HOLD CURSOR ON THUMBNAIL FOR ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

Heavy lift capabilities were provided to the 9^th Infantry Division by the 273^rd Super Hooks Heavy Helicopter Company out of Long Binh. They operated a fleet of ungainly looking Sikorsky CH-54A Skycranes. For a moment I thought that the ship in these two views was going to land. I saw it clear the west berm and slowly approach at a very low altitude. It, however, just thumped on by.

Throughout 1969 Dong Tam's evolution from a 400 acre battalion size camp into a 600 acre division size base camp continued. Earlier in 1968 the north perimeter had been relocated farther north, leaving the old berm and its associated defensive bunkers abandoned and prey to the elements. Left - It didn't take the harsh severe weather in the Delta to erode the dirt walls of the original north berm. Many of the old, out-of-service, sandbag bunkers were in dilapidate condition. Right - There were huge gaps in the berm. For a showplace base camp whose commander bragged about its amenities and facilities, this must have presented an unfavorable impression to guests visiting the heliport.

View #1 -  A 147^th CH-47A Chinook crosses over the north berm on its way to the heliport. View #2 -  Another 147^th Chinook, on another day, slowly approaches the new, concrete, medium helicopter pads outside the old perimeter. View #3 -  Several Forward Area Refueling Equipment (FARE) bladders on one of the larger heavy helicopter pads await pickup . These collapsible, rubber, 500-gallon, fuel bladders had built-in pumps that enabled four aircraft to be fuelled simultaneously. View #4 -  The 15^th Engineers are busy constructing helicopter revetments near the new helipads. View #5 -  The 500-yard rifle range was alongside the new berm on the northwest side of the expansion area. View #6 -  On this trip SP-4 Edd A. Evans, Jr., and I both drew band security. Edd is wearing SP-4 patches, as well as the newer collar pins. He must have been indifferent to cutting off the old sleeve patches. No matter, he made SP-5 shortly thereafter and had to remove the old cloth rank. We had been sitting on a stick bundle waiting for the pickup helicopter when my roommate, SP-5 Albany S. Devers, decided it might be neat to capture the moment.  View #7 -  A t the precise moment Albany snapped the picture a nearby explosion sent the band scurrying for cover and our helmets flying off our heads. Both Edd and I had the same reaction - we just sat there laughing hysterically! After the All-Clear siren sounded, new bandmaster, CWO-2 Jerry E. Cottingham, suggested that a visit to the Division shrink might be helpful. Edd mumbled that it had been a close one. Although not close enough for Edd to have dropped his cigarette!

A SCARY NIGHT ON THE NORTH PERIMETER

The north perimeter was isolated from the main part of the base by a 200 acre expanse of emptiness and a similarly large expanse of heliport pads and flight lines. It was a lonely guard mount far from the comfort of humanity. Exhausted troops were easily spooked. Although the bunkers had starlight scopes, frightening apparitions could materialize out of the darkness. The shadows and sounds played tricks on the mind. Rumors of guards being found with their throats slit greatly enhanced the fear factor.

A guard mount included a cluster of four perimeter bunkers individually manned by three soldiers equipped with starlight scope, machine gun, rifles, claymore mines; an Officer of the Guard; and a Sergeant of the Guard. The perimeter bunkers were two-level. The upper level was open with a low surrounding protective wall and a fortified roof supported by four wooden posts. The lower level was more serious, an enclosed bunker with firing ports. Guards typically occupied the upper level and move down to the stuffy lower level only when things became intolerable above.

The day I returned from Saigon (April 13, 1969) I drew perimeter guard duty. The bandmaster, Mr. Jones (warrant officers were properly addressed as "Mister"), told me to stick with the .45 automatic and holster he had loaned me for the trip to Saigon, rationalizing  that it would be less cumbersome for me in the TOC (tactical operations center) bunker than lugging around an M-16. I had been promoted to E-5 in February and this was my first guard mount. I reported to Division. The "Officer of the Guard," a lieutenant, had a rifle. He kept eyeing my pistol. I'll admit that it did look smart tightly cinched around my waist. Had I been a better soldier I would have offered him its use, but he was - after all - an officer and should have had his own pistol. Everyone in the mount piled onto a deuce-and-a-half, and I was dropped off at TOC bunker. The guard changed with a cursory wave and a friendly, "How's it going?" The TOC bunker was little more than a sandbagged CONEX furnished with field and regular telephones. My job was to communicate with four bunkers on the berm. The field telephone was common to all four bunkers - when you rang, each bunker picked up and heard what was said. The other telephone was dedicated to S-2. I was to report all sightings or activity with them before giving the perimeter bunkers clearance to fire. My post was to remain in the TOC bunker and the lieutenant to float between the bunkers ascertaining that everybody was alert, vigilant, and combat ready. It sounded simple.

All went well for the first few hours with most of the time being occupied by routine commo checks and several "did ya hear this one" type jokes. Sometimes after midnight, one of the bunkers unexpectedly asked permission to open fire. Until now the evening had been going well. I requested a confirmation of sighting from the other bunkers. They laughed off my request responding with a "there ain't nothin out there." I asked for the lieutenant. They all laughed again - apparently no one had seen him all night. Covering my ass, I telephoned S-2 and relayed the bunker's request to open fire. They laughed and said, "there ain't nothin out there." I was informed that the LPs (listening post) reported no activity in front of our sector.

Then came another urgent request to initiate fire! I could sense their urgency and ordered illumination. I cursed the absent lieutenant. Flares popped. I stepped out of the TOC bunker for a look. My position was at least a 100 yards behind the perimeter. Something was wrong. Two flares were drifting overhead. They put them on the wrong side of the berm. For an instant I thought maybe this was somebody's sorry idea of a joke. Flares began popping in front of adjacent sections. This was not good. We were agitating the rest of the perimeter guard. In came another urgent request, this time to turn a machinegun around. THIS REALLY GOT MY ATTENTION. I demanded to know why. In the background I could hear someone frantically chanting over and over, "We got movement at the rear! We got movement at the rear!" These people were either thoroughly spooked or drugged. I emphatically instructed them not to turn the gun and sternly advised that there was supposed to be movement to their rear. They were, after all, guarding the base from an outside attack and not one coming from the friendlies inside.

Suddenly - a long, barrel-burning, staccato burst of automatic weapon's fire shattered the night!

I climbed to the top of the TOC bunker. Other perimeter bunkers were slowly joining in the fracas. Tracers on both flanks madly streaked toward phantom targets. More bunkers along the line of bunkers engaged. Multiple streams of red tracers spit glowing phosphorous venom, occasionally ricocheting high into the sky in a graceful arch of failed trajectory. ALL THE FURY OF HELL HAD ARISEN! Malevolent gunfire, all awash in an artificial yellow glow of the parachute flares. And it was all my fault. I tasted the bitter bile of fear rising from my stomach. The evening, which had been so peaceful, had become a cacophony of automatic weapons, flares, and sirens. Then S-2 rang inquiring if an air strike was needed…

I meekly inquired if there was a special codeword that would stop everyone from firing. Within a few minutes, as if by magic, the gunfire grew ragged and then silenced. The all-clear siren sounded.

Unlike the lieutenant, I didn't get into much trouble. My failure to control troops emplaced in perimeter bunkers was, undoubtedly, noted somewhere and my lack of leadership ability probably credited to my being a lowly musician. I was never Sergeant of the Guard again!