W3 Company - Service Stories

Post-operation Preparations - Bruce Young     anyone can contribute to or correct this article

This instruction by Coy HQ Rear details responsibilities for managing the return of the company back into Nui Dat lines between operations.  It was produced with the help of W2 Coy for the arrival of W3 into Vietnam in November 1969 and was amended as required to suit circumstances - for example it is doubtful the BBQ was delayed 48-hours.

After a 3-4 week operation it would be routine to be pulled from the field mid-afternoon, usually by helicopter, landing back at Eagle Farm LZ and walking to the tent lines nearby.  Although the process differed between platoons a number of post-operation actions were required for individuals to wind down from one operation while preparing for the next.  During the first 30 minutes back in the tent lines individuals who had hardly spoken above a whisper in weeks would slowly start to come out of their shells and the amount of ribald commentary would gradually escalate back to normal non-tactical levels.

Ammunition was secured, especially all types of grenades and other explosives.  Weapons were unloaded, disassembled, and cleaned.  There was usually a weapon check by the Pl Sgt looking for obvious damage or neglect, after which the weapons were reassembled.  Radios were also cleaned and checked by the Coy HQ signals detachment commander and radio codes collected and destroyed.

Once the dirty work was finished individuals headed for the showers.  These were provided by field canvas shower buckets with a nozzle & required regular refilling to finish the effort.  It was here that the obvious stench of weeks of bush living impacted on those now clean, although it was very obvious that base staff had been avoiding the platoon lines in the period before the showers.  Following the shower individuals would report to a company medical person to be inspected for bush sores and other ailments.  Those with rashes, tinea, infected cuts, and other injuries were directed to the official company medic for processing and suitable treatment.  By now the accepted dress was shorts and jandals to allow the skin exposure to fresh air.  The individual’s stinking bush clothing was rolled into a pile and carried disdainfully to the CQMS store for the storemen to later deliver to the Vietnamese dhobi outside the Nui Dat wire.  One sympathised with the storemen needing to handle these piles of rancid material but generally it was accepted that ‘it was dirty work but someone had to do it…’  The troops would also uplift clean laundry left behind from the previous period in base. 

At this point individuals started to relax, mail was delivered and field packs were emptied and the contents serviced.  Old rations and water were discarded and litter [always carried from the field] was disposed of.  Where necessary webbing and packs were scrubbed and placed outside to dry, and some personal dhobi was attempted.  Toward 5PM platoons would start to assemble to have the various task lists checked off by the Pl Sgt and then individuals would be dismissed to get dressed in clean jungle greens and boots for the traditional company BBQ.

The company BBQ would start a process that allowed the individuals to pass back into a civilised environment by removing the strictures of living tactically in the bush.  The intention in Vietnam was the same as at any BBQ back in NZ, to have good fun with mates.  The company cooks had prepared piles of fresh meat for grilling and the accumulated allowances of beer and goffers were paraded in vehicle trailers filled with ice.  Music was provided, often by individuals with guitars, and individuals started to circulate to catch up with gossip from mates in other platoons, and with visitors.  After a suitably short period [i.e. before the sudden introduction of alcohol caused problems] Major Torrance would step in as ‘master of ceremonies’ to acknowledge birthdays, pronounce on great individual efforts and minor misdemeanours, and to make other announcements.  The remainder of the evening was then devoted to scoffing the fresh food, emptying the beer trailers, and telling the biggest lies.  After a period of socialising with the troops the officers and SNCO’s normally retired to their own combined mess.  There were no duties overnight for those returning from operations.

