We were at a fire support base, supporting the Big Red One, the First Infantry Division. As usual, we had been humping the boonies again. We were constantly being sent on Search and Destroy missions. We had received reports there were enemy units in the area by our intelligence unit, S-2.
The going was rough because of the denseness of the jungle. We used machetes to hack away at the bamboo and wait-a-minute vines. Our backpacks would always have something sticking out of them, and whatever it was would invariably get hung up on those God-forsaken vines.
We were very noisy. It was our third day of probing with virtually no contact with ‘Charlie,’ which frustrated us. Go out a click, come back to base camp. Go out another click, come back to base camp. No contact!
In that environment, humping a click (1,000 meters) was no easy chore. It would usually take from most of the day to walk two clicks through the jungle. Sweat poured off us so badly our fatigues were soaked. We were constantly taking salt tablets to replenish our body‘s supply.
I know what you’re thinking: Why not use the trail you made going out to get back home again? Answer? That is the best way I know to get ambushed. You see, sometimes we would be searching for “Charlie” and he would be following us. He was a slick, crafty fighter.
That day was uneventful. The closest we came to the Viet Cong was on a trail we found. It looked as though 25 or 30 enemy soldiers had traveled it within the past couple of days, which gave validity to our intelligence.
Who wants to be an RTO?
Some background info is in order here.
In February, right after I was assigned to my unit and had settled in the field, my platoon leader, Lt. Jones, came to me and asked if I wanted to be his RTO (Radio Telephone Operator).
He explained that, while we were in base camp, I’d be responsible for maintaining communications with each squad. I would have to run Commo wire (communications wire) to each squad’s assigned position along our perimeter. I would also have to run commo wire to the Company command post.
He went on to tell me the RTO is considered the lifeline for the squad. He said if anyone was injured, it would be up to me to call for a dust-off chopper, to extract the injured back to safety, so their wounds could be treated.
…
Courtesy: Anthony Boydston via Pinterest
There was one huge detail he explained next: The enemy always looked to take out the RTO to foul up communications within the unit. In other words, I would have an imaginary bull’s eye pinned on my back every time we went into battle.
In the Army, everyone knows that when a commanding officer asks if you want to do something, that’s his polite way of saying he just chose your ass to volunteer to do whatever chore needed to be done. And so, that’s how I became the squad’s RTO.
Courtesy: iStockphoto
Lt. Jones handed me the radio and two spare batteries to lug around, in case the first one died on the trail. It added another 30 lbs. to my backpack, plus that ‘imaginary’ target.
If there was any good about the situation thrust upon me, it was that the guy with the radio usually knew what was going on, and rarely had to walk the point, (the ‘tip of the spear,’ the one chosen to lead the way.)
On April 11th, after I had just seen an RTO die in action, I was chosen by the Company commander, Captain Elmer Baugh, to be his RTO. It was one of his RTO’s that had died. He had two RTOs — one to talk with his platoon leaders, the other to let him talk to the Battalion commander.
…
We were on a Search and Destroy (S&D) mission and we were supposed to be going in an easterly direction, but when the Battalion commander checked his compass, he found we were veering off course. Immediately, he radioed Smitty, Captain Baugh’s other RTO, who then handed the receiver to Captain Baugh.
A brief, rather terse message was relayed: “If you can’t get your men to follow the damned course they’re supposed to follow, then you walk the point!”
Captain Baugh did just that, using me as the lead, with Smitty right in back of me. It was the first time I had ever walked point, and I couldn’t say anything because Captain Baugh was right beside me. To his credit, he pulled his weight. He never asked us to do something he wouldn’t do. So, we didn’t say anything about how we felt about all this until we had safely reached base camp later that afternoon.
Then, because we knew we were leaving the area the next morning, we simply intimated we weren’t looking forward to walking point any more. He caught on and assured us we didn’t have to worry about it again. He said the C.O. could pound sand before he’d walk point again. He ended up being right on both counts.
That night, I fell fast asleep out of exhaustion. We were being evacuated back to Bien Hoa the next day and I felt reasonably certain there wouldn’t be any mishaps during the night. Oh, I still had to pull my radio shift from 2:00 to 4:00, but that was part of the regular nightly routine.
At night, when everything’s quiet and dark, it’s a good time for a sneak attack from “Charlie.” He liked to get you when you’re confused, tired, and hungry. That’s when he’s at his best. While we had been searching for him all day, he was laid up in a hole in the ground somewhere, sleeping. Then, when we would try to sleep, he would wreak havoc on us.
Life at those times can be very frustrating, but this evening went by without incident. It was even kind of peaceful, gazing up at zillions of stars, all alone with your thoughts. Two hours would pass by suddenly at times like this. At other times, it would seem like two days. The next day would bring us a challenge of a different kind — mayhem and pandemonium.
Thanks for reading this!
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
***
You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
 White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism |
 Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box |
 The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer |
 |
—
Photo credit: Duncan Kidd on Unsplash
