Many soldiers from all over the country are sent to a new assignment in the summer of 1965. Each of them is told of how fortunate they are, because they have been assigned to a combat-ready infantry division, which is the ultimate duty for an infantry trooper. None of them really knew why, or had any idea of what was to come. In my case, it was at the end of the Officer’s Basic Course at Ft. Benning, Georgia. Several of us entertained the idea of going to Airborne/Ranger School, but the assignment orders came early and there was no time to do anything but pack your bags and head off to your new duty station. So my wife of a little more than a year and I packed up our car, said goodbye to our friends, drove north to Ohio to see our parents and then it was off to Ft. Riley and the 1st Infantry Division.

I checked in on post at the appointed day and time to receive my unit assignment and to sign up for post housing since I would be staying there for the remainder of my two-year tour. I am assigned to 2/28th-Company B and there are no quarters on post for 2nd Lieutenants. We’ll have to find off-post housing and they tell us to look in Manhattan, KS and give us a list of places that rent to Army personnel. And so, we begin our new life in the 1st Division- me commuting to Camp Funston and my wife at the apartment complex’s pool with the other officer’s wives. So far, so good.

The days started early and ended late. Those who were new to all of this were caught up in the constant pressure to be on time and be prepared and get it right the first time. All of the training, and physical conditioning seemed perfectly normal to the uninitiated. Only the lifers knew that the regimen we were going through was anything but normal. Night patrols, night maneuvers, and long forced marches were not part of the daily routine for those who had been around for a while. There were many long hours of weapons training. We did it over and over and over until the unit scores were acceptable to the Battalion G3.

After Ft. Benning, this all seemed to be perfectly normal for a combat ready unit. What few realized was that we actually WERE getting ready for combat. The really satisfying thing was how all of this brought us together as a well-oiled machine and how close we all became as fellow officers and fellow soldiers. Our company commander, Captain George Dailey, was a very seasoned, savvy infantryman. He knew his stuff and he made sure that everyone else in his command knew theirs. It was evident from the start that those of us who were lucky enough to be on his staff, had been extremely fortunate because this was a man you could respect and who would respect you if you could deliver what he demanded. I can’t put into words the bond that formed between the six of us who were the officers of Company B. As the old cliché goes- we worked hard and we played hard. We grew to know each other and the wives and the children and the pets as we toiled each day and night headed toward that unseen destination fate had in store for us.

The 1st Platoon belonged to Bob Hibbs. Bob was a gung-ho infantry guy who really loved soldering. He was from the corn fields of Iowa but you would have suspected he was a military brat the way he was always talking about military history and he even had a collection of toy soldiers. His prize possession was a pair of boots that he had sent away and had “jungle soles” put on. They were impervious to anything that Ft. Riley could dish out. He was always upbeat and ready for any challenge that came his way. The 2nd Platoon belonged to Keith Fish, our resident snake-eater. Keith was a former enlisted man who got his bars the hard way by going through OCS and graduating from Airborne/Ranger/Jungle Expert schools along the way. He was the most senior in age but not in date of rank. I held that distinction by graduating from college in March of that year. Fish was great guy to have around because he was a lifer and really knew the ropes. You could learn a lot from him. And we did. The 3rd Platoon was commanded by Jim Roberson who was the strong, silent type. He was never totally comfortable in a social situation but could hold his own when it came time to make things happen. Jim was a really nice guy and the Army was clearly not his final destination. He and I both were looking forward to doing our time and then heading home for the rest of what life had in store. Because of my senior date of rank, I got the 4th or Weapons Platoon as it was called, since we had the mortars and the jeep- mounted recoilless rifles. I also got MSG Johnson who, as I soon learned, RAN the platoon that I merely commanded.

