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First published in 2005 Copyright © Dave Sabben 2005 Maps © Dave Sabben except pages xviii, xix top (produced by Ian Faulkner) and 208 (courtesy Australian War Memorial) All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by an educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 E-mail:
[email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Sabben, David, 1945– . Through enemy eyes ISBN 1 74114 561 9. Vietnamese Conflict, 1961–1975 – Fiction. I. Title A823.4 Set in 11.5/14 pt Dante by Midland Typesetters, Maryborough, Victoria Printed by Griffin Press, Netley, SA 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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FOREWORD On 19 August 1966, the war in Viet Nam became a reality to the Australian people. It was announced in the press, and later in the parliament, that a battle had occurred near the Task Force Base at Nui Dat. Eighteen Australian soldiers had been killed and many more wounded. This became known as The Battle of Long Tan and it is now embodied in Australian history and folklore. Many books have been written about this action, and many myths created, with most dispelled. What could have occurred had D Company of 6 RAR not engaged the very determined enemy in a rubber plantation on that fateful afternoon of 18 August 1966 will always be open to speculation. It was indeed fortunate that the Company was commanded by a tough, wily, professional officer: Major Harry Smith. David Sabben, a National Serviceman, was a young platoon commander in D Company on that fateful day. He has now written this book, Through Enemy Eyes. In it, Dave has drawn on his own personal experiences as well as research to examine the battle from the perspective of the enemy: The North Vietnamese Army and the Viet Cong. As the reader will see, it is quite frightening as to what the repercussions could have been. It is conceivable that what happened in the rubber plantation, during the fierce monsoonal storm late in that day, may have had a huge impact on Australian history. The enemy had planned to overrun the Australian Task Force Base and would probably have done so if contact with D Company had not been made. The consequences iii
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would have been quite horrific in Viet Nam, Australia and possibly the USA. To quote a single paragraph from the book, the situation is put far better than I could ever put it: Quang felt a slight guilt at the ease with which he had finally made his destiny become a reality. ‘The whole Australian base will be a ruin on the morning of the 15th. Allowing for some soldiers to not be in base and for others to survive the debacle, there will still be more than 1000 Australians killed, maybe 1500. Their country couldn’t support such a loss—it would have to withdraw all its remaining troops. Probably the Australian government would fall. The American aggressors will be shown to be powerless to prevent the slaughter of its only independent ally. The puppet regime will see the weakness of the Americans and not trust them to protect their own forces. This will change the whole course of the war.’ Because of the circumstances surrounding all of the events leading up to the battle, as well as its aftermath and the absence of reliable records, a book such as this could never be written in the sense of it being a completely accurate historical account. As many facts as possible have been established and then this skeleton has been clothed with fiction to present a story close to fact. It is worth noting that this has been done many times before. Examples can be seen in such works as Gone with the Wind (Margaret Mitchell), Nicholas Monserat in The Cruel Sea and The Winds of War, Frederick Forsyth in the Odessa File and Arthur Haley in Roots. The movie Saving Private Ryan was also based on many factual situations surrounding the Normandy Invasion and the director, Steven Spielberg, had a team of military historians working for him. The genre has become known as ‘faction’. Although the central theme of faction has some degree of credence, all of the factual situations are woven together into a very realistic and, in a sense, credible account. This is exactly what David has done in Through Enemy Eyes. John Orr, Veterans Advocacy Consultant December 2004
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CONTENTS Foreword by John Orr
iii
Preface
vii
List of maps
xiii
List of diagrams: Progress of battle, 18 August 1966
xiv
Characters
xv
1
Prelude: La Nga Valley, November 1965
1
2
A leader; a task: Nui May Tao, early March 1966
18
3
The regiments deploy: Late March 1966
38
4
The Australians announced: Early April 1966
54
5
The Australians assessed: 5–10 April 1966
64
6
Mapping and movements: 11 April–11 May 1966
77
7
Conflict and clearance: 12–23 May 1966
89
8
The Australians arrive: 24 May–8 June 1966
101
9
Reconnaisance: 8–11 June 1966
117
10
A first plan—thwarted: 11–14 June 1966
135
11
Re-evaluation: 14–19 June 1966
151
12
Revision: 20 June 1966
157
13
A second plan: 20–21 June 1966
174
14
Preparations: 21 June–23 July 1966
187
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Contents
15
Decision: 23 July–2 August 1966
199
16
Advance: 3–16 August 1966
209
17
Bombardment: 16–18 August 1966
230
18
Battle 1—Obstruction: Long Tan rubber plantation, 18 August 1966
252
19
Battle 2—Manoeuvre: 5.00–6.00 p.m., 18 August 1966
271
20
Battle 3—Assaults: 6.00–6.45 p.m., 18 August 1966
297
21
Battle 4—Failure: 6.45–7.30 p.m., 18 August 1966
317
22
Retreat: 18–19 August 1966
333
23
Reconstruction: 19–23 August 1966
342
24
Revision: 24 August 1966
352
25
Responsibility: 25–26 August 1966
360
26
Postscript: 27 August 1966 and beyond
368
Glossary
371
Further notes
374
Acknowledgements
378
About the author
380
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PREFACE Through Enemy Eyes is something of a literary hybrid—it is neither entirely a work of history nor entirely a novel. The central events are true—in mid-1966 the Australians established their forward military operational base around a small hill in the centre of Phuoc Tuy Province, South Viet Nam. The base took its name from the Vietnamese for small mountain—Nui Dat. The First Australian Task Force (1ATF) operated out of Nui Dat from 1966 until 1971, when Australia withdrew from its combat role in the Viet Nam War. The historic elements of this book represent what actually happened from March to August 1966. (For the reader with an interest in research, ‘Further notes’ on page 374 adds detail or reference to many incidents.) All the significant events are explained as being seen ‘through enemy eyes’—that is, through the eyes of the forces opposing the Australians, although narrative voices from both sides are included. Many events not previously understood are now explained by the enemy activities at the time. One example is the strange pattern of movement set by the 275 Regiment radio in the two weeks before the Battle of Long Tan. Unfortunately, building a wholly historically accurate picture of the actual ‘enemy’ personalities involved in this history has been impossible. Around 40 years have passed since these events occurred. For them, the war continued for another ten years, with further conflicts following. Many did not survive. For those who did survive, the regime they lived under did not permit the Party line to be vii
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questioned. They were, and still are, confined by the official way of thinking. Compounding the lack of personal interviews is the scarcity of written records. While the communist forces kept much paperwork, little survives in the form of personal descriptions, private thoughts or alternative views. The enemy leaders who are the protagonists in this narrative are therefore fictional characters with fictional names, backgrounds, motivations and personal attributes. Although based on exhaustive research, their appointments, postings and positions have also been created for them. While every effort has been made to depict their spirit as realistically as possible, the fictional characters do not in any other way represent the actual people who were involved. On the Allied side, many people who held positions mentioned in this book are still alive today (2005) and could have been interviewed and represented accurately. However, with fictional enemy characters, the account could no longer be considered ‘history’. Thus the Allied side has been fictionalised as well, with a few notable exceptions that the reader may recognise. Again, the fictional characters do not represent any actual people in any way. The battle at Long Tan is a pivotal event in this book. The action is described for the most part from the enemy perspective. A reader familiar with the battle will find the historical aspects—the timings, movements, actions and so on—accurate, but, of necessity, the enemy subunits and individuals involved are fiction. It is my hope that introducing fictional characters will not detract from the otherwise historical authenticity of this book. The following liberties and constraints have been used: ➢ The South Vietnamese coined the term ‘Viet Cong’ (VC), but those it referred to considered the term an insult. They called themselves ‘Liberation Forces’ (LF), ‘Liberation Armed Forces’ (LAF) and the ‘National Liberation Front’ (NLF). Only the South Vietnamese and their Allies used the term ‘VC’. All sides referred to the North Vietnamese Army as the ‘NVA’.
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➢ LF and NVA units were not built on the same rigid rank structure as Western armed forces. Unit leaders often took the courtesy titles of rank, for example, the leader of 5th Division took the title of ‘Colonel’, as did his key staff and his regimental leaders. The terminology of this book reflects the appointments they actually held, for example, ‘leader’ rather than ‘commander’. ➢ When writing from the LF/NVA point of view, as far as possible, their own terms have been retained—‘helicopters’ for choppers, ‘armoured cars’ for APCs, and so on. When the narrative is from American, South Vietnamese and Australian points of view, their common terms—‘choppers’, ‘APCs’ etc.—are used. ➢ The LF/NVA usually referred to the Army of the Republic of Viet Nam (ARVN) forces and the South Vietnamese government as ‘puppet’ forces; to the Americans as ‘imperialists’; to the Australians and other Allied forces as ‘mercenaries’; and to their own forces as ‘comrades’. This and similar terminology has been retained. ➢ Measurements are standardised to metric. The Vietnamese used this measurement—a legacy of the French. The Americans used their (sometimes modified) imperial measurement system, and the Australians used standard imperial measure. However, most maps of Viet Nam were scaled to a 1000-metre grid rather than either a 1000-yard grid or an inch-to-a-mile scale, so metres gradually superseded yards for all related measures. ➢ The spelling of some names of people and places has changed over the years. Where feasible, they are spelled as they were used at the time, for instance, Mao Tse-Tung, rather than Mao Zedong. ➢ Vietnamese is a language more or less made up of monosyllabic words. In common usage, two-word place names have often been blended into one word. These have been returned to their original separated words, including the
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name Viet Nam, frequently, but incorrectly, rendered ‘Vietnam’. Two exceptions will be found in this book. ‘Saigon’ and ‘Hanoi’ should strictly be ‘Sai Gon’ and ‘Ha Noi’ but they have been left as single words to reduce unnecessary distraction. ➢ The name of the Phuoc Tuy province capital was ‘Phuoc Le’. However, as the name ‘Phuoc’ already occurs in the province name, Phuoc Tuy, and the evacuated town Long Phuoc, and as the town was known to both Vietnamese and Allies as ‘Baria’, the name ‘Ba Ria’ has been used. ➢ As this book is about military units, military abbreviations are necessary. In each chapter, the abbreviation is given in brackets after the first occurrence of the term in full, but thereafter only the abbreviation will be used. The following table shows ranks, the units they would command and the approximate sizes and unit composition. It is offered as Rank
Unit command
Approx. size
General
Division
Brigadier
12 000–20 000 HQ, three regiments and support units 4000–5000 HQ, three battalions and support units
Regiment/ Brigade (task force) Battalion 700–900
Colonel
Major/Captain Company
100–120
Lieutenant/ Sergeant Corporal
Platoon
30–35
Section/ Squad Individual
10
Private
1
Usually comprising
HQ, three or four companies and support units HQ, one section and three platoons HQ, three sections or two or three squads The corporal and up to nine soldiers (LF/NVA grouped into three-man cells)
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a rough guide only. Sometimes, large variations existed between and even within the Vietnamese, American and Australian forces. As two examples of variation, the subjects of this book are the 5th Division, which contained only two (not three) regiments, and the Australian Task Force, which contained only two (not three) battalions in 1966 and was therefore not a ‘proper’ brigade. ➢ Maps and diagrams have been included, from whole-country scale to battlefield scale. These maps contain the names of all the places and natural features mentioned in the book. ➢ Although American, Australian and ARVN forces used a 24-hour clock (so that 6.00 p.m. is given as 1800 hours), the LF and NVA timings used the 12-hour, or watch-face system. For uniformity, watch-face timings are used throughout. ➢ The West commonly used the Gregorian calendar days, months and years to mark the passage of dates. However, the peasant armies of Viet Nam did not. The sun’s position marked the passage of time in a day, the moon’s phases marked the weeks and months, and the passing of festivals, rice plantings and harvestings and the monsoon marked the months and seasons. The following table shows some rough equivalents: Vietnamese peasant dating
Rough Western equivalent
Tet (Buddhist lunar New Year)
Late January to early February, depending upon the new moon Winter (October–December) and summer (April–June) Spring (January–March) and autumn/fall (July–September) June/July September/October
Rice planting (2-crops/yr areas) Rice harvest (2-crops/yr areas) Monsoon start (in the South) Monsoon end (in the South)
➢ As a legacy of the French, the Vietnamese used the same anno Domini (AD) year count as used in the West, along with the same month names. However, in the more remote or
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traditional areas, the identity of years was in the Chinese astrological style—the 12-year cycle of animal names (rat, ox, tiger and so on). The Western year 1966 was the Eastern ‘Year of the Horse’. ➢ North Viet Nam was commonly referred to as the ‘North’ and South Viet Nam as the ‘South’. Differentiating between the use of these two words with compass directions, the countries are used with capitals and the compass directions are used without capitals. ➢ A ‘Glossary’ of the terms and acronyms used in this book can be found towards the end of the book. Dave Sabben June 2005
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LIST OF MAPS Map 1
Republic of South Viet Nam, locating III Corps and Phuoc Tuy Province Map 2* Phuoc Tuy Province Map 3 The two Nui Dats, Phuoc Tuy Province Map 4 The NVA/LF attack plan, set for overnight 18/19 August 1966 Map 5 The movement of the 275 Regiment radio prior to 18 August Map 6 Task Force defences—August 1966 Map 7 Dispositions of 275 Regiment, D440 Battalion and D445 Battalion prior to the battle Map 8 The route of the heavy weapons group Map 9 NVA/LF movements and Australian positions during the battle
xviii xx 102 175 208 223 242 248 355
* In the book, a four-digit ‘grid’ reference has been given for certain places. It takes the form of place name [grid ####] and it may be used to locate those places on Map 2. The first two digits represent the ‘eastings’—the vertical grid lines on the map. The last two digits represent the ‘northings’—the horizontal grid lines on the map. So, the four-digit number represents the single grid square to the east (right) of the vertical grid line (the first two digits) and to the north (above) the horizontal grid line (the last two digits). For example, Australian task force base is in grid square 4065—near the middle of Map 2. xiii
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LIST OF DIAGRAMS Progress of battle, 18 August 1966 Diagram 1 Diagram 2 Diagram 3 Diagram 4 Diagram 5 Diagram 6 Diagram 7 Diagram 8 Diagram 9 Diagram 10
Approx. 4.30 p.m. Approx. 4.45 p.m. Approx. 5.00 p.m. Approx. 5.15 p.m. Approx. 5.30 p.m. Approx. 5.45 p.m. Approx. 6.00 p.m. Approx. 6.15 p.m. Approx. 6.30 p.m. Approx. 6.45 p.m.
263 267 273 279 283 289 293 301 307 321
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CHARACTERS Main and secondary Vietnamese characters Binh Buu Chinh Dinh Ginh Hai Kiêt Kim Lan Long Ngoc Quang Tang Thiem Tien Truong Tuan Tuyen Van Xuan
Leader, H422 Battalion of 275 Regiment, 5th Division Leader of the AAMG battery of 274 Regiment Leader, 274 Regiment of 5th Division Leader of the recce company of 5th Division Leader, H421 Battalion of 275 Regiment, 5th Division Senior soldier attached to 5th Div HQ—friend of Quang Commissar—leader of the 5th Division political cadre Leader, C1 Company, H423 Battalion, 275 Regiment Leader, D445 Battalion—a Phuoc Tuy provincial LAF unit Leader, 275 Regiment of 5th Division Leader, D800 Battalion of 274 Regiment, 5th Division Leader, 5th Division Leader, H423 Battalion of 275 Regiment, 5th Division 2IC, 274 Regiment of 5th Division Leader of the 5th Division operations section Village guerilla, operating out of Hoa Long village Leader of the LAF clearing patrol at the Long Tan rest position Leader of the recce company of 274 Regiment Leader of the 5th Division intelligence section Leader of the recce company of 275 Regiment
Note: Bold names are main characters xv
TUYEN 274 Regt Recce Company
MUNG D445 unit at bridge
TUAN Clearing Patrol
KIM Leader C1 Company
TANG Leader, H423 Battalion
BINH Leader, H422 Battalion
Organisational chart of Vietnamese characters
BUU AAMG Battery
LAN Leader, D445 Battalion
274 Regt HQ
(unnamed) Leader, 308 Battalion
(unnamed) Leader, 265 Battalion
GINH Leader, H421 Battalion
SÙÒNG & LIEN Couple at Binh Ba ‘BAC’ (Uncle) Old soldier at gun
VAN Intelligence section DINH 5 Div Recce Company
XUAN 275 Regt Recce Company
TROI Leader of the mortar bombardment team
TRUONG Hoa Long VC
TIEN Operations section
HAI Leader, Training
CUNG Village VC leader
KIÊT Political cadre
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NGOC Leader, D800 Battalion
LONG Leader, 275 Regiment
Other units/people
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Thiem 2IC 274 Regiment
CHINH Leader, 274 Regiment
5th Division HQ
xvi
QUANG Leader, 5th Division
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Main Australian and American characters Jackson Keep Mackay Mike Davis* Richards Rowe Townsend Warr * Fictional
Brigadier Jackson—commanding officer, 1ATF, Nui Dat Captain Keep—2IC to Major Rowe, Intelligence Group, 1ATF HQ Major General Mackay—senior officer for all Australian units and personnel in South Viet Nam US captain in 173rd Airborne, later promoted to major and posted to 1ATF on liaison duties Captain Richards—officer commanding 547 Signals Troop—a secret radio-tracking unit Major Rowe—senior intelligence officer, 1ATF HQ Lt Colonel Townsend—commanding officer, 6RAR, 1ATF Lt Colonel Warr—commanding officer, 5RAR, 1ATF
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Map 1: Republic of South Viet Nam, locating III Corps and Phuoc Tuy Province
Republic of South Viet Nam
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III Military Zone (III Corps)
To
Courtenay Plantation
Saigon
BI E N H O A 15
LONG KHANH 328
2
Slope 30
P H U O C
GIA DINH
Hat Dich
Phu My
329
P R O V I N C E
1ATF
Ba
Nui Thi Vai
Ap Long Cat
Nui Dat West 2 Hoa Long
Nui Dat East 328 Long Phuoc
Ba Ria
Xuyen Moc
Long Tan
23
C
Nui Dinh
BINH TUY
Thua Tich
Binh Gia
Nui Nghe Binh
2
15
T U Y
Nui May Tao
Dat Do
Long Son island
Long Dien
44 Long Hai
GA N H RAI BAY
15
Cap Saint Jacques peninsula 1ALSG
Vung Tau
LEGEND Main towns & villages Rubber plantations Mangrove swamps
N
SOUTH
CHINA
SEA
Phuoc Tuy Province (for larger scale, see Map 2 on next page)
23
Vung Tau
30
15
Ba Ria
1ALSG
Nui Dat West 2
40
SOUTH
N
Long Dien
44
1ATF
60
70
329
Nui May Tao
BINH TUY
Long Hai
50
SEA
Dat Do
Long Tan
23
LEGEND Main towns & villages Rubber plantations Mangrove swamps
Xuyen Moc
60
Scale: approx. 5-kilometre grid
328
23
P R O V I N C E
Thua Tich
328
T U Y
LONG KHANH
Nui Dat East
Binh Gia
CHINA
Long Phuoc
Ba
Nui Nghe Binh
Hoa Long
Cap Saint Jacques peninsula
Map 2: Phuoc Tuy Province
40
50
Nui Dinh
Hat Dich
2
50
P H U O C
Slope 30
Courtenay Plantation
C
GA N H RAI BAY
Long Son island
Ap Long Cat
15
Nui Thi Vai
2
Phu My
BI E N H O A
40
40
50
60
70
80
90
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GIA DINH
15
Saigon
30
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80
90
20
xx
To
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PRELUDE
La Nga Valley, November 1965
Dogs raised the first alarm. One by one they blinked awake, lifted their heads and cocked their ears to the south, towards the unfamiliar throbbing in the cool morning air. As dawn’s first light touched the tallest trees, the first one growled. Before it was fully light down among the huts, the barked warning rippled across the village. The villagers reacted before they could hear anything themselves. Men, half-dressed, clutching webbing and rifles, ran to the small village square. Younger women ran to pre-arranged places, boxes and woven baskets in hand, and started loading them into tunnels and hides. Older women calmed the youngsters, staring fearfully in the direction the dogs were now barking. Gently, as if on the merest breeze, came the whapping pulse of helicopters in flight. Lots of them. Hai shouted an order to the group of men and they came to silence, still fastening their clothes and equipment. Taller than the average Vietnamese, 45, muscular and hard, Hai looked every inch the professional senior soldier he was. His pale green NVA uniform showed no badges of rank. They weren’t needed—the scent of 1
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authority surrounded him like incense in a Buddhist temple. His permanent five o’clock shadow revealed a hint of mixed origin, but also emphasised the scar on his right jawline, a memento from fighting the French in the ’50s. He surveyed the group in front of him. Twenty-five of them, aged from fifteen to fifty. All dressed in the Vietnamese farmer’s uniform—loose-fitting long black pants and loose-fitting black shirt. Sixteen had rifles—a collection as varied as their ages. Mostly bolt-action carbines and captured Garand semiautomatics. The village squad’s leader, Cung, had the only AK-47 in the group—from serving as a Main Forces guide for the last two years. Hai turned to his own men and counted them off—all present. Eighteen of them, all in NVA green and all with AK-47s and an assortment of pale green webbing. Off to the side stood an older man, still strapping on a pistol belt. He was of average size. Perhaps a little more wiry than the others, but dressed in the same greens and webbing. Only the absence of an AK-47 and the presence of a pistol hinted that this person was of some significance. From high overhead came the drone of a single-engine aircraft. Hai knew that the circling aircraft meant the puppet artillery was even now being directed onto the helicopters’ destination. If the village was the target, the artillery would arrive before the helicopters, whose sound was growing louder. Even as he thought this, the first shell landed. From the rice fields 200 metres away came the muffled sound of a single explosion. The ranging shot. He had less than a minute. A few brief orders from Hai and the group split into three. A dozen armed villagers ran towards the strip of bushes between the village and the rice fields to the south, where the artillery shell had surely indicated the helicopters would land. The remainder of the village squad moved into the long hut beside the village square and disappeared down a tunnel entrance. One of Hai’s soldiers went with them and replaced the trapdoor behind the last man down, then a couple of older women carefully smoothed the dirt floor and rearranged the household goods. Even a close inspection wouldn’t
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give the tunnel entrance away. The soldier then left the hut and followed Hai, the older man and the rest of the NVA group as they spread out and headed north into the forest, away from the village. Away from the helicopters.
In the command chopper, positioned in the centre of the second row of Hueys, Captain Mike Davis slid his finger along the map. He was tall and lanky at a shade over 1.8 metres, and thin for his 30 years. His close-cropped hair only accentuated his apparent gauntness. Mike had been in ’Nam just on a month. Commanding Kilo Company, 504th Battalion, 173rd Airborne Brigade, this was only his second operation. Squirming uncomfortably in the narrow canvas seat, he once again adjusted his webbing. Not long to go. He moved the map to his other knee. He’d followed the flight’s progress on his map— northward along the river valley’s eastern edge, then across the river itself and into the side-valley. Through the windscreen, he peered ahead to identify the target village. The second artillery explosion sent shards of white phosphorus searing into the undergrowth 15 metres into the bushes from the rice fields. Clods of earth rattled the bushes in a circle 10 metres across, and a column of dust and dead leaves drifted gently away with the wind. High above, the artillery spotter in the aircraft nodded his satisfaction and pressed the radio prestle switch: ‘Two rounds. Fire for effect. Over.’ Flying fast and low, there wasn’t enough time for Mike to absorb the details. Just the impression of scattered villages, dry rice fields, vegetable plots on every piece of flat land. And the tall green walls closing in as the valley narrowed. Off to left the forbidding jungles of Long Khanh Province stretched away into the distance like a shaggy green carpet. Off to the right lay the main river valley, with the village of Vo Dat somewhere in the hazy distance. Below the speeding choppers, the valley opened out in front of them, covered in
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harvested rice fields. Mike checked his map and inched his finger forward again. Ap Trinh should be just ahead, and then the target— less than a minute away. Above him, the rotors whipped the air, and on either side of him, his troopers began preparing for the landing. Some Ap Trinh villagers rushed from their homes to stare up at the unfamiliar sight. It was a rare thing in this area to see more than the occasional helicopter high overhead. To find themselves directly under the low flightpath of ten of them was a deafening, heartpounding, terror-inspiring spectacle.
Cung and the village defence squad reached their trenches and bunkers 20 metres in from the rice fields to the village’s south. The two lines of helicopters were now about 3000 metres away, still moving at top speed, and only 100 feet or so in the air. They quickly refreshed the camouflage to their fronts, sighted their weapons and readied their spare magazines. Cung moved forwards to a foxhole directly overlooking the rice fields and jumped in. In his five years of struggle for the cause, Cung had experienced the confusion and exhilaration of battle six times—twice with his provincial unit and four times with the Main Force units, for whom he had been acting as a guide. All six contacts had been against the puppet dogs. Each had been planned in overwhelming detail, rehearsed and rehearsed again, and then executed perfectly. Each had been a success. So much so, in fact, he doubted his enemy had ever even shot at him. Four had been ambushes, where there had been little if any return fire, and the other two had been attacks on outposts, where any return fire had been high and wild from panicstricken men who’d known they were doomed. But today it would be different. This time they were American imperialists and this time they were coming to attack him. Cung, for all his training and experience, felt needles of uncertainty prickle at his flesh. They’d trained for this contingency. But this was real. The artillery hit without further warning. Six shattering horrific
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blasts drowned out whatever incoming whistles there may have been. Shockwaves raged through the vegetation, the devastation ripping the leaves off the bushes and trees nearest the impact points and raising a dust cloud to temporarily block out the low sun. Cung felt himself being compressed into the bottom of his small foxhole. He’d never experienced this before and he clenched his teeth as dirt and leaves showered onto his head. He hoped all his men had been underground, in their bunker hides. And he hoped there’d been no direct hits. With concussion still ringing in his ears, he couldn’t hear the helicopters, so he bobbed his head up. They were closer, but still far enough out for another round of artillery. He ducked down quickly. In the village, the young women finished loading the boxes and baskets into the tunnels, and most followed down the narrow entrances. At each hide, one woman—usually the oldest of the group —closed the trapdoor and went through the rehearsed procedure for hiding the entrance from their enemy. At the hide next to the woodpile, the old woman jerked away the stake restraining the pile of cut logs. They rolled over the entrance and came to rest at another set of pre-placed stakes. She threw a few handfuls of red dust over the longer, lower woodpile, then turned and shuffled to a nearby hut. This time, Cung heard the incoming rounds. For just a fraction of a second. The sinister ripping corkscrew in the air above him. He flinched at the bottom of his open hole, fingers in his ears and willing himself smaller. The blast and the concussion hit him as physical forces, the sound setting his ears ringing again, and the thump through the earth beside him almost winding him. Again, the shower of dirt and leaves, then the sprinkling of dust. And then the sound of the helicopters.
The leading line of four choppers reduced speed, the change in the rotor pitch adding a crack to their slowing beat. With noses raised,
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they entered the ground-effect zone. Rice chaff and dust swirled in the downdraft, mixing with the lingering artillery dust. On the right flank, a gunship sped on around the village, circling it and machine gunning the perimeter to intimidate the villagers into submission. Off to the left flank, the other gunship did a tight right turn and brassed up the stretch of bush between the village and the rice fields, taking over the artillery’s suppression role. From both gunships came the continuous minigun screech—their six-barrelled Gatling guns spewing a hail of lead and copper into the ground below.
Letting the gunship pass over him, Cung stood up in his foxhole. The landing area was in clear view, despite the swirling chaff and dust. He aimed his AK-47 at the nearest helicopter, the one on his right as they approached him. Off to his left, his men would be lining up their own targets and awaiting his first shot. He breathed out slowly and maintained his aim on the front left-hand windscreen. He’d been told the way to down a helicopter was to kill its pilot first, then its co-pilot. The rest could be picked off after that. But he had to wait— the nose-up position wasn’t a good enough shot. Not that killing the pilot and co-pilot was an easy task, he reminded himself. He’d been warned about their body armour, helmets and armour-plated seating. These effectively restricted the target areas to faces and necks. The training had stressed waiting until they landed so their faces and necks were visible over the instrument panel. Then, the training said, there’d be a few seconds when the target didn’t move—not much room to move in a helicopter cabin. Cung waited. Hai had gone only 100 metres north from the village before the first helicopter overflew him. Behind him, between his group and the village, a curtain of tracer rained down to the ground. The thick jungle roof screened his men from the air and besides, he expected all eyes in the helicopter would be on the village edges.
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The group was spread out in a rough arrowhead formation, moving at a full run with weapons cocked, safety catches off. The trees were tall and straight; their full canopy offered complete shade in which little undergrowth grew. In fact, Hai thought, there was only just enough undergrowth to hide a cordon. As he well understood, the first procedure for imperialist and puppet-force village assaults was to place a cut-off group around the village during the night. If a cordon had been placed, they must have been good—the village dogs hadn’t even raised a whimper overnight. Behind Hai, the older man, Colonel Quang, echoed every move Hai made. He might have been older than the others, but he was no less fit—he easily kept pace with them. He carried his own equipment and his own small backpack. The Tokarev pistol at his side remained clipped down in its leather holster.
In the second line of four choppers, Mike watched as rice chaff enveloped the leading line. Picked up from the ground, it swirled up over each chopper and was drawn back into the rotor downdraft. Descending into the chaff-storm, the leading line of choppers touched the ground. The closer gunship completed its first pass over the bush and began a return pass heading the other way. Once more, the miniguns screeched their venom. Mike could see the streams of tracer flicking down into the trees and across the artillery scars. Ricochets sent sparks off in a confusion of directions—everywhere, it seemed, but back into the gunship’s path.
Cung squeezed his trigger. The stream of tracer arced gracefully into the nearest helicopter’s windscreen, shattering it, and shattering the neck of the man behind it. The helicopter controls died with the pilot—it slumped onto the ground, helpless and stayed. As the co-
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pilot stretched across to apply power, Cung moved his aimpoint to the right window. The co-pilot’s head jerked back as the 7.62 short rounds found their target. His helmet, dented from the inside, fell back into the passenger compartment. ‘Hot ell-zee,’ snapped the gunship’s intercom, immediately drowned out by the doorgunners’ machine guns as they responded. Troops were pouring off the choppers on the ground, even as the other village defenders opened up. With his magazine now empty, and with the gunship having passed overhead a second time, Cung sprang out of his foxhole and ran back to his bunker. The first return fire chipped bark off the tree trunk next to the foxhole.
The other gunship pilot, just completing his first circuit of the village, saw the tracer spray out into the field of choppers and men. Banking hard right, he lined up the bush next to the paddy and made a low run over the area. Once more, the miniguns cast the screech of doom into the undergrowth below. The rockets in the pods on each side flashed off in pairs, dancing down into the bushes, leaving white trails. The door gunners fired bursts into the undergrowth below, the shiny brass cartridges and dark metal links tinkling out the right side of the machine guns onto the floor, then rolling out into space. The first line of choppers—the three that could—lifted off. They’d been on the ground just three seconds—enough time to unload the ten fully equipped men each carried. As they climbed, rotors clawing for a grip in the morning air, the second line entered the ground-effect zone. The rotor of the pilotless chopper slowed. Its near-side gunner fired over the heads of the men on the ground and into the village defenders.
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The first shot north of the village dropped the man to Hai’s left, but they all kept running. So there was a cordon, thought Hai. His training told him that, in situations like this, it’s better to force the issue on the run than to stop and return fire. Those in a position to do so fired a short burst in the general direction of where the shot had come from, and the group, as one, changed direction fractionally to the right. Their best hope was to find a gap in the cordon and force an exit. Hai’s mind raced. Keep running. Set the initiative. We act—let the enemy react. After our unexpected return of fire, the puppet dogs will go to ground, re-organise, re-evaluate and plan their next move. By the time they move, we’ll be through and gone. All through this manoeuvre, the older man simply did what Hai did, without hesitation or question.
The troopers from the first line of choppers were now moving. Each chopper-load was a ten-man combat squad, operating under the command of its experienced NCO. Working with the squads to either side, they were pinpointing enemy positions and beginning a fire-and-movement advance off the paddy fields. As one squad laid fire in the direction indicated by its leader, the adjoining squad would advance to the next paddy bund. The roles would then swap, and the first squad would advance under the other squad’s covering fire.
In the tunnels under the village, the men with their weapons and the women with the baskets were working their way down the various levels to the common rooms below. Behind them, they set the trapdoors and booby traps that would protect them if the enemy discovered and penetrated their underground sanctuary. Hai’s group was lucky. It hit the cordon at a gap between the ARVN platoons and passed between. There was no more firing from the
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group which had dropped his first man, but 50 metres on they saw movement off to their right. Still at the run, Hai fired the rest of his magazine into the area and was satisfied to hear the sharp squeal of a man hit hard. The others also fired, drowning out the trickle of return fire. Changing his magazine on the run, Hai altered direction once again, this time heading slightly left to restore the original direction. Behind him, he heard the dull pops of a few hand grenades thrown after his group, but they were too far away to be a worry. Even further behind, he could hear the helicopters firing on the village defenders. ‘You’ve done well, comrade Cung,’ he thought. ‘Keep them busy for just a few more minutes, then get yourselves into your tunnels and disappear.’
A salvo of artillery slammed into the ground halfway between the village and its defenders—six massive explosions so close together, they blended into one. Shock waves ripped at the village thatched rooves. Small stones and bits of earth peppered the air against the backdrop of steam and dust flung up by the impacts. It would be a full minute before the curtain of dust drifted away to reveal the six smoking craters where the vegetable plots used to be. American troopers flung themselves out of the second line of choppers under fire—largely overshoots from the firefight at the paddy’s edge. With a gunship hovering overhead, a chopper crew retrieved the downed chopper’s pilots, doorgunners, and their doorguns. They then lifted off and cut to the west, climbing to avoid the occasional tracer following their flight. Riddled with holes, the abandoned chopper was soon the only one left on the ground, its shattered windscreen sprinkled red, the throb of its rotor slowing, like a dying pulse. The first squads made it to the edge of the paddy fields. Incessantly, tracer was spat out from the camouflaged positions overlooking the landing zone. A gunship made another pass over the line
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of VC trenches, drawing fire from two of them. As this happened, a squad sergeant had each of his men draw and prime a grenade. On his shouted command, they all threw their grenade towards the nearest VC trench. In a string of dull thuds the grenades exploded. Their bursts echoed through the undergrowth as the men leaped over the last bund and into the undergrowth. No fire was returned.
Five hundred metres from the village, Hai stopped his men and formed a line facing south. In silence, they waited for any following enemy, but there were none. Taking advantage of the lull, he went to each man, checking he was alright and ensuring he still had all his equipment. Hai confirmed he’d lost only one man and had no wounded. The missing man was from the protection party. He wouldn’t have been carrying anything of intelligence value to the puppet dogs or the imperialists. And he’d been hit in the chest—almost always a fatal wound for a comrade owing to the lack of hospitals and medicines. Hai couldn’t risk his primary task by going back and fighting for the body of a comrade who was probably dead already. ‘He’s made his sacrifice for the struggle,’ thought Hai, the sole epitaph of all 38 comrades under his command whose eyes he’d closed. Yes, he kept count. What professional soldier couldn’t, or wouldn’t? He returned to his place in the line of comrades and gave the signal to move out. Far behind them more artillery shells crashed through the canopy and exploded harmlessly. ‘Too late and too far away,’ Hai muttered to himself. The tree canopy thinned out, and the undergrowth swallowed the NVA group from view.
Recovering from the fleeting VC contact, the ARVN cordon advanced towards the village. As they passed the body, two soldiers
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cleared it of everything except clothes. The rifle would be handed in, and the pack, too—with anything of non-military value removed. All pockets were empty, and there were no papers or documents found. Hurrying, two soldiers rejoined the advancing line. Within sight of the village, they stopped and settled into firing positions, alternate soldiers facing in and out. The cordon was in
place, and it would stay like that for the rest of the search. Cung could no longer hear firing from the two closest trenches, though heavy firing continued on his far left, over to the east. Time to quit, to fight another day. He peered down the cleared fire lane to his front. Only two days before, he and his men had come out to the trenches and bunkers and cut the ground-level undergrowth away. A man on his feet, able to see for 10 metres through the secondary growth, would notice no difference, since everything above knee height was left intact. But if he were to lie down, with his eyes less than 40 centimetres above the ground, he would then be able to see for at least 20 metres, sometimes 30. All the long grass, low branches and hanging undergrowth had been removed. The boots of an advancing enemy would be visible long before the enemy could see far enough through the undergrowth to spot even an un-camouflaged trench or bunker. The camouflage alone ensured a bunker wouldn’t be seen until it was virtually tripped over. At the end of his fire lane, Cung was now observing two pairs of boots. They were advancing on him, slowly, quietly. While the firefight raged 100 metres away, the firing in his area had died down. The helicopters, the ones with the deadly guns and the rocket pods, had moved to the firefight. He knew they would be over there, circling low, drawing fire. The imperialists would have left the rice fields now and would all be in the undergrowth. Cung watched as two more pairs of boots came up to the first two, paused, then left again. So one of these two pairs belonged to
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a squad or platoon leader who has just given some orders to his command. The other is probably the radio operator. Both good targets. Too good to resist. He quietly loaded a new magazine and pocketed the unfinished one. After this killing, he would make his getaway.
The platoon commander turned and reached for the radio handset. His men had reported clearing two bunkers to his right, and he needed to report this to his company commander, Captain Davis. Leaving the cordon intact, a group of 40 ARVN soldiers cautiously advanced on the village. After securing it, the tasks for their day would be to check the identity cards of all the village occupants, to thoroughly search the village and its surrounds, and to compile a register of all the people who lived there. Their occupations would be recorded, where and for whom they worked and, finally, their health and condition. But the village registration wasn’t the only reason for today’s cordon and search operation. Intelligence had identified this nondescript little village as an overnight stop for a senior NVA officer on his move from the Cambodian sanctuary area at the end of the Ho Chi Minh Trail across South Viet Nam to Phuoc Tuy Province.
Cung held out his AK-47, tilted sideways with the curved magazine pointing left. He aimed up into the undergrowth to the left of the boots. He knew when he squeezed the trigger, the weapon’s natural jump would spray the rounds to the right. The spent cartridge cases would be ejected into the ground, not into the air to give his position away. He breathed in, held his breath and squeezed the trigger.
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The American radio operator had a split second to react, and it just wasn’t going to be enough time. His platoon commander, standing facing him, suddenly lurched forwards, a look of surprise on his face as his chest errupted in a crimson spray. Even as the sound of the firing reached him, five more bullets stitched across his own chest and shattered out through the radio on his back. Both died instantly. The long burst of fire on his left brought Mike Davis to the radio. Two of his callsigns answered; the third didn’t. Realising he now had a platoon without its radio, he raced towards where the sound had come from. Even as he did so, platoon members were closing in on the other side of the VC in the bunker. The first man to reach the radio operator was shot as he bent down to attend to the wound. It should have been a fatal shot, but the bullet deflected off a metal webbing buckle and penetrated his arm instead of his chest. Lightly wounded, the medic rolled to the ground behind the dead operator and saw the cleared fire lane below the undergrowth. He yelled this out and everyone, including Mike, went to ground. Crawling forwards on elbows and thighs, they searched to the limit of their vision then started a slow advance on the VC.
Cung realised his mistake. The imperialists were already off to his right. He hadn’t heard them. They had advanced outside the cleared area of his fire lane and would now cut off his withdrawal. And he could hear the rustling of the slow advance to each side. No part of his training or experience catered for the possibility of surrender. Rather, he made the simple choice of selecting which side he would defend, and accepted that what might come from the other direction would come.
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He chose to sight to his right. Seeing movement at the edge of his fire lane, he flicked the AK-47’s fire selection to single-shot, aimed at the movement and waited for a clear target, a killing shot.
Mike’s cautious crawling advance brought him to a position where he, too, could see the undergrowth had been cleared. But, search as he tried, he couldn’t spot the VC bunker, even though it lay just ten metres away. Slowly picking up a small stone, he lobbed it into the cleared area. Cung heard the stone land and looked around. He was fast enough to see a movement at the left edge of his fire lane. An imperialist soldier, indistinct but visible, returning his hand to the stock of his rifle. Spinning inside the bunker, he swung his AK-47 towards the new target. Mike picked up the movement. He realised with horror that the VC in the bunker was lining up on him and would be able to fire before he could swing his own Armalite around. In the fraction of a second before he heard the shot, all Mike could picture was the photograph his wife had sent him just last week. His two-year-old daughter, looking so pretty in her pink and white party dress. Nuzzling in close to his wife as they both smiled for the camera. It was the first colour photo he’d received of them. You’re both so beautiful. The single shot, when it came, seemed unnaturally loud. It rang in his ears. It reverberated around the low clearing. It went on forever. Yet he felt no pain. Then he was aware of American voices, and movement on the other side of the cleared fire lane—people running and shouting. A grenade lobbed into the bunker opening. An explosion. Then silence. It wasn’t until his radio operator tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he was okay that Mike realised he hadn’t been hit after all. The shot was from the trooper on the other side of the fire lane. He’d seen the VC move and had been already lined up. His single
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shot had passed a couple of centimetres above both ears of the VC in the bunker. While the company medic attended to the wounded platoon medic, Mike moved over to the bunker. The encounter had shaken him. The rifle shot was still ringing in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything else. Sitting on the bunker, Mike took the photo from his top pocket. The two faces beamed out at him from behind their clear waterproofing plastic. He noticed his hand was shaking and clenched his fist to stop it. ‘Hell, I’ve only been in Viet Nam a month. Far too early to be falling apart’, he told himself. The trooper clearing the bunker passed out the dead VC’s AK-47. Mike leaned down and took it, removed the magazine and extracted the round in the weapon’s breech. Holding it in his hand with the photo, he considered them thoughtfully. But for a fraction of a second, this bullet would have made this a photo of a widow and an orphan. Carefully, he put both items into his top pocket. The noise around him began to register again. He became aware of the other firefight, still raging. A hundred metres away, the platoon leader drew back his troops and threw two yellow smoke grenades, one to the left of where he thought the fire was coming from, and one to the right. Speaking on his radio, he instructed the gunships to flatten the area in between. With no incoming fire, the gunships did a strafing run, raking the small area with minigun, M-60, pod rocket and 40mm-grenade fire. After 30 seconds, they peeled off to resume their stations. The platoon waited for the last 40mm grenades to burst, then got up and raced toward the bunker. They needn’t have bothered. For 3 metres around the raised bunker roof, all the foliage had been blasted away. Wisps of steam rose from the small craters pockmarking the area. Two VC had been caught trying to clear the bunker; their bodies now little more than smouldering rags. The bunker’s roof was still intact, but the splintered logs at the top and bottom of the firing slot showed that many rounds and grenades
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had entered the bunker. Indeed, another body lay huddled and almost beyond identification on the floor. In the silence, the platoon leader radioed the ‘all clear’ to his company commander.
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2 A LEADER; A TASK Nui May Tao, early March 1966
‘Comrades!’ The low drone of quiet conversation tapered off as each man turned to face speaker. He stood and waited for the silence. The meeting room, a covered pit, measured some 10 metres by 7 metres and was dug 2 metres into the hill’s firm red earth. Its only entrance was an open zig-zag trench cut into the slope on the lower side. A shaggy thatched roof, heavily camouflaged, covered the whole pit, overlapping its edges by a metre and leaving a half-metre air gap all round. Inside, a ledge had been left around all the sides for seating. Empty ammunition boxes provided additional seating for the occasion, and the ledge area under the roofline had also been pressed into use. In all, fifty-three men had crowded into the room. ‘The leader of the 5th Division of our glorious Liberation Armed Forces—Colonel Le Thanh Quang.’ ‘Colonel’ was an honorary title bestowed upon the unit leader in an otherwise rank-free environment. In the Liberation Forces (LF), the Central Committee appointed leaders, and this was the only authority either recognised by the soldiers or necessary to get things done. 18
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Quang stepped forwards and stood in front of the blackboard, greeted by an outburst of clapping. From the back came muted cheers and calls of congratulations. In the front row, among the division’s senior leaders, the clapping seemed somewhat more reserved. And, Quang noted, from the solemn, impassive and sickly figure of Commissar Kiêt, the division’s political cadre leader, the clapping was positively—what would he say?—‘restrained’. Ignoring this, he stood there, accepting the accolade from everyone else as if he knew he deserved the recognition. A short, nuggety figure in a uniform not in any way different from most in the room. At 54 years old, nearly the oldest in the group. His skin was smooth and unlined. Muscular forearms protruded from rolled-up sleeves. He had an economy of movement as he surveyed the room, like a snake, poised and alert. In his small, clipped movements, he took in all he saw, and memorised it. Quang had been born in 1913 in Lao Kay Province in the north of North Viet Nam, where his father supervised a road-building gang. He grew up with no particular political views, and his family had no particular military service or tradition. However, his father and uncles had often said the French, who controlled Indochina as Viet Nam was known back then, were just a temporary inconvenience. They said the seers had predicted a groundswell of resistance would sweep them from the homeland in the next generation. This sparked two separate yet associated ideas in young Quang: The simple expectation to serve in the armed forces, and the intriguing possibility that destinies could be predicted. Both led him to consult a fortune teller a few days before his sixteenth birthday. What she told him never left him: ‘Your destiny is to be in the glorious army of the homeland. You will rise to become a senior leader. You will have a unique opportunity to achieve the greatest glory and honour. Your own careful planning will be critical to your fate. The only thing to condemn you will be your own efficiency. No enemy will hurt you. You will be given the opportunity of returning home from the coming war safely. At home, everyone will know of
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you. You will join with the gods in the clouds of heaven. And your last title will be greater than all your titles before.’ It was breathtaking. From the moment he heard the prophecy from the old woman, it became his life’s obsession. His aim from that day on was to prepare himself to join the army he knew must be formed to throw out the hated French. He had to become a leader, to serve the homeland and to achieve the fame the old woman had so clearly predicted. With the cheers and applause ringing in his ears, Quang smiled to himself and recalled the years of preparation for this moment. In his well-ordered mind he reviewed the separate phases of his life that had led him to be standing here today. ‘The recruit years,’ he thought. ‘Those four years I spent in the army of the local mandarin. Army? No—at first, more like his own gang of thugs. Still, those years taught me all the basics of tactics, fieldcraft and weapon skills. They also taught me the value of being fit and decisive. Many of my fellow gang members suffered—even died—as a result of the hardships and the uncertain actions of their leaders. But I thrived. Had I not risen from courier at sixteen to be his best squad leader at only nineteen? Was it not I who convinced the mandarin that his unruly gang needed form and structure, discipline and training? And when he was finally convinced, was not I the one, the natural leader, who gave the gang all of those things. I returned to the mandarin the best fighting force in the province. And with such a fighting force, in my last year with him I won him control of the province from the two mandarins opposing him.’ Quang’s thoughts now moved to the planning years as he remembered the six years spent in the para-military units, the ones the French had dismissively labelled as bandit gangs. ‘Bandits indeed! Were we not thorns in their sides for all of the years before the Japanese came? Raiding their storehouses and outposts, ambushing their supply columns? Outlaws? Maybe, but only outside the unfair laws they and their lackeys imposed upon us. Oh, in those days we weren’t as political as we are now. In those days we raided and ambushed the hated landowners and the exploitative bosses, too.
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They were hard times, but they bred hard men. We had to be hard to survive. ‘And in those years, did I not graduate from the receiver of orders to the planner of them? Did I not become the most effective planner of attacks and ambushes in the whole of the Red River Valley? Who does not remember the raids on the outposts along Route 4? With but a few others, it was I who planned those operations. Because of me, the red flag with the gold star flew proudly over many wrecked French forts and broken relief columns. ‘And then there were the political years,’ he recalled, ‘when I joined the Indochina Communist Party. It was in 1939 that I met Vo Nguyen Giap and Ho Chi Minh. When the Japanese came, and the rest of the world was at war, what a friendship we formed— especially Giap and me. What discussions we had. What he taught me about politics, and what I taught him about fighting the French. In those years, did not Giap and I and Ho and all the others of the inner circle plan the organised resistance against the foreign colonists? Yes, we had to be patient until the time was right, but when the time came, were not the plans all ready so we were just awaiting the call? ‘And finally the leadership years.’ Quang smiled. ‘I was there when the very first unit of the Liberation Army was formed. The ‘Armed Propaganda Unit’ we called it. 1944. Only 34 men, but the seed, correctly planted among the loosely organised Viet Minh, grew into the largest force the nation had ever seen. I was one of its key planners. My command grew as the People’s Army of Viet Nam (PAVN) grew. I became one of the most trusted, experienced and politically reliable leaders they had. And I gained such a reputation for silent planning and preparation followed by swift, decisive and deadly action that they used to call me ‘The Cobra’. ‘All through the War of Liberation from the French—the late ’40s and early ’50s—I had a series of senior leadership roles in the PAVN. Despite being in the South when my friend Giap took Dien Bien Phu, I was still awarded the highest decoration for my service. The Ho Chi Minh Medal. Ho presented it to me in person. Was this of no significance?’
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Quang shrugged off what he would have called his wasted years—the five years between the French defeat in 1954 and the decision to reactivate the Viet Minh in the South. That was the period when he had questioned the old woman’s prophecy. Yes, he had been in what she called ‘the glorious army of the homeland’—what he now knew as the PAVN. Yes, he had risen to senior leadership. And, yes, he was widely known for his meticulous planning and efficiency. No, he had never been wounded. Yes, everyone who mattered knew him or at least knew of him. But, no—the greatest disappointment of his life so far—he had never had the opportunity to achieve ‘the greatest glory and honour’. At the time of Dien Bien Phu, he’d wondered why it had not been him in command rather than his friend Giap. That would have been the fulfilment he craved. But it had not been that way. The French had gone, and so had his trust in the old woman’s words. There followed month after month of disappointment, even depression. A cobra without fangs! More than once, he even considered suicide. The prospect of failing his destiny appalled him. No, it terrified him. How could he live in disgrace? Several times, friends had saved him from his drunken rages of hopelessness. A cobra in miserable hibernation. Better, he thought, to be dead. Then in 1959, word of a renewed war in the South against the corrupt and inept Diem regime had breathed the life back into Quang. ‘As the cobra sheds his old skin when coming into the new season, so I had shed my old fears, and I leapt into fresh challenges,’ he reflected. ‘After the French left, my country remained divided. Yes, the old woman must have known more. She must have been referring to a greater glory than simply freeing us from the French. Such greater glory could only be the reuniting of my homeland. In some way, she knew that I, Le Thanh Quang, would be the instrument for the liberation of the South and thus the reunification of Viet Nam. It could be no less.’ Next Quang reviewed the organisation years—those from 1959 to his appointment as leader of 5th Division. ‘I based myself in the Cambodian jungle, first setting up training camps near the border, then having them churn out replacements for the forces within the
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South. Did I not turn the scattered and independent recruit training camps into a single effective and efficient reinforcement complex? Ha! The old cobra had indeed awakened! So efficient were we that within a year we were sending whole companies into the South every month. After another year, we were putting whole battalions to the cause every second month. Is it not true that after three years we were able to bring out a single battalion, split it into three, reinforce them with high-quality comrades and return a full regiment? And do this every three months? ‘And in 1965, did we not repeat the process with an entire division—splitting the 9th Division into a new 5th and a refreshed 9th—and return two divisions of comrades in just four months? We also ensured that every battalion and company returning to the South had a core of experienced, battle-hardened comrades to teach the younger freedom fighters the ways of victory? ‘Now the fulfilment years,’ he smiled again. ‘The reward for my effort and the vindication of the old woman’s wisdom. Appointment as the leader of the new 5th Division. Even the honorary title of “Colonel”. “The Cobra” has become a “King Cobra”. And when did this happen? In the Year of the Snake—1965. Does that omen not show that the fates are indeed on my side? ‘The briefing at the Central Office for South Viet Nam (COSVN) has confirmed my expectations. General Tran Van Tra himself has briefed me on my task. There can now be no doubt. The 5th Division has been given a key role in the liberation of the South. When I heard it, it was as if the old woman was speaking with me again. He’d even used the same words—“the greatest honour” he had said. A glorious victory awaits the 5th Division. ‘And me,’ he added. The noise in Quang’s ears eased him gently back to the present. His eyes focused again on the expectant faces of his divisional, regimental and battalion staff, all looking back at him, smiling and clapping politely. Well, almost all. Kiêt still sat over to the side, silent and now unmoving, as if reading his mind.
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Quang raised his hands, smiling broadly, and willed the noise back down. Beaming, he looked around as the clapping and cheers quietened. Finally, when silence returned, Quang cleared his throat and looked reflective. ‘Thank you, comrades. It is indeed an honour bestowed upon me, to command this new unit. Although the 5th Division was actually created four months ago, it took until well beyond Tet to obtain all the specialist and heavy weapons units, to transport them here and to settle them into their bases.’ Quang’s eyes darted around the room, as if to challenge anyone to criticise the delay. ‘While this has been happening, the battalions of our brave 274 and 275 Regiments have been engaged in their own tasks—bringing the liberation message to all four provinces within our area of operations.’ He looked directly at his two regimental leaders sitting in the front row, Chinh and Long. As different as fire and water, he thought —the volatile and the placid sitting side by side. And yet, in a way, the same. Either could be put to good use but either could also end up being dangerous if not handled correctly. Both fire and water can save you, he considered, but either can also cause your death. ‘And last night,’ Quang continued, ‘we were joined by our political cadre under the leadership of Commissar Kiêt.’ He directed the attention of the meeting to the seated figure in the khaki National Liberation Front (NLF) uniform. Kiêt acknowledged the introduction with a slight nod of the head but with no change of expression whatsoever. In the command structure of a divisional HQ, the military leader exercised full tactical command but every decision, strategic as well as tactical, was made by or approved by the political commissar. He was the division’s link back to the COSVN Military Affairs Committee, the organisation that decided on and approved all significant operations. He was always a Party man—a political appointee who had the power to remove the military leader if he strayed from the Party line, but could not replace him. They usually saw themselves as more powerful than the military leader, but with fewer responsibilities. Kiêt conformed to the standard
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pattern. He met Quang’s eyes and held them until Quang looked back to the room. ‘This is the first time we have been able to gather the senior unit leaders and their senior staff into one place. As you do not yet all know each other, I thought it appropriate to meet, to find out what we each have been doing and, more important,’ he paused, ‘what we will be doing next . . .’ Even the most junior of his audience could see the driven look in his eyes. The more seasoned might well have described the look as fanatical. ‘What we will be doing next . . .’ he repeated, nodding and relishing the dramatic effect. Then he smiled. ‘This division has been given a task that will soon win the war. Nothing less.’ He looked around the room as if to spot any non-believers. ‘My staff has prepared briefings. Listen well, comrades, and remember. You will be passing this information on to your own comrades. This is the start of a glorious unit. I am honoured to be its first leader. It is my intention to make you all proud to have been its original members.’ The clapping was more polite and restrained this time, and the smiles maybe just a fraction more reserved. Quang was known by most of the assembly more by reputation than by personal contact. His nickname was common knowledge among the division. He was respected and admired by all. But his introduction and this notice of a task that would end the war had unnerved them. His voice made it sound like a promise, but his eyes made it look like a threat. And they were also a little concerned by the stern, mysterious man in the NLF uniform who hadn’t said a word. What was going on behind those dark eyes? As the applause died away, Quang moved to his seat at the side of the room—across from Kiêt, many noticed—where he could watch the next presentation, but where he could also watch the faces of those assembled. These were the men who would make him a legend before this war ended, although they didn’t know it yet, and he wasn’t about to let them down.
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Nor was he about to permit them to let him down. Tien was the next speaker to be introduced. ‘Comrades. The leader of the Operations Section, 5th Division, Comrade Tien.’ Tien took his place in front of the blackboard. Tall, well-built and greying, Tien radiated an aura of conviction. In a suit, he would have looked at home in any business boardroom. He had an air of quiet competence, making people think he’d know everything about anything. But the ‘quiet’ was a mask. When he spoke, it was with the wide gestures and blazing eyes of a zealot. He was so animated, Quang thought, it was like he was swatting mosquitos in midair every time he spoke. Quang studied him as he prepared to address the room. They’d only met a few weeks ago, but already, Quang had developed a reservation. While Tien might well be a good man to have at his side, he decided, he’d be careful never to have him behind his back. ‘Colonel Quang has said our division’s task is the key to winning the war. Think of it, comrades—evicting the imperialists and their mercenaries, destroying the puppet regime, liberating the South and reuniting the homeland.’ An extravagant gesture underlined each point. ‘It is my privilege to be the one to advise you of our division’s glorious task.’ He made it sound to Quang as if Quang couldn’t be trusted to get the message across. ‘I shall first remind you of General Giap’s strategy for reunifying Viet Nam.’ Tien turned to the blackboard and drew a bold double ‘S’ outlining the whole country. He drew in the DMZ and began shading in the South’s main population areas—Saigon in the south and the Hue/Da Nang area in the north. ‘The South will be subdued in two major campaigns. In the first—“the dragon’s claw”—a massive sweep from Cambodia to the South China Sea will cut the South in half.’ As well as marking this on the blackboard, Tien animated the point with an extravagant curled-finger slash of the air in front of him. ‘Our illustrious forces will drive a wedge through Dar Lac Province and expand outwards to take Plei Ku north and Da Lat
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south. The wedge will hit the coast at Nha Trang and expand to take Qui Nhon north and Cam Ranh Bay south. This will divide the puppet regime’s support base. We will immediately push our courageous Main Force units from the North down to Hue and liberate the northern provinces.’ He indicated the thrusts with chalk arrows on the map and flamboyant gesticulations in the air. ‘At the same time, the second campaign—“the dragon’s fang”— will isolate and choke Saigon.’ He emphasised this with a clawlike grip on his own neck. ‘Like a dragon, our victorious forces will sieze Saigon’s neck and strangle it to death. We’ve already built up our Liberation Forces in the delta to the south and west of Saigon and we already control the border areas west and north.’ As he spoke, he drew the segments of a circle around Saigon from south to west to north to east. ‘No major ports or airfields exist north and east of Saigon and Bien Hoa. We can sink ships in the river to cripple the Saigon port facilities.’ He struck a bar through the Sai Gon River to the southeast. ‘The only port then available to maintain the Saigon regime will be to the east and south, at Vung Tau, on the Cap St Jacques peninsula . . .’ he spread his arms and feigned an air of innocence, ‘below Phuoc Tuy Province. Our province. Our home.’ He smiled. Eyes blazing, he poked holes in the air in front of him. ‘You, comrades—you are the dragon’s fangs!’ The smile died. ‘The early stages of the claw campaign are well under way. In Central Highland actions from Tet to monsoon last year, eighteen puppet-force battalions were ripped to pieces. As they moved to relieve our targets under attack, our heroic forces caught many in well-planned regiment-sized ambushes. In May we conducted separate attacks on reactionary forces in Ba Gia in Quang Ngai Province. Our cunning forces lured the stupid puppet relief forces into ambush on both occasions, and we destroyed two puppetforce battalions completely. By this time last year, the puppet forces in the central and northern provinces were on the point of collapse. We had decimated the cowardly defenders, and our preparations to liberate the South were progressing well.
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‘By monsoon last year, our success against the puppet dogs forced the imperialist general, Westmoreland, to request more troops. They knew we were winning and that without added support we would continue to be victorious.’ On their different sides of the room, Quang and Kiêt listened impassively. Quang’s mind raced ahead of Tien to what was more important to him: the campaign—his campaign—in the South. Kiêt’s mind, on the other hand, kept track of what Tien didn’t say. Tien failed to mention the setbacks the NLF and NVA forces had suffered the previous year. On 8 March 1965, two US Marine battalions had landed to defend Da Nang airfield. These were the first American combat troops on the ground in Viet Nam. In May, the 173rd Airborne Brigade had occupied the Bien Hoa airbase. For the rest of 1965 US troops had operated with some success in all the provinces bordering the north of Saigon. In October and November, American 7th Cavalry units clashed with NVA Main Force regiments in the Ia Drang valley. In their first conventional battle, and using new air-mobile tactics, the Americans inflicted a decisive defeat on the NVA, although taking heavy casualties themselves in the process. Kiêt was aware of all this. And that local Liberation and NVA forces were never told of the losses and reverses suffered by their own forces elsewhere in the country. He was aware of this because that was part of his job. His job, and the job of all the other political cadres. Tien continued. ‘As for the fang campaign, this province,’ Tien again poked holes in the air with his finger, ‘and this division,’—more holes—‘have become crucial to the liberation task. If deprived of rice from the delta, the puppet regime could not provide the food and supplies to run their criminal war. They need the port facilities of Vung Tau. Even if the large airbases of Tan Son Nhut and Bien Hoa were expanded, Saigon would still not survive on airlift alone. Saigon and Cholon have more than one-and-a-half million people and would rely on the port just for food, never mind their reactionary war effort. The supplies landed at the port would have to pass along Route 15 from Vung Tau to Saigon.’ He marked the road on the map. ‘If we do
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not own the port, at least we will own Route 15. And in order to own Route 15, we need to own Phuoc Tuy Province.’ Tien left the rough map on the blackboard and drew beside it the Phuoc Tuy Province area in larger scale. He marked in the three main road systems—Routes 15, 2 and 23—and the four main hill systems—the Nui Thi Vai [Map 2, grid 3070], the Nui Dinh [grid 3065], the Long Hai [grid 4550] and the Nui May Tao [grid 7090]. He then sketched in the main towns of Vung Tau [grid 2540], Ba Ria [grid 3560] and Xuyen Moc [grid 6565]. While doing this, he spoke. ‘Phuoc Tuy was a backwater in the French War. The French occupied the towns, and we owned the villages. Both sides collected rice, fish, salt, tax and recruits from the population. We both used its towns and its beaches for rest and recreation. The Viet Minh permitted this situation because their focus was elsewhere. They knew that when they won, the French would leave. That is what did happen. This attitude continued into the present war. Comrades, this changed last year. ‘By 1964, our victorious forces had won the province. Puppet dogs remained only in the largest towns and a few isolated outposts. They totalled just one battalion plus a few poorly led, poorly armed and poorly trained Regional Force (RF) companies. Our Liberation Forces cut all the roads, including Route 15 to Saigon, and only opened them to tax the road users. The single population centre outside the main towns that has so far refused to co-operate in the liberation movement is the reactionary Binh Gia settlement here, in the middle of the province.’ Tien pointed to Binh Gia [grid 4575] on his map. ‘By late 1964, our heroic Liberation Forces were ready to move into conventional warfare, using Main Force formations. I want you to understand clearly that, far from remaining a backwater,’ he poked more holes in the air, ‘Phuoc Tuy Province has become the very centre of the preparations for the whole fang campaign. ‘In early December, two battalions from 9th Division overran the company of puppet RF defenders and occupied Binh Gia for eight hours.’
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Although everyone in the room knew about the action at Binh Gia, they were all completely absorbed in the retelling. Constant repetition of stories of past successful battles was a regular part of their life. Successful motivations, strategies and tactics of past victories were the source of inspiration for future victories. Those gathered knew what was coming but they listened attentively anyway. ‘Our success was spectacular,’ Tien continued. ‘Our forces then withdrew and set up a series of mobile ambushes awaiting the puppet reaction. They remained hidden for five days. Their patience was finally rewarded—two companies of puppet Rangers, with tanks and numerous American imperialist advisers, fell into the first ambush inside a rubber plantation. Our comrades fired their RPGs and RCLs on the column from both sides. The puppet forces were cut to pieces, with 400 casualties. ‘Over the next four days, no fewer than seven puppet battalions were thrown into the Binh Gia engagement. Their casualties mounted as our courageous fighters ambushed column after column in a series of swift and daring movements. They shot down three helicopters and damaged many more. The imperialists lost twenty killed or wounded. The puppet dogs suffered a further 200 casualties. It was the largest action ever undertaken in the whole of South Viet Nam and it produced the greatest number of puppet and imperialist casualties for any battle so far in the whole country.’ Kiêt almost nodded his approval. The Liberation Forces never made reference to their own casualties, which had been fewer than 200 of more than 1800 men engaged. But even those 200 would not be mentioned. They were a negative, neither admitted to nor discussed. However, their dedication to and sacrifice for the cause would be worthy examples to be recognised. ‘It was the largest force yet committed by the Central Committee in the South,’ Tien went on, ‘and we held our ground when counterattacked. This was a milestone for us. It was the first step from stage two to stage three of Mao Tse-Tung’s doctrine—the engagement of government forces in pitched battle. General Giap himself marked this action in this province as the turning point
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of the war in the South. Here, in Phuoc Tuy.’ Tien hammered his point home on the blackboard and in the air in front of his audience, speaking with infectious pride and emotion. ‘A backwater no more! ‘After this, we were ready to take Ba Ria and then Vung Tau. To prepare, we gathered our forces. ‘At the end of Tet last year, Colonel Quang’s training camps in Cambodia formed 274 Regiment, using two experienced battalions from War Zone D. It was sent to Hat Dich [grid 3575] in the northwest of this province.’ Tien wrote ‘274’ over the area. ‘Then in May, Colonel Quang raised 275 Regiment, using another two experienced battalions, this time from War Zone C. It was sent to the Nui May Tao area in the northeast of this province.’ He wrote ‘275’ over the Nui May Tao area. ‘These two regiments, as you know, have now become the 5th Division. ‘Also in May—on the 19th in fact, the birthday of our illustrious president, Ho Chi Minh—Phuoc Tuy’s five district companies formed into a provincial mobile battalion. It took the name D445. They are based all across the province but operate mostly in the coastal areas.’ Along the southeast coast, he wrote ‘D445’. ‘After the monsoon, in November, D445 Battalion and 275 Regiment demonstrated our hold on the province. We put in another attack on the reactionaries in Binh Gia in order to draw a relief column into ambush. On 11 November the puppet regime’s 52nd Ranger Battalion—an elite unit—took the bait. We destroyed it.’ He paused for effect. ‘If this is a backwater province, comrades, then it is a shark-infested backwater.’ A ripple of laughter circled the packed room. ‘Since early this year, we have been ready to take the next step. We now have the forces to take Ba Ria and Vung Tau if required. However, we have been advised to halt any such move until the victory in the Central Highlands becomes assured. The two campaigns need each other. Neither will succeed if the other fails. The dragon needs both fang and claw. Choking the neck without cutting off the arms would leave us exposed in the north, but cutting off the
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arms without strangling Saigon would not give us the clean victory we want. ‘Our task is to be ready to take Vung Tau or to securely cut Route 15 at a moment’s notice. Tien nodded to Quang and took his seat. The room erupted in a shimmer of nodding and the soft buzz of animated agreement. No one disagreed with the importance of the division’s task—nor of their capacity to carry it out. Kiêt, watchful behind his impassive facade, noted the expressions of approval. Impressive. Usually his keen eye could pick at least a couple of candidates for re-education in a roomful of 50 or more. But here, today, not one of them looked as if he doubted the mission or its intended outcome. Quang rose and looked around. An expectant hush settled on the room. He put a soft tone on his voice, deliberately contrasting with Tien’s recent melodrama. ‘We think the Americans may suspect our strategy. At monsoon start last year, their 173rd Airborne Brigade mounted an operation in Phuoc Tuy in an attempt to clear Route 15. Of course, it failed. Again, after the monsoon, they came into the province, to the Courtenay rubber plantation.’ He pointed to where Route 2 crossed the province’s north border [grid 4590] on Tien’s map. ‘That operation also failed. ‘Our agents advise us the Americans may be preparing to reopen Route 2 south from Courtenay. While we wait for their reports to tell us the size and scope of this movement, we have relocated our units away from Route 2.’ The ‘agents’ Quang referred to were NLF persons securely embedded within the ARVN command and even some employed in the South Vietnamese staff of the American Military Command HQ in Saigon. Before any major American or South Vietnamese operation started, its detailed orders were translated into Vietnamese and circulated to ARVN HQ. Invariably, COSVN had a full copy within a matter of days—sometimes within hours. ‘It may seem to you that we have the strength to resist the
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American forces. This is true, yet you have heard why we must not attack them. In fact, we must do everything in our power to avoid the enemy visiting our province. We must be careful we do not win the battle in the province but, as a result, fail to liberate the South. We must let the tiger’s cubs play in the fields while we wait to kill the tiger in its den.’ Quang pointed to Saigon on the blackboard map. ‘When the call is made to cut the link between Vung Tau and Saigon, it must be swift, effective, decisive and, most of all, permanent. We must have all the strength we can muster to cut the link and then keep it cut. Our ownership of Phuoc Tuy Province is vital to the destruction of the puppet regime. The American imperialists will come, but they will go again, as the French colonialists did before them. We do not intend to allow them to obtain or retain control of this province, nor will we waste our forces on them while we await the order to cut Route 15. ‘Comrades. There’ll now be an hour’s break. This afternoon, regimental and battalion staff, political, operations and intelligence section leaders will meet separately with my staff for detailed briefings. Following those, you will return to your operational areas.’ Without further word, Quang turned and left the room. The hour’s break coincided with lunch. At the appropriate time, Quang moved down to the communal kitchen and lined up for his ration of rice, like everyone else. In all Liberation Force units, everyone ate together. The most basic unit philosophy was the three ‘togethers’—eat together, work together, live together. There was no segregation. Occasionally Quang took his meal to his hut, but most often, he ate with his comrades. ‘Lunch’, Quang thought, was a fairly grand description for each man’s ball of boiled rice with some bamboo shoots, manioc or sweet potato. As he ate, Quang’s mind drifted back to the meals he’d eaten over the last 38 years, many of which had been spent in camps less developed than this one. Without exception, rice had been the main food, anywhere from 100 to 300 grams of it, but typically about 200—just over half of a baked bean can. Mostly, it’d been flavoured
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with some salt or fish oil. Occasional servings of soybeans or nuts had relieved the boredom. Meat, when available, had always been welcome. Usually it had been fish, but sometimes he’d eaten ox, wild dog, pig and even frogs. On rare occasions he’d had monkey and in Cambodia he had twice tasted elephant. But he had been careful never to eat snake. He smiled to himself—with a name like ‘The Cobra’, how could he eat his namesake? The hot tea was always welcome. Quang enjoyed his tea, especially when it was sweetened with sugar. Today it was, and Quang sipped eagerly at the hot metal mug. At Nui May Tao, they had five sources of sugar. They could buy it from the villagers, but money was always in short supply. Or they could tax it from the towns, which provided very little. Another option was to capture it, and food was always second only to weapons on the list of goods looted from any government outpost they attacked and overran. This happened infrequently, however. Or they could man-pack it from the large sugar plantations in the central provinces, but this was expensive in manpower and time-consuming. Their fifth and main supply—he grinned, savouring the sweet taste—rested in the storage caves deep within the hill on which he sat. The sacks were stamped ‘Agency for International Development’ (AID) and ‘Hands Across the Sea’—the provisions had originally been given by UN and US relief agencies to Third World countries. Along with foreign aid food and medicines, these were regularly diverted from sympathetic countries to North Viet Nam, where they were then rediverted and included in the stores sent to the South. From his many years of operating out of bush camps, Quang was well aware that up to 25 per cent of a comrade’s time was actually spent foraging for food. Never had there been enough. He knew about one in four of his HQ protection company were at this very moment tending vegetable plots further down the ridgeline or out harvesting bananas in the valley below. In fact, he mused, just about anything that could be found, trapped, netted, caught, picked, plucked or dug up usually ended up in the LF cooking pot. Quang
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laughed out loud at the generalisation, drawing surprised looks from those nearby. ‘Thanks to our American friends,’ he quipped, ‘the tea tastes very sweet today!’ Knowing the source of their sugar supply, they all laughed. The briefings from the division’s senior leaders to their subordinate unit equivalents took the rest of the afternoon, as Quang had arranged. While these progressed, Quang had his first official meeting with his political cadre leader, Commissar Kiêt. At the appointed time, he walked to the hut allocated for Kiêt’s use. ‘Comrade Quang, please come in.’ Quang entered the simple wood-framed hut. It was a replica of his own—3 metres by 4 metres, and without walls or any but the most rudimentary furniture. ‘I must start our conversation with an apology,’ said Kiêt. ‘My delayed arrival has been caused by a bout of malaria. For a month I was in the hospital at Dat Ong Cu in Cambodia. I’m not fully recovered, and the doctor has warned me to expect relapses over the next six months. I apologise for my late arrival.’ ‘I’m sorry to hear of your illness, comrade Commissar,’ replied Quang. At least this explained the drawn and impassive expression on Kiêt’s face. ‘Perhaps activity and some fresh mountain air will improve things?’ ‘Quite,’ Kiêt almost smiled. ‘And now let us review our orders from COSVN. The briefings from yourself and comrade Tien this morning appear to have set the scene for us.’ For the next two hours—the formal part of their meeting—they exchanged the detailed briefings each had been given from the Central Committee at COSVN. As their talks progressed, they were both gratified to learn they had indeed been given the same directive. In the midst of a swiftly changing political, strategic or tactical situation, it was not uncommon for two sets of different orders to be sent to the same unit. However, on this occasion, the orders matched. They were to bring the new division up to peak opera-
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tional proficiency by the start of the monsoon [June] and to keep out of trouble, pending the call to block Route 15. When the call came, the road had to be cut and secured. The two then spent another hour over a large-scale map of the province, discussing how they would convert the strategy of cutting and holding the road into the tactics to be used. Conscious that their ideas would need to go back to COSVN for approval to proceed, they finally agreed a rough plan. ‘One regiment will take Ba Ria and hold the road closed at the top of the peninsula,’ Kiêt summarised, ‘while the other regiment with divisional HQ will turn west towards Saigon and join the advance to reunification. The provincial battalions will take care of the puppet forces remaining in their province outposts.’ Throughout the afternoon, as they talked, Kiêt remained remote behind his expressionless features, despite Quang’s sometimes animated enthusiasm for the task in hand. It irritated Quang that Kiêt appeared totally ambivalent towards him, being neither supportive nor critical. He did take into account Kiêt’s lingering illness, but there was something more. No animosity was shown, but by day’s end he was definitely uncomfortable with the outcome. Was it what Kiêt had said, or was it how he had said it? Or perhaps it was something Kiêt had not said? Either way, a doubt that hadn’t been there this morning now nagged his mind. Something about his own ideas of how he was going to be the one to cut Saigon’s lifeline and thus cause its collapse. Back in his own hut, Quang struggled to isolate what it was that agitated him about the afternoon’s conversation with Kiêt. Lying in his light nylon hammock—the standard sleeping arrangement for all LF fighters—he sifted through the day trying to identify the concern. Something he had seen as clear as day this morning was a lot less clear now. He racked his mind to recall everything Kiêt had said. They’d agreed 5th Division would cut the vital Route 15 link. They’d agreed the division would then be split, one regiment remaining at Ba Ria and the other regiment with divisional HQ turning west
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towards Saigon. Yes—he, Quang, would be the man to cut Saigon’s lifeline and thereby bring about its collapse . . . No—wait a minute. That’s not how Kiêt had put it. What had he said? ‘. . . and join the advance to reunification . . .’ That’s it. And, yes—there’s the difference. Kiêt had implied Quang would simply become part of a larger push to liberate Saigon. He, Quang, would not cause the collapse of Saigon. No—that can’t be right, he thought. It was all so clear before. It was exactly what the old woman had predicted for him. The ‘unique opportunity’ . . . The ‘greatest glory and honour . . . Being with the gods of heaven’—that meant mixing with the generals in Hanoi, didn’t it? And ‘his final title being greater than any title before!’ How could he fulfil his destiny if he wasn’t destined to unify his country? Quang lay awake in his hammock for a long time mulling it over and finally drifted to sleep with the question still unresolved.
