Naval guns,rockets and bunkers

                                                 Big Naval Guns    

It was somewhat a quiet night in the fall of 1969 when suddenly a starling thunderous rumbling vibrating high pitched shrieking noise passed overhead, which caused the RMK-BRJ Company dispensary walls to shake and the galvanized tin-roof to rattle. My instinct told me it was some heavy gun shell that seemed to be coming from the nearby coast and passing over to the inland. I was very familiar with the incoming whistling noise of the Viet Cong/NVA rockets that were fired frequently at the Chu Lai, Vietnam US Air Force base, but this disorientating frightening rumbling shrieking noise was disturbingly different.

Using the US Army olive drab hand-cranked telephone, I contacted US Army Intelligence communications and inquired if those shells were incoming or outgoing and what are they. The officer assures me that US Naval cruisers were firing their guns at a concentration of Viet Cong and NVA forces toward the hills overlooking the base. Ok, I could live with that, as long as one of those heavy naval guns doesn't misfire, causing a  shell to fall short on my dispensary.

About fifteen minutes later, a Vietnamese worker ran excitable into the dispensary shouting to come quickly to the bunker; five Americans had a heart attack. Thoughts ran through my mind: Five heart attacks at the same time?  That's not possible!  Bunker? What bunker? I don't know of any bunker nearby.  I became little-pissed, thinking of all the Viet Cong rocket attacks that I had endured, not knowing there was a nearby bunker. Grabbing my medical equipment, I followed the Vietnamese worker into the open space running and feeling naked and vulnerable as the shells roared over me, so close that I felt I could reach up and touch them as they passed over me. I ran hunched over to the nearby Vinnell company underground bunker and entered the bunker, which was lighted only by some flashlights. I called out to the ten American civilian workers who were sitting on the dirt floor and asked who needed help.

Five panicky looking men aged about fifty years old raised their hands, and all appeared to be in some respiratory distress. Examination and vital signs revealed rapid breathing, rapid heartbeat, and physically shaking.  All complained of dizziness, numbness, or tingling sensations around the mouth and the hands. These signs and symptoms appeared to be a classic panic attack, which caused hyperventilation due to stressful combat conditions.  The hyperventilation resulted in the patient blowing off too much carbon dioxide, which upset the oxygen/carbon dioxide blood balance.

Reassuring everybody in the bunker the heavy shells were outgoing and posed no danger to them, I took out several paper brown bags and had each of the five Americans re-breath into the bags slowly while talking to calm them down. After several minutes of re-breathing into the paper bag, the adverse physical sign and symptoms disappeared, and the men became somewhat calm. I took the brown bags from the men as I didn't want them to overdo re-breathing their carbon dioxide. After restating that It was American naval ships firing over us toward the hills, and with each patient saying he was OK, I returned to my dispensary in case any other emergency came up.

                                                            

                                                    Shell Shock

Months later, two Americans entered my dispensary complaining they could not sleep and they have reoccurring nightmares, they had no appetite and were losing weight, both looked gaunt and nervous. They explained they were working at the sprawling Tan Son Nhut Air Base near Saigon when the Viet Cong attacked the airport during the "mini-Tet" invasion. Viet Cong troops and sappers had infiltrated the airport and were setting explosive satchel charges among the ammo bunkers. The two men took refuge in one of the ammo filled bunkers while explosions of ammunition bunkers went off around them throughout the night. Some of the bunker's artillery shells and other ammunition were blown out around the entrance of their fortification. Two large artillery rounds had rolled partially into the front of their bunker, the shells glowing red hot for hours while the two American workers stared at them feeling the searing heat, expecting the large projectiles to explode any second. Unable to escape because of the ongoing ammunition explosions, they suffered imminent death through a long night of terrifying booming ear-piercing blasts and concussions which shook the ground. In the morning, after the shells and rockets cooled off enough, they were able to escape the bunker. 

Recognizing both men were suffering from "shell shock" and that I could not treat them adequately, I suggested that they seek treatment from a major military hospital in Saigon. They both refused as they could not leave their work duties and felt they would be labeled a psychiatry problem, which would affect their employment. The best I could do was to prescribe the only antianxiety medication that I had, valium, and let them talk and vent their feelings. Years later, the term Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder would be recognized and applied to veterans who experienced frightening combat situations.

