WE'VE LOST ANOTHER

26 September 1967

The last couple of days had been routine except that I felt like a changed person. I didn't care any longer whether we won the war or not. We sure as hell wouldn't win the way we were conducting it. I had become cynical and opinionated. I had never been that way before. I was tired of the uselessness of the war. I didn't want to see any more men I knew get hurt or killed. The leaders we had to follow were inept. It seemed like they didn't care about the casualties, but I knew that deep inside they did care. Maybe they were becoming cynical also.

I was playing poker with Staff Sgt. Keller from the 2nd Platoon along with two guys from HQ's section, trying to get even from the last game I'd played. This time I broke even; my game was improving. Keller and I had a couple beers together afterwards.

"You know Shaffer, you're gonna have to change your attitude."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"The way you've become, the way you've been carrying yourself lately," he said. "It's not good."

"Screw you!" I said.

"There! That's exactly my point. Your attitude sucks."

"Mind your own friggen business, will ya?"

He shook his head. "I'm telling you man, if you don't change your ways, you're going to make a mistake. It will probably be a mistake that could cost you your life, so think about it."

"I think you're full of hot air and it's already hot out here. I'll see you later, Sarge."

"Okay, don't listen," he said. "It's your funeral."

"Screw you!" I told him.

The next day was more of the same. This pace was hard on the nerves. You wished something would happen, just to kill the boredom. The line units were pulling patrols and we were still responsible for inside security. I thought about going out on patrol with Cryder again, but I got to thinking about what Keller had said. Maybe he was right about me I told myself. Why push it? I stayed home.

How was it that Charlie was never around when you wanted him to be? He was always there when you least expected it.

Right after lunch we had mail call. The news that my divorce was final really rocked me. Talk about hitting rock bottom.

But I wasn't the only one down in the dumps. I was sitting in a jeep next to my tent reading my mail. I looked up over the steering wheel and noticed a captain from HQ staff. He gently and purposefully pulled his .45-caliber pistol from its holster and did the unbelievable. He put the .45 to his temple and pulled the trigger. I sat there in total shock, not believing what I had just witnessed.

A bunch of guys nearby who'd heard the shot rushed over to him. The letter that he had in his other hand fell and the wind picked it up and blew it away. There was nothing anyone could do for him. One second he was sitting there alive, breathing, the next second he was dead. I didn't know who he was and no one mentioned his name that day. It was like it never happened. It wasn't that no one cared; it was because silence in this place spoke louder than words. I wondered to myself how anyone could do something like that to them selves. It's something I have never been able to understand. You were out in the bush trying to survive. Survival was the key to every breathing day that went by. It was paramount to anything else - eating, sleeping, anything. Individual survival meant more than this friggen war did to anybody. To destroy yourself like that - I just couldn’t understand that!

Mac and I discussed taking the platoon out for some mortar training. The CO got wind of it and suggested that the whole company should go out. I couldn't agree more. If anyone needed extra training, the CO was first on the list.

He took us out about two miles from the rubber trees. We had the 81mm mortars with us. I'm glad we didn't go out any further. The 81's were getting heavy. We were told to stay put on what was a high knoll stuck out over a creek bed 300 yards below. The CO moved the rest of the company down toward the creek bed. We set the mortars up and started practicing dry firing. After the CO had the rest of the men in position, he started the artillery prep on a deserted tin hut across the creek. He must have had 10 or 12 rounds come in on that tin hut!

I said to Mac, "That asshole couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if he was leaning on it."

"Want to show him how it's done?"

"You mean with the 81's? Sounds good to me," I said.

Mac called the CO on the radio.

"How about giving us a shot at that target?"

"Go ahead, wise guy," he said. "Fire away!"

We lined up the mortars on target, estimated the range to be about 500 meters and sank the base plate with a two round charge four. We watched the rounds hit about 100 yards above the target and dead on-line. I cranked the tube up about two full turns.

"Get seven rounds ready with charge three." I told the crew.

Mac asked me, "Shouldn't you stay with charge four?"