Not to imply he ever said anything to indicate he felt things were that way. I merely learned that it was true. He patiently showed his green-horn platoon leader the way things needed to be done if we were pass an inspection, hit our assigned targets, find our way back from some remote training exercise, and how to be tough when it was important and pretty laid back when it wasn’t. I tended to be tough all the time and he pointed out that the men would respect a leader more who wasn’t always in their face. So I was lucky again. My platoon sergeant was top notch. I was in luck and didn’t know it yet. Next was the Company XO-1LT Cal Carlson. He was a Minnesotan through and through- a tall, blue-eyed blond who we learned was on the last year of his tour. He and his wife became close friends of ours during our time at Ft.Riley and I remember the good times we shared with great fondness. Cal and I shared a common love- golf. The difference was he could play and I tried to play. He had played in college and it was pretty obvious when he hit the ball into the next Zip code. The final person who was an integral part of the command structure of Bravo Company was 1stSgt Marvin Frakes or “Top” as we called him. How we managed to get yet another outstanding leader into this group was truly miraculous. And this man WAS the Top. As the saying goes, he had forgotten more about the Army than most of us would ever know and while he could be tough as nails in a heartbeat, he was one of the most genuinely good people you would ever meet. I didn’t fully appreciate it yet but I was surrounded by greatness from top to bottom. I had a BN Commander who was a West Pointer, a CO who was a strong, competent leader and an XO who like the CO was a smart, savvy professional and a 1st Sgt who was the best of the best. If you ever wanted a group of guys to go with into combat, these were the ones.

A few things did seem odd. First of all, my wife who tired of the “pool life” after a couple of weeks, tried to find a job since $222.22/mo. didn’t go very far. No luck. No one was hiring Army wives. Why she asked? Because they won’t be around for very long, she was told. We assumed that meant that they didn’t hire anyone who wasn’t a permanent resident since Army wives were always being transferred in and out so they weren’t reliable. Nothing could have been further from the truth. They meant exactly what they said because all of the moving companies and the realtors and the other service companies knew we were leaving because they all had to be a part of something as big as a Division moving out.

Post housing seemed to be very uncooperative when I kept trying to find a way not to have that 25-min commute each way. No, there was nothing available, and I could put my name on the list but it was a waste of time. Why was that? There were plenty of housing units on the post and some were even vacant. We surmised that either they were NCO quarters or were being renovated. Wrong again. They aren’t about to move someone in only to have to move them out again in three months.

Then it happened. One day in September we were instructed to attend a Battalion meeting in the post theater. I will never forget that day. We took our seats with our units and watched as Colonel George Eyster, the Battalion CO took the stage. He was like Captain Dailey, a soldier’s soldier. A graduate of West Point and a certain bet to wear a star before his career was over. In addition, he was a very personable man who always called you by your first name (he knew them all) and remembered little things about you that made you feel as though you were a special part of his unit. He looked out at each of us and announced that the Division had been ordered to deploy to Southeast Asia and to conduct operations against communist guerillas that were terrorizing the local towns and villages. You could have heard a pin drop as each of us realized what we had just heard. We were about to be sent overseas and would be part of a real live combat operation. Just as it all stuck home, he clarified what we were all thinking- some of us might not be coming back. How prophetic that turned out to be. Like most others in the room, I missed some of what was said next, which was a general discussion of the situation and an overview of what was to come. I could only think of how I had been expecting to come to Kansas, do my two years, and go home to Ohio to be a high school wrestling coach. Dying in some far off place hadn’t been part of the plan and now that possibility loomed right in front of my face. What a shock!! When I finally re-entered the meeting, I learned I had 72-hrs. to get my affairs in order, take leave, go home, say goodbye, and get back in time to pack up our gear and ship out. And so I did.

After driving 18-hrs each way straight though to and from Ohio, my wife and I returned to Ft. Riley to begin the hasty preparations for a year’s separation. We bought tape recorders and cameras and writing paper and all the things we could think of to try to stay in touch. Like everyone else, she spent a good deal of her time dying all of my underwear olive-drab. At the fort, we packed up connex containers full of items that would follow us by several weeks but we would need for the long haul. Food (non-perishable), tenting, cots, generators, and an ice machine we bought with funds from a raffle, and other non-essential combat gear. The weapons and the vehicles were all prepped with cosmolene that kept them from rusting while they traveled half-way round the world. We all got our shots, made out our wills, and filled out the powers of attorney our wives would need in our absence. Next, we loaded up everything onto flatcars that we weren’t carrying on our back and said our last good-byes to tearful wives and lovers. The first real excitement came when we made our initial departure. We were taken to a local airbase and loaded into commercial aircraft (4-engine props). So here we were all loaded up with our combat gear waiting for takeoff. The first plane rumbled down the runway and as it tried to lift off, couldn’t and skidded off the runway into a field. Luckily, no one was injured but we learned, almost the hard way, we were too heavy. Each plane took a certain number off and they brought additional aircraft in to finish the flight. My plane was next, and I have to tell you we all held our breath as the plan struggled into the sky headed west to Oakland and the next part of our journey.