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THE REGIMENTS DEPLOY
Late March 1966
At dawn next morning, 274 Regiment left Nui May Tao. Its leader, Nguyen Tong Chinh, was eager to return to his command and get his troops well away from the Courtenay rubber plantation. His private network of contacts at COSVN had already warned him of the enemy operation. Quang’s decision to avoid the imperialists had been most welcome. Not that, in any way, Chinh was running from a fight—he considered his regiment more than a match for the bellicose invaders. Rather, he was keen to keep his regiment intact for the main battle, the decisive thrust, the final victory—the action he now knew would occur before next Tet. After reunification, he wished the record to show that he, Nguyen Tong Chinh, had led his regiment to the liberation of Saigon and the South, not that he’d presided over a hundred nameless battles on a hundred forgotten battlefields in a handful of remote provinces. But that time would come. Meanwhile, Quang had issued the orders he’d wanted. Two of his battalions would move north from Nui May Tao deep into Long Khanh Province. The imperialists had recently been there and had fought the heroic 7th Military Region 38
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comrades. The presence there of Chinh’s fighters would add support and help restore damage. His other battalion would remain in Phuoc Tuy to defend key installations. These were in the remote areas, not near Courtenay or Route 2. They would also monitor and report the enemy operation’s progress. Chinh eased the pack on his narrow back as he climbed down the steep path. At 44, he was slight and frail-looking, but he was as fit as he needed to be. The harsh conditions in the jungles had toughened him, but he hadn’t taken to bush life—he’d merely learned to tolerate it. Perhaps to compensate, ambition’s burning passion touched his every thought. Descending the slopes, Chinh pondered the recent meetings with Quang. Ten years younger than his division leader, Chinh was conscious that he came from a very different background. A background, he knew, that was both his strength and his weakness. He’d been born in the sizeable regional centre of Son La on the banks of the Da in 1922. His father had owned the largest shop in the town and was considered well off. More importantly, he was politically well connected within the province before the days of Ho Chi Minh. By the time the Japanese left Hanoi, Chinh had had more schooling than most of his contemporaries. He’d spent the entire Japanese occupation in a series of schools and colleges in the back streets of Hanoi, with a false identity and hidden from the authorities, learning the ways of the political world. And excelling in his studies. Unfortunately, the rise of Ho meant the collapse of his father’s financial and political influence. Ho’s revolution, once started in Hanoi, spread quickly throughout the country. Painted as a peasants’ revolt, it was directed at the colonists and their lackeys. To the revolutionaries, anyone who owned land or had a business and hired others must, by definition, be an imperialist or a lackey. Overnight, landowners, absentee landlords and business owners became outcasts. To be a rich Vietnamese was to be deemed an enemy of the people. Chinh was in hiding at school when he received word his parents
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had been killed. They’d been hauled before the local revolutionary committee’s Land Reform Tribunal, declared enemies of the people, taken out and shot. Their property had been confiscated and redistributed—in unequal portions—among the committee, the tribunal and the local peasants. Suddenly Chinh, an only child, was without family or support. He could not continue his schooling, nor could he trust he would not sooner or later be found to have been the son of a rich shop owner—the son of an enemy of the people. The evening he heard of his parents’ death, he packed a few belongings, left some money on his rented bed and slipped out of the house. He walked away from all he had grown up with, but he took with him a firm grounding in political reality—whatever the flavour—and the false identity his father had provided. With these and little more, he simply disappeared into the darkness. Overnight he thoroughly assessed his position. A revolution was under way, a revolt of the peasants against all oppression. The French had survived one of those. In fact, Chinh’s teachers had used the French Revolution as an example to be studied in detail. So he well knew that after the revolution, France had needed government—and government requires politics and politics requires politicians. And so would his own country after its revolution. Even at 23, Chinh saw the way ahead. If he didn’t join the revolution, he’d be consumed by it. He had to present himself as one of the peasant masses and work himself into a position where, when the revolution ended, he could transfer into the government and help run the country. The next day, using his false identity, he joined the new and growing PAVN. No questions were asked. He was sent to a training camp near the Laos border. It was the beginning of a new life. Chinh hid his education, applied his pleasant, sociable nature and focused on being politically reliable. In the frequent ‘self-assessment’ sessions, recruits were invited—in fact, encouraged—to describe their past life, to criticise their experiences at the hands of the enemies of the people, to denounce all the Party said was bad and to indulge in self-criticism. In these sessions, Chinh adopted the experiences
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of others he’d witnessed while growing up in Son La. He became the perfect example of the son of a poor farmer dedicated to avenging his father’s lifelong but hopeless struggle against his harsh and heartless landlord. He echoed back to his leaders exactly what they fed to him and his fellow recruits. Soon he was tagged as a potential junior leader. To be politically reliable was to advance, and Chinh advanced. It wasn’t hard. After all, he reasoned, he was a learned man among peasants. All he had to do was to play their game, echo their thoughts, recite their mantra and he would succeed. No one would ever know of his privileged upbringing, and he would give no one cause to doubt his leadership potential. When it came to the politics of the revolution, there was no deception. He was without inheritance. He was without money, land, income or influence. He was not a rich man. Therefore, he was not an enemy of the people. He seemed to accept and absorb all he was told. It worked. Over the years, Chinh expanded his circle of comrades and contacts. But he carefully differentiated between the two groups. On several occasions in the early years, he met others whom he either suspected to be playing the same game as he was or knew they were because they recognised each other. The first time this happened, they had offered each other a subtle nod of recognition but otherwise remained silent, aware that discovery would be a disaster for both. Then later, when alone, they had compared notes and acknowledged their shared secrets and intentions. They soon agreed. If they were to see out the revolution and aspire to later leadership positions, then they would be wise to help each other. From this agreement sprang a circle of contacts that grew as each met and introduced into the circle others with similar backgrounds. It wasn’t a conspiracy within a revolutionary movement. Rather it was a shared acknowledgement that a peasants’ revolt was well and good, but when the time came to form a government, the peasant fighters and farmers could not do it. Men like themselves would form it—fighters for the cause who were also qualified to
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govern on the peasants’ behalf. It would be a mutual co-operation circle within the wider revolutionary movement. Nothing wrong with that, was there? Over all the long years, the secret of Chinh’s origins had remained secure, and the circle he had helped create had expanded into a robust group of about fifty. They made a point of keeping in touch with each other, sharing information, influencing postings and, where possible, arranging appointments to help each other advance. And no less than three of them were currently appointed to COSVN. Chinh smiled to himself; they had been long years. In 1951, he joined the newly formed Lao Dong Party (the Workers Party) and went onto its political committee in 1954. In 1959, after the decision to reopen active resistance in the South, Chinh was assigned to Group 559, the team responsible for setting up the supply networks through Laos and Cambodia. He spent 1960 and 1961 at various points along the borders and mountain passes administering the civil and military survey teams and engineers as they selected routes, staging posts and river crossings. It was a military posting equivalent to that of battalion leader. Following this, he was appointed as a battalion leader in the Central Highlands, where he served for two-and-a-half years. As the war in the South began to move from Stage One—preparing—to Stage Two—forming regular resistance units—Chinh once again considered his future. He determined that his best chance of surviving the coming war and of ensuring for himself a post-war political appointment was to become a retired regimental leader. After destroying the puppet government, Hanoi would need administrators in the South to restore control. Administrators would be required who had a proven track record, which he had, with the right contacts, which he had, with experience in the South, which he had. The last and most important prerequisite was to be still alive when they were needed. A regimental HQ was not likely to be placed in much danger, so his chances of survival could be considered excellent. Besides, if you have demonstrated the political reliability to
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command an NVA regiment, who is going to ask you where you came from? The secret of his origins would finally be secure. Having made the decision, it was a simple matter to have his name proposed in the right ears for command of a new regiment that he knew was being formed on the Cambodian border. So it came as no surprise at all when in late 1964 one of the circle advised Chinh of his orders—return to War Zone C and be ready to take command of an infantry regiment. Hints were given of a new parent division for the regiment and that the new division would have a key role in ending the war. Chinh jumped at the appointment. In January 1965, aged 43, recently appointed regimental leader Chinh received his orders from COSVN: take the newly formed 274 Regiment to Phuoc Tuy Province for operations against the puppet regime in that and the adjoining provinces. Against Chinh’s expectations, and to his great delight, 274 Regiment was not made up of raw recruits from the North but of three tested and experienced Main Force battalions that had been operating independently for two years in the South—D800 Battalion, 265 Battalion and 308 Battalion. He was further delighted to find the leader of his anti-aircraft machine gun (AAMG) battery was Buu, a man he’d known from his early days in the PAVN. Although a little headstrong and not a member of his circle of contacts, Buu was a good man to have on your side. And now, in the last two days, he’d been officially briefed on the role his parent division would play in liberating the South. Being ambitious himself, he recognised the same trait in Quang. Though slightly envious of his superior, he was still well pleased to have a command role in the division’s task. Almost certainly, he would be able to trade on his role when he opted for political life after the victory. It was only a matter of time. A certain resolve touched his pace as he left the hill and strode north into Long Khanh Province. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘it’s only a matter of time . . .’ The leader of 275 Regiment, Phan Huu Long, sat alone in his hut writing. While his regiment waited for the enemy operation to end,
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they would continue to train and develop their camp. For that they would need orders. And his staff would create those orders from the notes Long jotted into his notebook. The only similarity between Long and Chinh was the level of appointment they held. In every other way, the two differed. Where Chinh was slight and frail, Long was tall and more filled out. Where Chinh was sociable and outgoing, Long was a loner. His quietness may have been the result of the trace of a speech impediment, but it gave him a sage image. Adding to this, his opinions, once coaxed into view, were clinical, competent and well thought out. He viewed the war as a necessary evil. Liberating the South and reunifying his country were worthy reasons for war, in his view, but to be regretted as much as to be fought. And the sooner it was over, the sooner he could return to his wife and children. Long had been born in the North near Hai Phong harbour. His family had always lived there. He worked as apprentice to a maker of spoked wheels for buffalo carts. Young Long had known no other town or job until he was twenty, when the Japanese came and relocated his whole neighbourhood to make way for sailors’ quarters and a shipyard workshop. Several families, including his own, had been relocated to a farming community 200 kilometres away, and the adults put to work in the fields. Long had found the work unfamiliar and difficult, and readily joined the local resistance movement as a courier. He took to his duties eagerly, and spent two years running messages between units. After the first year, when he had established his reliability, he began carrying documents and small packages. As months passed, he spent more and more time with the units, camping with them and returning less frequently to his home. On the day he turned 22, Long was loaned a rifle and put on sentry duty for the first time with two more experienced resistance fighters. It started a love affair with military life. The next two years he spent doing patrols and guard duties, often acting as a rear protection party when the group went off to snipe at a French or Japanese convoy or to demolish a bridge or culvert. Sometimes, the
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group would return in haste with a French patrol close behind. They would split into pairs or threes and scatter, moving all through the night and assembling many kilometres away on the next day. It was a good unit, and Long made a point of collecting their skills and copying them as an apprentice copies his master’s methods. In 1944, at 24, Long took part in his first aggressive action against the French, guarding two sappers as they placed explosives on the supports of a metal railway bridge. They lay in wait all night for a train, but none came. In the early hours, they could wait no longer, so they blew the bridge and returned to their camp. Long was in awe of the explosion. The flash turned the immediate area into daylight for an instant. The terrible rolling thunder echoed around the narrow valley. The billowing smoke and dust blocked out the bright moonlight. But most of all, the awe was in the sheer destructive power contained in those few small blocks of what the sappers called TNT. As they left the area, the image of tangled girders and rails was etched in his mind. ‘A rifle is a powerful thing,’ Long thought, ‘but I will master those small blocks of TNT.’ In the late ’40s, Long’s unit was absorbed into the PAVN, and he attended a demolitions course. It was run at a camp up north by the Chinese border. The instructors were Viet Minh who had received their instruction from American OSS officers during World War II, when they were taught sabotage methods for use against the Japanese. The course taught Long the theory of those explosives he was already familiar with, but also introduced him to a world of new explosives, new detonating mechanisms, new timing devices and a new method of placement, which was more efficient and more effective than any he’d seen before. On his return, he was appointed leader of the regional demolitions company. In 1951, Long’s diary showed his company had encountered more than 200 targets, including three bridges, a dam, the gates of the nearby fort, several armoured cars as well as numerous culverts and power poles. And once, with the help of a long delayed-action fuse, a French transport aircraft that had made a forced landing in a nearby field.
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Soon he began to hold training courses for the other regional demolition companies and came to be considered an expert in his field. The flexible and pragmatic PAVN appointed him in 1952 as the leader of all regional demolition companies. His expertise in demolitions, his twelve years of resistance experience and his total loyalty to the Party and to his superiors ensured his success. Within a year, Long was appointed to command a tunnel complex just inside the South Viet Nam border opposite Cambodia. He was given no indication of what the tunnels were used for and no reason why he had been selected for the task. He simply said goodbye to his wife and left for the South, where the French War raged, and the French were strong. In those days, what would one day become the Ho Chi Minh Trail was nothing more than a web of jungle paths. Long joined a small group making its way south. They trekked day after day, sleeping at whichever way-camp they happened to arrive at. Only the directions from the way-camp staff guided them. The journey took three months. When Long arrived, he understood the reason for the tunnels and the choice of himself to command them. The tunnel complex was a workshop, making mines from unexploded French shells and bombs. The workshop employed about a hundred men and women and housed all their support structure. It was a thriving, almost self-contained enterprise and it produced a handful of anti-tank and anti-personnel mines each week. Within a year, Long had expanded it to 400 men and women and had multiplied its output 500 per cent. As well as mines, his workshop produced explosives, detonating mechanisms, trip and trigger devices and a large variety of booby traps. Long wondered whether the workshop grew in response to the number of unexploded shells and bombs delivered to it or through his own management. Whichever it was, the operation was most successful, and Long’s superiors took further note. News of the victory at Dien Bien Phu arrived at the workshop on 1 June 1954—Long’s 34th birthday. Once the French started with-
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drawing, the flow of incoming ordinance slowed, and the operation wound down. Group by group, he released his local workers to return to their villages and farms. Then the next news reached him—the victory had not been fully won. The Geneva Accord simply divided the country rather than reunified it. Instantly Long knew that the war was not over. Rather than destroy the vacated workshop, he ordered it closed down, sealed up and camouflaged. All the tools and machinery the workshop had assembled over the previous three years were wrapped in oil-soaked rags and packed into crates. Entrances to the network of tunnels were blown, and the scars covered over. Within six months, he was with his family again, taking them back to Hai Phong harbour. Early in 1960, the North decided to directly support the heroic liberation effort in the South. The Central Committee recalled Long to the PAVN and appointed him to command a recruit training battalion on the Laos border near the old battleground of Dien Bien Phu. Two years later, he was once again appointed to the same tunnel complex he’d sealed nine years earlier—it was to be recommissioned. This time the trip south took only three weeks. Trucks took them most of the way. Bridges spanned rivers he had earlier swum or boated across. Gone were the steep jungle passes accessed via countless steps hacked out of the tree roots and mud. A single-lane road with frequent passing bays skirted the hills he’d once struggled up. Even where the road stopped and they had to proceed on foot, the track was now wide and well drained. A constant stream of trucks, bicycles and porters showed the major improvements that had been achieved turning the old web of tracks into the mighty Ho Chi Minh Trail. His former comrades fondly remembered Long and warmly welcomed him. They treated him like a commissar and gave him a guided tour of the newly reopened complex. Once more under Long’s guidance, the workshop was soon producing a steady stream of adapted ordnance.
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After two years, he was appointed 2IC to a regiment in 9th Division and spent the following year operating in War Zones C and D. The American imperialists were starting to help the reactionary puppet regime, so armed confrontation was inevitable. Long understood the NLF was expanding and this meant there would be a need for more regimental leaders. He could best serve the cause, he felt, by being ready to assume more responsibilities. His view was confirmed. In January 1965, Long received his next appointment. A brand new regiment was to be formed and ready for service by May. Long was appointed its leader. Two existing experienced battalions formed the basis of 275 Regiment. These were divided into three new battalions, reinforced with new recruits and given the identifiers H421, H422 and H423. Three heavy weapons units joined the regiment, adding the firepower of four AAMGs, eighteen 75/82mm Recoilless Rifles (RCLs) and nine 82/120mm mortars. In late May 1965, 275 Regiment crossed the border into South Viet Nam and started a month-long journey that took them in a wide arc north of Saigon through Tay Ninh, Binh Long, Phuoc Long and Long Khanh Provinces to Phuoc Tuy. At their final destination of Nui May Tao, they refurbished the former Viet Minh hill sanctuary. A few soldiers retained for the purpose had kept the old complex clean and operational. Caves full of stores had been regularly checked and the stored weapons regularly cleaned and oiled to prevent rust in the humid conditions. It took less than two months to clean up the area, refresh timber supports and camouflage and to extend the installations. In August 1965, the regiment’s battalions were out in the provinces, bringing the Liberation message to the people and terror to the puppet forces. Long’s first meeting with his new division leader had been a month after Tet, 1966, when the two leaders and their senior staffs had held planning meetings. The private meetings between the two after the official meetings each day had been relaxed and pleasant. Each knew of the other but they had not met previously. To Long, Quang appeared a man driven to succeed. His reputation for
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thorough planning and preparation was certainly borne out in the recent series of planning meetings, but there was something more. Something indefinable. Something that made Long uneasy. A certain fanaticism, yet it seemed to come from within rather than from the Party textbook. ‘Whoever first called him “The Cobra”,’ Long mused, ‘must certainly have known the man.’ Quang, on the other hand, had came away from the same meetings relaxed and confident. In Long, he had an excellent and well-rounded leader, loyal, calm and placid, a professional soldier, well in control of his regiment and its battalions, and capable of handling any task given him. He did not have the same good feelings for Chinh, the leader of his other regiment, whom he had not then met. By reputation, he appeared a smooth operator, well connected politically, fiery and very ambitious. The last few days’ meetings had done nothing to change Chinh’s reputation, nor Quang’s feelings about him. In the dark, Quang grinned to himself. He couldn’t hear Hai’s approach. Nor could he recognise who it was. His only warning was the moonlight glowing on the steam rising from what he knew would be two mugs of sweet tea. ‘You’re getting old, my friend,’ Quang said in a low voice. ‘Back in Cambodia, you’d be beside me before I knew you’d arrived.’ Hai, an expert bushman, knew what had given him away. ‘Back in Cambodia,’ Hai matched the voice, ‘I’d bring cold tea. Here, the kitchen’s closer.’ They laughed easily as Hai squatted beside Quang. They each took their first testing sips from their scalding mugs. Throughout all those years in Cambodia, Quang’s closest companion had been Hai, the training camp’s protection force leader and recruit training supervisor. Over many sweet teas or beers, on many evenings like this, the two had discussed all things—beyond even the unwritten boundaries separating leader and comrade. Quang related to Hai as he thought his friend Giap had related to
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him. Not as superior to subordinate. Not as senior to junior. Not even as expert to novice, for they each had their own skills and strengths. No, the relationship was more one of two edges to the same ruler, two sides of the same coin. Wherever they went in their talk, one always seemed to complement the other. Each always had the answer to the other’s question, the rejoinder to the other’s quip. They were close, beyond mere friendship. As close as either of them had ever come to having a brother. True comrades-in-arms. Hai was the soldier’s soldier—tough, cool and competent. The only son of a peasant farmer, he had been named Manh, meaning ‘strong’. True to his name, the lad had matured early and, even as a boy, had been nicknamed ‘Hai’, meaning ‘number two’—second only to his father in the household. As a youth, prior to the Japanese time, he had carried messages for the local resistance fighters in his Red River valley village. Surviving the flood and famine of 1945, which wiped out the rest of his family, he became a full-time fighter. In nine years of fighting before the French left, Hai had been wounded three times, once seriously, but no wound had interfered with his enthusiasm for the struggle. Precise and decisive, but with no leaning towards leadership, he had remained a comrade soldier, but an expert in his craft. He excelled in every part of his soldiering. Politics and strategy were not for him. Tactics and the cameraderie of the struggle were his life. In a Western army, he’d have been a senior NCO—a warrant officer. He was easygoing in the manner of someone who had experienced the worst difficulties of life and had overcome them. He also had the air about him of someone who would make firm and close friendships with those with whom he entrusted his life. And Quang was one of those. Hai took Quang not as a senior leader to fear and blindly obey, but as one to respect, serve and defend. Quang accepted the compliment and, in his way, returned it. The two had agreed that when Quang moved on from Cambodia, Hai would be with him. And so it had happened. When Quang received the order to join his division in Phuoc Tuy Province, it had been Hai who put together
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the protection party and conducted him safely to his command in the May Tao mountains, deftly evading the attack from 173rd Airborne Brigade near the village of Ap Trinh. The two squatted in friendly silence, sipping their tea and waiting to see if anyone else turned up. It had been Quang’s habit, started while in Cambodia, to spare some time most days for Hai and himself to sit quietly, out of the way, to discuss the day’s events or the week’s procedings. Gradually, a few other senior leaders and staff began to join in and, within months, it had become something of an unofficial institution. It was a forum in which the less well informed could ask questions of the better informed and get the Party answers without the usual repetition and chanting format of the formal Party classrooms. It was easier to be relaxed in the dark. Always immediately after sunset but before full dark, after the cooking and eating had been done, after the official activities had been completed, after the no-lightsand-no-fires curfew had taken effect and before everyone went to bed. Since coming to Nui May Tao, the meetings between Quang and Hai had continued, but much less often. The new meeting place was a rocky outcrop from which the view of the sky and stars was unlimited, and there was a sweeping vista across the jungle canopy southeast all the way to the South China Sea. From the rock you could look out over the clouds that often covered the valleys below— the clouds which scudded around the mountain rather than pass overhead and which gave Nui May Tao its name in Vietnamese, ‘the Mountain of the Moving Cloud’. The rocky outcrop was the highest of a line of peaks running in an unbroken series from the jungle floor all the way to the top of the Nui May Tao. The ridge was named Doi Cot Long, the Dragon’s Backbone Hills. So far, the senior leaders and staff at the new camp were only just beginning to become aware of the informal meetings. Some had showed up on previous occasions. But no one else turned up tonight. ‘So, after the recent meetings,’ said Quang, ‘what’s your opinion of the division’s readiness?’
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While the leaders had met during the day, Hai had spent a great deal of his time moving among the members of the other units, listening, watching, observing. He spoke to many of them, particularly the more junior leaders, and had formed opinions concerning morale, what they thought of their leadership, how they viewed their state of training and equipment—all the things soldiers talk about with other soldiers the world over. ‘The division has two very good regiments,’ replied Hai. ‘Morale is good. So is the state of training. We have the latest equipment, even if we don’t have exactly what the Party says a regiment should have. What we have will be more than enough for victory.’ ‘What about D445?’ ‘Probably the best provincial battalion I’ve seen. Most of its members have served in the same unit for many years, so they are very close comrades.’ ‘D440?’ ‘Almost as good but not quite. A little weaker in experience, but as much fight as a wounded boar.’ The two talked for another hour, long after the mugs had been drained. As they returned to the camp, they agreed that they had the best damned division and the best supporting forces in the South. When the call came to strangle Saigon, 5th Division was exactly the teeth the dragon needed! ‘And I deserve it,’ thought Quang as he prepared his hammock. ‘I’ve worked hard for this, as befits a man born in the Year of the Ox. I’ve tilled my fields all my life, and planted the seeds of my own success. Why should I not now enjoy the bountiful harvest that is due to me?’ The leader of D800 Battalion, comrade Ngoc, read the orders couriered from his regimental leader, Chinh, with unmasked joy. He was being given an independent command, which made him extremely happy. His company leaders, squatting around him in the shady creek bed, saw the smile and looked at one another. Whatever else it meant, they knew when ‘Soi Dau’—the bald one—as they
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respectfully called him behind his back, laughed at an order from regimental HQ, it meant D800 was going independent again. No one actually knew how old the bald one was, and he wasn’t about to tell anyone. Every day, he shaved his head, keeping it completely bald. His soldiers suspected it was to cover his greying hair. He was probably the oldest man in the battalion, they guessed, maybe even the oldest in the regiment. Yet for all his age, they conceded, he was tall and straight and agile. And none of them had seen him out of breath at the end of even the longest marches or the hardest training. Lean and fit, Ngoc had soldiered for all of his life that he could remember, and for as long as that, he’d enjoyed it. And in his opinion, the further he was away from all higher leaders the better. He looked at the men gathered around him and grinned. ‘D800 will remain here while the regiment goes into Long Khanh,’ he said. ‘Our task is to observe the area around Courtenay and note the movements of an expected imperialist force. As they move, we shadow them, but no contact. They’re lending us a radio and two operators and they want a report once daily. If we need to send couriers, then one to regiment and one direct to Colonel Quang at division—they’ll be nearer to us than our own leader will be.’ That sort of informal reporting was common among the units within the one division or even within the one regiment. When communications were slower than radio contact would have allowed, the arrangement sped the flow of information up as well as down the line. Immediately, the D800 Battalion HQ group started to organise a patrol and courier schedule that would cover their need to keep track of a large American operation over several weeks and several dozen square kilometres.
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THE AUSTRALIANS ANNOUNCED
Early April 1966
The radio message from D800 was sent, as instructed, to both regimental and divisional HQs. Received at Nui May Tao just after midday on 1 April, the once-only code was deciphered immediately. Quang read it within minutes. Always aware the enemy could monitor their broadcasts and use direction finders to locate their position, radio messages were always short and without detail. This one read, ‘Large enemy force into Courtenay March 31. Couriers sent.’ ‘So they were right,’ Quang thought. ‘The Americans were once again entering Phuoc Tuy Province.’ He walked over to the province map hanging on the hut frame beside his ammunition box desk and cleared all the pins off it. The tags on the pins marked items of particular interest he’d tracked over the last few weeks, but this would take precedence over them all. On a scrap of paper he wrote ‘31 March’ and ‘US’, then pinned the paper to the map at Courtenay, where Route 2 crossed the province border. Quang carried the map from his hut and hung it on the blackboard in the dugout meeting room. The next day, just after 2 00 p.m., the D800 courier arrived at Nui May Tao and was shown in to the meeting room. Quang called for 54
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Kiêt and his senior staff leaders. They were expecting the call, and gathered immediately. The courier was not at all overawed at facing these senior leaders. Other than the fact they tended to be older than the average, there was little to set them apart from any other comrade, except for Kiêt and his khaki NLF uniform. ‘Thank you for bringing us your valuable report. This is comrade Van. He is the leader of my intelligence section.’ Quang indicated the man standing beside the blackboard—a solid young man with an almost Chinese complexion. ‘Please relay your report to him.’ Quang moved to the side of the room and seated himself between Tien and Kiêt, but noticeably this time closer to Kiêt. The three sat, watching the proceedings and exchanging whispers from time to time, but leaving the questions and notes to Van. First, Van asked the courier to relay his message. The courier squatted—a position taken by the Vietnamese when invited to relax. Balancing on his ankles, with arms outstretched and resting on his knees, he stared into the distance beyond Van and the blackboard in front of him. He started to recite the message he’d committed to memory before his journey began and that he’d repeated to himself again and again as he’d run at an easy lope towards this meeting. ‘The road convoy was many hundreds of vehicles of all types. It took three hours for them to pass.’ Van held up his hand and scribbled on the blackboard, talking as if to himself. Travelling at a safe speed, yet dispersed for security, there’d be one vehicle every maybe twenty seconds on average, three a minute, 180 an hour, so that’d be 540 or so vehicles—let’s say 500. If 50 per cent were carrying troops, allowing for jeeps, armoured cars, tanks, supply trucks etc., that’d be 250 troop trucks. If each carried 20 men, that’d be 5000 men—more than a brigade—suspect a division. He nodded to the courier to continue. ‘Helicopters flew overhead, but not many.’ They’d be for control and protection, Van surmised, not for carrying troops. ‘The convoy entered the north of the Courtenay plantation but did not leave the south.’ There’s an airstrip within the plantation,
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Van knew. They’ll be securing that and flying in any other troops and supplies they need. ‘Was there any artillery towed behind the trucks or armoured cars?’ asked Quang. ‘Yes, Comrade Colonel. Some, but we didn’t count how much.’ So they had some fire support. There’d be more flown in, no doubt. Van nodded again. Just then, Quang’s radio operator entered the room, passed a piece of paper to Quang and left again. Quang read the message and frowned but said nothing. He handed the paper to Kiêt and waved to the courier to continue. After reading it, Kiêt returned the paper to Quang. His sombre expression remained unchanged, with the possible exception of one eyebrow. ‘The villagers who were close to the road said many soldiers wore a badge like this’—he drew on the ground a shield with a large vertical bar. ‘This,’ he said, pointing to the bar, ‘was red in colour.’ So this was the US 1st Infantry Division—their nickname ‘The Big Red One’ sewn onto their uniforms for all to see. When we last heard of them, thought Quang, they were fighting our comrades in War Zone C. Our 9th Division had stood toe-to-toe with the Americans despite their superior firepower and had given a good account of themselves. The tactic of getting in close if you couldn’t get away had resulted in many comrades dying for the cause, but there had been numerous American dead, too—the number of helicopters with the Red Cross on the sides pointed to a lot of sorry mothers in America. So now they’re at Courtenay looking for another fight! The courier then described how the empty trucks had left, but the tanks and many armoured cars had stayed. The helicopters again protected the convoy. The next morning, before the courier had left to bring the details to Quang, he had seen the columns of armoured cars and tanks leaving Courtenay on and beside Route 2 heading south. So the operation was directed at Phuoc Tuy, which lay to the south of Courtenay. We’d been able to control and restrict civilian traffic on Route 2 for several years now, thereby isolating
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the hated reactionary Catholic settlement of Binh Gia from markets both north and south, and had been able to tax the road users at will. ‘The gun base must still be at Courtenay,’ Van conjectured. Assuming the guns are mainly the 105mm Howitzers they normally use, with a range of some 10 or 12 thousand metres, then the operation will probably stop at Binh Gia. Still, that includes our sanctuary and storage areas on the western side of Route 2 between Courtenay and Binh Ba. ‘Have couriers been sent to Binh Ba and Hat Dich?’ ‘Yes, comrade. Both. And one went to Long Phuoc to tell them not to move north of Binh Ba.’ ‘Good.’ All unit leaders will know by now and will have moved their bases back to Hat Dich or at least away from Route 2. We’ll keep our people east of the Song Rai until they’ve gone, too. ‘Anything further to report?’ ‘No, comrade.’ ‘Thank you. You’ve done well, comrade.’ Van dismissed the courier, who rose and left the room. Tien rose and moved to the blackboard. He traced his finger down Quang’s map, following Route 2, and voiced the strategic implications they were all considering. ‘If there’s a division-sized operation being mounted south from Courtenay, then what does this mean?’ he asked the blackboard. Turning to Quang and Kiêt he said, ‘To open Route 2, they’ll have to push south all the way to Ba Ria.’ The sweep of his hand more than halfway down the map dramatised a 30-kilometre advance. ‘This means the operation will have to clear Binh Ba and Hoa Long.’ He turned to the board. ‘If these two major settlements are to be cleared, then there will have to be puppet or imperialist dogs left in the area afterwards. If not, the puppets will not be able to secure the villages, much less hold Route 2 open.’ He looked at Van. ‘Do we know of any puppet or imperialist forces being relocated to Phuoc Tuy?’ ‘No, comrade Tien, none that our agents have identified yet.’ ‘I know what you’re thinking, Tien,’ said Quang, standing and
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moving to the board, ‘and I think you are right.’ He unfolded the message his radio operator had given him and waved it at everyone in the room. It was the latest intelligence briefing from COSVN—the weekly summary of everything the vast informer network throughout the country had passed to Hanoi in the past seven days. In Hanoi, it was coupled with the latest relevant political and international news gathered by the Central Committee’s Central Research Agency from news sources around the world. All the intelligence items were collated and edited and passed down to COSVN each week. The COSVN Propaganda Secretariat further edited it to only include those items relevant to their own forces in their own administrative regions within the South before passing it to their formations in the field. A small paragraph was circled on the paper. Quang read out loud: News release from international newswire services: Australia has committed a second infantry battalion plus support troops to Viet Nam when its present commitment of one battalion is replaced in May this year. The two infantry battalions will operate independently of South Vietnamese and American forces, and will be based southeast of Saigon in the province of Phuoc Tuy. The whole room seemed to suck in its breath. The implication was not lost on any of them. Two battalions of mercenaries permanently based somewhere in the province. That would be a significant addition to the puppet forces in the province. In fact, it would treble them. Quang put into words the concern in every mind. ‘This will change all the plans we’ve discussed in the last few days. However, let us not reap before we sow. First we will deal with the present American operation while we find out more about the Australian mercenaries. Then we will look at what will be required to neutralise them when we are called on to cut Route 15.’ Quang turned to Van. ‘Have your intelligence section collect the facts on the Australians and give this group a briefing in three days
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time. We need to know more about how they operate. If they’re like the Americans, they’ll set up their base near Ba Ria, use puppet troops for defence and have a battalion out in the province most of the time. Chinh has operated against them in War Zone D—talk to him. See if there’s anyone on the hill who’s had anything to do with them. There may be some comrades among the couriers who have fought the Australians.’ Couriers from D800 arrived daily at 274 Regiment HQ in Long Khanh and at the 5th Division HQ on Nui May Tao. They brought updates on the American operation. On Nui May Tao, the reports added to Quang’s map, building a picture of what was happening along Route 2. The dated pins showed the advance’s speed and the width. The Americans had moved south, clearing both sides of Route 2 out to 5 kilometres either side. They had cleared Ngai Giao and Binh Gia, and had moved on to Binh Ba [grid 4070]. Once secured, the guns had been moved from the Courtenay base to a new base at Binh Ba. The reports confirmed the soldiers protecting the gun base were not the imperialists, who would have formed a perimeter of mines, barbed wire and pits, and who remained static. These were troops in green floppy cloth hats instead of steel helmets—Australians—and the reports said that at Courtenay and again at Binh Ba, they saturated the area around the guns with small squad- and platoon-sized patrols every day. Over the same days, Van, the intelligence section leader, had found only one person on the hill who claimed any direct contact with the mercenaries. He had been in Tay Ninh Province when the imperialist 173rd Airborne Brigade came into the area, and troops with floppy hats had been operating with them then. ‘We believed they were Australian, not American. They look the same but they operate very differently. We did not know much about them, but they did not use the imperialists’ tactics when they were in War Zone D. They patrolled aggressively but quietly, and in small groups. Their
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method was to move rather than set up static camps. We found them unpredictable.’ From earlier COSVN intelligence briefings, Van had learned the Australians called their battalion-sized unit ‘1RAR’. Van followed the daily courier reports, listening particularly for reports of the gun protection troops. The courier reports said many comrades in reconnaissance parties had come into contact with these floppy-hat patrols, and they had lost several comrades. The couriers said their comrades had changed to moving at night, but found there were ambushes set all around the gun area, sometimes out to 5000 metres. They couldn’t get close enough to set up their mortars. They couldn’t even get close enough to identify where the guns were or how many of them were there. While Van was disappointed with the results of his search for anyone who had actually faced the mercenaries, he made good progress in otherwise assembling his background briefing. He had put out the request to all units on and around the May Taos for anyone with any knowledge of Australia to contact him urgently. Two members of 275 Regiment and one political cadre had responded. As 275 Regiment was based between Nui May Tao and Xuyen Moc, Van had visited each of the sources and taken notes. One had been a history teacher in Saigon before joining the liberation movement. Another had been conscripted into an ARVN unit under two Australian advisors in the Central Highlands for a year before rallying to the reunification cause. The third had worked in COSVN’s South East Asia Political Analysis group in Cambodia for two years before crossing the border. Several others had offered second- or third-hand accounts of the Australians. Of these, Van selected only those that seemed accurate, since there appeared to be the usual level of misinformation about the unknown Australians. Finally, Van had leaned upon his own background in intelligence and had looked back through all the COSVN intelligence reports he could find. All in all, he was happy with what he had assembled for his briefing.
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The evening sky remained clear in the first half of April. By early May, the evenings would be beginning to cloud over, building up to the monsoon season. But until then, Quang and Hai were still able to enjoy their informal meetings on the rocky outcrop near the main camp, above the Dragon’s Backbone. In the last few weeks a handful of others had noticed the meetings and had joined them, mug of tea in hand. In the rigid instructional meetings that occupied at least part of most days, the senior leaders selected the topics for the meetings, and the comrades understood they were there strictly to learn or to reinforce things previously learned. Unless invited or instructed to do so, no one other than the leaders would speak. Except, of course, to recite slogans or chant responses to chanted questions. The discovery that at these informal meetings there was no subject set to be discussed was an exciting one. Anyone could ask a question or raise a matter. The answer would be revealed without the need to memorise another set of chanted responses. Each attendee quickly understood that, while the location and formality were relaxed, the Party line was still strictly followed. They would have expected no different. None of them, in all their lives, had ever experienced even the possibility of questioning their leaders or the Party. It was simply not an option anywhere in their whole upbringing. Although the meetings were really a forum where the collected wisdom of leaders could be passed to others in a less formal setting, and perhaps because of it, Quang found the meetings were building the same kind of bonding he’d built within his leadership team in Cambodia. First Van, the intelligence section leader, had noticed the meetings and quietly joined in, just happening to be there when the other two arrived. Then Tien had turned up. About a week later, Dinh, the reconnaissance (recce) company leader, had come along, at Van’s suggestion. Then, at Quang’s invitation, Kiêt also came. His somewhat brooding presence around the HQ had resisted any attempts to get close to him. While not regarded with fear, his
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remoteness certainly hadn’t invited friendship. Quang had thought perhaps the informality of the ‘sweet tea ceremony’, as it was becoming known by the initiates, might help bind the team. The first time Kiêt came he arrived, mug in hand, just before dark and squatted on the rock platform with the others. In the dimming light, Van had asked Tien, ‘You’ve been in the Central Highlands. What is the fighting like there? How soon do you think we will be given the signal to cut Route 15?’ This had triggered a half hour of discussion that started with Tien’s own experiences operating with the Liberation Forces around Dar Lac and Da Lat military regions three years earlier. He described the rugged terrain and tricky weather patterns. He told them of the difficulties caused by the fierce and independent Montagnard hill tribesmen, who fought for neither side—and often against both—in their struggle for independence from the racially and culturally different Vietnamese. Quang and Dinh had each added to the discussion. Kiêt had remained silent in the darkness, listening, evaluating and judging, but not speaking. The discussion then turned to the war generally. They all believed it was going well for the Liberation Forces and much of the South was already under Liberation Force control. They believed the two campaigns ordered by Giap would force a conclusion by the end of the year. They believed this because their political cadre had told them it would be so. It was the less politically aware Hai who turned to Kiêt in the darkness and asked, ‘Commissar Kiêt, if either campaign is not complete within this monsoon season, will we fight until next monsoon?’ Quang, being politically astute, had an immediate vision of his best friend, Hai, being instantly marked for re-education by an offended Kiêt. Such questions could easily be read by a political commissar as a lack of faith in the Party line, with severe consequences. But Kiêt knew enough of Hai to understand his question would have been raised with tactical rather than political motives. He handled the question superbly. ‘I will tell you what Sun Tzu says,’ Kiêt said quietly. ‘“When you
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do battle, even if you are winning, if you continue for a long time, it will dull your force and blunt your edge.” He also said, “I have heard of military operations that were clumsy but swift but I have never seen one that was skilful and lasted a long time.”’ In the dark, and with the thin crescent of the moon not yet risen, no one could see if his expression changed. Neither could anyone observe the broad smile that broke out across Quang’s face. Partly, it was a smile of relief for his friend Hai. But much more, Quang was delighted to have this support from his political cadre. A short, swift campaign was exactly what he wanted. And it was exactly what he planned. It was comforting to believe Kiêt would support a bold plan if it meant a coup that might shorten the campaign. The sweet tea ceremony broke up soon afterwards. Quang returned to his hut and pondered the new threat to his destiny—the Australian mercenaries. ‘If they arrive in Phuoc Tuy before we need to take and hold Route 15, then we may have to eliminate them,’ he mused. He drifted to sleep wondering just how much risk Kiêt would be prepared to trade for a swift end to the war.
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THE AUSTRALIANS ASSESSED
5–10 April 1966
Half an hour before noon on 5 April, Van set up the dugout meeting room for his presentation to Kiêt and Quang on the Australians. Right on time at midday, Quang entered and took the centre seat in the front row. Kiêt was already seated, to one side as usual. They had each required certain members of their staff to be there and had opened the invitation to others. The room was full. Everyone now knew about the Australian mercenaries coming to Phuoc Tuy, and they were all curious about their new enemy. Van took the floor and called for silence. ‘I will first show you where Australia is and why it thinks and acts like it does.’ The intelligence section leader turned to the blackboard and drew an ‘S’ shape representing the coast of Viet Nam. Talking as he drew, he placed a cross for ‘Hanoi’. Inside the lower curve he placed a second cross and said, ‘Saigon’. He then continued the ‘S’ into the sweep of the Gulf of Thailand and then on diagonally southeast to Singapore before retracing the line northwest to Burma. He marked in a cross for Singapore. Below the finger of land representing Malaya, he drew Sumatra, then Java then a string of islands 64
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diminishing eastwards. Above Java and east of Singapore, he drew the large island of Borneo and again a string of islands diminishing eastwards. At the end of both strings of islands, he added New Guinea. Below everything from the east end of Java to the east end of New Guinea he placed a big blob—‘Australia’. Off the southeast coast, he added a sausage shape and said, ‘New Zealand’. Turning to his notes, Van continued. ‘Both Australia and New Zealand were colonised by the British, but not in the same way as the French colonised our homeland. Here, we are many, and we resisted them. But there, the native populations were few and were no match for the British guns and numbers, so they were soon conquered. Since the establishment of British control, the Australians have had no internal wars. ‘However, both countries have been involved in all the wars their British fathers fought. This has taken them to China, South Africa, Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, and all through South-East Asia and the Pacific Islands up until the end of what they call World War II. After this, they fought against our Chinese and Korean comrades in support of the breakaway South Korean government, and later still they were fighting against our comrades in Malaya and against Indonesians in Borneo.’ He turned and shaded the areas of operations in Korea, Malaya and Borneo. ‘Finally, Indonesia annexed the western half of New Guinea.’ Again, Van shaded the area on the blackboard. ‘You will see Australia would have viewed this sequence as intimidating. Now consider: Indonesia has a population of nearly 100 million, but Australia and New Zealand combined have only about 12 million. They would be unable to resist any invasion of their territory without the help of a powerful friend. ‘Since their World War II, Britain’s power has been dramatically reduced. Though Britain fought in Korea, that was an American war. When Britain fought against our comrades in Malaya, it was the end of her strength in Asia. She has since withdrawn from the region. Australia and New Zealand can no longer depend on Britain for help in Asia. Their obvious next ally is America.
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‘Since 1945, America has maintained bases in our region—in Korea, the Philippines, Diego Garcia and the Pacific. They have bases in Australia, but do not have troops and equipment there. This is the reason Australia and New Zealand are sending troops here—to support America so that America will support them if Indonesia invades them. ‘It was the American imperialists who asked Australia and New Zealand to send their mercenaries to Viet Nam. And America will be responsible for their safety in this war. America cannot afford to have the Australian and New Zealand mercenaries wasted. They are, for America, the only proof that there are others in the world that support America’s interventionist position in Viet Nam.’ ‘So, how did they become involved?’ ‘In May 1962, Australia announced it would support America in Viet Nam by sending a small party of military instructors. This became the Australian Army Training Team, Viet Nam, known by its initials AATTV, but they refer to it just as “The Team”. ‘In June 1964, Australia built The Team to 83. The additional advisers started to arrive in July. In April 1965, Australia increased its troops in Viet Nam with an infantry battalion of 800 men and some supporting units—some artillery, the armoured cars they call APCs, and some radio, HQ and supply units. These began arriving in June 1965. They have been operating with the American 173rd Airborne Brigade, based at Bien Hoa. ‘Early this year, America asked Australia for more troops and Australia agreed. On 8 March they announced they would replace their infantry battalion with two more and provide other troops—I’ll detail these soon. But they wanted their soldiers to operate alone— not with Americans. They wanted an area of some significant activity so their contingent would be seen to be doing their share. They also required that their area not border Cambodia, Laos or the DMZ. And they needed access to a seaport, since their troop and supply transport would be by sea. ‘This suited the Americans. We now know the Australians will operate in Phuoc Tuy Province. According to the Australian press,
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their first replacement troops will leave Australia on 22nd April. It took one month from the announcement of the few additional advisers to their arrival. It took two months from the announcement of the battalion to its arrival. I think we can expect a two-month gap between this announcement and the arrival of the larger force. So I believe we will see the new Australian force here in May, and the remainder in June. Besides, their press also says the original battalion was pledged to serve twelve months, and this ends in early June.’ Kiêt interrupted. ‘You have the composition of the larger force?’ ‘Ah, yes,’ replied Van. He flicked to the next page of his notes. ‘So far as we know from press reports, the new contribution will be two infantry battalions and their support units. These will include an armoured car squadron, an artillery regiment, a commando group they call the Special Air Service, or SAS, more signals, engineers and supply units, and all the other things the force will need—hospital, water purification, road-building, mechanical repair. And of course they will need a command unit. Their military structure is like ours. If they had three infantry battalions they would have a regimental HQ, which they call a brigade. However, since they will only have two battalions, they will have a scaled-down HQ unit. According to the press releases, they will call the unit a ‘task force’. We can expect a total force of about 4500, but about half of these will be support units.’ ‘How will they operate?’ Tien, the operations leader, asked. ‘Let me tell you what I can of Australian tactics. What I have found out about how the Australians operate comes from comrades in 5th and 9th Divisions who have operated against them in the last year and from our agents who have told us what their advisers are teaching the puppet dogs. ‘Unlike the Americans, the Australians operate on a small scale and prefer longer timeframes. The Americans arrive in force, move quickly and leave. Wherever the Australians have been responsible for their own sector, they split up into many small patrols and go slowly and quietly in their area. If they can, they return to areas they have already been. They do not keep regular routes or
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routines. They do not move on tracks and they do not camp beside water. ‘When they patrol, they keep loose formation and do not gather up. They often use some camouflage but rarely are they heavily camouflaged. They are silent on patrols and do not talk, smoke, play music or fire their weapons at will. Their fire control is as good as ours. We can get the imperialists or especially the puppet forces to expend all their ammunition in the first hour of a firefight, when we will have only used one or two magazines each. The mercenaries appear to be like us and will conserve ammunition where they can. ‘On their own operations, they can patrol for four or five days without a resupply but when they’re with the Americans, they get a resupply every third day. ‘They are lightly equipped—they do not use metal helmets or bulletproof jackets. And their counter-ambush drill is surprising— they face the ambush and attack. ‘When we saw them in the Iron Triangle, they were not afraid to enter our tunnels. They explored them with only a torch, a pistol and a bayonet—something the other Allies had not done until that time. We lost a lot of stores and installations to the Australians in the Ho Bo Woods. ‘When they operate in the villages, they behave as soldiers and do not mix with the villagers. We have had no reports of Australian soldiers being cruel to civilians or shooting them. In fact, where they operate near a village for a period of time, they often help the villagers with medicine, food, and with small building and repair projects. ‘At their base camp at Bien Hoa, the local people are not permitted inside. In the American bases, our agents mix with the workers who clean the camps and cook and do other duties. They go through the contents of waste paper baskets from the Bien Hoa airbase. We are always able to confirm the orders for American operations—the ones we obtain from our agents at the American HQ in Saigon. In this way we can be sure our agents are not sending us false
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or misleading information. But we have not been able to get our agents inside the Australian part of their base camp.’ ‘So—can we surmise they are good soldiers?’ asked Quang. ‘Yes, they are good soldiers. However, they are not perfect soldiers. A comrade in an American hospital advised us their first Australian casualties had self-inflicted wounds—a grenade detonated as a soldier was getting off a truck, and there were fifteen casualties, of which four died. We can also make a comparison, man for man, which will show we are more than a match for the Australians. ‘Their main infantry rifle is a heavy weapon. It has a long barrel, awkward to handle in the jungle. It is semi-automatic only and has a magazine holding only twenty rounds. Our soldiers have AK-47s— much lighter and more compact, with a simpler firing mechanism. They can be fired on full automatic, putting more rounds onto the target, and our magazines hold 30 rounds. For all the size and weight differences, the velocity, range and hitting-power characteristics are much the same. ‘Their squad machine gun is the awkward American GPMG M-60. It was developed for mounting in static defence and is not well suited for mobile operations. It uses a link belt that has to be fed into the gun by a second man. If the belt is dropped onto the ground, it collects sticks and leaves between the rounds and frequently jams. Our squad machine gun is lighter and is magazine-fed, so it only needs one man to operate. The rounds are kept clean and rarely jam. The operating principle of ours is simpler so we have fewer stoppages and, when we do get them, they’re easier to clear. Again, despite the differences, the rate of fire and the range are similar. So man-for-man, we’re better armed than they are. ‘We know the country—they don’t. We’re used to the temperature and the climate and the monsoon—they aren’t. We don’t have all the equipment they carry, which may be a disadvantage for our comfort, but it is an advantage in a firefight. We can move further and faster than they can, and we can hide more easily. We may be hungry at times, but we are fit and lean and can put up with hardship. They are large and slow-moving targets, sometimes unfit,
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and often their discomfort distracts them. So man-for-man, we’re better in the field than they are. ‘When they get here, their soldiers will not be experienced in the Liberation War. For us, even the most junior comrade has years of personal experience in the conflict. Due to the recent expansion of their forces in order to come here to fight, most of their leaders and senior commanders have only recently been appointed to their new roles. So man-for-man, we’re more experienced and better qualified in our roles than they are. ‘We are fighting for the reunification of our homeland. They are mercenaries. They are fighting because their government sent them here to get political favours from an ally. So man-for-man, we’re better motivated and committed to our cause than they are. ‘Finally, the Australians represent only a tiny part of the total Allied military force of about one million—when their Task Force arrives, they’ll represent less than one half of one per cent.’ ‘Yes,’ interrupted Quang, ‘but that one half of one per cent will all be in my rice field.’ A ripple of laughter circled the room, which Quang acknowledged before he asked, ‘Where will they build their base?’ ‘Judging by their previous experience, we can discount many options.’ Van turned the blackboard around and drew the province outline. As he talked, he shaded out the eliminated areas. ‘The Australians at Bien Hoa do not let the local people into their base. If we assume this is a policy, then we can eliminate all settled areas.’ He shaded out Vung Tau and a sweep from Ba Ria to Dat Do [grid 4555]. ‘They will not set up base on swampy or low-lying land.’ He shaded out the rest of the Vung Tau peninsula and the coastal area facing the delta. ‘They will not isolate themselves on hilltops, nor will they let their base be dominated by hills.’ He shaded out all the hill areas and the 5000 metres surrounding them—Nui Thi Vai, Nui Dinh, Long Hai and, with a laugh, Nui May Tao. ‘They will require good all-weather roads for their armoured cars and for their trucks.’ He drew in Route 15, Route 2, Route 23
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and the road from Hoa Long to Long Tan to Dat Do, then shaded out the areas more than 5000 metres from those roads. ‘The American operation on Route 2 shows this might be the most likely road,’ he said, pointing to Route 2 on the blackboard. ‘They will want permanent fresh water.’ Using blue chalk, he drew in the Song Cau, Suoi Da Bang and the Song Rai only in the areas still unshaded, then shaded out areas away from the rivers. ‘They will not take up productive rice growing areas, nor will they do anything that interferes with the Binh Ba or Courtenay rubber operations—these are the basis of the province’s economy and will not be disrupted.’ He shaded out the map from Binh Ba north and all the paddy field areas. ‘They want to clear the province, dominate it and control the population. They can’t do this from the edge of the province.’ He shaded out from Xuyen Moc eastwards. ‘This leaves two areas. Of these, the area where Route 23 crosses the Song Rai is less central to the province, is low-lying and requires a longer supply route from Vung Tau. Besides, the river is tidal so the water is salt, not fresh. The Australians will not choose there. Leaving only one area for their base. North of Hoa Long, there’s a little hill called Nui Dat. North of Long Tan village there’s a second hill, also called Nui Dat. The Australians will choose between those two locations. They will not choose the low-lying area in between. ‘Nui Dat west [grid 4065] is on Route 2, but it is only 3000 metres from the edge of Long Phuoc and Hoa Long villages [grid 4060]. Nui Dat east [grid 4565] is worse—only 2000 metres from Long Tan [grid 4565] and far away from Route 2. ‘I remind you of the significance of these three villages,’ he added, pointing to Hoa Long, Long Phuoc and Long Tan. Many families of our comrades live in them. Long Tan is the operations base for our comrades in D445. It is not a large village, only 1000 people, but it has many storage facilities. Long Phuoc is three times as large as Long Tan, at 3000. It sits next to Hoa Long, where the puppet regime’s Long Le district administration is located. Hoa
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Long has 4000 people. It is a government village, a new town, and has a puppet garrison. We do not fully control it, as we do the other two. Still, it is a significant tax and supply source for our forces. ‘If the Australians set up their base at either of the Nui Dats, they are likely to clear the people out of one or more of these villages. Because Hoa Long is the largest and is already a government centre, they are not likely to move it. My prediction would be Nui Dat West because of the road and the ability to defend the Long Le district administration outpost. I think they would just work around the close proximity of Hoa Long and Long Phuoc.’ Quang interrupted as he came to his feet. ‘I agree. The rubber plantation there is disused, so there would be no disruption to the local people. The site doesn’t take up any working rice, fruit or vegetable land. The puppets would approve it. There’s enough room to place 2500 to 3000 men and for them to build an airstrip. There’s good all-weather access for armoured cars, and it’s central to the province. Besides, we know the Americans are clearing it right now.’ Quang paused for the buzz of agreement. Turning to Van, he said, ‘I want a detailed map drawn up of both Nui Dat hill areas. When do you think the two battalions will arrive?’ ‘Late May or early June, Comrade Colonel.’ ‘Then let us have the maps by 5 May. A month. I want as much detail as you can get—show existing roads, buildings, wet areas, high areas, cleared areas, everything. Hills and surrounds.’ With that, he thanked Van and the meeting attendees, walked out and returned to his hut. The early threads of a plan were forming in Quang’s mind. Things were falling into place despite himself. His uncertainty about not being the single person to cause the puppet regime’s collapse was becoming less important. At his disposal, he had seven experienced and battle-hardened battalions, and the whole Australian contribution of two raw and untested battalions was coming to operate in his area. If a divisional leader took advantage of opportunities, he pondered, he could fulfil a long-standing destiny . . .
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Quang smiled, lay back in his hammock and closed his eyes. He could still picture the old woman’s face as she said ‘You will have a unique opportunity to achieve the greatest glory and honour . . .’ I’ll be the man who eliminated one country’s whole contribution to the puppet regime’s reactionary war. Not a bad glory and honour, he thought. ‘Your own detailed planning will influence the result.’ Yes—I will have in my hands a detailed map of both Nui Dat areas before the mercenaries arrive, Quang promised himself. Whichever hill they choose, I’ll have them covered. Almost reluctantly, he roused himself, reached for a notepad and began writing the things he needed to put in place to help his destiny along. His first note was to have 274 Regiment put a battalion on the Nui Nghe feature [grid 4070] overlooking the Nui Dat hills, and await the mercenaries’ arrival. He would instruct the battalion to avoid contact with the American operation in progress in and around Binh Ba—better to leave the bees alone and get ready to swat the fat flies. He would be ready for the Australians when they arrived. Couriers from D800 Battalion continued to arrive at Chinh’s 274 Regiment HQ and at the Nui May Tao divisional HQ with their reports of the imperialists’ progress. Once the new gun base had been set up at Binh Ba, the imperialist troops continued south, all the way to Hoa Long. Route 2 had now been cleared, and the blown bridges and culverts were being repaired. Quang’s map recorded the progress in pins and dated slips of paper. On 6 April, the courier reported a disturbing new tactic. Not content with their patrolling and ambushing, the floppy hat soldiers had cordoned off the township of Binh Ba and, with a puppet unit, searched it. The puppet unit took away everyone who did not have the correct identity cards. ‘We know they have taken away fifteen of our comrades,’ the courier had said, ‘but about fifteen others were also taken away. Perhaps they were draft dodgers or outlaws?’ The reports became even more disturbing. On the 10th, a courier arrived with the news that on 7, 8 and 9 April, the puppet
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forces, with imperialist help, removed the entire population of Long Tan village—all 1000 of them. They’d been relocated into several main towns, including Hoa Long, Dat Do and Ba Ria. The villagers had been removed at short notice with only the possessions they could carry, then the village had been destroyed. Return to the village was forbidden, and a random pattern of artillery was being fired into the village day and night to discourage anyone seeking to disobey the puppet regime directive. Like all bad news, this had spread across the camp on Nui May Tao by nightfall. That evening on the rocky outcrop, Quang and Hai were joined at the sweet tea ceremony by Tien, Van, Dinh the recce company leader and the ever-silent Kiêt. The peaks of the Dragon’s Backbone, soft in the moonlight, seemed to be stepping up out of the mist gathering in the valley below. It was calm and peaceful. In total contrast to the topic being discussed—the clearance of Long Tan village. ‘A disaster,’ said Van, shaking his head in despair. ‘We’ve had a very important part of our intelligence and supply network drastically disrupted. It’ll take us months to recontact all our agents and re-establish our communications. A total disaster!’ ‘A catastrophe,’ agreed Tien. ‘Our regional force comrades will be ineffective for weeks. Those with homes in Long Tan will need to help their families repair the damage. Even those without homes in Long Tan will need to return to reassure their families. We’ll have to change the operational plans for D445, D440 and all the local village cadres.’ ‘A calamity,’ said Hai. ‘All those families moved. All those homes and gardens destroyed. All that property lost. And why? What possible advantage can destroying an undefended village bring the puppet regime? Why do they choose to fight women and children and old men? It’s cowardice!’ ‘A nightmare,’ echoed Dinh. ‘The whole province will see we have not been able to protect one village. How will they think we can protect the whole province from the same misfortune?’
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They sat in silence, sipping at their mugs. It appeared there was nothing more to be said about it. ‘A magnificent victory,’ declared Kiêt quietly, ‘and we didn’t have to lift a finger to achieve it.’ Five faces turned towards him, visible in the soft light of a nearly full moon. He was smiling. ‘The puppet regime has taken a thousand of the most proLiberation comrades in Phuoc Tuy, given them an additional and grievious burden and relocated them into every main population centre in the province. Anyone undecided before now will be sympathetic and supportive. They’ve been promised compensation. If it ever arrives, it will be less than promised and, anyway, it will be inadequate. The memory of this event will last for years. Within a week, we’ll have more recruits than we can handle. We couldn’t have planned a better blow to the puppet dogs’ popularity.’ The final courier arrived at Chinh’s HQ and at Nui May Tao on 11 April, bringing news that the enemy forces had left on the 9th without finding anything of significance. Nor had they had a major battle—except if you count the village clearance. Other than the village, no major supply hides or installations had been lost. The greatest loss of comrades was in clashes with the floppy-hatted mercenaries around the gun positions. They thought they had lost twelve men, with some others so far not accounted for. At 274 Regiment HQ, Chinh pondered the operation but did not have the news Quang had received about the Australians coming to Phuoc Tuy Province. After the last courier advised the operation’s end, Chinh’s staff discussed it. All the right questions were asked: ‘The imperialists have not left any garrison or outpost behind. When we return, we will once again dominate Route 2 and control the villages. Why did such a large force clear the road for over 20 kilometres, rebuild it, and then depart without leaving behind any protection? We have since stopped road-users and questioned them, but they have not told us anything different.’
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Chinh puzzled over the implications. These operations must be very expensive for the imperialists—keeping 5000 troops out in the field for two weeks with vehicles and aircraft and guns firing in support—and all for no apparent return. No new town had been returned to government control. No new access had been made to previously comrade-held areas. No security had been added for Route 2 users. Other than to clear the village, what had this operation gained for the Americans and their puppets, the Ky regime? Nor did he understand the clearing of Long Tan, other than the fact that the puppet regime’s lackey, province chief Colonel Dat, had wanted the village eradicated ever since he’d found out it was D445’s operational base. It wasn’t until the courier arrived from Quang with his new orders that Chinh found out about the Australians. He called for his operations and intelligence leaders and the three discussed the role of the Australians in the recent operation. The key fact they all noted—all three of them—was that by the end of the operation, the Australians had caused the more casualties than the rest of the imperialists combined. The Australians, who were supposed to be protecting the guns in the rear, had been the dangerous element. Why? And more importantly, how? The three concluded—again unanimously—that it was through their aggressive small-unit patrolling and ambushing around the gun base. The Australian mercenaries were a different kind of enemy and would need to be handled in a different way, all agreed.
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MAPPING AND MOVEMENTS
11 April–11 May 1966
A fourth person pondered the lopsided results for the first phase of Operation Abilene, as the clearing action had been codenamed. At his desk in the 173rd Airborne Brigade base at Bien Hoa, the newly promoted Major Mike Davis read and reread the Big Red One’s preliminary After Action Report. The dull statistics did nothing to detail what the Australians had really done. It simply tabulated the body-count results, and it was obvious who’d inflicted all the VC casualties. ‘Goddamn,’ he exclaimed good-naturedly, ‘the Australians were supposed to be behind all the action, protecting the guns. How come they’d had all the contacts?’ According to the report, America’s 1st Infantry Division had swept through what was described as the NVA 5th Division’s home turf and hadn’t had one significant contact with a Main Force soldier. Not one! Their analysis suggested the NVA had withdrawn in the face of the Big Red One, to avoid a fight. Mike nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, sure. With three other provinces to control, the more likely reason was they simply weren’t home.’ He put down the report and chuckled with genuine delight. 1RAR—a single Aussie battalion—had killed more VC in their fire 77
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support base-patrolling and ambushing than the entire American division—with nine battalions—had killed in their whole operation. ‘Something to be said for the Aussie method of operations,’ he thought, but it had to be seen in perspective. ‘The whole American army couldn’t turn to “lurking in the jungle” as Colonel Serong, the Aussie AATTV commander, had said the Australian forces would do. Who’d face the VC companies and battalions? Who’d face the Main Force regiments and divisions when they made their appearance, as they were beginning to do? No—these tactics suited the small scale of Australian operations perfectly. The Aussies didn’t have the mobility or the fire support to maintain large-scale operations, but give them a limited area and less-limited time and they’d do the job, and they’d do it well,’ he considered. The Big Red One had terminated phase one of Operation Abilene on 9 April, and 1RAR had been returned to 173rd Airborne. By 13 April, 173rd and 1RAR were out on Operation Denver in War Zone D, doing search-and-destroy operations in Phuoc Long Province north of Bien Hoa. The First Infantry Division had returned to Courtenay to sweep the jungle areas surrounding the large rubber plantation. With a wry smile Mike wondered if the Big Red One would improve their body count on the next phase of their operation. It wasn’t a critical view—Mike understood the need for the large divisional-sized sweeps. He also knew how successful the US 7th Cavalry had been in II Corps when they had used largescale numbers, mobility and firepower to great effect against their opposing NVA units. But Mike had developed considerable respect for the slow and thorough Australian operational style. After all, he’d spent six months rubbing shoulders with them. Since joining the 173rd in late October 1965, Mike had spent the first six months as a captain commanding a combat company. He’d been with the 173rd on operations all over III Corps and sometimes even outside the corps area. On many operations, he’d served alongside the Aussies and had mixed with them socially when at base. He liked them. He found their typically easygoing approach matched his own mid-West-bred openness and zest for life.
