were just too different for there to be any common ground. I don't think that I would have developed the respect which I had for them either if it had not been for time spent among them on this temporary duty. During this time, I was still very self-centered, but I was not stupid. Anyone with half a brain could see that without the tireless efforts of these guys and gals, grunts like me would not have survived ten minutes in the jungle. For example, when my truck engine gave out one time, a mechanic showed up out of the blue and had it towed close to a tent where he was staying. It was getting late, so he told me to sleep in his cot while he put a new engine in my truck. When I woke up the next morning my truck had a new engine and so did an APC, which was setting beside my truck. The mechanic was caked in red clay mud from the top of his head to the tips of his toes because he had been repairing these two vehicles by himself, all night long, in the pouring rain. Much of the time he had been laying on his back in red clay mud while working. I will never forget that guy.