Upon landing, we were taken to the Oakland Naval Yard where we boarded our home for the next 22 days- the Daniel I. Sultan. It was a WWII troop carrier that held over a thousand men and their equipment. Many of us had never been to sea, let alone for 22 days. There aren’t many oceans in Iowa or Ohio. The enlisted troops were bunked below decks in hammocks that were stacked 4-6 high. The officers (as usual) got the better end of the deal and had above deck staterooms that were shared by four men. The quarters were cramped but adequate. And so, still not knowing exactly where we were headed and what our specific mission was, we steamed out of San Francisco, under the Golden Gate- that beautiful symbol of home sweet home and out into the vast Pacific. The first several days were the worst in terms of rough seas. Until you leave the continental shelf, you are riding on 8 to 10ft, swells and we also ran into a low pressure system that produced a few squalls where the boat went up and down like an elevator. Result- sea sick GI’s. Those poor folks who didn’t have sea legs got deathly ill. The biggest toughest guys were barfing their brains out. My buddy Fish was one of worst. I don’t think we saw him for a week and he looked like death warmed over. After the pills were distributed, and people were able to get some fresh air and a look at the horizon, things quieted down. A couple of times however someone in the hold would regress and the stench would ripple though the place causing fellow travelers to become ill. Not a pretty sight.

The days at sea were spent getting briefed at last on the details of where we were going and what we were going to do. Where the hell is Vietnam?? We’d find out soon enough but now we knew the facts. We were going into a foreign country in Southeast Asia somewhere near Thailand and would be conducting search and destroy operations against communist guerrillas. For how long? And why?

It seemed to be a noble enough cause. A friendly government had asked us to come to their aid because innocent villagers including women and children were being tortured and murdered by the communist guerrillas who were trying to take over the countryside in an effort to overthrow the friendly government. If that government fell to the communists then all of Southeast Asia would surely follow and it would be a blow to the free and democratic nations of the region and would undermine our national interests in the region. So our combat presence had a plausible reason and not one of ever doubted that we shouldn’t be going there. Saving the lives of the innocent was a noble cause. So we prepared. We studied maps, we did action orders, we studied position papers, we brushed up on our pigeon French (we thought they spoke it- yet another false assumption) and I taught hand-to-hand combat to my troops, since I was most experienced as a former wrestler who had knowledge of the martial arts. I had learned many techniques of how to disarm and/or kill and adversary under the expert tutelage of the Ranger/Special Forces Detachment assigned to the Ft. Benning Infantry School. There is an Army Handbook on Combatives- how to kill with and without a weapon. We went though the book. It looked like we might need to use these skills when we arrived. But there was also downtime when the meals were over and the days activities had ceased and we were alone with our thoughts.

I spent many hours at the rail gazing out into the ocean wondering: would I survive, would I be wounded or maimed, would I kill or be killed, would I be captured ( I vowed that I would die first), would I see my wife or parents again? Then I came to my first realization. There wasn’t a thing I could do at this point to change the final outcome, only to be as prepared for whatever might come as I could. We talked among ourselves about the mission and situation and debated some of the details but none of knew enough about this area of the world to have a really informed opinion. I got to spend some quality time with Captain Dailey and my fellow platoon leaders. We were all different, from different backgrounds and circumstances, but here we were growing together to form a common mindset because we would depend on each other to stay alive for the on coming conflict. George was very organized and communicated well with all of us. He was tough and demanding but at the same time he was caring and compassionate. You knew you were being challenged because he genuinely cared about each and everyone of us. His personal goal was to bring everyone home alive. Those days aboard ship showed us the true nature of the man who would lead us into combat. He was a man of integrity, courage, intelligence, and one of my favorite attributes- he had a wonderful boyish sense of humor. He loved to tease and poke fun at us when we were struggling with something. He helped cut the tension we all felt about what lay ahead. When things got too serious he’d make some off the wall observation that would crack us up. Here was a man who could laugh in the face of death. My kind of guy. The infantryman’s motto is “follow me” and I knew I would follow this man anywhere he wanted me to go.