"No, it's too much," I answered.

"You're the mortar man around here so fire away."

"Tell the CO that he is about to get a lesson on artillery," I yelled.

"Lets wait and see what develops first," Mac said.

"Okay, but I'm telling you. You ain't seen nothin' yet," I said.

We fired all seven rounds, one right after the other. Six out of seven went right through the roof of the tin hut. Blew it all to hell. Totally obliterated it.

"Jesus," said Mac. "I ain't never seen anything like that in my 15 years in the Army."

Everybody was yelling and jumping and carrying on.

Sawyer said, "You see that? We blew the shit out of it."

"Man, I don't believe it," said Johnson. "I thought maybe we would hit it with one round, but not six," he yelled.

The CO called back on the radio. "Good shooting four-6, cease fire; we're heading back in."

"Roger six, this is four-6, out."

"Man, I'll bet the CO just shit his britches," said Johnson.

"All right, let's saddle up," I said. "Time to pack it in."

We went back to base camp and spent the rest of the day cleaning the mortars. It was a satisfying day to say the least. The remainder of the month of September was pretty much the same. October started with a bang. Charlie finally got brave enough to hit us with a mortar barrage. It wasn't that we weren't ready for him; we just wondered why he waited so long. No one was hurt in the attack, just our pride. Most of the rounds landed harmlessly in the woods behind us.

"Looks like Charlie has his range off a little," said Sawyer.

"Yea, maybe Sarge ought to give them a lesson too," said Johnson.

"No, you don't want to make them too good," Sawyer said.

The next day I caught a ride in to Cu-Chi with a couple guys from Third Platoon. The First Sergeant and the Supply Sergeant back at the Company didn't like the idea that we showed up unexpectedly so we kind of made ourselves scarce and ended up over at the 4th of the 23rd Infantry Regiment's NCO club. Sgt Rogers from 3rd platoon and I hit it off pretty good and ended up getting drunk together.

I guess I was trying to feel sorry for myself. The thought of my marriage being terminated made me more hostile. I didn't hold my liquor very good, and that night was no exception. Rogers and I both left the club "shit-faced" to the gills.

As we lumbered outside and the hot and humid air hit us in the face, I noticed a jeep parked out in front of the club.

"You see what I see Rog?"

"I see a jeep, so what?"

"I see more than that Rog, I see our salvation, our rescue is right here in front ready to take us home to bed."

"Your nuts, he said. Your out of your mind you think you can take a jeep, just like that."

"I'm not going to steal it Rog, I'm just going to "borrow" it for a little while and then give it back."

We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, said to one another, "what the hell," and off we went.

Rogers and I were riding around Cu-Chi for awhile and the possibility hit both of us that who ever had the jeep at the club was probably calling the MP's by now, so we decided to ditch the vehicle in front of Division Headquarters. That way we were sure they'd find it in the morning.

Funny thing though, all the running around we did, we still had as far to go back to our Company as we did before we took the jeep.

"Your gonna get both our asses thrown in the stockade," he kept saying.

"Ah, don't worry about the small stuff, Rog. He ain't gonna report that thing stolen, he shudna had that jeep there anyhow."

We both laughed about the whole incident as we struggled to find our bunks back at the Company area.

It finally felt good to blow off a little steam.  I slept pretty good that night, or what was left of it anyway.

15 October 1967

In the middle of October the 2nd Platoon made contact with some VC on one of their patrols. They infiltrated an area just inside Long An in Bin Duong Province when they made contact. I was monitoring the company radio when they were making frantic calls for help. It was just after midnight and all hell was coming down over the radio. It sounded really bad. The strength of the VC unit was platoon size, and our patrol only consisted of nine men. Helicopter gun-ships were called in to help relieve the pressure and the 1st platoon was airlifted in to secure the area and help extract the wounded.

I didn't find out until later, when a relief was sent out after them, just how bad it was. They carried the wounded out to a location where a dust-off could pick them up. Four of our men were in bad shape; five were counted dead.