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He had even engineered with his battalion commander to go with the Aussies as a liaison officer on one of their operations. While ‘enjoy’ might not fully describe the experience, he had learned a lot and come away with a high regard for their alternative view and technique of combating the VC. The 173rd, like numerous other American units, rotated as many officers as possible through field command roles. To achieve this, they had their platoon and company commanders serve six months in the field, and then serve the remaining six months in base or other roles, passing field command to another officer. Mike’s six months in the field ended in mid-April, halfway through Operation Denver. He handed his company over to his replacement in the field and returned to Bien Hoa on the next resupply chopper. Back in base, his first task was to swap his silver ‘railroad track’ captain’s insignia for the gold oakleaf major’s insignia. With his new rank came fresh orders—a posting as 173rd’s liaison officer to the new Australian task force base at Nui Dat. This was a job Mike was looking forward to. 1RAR’s tour of duty would end in late May. The advance party of the replacement battalion, 5RAR, was already in Viet Nam—at Bien Hoa—preparing for the unit’s arrival. Mike would join them immediately and would be their liaison with 173rd on their first operation, Operation Hardihood. Both units would clear the Nui Dat area in Phuoc Tuy Province. Once cleared, the newly established Australian Task Force HQ—known as 1ATF HQ—would move in, and Mike would transfer to them for the rest of his time in Viet Nam.
As Mike Davis pondered his new posting to Nui Dat, Quang’s 5th Division was busy mapping it. In mid-April, comrade Dinh led his divisional recce company into the area of the tiny hill—Quang had called it a feature—whose crest sat just 200 metres from the onceagain-closed Route 2. They had with them an old provincial military map they’d captured when 275 Regiment had virtually destroyed the
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52nd ARVN Ranger Battalion at Binh Gia five months earlier. As well, they had a prismatic compass, obtained from a dead officer when they’d ambushed a patrol in War Zone D a month before the Binh Gia operation. For a week, they plotted the distances and directions of all the features on and around the hill. From the north of the disused rubber plantation to the northern outskirts of Long Phuoc and Hoa Long villages, and from the Song Cau in the west to the Suoi Da Bang in the east. Everything was plotted onto a large-scale sketch that was then divided into 100-metre squares. Three-man teams were sent to report in detail on what was within each square. They wrote the information onto a patchwork of exercise book pages for assembly into a complete map back at base. On 22 April, Dinh considered he had all he required for a detailed map of the western hill and its surrounds. He formed up the recce company, crossed the Suoi Da Bang and camped overnight at the recently cleared and now deserted village of Long Tan. He then spent a further four days mapping the eastern Nui Dat area. In view of the clearance of Long Tan village, the Australians may just do the unexpected and select the eastern hill for their base. He thought Quang was prudent to have ordered both hills mapped. On the large-scale military map, Dinh noticed several more hills were marked ‘Nui Dat’. This was logical—nui dat is Vietnamese for small mountain, a description rather than a name.
Mike settled in with the 5RAR advance party. He found them keen to learn the ropes and they found him keen to help. When 1RAR returned from Operation Denver, he joined the party as the Aussies celebrated respective arrivals and departures. To Mike, it seemed everyone knew everyone else in the two units. When he asked about that he was told the whole Australian army had consisted of three infantry battalions a year ago and was in the process of being grown to nine battalions. The extra numbers
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were coming from a newly introduced selective national service scheme. In anybody’s terms, this was a small army. No wonder most of the officers and senior NCOs knew each other. He was with 5RAR when they received a visit from their prime minister, Harold Holt. The visit coincided with what the Australians called ANZAC Day—their special day of remembrance for all soldiers past and present. Mike was a little mystified when he found the day, 25 April, actually commemorated a defeat in the Gallipoli campaign of World War I. The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps—hence the acronym ANZAC—were under British command. They had endured brutal conditions and atrocious losses in an eightmonth battle with the Turks, from which they were eventually withdrawn, and out of that devastation, a tradition of all-enduring mateship and the overcoming of all hardships had been born. When Mike realised it was not the celebration of a military loss but rather, in a way, their celebration of independence from Britain, it added to his understanding of the Australians’ way of thinking. ‘We still like the bastards,’ one young officer slurred over his beer that night, ‘but from then on, we knew we could just tell them to bugger off if we wanted to. We didn’t owe them any more—they owed us.’ It also explained the special relationship that existed between the separate nations of Australia and New Zealand. Between them there was always a friendly rivalry and goodnatured name-calling. It seemed to be a matter of ‘us’ against the world until there were only the two of ‘us’ left—only then do they need to decide which of the two ‘wins’. The New Zealanders had an even smaller army than the Australians and, the Kiwis, as the New Zealanders were known, specialised in artillery units, one of which, 161 Battery, was part of the Australian/New Zealand commitment to Viet Nam.
On the morning of 27 April, Dinh and his recce company left Nui Dat East and returned to Nui May Tao. He and his team spent the
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next seven days drawing all the information onto two large sheets of paper—one map for each Nui Dat. The only sizeable sheets of paper he could find were the backs of the pages of a huge wall calendar for 1965. These proved highly suitable because they were thicker than the average paper and would resist the humidity and moisture. They also rolled up well, so would not disintegrate when travelling. Smaller-scale copies were then made for the operational units. By 2 May, Dinh was ready to present his maps to the division leaders.
In early May, Mike flew from Bien Hoa to Vung Tau to inspect the site where 5RAR would acclimatise and train on American methods and equipment. The area would become the 1st Australian Logistics Support Group (1ALSG) base, and the first arrivals were already settling in. The logistics base was being set up in a deserted and remote area of sand dunes on the east coast of the Cap Saint Jacques peninsula, a few kilometres north of Vung Tau. The choice of site could hardly have been worse. The whole area was a finger of soft and moving wind-swept sand dunes between the peninsula’s low mangrove swamps and the South China Sea. No roads or even tracks had been laid out, and the place looked like one giant rubbish dump, which in fact it had been before the Australians’ arrival.
On 4 May, the leader of D800 Battalion, Ngoc, took a radio message from his regimental leader, Chinh. It advised that Chinh was sending the deputy leader of 274 Regiment and the regiment’s recce company, along with the regiment’s second radio set, to D800 Battalion. There would be new orders for the battalion on their arrival. Ngoc knew the deputy leader, Thiem, and the recce company leader, Tuyen. They were good men. This must be a mission of some importance, he thought. Until they arrived, Ngoc was to move his
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battalion to the Nui Nghe feature. There, he would occupy and refresh the old base camps but avoid any contact with American or puppet forces at all costs. Thiem and Tuyen would meet them at Nui Nghe on 10 May. The other two battalions of 274 Regiment, plus regimental HQ, would remain in Binh Tuy Province to re-establish LF dominance there after the American presence in the rice bowl area of Vo Dat in order to protect the harvest. After this task, they would return to Phuoc Tuy.
Having seen the 1ALSG site, which left him mightily unimpressed, Mike flew back to Bien Hoa to help plan the first 5RAR operation. Two battalions of 173rd would fly into the Nui Dat West area and, with the Australian APCs, secure it. 5RAR would join them a week later to take over. 1ATF HQ would then occupy Nui Dat, and the American forces would leave. Within a month, the second Australian battalion, 6RAR, would join 5RAR at Nui Dat, and the task force would start its own operations.
D800 Battalion’s move to Nui Nghe was uneventful—they were on the feature by 8 May. Ngoc had each company reoccupy the old base camp diggings and, behind a screen of sentries, refresh the camps. They replaced camouflage, cleared new fire lanes, dug new latrines and replaced any rotting timber in the bunker roofs. An observation post was set on the hilltop, and a telephone cable was run from there to the battalion HQ halfway down the hill on the north side. Early warning could be given of any helicopter or light aircraft approaching. Nui Nghe was a jungle-covered hill, twice as high at 200 metres as Nui Dat West. Surrounded by undulating and lightly forested foothills, it rose above their canopy to give an almost unbroken view
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over the province. Its position was its major importance—it was the hub of most of the track systems in the province. It linked the Nui Thi Vai and Nui Dinh hill systems with Binh Ba and the installations further north, as well as linking the populated areas of Ba Ria and the villages of Hoa Long, Long Phuoc and Long Tan with the Hat Dich installations. On 10 May the 274 Regiment recce company was met by the D800 recce platoon 2000 metres north of the hill and several thousand metres to the west of Binh Ba. They were guided in to avoid the booby-trapped areas and were settled into one of the prepared camps. The recce platoon then escorted Thiem and the recce company leader, Tuyen, to the battalion HQ. Ngoc, Thiem and Tuyen greeted each other in the camp clearing and moved immediately into the command post bunker, a slightly smaller replica of Quang’s dugout meeting room on Nui May Tao. Thiem opened an exercise book to a page of notes he’d made at his last meeting with his leader, Chinh. While he was doing this, several other officers joined the group, including the battalion deputy leader, the political cadre leader and the operations section leader. Using his notes, Thiem passed Chinh’s orders to the D800 leaders. He gave them the latest intelligence—that the Australian commitment was to be doubled and that it was expected to be located in Phuoc Tuy. He then briefly explained the reasoning Quang and Van had used to determine that the most likely place the Australians might place their base was around the Nui Dat West feature next to Route 2. The likely arrival date was somewhere from mid-May to mid-June. D800’s orders were to stay on Nui Nghe and await the Australians. The imperialists would probably provide security for the initial move in, and D800 would avoid all but defensive action until they had departed. Once they had gone, the regimental and battalion recce units, with protection parties, were to observe the new base. Chinh needed to know the precise extent and composition of the force and the unit placements within the base. When the base
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layout was known, an attack plan would be drawn up, with a view to eliminating the base entirely before it was fully set up. The listeners relished the idea of such a bold plan. Better to eliminate a new base early than to give it time to establish its defences —wire obstacles, minefields, trenches and bunkers, supporting fire plans. Experience of attacking puppet-force compounds had shown that the earlier they were attacked, the better the results. Not only were the defensive systems incomplete, but the defenders usually lacked confidence when behind inadequate preparations. They often made poor decisions—sometimes even running from the attacking forces. The combination of inexperienced defenders and incomplete defences was a long-standing recipe for LF success.
On 11 May, Mike met the 5RAR commanding officer, the aptly named Colonel Warr, and gave him the letter of introduction from the officer commanding 173rd Airborne. The letter specified Major Mike Davis as being 173rd Airborne’s liaison officer with the new 1st Australian Task Force HQ once it was in place at its Nui Dat base, and would 5RAR kindly host him until he could make the move to 1ATF HQ? Colonel Warr eagerly welcomed Mike aboard. Mike’s first task was to handle the liaison with the American Chinook aviation units for the battalion troop lift to Nui Dat later that month.
On the rocky outcrop near the Nui May Tao base, the irregular sweet tea ceremonies were still well attended. In the month since Kiêt had first come along, he had become a frequent, if still reserved, contributor. In fact, Kiêt and Tien had formed an unlikely alliance, Kiêt, voicing the political aspects of any discussion and Tien voicing the military aspects. They often gave two sides to the subject being discussed, with Quang having a voice in either—and sometimes both—camps. It often fell to Van, Dinh or Hai to be the ones to
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raise the evening’s discussion by asking a question or making an observation. That night, 11 May, the discussion started with Van’s remark about the reconnaissance of the anticipated Australian base. This led Hai to ask, ‘Why do the Australian mercenaries want to prevent our reunification?’ The simple question opened the door for one of Kiêt’s favourite topics. ‘The reason the Australian mercenaries are in Viet Nam is to buy future favours from America. It is a mercenary arrangement for them. The real question is why America is at war with our liberation movement.’ Even Tien looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘But Commissar Kiêt, we know the Americans are imperialists. They want to expand their empire into Asia to replace the French.’ This was the standard Party line, taught to all resistance fighters. ‘When a child stands in the rain,’ said Kiêt, ‘and asks, “Where does the rain come from?”, do you explain the process of evaporation from the ocean and the formation of the clouds and the movements of the trade winds and the atmospheric pressure that causes condensation, or do you simply say, “From the clouds”?’ He paused. ‘What you have said, comrade Tien, is the true but simple explanation for their presence. It is what we tell our fighters because it is true. As true as the answer that the rain comes from the clouds. But I will now tell you the more complex factors at work. These are matters we do not explain to the comrades because the result is the same. ‘The real reason America is at war,’ said Kiêt, ‘is to be at war. What else would explain why the Americans helped set up Ho Chi Minh in 1945, helped throw out the French in the 1950s and then helped set up the South? They helped instal a socialist government in the North and then helped instal an anti-socialist government in the South. The situation it created is exactly what they faced in Korea— a strong socialist North and a weak anti-socialist South. War was inevitable.’ ‘But surely their leaders would have recognised this?’ asked Van.
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‘They would have—that’s the point. Look who they have running the war. Henry Cabot Lodge, US Ambassador to the puppet regime handed Algeria to the communists. Edward Lansdale, CIAcontrolled US adviser to the Diem regime and now to Ky, removed the anti-communist French from Viet Nam. These two men now control the American war in the South. Why these two—each with a history of yielding to or even actively supporting the socialists? ‘How do you explain why wherever America is not supporting socialists, they are at least allowing their liberation movements to proceed? Ghana, Congo, Indonesia, Algeria, Cuba, the Dominican Republic. All examples of where the Americans appear to be on the side of our comrades. This was true no matter which political party was in power. Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson—all observe the same policy, Democrat or Republican.’ ‘But,’ Van persisted, ‘if the Americans support socialist regimes, why do they support Chiang Kai Shek? Given that he has half a million men and is experienced in fighting communists, why does America not use them here? They would have ample motivation. Their adversary, China, sends 70 per cent of the aid received by the North, as well as sending us advisors. Why are the Nationalist Chinese forces of Formosa being kept out of the Viet Nam War?’ ‘That’s a good question,’ agreed Kiêt. ‘But let me ask you another. Why was Chiang Kai Shek also not permitted to join the Allies in the Korea War after the Red Chinese entered? You might remember the American 7th Fleet patrolled the Formosa Straight then, as they do now. Why?’ Van shook his head. ‘It is to prevent Chiang Kai Shek from attacking China,’ he answered his own question. ‘America is protecting Mao Tse-Tung’s China from Chiang Kai Shek.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because that would lead to a serious war against communism, one that would be out of America’s control. The Formosa Chinese do not know how to play the “limited war” game. If they were to wage a war against the communists, it would be a full-scale war,
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unlimited and unrestricted. America cannot allow this to happen. America wants an ongoing limited war. One that will last for years. That, comrades, is what stands between us and reunification.’ The group fell silent. The sheer mindlessness and implacability of America’s opposition to them had alarmed them. Almost as one, they rose and numbly returned to their huts.
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CONFLICT AND CLEARANCE
12–23 May 1966
The communications web between NVA Main Force units and smaller VC units was tenuous at best. Radio links were established between senior leaders at divisional and regimental level. Some battalions used radios from time to time, mostly for special operations, but radios didn’t generally exist below battalion level. District and village forces relied on couriers for their contact with the other forces in the province. Consequently, the information in one unit might be as much as a week out of date. The LF and government forces recruited from within the province had reached an unspoken agreement—offensive action between each other should be avoided. Members of the same family often fought on opposing sides due to conscription, peer pressure and circumstance rather than political or ideological leanings. In many cases, neither was committed to either cause. And neither wanted to harm the other. Most soldiers—on both sides—just wanted their families to survive the war. However, beyond local actions, each side considered enemy forces from outside the province to be legitimate targets. The war went on against a backdrop of hope that those killed and wounded were not members of their own extended families. 89
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These two factors—poor communications and a preparedness to kill the enemy if he wasn’t local—were thrown together on 12 May 1966. On that day, the Long Phuoc village guerrilla company placed an ambush on the road between Hoa Long and Ba Ria. A sympathiser in the village of Hoa Long had provided the information. A visiting Saigon official had stayed in the village overnight and would be returning by road on the morning of the 12th. He would be in a small convoy protected by a platoon of puppet dogs from Saigon. The ambush had been classically successful. At 9.12 a.m., a large command-detonated mine destroyed the front truck, along with many troops on board. With shrapnel and debris still raining down around the convoy, a second commanddetonated mine blew the back wheels off the last truck, again killing many troops inside. Machine-gunfire raked the vehicles in between, killing everyone in the two jeeps. The middle truck, riddled with rifle and machine-gunfire, exploded in an oily fireball a few seconds after the last man jumped clear. The dazed survivors of the first 30 seconds of firing sought refuge in the ditch on the other side of the road, and the ambushing company leader ordered ‘cease fire’. As the firefight’s last echoes returned from the nearby Nui Dinh foothills, the leader touched a wire to a battery. Six antipersonnel mines detonated, and the ditch disappeared in a swirling mass of dust and smoke. Just 60 seconds after the first mine exploded, only five government soldiers remained alive, and all of them were wounded. The Saigon official’s body lay on the road beside the leading jeep. The company rushed to the wreckage to retrieve the weapons, documents and equipment. They were pleasantly surprised to find two working radio sets and four spare batteries in the only intact vehicle—the second jeep. Taking the radios, batteries, documents and all undamaged weapons, the company withdrew. They didn’t have time to search the dead in the ditch. The whole action had taken just three minutes—not as long as it took the reaction force to assemble and leave the Hoa Long ARVN compound.
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The guerrilla force returned to Long Phuoc and hid the radios, documents and weapons. By noon, they were all at their normal work in the town’s fields, gardens and workshops. Any neighbours and workmates who may have noticed them away from their work that morning could be trusted not to tell anyone—even under torture. That night the father of one of the company’s comrades, who had been a radio operator with the Viet Minh, showed them how to use the radio sets. Two days later, the company set off to Binh Ba to replenish its store of explosives. The ambush had used up their entire month’s supply, but they were confident they’d get an extra issue when they handed in the captured radio sets and the government official’s documents. They were aware the imperialists had left a month ago, and were keen to check for damage in the village’s LF cadre. They spent the 15th and 16th of May in the Binh Ba rubber plantation, sending out small groups to contact the resistance sympathisers, but the news was bad. All of their key contacts had been rounded up in the cordon and had been taken away. Not only did they not have a resupply of ammunition and command-detonated mines—they had no one to receive the radios and documents. On the morning of the 17th, they were returning to Long Phuoc with the radio sets when the imperialists landed two battalions of helicopter troops between them and their home village. From Nui Nghe, Thiem and Ngoc saw the helicopters fly into Nui Dat West and begin to clear around the hill. They watched the pattern of air activity, counted numbers and listened for gunfire. They weren’t aware of any comrades in the area, so weren’t expecting the imperialists to have any contacts. Taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity, the Long Phuoc leader spread his force and advanced his company on a broad front until they spotted the imperialists. They thought there were about a hundred in the group. The leader allocated a squad with one radio to
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follow them and took the rest of the company in a running hook around their flank to get in front of them. The Americans were moving slowly east from Route 2 on the Song Cau’s north bank, heading towards a nondescript small rise 1500 metres ahead. The guerrilla force beat the Americans to the rise and set up an immediate ambush. The following squad kept the leader advised of the Americans’ position and formations. At one stage the squad thought they’d been spotted by the rear imperialist elements, but they didn’t react, so the squad ignored it. The guerrilla leader had time to site his ambush. He placed one platoon on the hill crest as his main stopping force. He then placed two groups, each of two squads, on each flank. They would swoop in from the sides once the stop group opened fire. He left the remaining squad to protect the 60mm mortar team, who set up their only mortar directly behind the stop group. The ambush was set up five minutes before the first imperialists came into view. At 3.30 p.m., the leader fired the first shot. The whole stop group fired a magazine each, reloaded and paused. Caught in the open, the Americans went to ground and sought cover from their front. They called for artillery support. At the sound of firing, the two flank groups swept around, catching both enemy flanks by surprise. With the Americans covered on three sides, the guerrilla leader saw the extent of the imperialists’ position and ordered the mortar to fire. Twenty rounds—all they had with them—were fired in quick succession, two or three mortar rounds in the air at once. Later bombs were aimed by seeing where the earlier bombs landed. The fire was accurate. The results were deadly. It stopped as quickly as it started. With no advantage after the element of surprise, the guerrilla leader blew his whistle and his unit withdrew eastwards at a run. There’d been no casualties to his company, and no equipment had been lost or left behind. The rear radio party circled to the north and was waiting for them when they regrouped 300 metres to the northeast. Together, they headed east, away from the imperialists. The first ranging artillery shots landed
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200 metres to their right and began ‘walking in’ towards the American position, stopping short of that position but covering all the ground with firepower up to it. A lot of dust and broken trees would be created that afternoon for no result. After four more salvos of artillery, the helicopters flew in. The village fighters counted the four helicopter runs with satisfaction— with five or six casualties per helicopter, they must have inflicted 20 to 25 casualties. From the top of Nui Nghe, the leaders from 274 Regiment and D800 Battalion listened to the contact. At first they thought it might be an accidental firing of one enemy unit on another, but when the artillery started firing, they decided their comrades from a local district or village unit were involved. Whoever they were, they’d certainly done their job. The observation group counted the Red Cross helicopters and assessed the damage to the imperialists at maybe 25. They hoped their comrades had cleared the area without loss. In a brief radio transmission that night, Thiem advised Chinh and Quang that the imperialists had flown into Nui Dat West and that a clearing operation was in progress. They added that one of the enemy units had taken casualties in a firefight against unknown comrades on the first day.
From his canvas-tent office with the 5RAR advance party at Vung Tau, Mike Davis followed the progress of the 173rd Airborne Brigade operation to his north. He was too far away to listen in on the radio but he received the daily operation reports and the After Action Reports sent out by his brigade HQ. From them he learned the contact had been with B Company of 1/503 Battalion. Their casualties had been eight killed in action (KIA) and 23 wounded in action (WIA), five of whom were not evacuated. It was a hard start to the operation, and one Mike knew could well be repeated. After all, they were clearing an area that had never been cleared
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before, even by the French. The ARVN had not ventured off the main roads in five years. Of the three nearby villages, Mike knew the first, Hoa Long, was government-controlled only to the extent the VC permitted it to exist for their own purposes. The other two villages, Long Tan and Long Phuoc, were known VC territory. Mike flicked past his own orders for the operation and onto the operation intelligence briefing papers. He found the page headed ‘Villages in the Operational Area’, where he scanned down to the entry for Long Phuoc village: The village of Long Phuoc was a Viet Minh stronghold during the First Indochina War. The French were unable to gain control of either Long Tan or Long Phuoc, so they built a series of forts along the lower part of Route 2 and concentrated on defending the road rather than subduing the population. Long Phuoc comprises some 650 buildings and is home to about 3000 Vietnamese. It is, in 1966, probably the most influential VCdominated town in the province, notwithstanding it stands next to the village of Hoa Long, which contains the Le Long district administrative HQ. The border between the two villages is not officially defined. ‘Yeah,’ Mike muttered to himself, ‘but you can bet the ARVN and the VC know what territory belongs to whom, even down to the last garden plot and hedgerow.’ He continued reading. The Australians have selected the Nui Dat hill on Route 2 for their base and have made the removal of Long Phuoc and Long Tan a condition of their arrival in Phuoc Tuy. Our 1st Infantry Division cleared Long Tan village in April. Mike put down the briefing papers. The clearing of Long Tan village had taken the VC by surprise, he knew. They had been unprepared and didn’t put up any resistance. They’re now warned.
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The clearing of Long Phuoc village will be an entirely different matter. He picked up his own orders for the operation and took in the details. He was to fly up to the Nui Dat area tomorrow and join the first Australian army element to operate in the area—the APCs of 3 Troop of the cavalry unit they quaintly called ‘The Prince of Wales Light Horse’. He knew them from Bien Hoa, where he’d visited their mess and been entertained with stories from their colourful history. ‘Well,’ he grinned, recalling the get-together, ‘you can hardly have a name like that and not have a long and colourful history, can you?’ An hour later, and with his orders read and understood, Mike started to pack.
On the morning of 19 May, the Americans formed a cordon around Long Phuoc village. They took up their own positions to the north, east and south and placed the Australian APCs, with Mike included as liaison officer, on the west. With the cordon in place, the ARVN entered the village. Mike had his own radio set and a list of 173rd Airborne frequencies and callsigns. He’d get the command net from the Australians. He flipped through all the other frequencies, listening in to whoever was involved in the action at any given time, thus maintaining an overall view of the clearance. The operation did not start well for the Allies—a command-detonated mine killed one ARVN soldier and wounded several others. The push into the village continued and became a running gunfight with VC in tunnels, bunkers and trenches—at first against the ARVN, but soon against the American forces, too. The clearance operation lasted for four days. It was as if the VC were making up for not having defended Long Tan. The civilians were vocal in support of the VC, yelling warnings to them and sometimes getting in between the VC and the Allies to give the VC time to disperse. Civilians were collected, herded onto government
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trucks with whatever possessions they could carry, and then taken to the nearby villages of Hoa Long, Dat Do, Long Dien [grid 4055] and Ba Ria for rehousing and resettlement. The VC refused to give in until their tunnels and bunkers were collapsed under the APCs tracks. Many bunkers were crushed and many tunnels collapsed, but still the VC popped up, squeezed off a few rounds and disappeared. The attrition among the Allied forces was unstoppable. No single battle emerged—rather a series of running contacts that dragged on and on, day and night. When the last unwilling civilians had been evacuated, the Allies drew back from the village and called in airstrikes. Phantom jets strafed, bombed and napalmed the village for two hours. When the Allies re-entered, they found the VC had finally departed. It was rumoured a tunnel extended from Long Phuoc, under the Suoi Da Bang to Long Tan, and that this had been used for the VC withdrawal. Whether or not this was true, it was a fact that the last VC defenders escaped, and the village was thereafter deserted except for the occasional unauthorised civilian access to search for missed possessions and personal effects.
Next day, the news of the forced evacuation of Long Phuoc reached Nui May Tao. It was another bitter blow, following so closely on the evacuation of Long Tan. It became the topic of a thousand hushed conversations, each one ending with the heartfelt conviction that the imperialists and their mercenaries would have to be firmly punished for their arrogance and interference. The sweet tea ceremonies were gradually changing. Since his open talk about why America was at war, Kiêt seemed more ready to join in the discussions. Recovering from his malaria, bout by bout, his solemn, brooding reserve was gradually being replaced by an equally solemn but much friendlier presence. He seemed to realise the informal meetings were a perfect venue for his subtle— and often not so subtle—political message. Quang was calm about
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this, knowing he’d have to master the workings of the Party’s political mind by the time the war was won. Kiêt wouldn’t have become the division’s political cadre commissar unless he had echoed the Party line down to the finest detail. He’d be a good master, Quang decided. Tonight’s discussion started with the ruin of Long Phuoc. The talk rolled around the group but Kiêt didn’t participate. He had already stated his view—as with Long Tan, the clearance would be a public relations disaster for the puppet regime and it therefore played into the hands of the revolution. For the most part, the others reflected on the loss of the village, the disruption of the village cadre and the loss of face for the LF. All agreed it was a challenge they could not ignore. Finally, Tien directed the question to Kiêt: ‘What do you think our response should be?’ Kiêt once again came out with the unexpected. ‘There is nothing you can do about it, comrades,’ he said. ‘Leave it to “Dich Van”.’ The silence was total. Not so much from surprise as from expectation. They all knew what it meant—‘action among the enemy’—and that it referred to the propaganda war being fought behind the actual fighting. But none of them knew much detail, let alone the full extent of the Dich Van program. In the dim moonlight, awaiting his words, their eyes all turned to Kiêt. For the next hour, Kiêt spoke on how Hanoi was able to manipulate world opinion by manipulating the world press. ‘Look around you and you will see our flesh and blood comrades, the real troops in the field. This is our first army. Then we have our second army, the troops we have only on the files at COSVN— many units of up to battalion size. We send them messages and give them orders, but we have no real soldiers in these units. They’re dummy forces, used to inflate our numbers and to confuse our enemies. And finally we have our third army—our phantom army.’ Kiêt’s audience was captivated. From time to time they would see in the puppet media things they knew were not correct and they understood this happened through Dich Van. But they sensed they were about to be told things they’d never heard before.
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‘Our phantom army exists only in the imagination of our enemy’s civilians. We play tricks with the minds of their families at home. The main weapon in this campaign is the willingness of their own reporters to hear and repeat something without first checking their facts. That flaw became evident in the early 1960s and is becoming more widespread as the struggle goes on. ‘As in most forms of propaganda, the focus is on distortion, the highlighting of isolated or extreme incidents, the twisting of facts, the omission of detail and, often,’ Kiêt laughed, ‘pure lies.’ They all laughed with Kiêt at that. ‘We play on the fact that the Western press tries to control the thinking of its readers.’ Van understood but, more for the benefit of the others than for himself, asked, ‘Can you please give us some examples, Commissar?’ ‘We call ourselves the 5th VC Division of the Liberation Armed Forces and we fight in the National Liberation Front. Why do you think we use the terms “LAF” and “NLF” when we’re nearly all from the North? Should we not simply say we’re in the PAVN or the NVA? No, comrades. We use these terms to make it sound like what’s happening in the South is nothing more than a civil war. We say the war is domestic. This invites the view that outside interference must be immoral if not illegal. Either way, it sounds inexcusable. ‘We constantly feed the media phrases like “the war is unwinnable”, “kill one of us and ten more will rise up”, “life is cheap to us”, and so on. If we stress that our ultimate victory is inevitable, then we also stress that Western resistance is useless. This saps their will to continue. Hanoi is never prepared to discuss the ratio of dead—it will only discuss the rate of imperialist and puppet casualties. General Giap said earlier this year that it was immaterial how many of our own forces died—it was only significant how many Americans would die before the war ended. ‘In all of these actions, we are sowing the seeds of hopelessness in our enemy’s home. Their public opinion is our phantom army.’ ‘But,’ said Van, ‘can they not see we are strong? We outnumber them. We never attack them unless we have at least a nine-to-one advantage. How can they possibly think they can win?’
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‘Because we constantly tell them how weak we are,’ replied Kiêt easily. ‘We tell of a small, barefoot army, weak, poorly equipped but using skill, cunning and dedication to win over the big bully forces. Last year, Ho Chi Minh likened us to “grasshoppers” against the American “elephant”. The American forces within the country see we are well equipped with Soviet and Chicom weapons and ammunition, with intelligence and other support coming from China and the USSR. But at home, their newspapers tell their families our forces are few and we make up for this by cunning, using primitive weapons like bamboo stakes and homemade booby-traps. They’re told we use weapons we captured from the French or even from the Japanese!’ They all rocked with laughter, secure in the knowledge that their AK-47s were the latest model. Yes—they certainly didn’t fit the description of the ‘Viet Cong’ the puppet news media constantly fed to their audiences. Kiêt made his final point. ‘We lead the press to compare the relative geographical sizes of North Viet Nam and the United States and we invite them to agree with Ho Chi Minh’s “grasshopper against elephant” fable.’ Kiêt laughed softly as he threw the remaining tea in his mug over the edge of the rock outcrop. ‘But if they were ever to think for themselves, they would find that both countries have similar reserves of manpower at their disposal.’ He rose from where he’d been squatting. ‘Goodnight, comrades,’ he said, and walked into the night. Quang broke the silence. ‘Well. Goodnight, my small, weak grasshoppers. You poorly equipped barefoot guerrillas with your primitive weapons. I’m going to bed before you tell me you don’t have enough food to eat, either!’ They all laughed quietly with Quang as they returned to the camp.
After the clearance of Long Phuoc, Mike returned to Vung Tau and joined 5RAR as they gathered, company by company, day by day, at the Australian Logistic Support Group base. As each company
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flew in from Australia, it was allocated tents behind the beach and was slotted into the training and acclimatisation schedule. In the 110 degree days, and with the humidity oozing towards the 90 per cent mark, any activity was exhausting. It took the average Western soldier at least a week to simply adjust to the weather. Added to that adjustment was the move to a war zone, a total culture shift and the need to acquire and practise skills upon which their lives would depend for the next twelve months. How to call in American artillery. How to give directions to American choppers. New codeword systems. Issues of new picto-maps that they’d never seen before. New jargon. New weapons. New equipment. A flood of intelligence reports (IntReps) to read and digest. A new language. Even a new currency system. But most of all, Mike knew, each soldier needed to have time to simply get used to Viet Nam. The idea of being in a war. The concept that within days, some of them could be dead. The recognition of their own mortality. The acceptance of their own individual vulnerability. The small, yet at the same time vast, step from trained soldier to proven warrior. Each man had to question whether he was ready for the decisions he knew he would be called upon to make. Each man had to understand that in a few days’ time, he could have another human being in his rifle sights and that his trigger finger could extinguish a human life. Each man had to ask himself whether he was prepared for that responsibility. And each man had to be able to answer to himself ‘Yes’.
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24 May–8 June 1966
The day started off cool and overcast. The first choppers bringing 5RAR to Nui Dat reported ground mist in the valleys. As for the last few days, there had been no reports of VC activity. Mike Davis was in the last flight. Approaching Nui Dat from the south, Mike studied the general features of the area. Nui Dat was a 60-metre-high hill, longer north to south than east to west. For the most part it was jungle-covered, steeper on the west where it overlooked Route 2, with a gentler slope to its east. For 600 metres north, east and south, there was only scrub and undergrowth with the occasional clearing or overgrown vegetable garden. Beyond this, on three sides, extensive rubber plantations stretched for a further 1000 metres north and east, and 500 metres south. The plantations of rubber stopped at the east side of Route 2. On the west side, there was again just scrub, undergrowth and the occasional clearing, running into rice fields 2000 metres to the southwest. The chopper landed and Mike stepped out. ‘A nice change from the last twenty-or-so times I’ve got off a chopper in the field,’ he reflected. Those times, he was under a metal helmet and a heavy 101
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backpack, kitted up for three or four days of operations and expecting contact at any time. He touched the 7.62 short round hanging from the dog-tag chain around his neck. This time he was without webbing and carried only a Colt .45 automatic in a leather holster on his right hip. It felt somewhat decadent, exiting a chopper and not hitting the dirt. Smiling, he pulled his kitbag off the chopper and moved over to the company HQ group at the edge of the clearing. As the chopper flew off, an Aussie digger ran up to carry the kitbag for the strangely grinning Yank. Suddenly, a burst of firing chattered in the distance, answered by another burst, then a few single shots, then silence. Within half a minute the radio squelch stopped and a caller gave his callsign, then ‘Contact. Wait, out.’ Another 30-second wait, then came the same callsign, asking for a dustoff casevac. The Australians had taken their first field casualty.
On Nui Nghe, the observers noted the arrival of the helicopters, bringing more foreign troops. They also registered the volley of shots and the flight of the Red Cross helicopter.
That evening, as the 5RAR HQ group observed the silent dusk routine of stand to, Mike shared a rum-spiked coffee with the battalion’s medical officer. The pleasant tone of their whispered conversation about the day’s activities changed when Mike inquired about the firefight. There’d been a dustoff mission, so had there been casualties? Mike couldn’t see the guy’s face in the dark, but he sensed all was not well. The officer said a young national serviceman had been hit in the contact. He’d died before the chopper arrived. No enemy had been seen or heard during the contact. The medical officer was worried he may have been accidentally hit by another Australian.
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In his evening radio transmission, Thiem advised Chinh and Quang of the ongoing imperialist sweep and of the mercenaries joining them. Again, the message was kept short for fear of enemy directionfinding skills. Quang received the news with joy. It meant he was right—the Australians were going to set up base at Nui Dat West. Walking back to his thatched hut in the soft moonlight, Quang congratulated himself on his foresight in ordering the detailed maps made. Now, as soon as the Americans left, his recce teams would overlay the map with the Australian base positions, then . . . Ah, the swift and total destruction of the Australian contribution looked good from where he stood!
For the next five days—the rest of May—the 5RAR platoon and company patrols ranged further and further eastwards. By month’s end, they were searching the eastern arm of the Suoi Da Bang, closer to Long Tan’s Nui Dat than to the western one. In the first of his fortnightly reports to his superiors at 173rd Airborne, datelined 27 May, Mike told them the operation to clear the area around and between the two Nui Dats was continuing against light opposition. Contacts were few and with only small groups of enemy. He noted all contacts had been with local force VC, dressed in black ‘pyjamas’—none with Main Force enemy in uniforms. He also reported the apparently accidental death of the soldier on the 24th. Other than some supply issues, all else appeared well.
The Nui Nghe observation post tracked the changing area of operations by watching the helicopter flights. Towards month-end, Thiem
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wondered if the mercenaries were in fact clearing over to Nui Dat East in order to set up their base there. He decided to inform Quang of this if they moved into the Long Tan rubber plantation itself. However, from 1 June, the helicopter traffic seemed to be coming closer to Nui Dat West, and Thiem was glad he hadn’t spoken too soon. By the night of 4 June, Thiem estimated from the lack of helicopter movement elsewhere that all of the mercenary units were within the rubber plantation around Nui Dat West. Thiem also observed that the number of firefights had dropped as the days passed. Word about the enemy presence must be spreading among the village comrades, he thought. Now they would only enter the area if they needed to and if they entered, they would be alert and careful.
At 1ALSG base in the sand dunes near Vung Tau, the units and staff that were to become the First Australian Task Force Headquarters (1ATF HQ) had gathered and formed the structures and relationships required to take over command at Nui Dat. By 5 June, it was ready to move forward. With 5RAR and 3Troop, 1APC Squadron securing the area, the 1ATF HQ group moved by road and air from 1ALSG to Nui Dat. On arrival, Brigadier Oliver David Jackson assumed command of the infantry and armour elements, which, so far in the operation, had been acting under the command of 173rd Airborne. The task force was now a ‘going concern’, and 1ATF became officially responsible for Phuoc Tuy Province. That evening, Mike and some 5RAR HQ officers marked the event with a single can of beer each, drunk warm in the absence of ice.
Thiem and the other observers saw the helicopter and road convoy movement into the Nui Dat area on 5 June. At last, they knew for
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sure—the mercenary base had been chosen. Thiem called Ngoc, Tuyen and the D800 recce platoon leader, Anh, to his bunker. ‘We start tonight. We are fortunate—the full moon is with us,’ Thiem said. ‘The recce patrol roster has been worked out. In the first 24 hours, I want to know to within 200 metres where the forward positions are. In the next 24 hours, I want the base perimeter drawn on the map.’ That afternoon, the first patrols left Nui Nghe, embarking on the intense day and night recce patrol schedule. The three-man day patrols would inch forward with immense patience and observe the sentry points, the listening posts, the clearing patrol routes and routines. Avoiding contact, their task was to see without being seen and to return and report. If there was a contact, they were to lead the enemy away from Nui Nghe. The four- or six-man night patrols—with the aid of bright moonlight for the next week if the clouds co-operated—would approach the base’s forward lines and split into pairs. Some pairs would have lanterns to light and carry on poles across the enemy front to draw fire from the defenders. Other pairs would carry lengths of string to measure distances in the dark or to locate gaps in any barbed wire fence they found. Others would tie string to the wire then back away into cover and pull the string to create noise on the wire, again, hoping to draw fire so they could note the positions of machine guns or bunkers.
The next morning, Mike sat in on the battalion commander’s O-Group, the twice-daily formal meeting between the unit commander and his senior subordinates. In that setting, he heard the orders passing down the chain of command and the issues and administrative matters passing upwards. There also, he heard the orders from the task force commander, which specified his sequences and priorities. Jackson’s first task at Nui Dat was to set the locations for each subunit in 1ATF, and then to initiate a heavy patrol routine to secure
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the base. With two batteries—twelve guns—of 105mm artillery within the perimeter, Jackson’s staff drew a notional circle around the base with a radius of about 5000 metres. This circle they called Line Alpha. It marked the limit of the small-unit saturation patrols. The initial aim of the saturation patrolling was to deny the VC the opportunity of setting up their own indirect fire weapons and bombarding 1ATF. The ranges of these weapons were just under 2000 metres for the 60mm mortar, just over 3000 metres for the 82mm mortar and just under 4000 metres for the 57mm/75mm recoilless rifles. Heavier weapons were not expected in the provinces’ VC armoury. The 5000-metre circle also marked the practical accurate range for directed close support of the 105mm artillery fire, although its maximum range for area targets was twice as far. The 1ATF perimeter at this stage was shrunk and still necessarily loose, with some gaps left for the units that would join 1ATF in the next two to three weeks—notably the second infantry battalion, 6RAR, which was scheduled to arrive at Nui Dat on 23 June. As the new units made their way to Nui Dat, they would be allocated their positions, and the task force perimeter would expand to accommodate the new arrivals.
That same morning, 6 June, Quang radioed Chinh, the leader of 274 Regiment, telling him to gather his forces, which had been scattered across a vast part of Binh Tuy Province for the last two months, and bring them back to Phuoc Tuy. His return route would take him due south to the border near Nui May Tao, so he was to call into 5th Division HQ for a briefing before continuing to his ‘home base’ of Hat Dich. He should plan to be at Nui May Tao on 9 June Two days and nights of reconnaissance had achieved solid results. Thiem had a good idea of the base’s perimeter and had marked some machine-gun post positions. The location of known gaps and suspected unit boundaries were also noted on his map.
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The intensive recce routine would go on for at least two more days and nights. As more and more detail was collected about the base perimeter, Thiem hoped he could slip recce pairs into the base itself, to identify the types of unit, to measure internal distances and to locate any undefended gaps in the perimeter from the inside.
The whole task force base knew they were being heavily recce’d. The sustained numbers of daytime small-scale contacts was one indication. Not against local VC, but now against men dressed and equipped as Main Force soldiers. Yet they ran away. Another indication was the nightly reports of lights on the wire and noises to the front. On several occasions perimeter barbed wire had been cut overnight. Clearing patrols had seen footprints in the mud alongside the wire—the strong, even paces said they were measuring distances and directions. At this stage the 5RAR command post was a shallow pit a metre deep, surrounded by a sandbag parapet to stop the expected monsoon waters from flowing in. A canvas tent fly had been strung low between four rubber trees and pegged to the ground on three sides, with the rear flaps overlapping. The sides pegged into the ground had a course of sandbags holding them down, stopping any light inside from getting out, but allowing runoff rainwater to flow away. Inside, a wooden trestle table and 105mm artillery ammunition boxes provided the only furniture. Three cups of coffee steamed on the table. The duty officer and his radio operator were perched on the ammunition boxes at the table. Mike sat astride the third ammunition box. He had made it a habit to call into the command post at about this time each night to read up on the IntReps collected during the day, to check the operations map and to read the Operations Log (OpsLog). Mike picked up the IntRep file and flipped to that day’s report. Five entries. Three were reports from the ARVN in Ba Ria—reported
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sightings of groups of armed men, each report showing how many, where and moving in what direction. One had been crossed out with the note ‘friendly forces’, and the other two were of two groups of 100 men, each moving towards the Hat Dich area. The fourth report was sourced from US intelligence—it was a radio intercept thought to be of administrative arrangements regarding the movement of supplies from the coast near the mouth of the Song Rai. The fifth entry was a contact report from a 5RAR platoon describing the uniforms of the Main Force soldiers that they’d contacted the previous day. ‘More of the same’, reflected Mike. For days now, the IntReps had followed an identical formula. Reports of VC or Main Force troop movements, of supply and operational signals and the essence of each contact within the battalion’s area of responsibility—the ground between the wire and Line Alpha. Closing the IntRep file, Mike glanced up at the map. One look confirmed the high level of interest being shown in the fledgling Australian base. Each report of lights or noise on the wire and each place where a clearing patrol had recorded signs of VC work outside the wire had been marked on the map in red chinagraph. Also marked were all reported instances of cut wire, and the time and grid reference of every contact. The whole perimeter was dotted with red marks. The contact grid references were mostly to the north and west—pretty much as expected, since this was the area where most 5RAR patrols were sent. Between the IntReps and the operations map, the story was plain to see. The VC had suffered massive loss of face, first with the government clearance of Long Tan virtually without a fight. Then just a few weeks later, the loss of Long Phuoc. This time, the available forces put up a fight but this hadn’t stopped the clearance. Then the Australians arrived and set up their base right alongside the destroyed village. It was obvious the VC would need to do something to restore their dented pride. And the operations map spelled out what they intended to do about it. They were setting themselves up for a massive attack on the base—Mike had no doubt about it.
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The duty officer read his mind. ‘Yeah—they’re out there and they’re comin’ in, mate. It’s only a matter of when.’ In low voices, they discussed the main topics of interest in the base at that time— the high level of VC recce, the high tempo of patrols and ambushes and the lack of wire and defence stores. It seemed to Mike the Australians had come into their commitment with the best of intentions and the worst of logistic preparation. The bulldozers and backhoes—as few as there appeared to be—were still in the Vung Tau sandhills, where 1ALSG were trying to put the logistic support base together. Each day he’d been at Nui Dat so far, Mike had seen Australian soldiers struggling with their entrenching tools, trying to dig into the hard laterite earth. They were dead tired from a routine of patrolling all day, for two out of every three days, and also from everyone being either awake all night on ambush, or one in four being awake on sentry duty the other two nights. Their break from patrolling or sentry duty would be spent wiring, clearing undergrowth, setting up the HQ areas or digging their own weapon pits in the front line behind their wire. They’d scratch away for hours to achieve a few more inches of depth, fill a few more sandbags, and be called away to man a listening post or a machine-gun pit. Right on ten o’clock, the first reports began to come into the command post, and Mike knew it was time for him to leave. Lights on the wire in front of Alpha Company. A single shot incoming over the cavalry lines. Charlie Company reporting their wire being shaken and requesting mortar illumination rounds overhead. Delta Company, stationed on the Nui Dat West hill itself, reporting lights in the distance, giving a compass bearing and requesting an artillery Harrassment and Interdiction (H&I) mission. Another normal night at the base. Mike said his ‘goodnights’ and left. He would only get in the way in the command post. He made his way back to his hoochie and settled in for the night, just as the first artillery salvo boomed across the base.
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On 8 June, the 173rd Airborne Brigade battalion flew out of Phuoc Tuy. They’d lost 26 killed and 160 wounded in their operations to clear Nui Dat and the surrounding area for the Australians. In a parting shot to Mike Davis, one of the battalion officers had said, ‘You’d better see our losses aren’t wasted.’ He wasn’t alone. Several of the 173rd officers and men did not approve of the Australian tactics of creep and wait, claiming this wouldn’t bring the VC to battle like the large sudden American swoops could and sometimes did. Mike recalled several conversations he’d had with the 1RAR officers at Bien Hoa, when he’d asked the Australians to explain their method of operation. Counter-revolutionary warfare they’d called it—CRW. ‘The way to beat the guerrilla soldier,’ they’d said, ‘is to hit his lowest level of infrastructure and support. To grind it away. It’s slow, laborious, time-consuming and unspectacular. But with patience, it’s effective.’ ‘But what about the big battles?’ Mike had asked. ‘While you’re grinding away the support base, how do you grind away the opposition battalions and regiments?’ ‘If you’re fighting big battles,’ came back the answer, ‘it means the other side is winning, because he’s getting the people’s support and the supplies to fight with. Cut off his support. Cut off his supplies. Then see how much he wants to fight. Or is able to.’ Mike had discussed these differing tactics and their rationale with some of his fellow officers in the 173rd, but the difference in perspective was too great. His own cigar-chomping battalion 2IC had summed up the attitude of the Americans: ‘Viet Nam’s a twelvemonth sideshow, son. We’ll get us some active service, some medals, maybe some promotions and decorations, but then let’s git on with th’ main show!’ He was referring to expected clashes with the USSR and China. ‘Damn it, Davis, this is just a live-fire exercise. Them kangaroo-chasers kin afford to spook around in th’ jungle for a bit, but it ain’t them’ll be stoppin’ th’ goddamn ruskies when they cross th’ Rhine, now will it, son?’ And that’d been the end of the conversation. The Australians
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would simply have to prove themselves, and Mike hoped they’d have the benefit of enough time to do it.
From his observation post on Nui Nghe, Thiem and the others saw the 173rd flights leave. ‘Now,’ he said to those gathered around the map, ‘the real battle can begin . . .’ Only four people turned up to the sweet tea ceremony that evening. As night overcame the last glow of day on the other side of the hill, the four squatted in the gathering brightness of an almost-full moon. The topic they were discussing was wounds. Eventually, the conversation turned to the scar on Hai’s jaw. Quang, who knew the story, wondered which of Hai’s versions Kiêt and Tien would hear tonight. There was the one about the grazing round from a French rifle; the sabre slash from the French counterattack in an ambush; the fight with the drunken Chinese instructor; or it might be the skirmishing with the pro-French Lao forces in Laos. If he was feeling mischevious, it might be the one about the broken bottle wielded by the madam in the Muong Thanh whorehouse, where he’d gone to collect those of his men who’d slipped away from their camp during the withdrawal from Laos in 1953. One thing Quang could count on, it was rarely the real one that got told. The one about the bayonet wound inflicted in the savage hand-to-hand fighting in the final phases of the Dien Bien Phu assaults in early May of 1954. But tonight, it was none of these. Hai simply said, ‘My price for the years of struggle against the French in the ’50s.’ Tien smiled. ‘Years of struggle,’ he admonished, ‘but years of success and victory, too, comrade.’ ‘Not always.’ Hai scratched at the scar and threw a quick look at Quang, who picked up both indications of Hai’s nervousness. ‘Commissar Kiêt,’ said Quang quietly, ‘would it be appropriate
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in this small group for me to speak of one of the inner secrets of the Party?’ Kiêt nodded. Both Tien and Hai were senior leaders and had proven reliable over many years. ‘Then I shall tell you, comrade Tien,’ said Quang, ‘that it was not all “success and victory” in the early ’50s. In fact, there were two major failures before the French left. One in early ’51 and the other at Dien Bien Phu itself.’ Quang went on to describe to Tien two of the most closely guarded secrets of the Party—things only the most trusted and reliable of comrades were told about, and then only as they were being groomed for advancement within the Party. Tien listened, his heart pounding somewhat. In January 1951, General Giap had ordered two Viet Minh divisions—20 000 men—down from the Tam Dao mountains to Vinh Yen, 30 miles northwest of Hanoi. It was a tactical disaster. After unseasonal rain, the rice fields were flooded and the rivers were swollen. Movement was difficult. The French pulled back in the face of the advance and responded with massive air and artillery bombardment. After three days of fierce fighting and with 6000 dead and 8000 wounded, Giap was forced to withdraw his forces. In March, he hurled his forces southeast, this time towards Hai Phong. His key attack on Mao Khe failed, and he was forced to again withdraw his forces in the face of crippling casualties. Later in the same month, he sent his three remaining divisions along the Day River valley, southeast of Hanoi, expecting to inflict a decisive defeat on the French. The Viet Minh found an unexpected and powerful opponent in the Catholic communities in and around Nam Dinh, who had organised their own resistance. With little support from the countryside and with French air and artillery punishment undiminished, the Viet Minh forces were forced to withdraw a third time in as many months. His forces were exhausted. Casualties had been so high that the Viet Minh were unable to undertake major operations for the rest of the year. Giap had carefully avoided being seen in a failure role. Step one
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of his plan was to remove several key leaders and make sure the blame was seen to rest with them. Step two was to take his five shattered divisions and regroup them into three new divisions. Step three was to have all the unit journals altered to omit the worst of the year’s early losses. ‘Following the example set by General Giap himself,’ said Quang, ‘this three-step remedial plan has become the standard Party response to any failure within the Party’s activities. It permits the Party to remain strong, even if individuals within the Party fail. ‘The principle was exercised again just a few years later,’ Quang continued. The French had begun to develop their Dien Bien Phu position in late 1953. The Viet Minh leader in the area, General Hoang Van Thai, along with his Chinese advisers under General Wei Kuo-ching, recommended to General Giap that the Viet Minh attack as soon as possible, before the French had time to dig themselves in and construct an airfield. They planned an attack for January 1954. Six hours before the planned attack was to start, General Giap called it off. His reasoning was that the Viet Minh had never before planned an attack by so large a force, nor had they ever planned an offensive that would last more than a few days. He wanted more time to build up artillery support for the attack. His decision nearly resulted in a mutiny among the Viet Minh infantry circling Dien Bien Phu, who were prepared to take the risk and attack the relatively thin and immature French defences. Giap spent a further six weeks collecting all his available forces from all over North Viet Nam and Laos. By March, his 50 000 heavily armed troops and 20 000-strong supply line stood against 13 000 French, of which only half were combat troops. But in those same six weeks, the French had built an airfield within their perimeter and used it to fly in materiel to greatly increase and develop their defences. The battle at last began. In a prolonged artillery barrage, the Viet Minh artillery wiped out one of the three French artillery positions. The French prepared for the inevitable massive assaults.
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When they came, the waves of peasant infantry were beaten back with terrible losses from the deep and hard French defences. It was a slaughter. Giap was stung by the failure of his ground forces after the success of his artillery. For him, it was a repeat of his failures just three years earlier. But he once again applied his three-step remedial plan. He blamed others. He directed the survivors to be split into other units as reinforcements. And the unit journals of their leaders were withdrawn, rewritten and redistributed. Whole units were simply edited out of the Viet Minh records. Others had their identification numbers changed. Battalions that had suffered massively in the assaults had suddenly and simply never existed. The dead were buried and forgotten. The wounded were spirited away to hospitals in the remote areas of Laos and Viet Nam, the survivors told little of the event except that it had been a great success. Units not directly involved were told the skirmish had been minor and had succeeded. The revised unit journals recorded the ‘fact’ that a few battalions had probed the defences and had found them solid. Giap then ordered the French position would be taken by slow strangulation. The thousands who died in the first human wave assaults were denied existence in memory as well as in the Viet Minh’s unit journals. The slow strangulation of the French position took the form of the encircling Viet Minh forces starting to tunnel in. Soldiers lay down their rifles and attacked the hard earth with their shovels. They advanced three or four metres a day at best—often much less. By the end of the siege, hundreds of kilometres of trenches and tunnels had been knitted around the French positions. On 13 March, the Viet Minh concentrated on the second French artillery position, reducing it to twisted steel and shattered bodies. The next day, the third position was obliterated. The artillery duel would from then on be one-sided. Both sides paused, the Viet Minh not quite ready in their tunnelling, and the French hoping the coming rainy season would help them. In the event, the onset of the rains helped the Viet Minh more than the French—the low clouds
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prevented accurate air resupply but protected the Viet Minh artillery from French bombing. It was only a matter of time. Well, time and 93 000 rounds of Chinese artillery shells fired in 55 days. On 7 May, the red flag with the gold star finally flew over the command bunker at Dien Bien Phu. What was generally overlooked in the euphoria was that Giap’s army was left virtually in ruins. The narrow and even arguable military victory was soon turned into a magnificent political victory. ‘Of course,’ said Quang, ‘history records Dien Bien Phu as a supreme victory. And so it should be recorded. But it was a Party victory more than a military victory. Why? Because we say it was. And it is as a Party victory that it shall be remembered.’ By now it was late. The moon had passed overhead and was now lost in the treeline behind them. The increasing dark matched the increasing coolness as they made their way back to the camp. Tonight’s subject matter was a rarity, and Tien rightly considered it marked his acceptance by both Kiêt and Quang as next-in-line for promotion, as an endorsement within the Party machine.
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RECONNAISANCE
8–11 June 1966
For three nights and days, Thiem and Ngoc transcribed the reports brought in by their recce teams. There had been some clashes. They were unavoidable with so many patrols, both theirs and the mercenaries’, in such a confined area. But the casualties were relatively few, and they had to be accepted as blood payment for the information returned. And now the information clearly revealed the strengths and weaknesses of the mercenary base. The infantry battalion occupied an arc from Route 2 around north, then east then south to the artillery unit south of the hill. Between the artillery and the hill there were troops, which were taken to be the HQ unit due to their lack of defences in depth and their more casual attitude to security, blackout and noise. On the west of Route 2, opposite the assumed HQ area, were the armoured cars. They were not dug in or heavily defended. The area from the armoured cars north to where the infantry battalion started beside Route 2 was entirely open. True, it was under the guns of a small unit placed on the hill itself, but there were no wire defences, no minefield markings and apparently no regular patrols or sentries. This was a source of concern for Thiem, who couldn’t 117
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believe such a gap could be left open. He suspected a trap—perhaps a minefield. That night, he sent a courier to Hoa Long village with instructions for a herd of bullocks to be driven into the gap the next day. It was a local practice for village boys of eight to twelve years of age to walk with the herds during the day. Part of a herd would be guided into the gap, and the boys would stay back. The following day, a small number of bullocks ‘accidentally’ strayed into the gap area. A mercenary patrol was sent to beat them out. The village boys, after begging and receiving cigarettes and food, took their bullocks back to the rice fields west of Hoa Long. By nightfall, Thiem had the news—there were no mines in the gap. Behind the gap, there was a large area between the hill and the rear of the perimeter units. One of his recce team pairs passed right through the base. They had entered the gap, passed around the hill, taking pace measurements as they went, and had spent some time observing the HQ area. Near morning, they had exited through a gap on the southern perimeter created by the swampy ground in a creek bed. This appeared to mark the boundary between the gun area on the west and the infantry unit on the east. The perimeter defences had exercised good fire control in the face of lights and noise on their wire, so there were no notes about machine-gun positions or bunkers. Such shots as had been fired had been single rounds, and then on only a few occasions. They’d gained no intelligence from the perimeter other than its location. Studying his map, Thiem formed the orders for the night’s patrols. Some would fill in more information on the armoured cars and artillery fronts. The rest would infiltrate the gap and scatter to map inside the base. Of particular interest was whether the unit on the hill had any rear-facing defences and whether there were any patrols or sentry points within the base’s vacant areas.
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With the departure of the last 173rd company, Mike’s workload reduced. He spent more time poring over the IntReps and visiting the task force units. He was building up a picture of how the VC intended to react to the new Australian presence and, more important, how the Australians were going to handle the reaction. He carried a notebook and made frequent entries for his fortnightly reports back to 173rd Airborne HQ. On 8 June, he jumped the supply convoy and spent the day at the 1ALSG base at Vung Tau. Even at the supply depot, he noted, stores were in short supply, and some reserve and replacement stocks were not even available. Development of the facility was slow due to lack of manpower, equipment and supplies. So far, the hospital was little more than a pair of tents. He visited the fledgling RAAF workshops. A squadron of eight Iroquois (‘Huey’) choppers had arrived only two days before. Activity was frenetic, so he didn’t stay long. They had only two-anda-half weeks to meet their 25 June deadline to be operational. The choppers were all ‘slicks’—troop carriers rather than gunships—and would provide needed transport, battlefield medical evacuation and light aerial fire support for the task force. Mike returned with the APCs later in the afternoon, spending the return journey jotting down points in his notebook.
With the orders for the next few days issued, Thiem began to outline a possible plan for the assault on the base. Main Force units were instructed in all phases of conventional warfare. An attack plan would have to consider and account for all the key elements of the attack phase doctrine. He listed the key principles and made notes against each: To destroy the enemy—not to hold ground We will attack at night and depart before dawn, out through their own front lines.
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Nine-to-one ratio for frontal assault We will not attack into the teeth of the infantry defences. Ratio may decrease for flank (six-to-one) or rear (three-to-one) attacks If tonight’s patrols report no internal defences, then we’ll attack through the gap. Wedge tactics—narrow front and massive depth We’ll enter on a one-company front with great depth and explode outwards once inside. Punch in and fight outwards Thanks to the mercenaries, we won’t even have to punch in. Night preferred Maximise the defenders’ confusion and isolation. Intensive recce We’ve found out as much as we can without actually taking the base. Flank and rear attacks preferred All attacks will be from apparently undefended rear areas. Unit boundaries and gaps favoured The mercenaries have provided an inviting gap, which doesn’t appear to be a trap. Thiem ignored the principles that didn’t apply to his plan— holding flanks, block groups, withdrawal routes, multi-pronged assaults, counterattack precautions. The more he considered it, the more he became convinced the three experienced battalions of 274 Regiment could take the inexperienced one-battalion objective. The gap between the hill defenders and the closest perimeter unit was over 1000 metres—more than enough space to infiltrate the whole regiment into the base. Not that he’d need the whole regiment—just two battalions inside would do. He’d put the mortar
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company and the anti-tank company with an infantry company protection party outside the artillery wire to keep them occupied. He’d put his support weapons companies on the north flank of the armoured cars with an infantry company for protection to keep them busy. The third company of the protection battalion would secure the gap and keep it open if the rest needed to withdraw through it. The other two battalions would form up inside the base and fight outwards—an infantry company each to take on the HQ unit, the rear of the hill, and a four-pronged assault into the rear of the enemy infantry battalion facing outwards. The recces had revealed three or four platoon groups left the base each night to ambush outside the base perimeter. An infantry platoon also took up perimeter duties in front of the armoured cars and, it was suspected but not confirmed, in front of the guns as well. This left only a platoon defending each company perimeter position overnight. If attacked from the rear by a Main Force company, the odds would be three-to-one—acceptable for doctrine and made the more acceptable by the inexperience of the Australians, the inadequacy of their defences and the cover of darkness. All in all, Thiem decided, a workable plan. All it would need was confirmation from tonight’s recce that the mercenaries did indeed not patrol their own base’s interior spaces. Thiem sent a radio message to his regiment leader, Chinh, advising that he thought it was feasible for the unit under his command, 274 Regiment, to take the target base if it acted quickly. He asked how soon Chinh could clear the action with his own superior, Quang and COSVN, and be in Ngoc’s area with all forces.
Four radio operators accurately transcribed the message. Three were on the same radio net—the HQs of 5th Division, 274 Regiment and 275 Regiment. Each of these sent the transcription to their leader. The fourth radio operator was seated in a cargo version of a Lockheed Super Constellation. It had been converted to radio
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interception and transmission duties and was circling at 30 000 feet over the Delta. The message was relayed to HQ, Signals Intelligence at Long Binh. The time was 11.00 p.m., 8 June. By 2.00 a.m. on the 9th, it had been translated into English, identified as coming from Phuoc Tuy Province and categorised as ‘operational urgent’. By 7.00 a.m. it had been analysed and classified as applying to the Australians. By 9.30 a.m. it was in the duty officer’s in-tray at the Australian Military Signals Command Centre in Saigon. There, it was coded into a secure transmission format and transmitted to 1ATF at 11.00 a.m. Before noon, Jackson had been advised of the possibility of a regimental-sized VC attack on his base any time two or three days from then, depending upon how quickly the receiver of the message could be at the sender’s location.
The rate of light contact was worrying Jackson. All units on the perimeter had reported movement on the wire over the last four nights. VC in several styles of dress and equipment had been contacted, yet no sustained firefights resulted. Many reports from the local ARVN intelligence network suggested a plan to attack the base was being put in place. And now a strong indication of an impending attack from American SigInt. He was in a quandary—he needed his infantry out on patrol to secure Line Alpha, but while they were outside the wire, they couldn’t be digging in or putting up wire or adding to the base’s defences. ‘If defensive stores were even available,’ he thought bitterly.
The message back to Thiem from his leader, Chinh, was not intercepted. It advised that Thiem’s parent unit, 274 Regiment, would not get to his location until 13 June and advised Thiem to dispatch a copy of the base map and attack plan to the sender’s parent unit, 5th Division, as a matter of urgency.
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On receipt of the message, Thiem arranged for two copies of the mercenary base map to be made and had four couriers prepare for the 24-hour journey across the province to Nui May Tao. Taking slightly different routes, each pair would have to detour north around Binh Ba and Binh Gia, cross Route 2, and enter the network of supply tracks that wove through the forests across the province’s north. Once in the network, they would make better time but they would still not arrive before midday tomorrow. They left an hour apart, carrying only their messages, their basic webbing, some food and their AK-47s. After the second pair of runners left Nui Nghe, Thiem returned to his bunker. It had been a few days of constant activity, briefing and debriefing the recce patrols and not being able to resist joining the observation team on the hilltop. There’d been a lot of late nights as well, in the blacked-out bunker transcribing the gathered information onto the master map by the light of three flickering oil lamps. He was tired. Settling into his hammock, he realised he was disappointed, too. If only the regiment was here, he knew they could destroy the mercenary base tomorrow. The chance might slip away in the time it took for Chinh to arrive. All the mercenaries had to do was close the gap and it would take a frontal assault to get inside— and at a nine-to-one ratio, it would require more troops than the whole division had at its disposal. With these misgivings sifting through his mind, Thiem drifted into a light sleep.
On 9 June, Mike Davis borrowed a task force landrover and joined the APCs on their daily run to Vung Tau for convoy escort duty. As they passed through Ba Ria, Mike left the convoy and drove into the ARVN compound. After introducing himself to the American advisers of Colonel Dat, the province’s ARVN Commander, he spent some hours going over their recent and current IntReps. The reports reaching the Australian Task Force were an edited summary of these, containing only the most reliable data plus
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anything affecting the Australians. Three times as long, the unedited version contained every report received, verified or not. It included every incident reported from every village and hamlet in the province. Mike could see there was a massive undercurrent of subversion and intimidation happening out there. Page after page detailed VC activities against the civil population. Tax collections on Route 15; the seizure of food from fishermen at Lang Phuoc Hai; the theft of medicines from the clinic at Dat Do; the beating up of the local schoolteachers at Phu My village; even the beheading of the village government official in another remote village. The list read like a blow-by-blow description of a province in the process of being lost to the government. In among these reports were VC sightings. Reports of troops camped at locations or moving through the area. What they were wearing and carrying. Dates. Times. Numbers. Sometimes, even grid references. Each item for the last month had been marked on the large-scale map hanging on the wall. Small fingers of red showed a clear trend of VC moving to the northwest and northeast. Mike was in his landrover waiting when the APC convoy returned from Vung Tau on their way back to Nui Dat. He slipped in between the trucks and drove with them to Hoa Long, where he again left the convoy. Parking in the ARVN compound, he introduced himself to the American advisers and again sifted through their IntReps—particularly the reports applying to Hoa Long and its neighbour, Long Phuoc. While there, Mike met the Task Force Civil Affairs Unit’s medical team on their second visit. As part of the Australian military assistance to the civil community, the WHAM team—from its slogan ‘Winning Hearts and Minds’—was now visiting Hoa Long every second day. Already, the word had spread, and the queue outside the makeshift clinic stretched 50 metres. Mike was again waiting for the APCs when they returned from the afternoon convoy run and joined them for the short trip back to the task force HQ.
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The low sweep of a light aeroplane over Nui Nghe had Thiem instantly awake and alert. He resisted the natural reaction of rushing outside and looking up—often, a comrade gave his position away by stepping out from under cover to look at an aircraft. Instead, he moved slowly out of the bunker and stood beside the trunk of a nearby tree, holding a leafy branch in front of his eyes to eliminate the shine from his face as he looked up into the afternoon sky. Once outside the enclosed bunker, he could identify the aircraft’s type, direction and proximity. It was one of the single-engined craft the imperialists used for artillery fire direction—spotting for targets and adjusting the fall of shot onto target. And it was close, circling around from a low pass and lining up for another. As the plane approached the hill, there was a bang and a whooshing sound. Thiem knew what that meant—there was a white phosphorous rocket on its way. Not being able to see the aircraft’s position clearly, so not being prepared to guess the target, he flung himself back into his bunker. From his east came the sound of numerous AK-47s firing quickly on semi-automatic, followed by the whump of the rocket exploding a hundred metres away. Again, Thiem knew what that meant. The pilot would now climb out of small arms range and circle, calling in artillery to his target. The billowing white cloud from the rocket would stop the observer from getting disoriented as he circled, and the artillery would be on target after two corrections—after only one if the observer in the aircraft and the gun controller were good. When the rocket and firing echoes died away, the sound was not of the plane climbing, but of its engine spluttering. It had been hit. Thiem ran the hundred metres to the observation position at the top of the hill but was too late to see the plane crash. The comrade on lookout duty pointed to the place where the plane had disappeared into the trees, below the eastern foothills, but there was no scar in the canopy and no smoke or fire to indicate where it had come to rest.
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By the time Thiem got back to the D800 Battalion HQ, Ngoc was deep in conversation with the leader of the company that had opened fire on the aircraft. Thiem walked up to the pair and listened. The company leader explained that his company had been in the middle of a clearing as the plane, with no engine sound, had swooped over them, banked, started its engine and come around for a second pass. It must have come in above the clouds, cut its engine a long way away and glided over the canopy in the hope of catching a target out in the open. This time, they’d got lucky. The company had done exactly as the teaching says to do if caught out in the open—they froze. The movement of dark uniforms scattering over a light-coloured clearing under an aircraft was a certain giveaway. But from a fast-moving aeroplane, a line of dark objects standing in a field could be anything—a fence line, a row of poles, even a column of their own soldiers. It would require a second look. It worked. The pilot fired up the engine, crossed back over the field and banked so the observer got a better view. Perhaps he used binoculars this time. Whatever the reason, the sudden labouring of the engine as the little plane began to climb indicated they’d been identified as enemy. Once again the plane turned, and this time, it fired a spotting rocket. The company had all the warning they needed. In a practised manoeuvre, every soldier lay on his back on the ground and pointed his weapon not at the aircraft but at where he thought the aircraft would be when it flew closest to him. As soon as the plane flew over the first person, he fired. That was the signal for every man to fire, even though the plane was not yet over him. They were to fire up to ten rounds, not on automatic but squeezing off rounds one at a time quickly. Many rounds would be wasted, but many would hit. And it would take only a few hits to bring down an unarmoured singleengined aircraft. ‘We hit him, and he went down over there,’ he indicated the direction. ‘Get your company together,’ Ngoc told him, ‘and find it.’
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Once over the enemy, the pilot couldn’t avoid the curtain of tracer that appeared in the air in front of him. The little plane shuddered as it flew through the curtain. Whatever the damage to the aircraft, it was the pilot’s wounds that sealed its fate. Hit in both legs, the pilot lost control. The plane levelled out and, engine spluttering, the nose dipped below the horizon. They were too low—no time to make a radio call—treetops whizzed past the windows—branches brushed the undercarriage. Suddenly the port wing caught on a tree, ripping it off and swivelling the remainder of the craft into the canopy. A solid hit into another tree, and the plane fell to the ground, windscreen shattered and the pilot dead. The observer passenger retrieved his and the pilot’s .45 handguns and spare magazines and climbed out of the wreckage. He was dazed, but not too dazed to collect his maps, check the radio was unusable and get clear of the aircraft in case it burst into flames. It didn’t. Using his zippo lighter, he burned the maps and code sheets. It was over quickly. Ten minutes after the crash, the first VC arrived. The observer shot him dead. Other VC then encircled the crash site and closed in. The observer held them off for another 15 minutes, expending all four magazines, killing two more VC and wounding one. When he finally threw away the pistols and raised his hands, his adversaries were in no mood to accept surrender. The leader, whose squad had taken the casualties, walked up to the observer, pushed him face-first against the downed aircraft and fired a single shot into his neck. They left him where he fell and returned to Nui Nghe.