After a brief stop at Subic Bay in the Philippines to allow a GI to have his appendix removed, we sailed for Vietnam. Once again, I remember vividly standing on the shore side rail as we steamed into Vung Tau and dropped anchor. It was nighttime and we could see the flashes and hear the sounds of weapons being fired in the distance. I must admit that there was a great deal of apprehension on my part about what was in store for us in the morning. We had been briefed earlier. We were going over the side into landing craft and were going ashore just like Normandy!! No one slept that night and when 0- dark thirty came we put on full battle dress were issued weapons and over the side we went. Amazingly, no one fell or jumped overboard. I remember being hunched down in that landing boat with all kind of crazy thoughts going through my mind about leading my platoon onto the beach and advancing against the wall of fire that was about to descend on us- just like the Invasion of Normandy. I was prepared for the worst when the ramp was lowered and we charged into the surf waiting for a hail of bullets when to my complete and utter surprise, there was the 1st Division Band playing patriotic music, the press corps taking pictures, Vietnamese ladies putting leis on some necks and a Divisional greeting party welcoming us in country. Where the hell was the war? I was stunned and relieved at the same time. We’d find the war soon enough.

The MPs helped us form up and we basically marched to waiting trucks to be convoyed to an airfield. No war here. They marched us onto C-130s and away we flew to Ben Hoa for two weeks of acclamation. The first thing I remember was the smell. For Americans who are used to deodorants and perfumes, it was complete culture shock. Luckily, I had spent time cleaning out barns on the farm had a very strong stomach but many others were gagging at the stench of human dung fertilizing the rice paddies along the roads. Finally after a few days, it became only a faint reminder of where we were and no longer the primary focus of our attention as it once had been. Then there was the heat. Midwesterners get some hot and humid weather in the summer when it gets into the 90’s but we were not prepared for 95-100 degrees every day. That was why we spent two weeks setting up a temporary base camp and digging foxholes plus sandbags to prepare us for the days to come.

Life in Ben Hoa was scary at first because we had no clue what was going on around us. The reality was that very little was happening at that time so we were relatively safe only we didn’t know it. We patrolled the perimeter at night and took turns standing guard. Sleep was difficult because you were in a hole in the ground and you expected to be attacked any minute. When that didn’t happen, we relaxed a bit and settled into the routine of planning and executing combat operations and training.

We learned a few valuable lessons in sanitation as well. Never buy ice from civilian workers unless you know it didn’t come from the local rice paddy. Some of us were so hot and thirsty that it seemed like a good idea at the time to buy a block of ice and to chop it up to put in up mess cups with the awful tasting chlorinated water. At least it would be a cold drink.

24-hrs later you had GI’s who weren’t concerned about dying since they were afraid they would live. We had the heaves along with severe diarrhea and I can honestly say it was the sickest I ever felt. The “Doc” called it “dinghy fever” and luckily had a drug called compozine that made it all go away. It gave me a taste of what an addict must feel when he takes a hit. There was this warm, calming sensation that spread over my body and made me sleep for about 12-hrs. Only then was I able to get up and clean up the awful mess I had made of myself. I smelled worse than a rice paddy. Next we got the orders it was time to move out.