The following morning, unless the Company was travelling to Vung Tau for a 48-hour break, platoons started preparations to deploy again.  All the preparation was directed by the platoon sergeants under the watchful eye of the CSM and Coy 2ic.  The first priority was to improve the health of individuals who had likely lost several kilograms in body weight during a prolonged bush period where they carried heavy weights while moving and received limited nutritional value from the combat rations supplied.  Individuals would also be suffering from bites and skin infections from sleeping on the ground and moving among the local flora, and have physical issues caused from chaff, damage to the feet from tinea, and bruising from heavy packs, weapons and other equipment; diarrhoea might also be an issue with the addition of fresh food to the diet.  Those requiring medical care were paraded to the battalion RAP for assessment and treatment - some might be declared ‘LOB’ until healed sufficiently.  Dress remained casual buff order [bare upper body].  Meals were from fresh staples where available and seconds were encouraged.  Water, cordial powder and other beverages were freely available.  Sport was played [mainly volleyball] and other informal social gatherings were encouraged.  The company bar would open each evening, and individuals could visit the makeshift cinema to hopefully watch a 16mm movie through without breakages.  Some soldiers would leave the base on routine work [dhobi run or visit the Baria orphanage] while others would unofficially ‘shoot through’ to visit friends in 161 Battery or the other company lines.  Some had to be retrieved at short notice if a sudden deployment was ordered.  There was only one public toll phone for the entire Task Force but letter writing and taped messages were encouraged.  Moral support might be required for people who had suffered a loss at home, such as a death within the family, or the dreaded ‘Dear John’ letter from an ex-girlfriend.  New Zealand padre’s were available to help and always attended the company BBQ to offer a willing ear.

Weapons would be taken in batches to the armourer for checks and repairs.  Signallers would gather and radios would be checked.  Non-operational administration would be dealt with by Coy HQ clerks, and parties would march down to NZ Component to check and sometimes draw pay from their pay books.  Individuals were entitled to send duty-free alcohol back to family in New Zealand and these would be purchased and prepared for postage.  Platoon ammunition stocks were checked and replacement items called forward by the CQMS to the Company ammunition bunker.  Damaged equipment was replaced or repaired under direction of the CQMS.  Worn boots and clothing were exchanged as necessary.

A series of Company tactical leadership meetings might occur covering ‘lessons learnt’ and improvements wanted.  Replacement radio codes would be issued and intelligence summaries read.  New maps would be prepared.  New people posted into the platoon would be organised into a section, equipped for their role and given individual training on new equipment, weapons and small group tactics and other drills.  Platoon and section briefings would be held to update the soldiers on the current tactical situation.  Where possible the sections would rotate out to the rifle range beyond the perimeter wire to test fire their personal weapons and practice with other section weapons such as the M60 MG, M79 grenade launcher and M72 ‘bunker buster’.  In this period some sections might be directed to do an overnight TAOR patrol outside the base perimeter.

In the period just prior to the next 3-4 week deployment O groups would occur, a full load of ammunition would be distributed among sections, and spare batteries and other essential stores would be collected and distributed.  Combat rations would be organised and issued.  While the period prior to deployment was busy it was noticeable that individuals became quieter and perhaps withdrawn and final preparations and checks of equipment had an intensity previously missing.  The new operational deployment was always a nervous affair and it was often not until the clean clothes were saturated with sweat and the evening bush bedspace was ready that soldiers were able to settle down and accept that the process was starting again.

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Early Days SVN - Duke Henry                        [extract with permission from Duke & Alan's book]

The RNZAF flight to Vietnam was uneventful and we landed with limited fuss or fanfare.  A quick reshuffle on the ground and we prepared for the trip by vehicle convoy from Vung Tau to the ANZAC fire base of Nui Dat.  The company mounted the trucks and sat facing outboard, weapons tightly clutched and wired up ready for anything. Like most of the other guys in my platoon, I fully expected the Vietcong, or North Vietnamese regulars, to make a sudden appearance and brass us up big time.  Most of us were completely over-awed by the situation that first couple of hours.  After clearing the hustle and bustle of Vung Tau, little did we realize that it would be our last glimpse of civilization and pretty girls for the next three months.

Once in Nui Dat, Phuoc Tuy Province, we settled in to the Whisky Company lines.  The four-man military tents had wood palettes for floors and were protected by sand bagged walls.  We were now members of the ANZAC Battalion. and along with our Australian counterparts. we had the honor of maintaining the ANZAC fighting tradition. As a Kiwi, it was sometimes difficult to accept the fact that the Australian military contingent and commitment was much larger and better equipped than ours, but unlike our “down under” brethren. all Kiwis were volunteers. Many Kiwi soldiers serving in Vietnam had originally started out as National Serviceman (under a ballot system of conscription). However, before being assigned duties in this theater they had to volunteer for service with the regular force infantry and meet its training requirements.

