THE DI AN DIARY--MEMOIRS FROM THE VIETNAM WAR/PART FIVE: DEJAVU-BLACK TO RED AND A MARRIAGE

 
THE DI AN DIARY--MEMOIRS FROM THE VIETNAM WAR
PART FIVE: DEJAVU--BLACK TO RED AND A MARRIAGE


After a shower one day in base camp, I walked into the back door of the hooch into my quarters to find the Headquarters and Headquarters Company orderly standing there with a crooked grin on his face.  I was told to dress and report to the 2nd Brigade Headquarters Executive Officer (XO).   I was to cross that dusty road once again to the TOC and report to Sergeant Major Demarinus in Tactical Operations.  For what I was unsure.


The conversation turned out to be short and ended with a welcome back from Captain Roberts, the XO.

 

Captain Roberts was always one of my favorites, a likable man, gentle in nature and always with his Bible close at hand.  It was the news I was both hoping for and fearful of...a reassignment back to Headquarters Operations as the Night Duty NCO for Tactical Operations.  The new LRRP Team Leader would be arriving in a day or two. The timing could not have been more opportune.


After only a short time back in Brigade Headquarters, I received my first and only break from the war as my request for R&R had been approved and everything was arranged for a week in Hawaii.


I flew to Hawaii for R&R and married my sweetheart Sandra Sue Wall in Ft. DeRussy Chapel in a military wedding. Chaplain Major Wesley Geary of the Big Red One performed the services on November 20, 1968. Five days later we boarded separate planes, she headed back to Paducah, Kentucky and me to Vietnam for the balance of my tour. We honestly did not know if we would ever see each other again. I still am in awe of the courage it must have taken for her to get on a plane without the comfort of family or friends and fly to a place as remote from Kentucky as Hawaii and marry a man she did not know would even be coming home to her.


Chaplin Major Wesley Geary, Sandy and I immediately after the ceremony.  Chaplin Major Geary was already a veteran of the Vietnam War with "The Big Red One".

I had gone into the field in the best shape of my life, at just under 160 pounds. My weight had dipped below 120 at one point, during recon and now I was still just about 125.  All of my clothes had to be replaced from medium to x-small.


 I was very concerned with my health in general.  In basic and AIT I had won bets consistently performing 100 sit-ups in a timeframe that seemed a sure thing to the bettors risking their money to bet against me,  I also took money by betting that I could pick up a dime between my feet with my back against the wall, my backside never leaving the wall surface. My abs were incredible. If my body fat had been almost zero at my weight going on patrol, it was scary to give thought as to how I was even able to function at the present moment in time.  For all the stress in the TOC assignment, at least I could look forward to hot food twice a day.  It could have been three if I wasn’t asleep during the noon meal.  The cooks were more than eager to take care of any NCO on the “full-bird” colonel’s staff.


I never had far to go for a meal when back in the base camp.  My hooch is on the right, the mess hall on the left.  I would walk past the mess hall coming and going across the North Gate Road to the Command Center every day.

I know that this opportunity to be removed from LRRP duties and harm’s way after only a couple of months was a consensus from discussions between Colonel Carley, Sergeant-Major Demarinus, and Captain Roberts, and it was deeply appreciated. But I now had the field-based prerequisites for the Brigade T.O.C. Night Duty Sergeant responsibilities.. I had the training from the Day Duty NCO position I had previously performed. I had Top Secret Security Clearance, which was required for brigade level Tactical Operations, and an advanced clearance in Cryptology as well. And most importantly, this was an assignment that with few exceptions was always carried out by an NCO with recent field experience. I now knew first-hand how precious moments were for troops engaged in a firefight. Just seconds made all the difference when they needed accurate artillery support, a dust-off for wounded comrades, a Spooky to drop flares to illuminate an enemy position, or gun ships to strafe enemy or to clear a safe advance or retreat.


I was glad to be out of the field, however the mortar attacks on the base camp still occurred with enough frequency to remind me that I could not take my eventual return stateside for granted . My stress levels remained constant.  It seemed there was ebb and flow, just constant probing and harassment. 

 

The “active” frame of my shift was midnight until 8 AM (1200 hours until 0800 hours).  Because of the detail and stress, the Army kept the time manning the radios and phones and processing detail to a firm 8 hours. Mistakes from stress and fatigue and detail overload were not permissible.  I reported at least an hour early to sit-in and observe operations currently underway to make for a smooth transition. It required the same hour, or as necessary, to transition the next NCO on shift, and to vet and clarify the sit-reps from the night (situation reports used for the morning staff meetings).  The sit-reps determined many of the field operations, sweeps, and general priorities for engaging the enemy for the day.


On one night after a tremendous amount of rain, it had grown still and quiet in the aftermath. I did not have to go on duty until midnight and so it was about 10 P.M. and I was dozing in my hooch when I heard distinctly the thump of mortars coming out of the tube. I left the cot naked, not a general practice but I was drenched in sweat, and in only a few feet was out of the door and made a sharp right to dive into our sandbagged defensive bunker. I made the dive, others in the platoon scrambling out the door behind me, into a stack of crates someone had placed in the bunker entrance. It knocked me out cold, breaking several teeth. I was later told by my gleeful hooch bunk-mates that I showed a lot of courage, for, stark naked and crunched into a ball, I mooned the enemy in the middle of a mortar attack.


The only thing that keeps this from being a pleasant memory is knowing we lost a couple men and had others wounded that particular night in 1969 in the other end of the camp. The first mortars had "walked" their way right through a helicopter pad and onto the tin roofs of hooches, sending a hail of shrapnel into the scrambling bodies below.


A less frantic visit to the hooch bunker.








Keith Wayne Ragan
Former Headquarters Tactical Command Sergeant
Headquarters, 2nd Brigade, 1st Infantry Division
Di An Basecamp, Republic of South Vietnam

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