I posted this story a year ago today at UT, and thought I'd post it here. I promised my friends in RWA that I'd post my Purple Heart story of long ago, so here goes- 12 February 1971 is an important date to me! On this date 35 years ago, RT California, SOA, CCC, 5th Special Forces Group, was on Day three of a seven day mission. Our target designator was Oscar-50. The area was the Plei Trap Valley of South VietNam, close to the NE part Cambodia. That Day, RT California consisted of One Zero, SSG Chuck C., One One, SSG Galen M. (aka Motor Pool., MTP), One Three, CPT Bob C., and yours truly, One Two, Sgt Toby T. Four US Special Forces soldiers plus ten Montagnards, total of fourteen. About 10:30 AM, we came upon an abandoned enemy camp that had recently been inhabited. We spent appromimately 20 - 30 minutes gthering intelleigence, taking intel photos, measuring depths of foxholes, etc. We then moved off a couple hundred meters to a small hilltop. Since it was close to time for lunch, we arranged ourselves into a defensive perimeter, and took turns eating our lunch. We wanted to record our recent findings on paper as to a man, we felt enemy contact was imminent. I was situated so I could observe past the "tail gunner" section of RT California; i.e., over the shoulders of CPT C., armed with M-60 MG, and one of our 'Yard tail gunners, who had a CAR -15. They could observe down our back trail. All of a sudden, I saw the 'Yard's eyes get big as ashtrays and he opened up. I also observed Bob getting hit in the right arm. He began returning fire with his MG, yelling for us to "lay down a base of fire". I fired the B-40 rocket that was in my RPG-2 tube and tossed Bob one of my field dressings. It was on!!!! Everyone on RT California immediately started firing. I quickly reloaded and got off another round. "Sir Charles", who we determined later to be a heavily reinforced squad of hard-core NVA, was getting worked up as well, but I felt we were in control, until... An enemy grenade, or rocket (to this day, we're still not sure) detonated in our midst. Chuck said: "Toby, you assshole, was that you?" 'Tweren't me, as it got me, too. Everyone was hit, but we continued firing aggressively. The guys were throwing had grenades, shooting, and calling S/C a bunch sorry mo-fos. I had fired four of my six rockets, and was loading the fifth into my tube when Chuck ordered a withdrawal off of the backside of the hilltop toward an extraction LZ that FAC was gonna lead us to. I think the Covey rider was Larry "Six-pack" W., but CRS. As we were withdrawing from the battle scene, Chuck and Bob noticed an enemy soldier in a khaki uniform coming towards us, and they stitched him. We encountered no further resistance on our march to the extract LZ, and were extracted by ladder without incident. We RTB'd back to Kontum, where Chuck, Bob and I were treated then medevaced to the General Hospital in Pleiku (CRS the numerical designation) for more definitive care, to include wound debridement, cleaning us up, and general TLC. I have met a retired LTC Nurse, S L A., on a military discussion board, who tells me whe was stationed there at that time, though not part of the Surgical Team who cared for us. Thanks again to you and your people, ma'am. (She's prolly tiring of hearing this, but I'll never tire of saying it!!!). We stayed a week, and then Chuck and Bob were further medevaced to Quin Nhon. I hooked up with a convoy heading back to Kontum. Chuck and Bob returned a couple of days later, and we once again reassembled RT California. Chuck, Bob and I have stayed in contact through the years. I lost track of MTP in the early 80's, about the time 1st SFGA was re-activated. Recently, I have had telephonic conversations with him, so I can now say that the USSF on RT California that day, are still alive and kicking. Not so for some of our valiant 'Yards. Our point man, Ngron, was killed on my first mission, Sep '70. And Wit (pronounced "Weet") died on 21 Dec 2001, in Kirkland, WA. It was a great day in our lives, because in spite of our wounds, we survived because of strenuous training, and because we believed in each other, and our courageous 'Yards. I'm extremely proud to have been a party of RT California, Special Forces, and the US Army. There it is, boys and girls. Feel free to comment or axt questions!!!
I also posted a glossary of terms, so y'all won't think y'all're readin a foreign language The Ranks- SSG = Staff Sergeant SGT = Sergeant CPT = Captain One Zero = Team Leader One One = Assistant Team Laeder One Two = Next in Line One Three = Next in Line Other terms- RT = Reconnaisance Team CCC = Command and Control Central SOA = Special Operations Augmentation MG = Machine Gun LZ = Landing Zone FAC = Forward Air Control Covey Rider = A Passenger in the FAC Aircraft who is the coordinator of air assets for any given recon mission. RTB = Returned To Base Our missions were of five to seven days in duration, and we were in enemy territory to gather intelligence that other units would act upon. We were isolated from our home unit, thus the need for FAC, who overflew our positions twice a day to get status reports. The unit names, (SOA, CCC) were innocuous enuff to keep prying eyes away from what we were doin, as our missions were classified Top Secret. Any other questions, I'll be more than happy to answer.