A glaring example of the negative aspects of conscription and, therefore, involuntary service happened a short while after our arrival in Nui Dat.  A disgruntled Aussie grunt rolled a grenade under his platoon sergeant’s cot and sent his non commissioned officer into the next world.  However, in this case Murphy’s Law had prevailed, because the troubled troopie was actually targeting his platoon commander.

We lost all sense of time in Vietnam and, truthfully, didn’t care.  The only dates that mattered were rest and recreation timings and our scheduled flight home.  We were all volunteers, with a sense of immortality, and as professionals most of us were looking forward to the challenges and tests of combat. 

In Malaysia, our belt order, packs, and the majority of our military kit was British issue.  Uniformity in NZ and to a lesser degree in Malaysia was still the name of the game and only issue kit could be used.  However, in Vietnam, combat rules applied, and we were allowed to use just about anything we wanted, so most of us adopted the U.S. webbing and belt order [see link for a detailed description of the load carried by individuals].  The final configuration was up to the individual wearing it and the only thing that was sacrosanct was that the field dressing had to be loosely taped to one of your web suspender straps.

I finally ended up with an ARVN pack mounted on a Special Forces frame with signaler's bum pack.  This held my rations of five to seven days, which were normally a mixture of freeze dries and American C-rat cans.  Rations had to be broken down, and it was difficult to carry a complete U.S. 24-hour rat pack because of it size.  C-rats consisted of three heavy and bulky cans per meal, smokes and goodies, and while excellent tucker, were a determent to bush movement.  On the opposite end of the field cuisine spectrum were the lightweight freeze dried food packs, they sapped our limited potable water supply, and over the long haul, lacked the oomph necessary to restore our required energy levels.  Americans ate well, but our Kiwi priorities were ammo and water, in that order.

I carried four to six water bottles on my belt order and two in my pack’s side pouches.  This was further supplemented by an Aussie water bag, also attached to my pack.  All water bottles/bags needed to be easily accessible for refilling purposes and, in turn, this exposure made the bladders prone to puncturing and tearing.  I rationed myself to one water bottle a day for all purposes, but this changed when we contacted streams or other water supplies.  In the dry season, we suffered and took and purified water wherever we could find it.  During Monsoon season, we cursed the deluges.  Even though I loved a full brew of coffee, I seldom took the trouble to make it.  When I was able to indulge in such a luxury, I would boil the water with a marble of plastic explosive and use half for the freeze dries and the rest for the brew.  I had no problem eating C-rats cold, and most times in the late afternoon when we invariably harboured up, were too tired or idle to cook it up.  Other than ammo and operational kit, you were not checked on what you carried.  For me, the extras consisted of a spare shirt and trousers, my British lightweight woolen blanket, and a lilo tube cover to lie on.  I also packed a liberated VC hammock and a lightweight shelter half, this was my full boonies compliment and once packed away I was “hot to trot.” For Sergeant Dave, mosquito nets were not tactical and he frowned on them. Because of the heat and humidity, I never wore socks or cotton skivvies and was lucky that the crotch rot and athlete’s foot left me well alone.  These lessons were learned back in the Ulu (jungle) of Malaysia.

Our section composition and roles remained the same as it was during our jungle training in Malaysia.  Billy Kahaki and I were the cover and lead scouts, Graham “Black Harry” Harris continued as section commander, Graeme Edwards was our 2IC, Ginge Philips carried the M79 40 MM grenade launcher, and Neville Carmichael served as a rifleman private.  Our section, by hook or by crook, acquired two M60 light machine guns.  Peter “Titty” Harris and Scrubber Ryalls handled gun one, and my tent mates, Rau Te Haara and Ben Te Namu, were on gun two.  We conducted bush ops lasting between five to nine weeks and were re-supplied every five to seven days.