The First Sergeant came in from Cu Chi at about 0230 hours. He was talking to the CO about something. Then he came to our tent to talk to Sgt. McDonald. I was curious as to how the patrol made out. No one seemed to know too much so I went over to where the First Sergeant and Mac were. I heard him talking about the patrol and the extent of the casualties. It sounded serious. Then I heard one of the names. Staff Sergeant Keller was one of the reported KIA's (Killed in Action).

"Damn!" I said. "Another friend." When is this shit going to stop, I said to myself. I told myself to be hard and that wasn't easy. Your emotions run away and hide, everything stays bottled up inside, ready to explode.

What a needless, stupid, waste of good men. Why, for a shitty rice paddy out in the middle of nowhere?  It just didn't make any sense to me anymore.

The first sergeant described what happened, and that Keller had only two weeks to go before he went home. Two of the other KIA's hadn't even been here a month. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to hear anymore of the details. I tried to just shut it out of my mind but it didn't work. I tried falling back to sleep, but of course, that didn't work either. I kept thinking of Staff Sergeant Keller and what he had said to me. Then I felt guilty about the whole damn mess. Maybe it should have been me out there with that patrol. Maybe I was supposed to be the one to go next. That didn't make me feel any better about it. I finally calmed down and dozed off. I slept for only about three hours. The sun was set to break through the trees. In an hour it would be 85 degrees again.

I had some personal business to take care of in Cu Chi, so I hitched a ride with the First Sergeant. I asked Sgt. Cline if he would pick me up later at the command post and he agreed. I spent most of the morning in the 25th Administration Section getting my personal affairs in order.

I was talking with Lt. Thomas, who had been our platoon leader. I asked him how he liked his new job. I told him about Keller, and he already knew about what happened.

"Fine, the motor pool operation takes up most of my time," he said. "By the way, I'm starting this new `LLRP' unit with some of the men in our Battalion. I was wondering if you'd be interested in taking on a fire team."

"Yea? That's an interesting prospect," I replied. "Let me think about it, sir. I'll let you know."

Sgt. Cline picked me up around 1600 hours for the ride back to the rubber trees.

"I hope we make it back for chow," I said.

"Yea, we'll make it okay," he answered.

Behind us were two other jeeps. The last one had a .50-caliber on the back of it. The middle one and our jeep had the 106's on board.

"Ever get shot at, down this road?" I asked Cline.

"Couple of times last month, but no big deal," he answered.

"Well, you better have your guys on extra alert today," I told him. "I got a feeling my luck's been turning to shit lately."

"Ah, don't talk like that Shaf. I can't believe your luck will change."

"Yea, I hope not," I answered him.

Our luck held. We made it back in one piece. All the way back I kept thinking of Lt. Thomas' offer. I would hate to leave the platoon this far into it; then again it sounded like something I would like to do. I had to think about it some more. When I mentioned it to Mac, he said maybe I should take it. Although, he added, I might have another six months added to my tour.

"No way, if that's the case. I wouldn't take another six months in this shit-hole if my life depended on it!"

"It does," he laughed. "Where the hell do you think you're at, Coney Island?"

Laughing I replied, "You're damn right. Forget it then. I'll finish my tour right here with you guys."

"Whatever you think is best," Mac said. "By the way, now that you're staying, I can tell you that we're going back out."

"Day after tomorrow," I said.

"How did you know?"

"The first sergeant told me this morning," I said, "on the way to Cu Chi."

The rest of that day and the next were spent getting our men ready for the next operation. Looked like we were headed for the sanctuary inside Quang Tin Province. We better be taking some C-4 with us because all we do up there is blow tunnels and bunker complexes. Maybe this time we could catch Charlie napping and off-guard. I'd been waiting a long time to get back at him. It looked as though we were going to abandon our little "home-away-from-home." While we were gone the engineers were coming in to tear down this place. It was all right with me. I didn't like it anyway. Give me Cu Chi any day.

