With Special Forces—1965 Phu Quoc Island former Republic of Vietnam (South Vietnam)

In 1965 I was a junior petty officer on the staff of CG Squadron One. At the time the Squadron Commander was embarked on the Krishna, support ship anchored off An Thoi, Phu Quoc Island. One day I was given an assignment to go to the Special Forces A Team located at the PQ district town, Duong Dong. I was a Journalist ex-yeoman and my assignment was to type up a copy of a list of VC suspects that the SFA Team had so that the Task Force 115 (Market Time) units that patrolled from PQ could use the information during boardings. In those days there were no computers or copiers etc., and nobody had a mimeograph machine. It was a long list and I stretched it out to two nights and three days by trading some additional typing for the A Team Captain in exchange for a “tiger suit” set of camos.

This assignment was pretty exciting stuff for a kid in the Coast Guard. The A Team had occupied a house or colonial office building with direct access to the sea nearby. It was surrounded on three sides with an inner and outer perimeter that ran to the sea on both sides. Between the perimeters, a company sized unit of Civilian Irregular Defense Group (CIDG) troops was billeted. These were mostly overseas Chinese mercenaries hired out of Cholon, the Chinese ghetto of Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City). Because the SF did not trust them completely the CIDG were not allowed inside the inner perimeter after dark. There was one exception for the senior sergeant. This guy was probably Chinese but I’m not sure. He was a true soldier of fortune who had fought with the French against the Viet Minh and against French with the Viet Minh and now was fighting the VC with the Americans. There was nothing said about whether he had fought with the VC as well.

The Team had a large sign in the day room that declared in big letters, “There are no VC on Phu Quoc Island,” which turned out to be a stupid and bitterly memorable quote from some visiting senior officer whose mouth overloaded his rear end. To drive home the black irony numerous weapons, including a Chicom rifle, taken from VC on the island were affixed to the sign board surrounding the quote. These, the board also informed, were NOT taken from VC cadre but rather from innocent farmers who had them only to protect their livestock and homes from marauding wild animals.

When I sojourned with them it turned out part of the Team was away from camp on an extended patrol elsewhere on the island. So not long after I arrived one of the team took me out to a gun position on the inner perimeter. The position was equipped with a 30 cal., MG on a bipod; assault rifle configuration. Did I know how to operate the weapon? Hey, hadn’t I been through weapons training, including the 30 cal. MG, with the USMC at Camp Pendleton before we Squadron One plank holders departed for ‘Nam? So I said “Sure I know how.”

So this SF explained to me very matter of fact, “If we’re attacked you get on this MG and start firing. If the VC start to come through the wire just set off one of these nearby Claymores. But if it looks like we are going to be overrun just take this thermite grenade, open the feed plate cover on the MG, pull the pin and set the grenade on the receiver with the cover resting on it. (At Pendleton a group of us watched such a grenade burn through a 1 inch steel plate in about 30 seconds; it seemed.) Then we’ll fall back to the beach, get in our boats (inflatable rubber) and wait offshore for one of the CG patrol boats to pick us up.”

You have to understand that this was explained with about as much emotion as describing what was for dinner. I thought to myself, “Attacked??? Overrun??? Rubber boats??? Oh sh__!!!” Fortunately there was no attack while I was there.

There were ARVN Regional Forces in Duong Dong. The SF called them, “Ruff Puffs.” I think they were a sort of National Guard. Their organization and tactical practices left a lot to be desired as far as the SF were concerned. The last night I was at the Camp the Ruff Puffs went out to the DD airport to fire harassment at VC positions inland. They had two “four deuce” mortars. These things have a base plate that weighs as much as an adult Vietnamese male. Now, looking back, I don’t know if the SF were entertaining themselves by shucking me or not. But a couple of them decided they needed to be out at the airfield with the Ruff Puffs for this fire mission. When they asked I readily agreed to go along. The airfield was unsecured and inbound aircraft only landed if they saw the right color smoke of the day. The VC had leveled the operations/terminal bldg.

The fire mission was declared a “cluster [expletive]” by my SF companions. It was black dark out. The Ruff Puffs had not set up a perimeter. The officers were arguing with one another and waving lighted flashlights around. The powder for one of the mortars was defective, apparently damp. They would drop rounds simultaneously in both tubes. One fired cleanly but when the other one left the tube it carried still burning propellant so fire shot out four or five feet around the muzzle temporarily lighting us up like a slow burning flashbulb. The round dropped drastically short in the nearby hills with a loud “whump” followed by some interval with a far distant report of the other round exploding.

My SF companions got anxious about the situation, or so they said. They announced a return to the camp to retrieve a 30 cal., MG (with bipod) and some grenades. This we did, then drove back out to the airfield. (I had stuffed a hand grenade in my dungaree pants pocket. The darn thing made me nervous as I had images of the pin snagging on my clothes; with me unaware in the dark and “blam” short toured.) We were in an Army truck, the kind that has the tarp cover and a tailgate; The MG was set up in the bed pointing out the rear with the tailgate dropped out of the way. In retrospect I don’t know why I was nominated to be the gunner. But I still vividly remember my instructions, “If we get attacked you get in the back on the MG and we’ll drive out of here.” Then, pointing at the Ruff Puffs, “Don’t worry about them [expletives]. If they get in the way shoot them too.” We weren’t and I didn’t. When I got back to the ship, I told the Chief Staff Officer about my adventure to which he responded, “Damn [My last name]! If you’d been killed do you know how much paperwork we’d have to do?” END