We de-constructed the base camp we had built and were married up to our vehicles and equipment that we shipped ahead on cargo vessels. The jeeps were now equipped with wire-cutters. It was a piece of angle-iron welded to the front bumper that extended above the windshield and had sharp indentations carved into it so anything strung across a trail or road would be cut. This was our first introduction to the realities of guerrilla warfare. We would be introduced to many more things as time passed. We were briefed by the CO and prepared to convoy from Ben Hoa to Lai Khe. We were fully armed at this point but knew the rules of engagement prohibited firing until you were fired upon. It made good political sense that we not fire at innocent civilians who were very numerous on the route but it didn’t feel like a good military decision to not be able to eliminate suspicious targets. So, off we went on our first combat-ready convoy on Highway 1. It was a Brigade-size move with the B/2/28th leading the way. The trip was about 40-mi as I recall and took the better part of the day. We passed a few small villages and a fairly large one called Ben Cat. People looked at us with curiosity but there wasn’t a warm “glad you are here” feeling projected by the people. We didn’t know what to expect but I remember thinking that if we were saving them from being tortured and killed, they didn’t seem too excited about us being there. I was right; I just didn’t know the half of it.

We passed through the villages and countryside without incident, much to our liking. It was clearly unlike any place I had ever been with strange vegetation, smells, sounds, and living conditions. People lived in thatched huts with dirt floors. Fires burned inside and children ran naked in the small yards. Everywhere was the stench of the rice paddy and roads seemed to part of the barriers that separated them. As the terrain seemed to become more forested with odd looking trees planted in symmetrical rows, we rolled into the Lai Khe Rubber Plantation. It had long since been abandoned, but many large buildings with red tile roofs still dotted the landscape. In the center was a very large building with “Lai Khe” painted on the roof and it would become 3rd Brigade Hq’s. The perimeter around LK had been sectored off and the 2nd Bn would eventually own the northwest section which included a part of Highway 1 that ran through the area. There was dirt airfield in the center of the complex that was very primitive and without any tower or lights. In the beginning, we established a smaller perimeter around the airfield and main buildings. Light was starting to fade so we hastily dug in for our first night in harm’s way. It suffices to say that everyone dug faster than they ever had before to provide for the maximum cover before night fall. No one slept a wink the first night. It was pitch black and there were strange sounds which we suspected were the VC making a probe of our lines. They left us alone the first few nights figuring we would most likely shoot ourselves in the noisy darkness. As it turned out, that did happen. One of our NCOs was wounded while checking his men on the perimeter. The next few weeks were spent building a solid defensive perimeter of bunkers with wire and mines providing a formidable barrier to intruders. As the camp became more secure, the tension level came down to a reasonable level and semi-sleep was now possible. Bunker-buddies took watch turns and the off-partner caught whatever sleep he could. This also meant it was time for us to begin the business of securing the entire area of operations. It was time for nighttime patrols and search and destroy missions.

Over the next 5 months, the unit would be involved in several major operations. Since this is a personal recollection and not military history, I do not have an absolute timeline for all of these various operations. I will recall as best I can those that were significant in terms of primary mission.

Michelin Rubber Plantation- Our first taste of combat, other than nightly harassment in the base camp was near the Michelin Rubber Plantation. We hooked up with a cavalry unit from Division and they ferried us into the vicinity of where there had been VC activity. We were to sweep a sector which was several klicks from our base camp. We had some difficult terrain issues since the area was high grasses and rather dense underbrush. It made the going very slow and dangerous due to limited visibility. There were three rifle platoons and a small command group consisting of Cpt. Dailey, his radio operator and myself. I was weapons platoon leader so my troops were in base camp security most of the time. I had opted to go on this operation with the CO as an unofficial bodyguard. As we made our way along the sweep route, one of the point men spotted a hut with armed occupants. The captain ordered Lt. Fish to maneuver to the right and to set up a possible base of fire for an assault. We waited for what seemed like an eternity while they got into position. Something must have spooked the VC, because without warning bullets started flying our way from the hut. They were the pop-pop sound that the carbine makes. We took cover and now that we had clearly been fired upon, the 3rd Platoon was ordered to open fire prior to our assault which followed. The VC had no idea what they had done. They obviously were no match for the firepower of three infantry rifle platoons. When the smoke cleared, we had executed a textbook fire and maneuver on these folks and all were either dead or dying. B/2/28 suffered no physical injuries. We had stumbled onto a tax collection point that also served as a VC local headquarters. There were 10-12 VC who were all dressed in black and were armed with a variety of small arms. There were both men and women and some were possibly in their late teens. It was the first time many of us experienced first-hand the deadly power that we wielded. The human body is no match for a 7.62 round. It is hard to describe my feelings as I stood over the bodies of my enemy. I was relieved that it was they who lost the battle but at the same time I could not help but feel a pang of guilt for what I had witnessed. Death and suffering is never a welcome sight. We attempted to aid the wounded as best we could and called for the tracks to come get them. I think only two remained alive. There were both tears and illness from some the young soldiers who saw death for the first time. It was the conflict of survival vs. compassion. I had seen death before but it was the first time I was part of the cause. We were now combat veterans and forever changed. It was a very important find because in the tunnel under the hut we found a wealth of intelligence information regarding the local structure and the Chinese advisors who were also involved. We found a Chinese flag along with the documents. Upon our return, we were told that it was the most significant intelligence find of the entire war to that point. A Chinese flag is now displayed at the Ft. Riley museum that was to have come from the operation. But is that the actual flag that we found? Hard to say, but it’s rumored that a similar flag adorns the den of a retired veteran from the unit.