We all carried a 100-round belt of 7.62 x 51 MM link for the machine guns, two fragmentation grenades, a selection of coloured smoke grenades, a minimum of eight fully loaded 20-round magazines for your FN Self Loading Rifle, and, in my case, I further augmented that with an extra bandoleer of rifle ammo.  With the exception of the machine gunners, we all carried a claymore mine, a trip flare, extra radio batteries, and a starlight scope.  Other odd items of team kit were also distributed among the section.  The Signaler humped his radio, personal gear, and a lightweight M-16 5.56 x 45 MM rifle.  Both M60 gunners carried the gun and 1000 rounds of linked ammunition, and pistols.  Their assistant gunners were laden with an SLR, a spare MG barrel, and as much link as possible for them to carry.  Being an M60 team was not for weaklings, but amazingly, most gunners weren’t big men.

We usually deployed in company strength into our areas of operations by helicopters or armoured personnel carriers (APC’s).  Occasionally, when we had promising intelligence on large enemy concentrations, the entire battalion took a whack at them, but more often than not contacts were limited to platoon-sized engagements.  It’s a stirring sight to see several hundred men in battle dress and loaded for bear lining the airstrip in their respective sticks, waiting for the helicopters to take them up-country.  Even today, when I hear the thumping of those blades, it brings back distant memories of the excitement of an ANZAC air assault.  Once on the ground we would fan out in a defensive perimeter to cover the bird’s withdrawal and wait for any immediate enemy reaction. On command, we would quickly regroup, check our compass bearing, and get the fuck out of the area.  We never operated at full strength, and for various reasons a platoon rarely exceeded 25 men.  2 Platoon normally operated as two elements.  Invariably, our section ended up with Sgt. Dave Haywood as our commander, and Lieutenant Bobby Upton operated with the other element.

Jungle operations for the Kiwi infantrymen was traditionally a well-drilled routine.  It was developed and perfected during the Malaysian and Borneo campaigns in the 1960’s.  We were fortunate to have had a six-month workup in the Malaysian jungles, which is similar in topography and climate.  We were jungle bunnies no doubt and extremely confident in our abilities to fight and survive in this environment.  Ideally, through disciplined, stealthy movement, we wanted to be able to spot the enemy first and initiate the fire fight on our terms, rather than react to a contact firing at us.  This can only be achieved by carefully following time tested SOPs and maintaining alertness on a 24/7 basis.  Danger areas such as track systems, ridgelines, creek beds, roads, saddles, or any other natural routes, were to be avoided.  People who ignored these basic rules did so at their peril and frequently paid the price in the form of a devastating ambush.  Eyesight, sound, and smell were all involved in discerning the opposition, but we frequently heard them first before spotting them.  Sound can carry a long way in the jungle, and noise discipline was paramount. Our enemy displayed serious discipline also, but was more apt to stick to existing track systems, perhaps so they could move at a fair rate of knots.  And, at times, he got punished badly for this breach of tactics.  We did not, as a rule, patrol or move at night, and since we operated in a free-fire zone anything that moved after dusk was considered fair game and was challenged.  Halts required sentries and outposts to be deployed.  Packs and webbing remained on unless the situation required us to lie in firing positions.  Because of our operating procedures and style of patrolling, we did not travel great distances, and frequently only covered a 1000 meters between night harbor positions.  Ambushes were usually set up at night, so most of us enjoyed only a few hours of sleep in our harbour sites. The “killer group,” or the troops that covered the designated “kill zone,” consisted of an M60 team and banks of claymore mines.  The claymores were the favored method of initiation and the M60 and riflemen would not engage targets in the zone unless it required cleaning up.  A claymore-initiated ambush could be misidentified as mortar or artillery harassing and interdiction fire and, therefore, would not compromise the patrol.

Contacts were sudden and frequently close, and although training and discipline were key fundamentals for survival, lady luck, as always, had a hand in it.  For the uninitiated, contrary to the way war is portrayed in the movies, the noise generated during a fire-fight is immense.  Verbal control is almost impossible to exert when the balloon goes up.  All orders are delivered blind because most of the combatants are hugging terra-firma very early in the contact.  With green troops, the instinct for survival will often override training until leadership overcomes the grip of fear.