 

                                            The S**t-Bird Soldier

Jake, a US Army soldier who frequently overdid his beer and whiskey and was named the companies "s**t bird," had been promoted up from the lower enlisted ranks and had been reduced in rank more times than anyone could count because of his "I don't give a s**t attitude." For punishment, he was assigned to latrine or mess hall duty, of which he seemed to be content with. He liked the army except for the "bull s**t" he had to put up with, and due to the Vietnam war, the army put up with him.

During an intense and heavy rocket attack on the base, administrative and office type army personnel, along with Jake, took refuge in one of the two underground bunkers to wait out the attack. During the attack, Viet Cong sappers had infiltrated into the base and were targeting aircraft, ammunition bunkers, and command structures. A noise was heard, followed by Vietnamese yelling at each other on top of the bunker.

 One of the American soldiers yelled: "Viet Cong are on top of our bunker!"  

Even though armed, none of the army personnel moved to counteract the threat of the Viet Cong suicide sappers from throwing in a satchel charge into the front entrance. 

Suddenly Jake stood and yelled: "I have had enough of this bull s**t!" 

He ripped an AR-15 rifle and a bandolier of ammo from a soldier's hands and ran out of the rear entrance into the open. With the fog of war, night darkness, and the noise of incoming rocket explosions which covered his movements, he turned and ran partway up the to the top of his bunker. Seeing four Viet Cong, he gave two short bursts with the AR-15 rifle wiping out the VC sapper team, who was about to arm the satchel charge.
Then, seeing enemy movement on another ammo bunker, Jake ran off the bunker across open space, exposing himself then ran up to the top of the other shelter and engaged the Viet Cong killing four of them. After eliminating the immediate enemy threat, Jake positioned himself on of the bunker and continued to defend them throughout the night until the attack was over. The next morning without fanfare, Jake quietly left his field of action and returned to washing pots and pans at the mess hall. Meanwhile, the Army officers were examining  Jake's battle scene and counted at least ten Viet Cong dead around or on top of the bunkers.

Some weeks later, the Army Battalion, all spit and polish, were assembled on the parade grounds for a ceremony to award Jake a medal for his actions. The Commanding Officer was angerly demanding to a lieutenant wanting to know where Jake is, and to get him and bring Jake now!  By instinct, the lieutenant found Jake at the mess hall doing what he liked with his pots and pans, with no officers harassing him. With some pleading and promised favors by the young lieutenant, and with Jake being reluctant and making sure it was known, this was "a bunch of bullshit," went with the lieutenant to the parade ground.  Dressed in his sloppy and greased stained wet army fatigues, Jake received the medal from the exasperated Commanding General, with a little disdain.   

Reviews

[M.E.Lyle]

This was a well told story. My brother was a medic in the 101 Airborne. He replaced a medic that had his head blown away. After only a few months, my brother was wounded and sent back to the States. To this day he is my hero.
I spent four years 73-77 as a Navy Corpsman. I spent 2 1/2 years at Naval Medical Center, Camp Pendleton. The last year and a half I spent aboard USS AFS Niagara Falls, a supply ship. I loved the sea. I never saw combat, but I saw the results of it.
God bless you Vic.

[Sami Khalil]

These heroic and saving soldiers stories are amazing as part of real history and memories you share with us. I can tell you are a professional medic and that you can find solutions in a difficult situation. About the last story, I think he saved a lot of soldiers by his heroism.

[Samuel Dickens]

During my 20 years of Navy life, (1967-1988) I knew a lot of s**t birds. A few of them were a bit like this Jake, in that they could occasionally perform well, or even great. Several years ago, the rawness of Vietnam made me not want to hear these stories, but now it's different, and I enjoyed this very much. If you saw any Navy jets flying around over there, they might have been from my aircraft carrier. (I was an aircraft mechanic)

[Vic Hundahl]

Samuel, First thank you for 20 years of military service, and for reading my article. There are a couple more in which I am sure that you may relate to. I would appreciate your thoughts.