In his second fortnightly report to 173rd Airborne, datelined 10 June, Mike confirmed that 1ATF HQ had now occupied Nui Dat and assumed command, and—as they would know—the 173rd elements
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had departed. He told them of the constant VC reconnaisance and the mounting mass of intelligence indicating the VC were planning an assault on the base in the near future. Finally, he mentioned the difficulty the Australians were having getting defensive and other stores through their system. The list was a long one. Besides being short of wire, sandbags, picks and shovels, the Aussies needed to upgrade their radios, and even their boots. They were still using the 1944-issue tropical-studded boots with black canvas gaiters. Each soldier had the basic issue, but there were no spares being held in the Q system. It was a similar story with webbing. ‘All in all, the Australians in the field were brave, and trying hard,’ Mike concluded, ‘but in a poor condition in so far as logistic support from their government in Australia went.’
Both pairs of runners from Nui Nghe arrived at Nui May Tao before midday, 10 June. As instructed, they passed their documents directly to Van then joined the pool of couriers from other units who were housed in a nearby camp awaiting the need for the next message or delivery to be sent to their parent unit. Van informed Kiêt, Quang and Tien and the four studied the sketches for a few minutes. They agreed Van would update his Nui Dat West maps with the new information overnight, and make copies, as they were expecting Chinh, of 274 Regiment, to arrive later the next day for his orders before proceeding to Hat Dich. Overnight at Nui Nghe, Thiem and Ngoc discussed the base recce and the new choice that had emerged for them that afternoon. Lacking the numbers to enter the tiger’s den and destroy it from the inside, they now had the chance to draw at least one tiger out of his den, and destroy him on ground of their own choosing. The mercenaries would be aware of the missing aircraft. Surely they would come to the crash site to recover the bodies and to salvage whatever they could?
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It was decided that Ngoc would site a battalion ambush around the wreckage and on its approaches, and await the tiger. Two companies would take positions around the plane itself. Two more would stay off to the sides, to move in once the ambush had been sprung. And a fifth company would be placed further out to close the back door once the envelopment started. The mortar company would form a base-plate position on the eastern foothills and register the site tomorrow. The jungle was too thick for armoured car or close helicopter support, so the other heavy weapon platoons would act as the fifth infantry company for this ambush.
Unfortunately for the VC, the state of US/Australian inter-operation was still not particularly sophisticated. The Australians were not aware there had even been an American artillery spotter aircraft in the area, so they didn’t miss it when it failed to go home. The Americans knew the plane went down and sent out search flights, but failed to advise the Australians. Due to cloud cover and the dense canopy, they also failed to find the crash site. Brigadier Jackson pondered the intelligence assessments on his desk, his face creased with worry lines. Since the US radio intercept had reached him on the 9th, the VC probes on the base approaches and perimeter had been constant. Up until last night, when no activity had been recorded. That was puzzling. Then there was the large volume of reported VC movements. Once the places and dates of these were cross-matched to Australian and ARVN troop movements, many proved to have been sightings of friendly forces. But in these there were often errors in size estimates, dates and times, making the bulk of the reports unreliable anyway. Those that were not proven to be false generally showed a clear pattern of movement towards Hat Dich in the northwest, 274 Regiment’s home, towards the Nui May Tao–Xuyen Moc area in the northeast, 275 Regiment’s home, or to the coast, D445
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Battalion’s home. It seemed that the battalions were indeed massing out there. Inside his base, Jackson was concerned about a number of other things too. His lone infantry battalion was needed for day patrol and night ambushing tasks within Line Alpha to maintain base security. The number of clashes proved the need for this aggressive activity, but while his soldiers were outside the wire, they couldn’t be digging in and preparing the base defences. And when in the base and able to work on the defences, they lacked effective digging equipment. Heavy-duty picks and real shovels were needed to move Nui Dat’s tough red laterite, but Jackson was keenly aware that 1ALSG had no stocks to send him. Sandbags were needed to protect the trench rims, but they too were in short supply. The whole need to dig the defences by hand had not been addressed. The trench diggers and tractors with back hoes remained down at Vung Tau, where trenches weren’t needed. Jackson was frustrated by the chicken-and-egg argument preventing the mechanical diggers relocating to Nui Dat. They couldn’t be brought into the operational area until it was more secure, but the base would not be made secure quickly without the equipment that was being withheld because the base was still insecure. Impasse. So all the trenches, latrines and drains at Nui Dat had, at least at first, to be dug by overtired soldiers. The situation with his APC squadron was also worrying. Fourteen of their APCs were new, but the remainder had been inherited from Bien Hoa and, having seen many months of service, were in a woeful state of disrepair. Up to one in two was off the road at any given time. The lack of spare parts prolonged the period they spent off operations. Their internal communications ranged from inadequate all the way down to non-existent. The external communications weren’t much better—they had two different types of radio set and the two weren’t compatible. Some APCs had shields for their .50 calibre machine guns but some didn’t. Even the ones with shields were
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not well protected—the shields were only steel plate, not armour plating. Besides, the shields only covered the front—there was no flank or rear protection. Finally, neither 5RAR at Nui Dat nor 6RAR, now at Vung Tau and due to arrive at Nui Dat within two weeks, had had any significant training with the APCs or with the RAAF before arrival in Viet Nam. All in all, Jackson considered, the early planning of the Task Force occupation could have been conducted a lot better. Even lessons from the bad experiences of 1RAR had not been learned. Their early need for wire stores had not resulted in stores being available when needed. Supplies of barbed wire, concertina coils and star pickets were ridiculously low, and were converted into barbed wire fences on the day of delivery, so sorely were the defences needed. Almost a week after occupation of Nui Dat, there was still only an incomplete double concertina fence, and then only around part of the base. Jackson had no mines to create a minefield. No communication trenches or hard bunkers had been prepared—only a series of incomplete two-man slit trenches, 99 per cent without a layer of filled sandbags overhead to protect them from mortars or grenades. Which brought Jackson’s mind back to the problem at hand—a weak base and the expectation of a VC attack any day. He saw no alternative but to contact his superior, General Mackay, in Saigon and demand—no, he’d better make that ‘request’—the second infantry battalion at Nui Dat immediately.
While Jackson grappled with the prospect of a massive VC attack on his fledgling base, the same subject was being discussed less than 30 kilometres away. At Nui May Tao, Quang spread Van’s updated Nui Dat West map on the table in front of him. Kiêt was beside him. On the other side of the table were Chinh and his battalion leaders and their senior staff, less Ngoc of D800. Quang’s own senior staff, including Van
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and Tien, sat at the end of the table. Each leader held a small version of Van’s map, hand-drawn thanks to Van and his staff working overnight. As the leader of the 5th Division operations section, it fell to Tien to describe the events of the past few days around Nui Dat. How Thiem and the recce groups had built the map from their close study of the base. How they had seen the imperialists leave on the 8th. How they’d thought a regimental attack was possible, but the remainder of 274 Regiment had not been able to return from Binh Tuy until now. How the shooting down of an aircraft had resulted in D800 placing an area ambush instead. And finally the fact that the ambush was even now in place but the mercenaries hadn’t taken the bait. There followed a discussion of the options, resulting in the decision that 274 Regiment would return to Nui Nghe as quickly as possible and, if the mercenary base was unchanged, proceed with the attack on the night of the 14/15 or the 15/16 June. D445 Battalion, keen to hit back at the puppet and mercenary forces after the loss of Long Tan and Long Phuoc villages, would be available, as would one of the 275 Regiment battalions. These could be used to create a diversion or to ambush Route 2 to intercept any relief force. The detailed planning would be left to the leader on the spot— Chinh. The plan was to be approved by Kiêt and Quang at least 24 hours before the start of the assault. Kiêt agreed this would be classed as an ‘opportunity target’ and that he, Kiêt, would be able to give the approval normally required from COSVN for this scale of attack. Chinh left the meeting and, an hour later, left the Nui May Tao camp. The idea of eliminating the entire mercenary base was becoming a reality. He’d been turning over the possibility in his mind ever since Thiem’s radio message three days ago, but he hadn’t really thought the mercenaries would expose themselves to such risk. But with a detailed plan of the base in his hand and the offer of two more battalions if he needed them, he couldn’t help but consider his good fortune.
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To take out the mercenary soldiers’ base! It would eclipse every role he’d had in his career so far. It would make him a hero within the Party. He would never have to worry about his secret origins again—he would never be asked about anything but the victory over the Australians. Yes, this would cement his role as a respected regimental leader. After this, he would seek retirement, return home and perhaps serve on some political advisory committees. He understood these could be lucrative as well as powerful positions. Once again, he eagerly paced down the hill.
In Saigon, General Mackay weighed up the dilemma Jackson had handed him over the secure radio-telephone line. 1ATF’s second infantry battalion, 6RAR, was still in Vung Tau, undergoing intheatre training and acclimatisation. The last subunit to fly in, Delta Company, had only arrived in Viet Nam three days ago, on the 8th. Other elements of the task force were even now still being finalised. Besides, the Australians would need the support of the American Chinook and Huey choppers to shuttle the battalion from Vung Tau to Nui Dat, as well as the support of as many Huey gunships as he could get because the fly-in could still be opposed. Much had to be arranged in order to bring forward the 6RAR move to Nui Dat. Mackay pointed all this out to Jackson, and suggested that 14 June would be the earliest 6RAR could be ready and the American transport and protection could be arranged. Jackson had no option. He had to hold the vulnerable base intact for three more days.
As darkness closed in over Nui Nghe, Thiem talked again with Ngoc. The aircraft ambush had been in place for two days now and there’d been no sign the mercenaries were coming. On the first day there had been planes overhead, looking for the crash site. Pieces of wing and fuselage were exposed to the sunlight, even beneath the thick
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canopy, but it seemed they hadn’t been noticed. When no ground party came on the first day, they thought the ambush preparations must have been seen, so they were now considering whether to call it off. Thiem reasoned if the mercenaries or their imperialist masters had spotted the ambush, would they not have laid artillery into the site? Ngoc countered that they wouldn’t have known whether the aircraft crew was still alive. It was a stalemate, but they agreed if the ambush hadn’t been sprung by the time Chinh arrived with the regiment tomorrow, they’d abandon it.
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A FIRST PLAN—THWARTED
11–14 June 1966
Sùòng had lived in the North until she was orphaned at nine years old. In reprisal for a Viet Minh roadside ambush in 1951, the French had shelled the nearest peasant hamlet, killing her parents. They hadn’t cared that the hamlet was mainly Catholic. A family in a nearby village had fostered her. In 1954, when the Geneva Accord divided Viet Nam, the family relocated to the South and became six of the 6000 catholics who settled in Binh Gia village, Phuoc Tuy Province. Life had been quiet in the backwater settlement until the VC came in the early 1960s. They’d been good at first, talking to the adults about the corrupt Diem regime in Saigon and promising to liberate them if the villagers paid tax and helped them in other ways. But the adults in Binh Gia did not support the VC like the other villages did, and the VC visits became more and more threatening. Finally, in December 1964, the VC attacked and took the village. The following day, they forced the villagers into the main square. Being shorter than average, Sùòng was forced to stand in the front. The VC brought out the trembling district chief. His elbows were tied together behind his back and a hoe handle had been inserted 135
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through the bindings. Two VC pushed him through the crowd and he ended up right in front of Sùòng. She was only 4 metres from the terrified official as the VC forced him to kneel. There was no announcement, no notice of intention. Just the flash of a machete in the morning sun. The severed head fell to the ground. But what transfixed Sùòng were the twin jets of blood that spurted out, high above his head. And then instantly another spurt. And then a third, all within a second. And when the headless body slumped forward, the spurts of blood had come straight at her. Saturated with blood and horrified at the enormity of what she’d just witnessed, she’d fled screaming from the square. They’d found her an hour later, still sobbing, sitting in the stream washing her dress over and over again. A week later, government forces regained control of the village, but it took Sùòng much, much longer to regain control of her horror. Non-political before then and despite being raised Catholic, she’d hated the VC ever since. After the trauma, the Catholic priest found her a job with the Gallia plantation at Binh Ba, and she moved there to live. Binh Ba was a thriving community of 3000, all dependent on the rubber plantation. The village and plantation had been founded and controlled by the French, except for the period during World War II when the Japanese had come and commandeered its rubber production. But they’d left the French to administer its workers. During the first Indochina war, the French returned and built a triangular fort at the west of village. A company of troops was stationed there until the French couldn’t spare the troops any more, when the fort was abandoned. After 1954, Binh Ba was too remote for the Diem regime to influence so it was ignored. The growing VC resurgence of the early 1960s prompted the government to once again station troops in the fort. Binh Ba was included in the government’s Strategic Hamlet plan, so the villagers were required to fortify the town with a mound surrounded by a moat. They built barbed-wire fences and watchtowers, and a pair of large metal gates was placed across Route 2.
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The plan was undermined by the VC, who came by night, forced the villagers to tear down the fortifications and took away whatever stores they wanted. But it was not all negative. In 1961, the VC were helping the villagers more than the government was in education, farming methods and assistance with village projects. The struggle for the villagers’ support lasted for two long years, but finally it was force that decided the matter—a VC unit tortured a former head man to death and threatened the same to the villagers’ school teachers and police. When they left the village the next day, the VC were in control by default. Both the North Vietnamese Catholic priest and the French plantation management were allowed to remain—one of many ‘special accommodation’ arrangements of communism with capitalism. The VC needed the plantation to be kept running to support the 3000 villagers, who could then be taxed at the rate of one day’s pay and two litres of rice per month. Besides, if the plantation stopped, the village would die, the VC would be blamed, and were they not here to save the villagers and their prosperity? The French still wanted the rubber and were prepared to pay two taxes—government and VC—to maintain the supply. That was fine with the VC, provided the French agreed to not in any way support or help the government or the Allies with information or materiel, including the use of plantation facilities. The VC also required access to the plantation hospital, which operated for the benefit of the workers and villagers. The VC allowed the plantation to keep running as long as the French accepted the VC as the local masters. After all, at any time, enough trees could be ring-barked overnight to stop the whole operation. Thus the accommodation was reached between the plantation owners and the VC. The Catholic church was a third party to this accommodation because of its influence with the French owners and with the staff at the plantation hospital. The VC were frequent users of the hospital, so the priest was able to reserve the right to apply some conditions. And leaving Sùòng alone was an agreed condition. At 24, she was deeply scarred by the horror of the beheading,
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silently anti-VC and still unmarried. However, with the blessing of all who knew about it, she was secretly seeing a young rubber-tapper named Lien. Lien had avoided being drafted by either the VC or the government because he’d been born with a withered leg. In all other respects, however, he was normal and enjoyed an otherwise full and happy life, made even happier lately by the attentions of the lovely Sùòng. In recent months, their relationship had progressed past the first fumbling gropes, past the embarrassing urgency of forbidden sex and past the constant preoccupation with where and when. They had arrived at a comfortable agreement—they’d meet more-or-less twice a week after dark at a certain place next to the airfield and, hessian bags in hand, walk into the plantation to lie down together under the trees. Lien lived with his family, and Sùòng lived in a shed at the rear of the priest’s house. Neither thought it appropriate to visit the other at home. Under the rubber trees, in the warm night air, they drifted into a deep and comfortable discovery of emotional and mutually fulfilling sex, including the risks and the dangers, the fun and the quiet laughter. Tonight was such a night. They’d met at the usual place and the usual time. They’d walked hand in hand to their spot a few rows of rubber trees back from the airfield and had spread the hessian bags on the clear red earth. They had unhurriedly undressed each other over the span of an hour, and were lying in each other’s arms silently watching the antics of the fireflies dancing around them. Normally shy of human presence, the insects had apparently accepted the silent couple as part of the landscape, and had gathered around, flashing their dim beacons in their mesmerising hunt for a mate. Suddenly, they vanished.
The night sky was clear of clouds. The soft moonlight provided enough light for the two battalions, the support companies and the HQ of 274 Regiment to make good time. Just after midnight, they
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entered the Binh Ba rubber plantation. The sparse undergrowth and the smooth ground made the going easier. Still in single file, the column made its way westwards and crossed Route 2 between the village and the plantation buildings. It was safe. The curfew meant they wouldn’t run into any civilians, and it was too far away from the village to alarm the dogs. When the lead man saw the cleared area of the airstrip through the rubber trees, he turned slightly left and followed the runway. They were about six rubber tree rows from its edge as they moved along its axis.
Lien and Sùòng lay in silence, straining their senses to understand why the fireflies had disappeared. It was dark in the plantation, but there was enough dappled light to make out a figure approaching. He was going to pass them two rows of rubber trees away from the airstrip. If they lay still, he wouldn’t see them, but if they got up, or even sat up, they’d be silhouetted against the lightness of the airstrip. They had no choice but to let him pass. They lay still. As he approached, they saw there was another behind him. Then another. Then another. Fearful of even breathing, they lay, looking down the length of their own naked bodies at the column of men passing through the plantation only 12 metres away. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by, and still the silent, eerie shadows passed. They were terrified. If they were discovered, they’d be killed out of hand as curfew-breakers. Twenty minutes? Half an hour? Too scared to calculate how long it was taking, and too scared to count the numbers who passed them, they maintained their silence. But as the time kept stretching on, they both began to notice details about those on the move. Their rifles were slung. They weren’t on patrol—they were relocating. These men were carrying full packs, and many were bent under additional loads balanced on the top of their backpacks. Forty-five minutes? Hundreds passed by, but now there was a group who weren’t as heavily loaded. They didn’t carry rifles or
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crew-served weapons. And there was a radio, its short aerial making a soft crinkling noise as the bearer walked. An hour. Still they passed. A unit carried long tubes and threelegged stands. Lien recognised them as rocket launchers. An hour? Yes, at least an hour. The lovers were both getting cold, and the mosquitoes had found them. How much more could they take? It took well past an hour, more like 75 minutes they’d later estimate, for the column to pass. Then there was a small group who were brushing the track they’d used with leafy branches, covering the main column’s track. The noise of the rustling branches approached, passed and receded, following the moving column. The pair waited just a few more minutes, then dressed, careful to stay low and make no noise. Staying inside the tree line, they made their way back to their separate accommodations. Shortly before they parted, they promised each other they wouldn’t tell anyone about where they’d been and what they’d seen. But, unknown to the other, they each intended to exclude just one man from this pact. For several months Sùòng had been talking to a village elder about matters political and she’d discovered, after some sharing of her anti-VC sentiments, that he was a government informer who was in touch with others. As soon as she awoke the next morning, she went to him and told as much as she could remember of the passing column in the plantation. He asked no questions about why she was there. Sùòng thought he was being discreet. In fact, he didn’t ask because he already knew. He was Lien’s uncle and confidante, and Lien had visited him before he went to bed that morning. By midday, the information reached Colonel Dat’s staff at the provincial government HQ, Ba Ria. An hour later it reached the senior Australian AATTV adviser to Colonel Dat, Captain Mike Wells. And less than an hour after that, it reached 1ATF. For Brigadier Jackson, it was yet another report, and maybe the most reliable to date, confirming the VC were massing for an attack. All he could do was keep up the patrol and ambush activity and hope the airlift on the 14th would arrive in time to help defend the base rather than arrive in time to clean up the mess.
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Truong looked through the long grass at the top of the deep ditch he lay in. Shaded by the rubber plantation behind him, he saw the mercenary patrol moving slowly through the vegetable plots on the northern edge of Hoa Long. He’d tracked the patrol for an hour now, and hoped it would stop for lunch, as the mercenaries usually did. As soon as they stopped, he’d wave the other two forward. Sure enough, they stopped. He saw them move into a circle and settle down into the long grass under the small trees of a citrus orchard. They were well within range. The bottom of the ditch would do very nicely—covered access and exit, firm, and enough room to set up and pack up in haste. He turned and clicked his fingers. The gesture was seen rather than heard and, seconds later, his two friends came padding silently up the ditch. No words were spoken. The first one carried the small tube and four mortar bombs. The second one carried six more bombs, which he placed next to the six Truong had already left at the bottom of the ditch. While Truong kept watch, the other two quickly prepared the sixteen rounds for firing. The range was small so they set for low charge. As soon as they were ready, one of them tapped Truong’s heel. Without taking his eyes off the target, Truong rested his right elbow on the ground and pointed his fist to the sky. The man with the mortar tube fixed his eyes on Truong’s arm and, for the next 60 seconds or so, would not take his eyes off that arm. The angle from Truong’s elbow to his wrist indicated the angle he was to hold the mortar tube. The third man would feed mortar rounds into the tube as fast as they could be fired. As the rounds fell, Truong would adjust the angle of his arm. The mortarman would make the same move with the tube, and the bombs would be directed all over the mercenary position. The first bomb dropped into the tube and a hollow popping sound sent it on its way. The second round fired two seconds later.
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Before the third went, the first had landed. Truong made an adjustment left and then forward to get the rounds falling further away. He saw the fourth bomb land in the right area. Then he kept his arm steady; the mortarman kept the tube steady also; and the rest of the bombs were gone within a minute. Despite lots of shouting, the mercenaries stayed low in the grass, choosing to wait for the firing to stop before moving. The three comrades didn’t wait to find out what the reaction would be. As soon as the last mortar bomb was fired, the three ran down the ditch, carrying the mortar tube. They were a hundred metres away when the Australian patrol closed in on the baseplate position. By the time the helicopter with the Red Cross on the side landed, they were on the other side of the village. By the time it flew over them, they were pulling grass and weeds out of the mortarman’s pineapple patch while he carefully lowered himself down a well and stored the mortar tube in a hide dug into the side.
That night, Mike read the Australian patrol’s After Action Report. They’d lost two KIA and three WIA to a 60mm mortar, fired from within the boundaries of Hoa Long. The intelligence assessment said Hoa Long might well host the Long Le district administration, but at least some active VC elements still operated out of the supposedly pacified village.
At dawn on 12 June, Thiem and Ngoc called the ambush companies back to Nui Nghe. They were moving back into their campsites when Chinh’s 274 Regiment arrived. D800 Battalion guides took the separate units and subunits to the camps prepared for them when D800 had first arrived at the hill. The orders for both parties were to post sentries, settle in and rest up. D800 had maintained a tiring watch routine of four hours on/four hours off for the three-day
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duration of their ambush. The regiment had covered, on foot and under full packs and equipment, more than 100 kilometres in three days, the last 24 hours of which had been after a full ammunition resupply and an overnight march. They all needed rest before the big attack. Before the senior officers could rest, however, they had to attend a briefing to determine their roles in the next few days, including their roles in the planned attack. The regimental HQ camp on Nui Nghe was, as with most hill locations, on the north slopes and in a re-entrant with permanent water. This siting usually ensured they got as much shade as possible from the high and full canopy and also ensured the staff didn’t have to go far for fresh water and bathing facilities. The main meeting room was dug as usual chest-high into the soft earth of a streamside clearing. The thatched and heavily camouflaged roof was raised on timber supports exactly like the room at Nui May Tao. The halfmetre gap from the roof overhang to the ground ensured neither vision nor ventilation was restricted. The lip of the room was raised a further hand-span under the roofline to ensure no water flowed into the room, even in the heaviest of monsoon downpours. As at Nui May Tao, there was one entrance to the room—a zig-zag open trench coming in from the downhill side. Scattered around the central meeting room were a series of structures all based on the same general rules of construction. These rooms included the kitchen, eating area, offices, accommodation and an armoury. Around these building, a ring of lesser constructions housed the protection company, and outside them, the ring of weapon pits, bunkers and trenches occupied by the protection company comrades themselves. On the stream, there were the usual three distinct areas understood and unfailingly observed by all. Upstream, the water collection points. In the middle section, where the stream passed closest to the camp, were the bathing points, screened off by natural vegetation. In places, the stream had been deepened to form bathing pools. Downstream from the bathing points were the toilet areas.
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The whole area was heavily camouflaged with living vegetation. Bushes and shrubs grew between the buildings, but the undergrowth was kept clear at ground level. From above the canopy or from outside the ring of defence pits, it would take an expert to see there was anything other than virgin bush in the area. Even the thatched roofs were camouflaged with living vines and creepers. The low buzz of animated conversation oozed from the central meeting room. Thiem’s plan was being discussed. Maps in hand, each leader was asking questions and making comments as his turn came round. Individual unit tasks had been given to the whole group, along with all the detail needed to carry out such a complex operation. These had included the routes in towards Nui Dat, start lines, timings, boundaries between each unit and the actions to be taken upon a dozen and one contingencies. There had been a session on the alternative actions, depending upon what was found or what happened or failed to happen, and finally, the actions to occur after the attack was over. Their meeting lasted the whole morning. When there were no more questions, Chinh radioed a series of short messages to Kiêt and Quang, describing the attack plan. He used an agreed code, allowing the details to be described but hiding them from any intercept. After a short while, Kiêt and Quang responded: ‘Agreed. Good luck.’ Over a quick lunch they planned the tasks for the next 48 hours. For the rest of the day, the leaders would write their own unit plans and brief their subordinate leaders and the leaders below them. They’d rest up overnight and spend the whole of the next day—the 13th—briefing their commands down to squad level on their tasks and timings. Squad by squad, the whole plan would be described, explained and described again. They would be rehearsed out loud and in sequence, the timings, the formations to use, the directions to move and the things to do if any part of the plan ran into trouble. At other times, the training and rehearsals for an attack would take many days—sometimes even weeks—but this situation allowed only two days for preparation.
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The recce company, who now knew the area well, would be split up and allocated to the other units and subunits as guides. The D800 Battalion recce platoon, who also knew the area well, would be tasked to do a further recce on the night of the 13th to ensure there were no changes at Nui Dat to affect the plan. The rest of the regiment would have that night to rest. The regiment was to form up by units in the eastern foothills of Nui Nghe from midday of the 14th and start their 5-kilometre move into Nui Dat as soon as the daily cloud cover was complete—at about four o’clock in the afternoon. The heavy cloud cover of the last few days indicated the monsoon was due to break any day now. With luck, it would break tomorrow and provide an extra level of cover. After sending the message of agreement, Quang returned to his hut on Nui May Tao. The plan sounded good. ‘No,’ he thought, ‘better than good. It sounds “right”.’ He was surprised the stupid mercenaries could be so smug as to leave themselves open to such an attack, yet the recce parties had proved the weakness was there. The attack would occur and, barring the worst bad luck, it would succeed. He, Quang, would be in the position to award Chinh the highest medal he was entitled to bestow, and to do it graciously, because he, Quang, would be the real winner. By offering Chinh the two extra battalions, this operation had become a divisional action and, if successful, it would be the divisional leader who would gain the glory. He beamed at his own hand in securing his destiny—and with not one but two levels of protection. If for any reason the attack failed, well then, it was a 274 Regiment attack. ‘After all,’ he justified his position to himself, ‘my part in it was to assist him with two battalions, one of which was a provincial mobile battalion and not really under my division anyway.’ And whatever responsibility for a failed attack might be attributed to the divisional HQ would be attributed to Kiêt. ‘The political cadre is responsible for the division’s strategy and must approve every significant planned action. ‘But it won’t fail—it can’t fail. It exploits the weakness of an
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incompetent enemy. It observes all the guidelines of the attack phase, guerrilla warfare, stage two. It pitches five experienced battalions against one inexperienced one; it employs an attack from within a lightly defended area outwards; all the defences will be facing the wrong way; it neutralises the artillery and armoured units with massive mortar, RCL and MMG fire; all separate attacks are from the rear; and no separate attack has less than a three-to-one ratio of attacker to defender.’ Quang felt a slight guilt at the ease with which he had finally made his destiny become a reality. ‘The whole Australian base will be a ruin on the morning of the 15th. Allowing for some soldiers to not be in base and for others to survive the debacle, there will still be more than 1000 Australians killed, maybe 1500. Their country couldn’t support such a loss—it would have to withdraw all its remaining troops. Probably the Australian government would fall. The American aggressors will be shown to be powerless to prevent the slaughter of their only independent ally. The puppet regime will see the weakness of the Americans and not trust them to protect their own forces. This will change the whole course of the war.’ Once again, he closed his eyes and pictured the old woman’s face: ‘You will have a unique opportunity to achieve the greatest glory and honour . . .’ ‘Even she couldn’t have imagined this,’ he thought, as he prepared himself for the night. ‘I will indeed be one with the generals in Hanoi!’ An hour after dawn on 14 June, the main recce groups arrived back at Nui Nghe and reported to Thiem. There appeared to have been no changes to the dispositions or routines in the mercenary camp since the last recce activity four days before. A small recce group had infiltrated the perimeter and stayed behind the hill within the base overnight. It would have left just before dawn, and would arrive at Nui Nghe within an hour. If it brought no news of change, then they would march on the base this
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afternoon. Thiem paced the main meeting room impatiently, eager to have the confirming report from the second recce group.
Also an hour after dawn, Mike Davis climbed into the Huey that would take him to Vung Tau. The morning was beautiful and clear, crisp and cloudless. A great day for flying. His task was to meet up with the battalion commander of 6RAR, Lt Colonel Colin Townsend, whose battalion was due to fly to Nui Dat today. Mike was to handle the liaison for them with their American Chinook transport flights. By 8.00 a.m. he was standing on the beach being introduced to the battalion HQ officers. Although it was still early, the sun was already hot on their backs. The hint of a sea breeze didn’t compensate for the lack of shade. The glare off the dry sand made them squint and shade their eyes. Townsend appeared nervous. ‘Are you sure the Chinooks have been arranged?’ he asked Mike. ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied. ‘Barring any unexpected operational commitments, they’ll be here.’ ‘Back in Australia, we’d have had to book the flights months ago, and there’d still be another triplicate form to fill out as we stepped aboard. This has been too easy—one phone call yesterday afternoon. Are you sure it’s arranged?’ ‘Sir, I’ve spoken to the transport aviation’s duty officer. He assures me they’ve left the air base.’ Mike was not surprised at the colonel’s nervousness. All the previous plans had required 6RAR to fly to Nui Dat on 23 June, not the 14th. Two of his companies had not yet finished their in-country acclimatisation and reorientation activities. Now there was this somewhat alarming call to get the battalion up there today—nine days early. Mike speculated that Townsend would have preferred that the helicopters didn’t arrive. If they didn’t turn up, then the fly-in would have to be postponed until tomorrow or maybe even the following day. He guessed this might have suited the colonel. At least
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the extra few days would see the last two companies fully trained and acclimatised.
Another hour of pacing in the dugout meeting room on Nui Nghe was finally rewarded with the arrival of the recce team that had spent the night inside the Australian base. They also reported no changes in the mercenary dispositions or routines since the last recce activity. Thiem breathed a long sign of relief. So, the attack was on for tonight. He called for the group of company runners and sent them each to their own company with the message that the plan had not changed. They should start assembling at the pre-arranged places from noon today. They would move out when the cloud cover was total. As for the imminent rain—so much the better if the fates decreed today was to be the day it started.
On and on the 6RAR soldiers waited. Mike walked along the landing strip, observing the troopers—no, he corrected himself—the ‘diggers’. He’d learned from 1RAR that the Aussies called themselves ‘diggers’. When asked why, the reply had harked back to World War I, when they reckoned with a laugh they’d spent more time digging than soldiering. Still, Mike thought, when it came time to soldier, they’d be okay, if 1RAR was anything to go by.
All over Nui Nghe, the soldiers of 274 Regiment were preparing for the overnight battle. Their activity was also reflected in D445 and H423 Battalions as they waited in their own areas before moving into their part in the battle. Weapons were stripped, cleaned, oiled and assembled. Magazines were unloaded, each round cleaned and
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oiled, and the magazines reloaded. In each mind, the sequences and timings drummed into them during all of the previous day were being rehearsed and memorised. The members of each three-man cell were testing themselves and each other with repetitions of their tasks and their responsibilities. Some 2500 LAF and NVA soldiers spent the day rehearsing in their minds the plans that would see them victorious before the sun rose tomorrow.
On the beach at Vung Tau, the thumping of four sets of twin rotors grew louder, stirring the resting men. NCOs stood and barked orders. Floppy hats came off and were tucked into shirtfronts. Each soldier once again checked that their weapons were empty and that their safety catches were ‘on’. Each platoon group waited for their helicopter to land.
From the observation post on the top of Nui Nghe, the arrival of four Chinooks caused alarm, bordering on panic. What was surely not wanted at Nui Dat was a change in the normal routine, and four Chinooks represented a change in the normal routine. A comrade ran down the hill to fetch Chinh, who came running back, followed by several of his staff. They were in time to see the four Chinooks depart. They clattered into the air beyond the rubber trees, circled over Hoa Long and beat their way south. Chinh called for thoughts. They agreed it could not have been a visiting official delegation—they hadn’t been on the ground long enough. It was not likely to be delivering stores or equipment— single Chinooks had arrived before with wire, picket and sandbag stores, and the unloading time had been similar—but never before four at once. It was also unlikely they were collecting troops, because they flew towards Vung Tau, and why would a company
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of combat troops be relocated to an area that was not a combat zone? The only option left was that the helicopters had delivered more mercenaries. But if this was so, it would still represent only one more company. The plan would not need to be called off—only modified. One of the reserve battalions would have to be held closer to the action to be used when the new company was located. Chinh made the decision—keep watch and see if anything else unusual happened. If not, we’ll change the plan to deal with another hundred mercenaries in the base. This was passed to all unit HQs in 274 Regiment and radioed to the two attached battalions.
Unfortunately for Chinh, the four Chinooks were only the day’s first flight. For the rest of the day, at about hourly intervals, Chinooks or Hueys arrived and departed. Each arrival brought another 6RAR company to Nui Dat, and pushed further away the prospect of a successful attack that night. The fly-in continued into the afternoon. After the last elements of 6RAR were in place, the choppers flew in the non-infantry support units. The last flight in brought ammunition to the gun lines, and flew out as the monsoon clouds gathered in the southeast. On the ground, in the cool of the rubber plantation, the commander of 6RAR allocated his company areas. Mike went with him as he visited each company to settle its perimeter and link it in with its adjoining units. Mike noted the positions on his map and then returned to his 5RAR tent. Tomorrow, he’d relocate to Task Force HQ. At 4.00 p.m. precisely, the monsoon rains began. The heavens simply opened up. The two or three hours before dark would, for the next three months, be marked by the heaviest and most unrelenting rain most Australians had ever experienced. And it would be so regular, they’d joke they set their watches by it.
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RE-EVALUATION
14–19 June 1966
Chinh’s last hopes of an overnight attack departed with the Chinooks. It was obvious that during the day the mercenary base had been massively reinforced—at least doubled in strength. The required attack ratio of three-to-one no longer existed, even for a surprise assault from inside their own base. A fresh plan was called for, and for that he needed a new recce program. He had to know where on the perimeter the reinforcements were located. Had the open area north from the hill to the rubber been plugged? How much of the area behind the hill, where he had hoped to form up his assault forces before launching them outwards, was now still open? Yes—further reconnaissance would be required, but even so, the likely two-battalion target was no longer within the capabilities of a single Main Force regiment. Chinh stood his units down and called the 274 Regiment leaders to a meeting. There, and by radio to D445 and H423 battalions, he explained the afternoon’s delay and the death of the attack plan. The change in the mercenary base gave them no option but to start another phase of activity. A new reconnaissance program would 151
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be drawn up and executed. H423 Battalion would return to its 275 Regiment base area north of Xuyen Moc, and D445 would disperse, each company to its own base operations areas. The day’s events were encoded and transmitted to Kiêt and Quang that afternoon. Quang accepted the message calmly. Instead of one Australian battalion, there were now two. That had been expected from the media reports, but the timing was bad. Still, they were new to the country, inexperienced, occupying an unfamiliar base and behind minimal defences. In other words, they were still vulnerable, he reasoned. Instead of requiring one regiment to destroy them, and the regimental leader getting the glory, it would now require at least two regiments—his division—and the division’s leader—himself— getting the glory. Yes, destiny was once again proving to be in his favour. The target was every bit as soft and juicy, but had become twice as large. All he needed was a meticulous plan, and his destiny was fulfilled. He penned his response to Chinh. The response from Nui May Tao was not what Chinh expected. Rather than be criticised for delaying his attack and being too cautious, Quang had commended him for his caution and attention to detail. He said the target was still the same, only fatter, and had ordered the recce teams be sent out again, to find out the base’s altered secrets. The attack plan would be changed to cope with the extra mercenaries. And the battalions of Chinh’s sister unit, 275 Regiment, were to be included in the task. Chinh sighed his relief. The plan, good as it was, had its risks, but now it was out of his hands. Kiêt and Quang would control the new plan, and Chinh would only stand to benefit. If successful, there would be the recognition. If it failed, then the responsibility would be on the higher leaders. He called for Thiem and began planning a new roster of recce patrols.
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On the 15th, Mike packed his meagre possessions into his field kitbag, bid those in the 5RAR HQ goodbye and was driven to Task Force HQ. He was pleased to find a sixteen-by-sixteen canvas tent had been set up and allocated to him. He moved in to find his second kitbag already lying on the metal bedframe and mattress. The tent had floorboards and a rudimentary bedside table roughly made from an artillery ammunition case proudly sitting against the bed. After his groundsheet under a hoochie in the 5RAR mud, Mike appreciated the propensity of armies the world over to be able to provide better facilities to the troops higher up the HQ levels. It therefore came as no surprise whatsoever when Mike found there was an enclosed shower point at Task Force HQ. Hot water was available from a 44-gallon drum over a 24-hour fire in a screened-off and canvas-covered pit. That afternoon, Mike had a month’s worth of warm showers and emerged, at least in his own mind, several degrees lighter in colour and, though he couldn’t really afford it, several degrees lighter in weight as well.
Over the next four days and nights—5 to 18 June—a constant stream of two- three- and four-man recce groups left Nui Nghe and probed the mercenary base perimeter again. As well as bringing back the critical information and measurements about the base, they began to assemble a file on the behaviour of the mercenary patrols themselves. To their amazement, the recce groups who entered the base were able to use the same two gaps that were open before. The swampy creek to the south now formed the boundary between two units and was still not well protected. More surprising, the wide space between the hill and the rubber plantation to its north remained open—still not defended and still without mines. As days before, the recce
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groups found they could traverse the area at a walk, even in the early morning moonlight, without being challenged. The groups tasked to locate and map the artillery placement were surprised to find that all the guns had been placed on the one side of the base. The Australians would be unable to provide close support for each other if they came under attack. Even more surprising was the discovery that the gun crews defended their own perimeters. Whenever the artillery was firing, the crews moved from their forward weapon pits to man the guns. This left just two machine-gun crews to defend the entire 300 metres of each battery’s front for as long as the guns fired. By first light, recce groups placed themselves in a hide from where they could observe the morning routines of the base and note the patrols as they left. They watched as each patrol assembled inside the wire after full light. Once outside the wire, the patrols lined up and test-fired their weapons—just a few shots each, and usually in a single volley. Before long, the observers could guess the patrol’s size by the volume of fire. It was soon obvious to Thiem, as he compiled all the intelligence, that the pattern set by the first mercenary force was echoed by the second. Each day, a platoon-sized patrol left from three of the four company positions of each battalion, and a company-sized patrol left each battalion every third day. Thiem did a calculation in the margin of his notes—he knew each mercenary battalion had 12 infantry platoons, so there were 24 platoons in the base in total. If each battalion had one company of three platoons plus three platoon-sized patrols out each day and each night, then 12 platoons were outside the wire at any time. Each of the eight company positions on the perimeter would have to be defended day and night, so that would take another eight platoons, leaving four platoons. They had seen one infantry platoon move to the armoured car area each evening and return each morning, therefore it must be defending the area overnight. So three ‘spare’ platoons remained in the base each night. But
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again by observation, these platoons were not put to internal defence duties. Thiem reckoned at best—or worst—they must be held as a reaction company within the base, to be sped to any perimeter incident as backup for the thin line of defenders. By 18 June, Chinh and Thiem had a clear picture of the mercenary base and its routines. Kiêt and Quang ordered Thiem to return immediately to Nui May Tao and brief them on the findings. They ordered Chinh to bring the command elements of 274 Regiment to 5th Division HQ in one week’s time. Thiem and the 274 Regiment recce company under Tuyen set out the next day. Chinh passed his orders to his three battalions, putting D800 into the Nui Thi Vai area, 265 Battalion into the Hat Dich area and 308 Battalion into the area between Binh Ba and Courtenay. It was always necessary to return to these base areas from time to time. They had to refresh diggings and camouflage, to revisit the nearby villages to collect taxes and seek further recruits, to shore up the village cadres and to simply be seen by the villagers so they’d know the comrades were out there fighting for their liberation. Three days later, Chinh and his Regimental HQ and protection groups left for Nui May Tao.
Mike had settled in at 1ATF HQ and was writing a letter to his wife in the States. It was a twice-weekly ritual he forced on himself, no matter how small the letter or how dispiriting it was to wrestle a damp page into an equally damp envelope. The humidity was oppressive, but it went beyond purely personal discomfort. It got into every bit of paperwork and rendered every page slightly moist. Mildew formed in clothes. Boots, always damp, slowly rotted away. Rust formed inside rifle barrels in the course of a single day, so all weapons had to be cleaned and oiled morning and night. Ammunition in magazines had to be oiled. Dry
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socks were a dream, and wet underwear a nightmare. In fact, few bothered to wear underwear. In the case of chaffed crutch versus swinging spheres, the spheres usually got their freedom. And then there were the rashes . . . Mike couldn’t and wouldn’t write about the day-to-day Australian operations or the broader issues he saw. His family wanted to know how he was getting on, how he was feeling. With little understanding back home of what was happening in Viet Nam, and even less desire for understanding, all anyone wanted to know was that their loved one was out of danger and would be coming home soon. Within the communities at home in the States there was no feeling their men were engaged in a mission of international or even national importance. Being known as the wife of a soldier in Viet Nam brought no honour. If anything, in 1966 it was a matter best left unsaid. The wives and parents, of course, were proud of their men. Their community did not share the pride. So the letters home told of the day-to-day comfort things, the odd funny incident and— endlessly—of their plans for the future.
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REVISION
20 June 1966
The crisp morning breeze brushed against the slopes of Nui May Tao, sending a cascade of dew drops from the canopy shimmering down onto the men below. The chill seemed contagious, causing each in the group to shiver in a chain reaction. They laughed at each other, in the manner of friends rather than leaders and followers, as they rubbed the goose bumps from their arms. Quang ushered Thiem into the dug-out meeting room, followed by the others. Quang’s staff were already waiting, with Commissar Kiêt in his khaki uniform seated opposite the entry trench. The guests were shown to the remaining seats. A thousand-to-one scale mud model of the Nui Dat West area took up most of the floor space. Markings showed the base as it was before the arrival of the reinforcements. Patches of dark green material indicated rubber plantations, light green indicated bush areas, bare earth indicated clearings, blue ribbons indicated streams and a red ribbon indicated Route 2. A fine lattice of bamboo indicated the villages of Hoa Long and Long Phuoc. A thin strip of white material pegged to stand vertically indicated the known perimeter wire. Signs on sticks indicated unit 157
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types, strengths and any other information gained from the recce activities. A 1-metre grid of strings marked off the 1000-metre map squares, and a 3-kilometre scale stick with 100-metre markings lay alongside the Route 2 ribbon. The blackboard stood to one side. ‘Most of you know comrade Thiem,’ announced Quang. ‘He is the deputy leader of 274 Regiment. He and his unit have been mapping the mercenary base and will now show us the changes in the base since the arrival of the second mercenary battalion last week.’ Thiem and Tuyen moved to the south view of the mud map and consulted their maps and diagrams. Explaining as they went, they moved the earlier perimeter on the north and east outwards, but still within the rubber plantation, and moved the original unit markers to the north. They placed additional markers for the reinforcement units to the east and southeast. A new artillery battery was placed in the south, and they made a few other adjustments. There were some questions on sizes and numbers, which were answered smoothly. After a few minutes, they stood back, looked at each other, nodded and returned to their seats. Quang stood and moved to the south view of the mud map. ‘Comrades,’ he paused, frowning. Kiêt, who knew what was coming, thought of Quang’s nickname and how fitting it was—here’s ‘The Cobra’ again, poised and ready to strike. Quang spoke slowly, seriously. ‘I have received news from COSVN,’ he said, producing a radio message sheet, holding it in the air. Another pause as he looked around the room at the ring of serious faces. Then, bursting into a wide grin, he almost shouted ‘to eliminate the mercenaries!’ The room thundered with cheers and applause. Some leaped to their feet, clapping. Some turned to each other in back-slapping embrace. Even Kiêt couldn’t suppress a smile and shook his head slowly. With devotion like this, victory was certain. Quang waited patiently as the noise died down, then cleared his voice and continued. ‘The Central Committee wants the basic plan in three days and the details in a week. Our task is to meet this timetable. Comrades, there is a great deal of work to achieve in a small amount of time.
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For the rest of this morning, comrade Tien will lead us to choose whether we should attack the base or draw out a column and ambush them. After the lunch break, we will divide into specialist groups to build on the choice we made. ‘Tomorrow morning, we shall hear the findings of each group and make decisions. After lunch tomorrow, we shall make a workable plan and then try to break it. By tomorrow night, we will have the main plan. The next morning, we will consider any detail not covered so far and in the afternoon we will advise COSVN of our ideas. After that, we will develop the details. ‘Comrade Tien.’ Tien rose and moved to the blackboard. He drew a central vertical line and a central horizontal line, dividing the board into four equal boxes. At the top he wrote ATTACK over one column and AMBUSH over the other. At the side, he wrote FOR and, below that, AGAINST. Under Tien’s control, the discussion flowed freely. At the end of two hours the board read:
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FOR
ATTACK
AMBUSH
Recce shows base not formidable
Enemy troops raw— may be easily led into ambush
Lightly defended—no bunkers, few trenches, open pits, no minefields, tents not sandbagged, wire only 1–2 metres thick. SO—it has its weaknesses
Ground of our choice We are good at ambush technique—all our ambushes are successful
We have required 9:1 assault ratio A major victory if successful—deserves some risk
AGAINST
Ground of enemy choice (but we know it well) Artillery destroyed first, then armour—these are greatest risks
Enemy over platoon size is widely dispersed Thus either wide area ambush or only target 1 or 2 companies Enemy always in artillery range One company of 100 troops = 5 per cent of their total force Major risk for minor victory if successful
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After the morning’s discussion, Quang took over from Tien. ‘It would seem from our thoughts,’ he summed up, ‘that an attack on the base will be less risk than an ambush.’ He thanked the group, suggested they all return in one hour, and left the dug-out room. Quang did not eat with his comrades that day. He took his meal from the communal kitchen and returned to his hut. He didn’t do this often, he told himself, but it wasn’t unheard of and this time it was justified. After the morning’s talk, he had much to think about and no one he cared to share it with. Squatting in his hut, he placed the map in front of him so it looked as if he were studying it. No one would disturb him. As he ate his rice, he wondered if anyone had noticed his growing relief as the blackboard filled with more and more points for an attack. He shuddered at the idea. Waste the chance of reaching his destiny by ambushing a mere company of mercenaries? Never! To achieve his destiny, he had to eliminate the lot of them. And this could only be done by taking the whole base. But to do it, Quang recognised, he had to have his entire command come to the decision themselves. And he’d have to see to it that Kiêt also reached that conclusion himself. They all had to believe it was their idea in order to be fully committed to carrying it out. The process was off to a good start. Quang smiled, applauding himself on his act of innocence. With his last mouthful of hot tea, he toasted the old woman whose prediction was about to come true. He had the attack plan already formed in his head. All he needed was for the group to arrive at the same plan without his urging over the next 48 hours and he could start planning his retirement. His heroic return to join the generals in the North. How he would relish the knock-on effects of eliminating the Australian contribution. Saigon would fall, no matter what happened in the Central Highlands campaign.
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After lunch, Quang again addressed the planning group. ‘From this morning’s session, your decision,’ he masked a smile, ‘was we should go ahead with the idea of an attack on the Australian base. In order to proceed, the group will split into smaller groups and each will be given a part of the plan to study, discuss and develop.’ He turned the blackboard over to reveal a chalked table:
GROUP
SUBJECT
LEADER
Operations groups Reece groups Battalion leaders Regiment leaders Second-incommands Intelligence groups Political cadres
Available units and their equipment
Tien
Approaches to the base Diversions
Dinh Ginh
Possible ambush of relief forces
Chinh
Equipment and supply needs
Thiem
Best dates/times for an attack
Van
Political activities
Cadres
‘Split into your groups. You have the next four hours for your discussions. We will meet here an hour before sunset, and the leaders will tell us what you have come up with.’
Brigadier Jackson and his senior intelligence officer, Major John Rowe, leaned over the map on his desk. They had plotted each IntRep item from the last month and laboriously checked the dates
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and grid references against their own operations and patrol schedules. Doing so, they’d eliminated about a third of the ‘suspected VC’ reports as referring to their own troops. Another third had been dismissed—the ones that placed ‘suspected VC’ in the same location but on a date up to two days before or after Australian troops had been in the same area. Of the reports proven wrong, about half had also wrongly estimated the numbers—usually upwards. Platoons had been reported as companies, companies as battalions. It was frustrating. If at least two-thirds of all reports could be proven inaccurate, how reliable were the other one-third? ‘What we need,’ Rowe said, ‘is reliable eyes and ears out there in the scrub.’ ‘They’re coming,’ Jackson replied. ‘They’ll be here in a week.’ He referred to 3 Squadron, Special Air Service (SAS) Regiment, newly arrived in Viet Nam and due to start operations on 26 June. With a sprinkling of four-, five- and six-man patrols out in the field, there would at last be timely, reliable intelligence about enemy movements and concentrations. It couldn’t happen soon enough for Jackson. He was still being deluged with indications the VC were preparing to hit the base, yet he couldn’t point to any single conclusive proof of such an intention.
The 5th Division planning group gathered an hour before sunset. Again, Quang addressed the group. ‘Make your reports short. I only want your results. We can get to the details later if needed.’ Then it was over to Tien. The operations leader rose and pinned to the blackboard a handdrawn sheet. It showed an organisation chart of all NVA and VC units available in Phuoc Tuy and the adjoining provinces. Addressing the chart, Tien listed the forces available to Quang:
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•
UNIT 274 Regiment (3 battalions) 275 Regiment (3 battalions) Other 5th Division units D445 Battalion D440 Battalion Smaller units
STRENGTH 2000 1850 400 550 minimum to 750 maximum 800 400 total fighting forces
TOTAL
6000 minimum to 6200 maximum
•
Tien then pinned up a second chart. It showed the heavy support weapon holdings of just the main units—the division, the two regiments and D445 Battalion. The D440 Battalion holdings were unconfirmed. Tien explained that in all cases, the actual holdings did not match the theoretical holdings, and that limited ammunition supplies had further reduced the effective numbers, but these were the weapons Quang could count on having:
• WEAPONS
• OWNER 274 Regiment only 274, 275, D445 274, 275, D445 plus 1 per infantry coy not pooled 65 274, 275, D445 X not pooled—for close support only
NUMBER 57/76mm anti-tank guns 9 75/82mm Recoilless rifles 28 12.7/14.5 anti-aircraft MGs 4 7.62mm MMGs 42 82/120mm mortars 60mm mortars
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Leaving the charts on the board, Tien returned to his seat. Without introduction, Dinh got to his feet and stood at the mud map on the floor. He held several strips of black material. He lay the first strip right across the map’s north, outside the wire. ‘We think a frontal assault into the teeth of the battalion defences will fail. It is the expected way, and is far from the artillery, which gives them a long time to target our forces. There’s a large area behind the target for the enemy to move reserve forces. And there’s a large distance to cover after we get through the wire to reach the base HQ area, which, after all, is our target.’ Laying further black strips to the northeast, then east, then southeast and finally south to the east of the swampy creek, he added, ‘These are all as with the north approach.’ Passing to the southwest, he lay two more strips around the southwest and west. ‘These access routes take our forces into the imperialist gun-tanks and the armoured cars. The ground is open to their fronts and gives us less cover on our approach. In the time it would take us to fight through these areas, the infantry forces will deploy against us within the base.’ Placing his final strip of black material over the northwest, Dinh said, ‘The northwest is open—not manned—so the mercenaries must consider it to be most vulnerable, therefore a most likely attack approach. It is flanked by the armoured cars and by one of the battalions, and is overlooked by the hill itself, which is very steep on its west face. It is still 2000 metres from most of the artillery. In order for us to take our objectives, we would have to assault, wheel around the hill and come at the HQ area from its north. Our assault distance would be greater than 2000 metres—almost 3000 metres, and would include two changes of direction. In a night assault, this would be inadvisable.’ Stepping back from the mud map, the black ribbon extended from the west side of Route 2 all the way around the base to the swampy creek between the rubber plantations. He tapped the open area with the scale measuring stick. ‘The southern approach is the base’s rear. It is not the expected way. Yet it has no flanking units except the imperialists’ gun-tanks,
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which we will deal with separately. It leads directly into the lines of our most dangerous enemy—the guns. It is close to Hoa Long—only 1000 metres away. We have seen the imperialist artillery will fire at us even if civilians or villages are in the way. But we have not seen the mercenaries do this. We could expect the presence of the village might prevent them firing at our assault forces over open sights. There’s no room behind our first target for the enemy to move more troops. It’s less than 1000 metres to our main target— the base HQ area—and it’s in a direct line—no need to change the assault direction once we start’. ‘And,’ he added, ‘the way in is through Long Phuoc—no open areas to cover until 100 metres from the wire. And it was only a three-wire fence when we looked two days ago. ‘Finally—and best of all—when the guns are firing, all the gunners leave the wire and go to the guns. The gun area fronts are then held by only two machine guns per battery. We’ve talked with Ginh and suggested this fact should be included in the diversions plan. This will deal with the imperialist gun-tanks I mentioned earlier.’ Waving Ginh to the floor, Dinh sat down. Ginh’s group had looked at several diversion activities, some for before the event and some for the night itself. ‘First, we looked at ways to remove the three-platoon reaction force from the base. We talked of many ways, but were left with only two. If we led them to think we would attack a puppet outpost the night before our real attack, they might put a company in the target to protect it. This might work, but we have tried it before with the imperialists and they have not taken the bait. ‘We think the only sure way is to bombard the base HQ area a night or two before the attack. We let them find the bombardment position and see that there was a platoon force protecting it. This will mean they will send a company out to find and punish the bombardment force. We will lead the company away from the areas we wanted to use. The effect would be to remove three more platoons from the base area. ‘Moving now to the attack night itself. As soon as we were told
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an attack from the south was favoured, we concentrated on the best diversion for a southern attack.’ Using the mud map, Ginh explained his group’s thinking on the diversion. ‘It is our belief the mercenaries will think they are most unsafe on their open northwest. This is therefore the best place to have a diversion. The mercenaries will be inclined to think and react as if it’s the real attack. ‘We suggest the diversion will have to be at least battalion size to be taken seriously. Coming from the northwest, it will seem like a real threat. The diversion force will engage the left elements of the northern infantry battalion, the troops on the hill itself and the armoured cars. By engaging such a wide spread of base forces, the diversion force will appear larger than it really will be. If they fire mostly tracer rounds, this will make it look more threatening. ‘We propose the diversion force is allocated the AAMGs for use against the hill and the armoured cars. Their range and hitting power will be best used in this fire support role, as there will be no aircraft threat at night. ‘If the plan to remove the company from the base fails, then when the diversion starts, the reaction force will be rushed to the northwest perimeter—away from the actual attack target. ‘Finally, a diversion from the northwest will get all the guns manned and pointing north. This, as we know, will leave the guns’ perimeter lightly defended when the gun crews leave to man the guns. And the guns will be facing exactly the wrong way when we hit their defences.’ With an air of self-satisfaction, Ginh returned to his seat. Chinh stood and moved to the blackboard. He flipped into view the large-scale map he’d pinned to the board earlier. ‘As you know, whenever we plan an attack, we consider the possibility of drawing relief forces into battle as well. In this case, we have considered what forces could come to the mercenaries’ aid, and what we could do about them. ‘First, there are no large fighting forces held in the Vung Tau area, so there will be no rescue from there. Second, there are no
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large puppet units in Phuoc Tuy, so again, there will be no rescue by the puppet dogs. The only rescue forces will be the imperialists. We see only two—a helicopter rescue from Bien Hoa or the armoured cars from 20 kilometres north, in Long Khanh Province. ‘The helicopters do not fly at night, so they will not react until morning. If they do this, there is little we can do to stop them. Our best defence will be to leave the mercenary base by first light. ‘The armoured cars are another matter. They are new in our country, and may well make a mistake we can exploit. If given the rescue task, they will have to drive down Route 2 in a hurry. It will have to be in the morning, and they will need speed. They will not have the time to do a thorough recce. It will be a single column speeding down a narrow road. A regimental ambush on Route 2 is our suggestion.’ ‘So far as we can see, there will be no other rescue force available to rush to the mercenary base.’ Chinh nodded to Thiem, and returned to his seat. Thiem’s report was brief. He confirmed the weapon and ammunition supplies held by the units in Phuoc Tuy and adjacent provinces. Since they planned an attack on a base rather than a battle or ambush in the field, he noted, they would swap their commanddetonated mines for hand grenades. Enough would be needed, he said, for each soldier to carry several, and for comrades within each unit to carry satchels of grenades to resupply others as the attack progressed. A supply of 5000 hand grenades and 1000 demolition charges would be requested. They could be delivered by sampan to the Phuoc Tuy coast within a month. As well, every soldier would be issued with a double supply of ammunition. The attack would take a lot of firepower, but the force would need more to cover its withdrawal and during the following few days. Crew-served weapons would also need additional ammo supplies. All of this resupply could also be obtained within a month. In order for the attack force to approach the base, Thiem told them, it would have to move during the day through areas patrolled
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by the mercenaries and covered by their artillery. The move would therefore have to be slow, stealthy and well camouflaged. The villages on the coast would provide fishing nets to support camouflage. Cadres from other villages would have their villagers weave cane frames for the same purpose—many hundreds would be needed. Van’s weather summary was equally brief. Over the next few months, the daily rain would start in mid-afternoon and it would rain until well into the night. This would provide cover from aircraft for the close approach to the base, and would cover the noise of movement on the ground. As well, they were in the new moon phase right now, so the next new moon would be 19 July and the one after that would be 18 August, then 16 September. The July new moon would be too soon for the gathering of supplies, he said, and by 16 September the base would be stronger and better defended than it was today. He suggested the period 17 to 19 August would be best for them to attack the base, with monsoon cover and dark, moonless nights. Kiêt then spoke on behalf of the political cadres. He stressed the need to remove the foreigners first from the province and then from the country. They must struggle free from the yoke of oppression thrown over them by the succession of invaders. Their forefathers had resisted foreigners for a thousand years. Now it was their turn. He called for meticulous planning and nerves of steel in the execution of this bold and heroic enterprise. The cause was right, so the result was certain. Had not their fathers, through iron will and little else, thrown out the hated French from this very province only twelve years ago? And would not their sons do the same with these mercenaries and their puppet regime collaborators? ‘Comrades,’ he said, ‘the ultimate expression of the struggle for freedom is to advance on the enemy with the will to win and the means to win. You are not fighting for your own life. You are not even fighting for your own family or your own friends or your own village. You are fighting for the freedom of your whole country. Every battle won is but a brick in the wall of victory. Make sure each brick is sound and victory is assured.’
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Everyone clapped when Kiêt sat down. Some to applaud what he had said. Some to show thanks he’d finished. Some to ensure the hawk-eyes of the zealots did not note a lack of dedication to the ideal and mark them for possible ‘re-education’. And Quang clapped hardest of all. In all he’d heard, there had been nothing to remove the prize from his grasp. Beyond his greatest hope, his own plan was unfolding from the mouths of others. A few easy decisions and his destiny would be assured. Quang rose to his feet, beaming his pleasure at the day’s results. ‘Comrades,’ he spread his arms to embrace the room. ‘You have today written the death warrant for the mercenaries in our homeland. Tomorrow, we shall put the death warrant into a draft document. I have heard nothing today to make me believe COSVN would reject your plan.’ He emphasised the word ‘your’. A ripple of nodding orbited the room before Quang spoke again. ‘For the rest of the evening, comrade Tien and his staff will take what has been said today and form a basic plan. We will meet again an hour after sunrise tomorrow. Then we will see the plan put together and in the afternoon we will try to beat it. If it survives our attempts to beat it, it will also survive the mercenaries’ attempts. ‘The mercenaries have two inexperienced battalions,’ Quang went on, as he raised both his hands, holding his open palms in front of his face. ‘We have 265 Battalion, 308 Battalion, and D800 Battalion of 274 Regiment,’ he said, as one by one he curled three fingers of his left hand into a fist. ‘And we have H421, H422 and H423 Battalions of 275 Regiment.’ He curled the corresponding fingers of his right hand. ‘We have D445 and D440 Battalions,’ he said, curling the two remaining fingers. ‘And we have all the supporting arms of 274 Regiment,’ curling his left thumb, ‘and all the supporting arms of 275 Regiment,’ curling his right thumb. With two fists now in front of his face, he raised volume and pitch. ‘We have the power. ‘Remember what is on our flag. “Determined to fight; determined to win”.’ Quang held his fists in the air and chanted the words: ‘Determined to fight; determined to win.’ Everyone in the dug-out
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room rose to their feet. ‘Determined to fight; determined to win.’ His chant was taken up all around the room. ‘Determined to fight; determined to win.’ Fists held high. ‘Determined to fight; determined to win.’ With that, he turned and left the meeting room. ‘Determined to fight; determined to win.’ Yes, Quang agreed with the nowmuffled chant behind him. ‘A plan to fight,’ he said out loud. ‘A plan to win.’ That evening, Kiêt came to Quang’s hut. ‘I’ve been thinking about the attack timing,’ he opened. ‘I think the 18 August date might be too close. It should be enough time for us to gather our supplies, but it may not permit us enough time to fully rehearse. What do you think?’ ‘If not in August, when do you suggest, Commissar?’ ‘The October date may not give us the reliable monsoon cover we’re counting on. I think we should consider the September date. It will allow us the time we need to practice.’ Quang’s heart skipped a beat. The last thing he wanted to do was to delay his destiny. ‘Remember what happened when General Giap delayed his attack on Dien Bien Phu? While he delayed in order to build up his support, the French used the same time to build up their defences. By the time Giap attacked, the French had an airfield and heavy defences. His attack cost him much more in May than it would have if he’d attacked in January.’ ‘Are you comparing the Australians at Nui Dat with the French at Dien Bien Phu?’ ‘Yes, Commissar, in a way, despite the different scale. If we delay our attack on the mercenaries at Nui Dat, they will not only build an airfield but they will fill their defences with bunkers and trenches. They will have much more wire around themselves and minefields on their front. They will probably fill the northwest gap and will surely fix the weakness they have on their artillery front. If they do any of this, we will not have the strength to attack
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them. So, Commissar, I respectfully counsel that we do not delay our attack date.’ ‘But, comrade Quang, can you be sure our forces will be prepared for an August attack?’ ‘I put each of my regiments together myself, in the training camps in Cambodia last year,’ Quang said. ‘I can assure you the comrades will be up to the task in the time we have. Commissar, if you have any doubts about the comrades of 275 Regiment . . .’ ‘I do not doubt the ability of your soldiers, comrade Quang,’ Kiêt cut in lightly, ‘and nor do I doubt your confidence in them. I take your point about the delay at Dien Bien Phu. And I don’t think the attack will fail because we had two months to prepare instead of three. I simply wonder whether an additional month of training, practice and rehearsal would be prudent?’ It was an argument hard to dismiss. Normally, the more time spent in practice and rehearsal, the better the comrades performed. But this wasn’t a ‘normal’ event. This was the capping glory of his whole career. This was his destiny. Quang changed the focus. ‘Our main task is not to eliminate the mercenary base but, rather, be ready to cut Route 15 and advance on the puppet regime in Saigon. If the mercenary base still exists when we receive that call, then our main task will be much more difficult. I consider any small risk taken in eliminating the mercenary base sooner rather than later will be a small risk I would be happy to take full responsibility for.’ Kiêt paused to consider what Quang had just said. ‘I will remember your words, comrade Quang, and I hope you will have no cause to regret them.’ Kiêt turned and left the hut. It had been an amicable exchange, without heat or venom, but it left Quang feeling uneasy. Somehow, he felt he’d been manipulated into taking full responsibility for an attack that had been planned jointly—by each of them as well as by their whole staff. Why? There was no question in Quang’s mind the planned attack would succeed. All the portents were there. The old woman’s prophecy had proved accurate all his life. Why should it fail now? The
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inept Australians were almost inviting an attack with the open space on their perimeter, the bare artillery front during a fire mission and their lack of internal defences. The recces had proven the existence of all of these weaknesses. He had the strength to take the base while observing every guideline in the Party’s tactics doctrine. And he knew his battalions would be prepared in time. Besides, Dien Bien Phu had been in 1954 the Year of the Horse. Giap’s swift and powerful forces had achieved victory over the French. This year, 1966, was again the Year of the Horse. Such things did not happen by accident. They were omens—messages from the gods, to be revealed only to those who recognised such portents. ‘This year,’ he vowed silently, ‘my swift and powerful forces will achieve victory over the Australians. What greater sign is needed? ‘But it must be August, while they’re still weak and unprepared.’
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A SECOND PLAN
20–21 June 1966
The 5th Division meeting room was called to order as Kiêt and Quang walked in. All attendees stood and turned to them in silence. The seats were still arranged around the mud map in the centre of the room. It had not changed since the meeting ended the day before. Quang made his way to the seat in the centre of the south view and sat down. Kiêt took his usual seat, to one side. The blackboard had been set up against the opposite wall, and Tien stood by, chalk in hand. ‘Comrade Tien,’ Quang announced to everyone present, ‘You have selected the best options from yesterday and put them into a plan.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘And you have attached units to tasks to ensure we have the numbers?’ Tien nodded. ‘Yes, comrade Quang.’ ‘Proceed,’ said Quang, and he settled back onto his seat. Tien opened his notes on the makeshift ammunition-box lectern and began to read. As he mentioned dates and units, one of his aides wrote them on the blackboard. As he mentioned positions or movements, another of his aides pointed to them on the mud map on the floor. 174
The second assault goes through the first, into the Task Force HQ area and on into the rear of the APC area.
The third assault will wheel right (east) into the rear of the Engineers area.
The fourth and fifth assaults pass through Task Force HQ and assault the hill and the two infantry battallions from their rears.
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Armoured cars
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Long Phuoc
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Rubber plantation Wire defences
Suoi Da Bang
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Scale: approx. 1000-metre grid
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X X X X X X X Infantry X X X X X X Infantry X Infantry XX X X X 5 X X Infantry XX XX X Infantry XX X X X XX X X X X X X X X X X X XXX
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Song Cau
Diversion Assault Force
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Map 4: The NVA/LF attack plan, set for overnight 18/19 August 1966
The first assault enters through the artillery lines and when it reaches the artillery HQ, it turns outwards and defends its flanks.
1
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‘The best date for the attack would be the night of Thursday 18 August. It will be a new moon, giving us a dark night. The monsoon will give us cover as we approach the base on the afternoon of the 18th from the east. Mid-August is far enough away that we have time to collect the supplies we need and to prepare, yet not far enough away that the mercenaries can make big changes to their defences. We will, of course, make more recces as the date gets closer. ‘We know the base will have 50 per cent of its infantry outside the wire at any time. This leaves some twelve platoons of infantry to defend the base. In order to get the base to remove a further company of infantry—three platoons—from the base, we will bombard the HQ area overnight on the 16/17th. The bombardment team will be the D445 Mortar Company and the D445 RCL Platoon—six 82mm mortars and three 57/75mm rocket launchers. The D445 Recce Platoon will protect the two teams. We need the mercenaries to recognise the protection party as a platoon to ensure they send out a full company and not less. We will mortar them from the east and leave clear tracks heading northeast for them to follow on the 17th. This will take them away from our approach path. At the limit of their patrol range, the recce platoon will engage them in firefights to keep them from returning to the base on the 18th. ‘We will set a two-battalion plus heavy weapons ambush on Route 2 between the Courtenay rubber plantation and Binh Gia at the north of the province. It will be in place by the 18th and will remain in place until the 21st unless triggered. The ambush force will be 274 Regiment less D800 Battalion and less their AAMGs. Their task will be to catch the armoured cars of the imperialists’ 11th Cavalry Regiment if they come to the aid of the mercenaries. The ambush should expect observation flights along Route 2, so concealment and camouflage will be necessary. We must not rely on blown bridges or roadblocks in advance of the ambush, as these would be spotted by the air recce. ‘In the week before the 18th, D800 Battalion will operate along Route 15 in the west and southwest. This will attract attention to
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that area and may even get the mercenaries to place troops in that area in the defence of puppet installations. The 274 Regiment AAMGs will occupy Nui Nghe until the return of D800 Battalion on the 18th. The battalion, with the AAMGs, will then become the diversion force. It will approach the base secretly from the northwest after the rain starts on the 18th, and take positions immediately to the west of Route 2 opposite Nui Dat West. At exactly 11.45 p.m. on the 18th, the AAMGs will fire on the armoured cars and at the hill, and the battalion will put in mock attacks on the perimeters of the armoured cars and the infantry units at the north of the base. There must be maximum noise and aggression, with bugles and machine-gun fire into depth positions, using tracer to add visibility. The impression to be created is that this is a major assault. ‘The main assault forces will have approached the base from the east, reaching the east side of the Long Tan Nui Dat by noon of the 18th. We’ll talk about this advance later this morning. There, they will stop until the rain comes in the mid-afternoon. Once the rain starts, the force will advance and cross the Suoi Da Bang at Long Phuoc, and will assemble in the village using guides provided by the local comrades. To secure the river crossing, D445 will place a company plus their mortar platoon at the damaged bridge on the evening of the 17th. The company will hide and avoid contact with the mercenaries all day on the 18th. ‘The main assault force will comprise the three battalions of 275 Regiment plus D445 Battalion, D440 Battalion and local specialist comrades—medics, porters, guides and so on. The heavy weapons of these formations will not be with them on their advance towards the target. At least eight bullock carts will be required to carry the ammunition we believe we will need. The passage of such a large force burdened by their heavy weapons and bullock carts will be too slow and cumbersome, thereby risking the move’s security. As well, there is no crossing point on the Suoi Da Bang for heavy crew-served weapons and their carts. The stream is deep and fast-flowing due to the rains, and the only possible crossing point is a weir in the middle of the rice fields, several thousand metres to the south.