In the jungle, the ability to land navigate was paramount.  The thick foliage made map reading an art form and was a skill that not everyone could master.  It was very similar to night navigation and you had to count your paces and adhere to pre-set compass bearings.  In addition to getting from point “A” to point “B” in the time estimated for a scheduled aerial re-supply, accurate artillery and close air support hinged on your ability to give the correct coordinates of your location.  Misread the map or report the wrong coordinates and you could be on the wrong end of a 500 pound bomb.  It’s called fratricide in genteel company, but killing your own and doing the enemy’s job for him was a big no-no.  Many times we huddled in our shell holes as our boss Bobby, Sgt. Dave and the Fire Controller huddled over a map, calling in high explosive rounds and taking quick fixes on the fall of the shot with back azimuths and map resection.  This was an expensive but effective method of determining our own position when there were no terrain features to orient on.  There’s nothing like the scream and crump of high explosives, with shrapnel whistling through the trees, to get you to get acquainted with the worms and other local vermin scurrying around in your partially submerged crater.  When the big ordnance got a little too close, it didn’t take much to convince you that it would be a whole lot easier on the nerves and sphincter muscle to perfect your traditional navigation techniques than opt for the “boom” method.

Early in our tour, we still thought we were invincible, but our first enemy contact changed that erroneous belief.  We had been patrolling in platoon strength for several hours, during our thirty-day deployment in the bush.  We were following a pre-determined compass bearing with our section and me as point in the lead.  From the map recce and patrol brief that morning we knew that we should be approaching a creek junction in the next hour or so.  We finally stopped for a break and, as always, because I was a non-smoker I was pushed out on sentry.  Sergeant Dave signaled Ben, the M60 gunner, to accompany me.  Peaches Brown was positioned to our right flank.  We hadn’t traveled more than ten meters when the familiar crack of an SLR round whistled past us from Brownie’s position.  After letting loose with a couple of rounds, all was quiet from his direction.  The boss yelled out for a contact report.  Sergeant Dave shook his head and signaled us forward a couple of feet to take up a better defensive position.  I was scanning the creek bed to our front when I suddenly glimpsed movement ten to fifteen feet out to my front.  A flash of black — shit, there he was, a bad guy flat on his stomach and facing down the creek towards the platoon’s right flank where Peaches had fired from.  I was standing motionless and slightly crouched.  He must have sensed my presence or he was just checking his arc’s because he glanced my way and our eyes met.  He looked more surprised than afraid, and with what felt like slow motion, I instinctively shouldered my weapon, sighted in on his chest area, and engaged him with a 20-round magazine.  With each hit, he flopped around a bit and it all seemed very clinical and clear to me.  There was no emotion at this moment and I was simply doing what I had been trained to do.  Searching for additional targets, I dropped to a knee, quickly changed magazines, and re-charged my rifle.  For insurance, Ben hosed the guy down with his M60 and then covered the far bank and bunker systems that we could now see.  Then things got quiet again as we all lay motionless, sucking in air and contemplating what had just occurred and what might happen next.

Eventually, we all three looked at each other and the ear-to-ear grins said it all.  Fuck it, we were all right.  Peaches had observed two VC strolling down the creek bed towards his position and opened up with his SLR, knocking one ass over kite and wounding the other, who did a runner and got away.  The soldier we had engaged was also wounded and could have been Peaches’s first target.  During the Platoon follow up we discovered we were, in fact, already in the bunker zone, not a pleasant thought.  After clearing the immediate concern and checking for further enemy, time forced us to move back and harbour up for the evening.  It was getting dark and when the curtain descends, it’s like someone switched off the light bulb.  With the additional bunker complex across the creek, it looked like things could get serious so we pulled back and prepared for a rather anxious night.  After our stand-to stood down, we set our listening posts and sentries.  With us being in the enemy’s neighborhood and he being pissed off about it, the boss did not have to worry about anyone on stag nodding off.   The next morning, with machine guns sited for support, the platoon got on line and advanced through and cleared the main bunkers on the other side of the creek.  It turned out that they were not fully completed and only partially manned.  Had it been otherwise, the fire fight that would have undoubtedly ensued could just have easily gone the other way.