We were called upon to clear the way for the 25th Division to move into Chu Chi. There were numerous sweeps made through the area in an attempt to roust the VC. While we had some success there, it seemed as though no matter how many we killed, there would always be resistance every time we returned. Of course, as it was later learned, there was a battalion-size unit living in the tunnels under Chu Chi. I went on one of the first sweeps into the triangle once again without my platoon and tagging along with the CO. We were dropped in by chopper one afternoon and met up with a squad of Aussies who had been patrolling the area. Talk about guys you love to fight alongside, they had automatic weapons with bandoliers and they carried everything they had on their back. They just wandered around in the brush shooting bad guys, drinking beer when they could find it, and seemingly having a great time. They were tough, funny, and totally dedicated warriors. I really loved just being around them. They told us an area where they had made contact several times so we headed out to see if the VC were still there. As we traversed the edge of a clearing, we began taking small arms fire from the far side of the clearing. After determining we were at a tactical disadvantage, the artillery FO was summoned to call in fire on the enemy position. He made the call and we waited. Then it happened. The guns reported in the distance and delivered the hot steel on the target. There was on major problem. The enemy was between our unit and the guns which put us on directly on the gun-line and in line with the projectiles.

As they came crashing in sounding like freight trains, some of the shrapnel skipped across the clearing and landed where we were dug in. Big chunks of hot steel flew all over the place and I remember making myself really small to avoid the obvious. Miraculously, no one was wounded but a couple of not-so-bright GI’s picked up souvenirs and got fried fingers as their reward. We sent a patrol out to see if the VC were still there and they reported back that there was evidence of the artillery doing harm to them but all the bodies had been carried off. I can tell you from that experience that you don’t want to be on the wrong side of an artillery barrage or anywhere near one. Later that week we lost Colonel George Eyster, our Bn CO, to sniper fire in the same general area. The picture that hit all the major news outlets showed CPT Dailey holding Col Eyster in his arms while the medics were enroute. That was a difficult loss for all of the 2/28th family. Cpt Dailey himself was wounded in a later sweep in Chu Chi.

Bau Bang- We were on a fairly aggressive sweep operation with the entire company this time. My platoon carried the 81mm mortars with us because we expected to run into some heavy resistance in a place called Bau Bang. During the day, we swept the village and found no VC or weapons. We spent time with the villagers dispensing food and medical supplies to the children. I felt pretty good about trying to establish some rapport with the local people. That feeling didn’t last too long. We set up a defensive perimeter outside of the village and had the mortars set up and ready to fire away from the village to create a barrier barrage. At dusk we started taking small arms fire from the village as the VC moved in behind us. We couldn’t believe that the locals would stand by and let that happen without any attempt to warn us. I was faced with a “Lt. Calley” type decision. Do I fire at the village and risk killing innocent civilians? I didn’t have to make the decision since I was ordered to turn the tubes 180 degrees and to prepare to fire if we took any more incoming after the initial firefight. We turned the tubes with a great show of resolve and willingness to do what needed to be done. They never thought we’d even consider it and we called their bluff. We sent a patrol into the village to roust them out but once they saw us turn the tubes, they disappeared into the night. Or to their beds in the village. This was a real example of why the GI’s learned to hate the Vietnamese during their tour. They would not lift a finger to help us or warn us of impending danger even though we treated them with respect and compassion. We just could not figure it out. It wasn’t until the war played out and all of us learned what they already knew. When we left, the VC would still be there. Helping the US soldiers would mean reprisals at some point. I felt stupid for not seeing it sooner but it was hard to have empathy for what seemed to be lack of respect.