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‘For security it is better that the heavy weapons—the mortars, the RCLs and their ammunition—to approach the base from the west. The fire support base for the attack will be mainly from the southwest. The western approach offers no major obstacles. It’s covered right up to the banks of the Song Cau, which is easily crossed at many points. There will be two exceptions. The wheeled machine guns will be split, some moving with each force, because one of the firebases will be to the southeast. And the 60mm mortars will not be pooled—they will remain with their owning units for tactical support in the absence of heavier fire support. ‘We expect our diversion attack will have the effect of drawing to the northwest any mobile reserves still in the base, and that every gun in the base will be swung to point towards the attack. ‘Once the assault forces see all the artillery manned and facing north, the signal will be given and the real attack will start. On the signal, all the heavy support weapons will fire on their targets. We have nine anti-tank guns but they will all be with the 274 Regiment ambush. We have 28 rocket launchers. Ten will be with the 274 Regiment ambush. Eighteen will fire on the six imperialist gun-tanks first, then they will switch to the armoured cars. We have 65 mortars of 82mm or more. Fifteen will be with the ambush, and we will use 50. They will fire on the artillery targets and will use anti-personnel rounds. Our four AAMGs will target the armoured cars. The machine guns from southwest and southeast will fire at elevation and on fixed lines into the depth positions to create confusion, to suppress return fire and to disrupt any counterattack. ‘Once the heavy weapons start firing, D800 Battalion and the AAMGs will move from their diversionary attack task to a blocking position on Route 2 north of the base to prevent the escape of any mercenary vehicles northwards. ‘The first attack wave will be three companies of D445 Battalion. They will take the gun positions, capture the guns and go as far as the artillery HQ area. They will then stop, turn to the flanks and fight outwards. The three companies will attack on a 100-metre front from the south. With the guns manned and facing north, there will
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be only two machine-gun posts defending the perimeter, but we will plan for the possibility of a platoon defending the area. We will have 300 men to the defenders’ 30 or so, exceeding a nine-to-one ratio in even the worst case. ‘Close behind the first wave will be a second wave—the remaining two D445 companies plus a company made up of all the other available local force comrades. The second wave will punch through the gun lines and take the base HQ area, less than 500 metres further on in the same line. This is not expected to be a difficult target. Again, once on their objective, they will turn to the flanks and fight outwards. The main body will continue to the armoured car area, to assault it from the rear.’ Kiêt nodded his unspoken approval. The previous evening, he’d discreetly made sure the planners put the local battalion into the two first waves. ‘The people must see their own men victorious,’ he’d said. ‘They will then understand that it was the people’s struggle in their own province that won their victory. This will encourage more to flock to our cause and will result in a general uprising. They will rise and push the puppet regime and their mercenary dogs into the sea.’ Even as he’d uttered the words, he had known it wasn’t the real reason. It was better to use up the local forces in the high-casualty spearheads and preserve the NVA regulars for the march on Saigon. COSVN would not approve a plan that had the NVA division take all the casualties and let the local forces take all the glory. It was expensive to create, send south and maintain an NVA battalion, but the provincial battalions came free. ‘This is a plan the COSVN will approve,’ he’d told Tien and the military affairs committee, who had worked overnight on the planning. Tien continued, ‘Close behind the second assault wave will be two smaller forces. The first will be one company of H423 Battalion, 275 Regiment. Its task will be to enter the base HQ area, turn right and assault the engineer unit to the east of the artillery from its rear. We estimate there will be about a platoon of defenders, so
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the ratio will be three-to-one, acceptable for an assault from the rear on a weak position. ‘The other small force will be a composite divisional artillery and regimental engineer force. Their task will be to get the enemy’s guns working in support of our own assaults or destroy them with demolition charges. The sappers will then demolish all installations captured, except the vehicles. They are to be driven to the base HQ area once it is captured. We will have a pool of drivers set aside for this task. ‘The other two companies of H423 Battalion will act as defenders of the fire support positions. One company will travel with the heavy weapons as they circle to the west. Their fire support position will be outside the imperialist gun-tank perimeter. The other company will move with the main force and will split off with the machine guns once across the Suoi Da Bang. They will set up their fire support position at the edge of the rubber plantation to the south of the base. ‘Following the small third assault wave, will be the two large waves. These will target the two mercenary battalions. H241 Battalion of 275 Regiment will be the fourth wave. It will pass through the base HQ area and keep moving north. One of its companies will peel off left and take the hill from the rear. The rest of the battalion will proceed north to assault the north-facing defenders from their rear. The fifth wave will be H242 Battalion of 275 Regiment. It will follow the fourth wave until it reaches a point due east of the hill. It will then turn east and assault the east-facing defenders from their rear. In each of these rear assaults, the expected attack ratio will be no less than three to one. ‘The second-last group into the base will be all of our drivers, transport, signals, medical and other comrades. ‘The rearguard of the assault will be D440 Battalion and all the recce units that secured the advance lines, the forming-up places and the assault start line. These will congregate in the base HQ area. They will be our mobile force to handle any counterattacks and will be on call as our reserves.
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‘All vehicles will be captured if possible and destroyed if not. All captured vehicles will be driven to the base HQ area, where they will be used to evacuate our casualties up Route 2 which, you will remember, is being protected by D800 Battalion. ‘The first assault will start at about midnight. The final rear assaults on the two infantry battalions will end by 4.00 a.m. Any further resistance is to be isolated at that time—no further assaults. From 4.00 to 5.00 a.m. the task is to destroy as much of the base facilities as possible. All units are to leave the base through the perimeter wire by 5.30 a.m. and be well away from the base by first light half an hour later. ‘The vehicles carrying our casualties will move to a pre-arranged place on Route 2, possibly beyond Binh Ba, where our casualties will be transferred to bullock carts and the vehicles we can’t use further will be destroyed. ‘Our comrades with the People’s Committee in Hoa Long will arrange for the entire population to leave the village and move to the destroyed base at first light. There they will see for themselves their mighty victory. They will plunder the base as the puppet regime plundered them when they were moved from Long Tan and Long Phuoc villages. The presence of the villagers there will also hamper any rescue forces that arrive to help the doomed base. ‘Our political cadres will prepare a paper to be handed out in all the province villages and elsewhere describing the Liberation Force victory in destroying the mercenary base. It will rightly give credit to the D445 and D440 Battalions for the main victory.’ The room was silent. No one moved. A hush hung in the air as the group in the meeting room came to grips with the plan they’d helped to form. The sum of its parts was overwhelming. They were not just planning an attack on a lonely and ill-defended puppet outpost. They were planning the entire elimination of one whole country’s mercenary commitment to the puppet regime. The enormity of the vision was dawning on them. The ramifications of a successful attack could completely change the course of the war. Looking around the room, Quang noted with satisfaction the
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same look he’d seen in the mirror when he, too, first came to understand the elimination of the mercenary base was possible. Even now, faces were looking at the mud map and seeing the base smashed and burning in the early light of 19 August. Their expressions reflected recognition of the enormity of their task as well as the understanding it was achievable. Quang rose and approached Tien at the blackboard. Turning to the group, he smiled broadly. ‘Questions, comrades?’ he asked. Quang’s question session took the rest of the morning. The questions centred on various details and a few suggested improvements. There was a discussion, headed by Long, the leader of 275 Regiment, about the need to separate the heavy weapons units from the main force on the move in. They had been finally convinced there was really no other choice. They could not manhandle the weapons and cart-loads of ammunition across the fast-flowing Suoi Da Bang in the rain and pitch dark. Neither could they risk sending them 2000 metres into the middle of an open rice field to cross at the weir—itself a dangerous crossing for a bullock cart anyway. The heavy weapons units would have jungle cover all the way to the northeastern foothills of the Nui Dinhs. They’d be there when the rain started on the 18th. After the rain had set in, they would have at most, just 5000 metres to move in six hours. The move would be across flat rice fields. The rivers were wide and shallow, with many crossing places used by the bullock herds from Hoa Long. There would be little risk of ambush because they would be out in the middle of a 1000-metre-wide rice plantation with nowhere to be ambushed from. Their screen of troops would clear the way, but the mercenaries had never yet been seen to set up an ambush site in the middle of a rice field. On the other hand, the main force couldn’t go the long way around and stay with the heavy weapons units, either, because they had another task to achieve on their way in towards the base. They had to prepare a series of defended positions from which they could conduct a fighting withdrawal if they were discovered moving
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en masse towards the base before the 18th or if they were heavily followed up by rescue forces on their withdrawal after the attack. Eventually, the plan was accepted, but Long retained his reservations. After all, it would be his regiment advancing on the mercenaries without any fire cover greater than the 60mm mortars used by each infantry unit for close tactical support. The mechanics of the advance to Long Tan had not been detailed in the overview earlier that morning, so Tien once again took the floor for a detailed explanation. ‘The main force will move halfway across the province,’ he explained, ‘to get from Nui May Tao to Nui Dat West. And it will move halfway across the province to return from the attack. In the process, they will cover a lot of ground that has never been fought over. The Viet Minh traversed the area to fight the French, but the French never followed them into the bush areas. The only camps and installations in that vast area are training and rest facilities, supply areas, and transit camps. ‘One requirement for this attack will be the construction of a series of battalion-sized defendable positions, dug in and with overhead protection. They will stretch for some 15 kilometres from north of Xuyen Moc to the village of Long Tan. The area north of Xuyen Moc between Route 328 and the Nui May Taos is our own safe haven, so further constructions are not required there. ‘The defendable camps will be about 1000 metres apart, but closer together at the west, where resistance might be more fierce, and further apart at the east where the safe haven begins to take effect. The 1000-metre average has been determined so we can fight from camp to camp and not have too far to move between them. A battalion of the main force will construct each camp as it advances toward the mercenary base. Since each camp will take three or four days to properly site, dig, develop and camouflage, it has been agreed the battalions will leap-frog forwards and prepare a position before moving on. ‘To be ready for an attack on the 18th, the last position—the westernmost one—will have to be started on the 14th. Working back
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from there, each position will have to be started one day earlier. To complete the string of positions, the first battalion will have to leave the Xuyen Moc area on 1 August. It will select a site and start developing it on the 2nd. On the 2nd, the next battalion will pass through the site and move onto the next one, starting the development on the 3rd. The third battalion will pass through both sites and move onto the next site, starting work on the 4th. ‘This will be repeated for the next two battalions until all five battalions in the main force are developing positions. On 6 August, the battalion that started the first position will finish that and be ready to move onto its second site. Passing through all the sites under construction, it will arrive at the next site in line and start developing it on the 7th. ‘The leap-frog process has the advantage that every soldier in every battalion will see every position and so will know where to go to if ever caught in the open and needing to fight from a defendable base. ‘The leader of 275 Regiment, with his HQ unit and radio, recce and security companies and with the divisional recce company attached, will move ahead of the column. They will select the sites and secure the area for the arrival of the development battalion. He will keep daily radio contact with division HQ to advise progress and locations.’ Although this aspect of the plan meant a long and onerous process for the battalions on their advance, the group thought it made sense. They agreed that by allowing four days to develop a position, the comrades would not be worn out. In a pressure situation, it usually took only two days to develop a defendable base. Time at the site not spent developing it would be spent in the battalion’s attack training and rehearsals. The group also agreed the value of having the pre-prepared sites stretching across the province. Particularly if an imperialist rescue force arrived the morning after the attack and gave chase. In summing up the morning’s activities, Quang suggested the plan was comprehensive and robust. But despite this, the afternoon
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would be spent testing it against any and every condition the group could dream up to defeat it. He tasked the group to challenge the plan from every point of view—timings, resourcings, tasks, distances—anything. ‘Better we find the flaw and fix it here than to proceed with a flawed plan and let the mercenaries find the flaw and exploit it,’ he reminded them. Then they broke for lunch.
On 21 June, 6RAR started its first operation. The whole battalion less one company left the base and moved into the deserted and part-destroyed village of Long Phuoc. There, over the next week, it swept slowly through the village, building by building, destroying the remaining structures in detail. The battalion salvaged whatever personal and communal property it found that could be returned to the previous occupants—a sewing machine here, some temple ornaments there, clothing and so on. When found, food caches were loaded onto APC’s for redistribution to the villagers. But the rest of the village and its contents—whatever had survived the demolitions, artillery and airstrikes—were destroyed.
The ‘break-the-plan’ session on the afternoon of 21 June produced no significant changes. Step-by-step, the group examined every detail, looking at how any reasonable chance might render it faulty, but found none. Despite this, Long continued his opposition to splitting the force for the move in. True, there were minor changes made to timings and to some sequences, but the plan emerged robust. To sum up the afternoon’s findings, Tien took the floor. ‘The best path to victory,’ he said, ‘comes when we turn our enemy’s strengths into weaknesses.’ Systematically, he then talked through the mercenaries’ supposed strengths to show how the Liberation Forces were making
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each of them weaknesses. He started with the most feared. ‘The mercenary artillery,’ he conceded, ‘is strong in terms of where the shells land, but they are weak in their base. The gun crews will be out in the open. We have 50 heavy mortars targeting 18 guns. Their perimeter is weak, and they will be defenceless when faced with their enemy in their midst. We will be attacking them where and when they are at their most vulnerable.’ ‘The heavy 155mm gun-tanks are also strong, particularly in their range, but we will be inside their minimum range, so they will not be able to fire in support of the base. They will be targeted first by massive indirect fire. Three rocket launchers will target each vehicle— each one! There will be no infantry assaults on their positions for them to use their deadly anti-personnel rounds to any advantage. ‘The armoured cars are strong, but they will be attacked when they are at their weakest. Within their own base, they will be deprived of mobility. And at night, their main .50 calibre armament will only be useful as an area weapon. They will be hit first by our AAMGs, which have armour-piercing capability. Then, after the guntanks are destroyed, our rocket launchers will target them, with several of our weapons against each vehicle. When they are attacked by the comrades, it will be from their rear, and it is not likely the armoured cars will turn their heavy machine guns and fire them in towards their own HQ. ‘Their infantry may be strong, but we will attack them from the rear. Even the poor defences they do have will be ineffective. The whole base has been placed in isolation to enhance its stength. When it is attacked, that same isolation will ensure there is nobody to come to their help.’ By the time Tien returned to his seat, no doubt remained among the group. Their plan was watertight. No flaw had been found in the attack plan’s logic. It complied with all the requirements any of them could remember about how an attack plan should be put together and executed. Further, and perhaps most important, the plan had political cadre approval, without which no plan—no matter how good—would even be considered.
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PREPARATIONS
21 June–23 July 1966
Quang was pleased with the last few days’ activities. Especially heartening was the fact that the ‘break-the-plan’ sessions had generated no major changes to the attack plan. What did niggle was the problem of the heavy weapon units circling to the west. Long had argued strongly against separating the forces and had finally agreed, but only if the company-sized protection party was increased to a battalion. That night, using a secure code, Quang and Kiêt sent to COSVN the basic outline of what had by now become ‘their’ plan. They included the request, at Long’s insistence, for a battalion to act as a protection group. Lastly they sent a short coded message to a radio in Xuyen Moc village, asking for papers to be prepared for two couriers to Tay Ninh city. Overnight, their orderlies typed out several copies of the full plan. In the morning, two couriers were each handed a sealed envelope and sent by different routes to a secure house in Xuyen Moc. On arrival, they were given ARVN uniforms and all the correct papers to show they were ARVN soldiers based in Tay Ninh city who were returning to their units after visiting their families in Xuyen Moc. Such was the infiltration of, and the corruption within the ARVN 187
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that the uniforms were genuine, complete with the correct badges and unit insignia. Both sets of papers were also wholly authentic, with the proper seals and signatures. Not even an ARVN roadblock inspection would have questioned the uniforms, the papers or the bearers. From Xuyen Moc the couriers travelled separately by Lambretta along Route 23 to Dat Do, where they caught different local buses to Ba Ria. Then they took the same bus to Saigon, where they spent the night in the home of a sympathiser. The next day they caught the same bus to Cu Chi village, and from there they travelled separately to Tay Ninh city. In Tay Ninh, they went to a safe house, changed out of their ARVN uniforms and were safely escorted outside the city limits to continue on foot into War Zone C. Once inside the Zone, they boarded the regular Lambretta shuttle network run by COSVN. It was run as a service for the local villagers but was also used as a cover for the transport of couriers. That night, the two envelopes were unsealed by an aide to General Tran Van Lam.
In his third fortnightly report to 173rd Airborne, datelined 24 June, Mike Davis told them it was more of the same at 1ATF. Progress with the wiring and digging was still hampered by the lack of decent equipment and of soldier-time to work on them. Meanwhile, the frustration of the digging machinery lying idle at 1ALSG had not been resolved. The scale of patrolling had not let up, despite the arrival of the second battalion a week-and-a-half earlier than planned. Intelligence was still indicating the likelihood of a massive attack on the new base. Placing the Task Force base next to Hoa Long had not stopped VC atrocities in the village, Mike reported. He relayed an incident of the ambush some days ago, when an MP had been killed. A few days after that, the task force medical team had been called to Hoa Long to tend to a young girl who they had been told had accidentally cut
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herself. On arrival, the team had found this was no accident—the little girl had been disembowelled. A likely ambush of the medical team had been prevented by the presence of an armed escort. The VC were still, apparently, prepared to sacrifice their own in order to kill Australians. He closed with the information that he had relocated from 5RAR HQ to 1ATF HQ.
Word of the mercenary operation into the ruins of Long Phuoc reached Nui May Tao the day after the couriers left. The rage that greeted the news simply added to the resolve—the mercenaries must be punished for their aggression against civilians. Quang noted this was the first time the mercenaries had mounted an operation that put the major part of one of the battalions outside the wire. He wanted to know what happened within the base to cope with this, so he ordered more recce parties to scout the base. If possible they should enter the base again. After this, Kiêt and Quang spent the next few days working on the attack plan, nervously awaiting its approval. They knew this wouldn’t be sent until COSVN had been through the plan well enough to be able to justify it to the politburo and the Secretariat of the Central Committee in Hanoi. On 27 June, Kiêt and Quang received the news they had hoped for. Both the plan and the request for an additional battalion had been allowed. The approvals were provisional, of course. The plan would pass through many more stages as the details were added and formal orders were written. The additional battalion—an NVA unit— would be attached for the operation. It was to act as protection party only—not to be used as a main assault force. Kiêt and Quang immediately called their leaders and staff together and passed on the news. All of them clapped and cheered like schoolchildren. But the happiest of all was Quang. In only eight weeks time, he knew he’d be the centre of even greater joy and celebration.
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The same morning, the two leaders started to write the orders resulting from their plan. These would serve to collect, equip, resupply, train and mobilise the whole division. They would reach into the most remote corners of Phuoc Tuy and its adjacent provinces to inform or recall every soldier under Quang’s command. They would ride the radio waves to COSVN and beyond, seeking clothing, webbing, ammunition and food. They would filter down into the village cadres to obtain camouflage netting, more food, civilian couriers and porters to replace the soldiers called to full-time duty. They would demand bullock carts to shuttle bulk supplies from depots in remote areas. And more bullock carts to ferry cargos from the sampans that would unload men and materiel onto the beaches and inlets at night. Quang’s directives would reach the NVA D860 Battalion where it rested in War Zone D after two weeks of contact with the imperialists and would call them to Phuoc Tuy. Plus he would gather all the medics, all the vehicle drivers, all the soldiers trained or experienced in demolitions. Virtually every LF soldier and sympathiser in Phuoc Tuy and the surrounding provinces would be touched by 5th Division orders in the next few weeks.
In contrast to the hectic activity at Nui May Tao triggered by the approval of Quang’s plan, time was passing slowly for the Australians at Nui Dat. In his daily walks around the battalion and company areas in the last two weeks of June, Mike noted that the daily grind of patrolling and base building was taking its toll on morale. There had been a slow trickle of wire and digging stores and by the end of June the front-line pits were still not finished, and the wire fence around the base was nowhere thicker than 2 metres. More often it was only a metre thick, and in some places no more than a single three-strand cattle fence. As before, there was only one pick and shovel per platoon, Mike saw, and only a part of one platoon per day to work on each
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company area’s digging. Sandbags continued to be supplied in limited numbers and were being used up as received. And there were still no minefields in place.
The D800 recce parties reported back a few days later. Nothing had changed. The perimeter was still held by a platoon in each company area, and the same base defence routines were observed. Fewer patrols and ambushes were sent out, but this was to be expected if the main part of the battalion was out on an operation. The group that entered the base reported only one change since their last visit. Tucked in beside the hill was a new group of tents and a moveable shed, separated from the other HQ buildings. Wires led up to the hilltop, where new aerials poked their slender fingers into the night sky. The mercenaries had added more radios to their HQ, they reported.
Although the D800 recce parties didn’t grasp the meaning of what they had found, Brigadier Jackson knew all about it. What they had come across was, in fact, a highly secret radio unit. 547 Signal Troop was the deceptively innocent name for a group of signals experts who had recently set up a sophisticated radio transmission detection, tracing and intercept operation at 1ATF. So secret were its activities, only Jackson and a small handful of his most senior officers—nominated by Army HQ in Canberra—were aware of the troop’s actual task. No one else knew, including the two battalion commanders, Warr and Townsend. Certainly not Major Mike Davis or his colleague, the US Air Force liaison officer, Major Dick Gerron. All assumed it was just another radio transmission unit. The troop’s task was to intercept VC radio transmissions and to gain whatever intelligence it could from them. Direction-finding aerials could place the transmission point with some accuracy. Tran-
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scription and interpretation facilities worked on the text of the radio traffic, while experts analysed the ‘hand’ of each operator. ‘Hand’ was an antiquated term, referring to when radio traffic was Morse code. The manner in which any operator tapped out the Morse letters was studied and, with experience, individual radio operators could be identified. Once the text analysts established the identity of a unit sending a transmission, that operator would be linked to that unit. Any subsequent message by that operator could reliably be attributed to that unit, even if the message had no reference to the unit or its activities. With radio, the same type of individual characteristics would show in the operator’s voice, accent or transmission style instead of in his fingers on the Morse pad. Already, after just a few weeks of operation, the small troop had accumulated the characteristics of each regular VC radio operator within their intercept area and was cross-referencing the operators with their units. Indications had narrowed the major VC HQ units down to a few operators, and they were just waiting some message breakthrough to connect individual operators to individual units.
Shortly after 10.30 p.m. on 29 June, two sampans slipped into the Song Rai estuary [grid 5555] and glided onto a sandy beach. Eager hands secured ropes to trees and lashed gangplanks in place. For three hours, the crew and the land gang shuttled stores off both boats and onto the waiting bullock carts. Each box and sack was accounted for, and a receipt was drawn up. At 2.00 a.m., the gangplanks were stowed and the ropes cast off. Long poles pushed the boats, much lighter now, away from the bank. The land gang erased the marks on the sandy beach. The tide and the river’s flow sucked the boats out of the estuary and into the surf. Unfurling their sails, they set course east, away from land. By first light they were well over the horizon and heading north, trailing lines and nets, as any commercial fishing boat would be expected to do.
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The bullock cart convoy moved into the nearby jungle, and their tracks on the sand were erased. Under the full jungle canopy, they were camouflaged. Branches were tied to drag behind the wheels to help hide the wheel tracks, and the convoy moved out, heading northeast towards Nui May Tao. Protection parties were placed out front and to the west. A third group followed, to further erase the tracks and to stop any opportunistic follow-up force that might be faster than the carts. The journey of the heavy-laden carts would take two days.
Mike Davis’s fourth report to 173rd Airborne, datelined 8 July, was long. The 6RAR operation to destroy the remainder of Long Phuoc had lasted into the first few days of July, after which it returned to the base at Nui Dat. The next day, 5RAR left the base on an operation that included the Nui Nghe hill. They found many recently vacated camps and some other installations, but failed to locate the caches and storage facilities they had been told by informers were there. They also found a long trench, over a metre wide by a metre deep and about 400 metres long. The Australians could not understand the reason for the trench. Mike had no explanation, either. Not having discovered the downed aircraft, nor the ambush site, they could not draw the appropriate conclusion. So it didn’t occur to the Australians that the VC may have dug the trench as an anti-APC barrier to prevent the APCs from flanking the ambush they’d set around the downed aircraft. Mike also noted in his report that the units of 5RAR were perfecting a needed skill—using the moonlit nights of early July to hone their night-move abilities. Australian training didn’t include night exercises. Higher than platoon level, command and control problems of multi-company night moves were being learned, more or less on the job, by the battalion.
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On 12 July, two peasants were preparing charcoal in the valley between the Nui Thi Vai and the Nui Dinh, in the headwaters of the Suoi Giao Keo stream. In the early afternoon, as they loaded their bullock cart with charcoal, they were surprised to see a column of Main Force soldiers approaching along the cart track. They had no cause to fear. Were the LAF and the NVA not their liberators? Had they not paid their taxes to the LAF collectors only two days before? They continued with their work and made no effort to register their presence or to acknowledge them in any way, not even looking up from their work. This is what they had been told to do by the LAF themselves if ever they were seen in the bush. The column passed them by—more than 600 men, fully armed and equipped. They wore black uniforms and turbans, which the charcoal burners hadn’t seen before. Each man carried an automatic weapon and some carried crew-served mortars or machine guns.
Later that night, one charcoal burner mentioned the incident to his wife, who mentioned it to her sister the next day, who told her bus driver boyfriend that afternoon, who advised it to his ARVN nephew that night, who reported it to his commanding officer the next day. By midday of the 14th, the news was in the hands of the American advisor at Ba Ria and that night, was included on the Task Force Intelligence Report (IntRep) for 15 July. Another item in the same IntRep advised a Main Force regiment —thought to be 274 Regiment—had occupied the high southern slopes of the Nui Thi Vai and Nui Dinh. Their intention, it was reported, was to ambush Route 15. A note added that these two reports may well be connected. At Task Force HQ, the regular morning and evening O-Groups continued to set the pattern of each day. By now unofficially and irrevently known as morning prayers and evening prayers respectively, they included the dissemination and discussion of the Allied and other intelligence summaries. The daily IntReps were therefore a
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significant inclusion on every O-Groups’s agenda. Mike Davis was at the meeting when the IntRep for 15 July was discussed. The reported sighting of 600 VC in turbans was now more than 60 hours old, but the report of the intention to ambush Route 15 was fresh. Brigadier Jackson ordered Colonel Townsend to mount an immediate battalion-sized operation. Codenamed ‘Operation Brisbane’, 6RAR would place three companies and the HQ command group into the area between Nui Thi Vai and Nui Dinh from the 16th to the 18th. The APCs would transport them into the area, and an artillery battery would be located to a fire support base next to Route 15. The operation would search the entire valley between the two hill systems for any VC force or at least signs of their passage through the area. The operation finished on 18 July without any enemy seen, nor any sign of their earlier presence. Mike attended the O-Group that followed. He assumed that, in view of the lack of results, the operation would be regarded as a failure. He was surprised when Jackson opened the meeting by saying otherwise. For him, Jackson explained, it had been an exercise in seeing how quickly and efficiently a battalion group, with APC, artillery and RAAF support, could be mobilised at short notice and relocated in reaction to fresh intelligence. In short, on those terms, the exercise had failed— dismally. Therefore it had been highly instructive. Individually, the infantry, armour, artillery and RAAF had each performed wonderfully. But when it came to interaction between groups, Jackson said, the process had broken down. He gave examples. A senior infantry officer’s aerial recce had identified a site for the artillery fire support base. However, when the APCs carrying the 105s arrived in the area, what looked like firm ground from the air turned out to be a crust floating on liquid mud. Flaws in the infantry perception of APC tactics revealed themselves when the APCs were acting in support of the infantry. And there were command issues when Jackson himself found he could not order the RAAF helicopters to operate in known or suspected enemycontrolled areas.
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These were lessons well learned, Jackson claimed. Lessons that would have been learned previously if the training in Australia had been wide enough in scope to include inter-corps and inter-service training. As it was, Jackson simply added these, and the limitations of aerial recce, to his already long list of issues created by the all too-swift setting up of the task force. Mike noted these issues for his next report. Overnight on 19/20 July, 5RAR put its night-movement practice to the test. They advanced on and surrounded the small hamlet of Duc My, slightly to the west of Route 2, about 4000 metres north of their position at Nui Dat, and some 1000 metres short of Binh Ba village. Duc My was mostly inhabited by Montagnards who had originally come from central Viet Nam. They had been gathered by the government from scattered settlements all over Phuoc Tuy and put into the one ‘strategic hamlet’ in 1961. Thanks to the move, they had been deprived of their farming areas and were generally anti-government and pro-VC.
The night move surprised the VC, and many were captured in the cordon. The loss of a few VC, however, was not the biggest issue. When the news of the night move’s success reached the VC cadre in Binh Ba, they suddenly realised they had lost the security they’d previously had when they believed they owned the night. Equally as bad, the Australians demonstrated respect and courtesy for the peasants. The villagers saw that the Australians would prefer to capture rather than kill their enemy. In one incident, a soldier threw a smoke grenade into a bunker to flush out a known guerrilla. He could just as easily have thrown in a high-explosive fragmentation grenade. The villagers had appreciated the difference.
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For his fifth report to 173rd Airborne, datelined 22 July, Mike began by consulting the notes he’d taken at the 18 July O-group. He organised his concerns under four separate headings. First he reported the infantry and armour inexperience in working with each other, the lack of adequate combined-arms training back in Australia, and that Brigadier Jackson had been unable to order the RAAF helicopters to operate in known or suspected enemy-controlled areas. All three of these issues had the potential to hinder the future of the task force’s operational effectiveness. Mike then outlined the increasing scope and depth of the intelligence reports of VC movements around the province, and the corresponding fact that not much more defensive work had been carried out on the base perimeter. Both battalions had been away from the base on operations, and the pace of defence development, as well as the rate of supply of defensive stores, was still slow. Mike commented they were lucky the VC hadn’t taken a stab at them yet. Next Mike gave an update on the Australian supply system. Far too much was either unavailable, in short supply or was unsuitable to the task. For example, tents were arriving now, but without tent poles. When the Australian supply ship, the MV Jeparit, had docked at Vung Tau to unload stores, many landed crates were found to be empty. It was uncertain whether this was the result of union activity against the war in Australia or pilferage on the docks in Viet Nam, or both. Finally, as a result of observing recent operations, and in view of the Brigadier’s command issue, Mike had made further enquiries about the state of RAAF support. He confirmed the RAAF supporting the Army had only ‘slicks’—basic Huey choppers without armoured panels for crew protection, without doorgunners and without the facility to be converted into gunships. Their command directive preventing them from flying into an unsecured area meant they were neither equipped nor permitted to fulfil the primary function of Hueys in Viet Nam—to insert and extract infantry into the field, and sometimes, of necessity, under fire.
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Mike stressed this was no reflection on the chopper crews. It was a matter of Canberra forbidding them from literally flying into danger. They were only allowed to be at the Nui Dat base during daytime. They were not permitted to be on the ground after dark. In effect, they were being constrained to peacetime conditions.
On 23 July, a second pair of supply ships slipped into the mouth of the Song Rai. Their stores were transferred to the bullock-cart convoy, and the ships slipped back into the night. The convoy again plodded two days to the Nui May Taos. On the convoy was the last of the division’s requested ammunition and equipment supplies, as well as the 1500 cane frames and 300 metres of fine fishing net to be used by the comrades for camouflage on their approach march.
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DECISION
23 July–2 August 1966
In early July, 547 Signal Troop had made a breakthrough. For weeks they’d been listening in to the transmissions from a number of individuals. One particular operator had a minor speech defect, or maybe it was just a matter of accent, but he pronounced his ‘ch’s more as ‘sh’s. Given he was a VC, and the common Australian slang for VC was Charlie, that particular radio operator was nicknamed ‘Sharlie’. Sharlie had made a mistake in radio procedure. He accidentally identified his callsign as being the 275 Regimental HQ radio. Thereafter, whenever he was on the radio net, he could be traced. With luck, knowing the location of the radio set he was using might be an indication of the location of the 275 Regiment HQ. Currently it was to the north of Xuyen Moc in the Nui May Tao hill area—a little north of their normal base area. In keeping with the classified nature of 547 Signal Troop’s operation, outside the Signal Troop itself, only the brigadier and his own senior intelligence staff knew of the breakthrough. And all of them were sworn to secrecy.
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Chinh was advised of the supply of 12.7mm AAMG ammunition on 23 July. The ammunition had left Cambodia via the Delta a week ago. It had moved by bullock cart through Long An Province in the Delta, where it was put onto a sampan on the Vam Co Dong river. This would take it downstream to the coast, where it would circle the Rung Sat—the mangrove swamp at the mouth of the Sai Gon River— and be landed on Long Son island [grid 2555] on 25 July. A battalion of comrades was due to arrive on the island on 26 July. They would carry the ammunition to the Chau Duc commission camp in the Nui Dinhs. Chinh was not told the details of the move. Only to be ready to collect the ammunition after 27 July. Upon receipt of the news, Chinh sent his AAMG group into the Nui Dinhs to await the delivery. Aware that Buu, the leader of his AAMG group, was impetuous and strong-headed, Chinh specified to him not to divert from his task: collect the ammunition, test-fire a few rounds to ensure the rounds were reliable and the belts linking the rounds were sound, and then transport it back to the Nui Nghe feature. No risks were to be taken. The AAMGs were vital to the diversion plan, and nothing could be risked before the attack date, Chinh stressed.
On 24 July, 6RAR left its Nui Dat base on Operation Hobart—a long sweep east, past Long Tan village and another 5000 metres beyond, into the virgin bush below the Suoi Lo O Nho tributary. Virgin, that is, to the Allied forces. The VC used the area as a major transit route and were conducting training exercises in the area. At least one company of D445 was in the area at the time, obtaining for its new recruits some fieldcraft and tactical movement experience. In the six days of the operation, the battalion made heavy contact with the D445 company on two occasions and discovered a large cache of rice stored and camouflaged at a bullock-cart track junction. The rice was part of the general VC resupply chain, not part of Quang’s specific attack preparations. Its loss would
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hurt the VC a little, but by the time they found out about it a week later, Quang’s forces were already on their way to eliminate the Australians at Nui Dat, so the loss was accepted philosophically.
On the evening of 26 July, Kiêt and Quang held a small gathering of their senior staff. In a camp atmosphere usually strict, sober and highly controlled, this meeting was intended to be less formal and generally friendly—a celebration of June and July’s hard work, a ‘thank you’ for the effort and a ‘here’s to success’ toast. A special supply of Ba-Muoi-Ba beer had been brought in for the occasion, and each person in the dugout room had one in his hand. Quang rose from the table, bottle in hand, and looked around the assembled leaders of his division. ‘Comrades. It has been a long two months. You have worked hard. Your men have trained hard. Everything I have seen assures me we are prepared for the glorious task at hand. It now remains simply to do it. ‘Tomorrow morning we start to move in for the kill,’ he said, raising his bottle, smiling. ‘We are the dragon’s fangs. First we chew up and swallow the mercenary Australians, then we strangle Saigon!’ On Wednesday 27 July 1966, 275 Regiment left Nui May Tao. The order of march was H421 Battalion; Regimental HQ with its operations, political cadre and with the intelligence/recce company providing close protection; then H422 Battalion; followed by the collection of regimental supporting and administrative units; and, bringing up the rear, H423 Battalion. For part of the day, Long walked with his radio operator [Sharlie], spurning advice that this was a dangerous practice when moving in the jungle. It was rumoured the enemy had learned from the Liberation Forces to identify as early targets both radio operator and radio users. It was not often an LAF or NVA regimental leader moved with
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his whole regiment, so this was a rare opportunity and Long took considerable pride and pleasure in it. The move was an all-day 10-kilometre tactical relocation from Nui May Tao back to the regiment’s regular base area. The vast area of jungle centred 3000 metres due north of Xuyen Moc hid a collection of base camps and storage depots—home to the 275 Regiment. The whole area was well watered, being the confluence of several streams—the Suoi Ly, Suoi Ben Ke, Suoi Soc, Suoi Dong and others. This permanent water kept the trees tall and the canopy high. In some low-lying parts, firm land gave way to swamps that acted as further protection for the base areas. A network of cleared tracks wove like tunnels through the swamps and jungle, over the streams and around the most impenetrable patches of secondary growth. Two bullock-cart tracks serviced the entire area, and the regiment kept permanent sentry watch over key parts of both tracks. The part closest to Xuyen Moc, the Bau Lac area, was dominated by a small horseshoe-shaped hill rising almost 100 metres above the surrounding canopy. Although this feature overlooked Xuyen Moc, the closest buildings of which were within a kilometre, it was definitely ‘liberated’ territory. The ARVN forces at Xuyen Moc were, for all intents and purposes, garrisoned in the town and knew better than to venture into the jungles surrounding their village. From the top of the hill, the 275 Regiment radio could communicate with all the other strongholds in this and the adjoining provinces.
On the evening of 27 July, 547 Signal Troop at Nui Dat detected Sharlie and his radio’s move from Nui May Tao. It was only a small move—just 8000 metres—he had returned to what was considered his home base area. The new location and date were pinned to the ops map, but no further action was taken. The 275 Regiment radio was still located above Xuyen Moc, despite the flurry of other
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intelligence reports showing a major attack on the base was in the making. On the same day, several groups of a VC battalion were reported to have arrived on Long Son island, off the southwest coast of the province. They were seen to be ferried to the mainland over the following two days, and each group disappeared into the Nui Dinh foothills carrying what looked like heavy ammunition boxes. The reports of their arrival and of their departure found their way over the next few days onto the ARVN desks at Ba Ria and thence onto Brigadier Jackson’s desk at Nui Dat. They added to the increasing volume of IntReps, all showing the movement of large VC forces towards Hat Dich and Nui May Tao.
On 28 July, Buu and his men collected the 12.7mm AAMG ammunition supply and left the Chau Duc Commission camp. They moved to the top of the Nui Bao Quan feature—the western of Nui Dinh’s twin peaks—and set up their own camp. They carried eight boxes in all, six with USSR markings and two with PRC (Peoples Republic of China) markings. Every one would have to be opened, and some ammo from each box would need to be tested before the attack, to ensure usability. Headstrong though he may have been, Buu was also thorough. On the 29th they opened the boxes, removed all the belts, inspected them one-by-one for any visible defects, then returned them, lightly oiled, each to its original box. Before the boxes were resealed, Buu took ten rounds per box and made up four belts of twenty rounds, taking care to record which box provided the start and end rounds of each belt. The men then set up their four AAMGs, with a 20-round belt apiece, ready to test-fire. His group had been carrying these large machine guns for months and had only had the chance to use them on three occasions. This would be a test-firing for the weapons as well as for the ammunition.
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They packed up, ready to leave the area quickly after the firing. It would be heard many kilometres away, and the sound might well draw spotter aircraft or helicopters to investigate. Buu could have chosen to test-fire in one of the hidden valleys that riddled the feature, but he needed to check the rounds would carry their range, so had opted for the riskier but better hilltop position. Besides, when they left from here, it would all be downhill. If they drew unwelcome attention, they’d be further away than if they had to climb out of a valley first. As he was about to give the order to fire, there came the throb of two large helicopters. They were flying up from the south, and they were heading directly towards him . . .
Captain Trevor Richards finished writing his daily report to Brigadier Jackson on the status of VC radio traffic for the last 24 hours. ‘The brigadier isn’t going to like this,’ he thought. He checked to see he’d included all the points he needed to make. Yes, it was all there. As a closing comment, he added, ‘Although the 275 Regiment radio is still located within their base area, the considerable increase in radio traffic over the last few days forces me to insist something out of the ordinary is happening out there.’ Richards folded the page, inserted it into the buff envelope and sealed it. On the front he wrote ‘Operational Urgent’ and ‘Secret— CO 1ATF only’, and placed it into the out-tray on his desk. Jackson sat at his desk, stuggling with a decision. The two writing pads in front of him were his balance sheet, reporting the presence or absence of threat to his base over the last month. On the ‘yes’ side were the dozens of IntReps that came in daily. And they were building the picture of VC forces on the move, gathering to destroy the base: ‘600 VC seen crossing Route 15’; ‘200 uniformed North Vietnamese seen heading towards Long Tan’; ‘a VC battalion seen between Nui Thi Vai and Nui Dinh’; ‘about 100 soldiers seen moving
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west across Route 2 north of Binh Ba’. He read down the list, line after line of similar troop movement reports and sightings. Switching his attention to the ‘no’ side, he looked down the list of negatives. The SAS had been operating for four weeks now. They’d been sent out to randomly selected areas as well as to tightly targeted areas. Sure, they’d discovered VC movement wherever they’d gone. The VC were obviously moving freely within the province. But there weren’t large-scale movements. These were the routine passage of small groups and couriers between bases. The SAS had located several camps. They’d attacked a few, and had found their enemy to be well armed and aggressive. They’d even been counterattacked several times. But still there were no sightings of large VC troop movements from any of the many SAS patrols. His platoons, companies and battalions had been out beyond Line Alpha in the past month and had seen no evidence of a general move-in. The largest contacts had been between an estimated company of VC and first one then another company of 6RAR on Operation Hobart, east of Long Tan. But the enemy had been identified as a company of D445—a provincial force, not Main Force. 5RAR’s operations into Binh Ba and to its west had revealed many old camps and storage areas, but there’d been few contacts and even less evidence of NVA massing for an attack. Back to the ‘yes’ list, there were certainly some hard-to-explain items. Only yesterday a report had come in of a VC battalion dug in just 4000 metres west of his own Nui Dat three days ago—within Line Alpha. Jackson had ordered artillery and air strikes. The Chinook gunships had reported heavy small-arms groundfire but noted no large-calibre machine guns. With one of his battalions already out on an operation, Jackson couldn’t send in his infantry, so he’d ordered more artillery. Results inconclusive. A more specific report, from a usually reliable source, reported 1000 troops arriving from the Rung Sat—probably a reference to Long Son island—and noted they said they were ‘coming to attack Allied forces’. Then there was the reported porterage of medical supplies to Hat Dich.
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Jackson shook his head. It was as if the IntReps were directing his attention away from the real activity. And what was he to make of Sharlie? Signals Officer Richards insisted this was an intelligence breakthrough, but Jackson’s own intelligence officer, Rowe, disagreed. Even so, Rowe’s assessment was that the enemy could mount a multi-regimental attack on the base at any time. Enough of the balance sheets, Jackson resolved. A decision needed to be made. He had evidence there were VC within his Line Alpha. The American Chinooks reported heavy groundfire. The SAS was constantly telling him of smaller-scale troop movements. Rowe supported the possibility of a large-scale attack at any time. And there just might be something in Richard’s Sharlie business. Jackson finally determined the task force base was indeed directly threatened and he was not equipped to handle that threat. He reached for the phone. The responsible thing to do was to advise his boss, General Mackay, in Saigon and ask him to arrange assistance from American forces. Meanwhile, he would order more company operations to the west and the east, where the greatest threats appeared to be, and more SAS patrols into the remote areas. Later the same day, a report was filed that two US Chinooks flying over the Nui Dins had received several short bursts of large-calibre machine-gunfire. The holes left in the fuselages attested to heavierthan-usual small-arms weapons. This was a first for flights over Phuoc Tuy, so it rated a mention in US IntReps. It therefore also made its way into the next Task Force IntRep. Mike duly recorded the fact that Jackson now had a VC AAMG unit in his province to worry about. Jackson took the call from General Mackay in Saigon just after dark on 31 July. The request for assistance from American forces had been refused. ‘The Americans consider, from the evidence available, there is no credible threat the Australians can’t handle,’ Mackay had said. ‘They suggest all IntReps from the local population be downgraded
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as a matter of course. 1ATF should regard as reliable only US and Allied IntReps.’ This didn’t help Jackson at all. Within his own forces he had a Signal Troop telling him a real threat existed and an SAS squadron and two infantry battalions who were finding no evidence at all to support the claim of a threat.
On the evening of Tuesday 2 August, Long set his HQ on Route 328 [grid 6070], the rough road leading north to Thua Tich. This was his start line for the advance. His battalions were camped along the road and behind it, ready to step over the road and move in for the kill. For security reasons, he’d imposed a strict radio silence within the regiment. However, he knew he had to keep Quang posted daily, and he regretted the need to break his self-imposed radio silence to call his own leader. He posted the first call to advise he was at the start line and would begin the move-in tomorrow.
547 Signal Troop at 1ATF intercepted the coded call from Sharlie. Although the content of the message was not understood, the direction finders pointed to a position on or near Route 328. This was duly marked on the sig centre’s large-scale operational map, along with a date/time note. This location was considered to be at the edge of the previously determined bounds of the 275 Regiment radio’s home area. Once noted and marked on the map, the development did not arouse any further interest at 1ATF.
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Map 5: The movement of the 275 Regiment radio prior to 18 August
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ADVANCE
3–16 August 1966
At 8.00 a.m. on Wednesday 3 August, the 275 Regiment recce company, under comrade Xuan, began its move-in. On his map Xuan had marked the general axis of advance. It swept due west from their start point and dropped more southwards, the closer it got to Long Tan. As he studied the route he thought how much it looked like the trajectory of a bullet. Appropriate, he thought. We’ll start out faster, clearing less width on our advance, but as we close in, we’ll slow down and clear a wider and more detailed path until we finally arrive under the east side of Long Tan’s Nui Dat on the 14th. A week and a half to advance only 13 kilometres. But what a task to be achieved behind this screening advance! Stepping across Route 328, Xuan spread his three platoons into three parallel columns, about 1000 metres apart, each in a wide arrowhead. They were to advance to the Song Rai today, only 3000 metres west. On the way, they would clear an advance path 4000 metres wide. They would explore every track and thicket, every water point, every clearing and, most importantly, advise their leader of every likely battalion-sized defendable position. Passing beyond, the following units would investigate each possible position, and the regiment’s leader, Long, would select one. It 209
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would be allocated to a battalion, which would dig in and develop the position over the next four days while the column leap-frogged ahead. Xuan’s task for the next twelve days would be a replica of today—each day, another 1000 metres or so forward and up to 4000 metres wide cleared; another battalion position located, allocated and prepared. Behind Xuan’s recce company, the regimental HQ group received runners from Xuan. After investigating each potential position and selecting one in the bush adjacent to an extensive rubber plantation, D440 Battalion was called forward and given the development task. Nightfall on the 3rd saw the recce company and the HQ units camped beside the Song Rai. At midnight the clearing clouds revealed a brilliant full moon. They stayed there on the 4th, locating and selecting a second battalion position on the river’s west bank. Ginh’s H421 Battalion was allocated to this development task. On the 5th, Xuan cleared a 3000-metre-wide path just a little over 1000 metres west, to the Suoi To Lung, a tributary of the Song Rai. Long selected a third site there, allocating it to Tang’s H423 Battalion. On the 6th, they advanced along the axis of the Suoi To Lung until it took a sweep northwards, and they found a good battaliondefendable position on the outside bend. It had a good water point and a full canopy over 25 metres high. This kept the undergrowth down, providing clear lines of view and fire in all directions. Binh’s H422 Battalion was allocated to the development. Each night Long’s radio operator radioed his coded report to Quang
at Divisional HQ. Each night, Captain Richards at the Task Force base tuned into the call, recognised Sharlie, and established the new location of the 275 Regiment radio. The westward trend was strongly established now, with five little red flags pinned to the operations map. They showed a steady, 1000 metre-a-day advance by the radio set westwards, towards the Australians. Something strange was indeed happening out there, and Richards was getting even more nervous.
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Instead of burying this piece of information in among all the other snippets of intelligence he presented daily to Jackson and the task force intelligence officers, Richards highlighted it, stressing the inference that because the radio was moving west, the whole regiment might well be doing so. The task force intelligence officers were Major John Rowe and Captain Bob Keep. Rowe considered the proposition dispassionately, weighing it up as another piece of the jumbled intelligence puzzle littering his desk every day. He wasn’t prepared to give it more credence than that. Keep, of the same age and rank as Richards and valuing his friendship, took more notice. He was convinced Richards was tracking something valuable. After the day’s intelligence meeting, when the others had left, the three discussed the proposition with Jackson directly. Richards and Keep tried to persuade Rowe the movement was significant, but Rowe would not agree. Rowe suggested it might be a VC ruse, but Richards pointed out the VC had no way of knowing their transmissions were being intercepted and their locations determined. Besides, there was no justification for thinking the VC would employ such a sophisticated deception. Jackson listened to the arguments. Weighing them against the numerous erroneous reports and the deliberately deceptive reports being received from dubious sources, he decided to wait for further development of the trend. The radio set was still far enough out to allow another few days to consider the meaning of its movements. Back in his own tent, Jackson struggled to make sense of it. Reports kept coming in from other directions in the province indicating the VC were operating up-to-battalion strength elsewhere. Only the previous night, D800 Battalion of 274 Regiment had been identified as the attack force on a raid on the outpost of Phu My [grid 2570] on Route 15 near the province’s west border. The rest of 274 Regiment were reported by informers to be at the north of the province, and D445 had been located in the Long Green area beyond Dat Do by a
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usually reliable source. Surely, if a whole regiment was advancing from the east, the other major units would also be moving?
With his 274 Regimental Recce Company leading, Chinh left Hat Dich and headed east to Route 2. His task for almost a week would be to inspect the road from Binh Ba north to the province boundary at Courtenay. He’d need to select a site for his two-battalion ambush. Both battalion leaders had provided their recce units, too, so the group comprised well over 300 troops. They would take it very slowly, inspecting any potential ambush location that would afford a covered access and withdrawal route, good sight and firing lines and couldn’t easily be flanked by any vehicles not caught in the ambush killing zone.
In his sixth report to the 173rd, dated 6 August, Mike Davis noted tension remained high in the base despite the tapering off of the intelligence reports. The consensus among some at 1ATF HQ was that the risk had passed and the VC had given up. Perhaps the base was too tough to attack, they argued. Yet there was still a tension. Mike felt it whenever the subject was raised in the meetings. Strain between the two task force intelligence officers was noticeable. And their treatment of the young signals officer, Richards, was another factor; one clearly avoided him while the other was always supportive. Yet none of those three officers would discuss anything at all about their views or disputes with anyone else. Something strange was going on within that small group. A new factor had also taken on some profile in the last week or two—rations. Australian rations, Mike reported, had not been plentiful lately, and the Australian system was beginning to lean too much on the American system. No coolrooms existed at Nui Dat to store whatever fresh rations did arrive. With the battalions out
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on operations for days at a time and, lately, for up to two weeks at a time, significant amounts of fresh rations had had to be written off, having arrived while one or other battalion was out. The battalions were finding they had to use their own funds to buy fresh produce locally. In late July, he added, the rations system had gotten totally out of control. The only thing on the task force menu was frankfurters and sweet corn. It was funny for a day or two, but by the end of the week the cooks were carrying sidearms—‘Joke!’ noted Mike. After another week, there was talk at Nui Dat of seceding from the Commonwealth of Australia and issuing their own postage stamps— ‘Another joke!’
On the 7th, D440 Battalion completed developing its position overlooking the rubber plantation. They packed up, cleared the area thoroughly, and moved forward to the new position to start the four-day cycle again. On their way forward, they passed through each of the other three positions under development. As planned, each comrade noted its approaches, placement and layout against the need of ever having to find and use it in the future. This slow progress across the province continued for the next week. Each afternoon the clouds would roll in and form total overcast, so the days were quite cool, even if humid. At 4.00 p.m. the monsoon would arrive, and the downpour would be unrelenting until late evening. Around midnight, the rain would stop and, usually, the clouds would clear, revealing a waning moon. Each comrade, looking up at the moon during his sentry watch, knew the moon was counting down the days to the advance. Each night, they watched the crescent grow thinner and thinner. They knew the closer it got to no crescent at all, the closer it got to the big attack.
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Each day, Xuan and the 275 Regiment Recce Company would clear the advance. Each day, a site would be selected. Each day, the trailing battalion would finish their development and advance through three others to the next development site. Each evening, Long would report to Quang of the advance and the sites positioned and completed.
Each evening, Richards would add another little red flag to his operations map. Despite Rowe’s objection, Richards kept insisting the slow and steady advance was a danger to the task force. Captain Keep’s parallel insistence was beginning to border on insubordination—particularly when Keep started to bypass Major Rowe and go directly to Jackson in his attempts to convince him the intelligence was critical. The pressure of keeping the secret began to show. In the space of just a few days—not even a week—personal relationships within the small group went from bad to worse. It began to affect their judgement, and perhaps, as the week’s events unfolded, also their health. Keep appeared to be heading for a nervous breakdown By the 10th, Richards’ mounting proof and Keep’s insistence of the deliberate advance could no longer be ignored. Jackson ordered recce flights and photo missions over the area on the 11th to try to identify any large troop movements. Nothing out of the ordinary was reported. Not a surprising conclusion since, in fact, there were no large troop movements happening out there in the bush during the day.
Chinh had been on the road with Tuyen and the 274 Regiment Recce Company for almost a week. In that time, they’d trekked the whole stretch of road without finding a really suitable ambush site. The road was essentially straight, flat and open. The bush had been
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cleared for 50 metres on either side. There were no bridges and few culverts. Not even a ditch on either road side. No high ground overlooking the road. All in all, it looked like a choice between unenviable options. He could set his ambush in or beside either of the rubber plantations—Courtenay or Binh Ba—but neither offered good approach or withdrawal routes. Or he could set his ambush out in the relative open, which lacked good cover and protection from observation or returned fire. Chinh avoided consideration of an ambush near the area commonly called ‘Slope 30’ [grid 4085]—that would draw attention to the area. A short distance away from the road, it was a place of camps and caches, and the last thing the Liberation Forces wanted was to have enemy troops wandering around off the road up there. Nor could he choose a site below Binh Ba—too close to the mercenaries—or above Courtenay—too close to the imperialist cavalry base. After six days of taking measurements, there was little choice. He would have to set an open ‘area’ ambush. Rather than force his target into a constricted space, he would have to spread his own force out to cover a wider area. He selected a stretch of straight road some 2 kilometres long, just north of Ngai Giao. It was not ideal, but the ambush was a necessity and, after all, it was only to catch and delay an inexperienced imperialist unit rushing to help their mercenaries in trouble. What the site lacked would be made up for by cunning, unpredictability and Main Force know-how. Having made his decision, he radioed his 2IC at Hat Dich to bring the regiment, less D800 Battalion, to Ngai Giao. Long’s evening radio contact with Quang on the night of the 11th took more time than usual. First, he reported that earlier in the day a light aircraft had made repeated passes over the advance route. It was as if it was looking for something, and Long was concerned they’d been discovered. However, with each battalion under cover and digging in, there’d been little movement for the aircraft to spot, and
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it had flown away without calling in artillery or airstrike. Quang agreed the event had no significance and the advance would continue. Quang’s news, however, worried Long. He reported the mercenaries had put a cordon around the village of Binh Ba on the night of 7 August and had trapped many comrades and cadre members in the village search on the next day. Three things worried Quang and Long about the incident. Some 50 sympathisers and part-time village comrades had been arrested. Just as important to the struggle, the August taxation of 1000 litres of rice from the village was entirely lost, and the next few months’ tax could be written off as well. But more worrying was that the mercenaries had once again moved at night and had sealed off a whole village without alerting the villagers. Neither the imperialists nor their puppet dogs operated like this. And the mercenaries had done it twice in a month. If they operated at night, the final move-in to the base might have to be reconsidered . . . On the other hand, there was some good news. Since the operation, the mercenaries had stationed in Binh Ba a full company of troops from their base, along with a company of puppet dogs. With luck, calculated Quang, this removed the one company reaction force the mercenaries may have had at their disposal to counter the attack. Quang’s plan still called for the bombardment of the base, but now, perhaps the mercenaries would not have a company to spare for a follow-up search? Long thought the search patrol might be smaller—maybe only a platoon. Still, Quang reasoned, any force removed from Nui Dat made the base an easier target. Chinh contemplated his ambush plan. If the armoured cars raced down the road at, say, 50 kilometres an hour, then they’d be about 50 metres apart. On the 2 kilometres of straight road, that would amount to 40 vehicles. He would have to string his two battalions along the whole 2 kilometres of road. He’d put his biggest landmine on the verge of the road to stop the first vehicle and would have to leave the tail open. Starting at the landmine, he’d place four trigger groups, one every 500 metres on
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the western side. Each trigger group would comprise two-wheeled machine guns and a squad of comrades for protection. They would need to be dug in at the edge of the roadside clearing. Then he’d put an antitank gun or a rocket launcher protected by a platoon of comrades every 100 metres on the east side of the road. When the mine went off, all four trigger groups would fire on the vehicles within their range. They’d continue to fire until the vehicles did the expected—turn off the road to face the threat. Once the vehicles turned to their direction or moved off the road, the trigger groups would stop firing, pack up and withdraw along a dug-in zig-zag trench behind their positions. Once the machine guns stopped firing, it would be the antitank and rocket launcher crews’ turn. The target vehicles would have turned to face the trigger groups to the west, leaving their rear, less armoured ends facing the tank-killer weapons to their east. With the morning sun behind them, each weapon should have just two vehicles to deal with. If troops dismounted, the comrades and the mortars would take care of them. As soon as maximum damage had been done, and for this Chinh estimated less than three minutes, they would withdraw, again using prepared dug-in zig-zag trenches. They’d start preparing the positions as soon as the battalions arrived. If all was well, that’d be on the 13th.
On the 14th, having displayed ‘erratic behaviour’, Captain Bob Keep was medevaced out of the country, diagnosed with mental problems. Trevor Richards lost his only champion in Task Force HQ, and Jackson lost the opposing view to Rowe’s insistent denigration of the signal troop’s warnings. And Rowe had cause to denigrate the warnings. He’d just returned from Saigon, where he’d met with contacts at HQ Australian Forces, Vietnam (AFV) and with Major Peter Young from the Military Attaché staff at the Australian Embassy. Between
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them, they’d arranged for an American technical reconnaissance scan of central Phuoc Tuy Province. The scan had been undertaken—airborne radar, infrared scanners and highly specialised radio detection and interception equipment had been used, but there had been no significant findings. To confirm the techinal scan, Rowe also approached the 1ATFs Air Intelligence group, where he spoke with Warrant Officer Alan Barclay. He had come to know the area from the daily Army Aviation morning recce flights beyond the task force’s Line Alpha. Although Barclay had reported signs of the movement of large bodies of men, he could produce no evidence or actual sightings. So neither US technical recon nor Army Aviation recce flights could confirm the constant SigInt warnings on Brigadier Jackson’s desk.
By the evening of the 14th, Xuan’s recce company had cleared right up to the foot of Nui Dat East and had cleared the hill itself. Establishing his company on the ridge, he sent a runner back to Long on the low eastern slopes, laying telephone cable between the two. Long had selected the final battalion position in the thick undergrowth to the hill’s east. Screened from the Australians by the hill on the west, by swampy ground on the north, by thick secondary growth on the east and by a thorny screen of bamboo on the south, Binh’s H422 Battalion began digging its third and final defendable position. In his nightly coded contact with Quang, Long reported all was well and the force would be assembling in the area as the subunits finished their digging-in tasks. Quang in turn reported D445 Battalion would be at Long Tan village on the night of the 17th. They would, the same night, have one of their companies take and secure the damaged bridge across the west arm of the Suoi Da Bang between Long Tan and Long Phuoc. Both forces would dig in and camouflage up and be there to protect the south flank of the main force.
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Quang also told Long the mercenaries had opened Route 2 to local traffic on 13 August. The Liberation Forces had kept Route 2 closed for many years so the market garden villages north of Hoa Long had been isolated from the markets in the south, where the bulk of the province’s population lived. When the mercenaries had then arrived and placed their base astride Route 2, it had been presumed a diversion road would be built and that the original road, which actually went through the base itself, would be closed forever. However, for the last few weeks, sympathisers in Hoa Long had been suggesting the road would be opened soon. The village comrades in Hoa Long and Binh Ba lost no time preparing for their members to be on the first convoys of local traffic permitted along Route 2. The road had indeed been opened, and the first few bullock carts of vegetable produce were trundling south, passing the first few bullock carts of fish and salt produce trundling north. And perched on top of the produce were the village comrades with their identity cards in order, noting the angles and distances to everything that could be observed from the road. The height of the bullock carts was enough to give a view over the verges of the roadway, even where it went through a cutting. Thus the observers could count the guns and see through the rows of rubber trees all the way into the artillery HQ and into the mercenary base HQ itself. This intelligence coup resulted in an immediate update to the maps of the area prepared by Van two months ago. The map changes were relayed to Long by runner on the 15th. Chinh reviewed the progress of preparations at the ambush site. After two days, the weapon pits were almost ready and the 50-metre zig-zag withdrawal trenches had been started. All diggings were a few metres back from the edge of the roadside clearings. The remaining grass and small bushes would be cleared away after dark on the 18th. From the road, even a trained observer would have had no way of knowing anything extraordinary was happening. Yet for slightly
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under 2 kilometres, just over 1200 men were busy digging, carrying away the soil and camouflaging their handiwork. During the day of 15 August, D440 Battalion completed work on their defended position on the Suoi Lo O Lon and moved forward to take up a position protecting the main force from any surprise on their exposed southeast flank. Until D445 arrived at Long Tan, the force was vulnerable to any force moving north up the axis of the east arm of the Suoi Da Bang. Ngoc, the bald one, was relishing the independent command he had been given to create a diversion in the west. On the 15th, he committed his D800 Battalion to an ambush on Route 15—the link between the Vung Tau and Saigon. He selected an area about 3 kilometres north of the roadside village of Ap Long Cat [grid 2560], where the road passed over two unnamed creeks, about 900 metres apart. He had the two bridges—culverts, really—prepared with command-detonated mines and set his ambush. His rocket launchers, mortars and wheeled machine guns had not been pooled with the main attack force’s fire support, and he placed them in a series of crossfires covering the essentially straight piece of road. Traffic was infrequent along the road, and he had let three lone vehicles past, considering them not worth triggering the ambush over. They were prepared to wait all day if they had to. Ngoc recalled another day where he had had to wait like today. Back in November 1965, his D800 Battalion had been operating with Q762 Regiment where the Song Dong Nai and the Song Be joined. Like the two rivers, the Liberation Forces and the imperialist 173rd Airborne forces had come together in battle after a long wait. The two forces had stood toe-to-toe, and Ngoc had considered the Liberation Forces comrades had won the day. And the Australian mercenaries had been with the American imperialists, too, recalled Ngoc. The prospect of confronting the mercenaries at Nui Dat held no terror for him.
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D440 Battalion arrived in the eastern reaches of the Long Tan rubber plantation in the early afternoon of 15 August. Their orders were to clear the plantation to the scattered huts of the Phuoc Hung settlement 1500 metres north of Long Tan village, then form a screen to protect the assembly area against threats from the south for the next two days. Just after 3.00 p.m. Ngoc’s lookouts warned him there was a group of nine puppet military vehicles coming. Ngoc spread the word—this would be their target. The lead vehicle was 200 metres in front of the convoy. It was placed out front to look for mines on the road and to warn of any roadblocks or destroyed bridges. Normally the first to trigger a mine or ambush, riding in it was usually referred to as having a suicide seat. Ngoc let the lead vehicle through the killing zone. The second vehicle was destroyed when the first bridge was blown. Flipped onto its back by the explosion, its petrol tank detonated, spraying flames over its occupants and the following vehicle. The second bridge, now well behind the small convoy, was blown as soon as the first one was destroyed. The remaining vehicles were now trapped on the 900-metre stretch of road. The firefight started. Every weapon in the battalion opened up. Regular-spaced red tracers spat from the machine guns. They traversed up and down the column, pausing at the vehicles and peppering them but then moving on. The chaos of green tracer from the assault rifles sought out any movement from the vehicles as well as the huddled shapes flung onto the roadway. No fire was returned, to speak of. As soon as the firefight started, the 60mm mortars began. The operators fed their bombs into the tubes as fast as they could, so there were several bombs in the air at once. Aiming was by hand, adjusting off the previous fall of shot. Their bombs dropped into the dead ground on the far side of the roadway. Once on target, they walked their bombs along the ditch and back again. The two rocket launchers fired only one shot each. Although, to their shared annoyance, they both picked the same target—the large
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truck in the middle of the convoy—fortunately for them, it was the one containing the ammunition and explosives. After twenty seconds, the ceasefire was ordered. Five of the nine vehicles had been totally destroyed; when the one containing the ammunition was hit, it went up in spectacular fashion, as did its two closest neighbours. Each of the others in the killing zone had settled down on punctured tyres, shredded and smoking. The lead vehicle had actually slowed down until its occupants realised they couldn’t help and it had then sped away. In the relative silence, only the flames and the billowing smoke moved. Beyond the road, on the west, the land was firm and clear for 200 metres before falling away to the Sai Gon river delta tidal mangrove swamps. Some government troops who made it through the mortar fire may have escaped that way. The land between the ambush and the road was also clear, but raked with small arms crossfire. No government troops escaped that way. After avoiding the mortars, a few escaped up or down the road by crawling along the far side of the raised road. The rest died with their vehicles or in the ditch alongside. Being a daylight ambush, it had to be over quickly and have a covered withdrawal route. It was and it did. Ten minutes after the first explosion, the closest comrades were already 1000 metres away. By nightfall, two hours later, they were all well into the valley between the two main hill systems. The search helicopters could find no sign of the VC, and the survivors were not even able to reliably indicate how many there had been nor from which VC unit.
Prior to the task force evening O-Group on 15 August, Captain Trevor Richards advised Brigadier Jackson that the radio of 275 Regiment was at that very moment, positioned in the lee of Long Tan’s Nui Dat. Jackson continued to keep the knowledge from the O-Group attendees. Most senior task force officers, including the two battalion
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commanders, were therefore unaware that 275 Regiment, or at least its radio set, was now located inside Line Alpha and within 5000 metres of the room they were in. Had they realised that Jackson knew this and wasn’t telling them, they might well have wondered what else Jackson might have been keeping from them. They might have had a few more questions to ask Jackson when he gave his next order. The Australian 105 Battery of six 105mm howitzers was to relocate on the next afternoon, the 16th. They were to leave their present dug-in position on the southwest perimeter and set themselves up in the flat area north from the Nui Dat hill, between it and the rear of 5RAR. The reason given for the move was to extend the artillery range to cover the 5RAR operation then under way to the base’s north. The commander of 1 Field Regiment, Lieutenant Colonel Dick Cubis, represented the battery at the O-Group. He strongly objected. The new area was not dug in, he pointed out, had no perimeter security and had no accommodation or sanitary provisions. ‘It’ll just to be for 24 hours,’ Jackson rebuffed the objection. The senior artillery officer responded, saying the move would only extend the 105s’ range by less than 1500 metres. Could not the 155s cover the operation for 24 hours? They were well within range. Again Jackson overruled the objections, and the decision stood. The move simply did not make sense to any of the others.
Mike was present at the O-Group meeting and listened agog to the puzzling order. He knew nothing of the signals intelligence but was keenly aware of the consternation being generated by the confusion of intelligence reports reaching the Task Force. Later, in the mess, Mike discussed tomorrow’s move with the artillery officers. The only conclusion he could come to was that absolute confusion was clouding the order, its reasons and whatever would be gained from the move.
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After the ambush, Ngoc camped his battalion overnight on the foothills of Nui Dinh. On the morning of the 16th, he made his way back to Nui Nghe, where his battalion restocked its ammunition from the hidden supplies and prepared for the diversionary attack scheduled for the night of the 18th. There also, he met up with Buu’s AAMG battery, which would come under his command for the diversionary attack. From Nui Nghe, he was to move in the late afternoon of the 18th towards the mercenary base. He would be in position outside the northwest perimeter before midnight, when he expected the rain to stop and the fire to start—the fire that would eliminate the mercenaries from the province in one hard action. Ngoc could hardly wait. Ginh’s H421 Battalion left their completed position on the morning of 16 August and was at the Phuoc Hung settlement on the edge of the Long Tan rubber plantation by midday. The orders for his battalion were to dig a defensive position of several concentric circles. Ginh set his men to work, then slipped across to the H422 Battalion position under the east slope of Nui Dat East for a briefing. D445 Battalion also arrived at Long Tan village on the 16th. Its leader, Lan, immediately sent his mortar, operations and rocketlauncher groups into the plantation to meet with Long’s staff for their instructions. They took Lan’s reece platoon as protection. When they had all gathered, Ginh as his regimental leader, Long, detailed the overnight bombardment of the mercenary base. Opening the briefing, Long ordered D445’s operations group to join his own operations group north of the hill right away, and to start clearing the route for the mortar team. In accord with Quang’s overall plan, Lan’s mortar group, with a half-platoon protection party, was to make a wide sweep around to the north of Nui Dat East later this afternoon and move in towards the mercenary base from the northeast. They would not try to cover
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their tracks, and they would use much the same track when they moved out after the bombardment. They would set up their baseplate position between the two arms of the Suoi Da Bang West and be prepared to start the bombardment at 2.30 a.m. on the 17th. During the afternoon, Lan’s rocket-launcher group would also make their way to their firing position. With another half-platoon protection, they were to move due west through the rubber plantation with four bullock carts carrying the weapons and the ammunition. They would set up their firing position at the edge of the rubber plantation and also be ready to fire at 2.30 a.m. After the bombardment, the rocket launchers would be loaded onto the carts and they would be carried back through the rubber plantation. The protection party, however, would leave the area via the north, around the plantation edge and into the bush to the west of the hill, again deliberately leaving clear tracks behind them. A third team would also move into position, using two more bullock carts to carry an old captured Japanese 75mm field gun and all the ammunition they had for it. This group, with a squad of protection, was to set up a fire position about 800 metres south of the rocket launchers and be ready to fire at 2.30 a.m. After the bombardment, the whole group would withdraw due east with the carts. Briefing the two protection groups, Long stressed the mercenary follow-up patrol must find their tracks and be able to follow them northeast around the top of Nui Dat East and into the bush beyond.