Sergeant Dave had taken several of us under his wing, and although the memories have faded, we would have followed him anywhere and pretty much did.  On one of several occasions, he took me on one of his more interesting escapades.  We had located a camp of 30 to 40 VC and they were quite relaxed and unaware of our presence.  They were making plenty of noise chopping down trees, yelling out to each other and quite confident that they were safe while they were engaged in building a base camp and a couple of bunkers.  Upon hearing the sounds of chopping, we immediately moved into a perimeter defense and listened for an hour, trying to build a mental picture of enemy activities.  The boss had radioed the company commander and advised him of our find.  We held and the next day the balance of Whisky joined us for a company-sized attack.  About 4.00 PM, Sergeant Dave grabbed one other grunt and me and gave us an enlightening brief on his planned close camp reconnaissance.  At the time, I was only nineteen and totally indoctrinated in contemporary infantry tactics.  But, after five minutes with Dave, he had the other lad and me setting some of this doctrine aside and adopting the SAS techniques that he had developed in Borneo and elsewhere while in combat.  We made our preparations and he inspected us. Our faces and hands were camouflaged and we had removed our boots.  Instead, we wore two pairs of socks, which I had to borrow, because I had no use for them in the jungle, to muffle our foot-falls and eliminate leaving footprints.  Webbing had been discarded for this mission and I only carried a bandoleer of 7.62 x 51 MM around my waist and five 20-round magazines.   loaded magazine was placed in each pocket of my trousers and shirt and one on the weapon.  We moved out, creeping in at various points, stopping and listening to the VC chorus and then creeping out again.  Dave was establishing the location for our advance and start line for the company assault and trying to determine the parameters of the enemy encampment.  We needed that information so our flanks would not be exposed to an enemy counter-attack.  When we returned to our platoon position everyone carried on with the hard routine.  No talking, no fires and keep the fuck still.  Any food consumed was eaten cold or not at all.  We all held our breath until sunrise.

In the end, it was all a waste of time.  The following morning, 2 Platoon pulled back a couple of hundred metres and the rest of Whisky Company regrouped on our new position.  The Company Head Shed in the boonies and Aussie taskforce bosses back in the Dat, worked on a battle plan and the big picture.  Murphy’s Law, sure as shit, intervened and from the grunt’s perspective this promising mission was a failure.  The enemy camp was prepped with artillery, air support, and helicopter gun ships.  Everybody wanted a piece of the action, but the most effective weapon of all in this terrain, the light infantryman, was left to huddle impotently on the deck while this awesome display of firepower impacted a couple of hundred meters to our front.  On cue, when the prep lifted, we did our thing, and it turned out to be the proverbial walk in the sun.  The grand total for tons of expended ordnance was one confirmed enemy KIA, 30 odd packs, quantities of rice, and some abandoned weapons and equipment.  In hindsight, a better plan would have been to set out area ambushes Kiwi style and pound the camp with artillery or gun ships under our direction.  When they felt our pain, the VC would di-di [walk] into our kill zones and it would have been a turkey shoot.  However, there was one consolation generated out of all of the fireworks.  Our gun ships caught an enemy group and chewed them up as they bolted across open grasslands trying to escape.

Relationships between the Aussies and Kiwis in Vietnam was a healthy one, although we swore up and down that the Aussie high command gave us the dirty end of the stick on operational tasking.  Although there were numerous punch-ups and bloody brawls between Anzac allies back in base camp and on liberty in Vung Tau, there was no malice intended.  It was simply a continuation of the age old ANZAC fiction which remains part of our NZ culture even today.  I am a firm believer that the demands jungle operations place on the grunt require frequent venting.  A good controlled scrap usually did the trick, and hell, we even fought each other if there was no one else around.  Out in the scrub where it counted, Aussies and Kiwis worked extremely well together and I have nothing but grudging admiration for the Aussie diggers who represented the majority of the ANZAC Task Force.

more: Duke Henry - Latter Days SVN

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