Ap Ben Dong So- This was B/2/28th’s finest hour. Although I was in base camp 5-6 klicks away, we listened to the radio reports that indicated a major battle was under way. The Bn was being assaulted in human waves by a reinforced regiment of NVA regulars. The used human shields of women and children to confuse our troops and reduce our effort. We held for over 7 hours and wiped out the entire regiment. Bodies were staked 8-10 deep. The unit suffered about a dozen casualties and many more wounded but the damage to the enemy was staggering. As the rescue ships came flying back to Lai Khe with dead and wounded, we worked at the hospital to help unload our troops. Even though we had lost people prior to this battle, my heart sank when I pulled stretchers of my dead friends out of the field ambulances. One of the toughest was seeing the jungle boot soles that I knew belonged to Bob Hibbs, our 1st platoon leader. He was awarded the first Medal of Honor for his actions on that day and from all accounts, was clearly deserving, as he sacrificed his life for the safety of his patrol which had been caught outside the perimeter by the pre-dawn attack. There were many medals awarded for bravery that day and later when the company had returned to Lai Khe, General Westmoreland came to the company area to congratulate the participants for such a decisive victory.

Cpt Dailey had been awarded the Silver Star and was there to greet the general as he and the press corps arrived in our company area. I can clearly remember my anger as I watched what I later learned was a “photo op” take place with little attention paid to the unit or a deserving company commander. There was a speech given on a picnic bench about how we were winning the war and how the communists were on the run. What a sad day it was for those of us who watched his staged presentation and hasty exit.

These are some of my most vivid memories about the time I spent with the unit as we deployed to Vietnam. There were many other events over the course of the year that will remain un-documented. And please remember this is only my recollection of these events not necessarily a factual account. You will find however that most can be collaborated by others who were there. Now if you will allow me to get a few things off my chest, I’d be grateful. Here goes:

Those of us, who went to Vietnam with B/2/28 to defend our country from the spread of communism in Southeast Asia, did so with a noble purpose. We believed we were protecting helpless women and children from savage and brutal communist guerrillas. Our intent was to stabilize the country and give the people a safe and free environment in which to live. We were willing to risk our lives in the service of our country. We went into a hostile environment, with rules of engagement that gave our enemy a decided advantage. We soon learned that the people were not going to help us in any way for fear of reprisal. Then later on our own countrymen were protesting our efforts and labeling us killers. We did kill and we suffered the awful guilt that accompanies taking another’s life, irrespective of combat or not. We saw the horror of war close up not on a TV screen thousands of miles away. We held our friends as they died in our arms. We burned letters from the pregnant girlfriends who the grieving widow would never know about. We believed in Duty, Honor, and Country.

And there we were- hated by the enemy, hated by the people we were protecting, and hated by many of our own countrymen. There were no ticker-tape parades, no public appreciation days, no words of thanks, no nothing. We were left with anger, survivor-guilt, remorse, and worst of all, told we had lost that war. And so, most of us just bury those horrible memories deep in the back of our minds, hoping we can somehow forget it all. We go on with our lives and try to put it all behind us. But then we hear a song from 1966, or Jane Fonda is nominated as one of the outstanding women of our time or we see a homeless soul living under a bridge with a RVN flag on his cap and back it all comes again to haunt us.

I remain steadfast in my belief we did serve with honor and Bravo Company, 2/28th will always be near and dear to my heart. I proudly hang the lion of Cantigny on my wall. And even if the public has no clue, I know what we all did and what we all sacrificed and how we all suffer. I am proud to be your comrade in arms and a fellow “Black Lion”.

Joseph J. Cardosi

LTC-USA-ret.