The next two weeks the operation in Quang Tin Province was slow and tedious. Most of the time was spent clearing bunkers. Then we got involved in a fire-fight with Charlie inside our perimeter one night. We sent flares into the night sky from our mortars hoping to see him better. I guess he probed our defenses and found he couldn't breach them, so he took off in the middle of the night. We didn't see or hear anything from him for 10 more days. It was getting close to Thanksgiving and they wanted us to finish up here.

Having the thought of turkey and giblet gravy on our minds made us hurry with what we had to do. It turned out to be a major mistake on our part.

19 November 1967

We spent most of the day clearing out tunnels and blowing bunkers. We camped along a swollen creek but it was more like a raging river. It became cold late in the afternoon and then began to rain. Re-supply came in late and I was really pissed that they forgot to send out our platoon night gear. When the rain started coming down, and all of us without protection from the elements, tempers were flaring and fuses were short.

"Damn idiots!" exclaimed Johnson. "I can't remember when I've been so pissed. Those re-supply guys in the rear are really on my shit-list."

"Sgt. McDonald will definitely hear about this snafu. The rain is bad enough, but it's turning cold out here too," I said.

The CO had patrols sent out early so some of the men in the patrol were good enough to give our guys their poncho liners. They didn't need them on patrol and my guys appreciated their doing it. The rain started to come down harder. I still didn't have a change of attitude regarding our situation with re-supply. I was upset. It was almost midnight and I still couldn't relax and get to sleep. I was soaked to the bone and freezing. I finally decided that I was going to do anything I could to find warmth, with the exception of lighting a fire. That I wouldn't do. I might have been freezing but I wasn't stupid. I got an idea I thought was brilliant. We had blown bamboo thicket with Bangalore torpedoes earlier in the day and we hadn't discarded the cases yet. I went over to where we had put them, pulled one on top of me and went to sleep. It looked as though I was lying in a coffin but as cold and wet as I was, I didn't care how I looked.

When I woke up I tried to get a glance at my watch to check the time. Wiping the mud off it, I saw that it was 0430 hours. The rain had stopped. I pulled myself out of my "coffin." It was still cold. I began to shake; I was freezing again. I had to find warmth. I got another brainstorm. I unhooked my safety rope from my web gear. I tied the rope around my waist and the other end to a tree along the river- bank. Then I climbed into the river, clothes and all. It was warm and comfortable. I went to sleep again lying on the side of the river- bank, immersed in the water.

When daylight came I was still tied to that tree. I got out of the water and tried to stand. I fell back in toward the bank of the river. My feet were numb. I took off my boots and checked my feet. They were wrinkled and sore. I'd let them dry out and I'd be okay.

The patrol came back in with no problem. Sawyer came over to me and asked how I slept last night. I told him that if he cherished our friendship, he was not to ask me such questions.

Sgt. Cryder and I spent most of the morning talking about "old times." He was going home the next day on the re-supply chopper. The man who beat the odds was finally going home. His tour was up and his replacement, Staff Sgt. Ramirez, had already taken over his platoon. All he had to do was count the hours.

"Idaho will never be the same when you get home, Cryder. You sure they'll let someone as ugly as you back in that state?"

"No problem with me getting in. The sheep love me and the people don't give a shit. There are more sheep than people," he said.

"Cryder, you're something else. Only you could fall in love with sheep!"

"Hey, watch what you say about my family," he joked. "Look, I'll see you in the morning before I leave. I've got to get Sgt. Ramirez straight about tonight's patrol. I'll see you later."

"Fine Cryder, until tomorrow. I'll see you then."

The 3rd Platoon had patrol that night and we had to monitor the radio, which meant we would have patrol the next night. Word was that we were going to "search and clear" an area north of the location we were in now. We pulled out and away from the river and took up housekeeping in a wood clearing. The 3rd Platoon would leave from this position.