This is what I posted this morning at UT- Another year has passed, and I'm happy to report that all of the Americans that were part of RT California on this day 36 years ago, to the best of my knowledge, are still alive. I recently spoke with Bob Camors, jes acuppola weeks ago, actually, and I spoke with Chuck Clayton, RT California's team leader, awhile back. MTP has not surfaced in awhile, but it's onea those "no news is good news" kinda things, where, if sumpmm was wrong with him, the Spec Ops community would know it. But last fall, outta the blue, a young lady called me. Seems she's the daughter of our intrepid Montagnard Interpreter, Wit. Wit and his family were able to get out of RVN in 1975, jes as Saigon was falling. Yuwit is a lovely young lady, married and living in Washington state. I hope to meet her in the fall. She and her son are the spittin image of her father, the courageous Wit, without whose gallantry in battle, I dare say, I wouldn't be here to post this today.
An even more important event occured on this day in 1973- Today Feb 12th, in 1973, was the first release of US POWs by the North Vietnamese.
Thanks for posting the story, Toby. I was just about to ask about all the abbreviations, but you were thoughtful enough to include them. I wasnt sure who the ""Yards" were, so I looked them up and found a nice history page: http://www.montagnards.com/Montagnard%20History.htm. An interesting essay about the Yards: http://www.vietvet.org/mountain.htm I've had my history lesson for the day. Thanks again, Toby. You were a true American soldier.
Well boys and girls, it's that time of year again-on this day 37 years ago, RT California was in a hellacious fire fight in which, though pretty much all of us were wounded, we kicked some heavy ***!! In a little while I'll make the phone call I have for all these years to relive that day with my teammates; I'm happy to report that alla of us US Special Forces men are still alive!! Thanx to Bolttalk.com for letting me share this story again!!
And thank you for sharing your story (and for many other things as well) Toby! ****ing amazing. :flag:
I talked about our stay in the evac hospital after we were extracted. During our stay, 2 things happened to convince me to stay in the Army and make it a career. The first was the extraordinary cary I received while there. A kid was rolled into the ward next to me. His right foot was propped up, and it had a heavy, fluffy bandage. Turns out this kid wanted out of the war bad enuff to shoot his foot off with a 40mm cannister round. He whined and moaned he whole time he was there. I, OTOH, wantedta get back in the game ASAP. The medicos did eveything they could to make my stay there great. One night onea the medics snuck me out to a USO floor show. One day I was ableta walk to the small PX they had there, and hadta pass right by the nurses quarters. Acuppolovem were sunbathing and insisted I join them. They taught me alot about human anatomy that day. The other thing is that my mom sent me a letter saying that unemployment back home was 7%, unheard of back then. She knew I really didn't have any marketable skills, and that my hitch was gonna be up in acuppola months, so... Anahoo, I reenlisted shortly after I got back to my unit, and stayed in for 18 more years. I never regretted that decision, nor the anatomy lesson taught to me by acuppola very caring nurses.
It's that time of year again, boys & girls - 38 years have past since the four USSF soldiers and ten Montagnards that constituted RT California got in an hellacious firefight in the Plei Trap Valley of South Vietnam. In a little while, I'll make the call I have for the past 10 years or so on this day. Again, my thanks to the BT staff for allowing me to tell My Purple Heart Story here one more time.
I just got off the phone with Bob-great to hear from him. He's doing well. I thanked him for helping to keep me alive that day, long ago.
Same here, Toby. Once again - thanks for your service & sacrifice. Hopefully we'll get to meet one day. :flag:
I have read it, Jerry. In fact, I've read all three iterations of the SOG saga. I'm mentioned in his third SOG book, Secret Commandos: Behind Enemy Lines With The Elite Warriars Of SOG. John's a great friend of mine; I talked a week or so ago when we learned that our Commander, COL Mike Radke, had passed. And you're right, they are great books.