On the afternoon of the 16th, as ordered, 105 Battery vacated their sandbagged and dug-in emplacements in the task force base and set up their gun positions in the open, facing west to cover the gap in the perimeter. The gunners set up their command post in a tent and ran temporary lines for the tannoy. They put in place temporary aiming posts, and some gunners dug shell scrapes next to their guns. Out in
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the open, they would be vulnerable to any mortar fire into the gun positions. Behind the cheerful smiles there were some dark mutterings, and behind the dark mutterings were some suspicions— somewhere, something wasn’t being said to someone. Also on the 16th, the task force’s senior Intelligence Officer, John Rowe, was medevaced to Vung Tau with hepatitis. In two days, Jackson had lost both of his intelligence officers. All the background intelligence information and its analysis, not to mention the strong arguments for and against the signal troop’s assessments, were now lost to Jackson—just when it might be thought he needed it most.
By the same afternoon, all the digging at the 274 Regiment ambush site on Route 2 had been completed. All the pits and trenches were camouflaged. All the soil removed from the diggings had been spread then covered with surface dirt. From the road, not a thing looked out of place. Even the occasional local road-users were not aware of the preparations. Sentries posted a kilometre along the road in each direction warned of the approach and departure of every passing bicycle and bullock cart. Although concerned at first about the unconventional ambush plan, Chinh was very happy with its simplicity and flexibility. The sequences had been drilled into his men by their cell and squad leaders: ➢ First, the explosion. ➢ Then the machine guns fire from the west while the others stay down in their pits. ➢ Then, when the maching guns stop, the heavy weapons fire. ➢ When the heavy weapons fire, the machine gun groups withdraw. ➢ The platoons and mortars will only fire if imperialist troops dismount.
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Yes—an open ambush might not be conventional but if it’s simple enough, it’ll work, Chinh considered.
Allied IntReps continued to flood Jackson’s HQ, many pointing to VC troop movements and intentions against their base. Jackson was highly conscious that a convincing report could be the trigger for an operation, removing troops from the base prior to a VC attack. There had been reliable reports of planned attacks on the base and, although none had eventuated yet, he knew the base was still vulnerable. He cast his mind back to the report received exactly one month ago, on 15 July—the one from the two charcoal burners who’d reported seeing a VC battalion moving in the valley between the Nui Thi Vai and the Nui Dinh. Jackson had mounted an immediate battalion-scale operation using APCs to deploy 6RAR into the area on the 16th. On the 18th, with no contacts or even sightings, the force had been withdrawn. For those three days, the base had been held by less than one battalion, which also had to maintain its aggressive patrolling schedule day and night. The memory of his vulnerability had stayed with Jackson, and he was determined not to be ‘spooked’ into hasty reaction again. The report on yesterday’s Route 15 ambush sat on his desk and challenged him to understand the pattern. On the one hand, SigInt was saying the risk was approaching from the east, on the other hand, incidents were mounting in frequency and intensity in the west. 274 Regiment was still reported to be in the northwest. In late July, two Chinooks had been fired upon from the Nui Dinhs, southwest of the base. Two separate reports in August had referred to two different battalion-sized VC forces on Long Son island, beyond the Nui Dinh hills. D445 was reported moving north out of the Long Green. And according to Richards, the 275 Regiment radio remained stationary behind Long Tan’s Nui Dat. Jackson had 6RAR’s Alpha Company on a three-day patrol
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around the top of Long Tan’s Nui Dat and clearing the other side. In a day or two, he’d resolve the radio set issue. Either they would find it or it would prove to be a hoax.
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16–18 August 1966
A brief burst of machine-gunfire rattled through the bush, distant and indistinct, followed by a few rifle shots. On the southern knoll of Nui Dat East, a bearing was taken on the sounds, and the distance was estimated at about 2000 metres. This was telephoned to H422 Battalion HQ below. They all knew the mortar team and its protection party were moving in small groups to the north of Nui Dat East, getting into position for the mortar bombardment tomorrow morning. One of the groups had run into trouble. A few minutes later, another short, sharp exchange of fire came from the same general area, and a third a few minutes later again. These were also reported to H422’s HQ, but there was nothing they could do. That’s why the team had broken into small groups—if one was discovered, it would turn back but the others would press on to set up the baseplate position. By sunset, five of the six mortar team groups were at the rendezvous. Each group had heard the three clashes during the afternoon and had wondered which group or groups had been discovered. All three contacts, it turned out, had been with the same group, one 230
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carrying a mortar baseplate and some mortar bombs. The group had a copy of the firing orders for the bombardment, but the details were in code. Troi, the mortar group leader, reckoned the bombardment would be over before the code could be deciphered and the plan foiled, so he decided to stay with the plan. Under the cover of rain, the team moved to the site and dug in. The defenders placed their pits around the clearing, and the mortar crews set up the baseplates. A circular patch of grass was removed and an earth platform cleared for each of the five mortars. The crew collected rocks and set them into the platform to form a solid base. The large circular baseplates were then placed and levelled. The tubes were mounted into the baseplate’s centre, and the muzzle laid into the supporting bipod, facing generally towards the target. Troi then adjusted each tube to its correct direction and elevation. The settings had been worked out beforehand and would not be greatly adjusted during the firing. Minor changes would ensure all selected targets within the base were progressively hit, from the engineer and artillery positions on the southern perimeter in the first salvos, moving in towards the base HQ position for the final salvos. Satisfied the tubes were in position, the crews then readied the mortar bombs, again setting the charges carefully to ensure the correct range for each bomb. Darkness closed in over the Long Tan rubber plantation. The rocket launcher group of twelve and their protection group of twenty with two bullock carts moved into position at the edge of the plantation nearest to the Australian base. The carts stopped two rows of rubber trees from the edge, and the team began unloading the carts and setting up their position. Like the mortars, the rocket launcher positions, directions and elevations were carefully set and checked, then the rockets were unpacked and prepared for firing. A light nylon cover protected them from the rain. A little further to their south, two more bullock carts also made their way to the edge of the plantation. One bullock cart carried the Japanese 75mm field gun. The other carried its precious cargo of
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ammunition. Both stopped within the tree line, and the artillery crew went about positioning the gun and preparing its ammunition while its protection squad dug in around the gun some 20 metres out. By midnight, all three sites were ready for the bombardment.
The old soldier quietly sat next to his beloved piece, the Japanese field gun, as he prepared the ammunition. Beside him the shells stood upright in their wooden packing cases. From a second wooden box, he took a fuse, unwrapped it and started to screw it into the top of the nearest projectile. Slightly rusted, the screw thread resisted. Already frail, the two-day journey having sapped the old soldier’s meagre strength, he wouldn’t allow the younger soldiers to help him. He screwed the fuse as tight as he could and then reached for another. Back in 1945, the gun had been handed to the British when the Japanese surrendered after World War II and they’d been returned to Japan without their weapons. When the British lefTt, the warehouse containing the gun had passed to French control, and the Viet Minh had cleared it of all its weapons and equipment in a raid in 1947. The old soldier had been a cell leader with the group that received the gun to train on, to use it to help evict the hated French. Afterwards, the gun with its ammunition had been hidden in a tunnel complex in the Nui Thi Vai. It had twice fired on French forts in Phuoc Tuy in the early 1950s, when the old soldier had been the leader of a company of Viet Minh. After 1952, the gun and what remained of its ammunition had been transported by bullock cart to the Nui May Tao, where it had remained ever since. He’d been the one who had been given custody of the gun when the war had ceased in 1954 and the French had left. When peace had come, he had been put in charge of storing the unit’s arms and ammunition against the day they ever needed to be used again. He had then been discharged from the Viet Minh to await further orders, settling in a small fishing village on the coast near the border between Phuoc Tuy and Binh Tuy Provinces.
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For many years, every second month without fail, he had visited the arms cache in the Nui May Tao to clean and oil the weapons and to make sure the ammo was dry. And the highlight of each trip had been to renew his friendship with ‘his’ field gun. Lovingly, he would strip it and clean it, oil the parts and reassemble it. So far as he knew, he was the only man alive in Viet Nam who knew how to care for and fire the gun and how to handle its unreliable ammunition. He had 23 rounds for the gun, and 23 fuses. He had earlier had 28 rounds, but with only 23 fuses, he had reluctantly contributed the five fuse-less rounds to the workshop to be converted into demolition charges. Whenever the old man recalled the destruction of the bridge over the Song Rai, he grinned with fierce pride. Four of his five artillery rounds had lit the sky that night, and the tangled wreckage of the bridge the next day attested to the destructive power in every round. When his wife died in 1962, he went to live in the Nui May Tao cache area. Reversing his former routine, every second month he would visit the fishing village to collect his supplies. His needs were simple—he was mainly fed, clothed and supported by the small training garrison also housed in the Nui May Tao complex, which treated him as the lovable but respected old fossil he was. Not everyone knew his name. They just called him ‘Bac’—uncle. Bac varied his diet with the fruit, vegetables and wild rice that grew in the flatlands. He bought fish and oil and, occasionally, cigarettes with the small amount of money given to him by the village political cadre on each visit. And he repaid them with news of the activities in the training camp plus snippets of the regularly received news from comrades in the North and elsewhere in the South. By the time the American War became inevitable, he was too old to serve in the field units. But he was kept on as the storekeeper he was. He watched as all the weapons and ammo he’d cared for over the past ten years were called back to active duty—all except for his old friend, the gun. The young soldiers used to bring him the local beer, and he’d
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entertain them—and instruct them—with tales from the French War. And when the beer was gone and they had left, he would sit with his gun in the near-empty storage cave and he would sometimes weep with his friend, the gun. They were both relics from a previous age. Both had been powerful in their youth, potent and dangerous. But time had passed, and now they were both, well, he sighed, just passing the time. Nevertheless, he always knew, deep in his heart, there would be a time for both of them to prove their worth in this new war. And the chance had come in July when he had found out the new senior leader at Nui May Tao was planning to bombard the mercenary base before attacking it. It had taken some effort, but the deft use of enthusiasm, age, experience and the cunning of an ex-Viet Minh company leader had found him seated in front of ‘Colonel’ Quang himself. He explained how 23 rounds of 75mm Japanese artillery would be a cheap and effective addition to his bombardment. Of course, he would have to be there himself. Quang, recognising the right of an old soldier to the fulfilment of a dream, even a destiny, had accepted the offer warmly. Now, as he painstakingly screwed home the last artillery fuse in the early hours of 17 August, 1966, he was about to fulfil his dream. His gun and he would punish the foreign soldiers who had come from far away to stop the people of Viet Nam from having good leadership. Even though it would take all the ammunition he had, every round would count. He smiled to himself in the darkness and remembered the bridge over the Song Rai. The bridge in the Song Rai, he chuckled. Such destruction! He was truly glad he was at the firing end and not the receiving end of the Japanese field gun.
Long looked at his watch—again. It must, he thought, be just a nervous reaction. He knew exactly what time it was. It was three minutes since he last looked at his watch. And it was still two minutes before he expected to hear the mortars start the bombardment.
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In the dim light of a shielded torch, Troi did a final check of each mortar tube, then checked each mortar bomb. A whispered ‘Ready’ brought each crew member to his position, and Troi handed a mortar bomb to the nearest crew man. The rocket launcher crews were standing by at each weapon. They were waiting for the first mortar bomb to be fired.
In 50 weapon pits scattered around the inside of the task force perimeter, a hundred pairs of eyes peered out into the darkness. Not that they could see much. No moon and high but total overcast made the night a blackout. To make matters worse, it had been drizzling earlier and everything was wet. And the men were tired. And bored. Since the probes and movement outside the wire had ended a week ago, sentry duties had become quiet and uneventful. Behind them, other tired men did their turn of sentry duty in tented command posts, manning telephone links or radios to the forward pits and to rear HQs. Just another night of dripping discomfort and broken sleep.
The flash from the mortar muzzle reached higher than the surrounding treetops, turning the damp night into day for an instant, and shattering the silence. Four others flashed in rapid succession, and the reports of the mortar primaries rippled out from the baseplate position towards both Nui Dats. The darkness that returned was immediately pierced by the streak of three rockets arcing over the trees to their south, followed a second later by the noise of their firing. Truong waited patiently for the first falls of shot. Standing in the top of a large mango tree on the northern outskirts of Hoa Long village, he had a good view up the slope and into the task force area. His
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job tonight was to let the bombardment crews know if they were on target and, if not, then to adjust them onto target. If they were on target, he would fire a single green tracer straight up into the air. If not on target, he would fire the tracer in the direction they would have to adjust their aim—north for north, west for west and so on. Indistinct in the distance, he heard the primaries, followed a few seconds later by the dull flashes just inside the plantation tree line. Truong’s single green tracer fired vertically into the clouds told the mortar crews and the lookout on Nui Dat East the rounds were indeed falling in their target areas. Truong climbed down the tree, returned his rifle to its hide in the banana grove and went home to bed. For the next twenty minutes, the five mortar tubes and the three rocket launchers fired an irregular pattern of bombs and rockets, punctuated at intervals by the old field gun’s deep thump. In the varying intervals between the sound of the primaries, the crews could hear the secondary explosions 3000 metres to their west.
In the Australian base, the falling bombs produced an immediate state of full alert. Troops all over the base rushed to their front line trenches or their allocated protective positions. Those on sentry duty took compass bearings on the sounds of the primaries and reported them, along with estimates of distance, to their command HQs. These were in turn relayed to the task force command post, where they were plotted on an operations map. As soon as the lattice of bearings showed some common trends, these were relayed to the artillery positions. Mike, woken by the explosions in among the SAS lines 100 metres away, spent the next half-hour or so standing up to his thighs in cold, muddy water wearing only underpants and a tee-shirt. As he dashed for the weapon pit, he’d grabbed his pistol belt and had the belt and holster draped across his shoulder and the Colt .45 auto-
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matic in his hand. He watched as the explosions stepped closer and closer, and cursed that he hadn’t brought his steel helmet. Then he remembered he hadn’t brought it with him because the Australians didn’t wear them, so to get it, he’d have to go back to Bien Hoa. It then struck him that right now was a particularly good time to go back to Bien Hoa to fetch it, and he laughed out loud. His companion in the flooded pit was an Australian war correspondent. He didn’t understand the joke. ‘If yer bloody stop laughing, maybe they’ll go away, mate.’ Mike stopped laughing. Sure enough, the mortar explosions gradually moved away towards the engineers’ lines, leaving behind them a trail of shredded tents and screaming wounded. Mike could hear other explosions to the south as well, and was correct in thinking the artillery lines were also being hit. A number of rounds fell into the vacated 105 Battery positions, but none fell among the guns in their new position overlooking the perimeter gap. In the task force counter-bombardment operations tent, a specialised radar unit was trying to track the projectiles in flight. If they could lock onto a projectile and track it for even a few seconds, they could back-calculate its trajectory and obtain a grid reference for its firing position. But there were too many bombs in the air at once, and the radar flicked from one target to the other, yielding confusing grid references and delaying the counter-bombardment fire. Still, enough information was coming in for the counterbombardment fire to start. The first few rounds were fired onto pre-registered grid references, then the aim was adjusted onto the intersections of the bearings provided from various places on the task force base perimeter.
Although the counter-bombardment fire fell no closer to the mortar group’s position than 200 metres, the second rounds on the ground in the rocket launchers’ area straddled the group. Of the six shells, the three to the north exploded harmlessly beside the rubber trees,
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as did the one to the south. The other two, however, exploded on either side of the position, one a few metres from one weapon and the other directly onto another. When the smoke and steam cleared, the concussed survivors found four of their comrades tossed on the ground like piles of dirty laundry and another four had virtually disappeared altogether. In the dark, they treated the wounded as best they could, failing to save the one with the leg missing at the groin, but able to staunch the bleeding of the others and bandage their wounds. With their supply of mortar bombs fired, Troi set his group to clean up, pack up and return to his unit. They followed their orders to the letter. The clean-up and pack-up ensured the precious weapons were secured, but they deliberately left the uncamouflaged baseplate positions, the mortar bomb packing and the weapon pits of the security party in place for the mercenaries to find. The group then returned the way they had come, on a path that would take them in a wide sweep north of Long Tan’s Nui Dat and out into the vast area to its northeast before they turned south to rejoin D445. They left as a group, making no attempt to hide their tracks. Ginh had stressed to them that it was an essential part of the attack plan for the mercenaries to find their tracks, follow them and be lured further and further to the north of the hill. Troi understood exactly why. It had been explained that if this worked, then those mercenaries sent out to follow their tracks would not be in their base on the night of the 18th, when it was to be attacked. Several times, Troi had the protection party circle back and reuse their path, just to make sure the mercenaries could find it and follow it. At the rocket launcher site, the protection party was assigned to collect what they could find of their dead comrades and bury anything else in the shell hole. By the time this was done, the bullock carts had arrived and the weapons, one still serviceable but the other two wrecked, had been loaded aboard. The three wounded were loaded onto one cart and the bodies onto the other. All remaining equipment was thrown onto the carts as they departed eastwards
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through the rubber plantation. Items of equipment not secured fell off within the first hundred metres of rough track up the slope to the plantation service road. There, the bullock cart crews secured the remainder of their loads and started off again. The rocket launcher crews and their protection party waited for the field gun party to join them. The old soldier and his gun were loaded onto their own bullock cart and they, too, turned east towards Long Tan village. The old soldier was extremely tired, but the excitement of the event and the certain conviction he’d been responsible for much damage in the base, and many casualties, kept him awake. Even the rhythmical swaying of the cart had him humming rather than dozing. The Australian artillery continued its counter-bombardment fire. Sometimes the shells landed nearby but usually they fell too far away to be of concern to the withdrawing VC. Although adding to their tension and their fear of being hit, they caused no more casualties that morning. After seeing off the bullock cart, the field gun protection party went north to join up with the rocket launchers’ protection party, and the two groups moved off northeast, along the edge of the plantation. As the edge veered east, the group entered the bush west of the hill. Again under orders to leave a clear path, they kept a heading of northeast until well north of the hill itself before turning right, masking their tracks and rejoining their units to the southeast. When Troi estimated he was about 2000 metres north of the hill, he detached the protection party to prepare an ambush position from which to ambush the mercenary follow-up force. He and his mortar group then turned south towards Long Tan village. The bullock carts carrying the rocket launchers and their wounded arrived at Long’s headquarters just as dawn’s glow touched the east. The medical teams treated the wounded, and a burial party removed the dead. The serviceable weapon was unloaded, to be collected by Troi and returned to D445. In half an hour, the bullock
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carts were once again rolling eastward towards the distant Nui May Tao hospitals.
On bombardment, the Australian base moved into stand to routine, where all defensive lines were manned. This was kept through dawn in case an assault followed. But there had been no assault so the troops were stood down after full daylight. During the stand to, Brigadier Jackson and Colonel Townsend were in their respective command posts and talked about their response. They agreed a search party must move out at first light to locate the bombardment sites and assess the size of the threat. The Alpha Company patrol, currently to the north of Long Tan’s Nui Dat, would also be diverted to search for the mortar team. As 6RAR’s Bravo Company headed out towards the estimated baseplate positions, Jackson was contemplating the report on his desk. His base had been bombarded from 2.45 a.m. for 20 minutes. Three firing sites had been identified and counter-bombardment had been fired. VC incoming fire had been identified as 82mm mortars and 75mm rocket launchers, with some unidentified 75mm light artillery shells also falling, but all of the artillery shells had failed to explode. On first inspection, it appeared their fuses hadn’t been screwed in far enough to make contact. Twenty-one soldiers had been wounded—most from the VC firing but a few from running into star pickets or falling into pits in their hurry to cover. The areas hit had been the engineers, all 105mm artillery battery lines and emplacements, and the task force HQ area itself, including the areas recently allocated to and occupied by the SAS and the reinforcement unit. A glance at his operations map showed Jackson he had troops out in the general area east from where the firing had come. Alpha Company of 6RAR were on an operation north of Long Tan’s Nui Dat, and he recalled they’d had contacts yesterday in the area. He called his command post for the After Action Reports. And Charlie
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Company, 6RAR, had had a platoon-sized ambush further to the south, nearer to Long Tan village, but they hadn’t reported seeing or hearing anything overnight. The command post duty runner arrived with the Alpha Company reports on their contacts yesterday. Skipping the generic information, Jackson read the description of the action. It referred to VC in dark blue uniforms, AK-47s, carrying a large round object— perhaps a large Claymore mine, the report said—more likely, Jackson thought, a mortar baseplate. No known casualties to either side. Jackson found the grid reference on the operations map—almost due north of the hill. Obviously the route the mortar team had used to approach the base. But where were they now? On the morning of the 17th, the guns of 105 Battery, again on orders from Brigadier Jackson, returned to their former dug-in emplacements on the southwest of the task force perimeter.
Troi arrived in the Long Tan rubber plantation at 9.00 a.m. and went directly to Ginh. With Long listening in, he gave his report and was informed of the unlucky hit on the rocket launchers. He was also told the observation post on the hill had reported all their fire had been on target. Other than the casualties, all had gone according to plan. While the three were discussing the bombardment, H423 Battalion arrived. It was met by the 275 Regiment recce company and shown to the screening position it was to take up, directly to the south of the hill. Tang joined the group as Troi left with the remaining rocket launcher. Long laid his map on the ground and indicated the current positions of the regiment for Tang’s benefit. Regimental HQ and two companies of Ginh’s H421 Battalion occupied a defensive dug-in position around the deserted Phuoc Hung hamlet. To the north, nestling into the east of the hill was Binh’s H422 Battalion, now putting the final touches to their defendable position.
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Map 7: Dispositions of 275 Regiment, D440 Battalion and D445 Battalion prior to the battle
D440 Battalion had been screening the regiment to its west, towards the mercenaries, but had not dug in. Today, as soon as it was relieved by Tang’s battalion, D440 would move back past the regimental HQ, forming a screen to the HQ’s east, spread thinly and, again, not dug in. D440 was to be the reserve tomorrow night, to be thrown at whatever target proved most difficult, so they were assured of plenty of action. Long wanted them well rested. D445 was to carry out the brunt of the attack, so they too were permitted to rest up until the move-out order was given after the monsoon started tomorrow. C1 Company from H421 Battalion was occupying the ridge of the hill. H423 Battalion would now become the screen element for the regiment. Tang was to take up his position, place his companies
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into all-round defence and have the company facing the mercenaries send out clearing patrols each two hours until the move-out order was given. ‘Long Dien C2 Company from Lan’s D445 Battalion will go out tonight,’ said Long, ‘and secure the damaged bridge on the Long Tan–Long Phuoc road where it crosses the Suoi Da Bang. They will have the D445 mortar team with them for close protection. Their orders are to stay hidden and secure the bridge for us to use tomorrow afternoon.’
Mike Davis monitored the 6RAR radio net as their patrols followed up the overnight bombardment. He listened in as Bravo Company reached the search area and, after a brief search, found their target. It was only 1200 metres out from the base wire. The five baseplate circles were still there, in the centre of an area of flattened grass. Circling them were the weapon pits for a protection party of 26. Between the baseplates and the weapon pits was the litter of packing and carrying materials. The interpretation that was radioed back to base was five mortar tubes and a platoon for protection. ‘They must have left in a hurry,’ reported the Bravo Company commander, ‘because they haven’t camouflaged their position or taken all their stores. They’ve left a clear trail heading roughly northeast. Must’ve been scared, too— haven’t even covered their tracks.’ The counter-bombardment fire, they concluded, must have been very close to spook them like that, though there was no evidence of direct hits or VC casualties. The Bravo Company patrol was ordered to follow the VC withdrawal trail.
Tang placed his three companies in a circle in the rubber plantation directly south of the hill. It was standard practice in the NVA to
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consider the placement of a defensive position as if it were a clock face laid on the ground, with the twelve o’clock position to the north. Six o’clock was therefore considered south, three and nine o’clock becoming east and west respectively. C1 Company took responsibility for the battalion front from seven to eleven o’clock. C3 took from eleven to three. C2 took from three to seven. Once settled, Tang ordered the C1 Company leader, comrade Kim, to start a pattern of clearing patrols. Again, this was standard practice. A squad of six to nine soldiers would leave the company from the seven o’clock position. The squad would move out about 1000 metres, turn right, move across the company’s front and return to the ten o’clock position. The first clearing patrol swept the company front that afternoon, leaving at noon and returning at 2.00 p.m. As it returned, another departed. This routine would be continued throughout all daylight hours until the move-out order came. All day of 17 August, the two battalions of 274 Regiment remained in their camp positions a kilometre back from Route 2, a few kilometres north of Binh Ba. As before every operation, they rested, prepared their weapons and ammo and endlessly went through the plans and sequences with their leaders and within their three-man cells. They rehearsed with each other what would happen for each contingency, where they would go if separated, which group they should expect on either side of them, the order of withdrawal— everything.
Several times during the day, the Bravo Company patrol lost the VC trail but, fanning out and cross-searching, were able to find it again. On some occasions, they found where the VC had circled back to make the main track more definite, but this only confused the Australians. Mostly city and town boys, the soldiers were not trained trackers. Where the VC had crossed hard dry earth, the Australians
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lost the track and had to fan out and search a wide area to regain it. This took them the rest of the day. By nightfall, the Bravo Company commander could only report they’d followed the trail for 1000 metres, had lost it several times and had found fresh tracks heading in the opposite direction. Their battalion commander, Townsend, ordered them to remain in the area overnight and resume the operation in the morning. Rather than trying to follow the confusing withdrawal tracks, the task for the morning was to locate the other bombardment position closer to the Long Tan rubber plantation—the rocket launcher position.
Squad leader comrade Tuan of C1 Company, H423 Battalion, 275 Regiment, was out on the last clearing patrol of the day. Moving west for 1000 metres, the squad came to the plantation’s main north– south track. It was an overgrown dirt bullock cart road with only the wheel ruts clear of vegetation. It was edged with derelict two-strand wire fences. Heading north, it made a suitable route for the clearing patrol. Where the track ended at the edge of the plantation, a right turn would lead them back to the company. Tuan found the going easy, the navigation almost too simple and the task a nonsense anyway. They’d been told the plan was to have the mercenaries drawn away to the north, so they wouldn’t come into the plantation. Why would they? Why would they not follow the clear tracks left for them? Had we not used this same tactic many times before to lead the puppet troops into ambush? No—there was nothing to worry about. Tuan would do the clearing patrols because that was how things were done in the People’s Army. But it was a process only. A routine. No need for excessive caution. Tuan and his squad slung their rifles over their shoulders, thought about the glorious battle to come and ambled their way back to their unit, chatting quietly among themselves.
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After dark in Long Tan village, Lan briefed comrade Mung, the leader of his Long Dien C2 Company. His company would secure the wrecked bridge over the Suoi Da Bang. Though wrecked for vehicle traffic, foot soldiers could still cross the bridge, even if with some difficulty, so it would be the main crossing point as the regiment moved in towards the base after the monsoon started tomorrow. Mung would have with him D445’s heavy mortar team of six 82mm tubes. At 8.30 p.m., Mung led his company and the mortar team out through the scrubby growth beside the Long Tan–Long Phuoc road, westwards towards the bridge.
Next morning, after a cool, dark, moonless night, half of Bravo Company returned to base while the other half resumed its search. Moving east, the 47 men crossed the eastern Suoi Da Bang and spread out to search for the rocket launcher position. By midmorning they had cleared right up to the plantation’s edge and found their target. Counter-bombardment fire had hit the position, and there was evidence of VC casualties and a hasty withdrawal. Torn and bloodstained clothing mixed with the litter of discarded webbing and ropes. In the protection weapon pits there were the packing cases for 22 rockets. The track pattern made it clear at least two bullock carts had arrived empty, been hastily loaded and left again. A sprinkling of equipment had fallen off the carts as they moved off, but the deep wheel ruts in the soft red earth showed they were heavily laden, and not with troops. The troops had left by the main exit track northwards.
The day’s first clearing patrol was again Tuan’s squad. It left the company at 7.00 a.m., reached the plantation track at 7.30, and
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turned right up the slight rise to the hut at the crossroads. There they stopped for a 15-minute break before resuming the patrol down the other side of the hill to the plantation’s edge. At 8.15 a.m. they did the right turn that returned them to the company by 9.00 a.m. Tuan and his squad then rested up for two hours while another squad cleared the front. They would do the patrol again at 11.00 a.m., and again at 3.00 p.m. After the 3.00 p.m clearing patrol, the daily monsoon would start and the move-in toward the mercenary base would commence. An easy task making for an easy day.
Securing the rocket launcher site, the half-strength Bravo Company located the main VC withdrawal track skirting the plantation to the north. Advising Colonel Townsend, they were told to hold their position—Delta Company would take over the search at midday. Awaiting the midday relief, the Bravo Company commander then sent out two patrols, both of two men, each following a set of minor tracks—one set southwards and one set eastwards. The track south led to the field gun’s firing position, identified only by the bullock cart tracks. Counter-bombardment fire, now more than 30 hours ago, had not hit the area, and no litter was found. The small patrol eastwards found the hut at the crossroads at 10.30 a.m. They noted many VC tracks around the hut but saw no other signs of VC in the area. Careful not to leave tracks themselves, they then returned to the company position. They missed the previous VC clearing patrol by an hour, and Tuan and his clearing patrol would be at the hut for a break an hour after the Bravo Company men left. Neither would be aware of the other’s presence.
The platoon leading the heavy weapons convoy cautiously rounded the bend in the track and searched ahead for any signs of trouble. They didn’t find any. Instead, they caught their first glimpse of the
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Main towns & villages Rubber plantations
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Nui Dinh slopes, rising steep and green beyond the tall bamboo lining the track. For the last week, the bullock-cart convoy had plodded its slow and rhythmical way south from their assembly area at Hat Dich. The protection parties had screened out in front of them, clearing the way, so they knew they hadn’t been discovered. Moving only under the cover of the daily monsoon, their advance had been slow and cautious. They were just a kilometre from where they would stop and await the day’s rain. Long Dien C2 Company of D445, with the 82mm mortar team, settled in and camouflaged up around the wrecked bridge. Anyone approaching from either direction would have had to walk right into their position before the defenders would have been spotted. They would stay like this until the rains started later that afternoon.
Delta Company, 6RAR, briefed for an operation to the southeast, was formed up in their base area but had orders not to move out before noon. At 10.30, the Delta Company commander, Major Harry Smith, was called to battalion HQ and his operation orders were changed. Delta Company would now move to the rocket launcher position and take over the follow-up task from Bravo Company, which would then return to base.
Tuan’s 11.00 a.m. clearing patrol finished its break at the hut at 11.50, unaware there’d been a mercenary patrol at the same spot an hour earlier. With rifles over their shoulders and chatting quietly among themselves, the squad moved out northwards along the track. They were secure in the knowledge that any mercenaries out searching for the bombardment groups would be well to the north of the Long Tan hill by now, following the tracks.
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‘Only one more clearing patrol,’ Tuan told himself, ‘before the rain and the order to move out.’
At noon, Delta Company met up with Bravo Company, and the two company commanders compared notes. The main tracks heading north were now some 33 hours old, and a VC group of 30-or-so men could cover a tremdous distance in 33 hours. Then again, the pair of bullock carts, heavily loaded and moving slowly, couldn’t have got very far. The Bravo Company commander said he’d spent all the previous day trying to follow the foot tracks from the mortar site. By constrast, the cart tracks were plain and obvious in the soft plantation mud. The prize on finding the VC Patrol? Another firefight with the elusive VC infantrymen. The prize on finding the carts would be the capture of some valuable heavy weapons, probably lightly guarded by only the bullock cart crews since there was no evidence of foot soldiers moving with the carts.
An hour after lunch, the ambush groups of 274 Regiment began to move out. They removed all trace of where they’d camped and cautiously approached their prepared positions on Route 2. Once in place, they would not leave until the ambush had been successful or unless someone from regimental HQ told them to. Leaving the screen of bush between them and the road, they settled in, assembled the crew-served weapons and prepared the ammunition. They would wait until the afternoon rain before moving forwards and clearing the last grass and shrubs from the front of their diggings. Next, after dark, the sappers would set the land mine that would trigger the ambush. At Nui May Tao, Quang had his signals team set up the division HQ’s spare radio in the dugout meeting room and tune it to 275
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Regiment’s internal net frequency. He made sure a comrade from the signals group was there to log all the messages, recording the times, text and any grid reference or other directions mentioned. This was standard operating procedures for the division, insisted upon by Quang as part of his fastidious approach to monitoring the execution of his equally fastidiously assembled plans. He wanted the success of the attack logged in detail for his report to COSVN.
At 2.00 p.m., the Delta Company commander issued his new orders for the rest of the day, and Bravo Company departed for base. Delta Company shouldered their packs and shook out into a one-platoonup, open arrowhead formation, appropriate for speed and security, as it moved through the rubber tree plantation. Under a clear blue sky and with sunlight sprinkling down through the high canopy, they headed east, following the two bullock-cart tracks. Within a few hundred metres, the cart tracks split. Both still headed east, but they were now 250 metres apart. The company changed formation, putting two platoons side-by-side in the lead, one following each track. With the company HQ group centre rear of the two leading platoons and the third platoon covering the rear, they moved off again. Slowly, silently, Delta Company began to look for a handful of VC on two bullock carts who had passed this way 35 hours previously.
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Long Tan rubber plantation, 18 August 1966
Daylight dappled through the rubber plantation’s canopy. The 6-metre space between the tree trunks was mostly clear of secondary growth. Visibility extended for hundreds of metres down the avenues of trees, interrupted only by the ground’s gentle undulations. Puddles from yesterday’s rain had dried up, but the red earth remained cool and damp. At the shed, Tuan’s clearing patrol again stopped for a break. Tuan lay back and sucked on his cigarette. Looking back along the track, he noticed the trees on either side were different. On the west, the 12-metre-high trees were older, thicker, taller. Their trunks bore the diagonal scars of years of rubber tapping. In a few places, the wire frames and earthen cups were still in place, even though the cuts in the bark had healed over. On the east, the younger trees were not as tall, at about 8 metres, and bore no scars from the rubber tappers’ knives. It was eerily quiet. Tuan pondered this. Bird life in the area was almost non-existent. It must, he decided, have been hunted out years ago. Being familiar with the local countryside, he knew most ground animals were nocturnal. What wasn’t nocturnal—the occasional 252
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wild pigs and the even more occasional troop of monkeys—usually stayed in the undergrowth, rarely venturing into plantations or paddy fields.
Two hundred metres north of the shed, and out of sight over the hill crest, the Australian right flank reached the fence bordering the track. Silently, the platoon went into a practised obstacle-crossing routine. The following sections closed up and found cover, then the lead section crossed the track and its two wire fences and found cover on the other side. They paused while they established all was clear.
Tuan glanced at his watch and took a last draw on his cigarette before stubbing it out. 3.35 p.m. He gave the quiet signal—smoketime was over. Each comrade slowly rose and looked around, searching for any danger. As on earlier clearing patrols, and this one so far, the plantation was clear as far as they could see in every direction. They relaxed and moved off. Rifles slung across their shoulders, they fell into a steady walk, chatting quietly as they crested the hill and started down the other side. It was an accident of timing. The Australians were paused in the middle of their crossing routine when the seven VC came into sight only 100 metres away. The Australians fired first. It was an impossible ambush. From nowhere, shots were coming at them. Tuan’s two leading men were hit. A comrade grabbed each of the wounded as the others dived through the fence on their right and took up firing positions. The squad paused only long enough to provide covering fire for the two wounded to be dragged under the fence. Then they ran back toward their comrades. With the Australians in pursuit, some minutes behind, Tuan’s squad made for a tapper’s hut in the rubber plantation, one on the
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east–west track that each clearing patrol had been able to see through the trees on the outbound leg. One comrade staunched the bleeding of the two wounded and dressed their wounds as best he could. One had taken a serious hit in the chest and was almost unconscious. The other had been hit in the upper thigh and was coping, but needed help to walk. Tuan reasoned it would take the remaining four of his squad to get the two wounded back to company so, taking up a position facing back the way they’d come, he ordered the others to return. As he waited, Tuan reflected on the action. The mercenaries had appeared out of nowhere. They didn’t mill around and shout for each other like the less well-trained puppet forces, and they had better fire control than the imperialists. In fact, when he thought back, only a few rounds had been fired in the whole action. Yet he had one man hit so hard he’d left his weapon behind and another wounded almost as badly. He took some comfort in the fact he and the men of his patrol had reacted well, escaping the mercenary ambush. But two wounded and a rifle lost! ‘The damned mercenaries will pay dearly later tonight,’ he thought. ‘After we deal with this small squad, we’ll wipe out their arrogant base. If there’s any left alive, they’ll have no base to go back to.’
The soldiers of Alpha Company, 6RAR, approached their own perimeter. They were weary from their three-day patrol. The sleepless night they’d had on the night of the mortaring hadn’t helped. But there was the elation of the contacts they’d had with the enemy north of the other Nui Dat, where they’d inflicted casualties without having had any themselves. Because of the bombardment and the subsequent search for the VC responsible, they hadn’t completed their original patrol route, but it had still been a successful patrol. They were looking forward to their return to base. What to do first? Some would opt for a hot
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shower, others a hot meal. Some would skip both, make a quick change and try to get to the concert before it finished—singers Col Joye and ‘Little Pattie’ had arrived by chopper earlier that morning. Whatever it would be, the last thing any of them wanted to see was the bush again, at least not for a while.
Tuan had been at the tapper’s hut in the Long Tan rubber plantation for about three minutes when he glimpsed the mercenaries off in the distance. Without firing, he turned and stealthily followed his squad. He didn’t want to give his position away. Running back, Tuan tried to recall how many there’d been. He’d not seen more than ten or so either at the first firing or at the hut. The small volume of firing seemed to confirm it—there’d only been a small squad. He caught up with his comrades as they reached the outskirts of their CI company’s position. Their attention grabbed by the firing, the whole of H423 Battalion was alert behind their weapons. Tuan was directed to his company leader, Kim, who passed the rest of the squad immediately to the medics. It took barely a minute to convey the gist of the action to Kim, then Tuan was passed up the line to the battalion leader, Tang. Kim then moved forwards to brief his platoon leaders, swinging his right-hand platoon around to the north to be able to bring fire to bear on the mercenary squad as it approached. They only had a few minutes. He had a flash of regret he hadn’t ordered his company to put Claymores out to their front, but then remembered—they hadn’t brought Claymores. This operation was to assault a defended base. They’d been ordered to leave the Claymores behind and carry grenades and more rifle and mortar ammunition instead. A thousand metres to the east of Kim, the 275 Regiment HQ element was sited in the deserted hamlet of Phuoc Hung. They’d been too far away to hear the initial firing, and there had not been time for them to have been advised since. Long was sitting with
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his operations officer and his political cadre leader watching as the clear afternoon sky turned quickly to total cloud cover. He glanced at his watch—4.00 p.m. exactly. The downpour for the day would start in no more than 15 minutes and when it did, he’d give the order to commence the advance. Kim, lying just behind the leading line of his company, watched as the mercenaries came into sight. They were in extended line, twenty or so, he counted, and moving fast. He hadn’t had time to give any detailed orders, so he hoped none of his comrades opened fire too early. ‘Let the enemy get well within range,’ he thought, ‘and we’ll make short work of these mercenaries.’ Even as he nodded his affirmation, his hopes were shattered. First one, then another machine gun to his right opened up. The mercenaries went to ground. It looked like one or two had been hit, but the range was still much too great—200 metres or more through the trees. Kim had hoped to open fire at 50 metres, no more. He called for the firing to stop, but it still took another minute before all firing ceased. Rolling his eyes, he cursed the inexperience and therefore lack of battle discipline of the recruits he’d received only three weeks ago. Recently recruited from the local village forces, they lacked the steadiness of his battle-tested comrades. None of those old hands would have been spooked into firing too early. But all units in the attack had needed their numbers boosted for the task, and Kim could only hope they wouldn’t make too many more such mistakes. A good 200 metres behind Kim, the firing had interrupted Tuan’s report to Tang. A strict radio blackout was in force, and Tang needed to get the information back to regimental HQ. With all the information already in his head, and with his squad out of action, Tuan was the logical choice as the runner. Briefed with no more than an instruction to find Long and tell him everything, Tuan was sent on his way. The firing came as an extremely unwelcome shock to Long. A full minute of firing with some fire returned, but what did it mean? Had
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the position been compromised? No, he thought—the decoy tracks had been laid so as to lead mercenaries away from the plantation. And none had ventured in yesterday or, so far, today. But the firing was too sustained to have been an accidental discharge or a spooked soldier firing at shadows. The fire had come from a whole group. He knew that for many recruits, this was their first Main Force operation. Mollified by the realisation that the firing would only be heard within a circle of about a thousand metres radius, and confident no mercenaries were that close, Long calmed himself down. Still, he resolved, I’ll have those comrades’ guts for lunch after this is over. Kim could see movement among the trees. The mercenaries were tightening their formation. If they were going to tighten into defence, Kim thought, then he should put in a quick attack. Don’t give them time to consolidate. His best estimate put them at either an over-strength squad or an under-strength platoon. His company could handle such a target. Kim called out to his two nearest platoon leaders to form an assault line in front of him and for the platoon to his right—the one that had opened fire—to provide the fire support. The bullock-cart convoy carrying 275 Regiment’s heavy weapons halted inside the tree line in the Nui Dinh foothills. Spreading out in a circle around them, the battalion went to ground. While the bullocks stood, patiently chewing their cud, the cart crews huddled under the carts and prepared their boiled rice and sweet potato. There would be no time for a meal once the rain came and they crossed the Song Cau.
The Australians watched in amazement as, right across their front, the ground 200 metres out seemed to rise and move about. It had got a shade darker in the plantation since the firing stopped a few
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minutes ago, but the indistinct movement of dozens of VC out there brought every Australian to the firing position. And then the rain started. It didn’t start with a few drops and build to a drizzle. It didn’t even start with a shower and build to a rain squall. It started with a deluge and within seconds built to a total, all-engulfing, drenching inundation. Instantly, visibility halved.
The two platoons of C1 Company, H423 Battalion, advanced into the sudden mist. Kim lost sight of the mercenaries but knew where they were. They kept advancing at a slow walk. On their own initiative the fire support platoon rose and advanced until they once again made visual contact with the enemy, then went to ground and started firing in support of the platoons to their left. The reply fire from the mercenaries was light and uncoordinated. Tang, at H423 Battalion HQ, ordered his C2 and C3 Companies to regroup and form up behind the attacking C1 Company. Where there were mercenaries there would be supporting artillery, and when it arrived, he wanted to be ready to move swiftly out of its way. It all depended on the first fall of shot. Wherever it landed, halfway between there and the mercenaries was exactly where not to be. The assault group in front of Kim made contact with their target at a range of about 150 metres, almost the limit of visibility in the heavy rain. The fire from the enemy this time was heavy, accurate and well co-ordinated. Kim estimated fifteen comrades had been hit in the move forward. The attack faltered and went to ground. They had expected a machine gun, maybe two, but being caught in crossfire from three machine guns meant Kim had to rethink a frontal attack. The suppressing fire from the right was obviously not effective enough. Or maybe there were more mercenaries than he thought. The first artillery in support of the Australians fell on the southern slopes of the hill. This was to Tang’s right, so he moved his troops left. The next falls of shot followed quickly. These landed in
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two places—further north on the hill and further east from the first shots. They caused no casualties. Kim’s second and third attack lines bogged down under the mercenaries’ heavy machine-gunfire and the ineffectiveness of his own supporting fire. They took twelve more casualties and he knew he couldn’t press home the attack. He sent a runner back to Tang advising he was now at 60 per cent effective strength on the attack line. He would consolidate a fire support base to the east of the mercenaries and provide fire for an assault from the north. Kim instructed his troops to dig shell-scrapes to prepare for the artillery he knew was about to rain down on them. The next shells from the Australian base landed between Long’s 275 Regiment HQ and his forward battalion, H423. It straddled a 600-metre strip of plantation running northeast to southwest. Two telephone cable laying teams had been sent from Tang’s battalion to establish phone links, one with Long at Regimental HQ and the other with Binh at H422 Battalion east of the hill. Neither team was seen again.
As an afterthought, Mike Davis had decided to attend the concert. He did the best he could do for seating, perching himself on the bonnet of a New Zealand Landrover parked well to the rear. The New Zealanders in the vehicle had their radio on, tuned to the battery net with the volume turned low. Their battery was on standby to support an Australian patrol, so they were on call to return to base at short notice. The first firing of artillery caused the perfomers to flinch in alarm, much to the delight of the audience who were used to the loud and unexpected interruptions at any time day or night. Everyone laughed, the Kiwis as much as the others. But for them the situation held an element of alarm. The shots were from their own unit—161 Field Battery. They remained at the concert, but with their radio volume raised.
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Roughly 6000 metres to Mike’s west, in the Nui Dinh foothills, the heavy weapons group heard the artillery, but the rate and intensity was nothing remarkable. Indeed, the complete absence of artillery might have been a greater cause for concern. The rain had just started in their area. This was their signal to prepare to move out into the open. The last leg of their advance now lay ahead. Under the rain cover, they’d leave the protection of the trees. It would be 1000 metres east across open rice fields to get to the point where the Song Sai and the Song Cau met to become the Song Dinh. They would cross the river where the bullock herds from Hoa Long cross. From there they would spread out and advance the further 2500 metres of open rice fields and the small plantation of rubber trees between the village and the river. Then, in the patchwork of garden plots and fruit tree stands, their heavy mortars would deploy and set up their various firing platforms. The rocket launcher crews would advance slowly, again screened by their protection parties, until they could see their targets—the six tank-like vehicles of the American 155mm mobile artillery and their sandbagged reserve ammunition stores. Roughly 6000 metres to Mike’s northwest lay the forward slopes of Nui Nghe. The dull popping sound of the artillery told Ngoc the shells were headed in the other direction. No cause for alarm. The rain had started, and it was time for his forces to begin their own long, slow advance on the mercenary base. It seemed to Long at regimental HQ, that the volume of small arms fire over the last ten minutes indicated more than the squad of mercenaries patrol leader Tuan had estimated. Besides, in all the reports of the mercenary patrolling methods, they’d never seen only a squad out so far from their base. Squad-sized patrols only ventured one or two thousand metres. This must be a platoon at least.
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Kim was keeping the fight up to the mercenaries, closing in on them by having one half of his force advance under covering fire from the other, then swapping the advance and fire roles. Working this way, Kim’s group advanced some 50 metres but was now stalled by the enemy’s occasional but accurate fire. To counter the developing stalemate, Kim sent half-squads circling each flank, to determine the extent of the Australian position. Tang worked the remainder of his H423 Battalion around to the north of the mercenaries and formed them into an assault line facing south. Each of his two companies formed two ranks, one behind the other. The first three ranks were in position and on the ground while the fourth rank got into position. He glanced at his watch—4.30 p.m. The next artillery salvo landed just 100 metres behind Kim. It caused no casualties, but made Kim acutely aware that the next rounds could land right on top of him. He had no option. He forced another fire and movement advance, gaining 25 metres but losing ten more men killed or wounded. Down to a half of his force effective, Kim pressed himself into the plantation mud and willed the feared artillery to overshoot him. Tang put the whistle to his lips to signal his troops to advance. But instead of the shrill whistle, he heard the strangled cry of a man behind him dying. Even as he turned, the sound and tracer from two machine guns and what seemed like a multitude of rifles whipped past and shrieked off into the formed-up ranks around him. He was in time to see his rear rank shredded before a bullet smacked into a rubber tree a few centimetres from his head, and he dived for cover. The fire came from 100 metres to his north west. Damn! More mercenaries. A third machine gun opened up from one side, with even more rifle fire from that direction. Tang called his assault force to turn to meet the new threat, but the fire was sustained and accurate, and deadly within his tight-packed assault formation. Turning around, the original front rank became the rear rank of the revised formation. It was sent off to the new right flank to establish a fire support position. From there, it could provide the suppressing fire under which Tang could reorganise the survivors of
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the other three assault lines to cope with the enemy that had just appeared. He dispatched a runner to Long, informing him of this second group of mercenaries, estimating it to be probably company size. He added he’d already had maybe thirty casualties. Kim heard the fresh bout of firing far away to the northwest—the area from which he expected his battalion leader to launch the assault on the mercenaries to his front. The rain prevented all observation and much sound, but it was obvious a second pitched battle was developing over there. Kim rightly guessed there would be no assault on the enemy to his front. He decided to withdraw his fire support group after the next salvo of artillery landed.
In the Kiwi Landrover, the radio competed with the concert. Such a sustained level of artillery was unusual and an assortment of soldiers—mostly gunners—gathered around. Suddenly the words ‘Regimental fire mission’ came across, loud and clear. Most of those clustered around the vehicle immediately turned and began to run the thousand metres or so back to their units. What had been a single six-gun battery of 105mm guns firing in support was about to become all eighteen 105s of the three batteries at Nui Dat plus the six heavier 155mm American self-propelled artillery units—24 guns in all. One of the Kiwis leaped up onto the vehicle’s bonnet and shouted to all and sundry, ‘Regimental fire mission’. Of those who heard, the artillerymen scrambled to leave the concert. Those who had been unable to hear over the sound of the concert soon got the message when they saw the Kiwi and Australian artillery Landrovers start up and move off, followed by dozens of men from the three artillery batteries. Mike left the concert and headed back to the task force HQ.
Scale:
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k
Diagram 1: Approx. 4.30 p.m.
est trac
east–w
3:40 p.m.: original contact with mercenaries (Australian soldiers)
100 metres
ack
Pause at hut...
Australian soldiers
NVA/LF soldiers
1
H423 Bn
Kim uses fire and movement to advance on the enemy
C1 Company H423 Battalion
Tang forms C2 and C3 Companies of H423 Battalion to the north, ready to assault the mercenaries
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Seconds after realising it would be best to withdraw his fire support group, six 105mm shells whistled in just 10 metres behind Kim’s rear line of troops. The shells that landed in the mud caused no casualties. But two shells exploded in the canopy. Most of the fragments followed the shell’s trajectory and showered further behind them. However, the associated concussion and some lethal shell fragments cost Kim two dead and six wounded. A few seconds after this salvo, another bracket fell on the far side of the original mercenary position. At his HQ, Long understood the implication immediately. Artillery was coming from more than one six-gun battery. He had been told the mercenaries had three six-gun 105mm batteries in the base. It looked like all eighteen 105s were firing into the plantation. Long decided such support meant there must be at least a company out there facing Kim, maybe even more. Leaving a squad to keep up the suppressing fire, Kim had all the remaining unwounded men fetch the dead and wounded. They moved back beyond the craters and regrouped. The dead were placed into the craters but no attempt was made to cover them. The wounded were directed back towards regimental HQ, and Kim formed the remainder of his company into three groups, now of just fifteen or so each. One group would stay and keep a trickle of fire into the enemy position. One would probe from the support group anti-clockwise around the mercenary position and the third would work around clockwise. Kim reasoned that if these groups could divide the mercenary fire from one direction to all directions, then an assault into their position would have a better chance of succeeding. Kim went with the group going clockwise. Rain as heavy as Kim had ever seen was turning the plantation floor into a shallow stream. The raindrops pelting through the tree canopy splashed into the muddy surface water and a mist began to form. Looking down the avenue of trees, Kim couldn’t see the ground—only the red mist floating 10 to 15 centimetres up the tree trunks. Shell craters were filling up. An occasional flash of lightning
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vied with artillery explosions, and the low rumbling of thunder competed with the crack of shell explosions and the crackle of small arms fire. At Long Tan village, 1000 metres to Kim’s south, Lan and the command element of D445 Battalion plotted the artillery fire to their north, trying to work out what was happening. In the heavy storm over the village they couldn’t hear the small arms fire. However, seated on the sodden earth, they felt the distant shock waves transmitted by each artillery explosion.
Back at his tent, Mike tuned his radio to the task force tactical net to get the callsign of the battalion in trouble. Next he tuned to that battalion’s radio net and got the callsign of the company in trouble. Finally he tuned to the company net. He listened for a few minutes, hearing the company commander talking to his platoons, asking for information and manoeuvring them. As the platoons answered, Mike could clearly hear the sounds of small arms fire—heavy small arms fire—in the background. His combat experience told him this was going to be a long battle. Switching off the radio, he ran to the task force command post.
Tang’s runner arrived at regimental HQ and was taken directly to Long. The leader of H421 Battalion, Ginh, and others of both battalion and regimental HQ staffs had by now gathered at Long’s open bunker at Phuoc Hung hamlet. Breathlessly, the runner made his report. Tang estimated a second mercenary company. It was located 300 metres northwest from the first mercenary company, the one due south of the hill. Tang’s group of two companies had suffered at least 30 casualties. And they’d been engaged in a large firefight when he’d left.
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Asked how Tang’s third company was, the runner said the last report Tang had received was about half an hour ago. Kim had reported being at 60 per cent effective strength. Long’s quick review of the situation left him staring in disbelief. It was 4.45 p.m. The whole force should have started moving on the mercenary base half an hour ago. Instead, twenty or so mercenaries had turned up in the plantation standing in their way. He’d lost half a company to them only to find they were now an estimated company. He still didn’t know where they were. The rest of H423 Battalion had skirted around them to the north and run into a second group of mercenaries—size and location unknown but estimated to be another company—and he’d lost another half a company to them. He could hear both firefights through the trees. And mercenary artillery was falling steadily. Long wanted to yell at the runner to tell Tang to get the mercenaries the hell out of his way. However, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Tang’s weakened battalion couldn’t take on two mercenary companies. He’d have to reinforce Tang’s battalion. He gathered his command group around and bent over the map. The group Tang sent around to the right of the new group of mercenaries formed their fire support position and started to pour fire into the general area in front of them. They were trying to draw return fire so they and Tang could determine the extent of the mercenary position. Very little fire was returned. Tang had by now organised the new assault lines and, to the sound of three short whistle blasts, the assault lines moved off. Circling to the south of the original mercenary position, Kim’s squad-sized group came to the plantation’s east–west track. Kim stopped to mark this onto the rough map he was developing in his notebook while the others moved off along the track. The series of explosions slammed him into the ground, winding and dazing him. For a few moments, he lay there recovering. The hot sting of explosives burned his nose. Lumps of mud and small twigs
100 metres
Scale:
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Kim sets a base to hold the enemy; sends flanking probes north and south
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C1 Coy, H423 Bn
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and leaves rained down around him. Swirls of steam and smoke stirred the underside of the canopy. When at last he was able to raise his head, Kim saw the smoking craters of five artillery shells. Rain sizzled onto the hot earth within and onto the hot metal shards scattered about—he could see it but he couldn’t hear it; his ears were ringing. Deaf and numb, he looked around. Littered over the area, he saw the remains of his squad. Not one had survived. Not one AK-47 remained intact. Leaves were still falling, and latex was already oozing out of the gashes in the tree trunks. Concussed and disoriented, Kim put his head on his arms, closed his eyes and lost consciousness. Tang’s group approached the area into which his own fire support was pouring tracer. Ahead of them, through the heavy sheets of rain, the ground was a blur of red mist. Losing little power coming through the canopy, the rain drops pounded into the drenched ground. The muddy mist was deeper now—maybe 20 centimetres. The mercenaries were lying in this ground mist, each one beside a tree. Tang’s advancing troops could not distinguish them from the plantation’s red floor. Slowly, the assault force advanced on the unseen enemy. Long looked up from his map. In less than five minutes, he and his advisers had summarised the situation to hand—heavy firefights; two enemy companies; artillery falling; H423 Battalion at 50 per cent strength; and more than half an hour behind schedule. They’d quickly discussed the bitter fact they had no heavy fire support. They’d looked at the enemy force and concluded the mercenaries wouldn’t have sent out a whole battalion and left their base at half strength so soon after the recent bombardment. The implication was that these two companies must be working in close co-operation, but there wasn’t likely to be others in the area. They’d weighed up Long’s options. He could neither go forwards nor backwards. If he pushed forwards and overran the mercenaries by the sheer force of the numbers he had at his dis-
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posal, he may win a victory but then he wouldn’t be able to complete the base attack. If he withdrew from the conflict, he would stand accused of being put to flight despite having superior numbers. It was out of the question to try to contain the mercenaries in the plantation, bypass them and carry on with the base attack because the troops needed to pin down this force would be vital for the base attack’s success. No matter which way he looked at it, he could not complete the original plan.
At the task force command post, Mike Davis found almost everyone else on the HQ staff gathered around and trying to understand what was happening. The command post itself was being kept clear, as it must be in order to operate effectively. But a monitor loudspeaker had been set up so the gathering could hear the conversations on the task force net involving the 6RAR, APC and artillery HQs. They heard the call to the APCs to prepare for a relief column and move to 6RAR to collect the reinforcements. They heard Jackson’s command to Townsend to get his Alpha Company ready to board the APCs when they arrived. They also heard the call relayed from the men on the battlefield through their battalion net for an ammunition resupply to be choppered in. Jackson sent a runner to call in the chopper pilots. Another runner was dispatched to the signals troop instructing Captain Richards to come and give him an analysis of the enemy currently attacking Delta Company. Mike saw the US liaison officer, Dick Gerron, in the command post on the telephone—talking to the Vung Tau airbase, Mike presumed, to arrange air support. Realising 173rd wouldn’t be able to react and intervene at this stage, and therefore there was nothing much he could do at HQ, Mike left the command post and ran towards the artillery lines. At this rate of fire, he knew there would be any number of tasks he could help with. It seemed others had the same idea. Dozens of soldiers were headed in the same direction. Mike looked around and was surprised to see people from the
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Q-stores, drivers, cooks, men from the defence platoon, all running towards the artillery lines as if in response to some unspoken but intuitive command. Alpha Company, in the process of showering, eating, changing or even on their way to the concert, received the hard news—get back into the bush gear. Refresh ammo, rations and radio batteries. Prepare equipment. Be ready to board the APCs and get back out to Delta Company.
Withering fire from less than 50 metres away forced down Tang’s shattered front line. The shock and the severity of it broke the second and third ranks and, ducking and weaving, they rushed back into the dim greyness of the rain. Survivors of the front rank flattened themselves into the same obscuring ground mist and crawled back. This was not going to work. The assault line had to be larger and the support fire heavier. Calling over the two remaining leaders, he gave instructions to break the assault group into squad-sized parties and start probing the enemy’s flanks. As they left to reorganise their troops, Tang glanced at his watch—4.50—already the feared artillery was falling in support of the new position. It fell outside the plantation, to the north, but Tang knew the shells would be adjusted until the artillery became an iron barrier around their position. The only way to beat it was to get in among the enemy before the barrier formed. With added urgency, Tang ran to the fire support group to tell them what the others were doing.
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Long’s expression summarised his one option. He was being forced to eliminate the mercenaries in the plantation. What a blunder the decision to separate the heavy weapons units had become. Damn! He’d argued against Quang’s plan to separate the forces and now he, Long, would have to pay the price. He was the one left to fight a large mercenary force under their artillery umbrella, but to fight them with infantry and little more. He had to fight on the ground of his enemy’s choice. The mercenaries had the initiative; they would defend and his forces would have to attack. All the factors weighed in on the mercenaries’ side. Reluctantly, he decided he could only snatch success from disaster by obtaining total conquest in the plantation. If the base cannot be attacked, then the next best victory will be to wipe out the mercenaries opposing him. Two companies represented half the fighting strength of a mercenary battalion, and there were only two battalions at the base. Eliminating 25 per cent of the enemy’s strength may be second prize, but it was not an insignificant one. All he had to do was to find them and eliminate them. Long sketched his plan quickly, his staff taking notes to be sent to his scattered command. He ordered Ginh’s H421 Battalion to 271
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move immediately towards the firefights, to use whatever troops were left from Tang’s force to surround and eliminate the mercenaries. A runner would go to the company on the hill, the one from H421 Battalion, and tell the machine guns and mortar units there to fire into the plantation west of the artillery bursts, to stop the mercenaries withdrawing west. A runner would be dispatched to Binh at H422 Battalion east of the hill and another to D440 Battalion at the rear to tell them of what was happening and to have them ready to act as mobile reserves. He would inform Lan’s D445 of what was happening by radio link. Tang’s probing of the new mercenary position failed. Unbeknown to them, as they circled and closed in, the enemy withdrew a little more. Each flanking movement trying to close in on the enemy’s rear found, to their cost, it was closing in on the main body. This gave the impression the mercenary position was a long line of troops whereas in fact it was the same small group withdrawing, coincidentally in time with the sweeping VC probes. After the fourth report of even more mercenaries to the rear of the earlier reported groups, Tang blew the recall, and his probes returned to the whistle call. Pulling his remaining force to the plantation’s edge to regroup, Tang realised he’d left behind among the bleeding trees more than half of his force of two companies. He sent two runners out. One was to find Kim’s company and guide them to his position. The other was to advise Long there appeared to be more than a company of mercenaries in this new position—maybe even a third mercenary company position. And to tell him he’d called off his attacks. The first runner died in the next artillery salvo so the message wasn’t delivered to Kim. The second runner—the one to Long—got through.
Scale:
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ack
east–w e st track
Diagram 3: Approx. 5.00 p.m.
nor
2
2
Artillery kills Kims’ patrol
1
H423 Bn
C1 Coy, H423 Bn
Survivors of north probe return; group still engaging enemy
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Coming out from under the rubber plantation canopy, Mike Davis pulled up. He was looking at a living tapestry of horrors, but he wasn’t just a spectator—already, he was a participant. In the dull light, flashes of sheet lightning joined with flashes from the gun muzzles to accentuate the lowness of the grey clouds. Under them, rain formed a curtain blocking the view beyond the guns. He couldn’t even see the wire and forward defence lines 400 metres away. Rain blanketed the ground, reflecting every flash, making the panorama alive with an eerie glow. He smelt the electricity in the air. From where he was, Mike could see all six guns, all facing to his left—east—and each within its own circle of wet sandbags. Bombardiers and gunners milled around each gun in apparent confusion, but Mike knew that their training and dedication were unmatched in almost any other form of human endeavour. Behind each gun position, more men concentrated on removing spent shells and preparing the next few rounds for firing. Mike watched the different gun crews performing identical actions and movements. It looked like a ballet from Hell. Adding to the picture of orchestrated confusion was the noise. The pelting rain formed a dull backdrop to the rolling, occasionally piercing thunder. Injected into this were the punching roars of the guns in view and of the other batteries as they fired several times a minute. Tannoy speakers competed with the shouts from the gun crews as they marked the completion of each action. Closer to Mike, off the gun line, orders were being shouted over the general din as fresh 105mm rounds were being prepared in the ammo dump. And then there were the sensations. Now out from under the trees, the rain whipped onto Mike’s face and chest in large, stinging drops. Up through his legs Mike could feel the solid thump as each gun fired, and the lighter thumps as the neighbouring guns fired. The concussion of each shot reached him. He could feel it in his chest as well as in his ears, despite the fact he was still 100 metres away. Cordite stung his nostrils. Never had Mike seen anything like this. It was a maelstrom of activity, yet with not a sign of panic or confusion. It was a hundred
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different actions, seemingly unconnected, yet merging together at the focal point of the guns. In response, and in unison, every twenty seconds or so, each gun hurled a 15-kilogram (33-pound) projectile 5000 metres with such accuracy that the infantry at the other end could predict to within the area of half a tennis court exactly where it would land. Mike moved into the seething machinery of an artillery battery on a fire mission.
Long considered the news from Tang with distaste. He knew the mercenaries worked their companies independently. But he also knew they operated as battalions, too. Long could imagine two companies might operate together in an area, but if there were evidence there were three companies in the same area, then this would be a battalion operation. This in turn would make it likely or at least possible there was a fourth company somewhere nearby. How had the mercenaries come to have a whole battalion in the same rubber plantation as his 275 Regiment? Had the false track plan backfired? Had the mercenaries followed the false tracks, realised their mistake, recalled the pursuit force and mobilised a full battalion operation—all in just 40 hours? Had the mercenaries found out about the attack on the base and placed one of their battalions on the most likely approach path? No—not only would they not risk their base by removing half of its troops—they wouldn’t risk everything in making a choice of where to site them. How could they know what our approach plans were? But wait. They weren’t in the plantation this morning. Our clearing patrols this morning walked through the same areas the mercenaries now occupy. The mercenaries must be on the move, not static. What could account for such a force in the plantation today? Long had no answers. The simple facts were they were there, and he had no choice other than to engage them or to withdraw.
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The machine guns and mortar units on the hill received Long’s orders gladly. They had heard rather than watched the two firefights develop but had been unable to participate. Both groups had set up their equipment expecting an order to fire, but it had not come. Thirty seconds after the runner arrived, both teams were firing. The machine guns fired two hand-spans to the right of where they estimated the closer firefight to be. The mortars fired a further hand-span westwards. The fire was intended to fall in the rubber plantation to the west of the mercenaries and to be a barrier through which they would have to withdraw. At the ambush site to the north Chinh’s radio operator called him to the set. He had heard 275 Regiment talk to 5th Division HQ and something was wrong. There had been contact with some mercenaries in the rubber plantation at Long Tan and artillery had been firing. Alarmed, Chinh took over the handset and listened in. The static generated by the storm overhead made hearing what they were saying almost impossible, but there was no mistaking the alarm in the voices. Nor the sounds of the firefight and artillery in the background when they were talking. He looked at his watch. It was 5:10. Less than an hour into the move-in, and there was trouble. Kim awoke, shivering now from the after-effects of shock. He stood up and listened for the firefight. It appeared to be coming from his north. Unsteady on his feet, he began to make his way back to the remains of his company, some 200 metres away. Unknown to him, the remains of the group sent to probe the original mercenary position anti-clockwise was also making its way back. Of that group’s original fifteen men, the five unwounded were struggling to help the three wounded as well as carry the AK-47s of the comrades they’d had to leave behind. Still fuming about the news from Tang’s runner, Long reluctantly decided he was facing a battalion of mercenaries. He sent a second runner to D440 Battalion, ordering them to move south then west
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along the plantation’s east–west track to a position south of the firing to block any attempt by the mercenaries to escape to the south. D440 was to pause when due south of his own position, and the command element was to come to Long for their further orders. Within five minutes of starting their suppressing fire, the machine guns and mortars on the hill were targeted by mercenary counterbattery fire. The first salvo landed on the hill’s west slopes, where it did no damage but served to warn the comrades on the hill they were being targeted. The second salvo skimmed the hilltop and landed, unexpectedly, on the perimeter of the H422 battalion position behind the hill. Three comrades died and two were wounded. By the time the third salvo landed on the hilltop, the fire support teams had taken cover under the east rim. Although the artillery caused no damage to the teams, it stopped the fire support.
Tang, regrouping his remaining forces at the north edge of the plantation, formed them into two makeshift platoons. One of the platoons would move all the casualties and what rifles they could retrieve back to the regimental HQ at Phuoc Hung hamlet. The other, under his command, turned west to once again face the mercenaries. The platoon assisting the casualties passed Ginh’s advancing H421 Battalion group in the rubber plantation. They paused only long enough to find out where Tang was, and the two groups parted. Watching the faces of the less experienced comrades in his unit, Ginh regretted that the two groups had met. The sight of haunted men and broken bodies, of rain-washed but bloodstained bandages and men loaded down under the weight of dead comrades’ rifles— these were not images Ginh wanted his troops to carry with them into battle. He ordered his men to spread out as they advanced and, gripping his own AK-47, purposefully splashed his way west to the sound of renewed gunfire.
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Guided by the sound of their firing, Ginh came in behind Tang’s small group as they probed the new mercenary position. In a quick conference, Ginh recommended his group take over the task on the new mercenary position and Tang return to clean up the remaining resistance at the original mercenary position to their south. There had been constant if intermittent firing from the old position ever since the mercenaries had fired on them from their new position. Tang agreed, and moved south. After 300 metres, they were once again facing mercenaries through the rubber trees. Meanwhile, choosing to make his present location his base of operations for the next while, Ginh sent a telephone wire party to lay wire back to Long at regimental HQ. His signaller hooked up the telephone at his end and prepared to send the ring tone every few minutes. When he felt resistance on the line, he’d know there was a telephone connected to the other end. The D440 Battalion leader and his command group approached Long and his regimental command group. No formalities were exchanged. The two leaders and their staffs spent just three minutes swapping information then they parted. With orders simply to get as quickly as possible to a position south of the firefights, the D440 command group rejoined their unit and gave hasty orders to their subordinates. In an open file of four lines and with rifles held across their chests, they dog-trotted west. Ginh’s H421 Battalion group, facing the new mercenary position, continued to probe from both left and right. As each half-squad probe circled around and closed in, it was met with measured fire from the mercenaries. As each probe was fired on, another flanked it further out and closed in again. The aim was to locate the limits of the mercenary position, to meet up with the probes doing the same flanking moves on the other side, and to thereby ‘close the door’ on the enemy. It didn’t work out that way. The mercenaries in the new group were mobile, not static. As they fired on each flanking probe, they moved back a little, using fire and movement tactics. Ginh was
100 metres
Scale:
ack
k
est trac
east–w
Diagram 4: Approx. 5.15 p.m.
no
2
2
1
D440 Bn
Long orders D440 Battalion to east–west road
Renewed flanking probes around to north of first position
H421 Bn
Long orders Ginh’s H421 Battalion forward to assist H423
C1 Coy and others, H423 Bn
Kim returns
Tang’s remaining men continue to pursue enemy from the second position as wounded are H423 Bn sent back.