Before the patrol left the CO had to have the defensive concentrations secured. Right after chow the CO and forward observer plotted the def-cons. The artillery def-cons started coming in. The sound was deafening. A couple rounds fell short of their mark. One round hit short behind us and sprayed shrapnel into the clearing. We all headed for cover. There was a call for a medic; someone had been wounded. A man from the 1st Platoon took a piece of steel in the crook of his right arm, almost going right through his elbow. We had to stop the artillery and call in a dust-off.

Stopping the artillery also delayed the patrol's departure. The chopper dust-off finally arrived and we had the man cleared to a hospital. The artillery continued its def-con preparation.

"Hey Sarge, I heard that the CO was the one that called the short round," said Sawyer.

"I had a feeling the SOB had something to do with that short round. He still doesn't know how to call in artillery. He hurts one of his own, puts him in the hospital, and all because of his own stupidity."

"Yea, he's something else again," said Sawyer.

"Get the radio set up for tonight's frequencies, will you? The patrol should be pulling out in a few minutes."

"Right Sarge. You have a monitoring schedule set up yet?"

"No, not yet. I'll get one made up and you'll get a copy. Then both of us will know who is on."

"Fine Sarge, I'll take care of the frequencies."

"Okay, I'll check you later."

Sgt. Ramirez finally had his patrol set to go out. It was already after 2000 hours. They were running late. As radio monitor we established radio contact with them before they went out of the perimeter. We were the ones who would receive their situation reports throughout the night. Jennings was the first on duty to monitor the radio.

"Make sure you get hold of someone if anything goes wrong," I told him. "Sgt. Sawyer or myself should be notified. Also, pass this information down to the next one on duty."

"Okay Sarge, no problem," he answered.

The moonlight was bright that night. I remember that it was three-quarters full. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the air was chilly. I tried to get some sleep since I had a long day ahead. I got up about 0430 hours. It was my tour of duty on the radio. I relieved Collins and told him to get some sleep. He reported that everything was okay.

At 0530, the patrol called in its last "sit-rep" (situation report), which was negative. The next call came in at 0540, saying they were starting to get ready to come back in. At 0600, it was starting to get light. The patrol called in to report that they thought they were lost. It was 0620 hours. I called 3-6 on the other radio to let him know that his patrol thought they were lost. They took over from me to monitor the patrol's action. It was 0630 and still they weren't back. I was sitting in the jeep monitoring the transmission between 3-6 and his men when firing erupted inside our perimeter. I jumped out of the jeep and hit the ground. Charlie opened up on us inside with automatic weapons fire. It lasted only 15 seconds, then we heard two more loud explosions, followed by more automatic and small arms fire, then more explosions. Our patrol was getting ambushed! Again, we received sporadic fire inside our perimeter. We started to return the fire. I opened up with my Car 15 on the wood-line, emptying four magazines from my rifle into the woods. Then the firing stopped. It took 10 more minutes to figure out what had happened. Charlie had opened up on our perimeter as a diversionary tactic. He then opened up on the patrol with Chi-com Claymores and with automatic and small arms fire.

Sgt. Ramirez and his patrol were wiped out. Three men were found dead, obliterated in a jungle ambush. The Claymores cut them in half, then they were shot - what was left of them, and that wasn't much. When it was all over, we went out to pick up the pieces. Charlie had picked them dry - weapons, clothes, equipment - everything picked clean. We found legs, boots, torsos, upper and lower, strung out all over the jungle floor. Blood was everywhere.

Luckily, we found three guys off the trail who had crawled away from the ambush site. They were shot up pretty bad. We couldn't tell who was who. At first we thought they were the enemy. We didn't think there were any survivors.

We called the Med-Evac choppers in to pick up the three wounded men after carrying them to the perimeter. We called in a separate helicopter to take out the dead.

All we could do was place what we could into ponchos and plastic bags. We shipped out what we could identify, marked as to whom it belonged. It was horrible. Charlie caught us good. We made a mistake and we got caught. The patrol got lost and paid with their lives.  The search and clear operation scheduled for that morning was canceled. It was a sad day for C Company and especially for 3rd Platoon. Sgt. Cryder was devastated. He canceled his chopper out of the jungle for another day.

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