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having a hard time determining the present location and the extent of the mercenary position. Tang was faring no better. Although the fire coming from the original mercenary position was much weaker, so were his own remaining H423 forces. He now had less than a platoon strength in his group, and Kim’s original fire support group, who all the while had been engaging the position from the east, was down to a handful of men—less than a squad. Artillery had twice raked their position, and it was only the fact they were lying in shell-scrapes that had saved the few remaining. Tang’s last ever order to his command was to circle wide to the west before turning south and coming in behind the mercenaries. As they moved to carry out the order, a mercenary bullet severed the main artery in his neck. Tang collapsed into a muddy pool of rainwater. Despite the heavy rain, the pool turned bright red as his racing heart pumped his life away. Passing the sounds of the firefight at the original mercenary position, the D440 Battalion leader ordered one of his five companies, C1, to peel off, locate the enemy to the north and engage them. With his remaining four companies, he jogged on along the east– west track. C1 Company of D440 did not have far to move. Passing the five artillery scars that had destroyed Kim’s small command, they moved north into the rubber to face the enemy. Kim stumbled towards the soldiers he could barely see through the rain. They appeared to be lying in their shell-scrapes, ready to fire. Lurching from tree to tree, he was having difficulty focusing. The air was thick with the smell of high explosive, and his ears were still ringing from concussion. He shouted to the prone soldiers through the mist, but they didn’t appear to hear him. As he stepped forwards, his foot gave way and he flopped to the ground. Suddenly, his world flashed white and he felt himself pushed further into the
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water. It was deep enough to cover his head, but he felt the giant hand of concussion again tug at his exposed legs. The explosion was over in a moment, and he pulled himself to the side of the pool of water. Slowly, the vapour cleared and the leaves and mud stopped falling. He raised his head and realised he’d stumbled into a water-filled shell-hole. Still dazed from his second close encounter with the mercenary artillery, he struggled out and checked himself for wounds. All appeared to be in order. His AK-47 lay where he’d dropped it, but one look told him it was no longer serviceable. Groggily, he propped himself up against a rubber tree and looked around. It was eerily silent. Nothing moved. As far as he could see through the trees, among the broken branches and the odd shell crater, a dozen dead comrades lay in their water-filled shell-scrapes, weapons at the ready, unseeing eyes looking along the barrels of their rifles into the grey distance. The rain had washed away any blood, and the pale faces looked fresh and untouched. He looked up into the rain clouds low above the canopy and felt the fresh rain wash over his face. And he cried and cried. The rain. The persistent rain. It hissed into the fresh shell craters, forming small clouds of steam until the heat was overcome, and then it would slowly fill them up. In a matter of a few minutes, they would be just more puddles in the plantation. Only the circle of devastation recorded the fact that 20 pounds of high explosive had expended itself into earth, wood and flesh a few minutes earlier. The rain. It washed the blood away from the scattered debris that once was a soldier. It blended the blood into the red earth of the plantation until it looked like the whole plantation wept blood in the dim grey light. And the rolling thunder between the artillery explosions sounded like the gods of the ancestors were laughing at mankind’s pitiful efforts to compete with their own mighty flashes of lightning. Eventually the tears wouldn’t come any more. Dry-sobbing, Kim crawled up to one of the comrades lying in his shell-scrape. The man was dead, but the weapon looked untouched. He took the AK-47 and the full magazine beside it and crawled on. Passing shell-scrape after
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shell-scrape, each with its dead occupant, Kim crawled back towards where he’d been when the day had still been normal. Ginh at last got the report—there was no firing from the easternmost position occupied by the new mercenary group. Taking this to mean the group was withdrawing west, he ordered a swift pursuit. He’d already paid a price for flanking the enemy—he now intended to possess what he’d paid for.
On the gun line, Mike Davis had found a place where he could help. Not being skilled in any particular artillery role, he had taken a spot in the stream of men carrying ammunition to the guns. He’d been teamed with an Australian storeman and they’d been given a box of two rounds to deliver to number three gun. The wooden box contained two canisters—the shells—and two sets of charges. The rope handles made it easier to carry but it was still heavy and awkward, and the ground was slippery. Mike took it slowly. They were sometimes passed by others who were virtually running. Handing over their box at the gun, they had returned to the ammo dump and made another trip, then another. It was exhausting. Despite the rain, Mike was in a full sweat. As most of the other men had done already, Mike tossed his shirt aside. Standing in the line, he looked like any other shirtless Digger at Nui Dat. No American insignia. No badges of rank. Soon he’d lost count of the number of boxes they’d delivered. Five or six? He was taking it slowly, unaccustomed to this degree of physical work. They were still being passed by people who were almost running with their rounds but he didn’t let that get to him. He knew he was contributing. It was only when he was passed by a huge Maori, shirtless and carrying a box on his shoulder, that he wondered whether, on the contrary, he was just getting in everyone else’s way. They reached number three gun in time to see the Maori relieved of his load. Expecting to see the man collapse from the exertion,
Scale:
100 metres
ack
est trac
east–w k
2
The rest of D440 Battalion proceeds west along the east–west road.
Diagram 5: Approx. 5.30 p.m.
nor
n (less
D440 B
H423 Bn
C1)
1
C1 Company, D440 Battalion, turns north to deal with the first enemy position
Kim reaches original C1 C1 Coy position; and they’re still others, engaging the H423 Bn first enemy position
Tang’s depleted H423 Battalion returns to eliminate the first enemy position
Ginh’s H421 Battalion replaces Tang’s H423; continues to pursue second enemy
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Mike was surprised when the man swung around to face him and grabbed their box. Handing it to the reception crew, the Maori put his arm affably around Mike’s shoulder, and they both turned back for the ammo dump. In a calm voice, in total contrast to the hectic activity all around, the Maori joked ‘Do you come here often?’ Making their way back to the ammo dump, they passed a temporary first-aid post. Several soldiers were recovering from various complaints. The Maori stopped by someone—obviously a good friend —who was on his knees vomiting into the mud. ‘You Pakis can’t hack it, can ya?’ The man acknowledged the remark with a good-natured two-fingered salute and returned to his vomiting. Moving on, the Maori explained. ‘Pakeha is the Maori term for all you white blokes. We’re friends. Some of these blokes have been at it for 90 minutes now. Exhaustion. Fumes. It’s bloody hard work, this gun-game.’ Pointing to another man lying under a blanket, the Maori explained, ‘Lightning hit the dunny. He was there at the time.’ Snapping into a bent-kneed haka, or war dance, position, he spread his arms and simulated the noise and percussion of a small atomic bomb, his eyes bulging with the effort, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth and his fingers wiggling on the ends of his hands. Then he stood up and laughed. ‘Don’t drink the water here,’ he said, pointing all around. ‘There’s shit everywhere, man.’ The three walked on through the inferno of rain, noise, flashes and fumes, their friendship born of shared circumstances having developed in just the last few minutes, despite Mike not having said a word. They didn’t even know each other’s names.
Three hundred metres along the east–west track, C2 Company of D440 peeled off to the right. Its orders were to move north to the sound of the running firefight against the second mercenary position. The rest of D440 hastened further west, looking to engage the remainder of the mercenary battalion, which Long said would be behind the two known mercenary positions.
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Tang’s small group—now leaderless—circled well to the west before turning south. Still trying to flank the original mercenary position, they moved forwards cautiously. Rifles at the ready, they peered to the southeast to see if they could identify the mercenary position through the rain. The bullets reached them before the sound of their firing. Three men crumpled to the mud before the rest of them realised they were being fired on not from the mercenaries to their southeast but from their southwest. Their senior comrade at once recognised there was yet another group of mercenaries behind the original position. Turning the squad, they hurried back the way they’d come. Once away from direct fire, he sent a runner to find Ginh and tell him this unwelcome but vital news. C2 Company of D440 had split into squad-sized groups before advancing north from the east–west track. With orders to seal the rear of the eastern group, the dispersed squads of C2, D440, moved slowly and steadily deeper into the plantation. A ripping burst of fire on their right told them their sister company, C1, had found and engaged the mercenaries at the original position. Enemy artillery was now falling in a half-circle around the original mercenary position and at times less than 100 metres out. It chewed up the bodies of those who’d died in the initial assaults on the position and it claimed new victims with each salvo. It wasn’t so much the rounds drilling into the ground that inflicted the carnage. Those burst upwards, shredding everything in their way and leaving steaming circles of mangled flesh and tree-parts. The real killers were the tree-bursts. They sent their searing splinters down into the shallow shell-scrapes. Many comrades died where they lay, their backs sliced open as if by giant blunt scalpels. The runner found Ginh and reported the presence of the third group of mercenaries—the ones behind the first position. Ginh picked up the field telephone and cranked the handle. Amazingly, there was resistance on the line—it hadn’t been cut. A voice answered on the
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other end. Ginh advised Long of the new group of mercenaries and waited while Long repeated the message to others around him. He then received orders to probe their position while still keeping pressure on the second group—the ones now moving west. Ginh’s call filled the missing piece for Long. He now had the three mercenary company positions marked on his map. They formed three sides of what he was sure would turn out to be a square. He put a large circle around an area forming the northwest of the square and told his signaller to get D445 on the radio. Lan came on the air. With a few short orders, Long told Lan to be ready to take his battalion from Long Tan village in a wide sweep around into the western edge of the plantation. They would become the anvil against which the rest of Long’s forces would hammer and crush the mercenaries. All Long had to do was to locate the fourth mercenary company and the order to move would be given. Lan replaced the handset and called for his company leaders. D440’s C1 Company was slowly wearing away at the mercenaries in the original position. The enemy artillery was taking its toll, but small groups of C1 were closing on the mercenaries. They had not linked up with the forces to the north, but could see from the tracer paths that comrades located north and east were still firing at the mercenaries. Very little fire was being returned. The scattered squads of C2 Company were aware of the firing to their right but kept moving north to meet up with the comrades they’d been told were coming south. Peering through the darkening plantation, they could see movement far to their front, silhouetted against the light at the northern edge of the plantation. They relaxed a little and quickened their pace—the sooner they met up, the sooner they could turn east and put an end to the mercenary position. The first burst of machine-gunfire cut a C2 squad to pieces. The fire came from their left front somewhere and appeared to rise out of the ground mist at them. At a range of less than 100 metres, the other squads couldn’t even identify where the fire came from. There was instant confusion. Tracer from their comrades to the north
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rippled across their front. Some firing went into the first mercenary position in the east. Some went into the new mercenary position— the third—in the west. And some raked their own positions. Several comrades turned and ran south, while others rushed to the aid of the hit squad. These, too, came under fire from the new enemy position. Further south, closer to the east–west track, a bracket of artillery fell in support of the third mercenary position. One shell landed among the C2 Company HQ group. At Long Tan village, the company leaders of D445 Battalion had just assembled for Lan’s briefing when the massive 155mm artillery shells started landing. The barrage ranged over the village, each shell easily capable of blowing a village house to matchsticks. It ranged over the village towards the rice fields to the south, then lifted and crept back over the village northwards. On the village’s northern outskirts, in the former vegetable plots, D445 sat out the bombardment in their weapon pits. It was terrifying. The sodden ground delivered the shock of each impact to every comrade individually. As the barrage came closer, the men of D445 sank deeper into their pits. The barrage stopped when one more adjustment of 200 metres north would have put the next salvo right on top of Lan’s HQ. D445 lost three men when the northernmost fall of shot landed directly in the southernmost weapon pit. Nothing remained to salvage or to bury. The shell’s crater obliterated even the weapon pit they’d been crouching in. Confusion prevailed south of the third mercenary position. In a bitter misfortune, the C2 company leader, two platoon leaders and several squad and cell leaders had been hit in the initial firing coupled with the bracket of artillery. Added to this, they were still receiving overshoots from their comrades to the north, so they couldn’t even identify the location of the new group of mercenaries. The group to the north, however, took the continuous line of firing coming at them across their whole southern front as all
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being mercenaries. They went to ground and awaited the reinforcements they knew must come to give them the strength to form an assault line. At the place Kim had been before all the firing had started, he was slowly gathering comrades who were otherwise lost or disoriented. The wounded he passed on back to Long’s HQ, some thousand metres to his east. To the unwounded he issued the weapons and kit of the wounded and placed them in a defensive position. Without communication from elsewhere, he decided he’d wait until he collected a force again and then move to the sound of the nearest firing. His position was safe for the moment—behind the heavy artillery falling further west and to the south of the hill where artillery still occasionally shattered the trees. The D440 Battalion leader placed his three remaining companies along the east–west track between the hut and the crossroads. C4 Company was closest to the hut; C3 was closest to the crossroads; and C5 was in between. C4 was ordered to move north towards the firing. The other two companies were told to remain in place, to be the blocking force past which the mercenaries would have to move when pushed out of their present locations. Members of Ginh’s H421 Battalion, following up the second mercenary group, had maintained the pressure. It had become something of a running firefight. Behind a screen of firing, they could see mercenary wounded being evacuated and then the screen forces stepping back one group at a time. The follow-up had covered 300 metres so far, but this time it was different. When the movement of the main group carrying the wounded stopped, the screen groups stayed and fired. Either they had reached the position of another group of mercenaries or they had decided to stop and make a stand. The comrades took up firing positions, and runners were sent back to advise Ginh of the halt.
100 metres
Scale:
ack
2 H421 Bn
C3 and C5, D4 40 Bn
C4
C4 Company, D440 Battalion, peels off to form up and head north
The rest of D440 Battalion proceeds west along the east–west road
k
est trac
east–w
Diagram 6: Approx. 5.45 p.m.
no
C2
3 C2 Company, D440 Battalion, engages enemy in third position
C1
1
C1 Company, D440 Battalion, engages enemy in first position
C1 Coy and others, H423 Bn
Tang’s depleted H423 Battalion engages the first position and then engages enemy in a third position
Ginh’s H421 Battalion follows the second enemy until they stop moving west
Kim starts collecting stragglers and sending wounded back to Long
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Long looked at his watch. 6.00 p.m. It had become a little darker, but the rain showed no signs of easing. In fact, the rolling belches of thunder were sometimes audible over the almost-constant din of the mercenary artillery, and occasional flashes of lightning competed with the flashes of the closer shells. Long had watched the situation deteriorate from a squad-sized inconvenience when the rain started two hours ago, to the point where he had understood there was at least a company of mercenaries in the plantation. This might have slowed down the move-in for the attack on the base; it would not have stopped it. Then came the news of a second group. Then a third. Long had then correctly guessed the presence and location of a fourth group to complete the mercenary battalion. By that stage, the plan to attack the mercenary base had definitely been put aside. The slow recognition of the mercenary threat had consumed his forces piecemeal, and Long felt powerless to resist. Right now, he had all of his forces except H422 Battalion spread all over the plantation, most out of radio or telephone contact. Yet he had not received any news of the overrunning of any mercenary position. He had no heavy weapons to counter the mercenary artillery or even to support his infantry assaults within the plantation. Worst, he could see darkness approaching in about an hour and he could still see no conclusion to the situation. To beat the mercenaries, he first had to locate them. But he had received no report of exactly where any mercenary group was, or how large it was, or whether they had been isolated and cut off from retreat or any indication of the casualties his forces had inflicted on them. Long looked like a man whose life was unravelling before his very eyes. He looked like it because, right now, he was that man. Ginh closed up on the new mercenary position—the fourth one located. While his signallers laid a telephone line extension, he called for the leader of his 3 Company, H421 Battalion. Giving him the task of keeping pressure on the mercenaries, Ginh withdrew the remaining forces 100 metres and told their leaders to form them up for the major assaults he’d require to overrun the new position.
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While they were doing so, Ginh rang Long on the telephone and informed him his forces had now located the fourth mercenary position. Before he could pass the details of its location in the plantation, the line went dead. The sounds of the artillery salvo that cut the telephone line reached Ginh even as he threw down the handset. He dispatched a runner to follow the wire and rejoin it, then returned to the preparations for the assaults he knew he must be put in before dark. At the ambush site, the teams of Chinh’s 274 Regiment had eaten their evening meals and were now cutting away the grass and bushes in front of their positions. Fire lanes were checked and the weapon arcs limited so they couldn’t fire into the trigger group positions on the other side of the road. Chinh did his best to follow the events at the other end of the radio. It was obvious Long had run into something dramatic and the attack on the base was in serious doubt. Knowing something was happening, his senior staff had drifted in towards the radio set and were huddled around, silent and concentrating to hear the words. It occurred to Chinh that one stray artillery shell into his position would take out virtually the whole command structure of his regiment. But he didn’t act on the thought. Instead, his mind drifted to the decision to separate the heavy weapons from the infantry for the move-in. He was astute enough to recognise that the sensible reasons for the decision wouldn’t mean anything now. It had become a tactical disaster, and the two people who made it, Chinh considered, must even now be ducking for cover. On the foothills of the Nui Dinh, the heavy weapons group could hear the raised volume of artillery fire. In fact, the rolling barrages sounded, at this distance and under this heavy rain, exactly like the rolling barrages of thunder. It seemed both were continuous. Alarmed, the protection party leader decided to break radio silence and report to Chinh, the leader of 274 Regiment.
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Chinh responded that he already knew. He’d been listening in on the 275 Regiment net and understood they’d come under fire. No further details were available, but Chinh told the heavy weapons group not to advance until advised to do so. Chinh also tried to advise Ngoc to hold until further notice, but was unable to raise him on the 274 Regimental net. The storm was particularly bad over the central province area, and Chinh presumed this was the reason they were unable to make contact. In fact, Ngoc had ordered the radio switched off as a security measure on their advance. He was not expecting to receive or send any messages until 11.00 p.m. that night, when he should be able to report he was in position for the attack on the base, as planned. On their bellies, and firing the occasional shot towards the fourth mercenary position in the north of the plantation, the men of 3 Company H421 Battalion gradually crawled forward. The rain had not eased, and the red earth was even more soft and slippery under the ground mist. Coated in mud, each comrade was virtually invisible in his surroundings. The biggest problem for the men of 3 Company was the fact that the same applied to the mercenaries. Looking up the slight rise, there was no movement to be seen. Yet any movement from 3 Company drew a controlled burst of fire—a few rounds from a few rifles. No machine-gunfire was being directed out of the fourth mercenary position. Suddenly, to their amazement, the comrades of 3 Company saw a plume of red smoke erupt from the crest of the slight rise in front of them. Moments later came the distinctive whapping of a helicopter above the trees, then it was gone. The event was so unexpected, not a shot was fired for those first few seconds. Then came the sound of a second helicopter. Several of the experienced comrades realised the helicopters were either bringing fresh troops or more ammunition. Rolling onto their sides, they fired long bursts into the air over the mercenaries. This drew fire from the defenders, but as the sound of the helicopter faded, so did the firing, and all was quiet again.
est trac
east–w
k
100 metres
Scale:
C5
C3 and C5 Companies, D440 Battalion swing north to cut off any possible withdrawal
C3 C4
C2
H421 Bn
C4 Company, D440 Battalion, forms up for assault
2&4
Red smoke
Diagram 7: Approx. 6.00 p.m.
nor
3 C2
C2 Company, D440 Battalion, engages third position
C1
1
C1 Company, D440 Battalion, engages enemy in first position
C1 Coy and others, H423 Bn
Tang’s depleted H423 Battalion engages enemy in first and third positions
Ginh’s H421 Battalion establishes second group of mercenaries has joined a fourth group; recalls flank probes to prepare assault
Kim still collecting stragglers and sending wounded back to Long
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Since the 155mm artillery barrage, D445 Battalion’s Lan had briefed his five company leaders, and they had passed on their orders to the comrades. He’d considered sending a runner to his men from the Long Dien C2 Company, guarding the bridge over the Suoi Da Bang, to recall them, but had decided against this. They still had a job to do. His whole battalion was packed up and ready to go. They only awaited Long’s command to move out.
Mike and the storeman delivered their next box to the number three gun. If anything, conditions on the gun line had become even worse. After lightning had blown out the tannoy system earlier, orders had, for a time, been shouted across the battery. It was raining just as heavily as before, yet there was also a distinct layer of steam and fumes blanketing the guns. Gun crews had replaced their gun sights at least three times so far and would be doing so again shortly. Their choice of sights was simple: there were two spare sights lying beside each gun—the next one to use was the one in the de-humidifier, trying to dry out. Steam and fumes had become so thick, the aiming lights couldn’t be seen. Star pickets had been hammered into the ground closer to the guns and torches tied to them. As the aiming light for each gun dimmed out, a gun crew member raced out and turned on the star picket torch. A small hill of spent brass shell cases sizzled in the mud beside each gun position. Thankfully, the tannoy had been restored, and the officer in the command post was relaying details of the battle between their firing orders. In the gun lines, NCOs relayed the information to the crews on the guns. The gunners were hearing for the first time what was happening at the receiving end of the gunfire. They learned the shells were landing well within sight of the infantry. They heard when shells landed on enemy formations. But there was no joy on the gun line. One overwhelming concern dominated everyone’s
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thoughts—if the infantry was close enough to the shellfall to see the results, then the shellfall was close enough to the infantry for any small mistake to be a disaster. Calibrating angle, elevation, charge; the sequence of arming and loading—every action took on a burden of responsibility. Under the cool rain, the sweating gun crews kept up the exhausting routine of load, aim, fire, unload, load . . .
D800 Battalion continued its cautious advance towards the northwest edge of the mercenary base. The bald one was taking it very slowly because he couldn’t afford to spring an ambush at this stage. It concerned him that the artillery was still firing. He assumed it was firing towards Long Tan but had no idea it might be firing in support of a force engaged in a full-blown battle. The plan had cleared the way before them. At worst he supposed it to be artillery firing on directions from one of those small special force patrols the mercenaries had recently started. Buu, the AAMG battery leader, had approached Ngoc with a bold and perhaps reasonable plan—if they hurried into position, they could fire into the mercenary base within an hour. This would at least have the effect of splitting the artillery—some would have to be taken away from their present targets to fire suppression on the new targets. Ngoc had considered the merits of this but had determined he must stick with the known plan. Briefly, he switched his radio on but failed to get a signal with either 274 or 275 Regiment nets. He was still in the low swampy area approaching the road, and the storm overhead filled the headsets with static. No, he decided, we’ll stay with the plan. That way, we’ll be where everyone knows we’re supposed to be when we’re supposed to be there. Over the years, Ngoc had seen too many examples of plans being changed at the last minute based upon inaccurate information or a junior leader’s misplaced initiative. The NLF and NVA had worked
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out it was better to play safe, stick with a known plan and obtain an expected result rather than to exercise flexibility and change a known plan and—maybe—obtain a better-than-expected result. Previous late plan changes had often confused the action and resulted in a failure—sometimes even a disaster.
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6.00–6.45 p.m., 18 August 1966
South of the third mercenary position and shortly after 6.00 p.m., order had been restored in the fragmented C2 of D440. Once more, organised probes scouted the area trying to draw fire. Several times, small groups would approach the mercenaries, who would open fire at the last minute, fire for a few seconds then go silent again. This was proving frustrating for the searching squads because every time the mercenaries fired, so too did the comrades to their north, and it was impossible to follow the tracer back to the mercenary position. When a column of yellow smoke billowed up into the canopy, comrades to both the north and the south fired into the area, each group thinking the mercenaries had at last given their position away. Was it by accidentally releasing a smoke grenade? Or perhaps a comrade’s lucky shot had triggered it? Whatever the cause, a hail of fire was directed into the area. It produced no return fire so the firing soon died down again. Unknown to each other, the comrades on either side of the smoke grenade had inflicted casualties on their own troops with their overshoots. C1 of D440, closing from the south on the original mercenary position, noticed movement to their front. Straining to see down the 297
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dim avenues, they could make out figures moving to the west. Jumping to their feet, they gave chase. They’d lost too many men approaching this position to see them escape the trap just before it was sprung. Firing wildly as they ran, they followed the fleeing enemy, receiving no return fire. They were closer now—less than 100 metres, more like 70 or 80. So few mercenaries—only a dozen or so—and they didn’t stop to fire back. Passing the place where the yellow smoke had stained a tree trunk, the mercenaries went to ground — about 30 metres or so beyond. The pursuing squads of C1, the blood of the kill in their nostrils, kept running. These mercenaries had not returned fire. They must be out of ammunition. They will be easy prey when caught . . . Just as the lead comrades were passing the yellow-stained tree, the ground in front of them lit up like a display of twinkling fireworks. Muzzle flashes from two machine guns and twelve rifles lit the underside of the canopy. Quick-firing Armalite tracer sprayed out at chest height, drilling through flesh and tree trunk alike. Slow-firing, heavier machine gun tracer grazed the ground, not sparing the comrades who dived for the protection of the mud. And the single-shot rifle tracer sought out any survivors for the killing head or chest shots. Thirty men had chased the fleeing mercenaries. Four crawled back towards the east–west track. East of the mercenary position on the rise, the screen of H421’s 3 Company was still edging painstakingly towards the newly established perimeter. Behind the front screen, half-squads were starting to work around the flanks to the north and the south. Behind them again, comrades were being marshalled forwards to prepare for the final, winning assaults. The artillery was falling close behind them, further to their east, and they knew they would have to rush forwards or be caught in the fearful barrages falling every sixty seconds now. On the east–west track due south of the third mercenary position was the hut where, a little over two hours before, Tuan
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had stopped to treat his two wounded men. Now, at 6.10 p.m. and at the same hut, C4 of D440 Battalion formed up to move north to the sound of the firing coming from the slight rise in the plantation. They were in three ranks, each of about 35 men. On the whistled command, the group started to move northwards, slowly, purposefully. To the east of the mercenaries on the rise, a runner moved forwards and blew the bugle call for withdrawal. The men of 3 Company, who’d been providing the cover for the assault lines, heard and moved back, clearing the way for the final decisive attack by 4 Company. The squads flanking the position heard the bugle call and also pulled back. They knew at the next bugle call, the first line of the assault force would move in for the kill. The leader of C4, D440, moved along between his three ranks, keeping the line straight and the pace steady. They’d moved 100 metres already and would close with the enemy in another 300 to 400 metres. It was all going according to practice, he thought. Straight lines. Even paces. This is the way they had rehearsed an assault back in the Nui May Tao and this is the way it should be done. That very thought was going through his mind as he became the first man in the company to die. He was hit when the mercenaries from the third position—a position not known by the comrades of C4—fired two machine guns down two avenues of trees just as the second and third ranks crossed them. He didn’t live to see the first rank turn in panic and run back through those same two fire lanes. He didn’t live to see more than half of his beloved C4 broken and dying where he lay. Of those who made it back to the track, half would wear wounds for the rest of their lives. And he didn’t live to learn the rest of the unwounded from C4, to a man, would be killed within the hour with C3 and C5 Companies, assaulting the mercenaries on the slight rise in the plantation. Ginh’s signaller tried the telephone line every minute or so. At last feeling the resistance that indicated the repair had been successful, he
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called for Ginh and rang the line. Long came on the line immediately, and Ginh relayed the details of the fourth mercenary position. Hanging up his handset, Long reached for the radio. It was 6.15—more than half an hour since they’d been ordered to be ready to move. Since then, Lan’s D445 HQ group had been forced to sit and listen to the battle raging only 1000 metres to their north. Listening to the moving artillery pattern, they were still discussing what might be happening. Their minds were all focused on things outside their circle of pits. The voice from the radio startled everyone. The signaller handed the handset to Lan. He listened for a few moments then, with just a sign, he replaced the handset and pointed west. A whistle sounded, and D445 rose out of their protective pits and shook out into their open diamond formation. Aided by the recent memory of the 155mm artillery and mindful of the damage it could wreak on men caught out in the open, each company of D445 broke into a slow jog as they moved west towards the southern arm of the rubber plantation. The firing on C4 by the third group of mercenaries revealed their position to the scattered squads of C2 Company. Amidst the shouts and whistles, the company was quickly re-assembled into a cohesive fighting force. Gaps in the ranks were hastily filled with men from weakened squads, resulting in four makeshift squads of about twenty men each. One was sent to circle left, one right and two moved forwards as a frontal assault. The artillery supporting the third mercenary position had been falling between their position and the east–west track. It now closed in to fall just 100 metres from their position. The first salvo straddled the left flanking squad. Three shells were tree bursts. None of the squad survived. The remaining squads paused for the smoke and steam to clear then ran forwards in a pincer movement designed to arrive in the mercenary’s position from three sides simultaneously. It worked, but when the three squads got there, the position was empty. Spent brass cartridges glistened in the rain. A soiled bandage
est trac
k
C5
C3 and C5 Companies of D440 Battalion form up to assault rear of fourth position
C3 C4
C4 Company, D440 Battalion, formed up to assault flank of fourth position
2&4
(main position)
Diagram 8: Approx. 6.15 p.m.
no
east–w
100 metres
Scale:
ack
C2
C2
1 C1
Yellow smoke
C1 Company, D440 Battalion, engages enemy in first position
C1 Coy and others, H423 Bn
Tang’s depleted H423 Battalion still in contact with enemy in third enemy position
C2 Company, D440 Battalion, engages third position
3
H421 Bn
Ginh’s H421 Battalion starts main assaults on the fourth enemy position
Kim forms stragglers into a new fighting force
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attested to the treatment of a casualty. A damaged machine gun still stood on its bipod, a scattering of belt links littered to its right. White latex oozed out of all the trees round about. With great presence of mind, the leader of the C2 group shouted to everyone to run for the hut. This action saved them all. They had cleared less than 50 metres before the old mercenary position became a raging cauldron of smoke and steam and shrapnel. On vacating, the mercenaries had called down artillery on their old position. In the 30 minutes Kim had been acting as a staging post for troops withdrawing from the battlefield, he had redirected about 150 wounded back to Long’s HQ. Advised of Kim’s group by the arriving wounded and their helpers, the HQ group had sent their medical and recce units forwards along the line of wounded to the staging post and the site had developed into an impromptu casualty clearing station. This had in turn freed up Kim to organise the unwounded also streaming back with the wounded. Most of these were to one degree or another lost, disoriented, concussed or otherwise suffering from fatigue or shellshock, but they responded to authority and discipline. Kim assessed he now had a fighting unit of about 120 men of all ranks. Leaving the makeshift casualty clearing station to the HQ units, Kim formed up his new company and, at a brisk jog, headed for the firing he could hear at the north of the rubber plantation. Ahead of him, Ginh’s first assault line was ready to go on the attack. The political cadres moved up and down the lines shouting encouragement to the troops, competing with their leaders, who also shouted at them to remember their training. With rhetoric and slogans in one ear and instructions to keep the line in the other, most comrades just wanted the bugle to sound.
Mike Davis slumped to the ground. Beyond exhaustion, like the others all around him, he welcomed the break. A Landrover had
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pulled into the gun area with great trays of sandwiches and two urns full of hot chocolate. Amid the constant din, gunners were being replaced in the gun crews to come back, get some food and rest. No rest, however, for the guns. For minutes at a time, the fire orders called for ‘continuous fire’. At these times, rounds were fed into the breech as fast as the spent shells could be cleared and the gun reaimed. This continued until the order was stopped. When the gun crews got this order, they knew someone, somewhere, was in a lot of trouble. They also knew that their L5 Pack Howitzers were never designed for this sort of heavy and continuous usage. Built to be portable, the lightweight frame and barrel were being tested to their limits. The crews prayed their equipment would hold out under the testing conditions. The barrels even appeared to take on a dull glow with the heat. Tannoy reports told the gunners the infantry company had consolidated into the one position and was running low on ammo for a second time. The only thing standing between them and the waves of VC were the 105s and the 155s. Very few on the gun line had ever experienced anything like this. True, 105 Battery had been in this situation once before, when supporting an American battalion in trouble, but that was only once in the whole year. For the other batteries, even the old hands who’d fired in support of troops in Korea could not remember when the order ‘continuous fire’ had been given not once or twice, but time after time.
Still at a steady jog, Dat Do C3 Company of D445 entered the rubber plantation. Before them lay the main north–south track. As they approached it, they slowed to a walk. The danger of being caught out in the open was past. Despite the rain, the added visibility in the rubber, after the overgrown vegetable and fruit fields, called for more caution. Behind them, the rest of the battalion was also entering the plantation and slowing down.
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From the east–west track south of the main mercenary position, C3 and C5 Companies of D440 were lined up awaiting the order to advance. The leader of C5 looked at his watch—6.30. He lifted his hand and chopped it in the direction of the mercenaries. With that, four ranks of about 50 men each, 20 metres apart, advanced into the fading grey of the rubber plantation. To the east of what could now be identified as the main mercenary position, Ginh’s bugler sounded, and the first line moved off. Dimly through the avenues of trees they could see their target. The rain was at last easing off, but it was still heavy enough to form little rivers as it washed down the slight slope. The mud caked on their rubber sandals, making it difficult to keep a steady pace. Behind them, the second rank rushed into place. In front of them, the occasional tracer blinked alive, seemed to hover in the distance, and then zip past, its sound lost in the general din of the battlefield. They’d made 10 metres before the first man was hit. A tracer round made a small hole in his chest and removed a fistful of his back. He was flung backwards as if hit by a giant invisible fist. Then another was flung backwards. Then another collapsed mid-pace. After 25 metres, a whistle blew and the front rank went to ground. Behind them, the second rank moved off and the third rank rushed into their place. Another 50 metres behind them, a salvo of artillery burst on the edge of the rubber plantation, bringing down trees and again cutting the precious telephone cable leading back to Long. The remnants of C2 of D440, having narrowly avoided the artillery called in on the third mercenary position, rushed back to the site. The craters were still steaming and leaves and mud were still showering over the area. A tree had been literally blown out of the ground and lay alongside the damaged machine gun, which was amazingly otherwise untouched. Looking up, they saw the canopy had been stripped, the bare branches stark against the low clouds. Without further pause, they turned northwest and hurried after the mercenaries, towards the sounds of a renewed firefight.
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Ginh’s second rank passed the first rank and moved forwards another 20 metres, taking casualties as they went, before they too went to ground. The third rank followed, 40 metres behind. In a deafening, blinding, insane instant, the whole third rank was ripped to shreds, enveloped in the hissing steam of artillery explosions. The concussion whipped across the backs of the forward assault lines. In the process of assembling the fourth rank, Ginh had his back to the mercenaries. He felt the artillery blast, followed instantly by the ripping, crashing roar of high explosives. Spinning around, he was in time to see the last of the flash turn into churning steam, peppered by falling branches and earth debris. The six shells had landed right along the line of the third rank, about 10 metres between each shell. Still 150 metres out from the mercenary perimeter, the survivors on the front assault line stole a glance backwards. They saw the carnage wrought on their reserve line and peered through the steam and the trees to see if there was a following line to back them up. They wouldn’t stand to advance until they knew there was another rank behind them. While they waited, their training and their leaders reminded them the initiative gained must not be lost. A whistle blew and the first rank started a slow crawl forwards, away from the stinging smell of explosive and seared flesh and towards the source of those merciless tracers. At the wrecked bridge over the Suoi Da Bang, D445’s Long Dien C2 Company and its mortar unit had followed the progress of the distant battle with consternation. They had no radio or telephone communication with their parent unit, and had no way of knowing what was happening in the plantation. They were too far away to hear any small arms fire, so first became aware something was wrong when the artillery started. That was shortly after it started to rain, two-and-a-half hours earlier. Since then they’d listened to the far-off sound of the shells as they drilled through the heavy air on their way to their targets. They were about a thousand metres south of the artillery flight path, but then
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there had been those that passed almost directly overhead on their way to land in the village of Long Tan. Since then, the distinctive and unforgettable ripping, whirring sounds of artillery in flight had been constant and worrying. Having started, they had just kept coming. Once, more than half an hour ago, they’d heard the sounds of two helicopters flying overhead, out of sight in the rain clouds. The bridge protection unit had orders not to fire unless attacked, so there was nothing to be done. Listening to the stream of shells passing overhead, they could only wait and hope a runner would arrive soon and tell them everything was all right. But they knew it wasn’t all right. According to the plan, the troops waiting in the plantation were to have begun moving as soon as it started to rain. It was now 6.35. The lead elements should have been crossing the river well before now if everything was still according to plan. To the southeast of the main enemy position, the squads of C2 Company following the third mercenary group approached the perimeter. Out of the mud 50 metres ahead, a ripple of firing quickly became a flood, and the squads went to ground. Cries from the wounded merged with the frequent artillery thumping and the constant background chatter of small arms fire. They paused only long enough to collect their dead and wounded before retiring out of range. As they regrouped, they watched the two remaining Companies of D440—C5 and C3—on their left, close up on the mercenary southern perimeter. Ginh assembled the last available comrades into a fourth rank and ordered the bugler to blow the advance. The sound of the bugle guided Kim and his group into Ginh’s position. Advancing behind the fourth rank, Ginh outlined the situation to Kim. He felt they finally had the mercenaries pinned to a position from which they could not or would not retreat. They could hear firing from the south. Their probes to the northeast said the mercenaries were static there, too. Ordering Kim to follow him, Ginh left to catch up with his fourth rank.
C5
D4
45
Bn
Diagram 9: Approx. 6.30 p.m.
1&3 C1
C1 & C2 Companies, D440 Battalion, pursue enemy
C4 Company, D440 Battalion, ambushed by third position.
C4
C2
Tang’s depleted H423 Battalion pursues enemy
H421 Bn
Ginh’s H421 Battalion builds main assaults on the final enemy position Kim moves forward with stragglers to support Ginh’s assaults
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C3 and C5, Companies, D440 Battalion, assault final enemy position
C3
(final position)
1, 2, 3 and 4
Flank probes
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100 metres
Scale:
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As they passed the place where the artillery had decimated the third rank, they were surprised to find many more than half were still alive. All the shells had drilled into the wet earth before exploding. It was those standing within a few metres of each blast who had died, torn apart by the shock waves and scattered by the blasts. The only visible remains of these troops were the mangled bodies littered about and the sometimes unrecognisable shreds of flesh and cloth still hanging from the branches or flung into the pools of mud. Of the living, some were lying, expressions vacant, their pale faces coloured only by the blood oozing out of their ears or noses. Others lay untouched, staring at the canopy, their systems recovering from the massive concussion they’d been subjected to. Still others appeared to be completely unaffected. They simply rose and joined the rank as it passed through their position, as they’d been trained to do. Ginh called Kim forward. Passing command of the third ranksurvivors to Kim, Ginh told him to send a platoon around to the north to ensure the mercenaries could not escape in that direction. He then told Kim to divide his comrades into two assault lines, absorbing as many of the comrades from the battered third rank as he could. As Kim began to reorganise his command, Ginh ran off to catch up with his advancing men. ‘I have three ranks of my own men,’ he thought, ‘plus two ranks of Kim’s men mixed with mine—five ranks in all. ‘And daylight’s fading fast.’ C5 of D440 came into range as they approached the main mercenary position from the south. Still 200 metres out, the occasional tracer flicked out at them as if to verify the range. They held their fire, advancing at the same steady rate. Behind C5’s two ranks, the two ranks of C3 closed up, building up the inertia of the assault. At 150 metres, the tracers began to hit their targets and a few first rank comrades collapsed to the ground. This was the signal. The front rank broke into a run, firing from the hip. The following ranks ran
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but didn’t fire. The front rank made almost 50 metres, leaving a trail of dead and wounded before a whistle blow dropped the whole assault to the ground. The assorted squads of C1 and C2 could see the mercenary position. To their own north they could see the ranks of Ginh’s forces forming up, facing west. To their west they could see C5 and C3 of D440 forming up, facing north. At a crawl, they started advancing on the mercenary position. The fire discipline of the mercenaries was good—they were only firing as they had targets. This wasn’t like assaulting the puppet dogs, who were easily spooked and usually ran out of ammunition after less than half an hour of battle. These soldiers were conserving their ammunition. They were firing single shots, not on automatic. Even their machine guns were not firing yet. The old comrades knew. When they did, there would be hell to pay in the assault lines. This was a dangerous enemy, and the sooner their perimeter was behind them, the better it would be for all. The whole mortar team at the bridge cocked their heads as one. A shift in the wind brought them a new sound. It was louder than the light wash of the rain but softer than the occasional harsh corkscrew of artillery in flight. This new sound was intermittent against the constant of the river in flood behind them. Far off to their right, as they faced the rubber plantation, came the growling of a heavy motor alternately speeding and slowing. Then a second. Then a third. As they strained to see through the dull curtains of rain, the first three armoured cars appeared, speeding up as they crossed each rice field but slowing down to cross the dividing mounds. They were far away, at the limit of visibility, but the comrades ducked for cover anyway. One ran back towards the river to report the sighting to the company leader. Ginh’s front rank lay 150 metres out from the mercenary perimeter. As the new second rank moved past the first, it started taking casual-
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ties. Here and there, men collapsed or were flung backwards. No dramatic gestures of death—just the weary collapse of a discarded life as their legs gave way under them or the savage punch in the chest or gut sending them sprawling backwards into the mud. Some wounded rolled to cover. Others turned and crawled to the rear. Others just went down and lay still, dead before they even hit the ground. Lifeless, as the mud splashed over them. The survivors, firing from the hip, moved steadily forward. They gained another 25 metres before the bugle sounded and they sank gratefully to the ground. The same bugle call brought the original first rank to their feet and they advanced, passing their comrades on the ground. With more casualties, they gained another 25 metres before the bugle again sounded and they took cover. The leading edge of the assault was now just 100 metres out from the mercenaries on their left front. Ginh looked over to the right flank and saw the line of their assault needed adjusting. He sent a runner to the right flank, swinging them left to compress the line. D445’s Dat Do C3 Company reached the north–south track and crossed it. Behind them, the battalion moved quietly through the plantation. Their wide sweep had taken them further from the battle. The main firing was now some 1500 metres to their north– northeast, and the sound of small arms fire was indistinct between the heavy falls of artillery. Crossing the track, Lan fancied he could even hear a distant bugle, but could not recognise the call being blown. As he trudged on, he could see his Long Le C1 Company crossing 100 metres away on his left and his C4 Company—from Duc Thanh—crossing 100 metres away on his right. Satisfied his battalion was keeping its spread-out formation, Lan continued on his way. This part of the plantation was not bare earth like the rest. Undergrowth grew between the trees in most places— mostly to knee height but occasionally to waist height. It would cover their movement but it would also make control more difficult. The trees were older, too, thicker and with a taller canopy.
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South of the mercenary position, the D440 companies were setting up the same sort of rolling assaults under way to their east. Moving to their right they absorbed the C1 and C2 squads that’d followed the third group of mercenaries. Their assaults were directed towards the southeastern perimeter of the mercenaries, now barely visible on the rise about 100 metres away. Finally, the rain was easing; the daylight was also fading. The assault ranks had the added urgency of getting into the target before last light. Long studied his map. He had numbered and circled each of the mercenary positions as they’d been reported to him. They formed a diamond shape on his map, where position 1 was in the southeast, position 2 was 300 metres northwest of them, position 3 was 200 metres southwest of 2 and position 4 was 300 metres northwest of 3. In a half-circle to the east of the position marked 1, he had H423 Battalion. Against position 2 he had H421 Battalion. To the south of positions 1, 3 and 4 he now had D440 Battalion positioned along the east–west track. Behind positions 3 and 4 he had marked in the destination he’d determined for D445 Battalion, along the north–south track. He knew the bush to the north of the plantation was a virtually impenetrable bamboo thicket—there would be no escape in that direction. He drew in a thick line above the plantation. In an afternoon of bad surprises and deep frustrations, he looked at the only good news he had. The four mercenary positions were thought to be a company each. Against the mercenary battalion in the plantation, Long had two fully equipped, well-trained and battleexperienced NVA battalions and two of the best provincial Main Force battalions available, also fully equipped, well-trained and battle-experienced. He could afford to ignore H421 Company on the hill. That, along with all of H422 Battalion, was his reserve. So he had a mercenary battalion surrounded by four of his battalions with another in reserve. All they had to do was to close in and eliminate the enemy. And he still had more than half an hour of daylight to do it in. Not being able to take the mercenary base was an irritation. But eliminating 50 per cent of the whole mercenary
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fighting force in just one afternoon would still reap the same rewards for the cause, he thought to himself. Plus, he added with some satisfaction, the rewards for himself, of course. Long rang Binh at his H422 Battalion position in the lee of the hill and warned him to have his battalion ready to move into the plantation to take over the clearing up operation. His exhausted assault battalions would need to clear the area quickly after their attacks, so the battlefield cleanup would be best left to a fresh force. Long was particularly keen to obtain some mercenary prisoners of war. He gave Binh strict instructions—some mercenaries must be taken alive. After hanging up, Binh issued orders for his battalion to move south to the plantation immediately. They had to be within the plantation before nightfall, since the bush in between his position and the rubber was sprinkled with bamboo and would be difficult to navigate in the dark. Again the heavy weapons group radioed Chinh. It was 6.40 p.m. There had been no reduction of the artillery and now, after two hours, it was obvious the target must be the 275 Regiment force to the east. Was the attack called off ? And if so, should they return to Hat Dich? The answer from Chinh was ‘Yes’ to both questions. Fearing for what was happening on the other side of the mercenary base, the heavy weapons group formed up and headed back the way they’d come. At the bridge, the Long Dien C2 Company leader rushed over to the mortar position and peered through the rain. He was just in time to see the nearest armoured cars disappear into the mist towards the rubber plantation. ‘Mortars. Stand by,’ he called. ‘Range 2000. Bearing northeast.’ The armoured cars were rushing to aid the mercenaries, and he had a weapon to delay them, even if only for a few minutes. He quickly consulted his map. It was hand-drawn and the markings
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were beginning to run in the rain, but he made certain the target area was not marked as anywhere his comrades would be. ‘Twenty rounds. Four a minute. Fire.’ Six tubes each spat a tongue of flame up into the rain but neither these nor the hollow popping sounds would have been noticed from 100 metres away. The six mortar bombs arched through the rain and descended into the plantation. Before they landed, another six were on their way. Before they heard the first unseen explosions, the third salvo was in the air. They would maintain a rate of fire of one bomb every fifteen seconds or so for the next five minutes, halving their supply of mortar bombs. In a series of brief moves, the right flank of Ginh’s H421 Battalion dashed forwards 5 to 10 metres and took up new positions facing more south than their original axis of east. At last they could see the mercenaries through the avenues of trees. The whole 100-metre width of Ginh’s assault lines was now advancing on just 30 metres of mercenary perimeter, from its north around to its east. A similar adjustment was made by the D440 assault lines as they moved in from the southeast and south. Their wider assault formation targeted the mercenary perimeter from east to southwest—a perimeter of 45 metres. Their closest assault lines were still 100 metres out, and they had four assault lines to Ginh’s three plus Kim’s two. Artillery was landing behind their fourth rank, still 250 metres south from the enemy position. They were where they wanted to be—inside the artillery curtain. But it had cost them dearly. And they had a tougher task ahead—to beat the artillery to the mercenary perimeter . . . Six mortar bombs—the first salvo from the bridge—whispered into the rubber plantation. They shattered the silence, exploding halfway between Lan and his Long Le C1 Company, taking both by surprise. How could the mercenaries know they were there? Long Le C1
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Company stopped, took cover in the undergrowth and faced the new danger, not knowing the source of the fire or what to expect. Lan and his HQ moved immediately to their right, away from the fire. A second salvo of six rounds fell in the same place. Then a third and still the fall of shot did not move. Lan waved his group further north and broke into a jog again. Long Le C1 Company watched them move off, and waited for a break in the bombs before they could follow.
The first six mortar bombs exploded 250 metres ahead of the lead armoured cars just as they entered the plantation. If the drivers of the armoured cars even noticed them, they ignored them. It was darker under the rubber canopy than it had been out in the open, so they reduced their speed. The armoured cars were 200 metres from the second fall of mortar bombs, and 150 metres from the third. Their engine sounds covered the explosions, and the smoke and steam blended with the curtain of rain still falling heavily through the canopy. The armoured cars kept their constant speed, formation and direction.
D440’s bugle sounded. The fourth rank rose and moved forwards. Passing the third rank, they could now see their target. Their rifles remained silent. Passing the second rank, they broke into a slow jog and started yelling at the enemy, still over 125 metres away. A few shots were fired at them but with no obvious effect. Passing the first rank, they began firing at the mercenaries. And they started to receive fire in return. They made their required 25 metres and, at a bugle blow, they dived to the ground. Behind them, the sounds and shapes of 15 dead and wounded marked their progress. Already, as the new first rank went to ground, the new fourth rank was advancing.
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Focused on the mortars falling just 50 metres to their north, Long Le C1 Company felt rather than heard the armoured cars grinding towards their position. A sharp cry was their only warning. Spinning around, the 74 comrades of Long Le C1 Company faced four armoured cars just 50 metres away, bearing down on them, with three more following close behind. The horror of being caught in an exposed position at close range by an enemy in armoured cars was too much for some. Instinctively, they turned and ran back the way they’d come, some even dropping their weapons. Equally instinctively, the more experienced men flicked off their safety catches and fired at the armoured cars. These were the first shots fired in the exchange. It appeared the mercenaries were just as surprised at the encounter. Many of them were standing in the open hatch looking out, and some were even sitting on top of the vehicles, like their vehicle commanders. The firing lasted only a few minutes. In the moments before the .50 calibre machine guns joined the fight, each armoured car was sprayed by the AK-47s. Tracer ricocheted off the front and sides of the vehicles and into the trees. The mercenaries exposed on the tops of the vehicles quickly ducked inside for cover. Some fire was returned, but in the main it was wild and scattered until the .50 calibres started. Their heavier and slower thump drowned out the sounds of the lighter calibre rifles and machine guns. Their half-inch diameter rounds swept the plantation, boring through the young rubber trees and spraying leaves, bark and sap on the comrades below. Positioned 500 metres further north, Lan was aware of the bombardment behind him, but not of the engagement of his Long Le C1 Company. His HQ unit linked up with his Duc Thanh C4 Company—his right-flanking screen in the advance. D445 was now facing north along the north–south track. They were spread across the old rubber plantation with Dat Do C3 Company on the left of the track, his own HQ and support units with Xuyen Moc C5 Company astride the track and the attached Vung Tau C6 Company
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to the right. They moved north, unaware of the armoured cars behind them. Meanwhile, the experienced soldiers of Long Le C1 Company kept on providing covering fire for their rest of their company. Some of the mercenaries dismounted from one or two of the vehicles, but the firefight was soon over and they returned to their vehicles. Many comrades who did not run simply lay down and hid in the dark undergrowth, under their camouflage nets. They watched in terror as the armoured cars moved off again, still heading north.
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6.45–7.30 p.m., 18 August 1966
Ginh turned around to see Kim’s two assault lines formed up and following. He signalled to his bugler, who sounded one long note. Waving down Kim’s first rank, he yelled at the second rank to take over the advance. They immediately broke into a jog and closed on the leading assault line. Fifty metres behind them, the next salvo of artillery smashed into the plantation. It followed them in, not catching them yet, but claiming more lives as it exploded around the medics as they followed the assault lines collecting and treating the wounded. The Long Dien mortar team at the bridge could neither see nor hear the clash in the young rubber plantation. They fed their mortar tubes as the armoured cars moved on. Withdrawing, Long Le C1 Company watched as the vehicles resumed their advance north, approaching the strip of trees where the mortar bombs had been landing. Several trees had fallen, and the avenues around them were strewn with broken branches. The comrades from Long Le watched as the first four armoured cars were straddled by the next fall of mortar bombs. They saw the 317
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vehicles pass unharmed through the smoke and steam of the explosions, shrugging off the broken branches and pushing aside the downed trees as they moved on. Fifteen seconds later, the second line of three armoured cars were also straddled, again without harm. Gritting back tears of frustration, the comrades cautiously returned to the scene of the fighting to retrieve their dead, wounded, and equipment. Lan could see the east–west track through the trees ahead. If he pushed on he’d become embroiled in the battle itself rather than ‘closing the back door’ on the mercenaries as ordered. He halted his group and gave his new orders. They would turn and file west, with the lead elements wheeling to their right and heading north. This way, Lan would position his force along the north–south track to the west of the mercenaries. Their position there, in strength and just 300 metres behind the final mercenary position on the rise, would seal the fate of the enemy. They would be in position within five minutes, at about 6.45—with fifteen or twenty minutes of daylight still left. D445 would indeed then be the anvil against which the hammer of 275 Regiment would pulverise the mercenaries in the plantation. Passing the leading assault line, Kim’s new front rank advanced a further 15 metres. Measured fire was coming at them. Although not heavy, it was taking its toll. The line faltered, with several taking cover, but some shouts from the leaders had them back on their feet. Firing their AK-47s, the line advanced another two rows of trees before a sustained bout of firing forced them to the ground. They had paid dearly for those last 10 metres—bodies littered the mud behind them, though several of them lay suspiciously behind rubber trees. As the front rank faltered, Kim’s second rank started to move forwards. Just 150 metres out from the mercenary perimeter, a salvo of artillery landed a few metres behind them. Half the rank was enveloped in the sudden cloud of mud and steam, and the remainder
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were thrown aside by the blast. Beyond the artillery fall, the rear rank of Ginh’s force rushed forwards and searched for wounded comrades. They emerged from the wall of darkness dragging the dazed survivors. It wasn’t until they got to the second rank they realised Ginh wasn’t with them. Another salvo of artillery fell in the same place, discouraging them from returning to look for him. The D445 group turned to the west and started their wheeling manoeuvre to the north when, out of the misty rain to their south growled four armoured cars. They were in line abreast, grey in the dim light and menacing in their slow yet deliberate advance. Once again, it was the comrades who fired first. In the fading light, the spray of multicoloured tracer looked oddly beautiful arcing through the plantation, rounds not deflected by the trees bouncing off the vehicles like fireworks. Once again, it appeared the mercenaries were taken by surprise. To start with, no fire was returned. Lan’s lone rocket launcher crew hastily set their only weapon next to a rubber tree and had their first shot off within 20 seconds. Their first round hit a tree directly in front of the nearest vehicle and exploded, shredding the trunk and bringing the tree down. The second round was in the air even as the vehicle reached the fallen tree. In an uncanny coincidence, the second round also hit the tree trunk, exploding harmlessly. By now, the enemy .50 calibres were opening up, and the first target was the rocket launcher. Caught in a crossfire, the team and their weapon were destroyed. The firefight was as intense as it was one-sided. Three more armoured cars appeared out of the rain. Despite the weight of AK-47 fire brought against the armoured cars, Lan knew that only rocket launchers or wheeled machine guns could really do any damage. His one rocket launcher lay destroyed a few metres away. He also knew the machine guns would be ineffective against the armoured front of the vehicles. To penetrate, they would need a clear side or rear shot. He watched as his machine-gun crew lined up for a side shot on the armoured car at the end of the line.
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Again the .50 calibre crossfire sought out the crew-served weapon. Their rounds appeared to explode through the rubber trees, flinging white specks of sap and bark out of their way. Changing direction, an armoured car headed towards the machine gun. At a range of only 25 metres, the machine gun crew tried to realign the weapon, but the stream of interlocking tracer zeroed in on them. Lan watched in horror as the crew were picked up as if by an invisible hand and tossed metres backwards. Two comrades rushed for the weapon as the armoured car approached. They, too, were tossed aside by the vicious fists of the .50 calibres. The tracks of the vehicle passed over the machine gun and both of its crews, churning them into the mud. Caught without cover by the armoured cars, the D445 force had no defence but to run. Providing an almost token covering small arms fire, the group turned and streamed eastwards. So close were the armoured cars that groups of them ran between the vehicles. Small firefights broke out between the isolated groups of comrades and the mercenaries in the armoured cars, but the firing quickly stopped as the vehicles moved on. The fourth rank of the D440 assault force was taking casualties as they moved past the second and then the first ranks south of the mercenaries. They pushed forwards against steady fire until the line faltered and went to ground. It was 6.50 as they sank into the uncertain security of the ground and a different bugle call sounded. This was the call to change the rank-by-rank assaults into the rolling rank assaults. It was a tactic they’d rehearsed back in the Nui May Tao but had expected to use only if called upon to assault strongpoints within the mercenary base. At the call, the rear rank rose and moved forwards at a fast walk. They moved past the third rank and took their first casualty. Stepping over the dead from earlier assaults, they tried to keep their steady pace. By the time they passed the second rank, there were gaps in their assault line. Without further signal, the soldiers in the second rank rose as the line moved past and joined in the assault line.
Diagram 10: Approx. 6.45 p.m.
1
C3 D440 Battalion mount humanwave assaults
C5
(final position)
Tang’s depleted H423 Battalion joins in the assaults
Kim’s Force
H421 Bn
Ginh’s H421 Battalion and Kim’s force mount human-wave assaults
C1, C2 & C4, D440 Battalion, survivors join assaults.
Probes in depth
1, 2, 3 and 4
D445 Battalion contacts enemy armoured cars (APCs) twice — D445 withdraws east
2
100 metres
Scale:
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It looked as if the dead were coming to life. The renewed momentum carried them past the front rank and well within 60 metres of the mercenary perimeter. The same bugle call sounded and the same thing happened—as the front rank went to ground, the rear rank rose and, moving almost at a crouched run, closed up on the middle rank. Again, as soldiers dropped out of the line, the soldiers of the previous first rank rose to join the assault line. The four ranks had become two. The moving rank passed the one on the ground and was able to advance another 10 metres before the momentum was lost and they, too, dropped to the ground. The forward elements of D440 were now 50 metres and in some cases as close as 40 metres from the mercenary perimeter. The fall of artillery 100 metres out from the position landed behind the second line and served only to finish off some wounded they’d left behind. Lan and his disrupted D445 group ran eastwards alongside the east–west track. They set up a makeshift blocking force adjacent to the hut and waited to see if the vehicles were following them or if they would move on north to the main mercenary position. As isolated groups passed through the blocking force, Lan was relieved to see that, despite the confusion, there didn’t seem to be too many comrades missing. The final groups coming in from the west reported three more armoured cars had joined the first seven and there’d been some movement among them—perhaps they’d received come casualties themselves? East of the enemy position, the H421 bugler sounded the new call. As had happened in the D440 assault, the rear line rose and advanced at a fast walk. As they passed, any man who could, rose and joined the advance. Even to Kim, who was advancing with them, it looked like an unstoppable, self-replenishing force. As a comrade fell in the line, it seemed another got up and replaced him. Until they passed the front rank, they actually had more men in the assault line than when they started the advance. However, Kim was painfully aware it was an illusion—it was
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actually the process of making two assault lines into one, and Kim knew they were paying a terrible price for their advance. Taking casualties with every metre, they were able to push the line forwards by another two rows of trees before, as if by common assent, the comrades all collapsed to the ground. Looking through the plantation, Kim could now make out individual mercenaries lying in the ground mist behind their trees on the crest of the slight rise. Seven or eight rows of trees—less than 50 metres—lay between them. He glanced at his watch—6.55. Just a few minutes of daylight left! Lan’s fears were confirmed. Rather than moving north, the armoured cars had chosen to follow his withdrawing forces eastwards. In the plantation’s growing gloom, they’d switched on their headlights and, .50 calibre guns blazing, were advancing on his blocking force. Lan shouted to his force to resist but to yield. ‘Fire at the vehicles but do not stand and fight,’ he yelled. ‘Scatter to the left and right—don’t run in front of them.’ The rest of his orders were lost in the din of small arms fire as the vehicles approached. The armoured cars appeared to shake off the tracer, which spun off into the plantation in all directions. Whatever damage was being done to them was only token. All the tracer was really doing was suppressing the fire that otherwise would have been pouring out at them. As the line of armoured cars passed, Lan once again regretted not having the wheeled machine guns or, better still, rocket launchers for what would have been vehicle-killing shots into their less-protected rears. The armoured cars continued on their way, tunnelling through the plantation, lights on and .50 calibres going full bore, leaving a trail of dark confusion behind them.
It was darker on the gun line now, barely daylight. For three hours, the routine of bringing ammunition to the guns had continued, unbroken. The stocks of ammunition were running out. Discarded
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beside the gun positions, piles of wood boxes were waist-high. At a firing rate of three or four rounds per gun per minute, sometimes up to six or even seven during ‘continuous fire’ orders, the preparation and delivery teams were being hard pressed. The number of rounds ready for firing at each gun was slowly diminishing as the guns were firing them quicker than replacements could be delivered. An unspoken concern remained—what if the action lasted at this rate into the night? What if illumination rounds were also requested? The battery couldn’t maintain this rate of activity for much longer, but even as Mike thought this he realised the infantry company out there could last even less time. The firing was a constant roar. The tannoy reported the enemy within 100 metres of the Diggers. The gunners knew their shells were already landing just 100 metres out. Mike had counted the paces between the depot and number three gun, and it was more than 100 metres. He tried to visualise what it must be like out there. Standing at the depot and looking towards number three gun, he imagined lines of VC between the gun and himself. Too bloody close, he thought, and shrugged away the image. He’d never actually seen a 105 round explode, but he knew he wouldn’t like to see one go off that close—ever. Being close to the guns as they fired was bad enough. He couldn’t imagine what the shell explosions would be like at the other end.
The crash of artillery just 60 metres out from the mercenaries almost drowned out the sound of the next D440 bugle call. The rear rank waited a moment for the mud and branches to fall, then got to their feet and moved forwards again. An unspoken command along the assaulting line demanded this must be a final effort. The last of the daylight was now melting into the dark. Each man knew if they didn’t get into the perimeter now, they never would. With only a few minutes of light left, they had barely enough time to breach the mercenary line and clean up the opposition. Even
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if they could penetrate right on dark, that wouldn’t be good enough. They couldn’t hope to complete the action in the dark. Hand-tohand fighting in the inky blackness would set every individual against the other, regardless of sides. No, this time the assault had to be carried right into the mercenary position. Passing the front rank, its members rose and joined in what they, too, sensed would be the final assault. Shouting and weaving, the line advanced on the mercenaries. The fire from the enemy was not huge in volume, nor was there any machine-gunfire. But the rifle fire was low and accurate and deadly. Many comrades fell. The line faltered. Then a salvo of artillery landed close behind them, reminding them there was only more danger behind, and some of the line broke into a run. Doing so, they traded ground covered for the accuracy of their own suppressing fire, and most were picked off within seconds. Finally, with just two lines of rubber trees separating the two forces, the assault line faltered and went to ground. Among the leading line of the assault, there were places where bodies lay draped over other bodies—testament to the terrible price paid for the advance. The survivors attempted to snipe at the mercenaries from the cover of the rubber trees, but after several were killed by bullets fired directly through the tree trunks they were hiding behind, the others stopped trying to snipe. A salvo of artillery crashed into the plantation only two rows of trees behind them again, the assault line was startled to see clumps of mud falling within the mercenary position. The artillery was falling four rows of trees—30 metres—from the mercenaries, and the comrades were between the artillery and the mercenaries. The lead elements of Binh’s H422 Battalion reached the plantation just to the south of the hill. Two battles raged in the plantation—the main one some 500 metres to the northwest, and another lesser one 500 metres to the southwest. The main one had a screen of artillery falling just behind the assaulting lines. The lesser one had no artillery, but the distinctive sound of heavy machine guns—.50 calibres—was
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easily identified over the small arms fire. It was obvious the battle had not progressed as Long had hoped. As the battalion closed up, the telephone line that had connected Long with Ginh was located on the plantation floor. Binh’s signal squad tapped into the line. Binh raised Long immediately. The division leader confirmed things were going badly. He had not yet given the command to withdraw but he warned Binh that H422 would have to form a base through which the assaulting forces could retire from the battle. Long told Binh to be prepared for the treatment and handling of casualties. The main withdrawal route would be back along the series of defended positions they’d constructed on their way in. Binh’s H422 Battalion would become the main staging point, collecting the scattered groups and guiding them on their way back in the dark night ahead of them.
After a 500-metre pursuit, the armoured cars pulled up, their .50 cals at last falling silent. Abruptly, they changed direction to the northwest and sped off into the near dark plantation. As they moved away down the avenues, each armoured car looked like a bullet travelling down a long gun barrel—the headlights lighting the trees in front of them, but the vehicle leaving only darkness and noise behind it.
In the sudden silence of the cease-fire on the east–west track, Lan called for any nearby leaders. A few calls were returned, and those individuals made their way to him. Speaking in a low voice, Lan advised he’d establish an HQ at the hut and he sent his leaders out to collect his scattered command. He set the nearby comrades under the command of a leader to secure the hut and its surrounds. Then, having been separated from his radio and its operator when the armoured cars first hit them, he sent a runner to the last known
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position of Long at Phuoc Hung hamlet to advise Long of where D445 was and what it was going to do. Binh looked at his map. If his task was now to collect the exhausted battalions as they withdrew east, he needed to place a cordon across the plantation. He called his lead company and told its leader to string his company out along a line of trees stretching into the distance southwest. Any comrade moving east through the plantation would hit the cordon and be redirected to Binh’s position. He told another of his companies to set up a casualty clearing station where the creek touched the plantation at the south of the hill. His third company he told to retrace their path back to the position they’d just come from, clearing a track suitable for the anticipated high volume of traffic. Around to the right of the struggling D440 assault, Kim’s line of comrades swept past the remainder of Ginh’s assault lines, absorbing them into a final wave of more than a hundred men. Each comrade in this assault also grasped that this would be the final advance. If they could not get in among the enemy before dark, they would not carry the victory. Tonight would be a dark, moonless night—they’d planned their assault on the base with this in mind. Hand-to-hand fighting in the pitch dark was out of the question. Even if they were successful, they would not be able to consolidate afterwards without showing lights, and that would draw artillery as sure as stink draws flies. No—this assault must penetrate the mercenary perimeter. Shouting and firing, the group ran up the slight rise and took a terrible beating. The men at the rear were slowed down by having to step over the bodies of those who had fallen in front of them. With only three rows of trees to go, the lead elements simply ran out of comrades. Behind them, the others lost their nerve and dived behind the trees or behind the bodies littering the plantation floor. It was literally the last few minutes of any remaining light. The firing from their left was much reduced, so they knew the D440 assault had failed to penetrate the mercenary position.
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Artillery continued to blast the red earth close behind them, bringing down branches and shattering anything in its path. As the nightmare of noise and violence subsided, it was replaced by another nightmare—the shrieking of the wounded. Fortunately for both the living and for the wounded, it rarely lasted long, and the sounds disappeared with the steam and smoke. The whimpering of those remaining alive was lost in the background noise. Visibility was only a few lines of trees, with a light rain still falling to blur the detail of ground and distance. The darkness was closing in as if it were a living thing, slowly blotting out the surroundings and isolating each man from his comrades. The advancing isolation bred growing fear and uncertainty. The brittle discipline of the assault line, already cracked by the brutal casualty rate and the failure to achieve its objective, needed only one more shock to shatter completely. Looking to the south, Kim saw the line of lights approaching, flickering as they passed behind the trees. He winced at the concussion and sound of another round of artillery close behind them. Then came the rumbling of the armoured cars and the heavy thuds of the occasional burst of .50 calibres. Spontaneously, his whole surviving assault force leaped to their feet and ran back east, into the dark protection of the plantation. Kim followed them. Armoured cars came in behind the spent D440 assault force. Groups broke and scattered as they became aware of their presence. In the gathering dark, comrades merged into the shadows. The dancing of the headlights created a confusion of moving shapes, helping hide the retreat. Few shots were fired after them. Once safely out of reach of the advancing armoured cars, the comrades moved quickly away from the mercenary position on the rise. Behind them, the armoured cars appeared to move through the mercenary perimeter and take up a position screening them from the east. The hiss of the ramps being lowered was the last sound they heard from the position. It was fully dark now, and that part of the plantation lapsed into silence.
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On the gun line, the ‘Cease fire’ order was as welcome as it was unexpected. As the guns fell silent, the entire battery stopped as if to listen. Out in the open, it was not fully dark as it was under the rubber canopy. Mike could make out the crews standing by their guns. Flashes of sheet lightning cast their flickering light over each one. The gunners appeared frozen in the act of awaiting the next ‘Load’ command. Heaps of empty brass shell cases littered the sides of the gun emplacements. Thousands of them. The action had been too intense to have anyone waste time removing them. The barrels sizzled in the light rain, the steam rising in lazy waves. Passing through each mind on the gun line was the same thought—had the gunfire been called off because the position had been overrun or was it because the relief column had arrived? Or maybe both? What was happening out there? The last series of adjustments had been to ‘Drop 25 metres’. Christ, that must be close. It’s not often you heard adjustments like that. On the range, the least they usually practised were adjustments of 50 metres. An adjustment call of 25 metres was usually used for only one gun and then only to knock out a bunker. But the last three calls from the forward observer had been to drop 25 metres, and no one was going to question a forward observer’s command. Each artillery piece had two handwheels to govern elevation—up and down—and traverse—sideways. Each handwheel was calibrated in millimetres—a five-metre change over a 5000-metre distance. Each gun layer on each gun had to make a tiny turn of each hand-wheel to achieve a move in the gun’s fall-of-shot of 25 paces 5000 metres away. But they’d done it. Not once, but three times. Under the most extreme of conditions. Had the adjustments been enough? Had they been too much? The tannoy crackled. ‘Add 1000 metres. One round. Fire for effect.’ The spell was broken. A cheer went up around the battery. Such
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a call could only have been made if the APCs had arrived in time. The clockwork mechanism that had stopped working just a minute or two ago on the ‘Cease fire’ order swung into motion again, and within ten seconds the rounds were on their way.
The silence in the rubber plantation was short-lived. Artillery started to fall in a wide crescent from the eastern slopes of the hill through Phuoc Hung hamlet and around to the southern edge of the plantation above Long Tan village. It fell far behind Binh’s company, now manning the cordon through the plantation, and far behind the makeshift casualty clearing station at the plantation’s edge. It fell closer to the company marking and improving the track back to the H422 position, and some of it fell right on the unoccupied position. The intensity diminished, however, with salvos reducing to once every five minutes, then ten, then only every fifteen minutes. Some artillery appeared to have been withheld from this pattern and was used for the occasional random shoot into the plantation itself. These proved to be more dangerous to the withdrawal and the clearing operation than the main artillery fire-plan further out. Outside the rubber plantation, at the bridge over the Suoi Da Bang, the night was dark but not a total blackout. It was 7.10 p.m.—thirty minutes since Long Dien C2 Company, D445, had stopped firing their mortars and they had had no indication of what had happened elsewhere other than the artillery was still falling and the armoured cars had not returned. It was obvious now the attack on the base would not happen, so there was no further need to protect the river crossing point. The company leader gave the order to pack up and move out. They headed back the way they’d come, eastwards in the bush south of the road to Long Tan village. When they reached the village, they would skirt around it to the north and see if they could rejoin their battalion there. If not, they would head east and move
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deep into the bush before turning south to their base areas to the east of Dat Do town. It was so dark inside the plantation that Kim literally could not see his hand when he held it in front of his face. The group he had caught up with were now walking slowly and talking softly to each other as they moved east. They were moving along an avenue of trees, the men in front with their hands held out. As they located a tree they would whisper the news back, and the column would move on. It occurred to Kim that one artillery shell in the middle of them would take out the whole group of 20 or 30, but there was no other way of moving. The odd flash of artillery landing nearby helped them locate other small groups doing the same thing, and calling to them, Kim’s group grew larger as it moved slowly eastwards. To the northwest of the task force’s perimeter, D800 Battalion and the AAMGs reached the place where they intended to set up their diversionary action fire base. The Song Cau flowed for about 800 metres parallel to Route 2 and about 500 metres to its west. On the far side of the river, the ground was open grassland yet firm underfoot. Ngoc dispersed his men in the cleared area. There would be 1000 metres to the nearest infantry positions, 1000 metres to the forward slopes of the hill and 1200 metres into the armoured car positions. The four AAMGs would be able to fire across open sights. The small arms would be fired at settings between 1000 and 1500 metres but would be guided by the tracers’ flight path. Once in position, with their perimeter secured, Ngoc called in Buu and the company leaders. They had noted the change in the artillery firing and Ngoc had again tried to raise Chinh or Long on their radios without success. He told his command they’d remain in position until 11.45 p.m., when they were supposed to start their diversionary fire plan. If they had still received no change of orders, they would commence firing. If they received new orders, they would be called in to another meeting.
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Buu remained keen to immediately open a second front with the mercenaries. The artillery was keeping on firing, even if it was slower now, but whoever was on the receiving end would undoubtedly appreciate some fire being directed elsewhere. Ngoc once again overruled Buu, saying they’d keep with the plan until it was changed from above. At the 274 Regiment ambush site up near Courtenay, Chinh checked his watch in the dark. The luminous hands indicated 7.20 p.m. The worst of the storm had passed, and he had been able to talk to the others on his radio net except Ngoc. The heavy weapons group could not contact Ngoc either and they had been able to report mercenary artillery was still firing, but a slower rate. Chinh had confirmed his order to them in return to Hat Dich. Since the storm had moved on, he was now able to monitor the transmissions between Long and Quang. The attack had been cancelled. The decision had been made to withdraw from the Long Tan area and would be relayed to all radio stations in the next few minutes. There would be no attack on the mercenary base. There would be no column of imperialist armoured cars to fall into his ambitious ambush. There would be no magnificent victory to celebrate with the comrades in the next few days. The mercenaries would still be there tomorrow, and next week, and next month. Bitterly, Chinh wondered how the plan had come undone. And then he wondered how bad had been the damage to Long’s 275 Regiment. And then he wondered what would happen to Kiêt and Quang, the architects of what appeared to be a disaster. And finally, he started to wonder what advantages might come his way as a result.
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18–19 August 1966
At 7.30 p.m., Long told his radio operator to broadcast a message in plain language to all his callsigns. They were to disengage the enemy if still engaged, complete their clearance activities by 2.00 a.m. and withdraw to the place they’d been on the night before they’d reached Long Tan. All radio traffic was to stop except for emergencies. He would call in the morning to get reports from them.
In the task force battery lines, the change of fire missions completely altered the pace of activity. Gradually, the non-artillery people finished their tasks and drifted back to their units. Most of them had just experienced three hours in their lives they would never forget. The volunteers were not looking for thanks, even though gratitude was well warranted for what they had spontaneously done, given how indispensable it had been. Here and there, where gun line officers saw groups leaving, they called out their thanks. It wasn’t the artillery people’s fault—it was dark, there was still much to do—but most volunteers left the gun line without even being seen by the artillery crews. 333
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Mike returned to his tent at task force HQ and sat on his bed, exhausted. He hadn’t been able to find his shirt. Every muscle ached. His hands throbbed from handling the rounds, and were burned from his last task of helping to clear some of the still-hot spent shells from around the gun emplacements. He felt that he—and those like him who had turned up unasked, done whatever had been requested, and then left unacknowledged—had made a real difference. Hell—Mike had seen the difference they’d made. Tired beyond logical reasoning, he wondered what it had been like out at the other end. Then he wondered what had happened to his shirt. And then he was asleep. After the din of the last few hours, his mind didn’t even register the occasional firing of the artillery for the rest of the night.
What remained of the D445 HQ group now based its operations around the hut on the east–west track. From the end of the battle until well after midnight, it sent out search parties into the southern parts of the battle area. Stalking quietly through the plantation, each small group would move a few metres at a time, stop, and wait silently for a few seconds to listen for the sounds of the wounded. If they heard nothing, they would whisper loudly and listen for a response. If none was given, they’d move on. If they heard any sound, they would approach and challenge to ensure it wasn’t a trap. Working like this, the search parties retrieved more than 60 lost but unwounded soldiers from a variety of other units as well as some 100 dead and wounded, many still with their weapons and equipment. These were all returned to the hut, where the wounded were treated. Porter parties formed from the unwounded took the dead and the surplus weapons back to the old D445 positions on the northern outskirts of Long Tan village. There, they buried the dead in the weapon pits D445 had used earlier that day. The graves were temporary. In the coming weeks, burial parties would return to the village to dig up the bodies and give them proper graves further out in the bush. And they would retrieve the weapons.
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The temporary graves followed standard practice for the circumstance. Weapons were wrapped in whatever cloth was available and buried first, covered by a few inches of dry earth. Then as many bodies as would fit were laid in the grave until the top body was from fingertip to elbow under the lip of the pit. These were then buried under a hand-span of earth, and a layer of surface earth, sticks and leaves was thrown in. On this, one final body was laid, and covered to above surface level. A log or some rocks were then placed on top. The site was marked, using one or more secret identifying marks, and the area camouflaged. The procedure had reason. It was well-known that the puppet and imperialists forces—and, it could be assumed, the mercenaries, too—found digging up bodies distasteful. However, they were required to do it for the sake of their ‘body-count’ program. If they uncovered one body and found surface earth under it, they would usually stop digging, record one body, and move on. The comrades would not only have protected their weapons from discovery, they would also have denied their enemy the comfort of an accurate casualty count. The group Kim was in eventually reached the H422 cordon and was directed to follow the cordon to their left. Along with other small groups and individuals, they found themselves at the casualty clearing station at the edge of the plantation. Some were then set to cutting bamboo to make stretchers, and some became porters to carry the increasing numbers of wounded being brought in. Small oil lanterns flickered dimly at intervals along the path. A steady stream of wounded and their helpers trekked north, passed through the old H422 position, turned northeast and headed off into the bush. As the flow of returnees from the cordon eased, Binh sent additional small search parties out into the plantation to locate any remaining wounded and dead. They operated in much the same way as the search parties from D445 and, in the course of the next few hours, returned with 85 dead and wounded plus, in most cases, their equipment.
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At 9.15 p.m., a bracket of random artillery fell in the creek line next to the plantation, the nearest shell dropping into the creek where a party of medics were washing some of the wounded. Eight patients and medics died. Binh decided it was time to close the station and move on. Leaving the search operation to continue until midnight, he moved the station back to his old position in the lee of the hill. In the diversionary attack position, Buu was getting agitated. It was 10.00 p.m. already and he still had no idea if the attack was going ahead. The rain had eased off, but full cloud cover remained. Out in the open, it was barely light enough to see a few metres. He could see his own AAMG set up, with the belts of rounds laid out on nylon mats ready to be fed into the gun. The three other gun crews were indistinct shapes in the dark, though he knew they would be similarly prepared. But they had their orders, so they waited. Late in the night, the search parties heard the armoured cars start up and withdraw to the west. Guessing the few vehicles could not carry all the mercenaries who’d been on the battlefield, the search parties would still not approach the area of the final battle. A salvo of artillery was being fired only once every half-hour. The targets appeared to be possible withdrawal routes to the east of the plantation, with river lines a favoured impact area. To Long’s relief, however, the artillery was comparatively ineffective once it lifted beyond the plantation itself. The main withdrawal route was now established through H422 Battalion’s position in the shadow of the hill, and thence northeast along the line of the defended positions they’d created on their advance. The runner from D445 had advised they would be withdrawing through the northern edge of Long Tan village and thence eastwards, and Long couldn’t hear any artillery falling in that direction. At midnight, Ngoc decided he could wait no longer for confirmation to start the diversionary attack. Something had obviously gone
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badly wrong, and the attack was not going to proceed. He was concerned at not having heard and was worried he might not be doing the right thing. However, if the attack was going to occur, the support fire from the south would have started by now, and the ground assaults would be moving in. No sound indicated either thing was happening. Reluctantly, he sent a messenger to each of his company leaders to pack up and be prepared to move out in half an hour’s time. They would return to Nui Nghe and try to establish radio contact from the hilltop. Radio reception would be better there.
Just after midnight the first Chinook chopper arrived at Nui Dat with a resupply of 105mm ammunition. It started its descent while still over Hoa Long and, with landing lights lit, touched down onto Route 2 between the artillery batteries. The ramp was lowered, and the chopper raised its nose. The first pallet of shells slid along the rollers on the floor of the chopper and out onto the road. As the chopper moved slowly forwards, rear wheels on the road, the rest of the pallets followed. When the last pallet hit the dirt road, the chopper rose, closing its ramp, and clattered off into the night. Gaining height, it flew over task force HQ and then circled to the west over Route 2. Still climbing, it kept circling until it was pointing south, when it straightened up and headed for Vung Tau. As soon as the Chinook was clear, the Landrovers moved in. The pallet straps were unfastened and the individual boxes of two shells each were loaded onto the vehicles. The vehicles then made their way each to their own battery’s ammo dump. There, tired hands stacked the boxes into the bays, and the vehicles returned to the road for the next load. The battle might have been over for now, but the work at the batteries would continue for several more hours. Ten minutes after the first had left, the second Chinook arrived. It followed the same procedure and left the task force area half an hour after midnight. Ten minutes later, the third Chinook arrived.
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Ngoc’s messenger arrived at Buu’s position after the first two helicopters had flown directly overhead, and while the third one was landing. Buu listened to Ngoc’s message and passed his orders to the other three AAMG teams to pack up and be ready to move out. To his own team, he gave orders to pack up all but one belt of 50 rounds and leave the gun set up, ready for his use. He wasn’t going to leave the area without the mercenaries knowing he’d been there! At 12.40 a.m., the third Chinook rose above the rubber trees and followed the same flight path as the other two. It was over the hill and climbing as Buu’s AAMG spat to life. The first few shots were wild, with the difficult angle, but adjusting off the tracer, Buu hit the helicopter when he was about halfway through the ammo belt. The rounds followed the helicopter as it lumbered away. Buu watched as three tracer rounds passed right through the aircraft’s cabin and spun off into the night sky. He knew there were four non-tracer rounds between each tracer. They would also have hit the helicopter. Then the gun ran out of ammo. Although the helicopter kept flying, Buu knew he had hit it maybe fifteen or twenty times. Angry it hadn’t fallen out of the sky but satisfied he’d at least done something, Buu had his team strip the machine gun into its carrying parts, then his small group followed D800 back into the bush. At 2.00 a.m., conceding he couldn’t do anything further for his scattered and withdrawing forces, Long gave the order for the 275 Regiment HQ unit to withdraw. They would move north and link up with H422 Battalion before turning northeast and joining what he imagined would be a difficult series of defended withdrawals. Their preparations on the move-in would now prove invaluable in protecting the rear of the withdrawal. A series of defendable battalion positions to withdraw through meant the mercenary follow-up would have a bloody nose to remember the battle by.
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The lights didn’t go out at the task force command post. With the news that the known dead and wounded had been evacuated, there was now the matter of what follow-up action could and should be taken. Operation Smithfield was created—the follow-up of the enemy forces from Long Tan. Reinforcements would be needed. 6RAR already had two-and-a-half companies out with the APCs. A half-company was at Vung Tau. The fourth company, Charlie Company, was needed for base protection. Jackson had to arrange for a company from 5RAR to join the 6RAR operation. And he had to advise General Mackay in Saigon. And Colonel Dat in Ba Ria. Jackson called for his planning staff to work through the night. Despite all the missing detail, it was clear he’d been savagely mauled. One of his companies had been hit hard and was at less than halfstrength. Right now, the VC, masters of the night in Phuoc Tuy Province despite the two 5RAR cordons, could be anywhere. They could be massing for another attack on the forces beside the rubber plantation—after all, their position had now been compromised by the dustoff choppers. Or they could be bypassing the APCs and heading towards the depleted base. Or the Long Tan action could still be just a diversion to draw his forces to the east—the real attack could be at this moment building up from the west. If this was the case, then it had worked. A third of his working APCs, plus the greater part of an infantry battalion were all out of the base, not to mention the normal scale of platoon ambushes and a 5RAR company out on a three-day operation. And then there was the fact his artillery batteries were now desperately low on ammo, and the resupply would take the rest of the morning. In the early hours of 19 August, things didn’t look at all good from Brigadier Jackson’s point of view. A company decimated, and not one enemy body to claim as bodycount. Although reports indicated that the artillery had been accurate and effective in stopping the company from being overrun, he couldn’t include in the
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bodycount any bodies that hadn’t been formally counted. The APCs with more infantry aboard had prevented the company from being surrounded but again, had not stopped to count bodies. The public would not tolerate massive Australian casualties in what was supposed to be a limited war, especially without evidence that those casualties had achieved some significant victory. But victory was not on Jackson’s mind. In fact, it looked to Jackson like a career-threatening debacle.
At 2.15 a.m., the search parties from H422 and its cordon withdrew from the plantation. They had cleared as much as they could without showing lights and without approaching too close to the last mercenary position, which they thought was still being defended despite the withdrawal of the armoured cars. They had crossed and re-crossed much of the plantation and had several times met up with the D445 search patrols as they too scoured the plantation. Gathering back at the clearing station, they tried to clean up that area before they left. Then they moved back along the track, covering the route as best they could, burying dropped bandages and equipment and extinguishing and burying the small oil lamps. At their previous battalion position they met up with the groups from the hill and together they buried the remaining withdrawal debris in some weapon pits. Taking care to camouflage their departure route, they were gone by 4.00 a.m. In the two hours remaining before dawn, there was enough light in the sky for them to have crossed the Suoi Mon and to have caught up with the slow-moving main column’s tail. Also at 2.15 a.m., with the area as cleared as they could reasonably hope, D445 Battalion formed up as a unit and made a tactical withdrawal from the hut. The mercenary artillery still periodically drilled through the heavy air above them, but it was falling mostly to the north, on and around the hill and off to the east. Once out from under the rubber canopy, they had the dull starglow light their way.
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With their wounded and dead, they moved southeast towards the village of Long Tan. There, they met up with Long Dien C2 Company returning from the bridge. Together, they buried the last of their dead in the weapon pits as the previous burial parties had done. Then, skirting the village’s northern edge, they headed off into the bush to its east, then south. They moved as quickly as they could until first light, when they lay up and camouflaged their position well against the inevitable follow-up aerial searches.
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RECONSTRUCTION
19–23 August 1966
At Nui May Tao, the mood was dark. Dawn of the 19th changed nothing but the colour of the sky. On the previous afternoon, before the rains, Quang had ordered the spare radio to be set up in the dugout meeting room and tuned to 275 Regiment’s net. What they’d monitored had told them that the regiment and its attached battalions had arrived in the Long Tan rubber plantation. They’d settled into separate defensive positions to await the rain. They were sending out screening patrols and all was well. The comrade logging the radio traffic had noted all the locations and plotted them on a small-scale map hanging on the blackboard. But after the rains started, the radio traffic had suddenly increased dramatically. As the storm developed, the messages had become distorted with static. It was difficult to follow what was happening. There was talk of contacts with a mercenary patrol and some flanking moves ordered. Then another group was encountered. The comrade logging the radio calls was having trouble recording the events and moves. Alarm spread on the hill, and the division’s leaders crowded into the dugout meeting room. 342
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All through the afternoon the divisional officers had sat huddled around the radio set, eager for every radio transmission from their forces at Long Tan. Each radio call had been logged and, where possible, moves had been plotted on the map. It had become obvious the situation was getting worse and worse. As the radio traffic increased, it became more difficult to log the calls, so Tien and Van took over the plotting of the movements on the map. Through the late afternoon, they’d shared the frustration they knew Long was feeling as time and again the ordered movements failed to locate the mercenaries. By nightfall the map was a tangle of lines and arrows recording the movements of Long’s units as they searched for the elusive mercenaries. They’d heard the reports sent by Long’s battalions advising him, in thinly veiled code words, of their casualties and of their reduced ability to achieve other tasks. With each radio transmission, the mood at the divisional HQ had become darker. Finally, at 7.30 p.m., they’d heard the radio message calling for all callsigns to disengage and withdraw to the place they had been at the night before they arrived at Long Tan. The ‘disengage and withdraw’ order spelled out the doom of the attack. Ashen-faced, Quang had left the meeting room without a word and had gone to his hut. Quang had guessed, rightly, the only news overnight would be bad news, and it would still be there in the morning. Lying in his hammock, Quang spent the night alone and awake, reliving the afternoon’s tragedy, trying to understand how it had happened, and more importantly, privately, why. It had all gone so well up until the afternoon of the 18th. The string of diversions over to the west had kept the mercenaries focused away from the east. The slow and steady advance of the 275 Regiment assault force across the province had remained undetected. The string of battalion-sized defendable positions had been constructed. They had arrived safely at the Long Tan rubber plantation. They’d met D445, who’d taken and held the river crossing point. All the local guides needed for the night of the 18th had been assembled. Their presence in Hoa Long had not raised the suspicions
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of the local puppet outpost. The heavy weapons move all the way across the top of the province was a success. Even the 274 Regiment ambush on Route 2 had not been detected. All the careful planning and preparations—not a thing had gone wrong. Not a thing. The bombardment of the mercenary base had had the desired effect—it had forced them to send out a search party. The false tracks had been carefully laid by the withdrawing bombardment teams. Our observers had reported the tracks had been found and followed the next day—the 17th. They’d then rejoined their units in the Long Tan rubber plantation to await the start of the monsoon on the 18th. All this had been reported in the radio contact on the night of the 17th. It was such a perfect plan. It had all worked out, even down to the finest detail. And then everything had started to come undone. The scheduled radio contact for 6.00 p.m. on the 18th, just before nightfall, should have been to advise that the assault force was advancing into the task force artillery umbrella. Thereafter, they would keep radio silence until about 10.00 p.m., when it was expected the forces moving in from the east and the west would join up. After the forces linked with their fire support, nothing could stop the attack. But the 6.00 p.m. radio report had carried an entirely different message. To the horror of all the divisional leaders, there came the news a group of mercenaries had been encountered in the rubber plantation and Long was dealing with it. No details. The static generated by the storm over the province made it difficult to even understand the short message transmitted. At Nui May Tao, they’d cursed the loss of security the meeting with the mercenaries would mean, but what could the mercenaries do about it? Night was only an hour away, and the attack could neither be predicted by the mercenaries nor called off by the regiment. When Quang returned to the dugout meeting room, the pall of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air like the sense of defeat that created it. The news hadn’t improved overnight. He was well aware COSVN would want a report on the outcome of the assault on the Australian base by noon. Working with
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Kiêt and Tien, he drafted the required signal to his superiors. Carefully selecting their words, they advised them the attack on the Australian base had been called off because the assault force had become involved in a battle on the way in. The outcome was unclear, they stressed, but the circumstances and numbers would have been against the enemy. They blamed the severe storm experienced at the time for the poor radio communications and promised to send a more detailed account within 24 hours. A brief version of the message was encoded and sent at noon, with a full message being typed and sent by courier. For the rest of the day, Quang addressed himself and his staff to the arrangements he already knew must be put in place to handle the situation. For a start, all the hospital and medical facilities were warned to expect a larger number of casualties than they had previously been told. The bullock cart supply convoy was to be unloaded and sent, with a medical team, to the place on Route 328 where the assault forces had started their advance. The porter team was recalled and put to work digging graves in a secluded valley in the foothills. Orders had to be typed allocating units to camps for their recovery and reorganisation. Supplies and staff would be required for these camps. The meetings and discussions lasted well into the afternoon. During the day, several radio calls were monitored on the regimental net and a few transmissions were made from 275 Regiment to 5th Division. The news continued to be bad. As time wore on, the HQ groups were getting more detailed reports from their subordinate staffs, and the facts and figures emerging were bleak indeed. Accounts were being reported of whole platoons and even companies wiped out. As stragglers joined the retreating column, roll calls were adjusted, but not dramatically. The two battalions that had borne the brunt of the fighting could not account for more than 50 per cent of their men. The third battalion reported 20 per cent losses. D445 reported 38 dead and another 40 wounded. D440 reported even greater losses. At first, Quang kept a tally on the blackboard in the meeting room where the radio set was, but as the hours passed
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and the numbers grew, he wiped the blackboard and kept the numbers in his notebook. He commented to Tien that it wasn’t good for morale for the HQ staff to see the numbers, but Tien was also beginning to see the effect the numbers were having upon Quang himself. He noticed Quang was withdrawing more and more as the details accumulated. He was like a punchdrunk boxer, taking the continual bad news and mentally staggering onto the next news. Over the course of the day, Tien saw Quang develop a sort of a fixed stare, an inward-looking, vacant expression. He could concentrate when he had to, but several times, Tien had caught him sitting and staring into space. The man was troubled deep, deep inside, and Tien worried about his leader’s capacity to handle the further bad news Tien suspected was yet to arrive. Kiêt had reverted to his original solemn and remote nature, sitting and listening, usually without saying a word. Where Quang was visibly wilting in the face of each new shock, Kiêt remained impassive. The friendly relationship developed over the past few months between him and Tien appeared to remain sturdy. This was not surprising under the circumstances. Kiêt knew he was every bit as responsible for the decision to accept that plan to attack the Australians as Quang was—maybe even more so. If he were to survive this, he’d need the strong support of the 5th Division operations officer. Tien, on the other hand, understood that if he backed Kiêt, then Quang would carry the burden of the blunder and be removed, and that would leave an opening for a replacement. Kiêt’s recommendation to COSVN would surely carry a lot of weight. The two men didn’t discuss these aspects of their separate situations, but it appeared each was aware of the possibilities.
The Huey skimmed over the last of the treetops and across the swollen stream. As it slowed down, Mike Davis could see the APCs
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ahead, engines running, awaiting their arrival before moving out— back to the battlefield. He glanced at his watch—9.30 a.m. They were just in time. For a few seconds, the Huey hovered before settling down, then the six occupants of the chopper leaped out and made their way to the nearest APCs. As soon as they were aboard, the APCs raised their ramps and the lead vehicles moved off eastwards. Mike stood up in the open hatch and saw that the task force photographer, Warrant Officer Bill Cuneen, was in the next APC. They exchanged waves. Earlier that morning, Delta Company of 5RAR had swept quickly through the battlefield to secure the far edge. Their reports of massive devastation in the plantation had triggered a scramble to get onto the few available flights and go out to the battlefield. Mike and Bill had been lucky—the Brigadier had ordered them to go, so their seats on the last chopper were guaranteed. Alpha and Bravo Companies had walked into the battlefield after Delta/5RAR to secure the area and its flanks. Adding to the excitement at task force HQ, they reported scores of enemy dead littering several wide areas within the plantation. And they had even captured a wounded VC. With the battlefield now secured, the APCs were bringing back the bruised Delta Company of 6RAR—the unit which had fought the battle in the plantation—to see the results of the battle for themselves and to clean the place up while the operation to pursue the VC got under way. A hundred metres beyond the north–south track, the APCs slowed down. Ahead of them, the neat and orderly rubber plantation began to give way to a scene of destruction. A crescent of broken and stripped rubber trees defined where the company’s final position had been and where the VC artillery had fallen. Among the branches on the ground, Mike could see dozens of shell craters, most filled with muddy red water. And in the craters, under the branches and everywhere between the trees, the ground was littered with the detritus of battle. Bodies, parts of bodies, equipment, rifles, rocket
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launchers, magazines of ammunition. As far through the trees as Mike could see, bodies and equipment lay strewn and abandoned. Each platoon of Delta Company had had its own battle before assembling with the rest of the company at the final position, and each battle area had to be cleared. The company dismounted and formed up into groups. 10 Platoon was going to retrace its steps to the site of its battle at the north of the plantation. The second group, 11 and 12 Platoons, was to retrace their steps through the position near the hut and onto the initial contact area. The APCs formed up and moved to the sites of their own two contacts with the VC the previous afternoon. Mike and the photographer accompanied the second infantry group. All three groups advanced into more areas of devastation, discovering more corpses and more equipment. Moving into the initial contact area, the group Mike was with retrieved the 15 mates who they’d had to abandon during the battle and were mightily relieved to find two of the men still alive. A dustoff chopper was called in. The Australian casualty figures were now established as seventeen dead and 24 wounded. One of the wounded, an APC driver, would later die of wounds. The gloom of disaster was turning into the realisation that, proportionally, the achievement was actually a magnificent victory. Two more VC POWs were recovered. A body count was organised, and the company started the task of clearing the battlefield, collecting the bodies for burial and the equipment for return to task force. The battlefield clearance would last for three days. The body count was stopped at 245 and didn’t include the dozens more discovered on the withdrawal routes. The follow-up operation went for a week, without further contact. Mike returned to task force HQ the same afternoon. That evening, he wrote and sent his seventh report to 173rd Airborne. He told them as much as he could about the battle, as he understood it. The flow of the battle was now known, and by nightfall the scope of the victory was obvious. Initial reports from the POW interrogation
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had established the enemy had indeed been an NVA regiment— the 275th—with two other battalions attached. He closed with a paragraph on the sterling work of the artillery and the RAAF choppers’ mid-battle ammo supply, and of the action of the APCs with their infantry mounted in preventing the small force from being surrounded by the VC late in the battle. How would his commanders react to this Australian battle, he wondered? Theirs were some of the voices expressing concern at Australian methods and tactics. Mike was unsure if he had described the action in a realistic enough manner. Rereading his own report, it looked like a work of fantasy. Still, he decided, it was the truth as he understood it. He sent the report.
At noon on the 20th, Kiêt, Quang and Tien compiled their next transmission to COSVN. The earlier brief transmission had generated a flurry of radio traffic requesting and then demanding details, but Quang simply did not have the details to share. For the second message, what detail was available was all bad. Reluctantly, the three leaders decided they had to share what they had. Less reluctantly, they agreed it needed to have a positive gloss put on it. This time Tien took the lead in drafting the wording, working with his political cadre, Kiêt. Quang contributed but without enthusiasm, except when he told Tien to tell COSVN their loaned battalion, the 860th, had not been involved in the action. The resulting coded transmission advised COSVN that 5th Division had inflicted a major defeat on the mercenary forces, but at considerable cost to themselves. While the actual numbers were not known yet, it was understood two of the 5th Division battalions had suffered some losses, but a battalion of mercenaries had been wiped out, along with some armoured cars and a few aircraft. Upon receipt of the message, COSVN, predictably, again demanded further details. Tien added some details about the battle area, how the 5th Division forces had met the enemy in the rubber
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plantation at Long Tan and how D445 had had a separate battle with the relief forces sent out to help the doomed mercenaries in the plantation. The word ‘ambush’ had not yet been used, but it had been in Tien’s mind since yesterday and he’d discussed it briefly with Kiêt. Privately, Kiêt had jumped at the idea. He considered it would be an appealing thought to show the battle had been the result of their planning rather than the result of a mistake in their planning. He had encouraged Tien to develop the idea. After sending the transmissions to COSVN, Quang returned to his hut. Taking advantage of Quang’s absence, Kiêt and Tien called in Van and discussed how they would first obtain all the battle details and then how they would justify it if it did in fact turn out to be the disaster it looked like becoming. They all agreed they would need to get the information first-hand—from those involved. Not only would this ensure what information they got was as accurate as possible, it would also identify each holder of information. Knowing who had the information was sometimes as important as the information itself. Later that day, Kiêt had Tien type out orders for all the senior leaders and cadre leaders involved in the battle to come to the Nui May Tao on the 24th for a detailed debrief. In taking the initiative, Kiêt was slowly beginning to distance himself from the debacle. That afternoon, Tien radioed Chinh and told him of the debrief to be held at Nui May Tao on the 24th and asked him to be present. The first groups of comrades from the battle started arriving in the Nui May Tao on 21 August. These were small groups of men who had not joined the main withdrawing group and who, not encumbered with wounded or additional equipment, had made better time than the rest. They brought with them harrowing tales of their own encounters with the mercenaries or with their artillery or both. None of them had much of an idea of what had happened outside their personal experiences. They would not be useful for the debrief, so they were shepherded out of the main camps and into outlying
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camps with orders to rest and relax—they would be brought in for the battalion reorganisations when the main groups arrived. The main group arrived at Route 328 on the 22nd. Waiting at the road to meet them was a delegation from 5th Division HQ with medical teams and a bullock cart convoy. The medical teams took over from the over-stretched battalion medics. The carts, travelling by day under the thick jungle canopy of the sanctuary areas north of Xuyen Moc, took the wounded directly to the K-76c hospital complexes in and around the Nui May Tao. The HQ delegation met the surviving battalion and regimental leaders and passed them the orders from Kiêt requiring them to be on the Hill on the 24th. The shattered H421 and H423 Battalions were ordered to move beyond the sanctuary areas, beyond Route 329, and into the wild areas around the Nui Be mountain complex in Binh Tuy Province. The more-or-less intact H422 Battalion was ordered to remain on the province border, not only to screen the other battalions as they recovered, but to be able to defend the Nui May Tao complex if that became necessary. The remnants of D440 Battalion were left just inside the province border to the east of Xuyen Moc, where D445 Battalion joined them the following day. For the time being, all of these units were ordered only to regroup and reorganise into viable forces again, and to advise their HQ units of reinforcement and equipment needs as soon as possible. Late afternoon of the 23rd, Chinh and Long arrived at Nui May Tao and met Tien and Kiêt in the dugout meeting room. All were keen to explore what had actually happened, in advance of the debrief scheduled for the next day. The four men spent two hours discussing the action before Kiêt and Tien left for their quarters. It had been a master stroke on the part of Kiêt and Tien. Just their presence together as the representatives of 5th Division HQ was enough to imply the leader responsible for the planning debacle must have been Quang. If the two regimental leaders considered the implanting of this thought had been deliberate—even planned—they gave no indication.
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24 August 1966
On the morning of the 24th, Quang and his senior staff met with as many of the 5th Division leaders and senior leaders as had received the summons and been able to attend. The leaders of 274 and 275 Regiments and of D445 and D440 Battalions were there, along with many of their HQ section leaders. Binh, the only surviving 275 Regiment battalion leader, was present. A sprinkling of company leaders, including Kim, and cadre leaders attended. It was obvious to all that Quang was not in control of the event. He sat, pale and distracted, to one side of the room. Kiêt sat on the other side of the room, cool and aloof, as if to distance himself from Quang. Tien, the operations section leader, started the debrief. He hung on the blackboard a clean copy of Van’s large-scale map of Long Tan’s Nui Dat area. It was the map drawn up in mid-April, more than four months ago, in preparation for the possibility that the mercenaries may choose to set up their base there. It was highly detailed and accurate, and the usual 1000-metre grid had been subdivided into 100-metre squares. On it he would plot all the movements so everyone could see what had really happened. 352
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Long was first invited to show the position of his forces as they were on the afternoon of the 18th, before the rain. Referring to his notes and his staff ’s map, Long drew in the locations of each battalion—H421, H422 and H423. He drew in D440 at the rear and D445 at the village. He then added the company on the hill and the company at the bridge. Finally, he drew in the routes of the clearing patrol that protected his forces as they waited for the monsoon. Then, starting from the wounding of the clearing patrol men at 3.30 p.m., the assembled leaders from the battle stepped through each action and order they, as a group, recalled, until the ‘disengage’ order given at 7.30 p.m. They referred to the log written at Nui May Tao to get the timings, but generally there was little dispute as to what had happened where, and when. The biggest disputes were reserved for their estimates of the mercenary strengths as they were being discussed. The flow of the battle was more or less resolved into four separate actions after the initial firing upon and follow-up of the clearing patrol. The first action was the confronting of the mercenaries by Kim and his attempts to envelop them. In the telling of the story, Kim estimated they were facing a company of mercenaries. Once drawn onto the map, however, they could see the area being encircled was not more than 50 metres by 50 metres—certainly not large enough to allow for a company of mercenaries. The same thing happened when the narrative moved onto the second action—the engagement and pursuit, first by parts of Tang’s H423 Battalion and then by parts of Ginh’s H421 Battalion, of the second mercenary force at the north of the plantation. Again, when the moves were transferred onto the map, it became obvious this, too, could not have been the company it was estimated to be at the time. Tien glanced at Quang. The truths falling from the map might as well have been blows falling on Quang himself. As he sat and watched the proceedings, no one looked at or referred to him. It was as if he wasn’t really there at all, thought Tien. In the third action, the mercenaries were met by both arms of
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the forces that were encircling the first group of mercenaries. The same force had separately engaged elements of C1, then C2 and then C4 Companies of D440 Battalion. As with the two previous actions, the third enemy group was shown on the map to have been holding even less ground than the first enemy group, and couldn’t possibly have been a company group. Long’s supposition of a fourth group was correct, but instead of it being made up of four companies and a battalion HQ group, it looked like three platoons and a company HQ group were involved. The group from the second action was shown to have withdrawn to the fourth group. The first group joined the third group, and they both withdrew to the fourth group. Long’s forces followed up both groups and hit the fourth group. It was there the final action took place. After each of the attacking force leaders marked on the map where they were and where they moved, it was again obvious the final position could only have held a company—not even a depleted battalion. The perimeter when the assaults started was estimated to be less than 100 metres across, but towards the end of the fighting, the attackers estimated it could have been barely more than 60 metres. Lan then drew in his locations on the two occasions when his forces had engaged the mercenary armoured cars. He explained that at no time had he seen more than seven vehicles, but the others indicated that as the vehicles finally approached the mercenary position just on dark, one was seen to drive away and three more joined—nine in total. Again, if each carried only a squad of mercenaries, the reinforcements could not have been more than an understrength company. The implications of the conclusion were fully understood before the words were uttered. The discussion had gone on all morning. Tien glanced at his watch. ‘It’s noon. I’m going to split you into your functional groups and set you some planning tasks for tomorrow. But I want your preliminary thoughts by four o’clock today.’
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D445 2 Company defending bridge with 82mm mortars
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Mercenary positions numbered as they were encountered by the 275 Regiment forces.
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Tien then addressed each group. The political cadre was told the action of the 18th had had to be made into an ambush and, despite the casualties, it had been successful. The operations section leaders had to work the facts into a plausible ambush scenario, and the cadre had to justify it politically. The intelligence section leaders were to consider what measures could be taken to repair the damage done internally. The staff leaders were to split up the decimated units and subunits and post them to separate recovery camps distributed over the four provinces. They were to consider what measures could be taken to restore the comrades’ morale and fighting spirit. Kiêt stood, nodded to Tien and moved to the exit ramp. Passing Quang, he neither paused nor looked at him. The message was not subtle, and was not missed by any in the room. The political cadre leader had passed judgement. The unspoken verdict was ‘guilty’. As the remaining leaders filed out, passing Quang and avoiding eye contact, the verdict was endorsed. Eyes fixed on the floor, Quang accepted the judgement without question. Within himself, he’d already declared himself guilty— guilty of not living up to his own destiny. It no longer mattered to him what the others decided. When the last leader left the room, Quang stood up wearily and went to his hut. There, he lay in his hammock and, eyes fixed on the ceiling, spent the afternoon wondering ‘why?’.
When Kiêt entered the meeting room at 4.00 p.m. that afternoon, everyone, including Quang, was there. Kiêt sat and nodded to Tien to proceed. Tien called for each group’s planning ideas as requested. The political cadre and operations section agreed there was a case to be made for an ambush scenario and they’d already made a list of factors that could be convincingly used to support the case. They listed the broad sweep of what might have happened if they had indeed planned an ambush.
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➢ Since there are no mercenary installations at Long Tan, then any battle there cannot have been an attack—therefore this ‘proves’ it must have been an ambush. ➢ With minor adjustments, our positioning at Long Tan could be made to look like an ambush. ➢ Did we not conduct a highly successful ambush at Binh Gia in a rubber plantation? So an ambush in the Long Tan rubber plantation will not appear unprecedented. ➢ We can explain the mortaring as intending to draw out the enemy into our ambush. They then listed a number of items they would have to alter or ignore if the action had been an ambush. ➢ We cannot explain the 38-hour time difference from the mortaring to the battle. ➢ We had no weapon pits or other diggings at the battle site. ➢ We had no telephone line laid for communication during the ambush. ➢ We employed no Claymore-style or command-detonated mines. ➢ We did not put an ambush on the only river crossing to stop reinforcements. ➢ We did not trap our enemy inside a prepared kill area—we had to go looking for them. ➢ We had little indirect weapon support, and what we had was only light calibre. ➢ Our junior leaders had not fully recce’d the battle area beforehand. ➢ We had no planned withdrawal route. ➢ We did not pre-position units to isolate the battle site. Our units were positioned for an entirely different purpose. ➢ A successful ambush would have lasted only a few minutes— this battle lasted over three hours. ➢ We would have positioned a force to come in behind the
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enemy to cut off any retreat as well as any reinforcements. We did not have a cut-off force at the battle. With a sweep of his arm, Tien dismissed the second list. ‘If we don’t mention these things, then how will anyone ever find out? Let us concentrate on what we have supporting us. What you’ve got is good enough to proceed on tomorrow. We’ll look at the details then.’ Kiêt stood and turned to the room. ‘We’ll withdraw all the unit journals immediately and have them adjusted to back up the scenario as agreed tomorrow.’ Tien nooded. His mind flipped back to the quiet conversation he’d listened to between Quang and Kiêt only a few months ago. He recalled Quang telling them about the matter of General Giap ordering the rewriting of the unit journals after Dien Bien Phu. Many, if not most, of the others in the room wouldn’t understand the implications of this action, but if the political cadre agreed, then they would all agree, no matter what it meant! The intelligence leaders offered three areas where they could help. First, they would work with the battle leaders group to propose mercenary losses. Next, they would adjust their own records to show how, following the ambush, the mercenary capacity was greatly diminished. This would be advised to COSVN for propaganda broadcast internationally. Finally, they suggested it would be prudent for them to issue an order advising comrades to avoid deliberately engaging the mercenaries until we know more of their operational methods and weaknesses. To give it authority, the order would come from COSVN and the Communist Eastern Zone Command—the group who controlled Liberation Forces activity in 5th Division’s area of operations. Kiêt agreed with this but wanted the wording to show that the only reason for not engaging the mercenaries was that they were not very important. Perhaps the message should be couched in terms making the mercenaries an irrelevance and stressing that the Liberation Forces should concentrate on the main enemy—the
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puppet regime. Besides, with one of their battalions decimated, there weren’t many of them to engage any more, were there? Everyone at the meeting nodded. On the issue of troop morale, the staff leaders agreed to distribute the units across the four provinces and repost groups and individuals to reform new units. Diminish the possibility that those who might now be less committed to the cause since the battle could influence others in the same direction. To further restore spirits, a program of dance, entertainment and cultural activities could be arranged to divert the troops while the restructure took place. Rest from operations would be followed by retraining and further political and ideological studies under the guidance of the cadre. In order to help in the reorganisation, they would recall 274 Regiment to the Nui May Tao. They would assist with the relocations as well as maintaining security. Tien agreed with this and advised Chinh to leave D800 Battalion on the west of Route 2 to maintain a presence in that area but to recall the rest of his regiment to Nui May Tao immediately. The staff leaders also suggested a series of group and individual awards be made to the forces involved. Just on a year previously, the NLF had created an NLF Order as an award to individuals exceptionally serving the cause of resistance in the south. The Resolution for Victory Order was also available for units. Finally, there was the Liet Si award—literally, the Hero award. For the units and groups, there could be the Liberation Military Exploit Order. Kiêt and Tien were satisfied with the early ideas presented. They would now monitor all groups as they developed their plans and initiatives over the next few days. They were aware they were rewriting history but they had the knowledge that this had happened before. Besides, if it had the sanction of the senior political cadre, Commissar Kiêt himself, it could hardly be questioned.
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25–26 August 1966
Hai could do little for Quang, his senior leader and his friend. He was excluded from the collection of leaders who were gathered, analysing all the facts. He was not involved in any of the discussions or decisions. The best he could do was wait around Quang’s hut and hope to be able to offer advice, comfort or even plain friendship whenever his friend left the meeting room and returned to his room. Which is what he did. He stationed himself on a seat next to the approach to Quang’s quarters and he waited. On the rocky outcrop near the main camp at sunset of 24 August, the two regimental leaders, Chinh and Long, sat with the operations section leader, Tien. As soon as it was obvious only the three of them were attending, Tien excused himself and went into the camp, returning a few minutes later with three mugs of sweet tea. A few minutes after that, Kiêt turned up, hot tea in hand. If the two regimental leaders thought Tien had fetched Kiêt, they gave no indication of the thought. Quang was conspicuous by his absence, as were Hai and the rest of the divisional HQ leaders. They talked of the battle, and of the men. Of the plan, of the lost opportunity and of the mercenaries. They talked of luck and fate. 360
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But without ever mentioning his name, they mostly talked of Quang. They talked as one by one the separate peaks of the Dragon’s Backbone were swallowed by the night. Finally, with only the pale glow of a quarter moon to light the way, Kiêt and Tien returned to the camp. They had achieved their aim—neither regimental leader would support Quang when the time came. In a further hour of almost whispered conversation, Chinh and Long exchanged reactions to Quang’s predicament. Chinh—shrewd, politically sensitive and politically well-connected—recognised that Quang had had an opportunity but had failed. It may or may not have been his fault, but, in senior leadership, as in political life, fault was not a matter easily avoided. If you could pass the fault to others, good and well, but if you couldn’t pass it on, it was almost invariably fatal. And it looked at this stage like Quang wouldn’t be able to pass it on. In his mind, Chinh was already drafting his own report to his circle of friends at COSVN and further North. Long was a great deal more bitter. He had good cause to be, on at least two points—it was he who had argued most strenuously against sending the heavy weapons by the separate route, and it was he whose regiment had suffered such horrendous losses. He took the whole matter as a personal blow. While not entirely unsympathetic to Quang’s plight, he was not forgiving, either. Chinh and Long had never been more than vague acquaintances, and this would not draw them any closer. Chinh naturally felt sorry for what Long had experienced, but there was no political advantage in sorrow. Political advantage sprouted from knowledge, and Chinh was going to use all the knowledge he could glean for his own advancement. Long, on the other hand, disrespected Chinh and his flaunted political connections. To Long, a leader was a comrade first and perhaps a schemer second. On his way up the ladder of appointments, there were occasions where Long had perhaps manipulated events to a small degree, but never as overtly as Chinh was known to have done. And looked like doing again.
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On the morning of the 25th, all the leaders once again filed in to the dugout meeting room. The task for the day was to sum up the findings, draw the conclusions and set the tasks that would repair the damage done in the last week. The discussions took all morning, but the decisions were made. It was time to close the meeting and get on with the tasks. This was a defining psychological point, thought Tien. If he, Tien, were to stand up and draw the conclusions, he could hardly be disassociated from the disaster. If he were to remain independent of the disaster, then he must not be connected with the findings of the debrief. The shrewdest thing he could think of was to place the responsibility for drawing the conclusion where it belonged—with his leader, Quang. After that, he could step in and co-ordinate the reconstruction. He could see Quang had already disassociated from the debrief. Tien stood up. He thanked all those who had presented their parts of the story, then invited Quang to conclude the meeting and perhaps add his comments. Quang accepted the invitation as inevitable. If he was aware Tien had considered his options, he didn’t show it. Wearily, he moved to the blackboard. ‘Comrades,’ said Quang glumly, ‘We have employed a regiment to engage a company and we cannot say we have won.’ Taking his notebook out of his pocket, he flicked slowly through several pages. ‘At last count we have lost 530 dead and we have more than 300 wounded. Our D445 comrades tell us the mercenaries only needed six helicopters to evacuate their casualties.’ Quang did not know the Australians had left casualties on the battlefield; his every movement and word to the gathering defined defeat. ‘We will take a break now for our meal. Reconvene in one hour.’ They all filed out of the meeting room, leaving Quang staring at the map. However, his eyes were not focused on the map. They were focused on an event 37 years ago. The image of the old woman danced before his eyes. With a serious expression, she said ‘. . . your
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own careful planning will be a critical factor in your fate . . .’ How right she was, he thought bitterly. The detailed map of Long Tan’s Nui Dat area he’d commissioned as part of his detailed planning was now bringing him undone. The map proved conclusively that the enemy could only have been a company. Again, the image spoke ‘. . . the only thing that can condemn you will be your own efficiency.’ How right she was again. It was on his orders the battle messages had been logged. It was that log which now ensured that the battle record couldn’t be skewed. His division—he himself—stood condemned by the record. His careful planning and meticulous preparation had been undone by a mere company of mercenaries. What a disgrace. The image before his eyes suddenly burst into hysterical, maniacal laughter. Quang was sitting as they’d left him when the others filed back in to the dugout meeting room—with his head in his hands, staring at the floor under the blackboard map. They took their seats, silent and sullen. There was no friendly chatter, no buzz of animated conversation. Nothing but the rustle of clothes and the shuffling into position. Although no one looked at Quang, he could feel each pair of eyes drilling into his back. ‘I’m like buffalo droppings on a narrow path,’ he thought. ‘They acknowledge my presence only by avoiding me.’ After the others, Kiêt entered followed by Tien, who approached Quang. ‘Message from COSVN, comrade Quang,’ he said, and handed Quang a folded sheet of paper. Quang stood, took the paper and left the room. In his quarters, Quang read the radio message with a distinct air of fatalism. ‘You are to report to General Tran Van Tra at COSVN immediately.’ All the reports spread on his ammunition box table so far read like a bell tolling his own doom. The list of missing units and subunits just kept growing. The tally of known dead had passed 530 overnight. The unaccounted-for now stood at 235, but he had
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hopes there were still some platoons or even whole companies out there in the bush still making their way back to base. And the hospital facilities, which just a week before had boasted that they could handle 200 battle casualties, were overflowing with 320 wounded men. The workshops had all been converted into wards, and the lightly wounded were scattered across the numerous training camps in the foothills. The area on Nui May Tao reserved as the graveyard had been extended, and the porters had been recalled to dig graves. The tally of comrades buried on the retreat and reported to HQ now stood at 181, and the register showed 172 graves added to the graveyard in the last three days. A special detail had been tasked to dig a pit at the base of the Hill just for the amputations. The drug supply, scarce at the best of times, had now been expended, and soldiers were going through the effects of the dead, commandeering uniforms and hammocks to rip up as bandages. The hospital’s prediction, handed to him this morning, was that at least 120 of the 320 wounded men could be expected to die in the next week. Loss of blood, gangrene, fever, delayed shock, lack of drugs, complications . . . Quang wearily rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. ‘I set out to wipe out the whole mercenary base but I couldn’t get past the first company I met.’ The words of the old woman came back to him . . . Your destiny is to be in the glorious army of the homeland. You will rise to become a senior leader. You will have a unique opportunity to achieve the greatest glory and honour. Your own careful planning will be critical to your fate. The only thing to condemn you will be your own efficiency. No enemy will hurt you. You will be given the opportunity of returning home from the coming war safely. At home, everyone will know of you. You will join with the gods in the clouds of heaven. And your last title will be greater than all your titles before.
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Yes, I had the opportunity to achieve the greatest glory and honour. He looked at the handwritten radio message form. ‘You are to report to General Tran Van Tra at COSVN immediately.’ So this is my opportunity to return home? Condemned by my own careful planning and efficiency. ‘When I return, everyone will indeed know of me,’ he said to himself bitterly. ‘But, old woman, you have let me down. I will never mix with the generals in Hanoi. My name will be pulled down. It will not be the greatest, as you promised. Not after they deal with me at COSVN.’ Quang slowly pulled the Tokarev from its leather holster at his side. He snapped the safety catch off, pulled the slide back and let it go, chambering a round. With the cold steel of the barrel resting against his adam’s apple, the muzzle under his jaw, Quang declined the opportunity of returning home from the war safely. The sound of the shot brought everyone in the meeting room to their feet. Tien knew immediately what it meant. ‘Stay here,’ he yelled as he ran out of the meeting room and headed for Quang’s hut. He was there in just seconds, but there was already a small group of comrades standing in a circle around the hut’s open sides. None of them had entered, though—Hai was standing in the entry to the hut. Stepping inside, Tien took in the whole scene. Quang was flung back on the dirt floor, his lower jaw a mass of skin, flesh, bone and teeth. The underside of the thatched roof above him was still dripping blood. It had splattered clothes hanging on the hut frame beside him. The pistol lay on the floor in the middle of the room. The ammunition box serving as the desk was open revealing a mass of papers inside. Tien stepped closer, looking for something. The hospital reports —he’d seen those earlier and knew what they contained. The maps and Van’s diagrams—they weren’t new. Some old documents Quang had retrieved from the camp’s storage tunnels—they’d referred to those when they were planning the base assault. File copies of the
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orders typed up last week—all ready for filing—they were as Tien would expect to see them. No—it wasn’t in the ammunition box. Kneeling down, Tien looked under the hammock. There it was. Tien reached under the nylon hammock and retrieved the sheet from the radio message pad. ‘You are to report to General Tran Van Tra at COSVN immediately.’ Tien turned to Hai, who was still standing in the entrance. ‘The Colonel has been killed by an accidental discharge of his firearm as he was cleaning it. Send someone to get the medical officer, and send the others away.’ Tien turned back to the body, bent down and picked up the pistol. He removed the magazine and placed it on the ammo box. He then slid the cocking mechanism back, which extracted the round in the firing chamber, and locked the slide in place. This is the state the pistol would have been in if it had been fired with no magazine in place but with a round in the breech—the empty shell would have been extracted and the cocking mechanism would have been locked back, awaiting a fresh magazine. He then placed the pistol back on the floor where he’d found it. He picked up the round that had been extracted and replaced it into the magazine. There would be a spent shell somewhere—he didn’t look for it. In the ammunition box was the pistol cleaning kit. He opened it up and placed it on the nylon hammock, dropped the cleaning rod on the floor and left the hut. Taking Hai with him, he returned to the meeting room. ‘Gentlemen, I regret to inform you Colonel Quang is dead. He was apparently cleaning his pistol. There must have been a round in the chamber. Comrade Hai was outside his hut when he heard the shot and was first on the scene. I have called the medical officer, but I’m afraid we were too late.’ He caught Kiêt’s eyes, but they were grey and impassive, with not a sign of emotion. A murmur of sympathy eddied around the room. If anyone didn’t accept the statement, they didn’t show it. In fact, if anyone did accept the statement they would’ve been too naive to have been in the group, and the group didn’t contain any naive people. It was accepted that Tien was now the acting 5th Division leader, with
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Kiêt’s approval since Kiêt had not interrupted, and no one was going to disbelieve what their new leader told them. Tien then advised the group that COSVN would be told of Quang’s unfortunate accident and that Commissar Kiêt would appoint a provisional divisional leader after discussing it with COSVN. Meanwhile, Quang would be buried at Nui May Tao with full military honours. Hai would make these arrangements. With no further reference to their recent loss, Tien launched directly into the agenda for the afternoon. He told the group he’d decided to close off the battle casualty figures. It was now almost a week since the battle. The present numbers from the hospital system were that 805 had died or were missing in action and 410 still suffered from wounds of varying degrees. Tien did not mention that this number didn’t include those lightly wounded who had remained on duty. Any further deaths, he added, would be attributed to non-battle causes. The group spent the afternoon refining the plans needed to repair the damage done in the last week. Quang was buried at the side of the rocky outcrop near the main camp, within hearing distance of the place where he’d started the sweet tea ceremonies just four months before. In the deep rich earth between two half-buried boulders, Hai laid him to rest while the others stood to attention, saluted and chanted prayers. And then they filled in the grave and placed lit joss sticks on the mound. With the joss sticks smouldering, they all returned to camp, leaving Hai squatting beside the grave, painting the grave marker. In his unskilled printing, Hai wrote, ‘Le Thanh Quang. Man. Comrade. Cobra. Colonel. King Cobra.’ Looking down the ridgeline of Doi Cot Long—the Dragon’s Backbone—Hai smiled. ‘My friend. I could not pick a better place for you to rest. With the gods on the Mountain of the Moving Cloud. And at the top of the Dragon’s Backbone.’ Hai dipped his paintbrush into the tin once more and added one last title: ‘The head of the dragon’.
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POSTSCRIPT
27 August 1966 and beyond
Tien, the author of the so-called ‘Ambush Theory’, was, at a later date, promoted and appointed as leader of 5th Division. Chinh was promoted in 1968 to become a divisional leader in the DMZ. He, his whole HQ and most of one of his regiments vanished in a B-52 strike west of Khe Sanh. Long survived the war as a regimental leader. He returned home to his family in the North in 1976 and served on several party subcommittees until his death in 1985. Kiêt moved into the party machine in 1970. He represented North Viet Nam at the Paris peace negotiations and served in a number of Hanoi party postings during the later wars. Mike Davis moved his family to Australia in 1978. He died of cancer in 1998. And what happened in reality . . . The documents produced in the following week by the 5th Division staff became the official version of the event, and were therefore accepted without question by all. The documents have subsequently become the Liberation Force official history. 368
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All unit journals were withdrawn in late August and returned in mid-September. The revised entries for each of the five battalions were all in the same handwriting and were all variations of the same central theme—the battle at Long Tan was the result of a deliberate attempt by the heroic Liberation Forces to draw the mercenary enemy out of their base and successfully ambush them. On 27 August, Radio Hanoi reported that in a two-day battle over 17 and 18 August, an Australian battalion of 500 men had been wiped out in an ambush in Long Tan village. Three armoured cars and one US jet had also been destroyed. They had captured a great quantity of arms and ammunition. The victorious units had been awarded the Liberation Military Exploit Order, Third Class. On the following day, 28 August, Radio Peking repeated the broadcast, adding that the attack on the 17th had been on the Australian base. This story was embellished with the passing of the years. By the time the local forces came to write down their own history twelve years later, an entire Australian mercenary battalion had been destroyed and a second Australian mercenary battalion had been badly mauled. There had also been 21 ‘tanks’ destroyed, presumably referring to the APCs. Liberation Force survivors interviewed subsequently have echoed the same ‘ambush’ scenario to Western interviewers, and books have been published in the Western press that report the VC/NVA proposition as if it were fact. Because the Vietnamese official records do not show otherwise, and because the Vietnamese generation that had the knowledge of the real story no longer has a voice, it is unlikely the true story will ever come out of Viet Nam. In September 1967, an Australian (7RAR) ambush operating out of the ‘Horseshoe’ feature killed a VC courier. He was carrying an order from NVA HQ in War Zone D instructing all Liberation Forces operating in Phuoc Tuy province to avoid engaging Australian mercenary forces. If engaged by them, they were to break contact and withdraw. The order went on to say the Liberation Forces were to step up
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their operations against puppet Regional Forces (RF) and Popular Forces (PF) and against the puppet regime’s village cadre. Their attacks were to be swift and hard-hitting, but to be followed by rapid withdrawal to avoid the mercenary force reaction. In this way it would be shown to the villagers that the mercenary forces were unable to prevent these attacks or to protect puppet regime interests. After Long Tan, the VC and NVA forces never again deliberately sought to challenge the Australians in Phuoc Tuy province. All subsequent major battles fought by the Australians took place while operating outside their province, where the LAF and NVA were not expecting to engage Australians (as at Fire Support Bases Coral, Balmoral and Coogee in 1968) or when the Australian forces engaged VC units within towns and villages (as at Ba Ria at Tet 1968 and Binh Ba in 1969) or when the Australians were operating at the extreme edges of the province (as in the Nui May Tao operations in 1969 and up near Courtenay in 1971).
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GLOSSARY 1ALSG lst Australian Logistic Support Group—the Australian supply base at Vung Tau 1ATF lst Australian Task Force—the Australian operational base at Nui Dat 2IC Second-in-command III Corps [see Map 1] South Viet Nam was divided into four military regions, identified as I, II, III and IV Corps—III Corps was the strip between the Central Highlands (II Corps) and the Delta (IV Corps) AAMG Anti-aircraft machine gun—enemy heavy-calibre (12.7mm) machine gun, requiring a two-man crew AK-47 Russian or Chicom assault rifle (from an original 1947 design by M. Kalashnikov), firing a 7.62mm ‘short’ round as opposed to the standard NATO 7.62mm round used by the Allies; characterised by a large curved magazine APC Armoured personnel carrier—US-made M113; referred to by LF and NVA as ‘armoured cars’ ARVN Army of the Republic of Viet Nam—the South Vietnamese Army callsign The unique identification of a single radio station in a radio net casevac Casualty evacuation, usually by helicopter—see ‘dustoff ’ Charlie Viet Cong—derived from the phonetic spelling of VC, ‘Victor Charlie’ Chicom Chinese communist—generally used in relation to weapons originating in China chopper Helicopter—the LF/NVA usually used the term ‘helicopter’ contact Firefight—any exchange of weapon fire between opposing forces 371
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COSVN Central Office for South Viet Nam—the Liberation Force HQ for most of South Viet Nam Claymore A command-detonated mine—usually anti-personnel and sited above ground DMZ The demilitarised zone—the strip of ‘no-man’s-land’ separating North and South Viet Nam at the 17th parallel dustoff Unarmed helicopter flights used to retrieve casualties from the field GPMG M-60 General-purpose machine gun—carried by Australian infantry and used as chopper doorguns H&I Harassment and interdiction—artillery fire directed onto random targets at random times HMG Heavy machine gun—usually .50 calibre or larger; used by all combatants hoochie A light plastic sheet carried by each US and Australian soldier for use as a tent or groundsheet Huey Iroquois helicopter IntRep Intelligence report—usually a summary of individual reports collected over a period of time KIA; WIA Battle casualties—killed in action; wounded in action LAF; LF Liberation Armed Forces; Liberation Forces—the North’s names for their forces fighting in the South—see ‘NLF’ M-60 See GPMG M-60 MG Machine gun—generic term covering all calibres of rapid-fire small arms minigun A quick-firing six-barrelled machine gun operating on the Gatling principle of multiple rotating barrels mm Millimetre—measurement of the calibre of arms and ammunition MMG Medium machine gun—usually around .30 calibre NCO Non-commissioned officer—a soldier appointed or promoted based on ability and experience, but without a formal commission from sovereign or president (a commission is based on specific training) NLF National Liberation Front—the North’s title for what the South called the ‘VC’—see ‘VC’ NVA North Vietnamese Army—NVA units often contained South Vietnamese (LAF) soldiers O-Group Orders group—a meeting of a commander and his subordinates to pass orders, attend to administration and so on
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paddy A rice-growing field—always surrounded by a 30 to 45 centimetre earth wall so it could be flooded puppet The LF and NVA term for the government and troops of South Viet Nam and their allies RAAF Royal Australian Air Force (Iroquois helicopters were operated by the RAAF, not the Army) Ranger A ranger battalion was generally considered to be a bettertrained infantry battalion, often with specialist skills, e.g. mountain or parachute capability RAR Royal Australian Regiment—parent unit to all Australian infantry battalions RCL or RR Recoilless rifle—a tube-like weapon used to launch (usually anti-tank) missiles recce Reconnaissance—the task of covertly gathering (usually visual) information RPG Communist forces’ section-level grenade launcher SigInt Intelligence gained from signals sources—e.g., from radio interception and direction finding stand to The routine task of coming to full alert 10 or 15 minutes before first light and before last light (the command to ‘stand to’ is used at any time that coming to the status of full alert is required) stand down Resumption of day or night routine after stand to, 10 or 15 minutes after first and last light SVN South Viet Nam tannoy Loudspeaker system used to relay firing orders to artillery positions Tet The Buddhist festival of the lunar New Year, celebrated in late January or early February US/USA United States of America VC Viet Cong—generic term for resistance movements opposing the South Vietnamese Government—not all resistance movements were communist and, to the communists, ‘VC’ was a derogatory term; they used LF, LAF or NLF instead Viet Minh Predecessors of the VC who successfully opposed the French from 1946 to 1954 webbing The belts, straps and pouches—usually made of canvas—used by soldiers to hold and secure their equipment
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FURTHER NOTES Following are additional notes and references for some incidents mentioned in this book. Chapter 1 Although Mike Davis and his subunit are all fictitious, 173rd Airborne was operating in the La Nga River valley at the time on Operation NEW LIFE. Chapter 2 The Nui May Tao (May Tao mountains) in the northeast corner of Phuoc Tuy Province was the base area for the 5th Division. The two-phase campaign as described in Chapter 2 was General Giap’s plan for the reunification of Viet Nam, but the code names given (Dragon’s Claw and Dragon’s Fang) are fictitious. In July and August 1965, 2/503 Battalion of 173rd Airborne, with infantry from 18 Brigade, US 1st Infantry Division and without 1RAR, was in Phuoc Tuy between the Nui Thi Vai and Nui Dinh hill systems. One visible legacy of this operation is the scar of the 29 July B52 strike in and around grid square [48pys] 3371 on the 1965 US ‘Picto’ map of the area in Phuoc Tuy Province. In December 1965, 173rd Airborne again entered Phuoc Tuy on Operation Smash. Chapter 3 The March 1966 173rd Airborne Brigade operation that mauled several 7th VC Military Region units in War Zone D (Long Khanh Province) was Operation Silver City. 374
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Chapter 4 The ‘Big Red One’ (1st Infantry Division) operation from Courtenay down Route 2 to Hoa Long and the clearance of Long Tan was the first phase of Operation Abilene. The results of this operation were as recorded here and in Chapter 6. Chapter 5 Kiêt’s prediction of a political victory for the Liberation Forces resulting from the clearing and relocation of Long Tan did come about. The promised compensation was either less than promised or not forthcoming at all; there was a measurable increase in anti-government sentiment across the whole province and beyond, and there was an upturn in anti-government recruitment. Chapter 6 The appointment of a 173rd Airborne liaison officer to 1ATF is fictitious. The American operation into the Vo Dat ricebowl was Operation New Life. From 10 to 15 April the Big Red One swept the jungle areas around the Courtenay plantation. On 11 April, Charlie Company 2nd Battalion, 16th Infantry Brigade (2/16th) engaged a large VC force and in a fireflight that lasted overnight sustained 80 per cent casualties. Chapter 7 The 17 May incident where the VC were observed to be using radios tactically was part of the 173rd Airborne Operation Hardihood to clear the Nui Dat area prior to the Australian occupation. It is mentioned in their After Action Reports. The Communist ‘Dich Van’ campaign sought to portray the VC as ‘a little man with an old rifle’ against the most modern arms of the most powerful armed forces on Earth. As Ho Chi Minh wanted it to be seen as a case of ‘the grasshopper against the elephant’. Patently, this was not accurate. By 1950, with ChiCom aid, the North had six divisions of 10 000 men each, plus 40 000 porters engaged full-time in their supply. Between 1963 and 1967, North Viet Nam had received and used 320 000 troops from Communist China plus some 3000 Russian ‘advisers’, plus more than 1.8 billion roubles worth of supplies. In the course of the war, the Chinese Air Force would shoot down ten US aircraft.
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For an excellent factual reference on this and other communist propaganda matters during the second Indochina war, refer to Unheralded Victory (see ‘Acknowledgements’). Chapter 8 The early June intensive recce of the 1ATF perimeter is documented in the 1ATF log. Chapter 9 Re the American artillery spotter aircraft shot down over Nui Nghe, it wasn’t until early 1967 that a 5RAR patrol found the crash site on one of their routine operations. Details of the crash site, including the VC ambush positions, the body still in the pilot’s seat, the pile of spent .45 bullet shells and the evidence of the killing of the observer, were duly noted and passed on to the American authorities. Chapter 10 VC assassinations, including beheadings, were a key part of the ‘preparations’ for guerrilla war. From 400 in 1957, the number rose to 1200 in 1959 and to 4000 by 1961. Unheralded Victory quotes other sources to identify that more than 33 000 village officials and civil servants were killed by the VC before the end of 1972. Beheading was not common, but was used when it was intended to send the most powerful insult possible to the local population. Chapter 12 The NVA planners would have considered two possible forces coming to the aid of ATF base if attacked—the helicopters of 173rd Airborne Brigade in Bien Hoa Province and the armoured vehicles of the 11th Armoured Cavalry Regiment of Long Khanh Province. Chapter 13 The 1ATF base assault plan as proposed conformed to all the VC/NVA principles of attack and was both strategically and tactically sound. Every book written about 1ATF’s early days stresses that the base was weak and poorly defended. There is little doubt an attack as described would have been successful.
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Chapter 14 173rd Airborne Brigade remained in South Viet Nam until 1971. Over six years of combat operations, it lost 1533 killed and over 6000 wounded. Chapter 16 The fact of the 275 Regiment movement in 1000-metre steps is mentioned in the Australian official history, To Long Tan, but is not explained. The VC/NVA forces at Long Tan included D440 Battalion reinforced with an added company and D445 Battalion according to Memories Of Vietnam (see references in ‘Acknowledgements’). D445 placed their 2 Company with 82mm mortars on the wrecked bridge over the Suoi Da Bang stream. Chapter 17 The contacts by the VC mortar team as they moved into their baseplate positions were with Alpha Company, 6RAR, who were operating north and northwest of the Long Tan Nui Dat (East) at that time. The Alpha/6 Log and After Action Reports detail the contacts. The rounds from the VC field gun failed to explode because the fuses had not been screwed in far enough. Chapters 18–21 The Battle of Long Tan narrative is as accurate as is possible within the limitations of not knowing the units and persons involved in any specific part of the battle. The general ‘flow’ and descriptions of the battle are accurate. Chapter 22 The VC withdrawal from Long Tan was chaotic but remarkable under the circumstances. For weeks afterwards, Australian patrols were finding debris and graves from the battle. Yet in the follow-up to the battle—Operation Smithfield, which lasted a further week, not a single live enemy was sighted and not a single shot was fired.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The author acknowledges the following books as sources for material in this book: Stanley Karnow, Vietnam: A History, Penguin Books, Ringwood, 1984. Kenneth Maddock, (ed), Memories of Vietnam, edited by Random House, Sydney, 1991. Lex McAulay, The Battle of Long Tan: The legend of ANZAC upheld, Century Hutchinson, Melbourne, 1986. Captain Iain McLean-Williams, Vietnam, A Pictorial History of the Sixth Battalion, The Royal Australian Regiment, 1966–1967, Printcraft Press, Sydney, 1967. Ian McNeill, To Long Tan, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, in association with the Australian War Memorial, Canberra, 1993. Robert J. O’Neill, Vietnam Task: The 5th Battalion, The Royal Australian Regiment 1966–67, Cassell, Melbourne, 1968. Mark Woodruff, Unheralded Victory: Who won the Vietnam War?, HarperCollins, Sydney, 2000. I acknowledge help in the development of this book by way of review, suggestions and friendly criticism from (alphabetically) Denis Gibbons AM, Robert Grandin, Lex McAulay, Gary McKay, John Orr, Alistair Pope, Maria Pope, Adrian Roberts and Barrie Windsor. However, the published book does not necessarily reflect all of their good advice. I accept full responsibility for any errors and deficiencies that may be found. I must thank my publisher, Allen & Unwin, for taking a risk on a new author, in particular Ian Bowring, Joanne Holliman and Anne Reilly, who 378
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took a manuscript and, with hard work rather than magic, changed it into a book. A special debt of gratitude is owed to Peter Watt, author of several novels set in and pertaining to Australia and Papua New Guinea—Cry of the Curlew, Shadow of the Osprey, Flight of the Eagle, Papua, To Chase the Storm and Eden. The original concept of this book was taken to Peter in the hope of convincing him to write the novel. He listened patiently while I explained the concept. He listened patiently while I answered his questions, filling in the details I’d not written in my notes. He listened patiently while I told him why I thought he was well qualified to write the book. And then he forced me to listen patiently while he told me in no uncertain terms that I had to write it myself. Thank you, Peter, for seeing in me what I would never have seen in myself—a potential author. Finally, I must thank my wife, Di Baron Sabben, for her support in all those years of research and drafts. She’s lived with Quang, Kiêt and Long Tan as much as with me. She deserves a medal!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Dave Sabben was called up in the first intake of Australia’s National Service scheme in July 1965. He attended the first course of the Scheyville Officer Training Unit in July–December 1965 and was posted to 6th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (6RAR) as an infantry platoon commander in January 1966. He went with 6RAR to Viet Nam in June 1967 and served as platoon commander, 12 Platoon, Delta Company, for the full 12-month tour. In writing this book, Dave supplemented his research into the history of the war and the backgrounds of the VC and NVA participants with the intelligence reports available at the time and with his memoirs of his own experiences. The resulting account will be seen by those who experienced the time at 1ATF as an accurate portrayal of the conditions, circumstances and events of the time. In fact, the only fiction elements of the book are the creation of most of the characters. For interest, Dave’s part in the battle at Long Tan as described in chapters 18 to 21 was as the platoon commander of the mercenary position 3 and, after withdrawal to position 4, his platoon shared in the defence of the final position from attacks, mainly coming from the east. Visit Allen & Unwin’s Military Book Headquarters www.allenandunwin.com/militarybookshq And the author’s website www.through-enemy-eyes.com
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