Bill Beall's Purple Heart Story War Story Haunting Promises 05 August 2007 Robert C. Reed & Vicki L. Andrews U.S. Army, 5th Special Forces Group, Detachment B-43, Chi Lang Seven Moutains of the Delta, Vietnam - 25th February 1971. The mission of this 5th Special Forces Detachment was to train Cambodian battalions for redeployment in their home country. Sergeants William Beall and John Duboise had the routine evening patrol. They took the 3rd Cambodian Battalion out to set up the night ambush as part of a combat training exercise. Beall and Duboise, along with their interpreter Puk, found a likely area facing a rice paddy dike, tree lines on both sides, and overlooking a cow path. They set up a typical field of fire for a line ambush - the main body spread along the dike and the rear guard on the opposite side of the rice paddy. There was only one glitch in the routine - the rear guard lost radio contact with the main body not long after they set up the ambush. This being the case, they were forced to walk back and forth across the rice paddy to use the main group's radio. It was just another ordinary night in the life of training the Cambodians in Vietnam. The continual traffic back and forth across the paddy during the night became routine...so routine that when Sergeant Beall saw a group of soldiers coming up behind him he though it was the usual cast of characters, that is, until he saw Puk's eyes widen in fear. "Hey, what's wrong? What's going on?" he whispered to Puk. Puk replied incoherently and Beall turned to look for himself. In one glance he saw that the "usual cast of characters" was actually a small column of Viet Cong clad in black pyjamas, humping brown knapsacks and carrying AK-47s. He knew immediately that the crap was about to hit the proverbial fan. The VC also realised that they had gotten caught "half stepping". Thinking they had walked into the kill zone of an ambush, they began to respond. The second line squatted down, forcing Beall to instinctively grab for his weapon. At the same time, Duboise, who had been drinking from his canteen, turned around to see what all the commotion was about. That was when the VC opened fire on full automatic and sprayed lead across Beall, Puk and Duboise. Beall's body was shaking and jerking from the impact of the rounds hitting him. Duboise was down and critically wounded, while Puk lay dying to one side. The Cambodian soldiers laying in ambush facing the wrong direction were thrown into utter chaos with their leaders down and on one around to tell them what to do. In spite of the seriousness of his wounds, Sergeant Beall struggled to the roadio and made a call for help. The distress call was received by the duty NCO at the commo bunker. The camp was alerted and jerked into action, only to discover that there was no response to their appeal for air support. With nothing immediately available, the frustration wait began. The wait was more than frustrating for Beall and Duboise lying wounded out in the rice paddy. Fortunately for them the VC had made good their escape during the confusion of the contact. As the two men lay there trying to keep each other going, they talked about the seriousness of their wounds and determined that ....."this was it - the end". Duboise wished for a final chance to say things to his mum that he had put off in the past, and Beall wished desperately for a radio reply from Chi Lang. Finally, two Marine Huey gunships answered the urgent request for help. Fully loaded with their usual complement of weaponry, the two aircraft touched down at the SF base. In order to perform the rescue the rocket pods and mini-guns had to be removed to reduce the weight of the payload and to make room for the wounded soldiers. The crew chief, not really comfortable with this disarmament, was relieved when the M60s were left on board. Captain Purdy and myself, Sergeant Robert Reed, were standing by. Captain Purdy had volunteered to go in on the extraction of Beall and Duboise to use his expertise to assess command and control problems on the ground. I, as a 91B4S, Medical Specialist, was going along to evaluate and treat the medical conditions of the wounded. Before we left the camp commander gave us a specific order, "Do NOT stay on the ground". Back at the ambush site, the two wounded NCOs heard the crackle of the radio and realized that help was on the way. Their immediate thought was, "Well, at least our bodies will be extracted and sent back to the States". Fortunately, they were able to retrieve and secure their hand- held strobe lights and manoeuvred them into position on their chests pointing skyward. When we reached the site of the fire-fight the pilots were able to locate the flashing strobe lights to pinpoint the location of the wounded Americans. One of them turned to us and hollered, "Make the pick-up quick. Any sign of problems and we're out of here!" We could see the flashing beacons blinking brightly in the clear, dark night, but they were accompanied by trails of red tracer rounds intermittently piercing the gloom. The distress call had indicated "urgency" but there had been no mention of a "hot" LZ. The two converted gunships landed approximately 150 metres from the spot where Duboise and Beall lay wounded. I leaped out and sprinted across the paddy heading for Duboise while Purdy made his way over to Beall. My adrenalin was pumping madly through my veins as I dashed through the darkness. I was carrying a 40-pound medical pack, a CAR-15, and a fully loaded BAR belt and harness system. I dropped to my knees at the side of Sergeant Duboise and quickly assessed his medical situation. The prognosis was not good. Shot through and through the abdomen with multiple rounds, it was difficult to establish the entry and exit wounds. The only thing I was sure of was that there were a lot of them. I had another problem to worry about. Duboise was significantly heavier than I was. With the difference in weight and the extent of the wounds in his abdomen, the only way I could carryhim back to the waiting helicopter was with a fireman's carry. Halfway to the chopper, my burden became almost impossible to handle. The pain was agonizing, but I knew that Duboise was suffering even more. I began to fear that the skittish Marine pilots would take off without us, which spurred me to move even faster. The sporadic gunfire continued to send rounds our way. I could occasionally hear them snapping past my head. They were so close I could taste and smell the gunpowder down the back of my throat. Twenty metres from the helicopter my body began to give way. My legs failed me, and I fell to my knees with Duboise and the medical pack wrapped up in my arms. As I lay there gasping, two Cambodian soldiers - actually boys of 11 and 12 - appeared and assisted my in putting Duboise into the waiting Huey. Before the door was closed, the ship was airborne, following the chopper carrying Beall. Because of the chaos of the medevac and the frenzy on the ground, and loss of leadership, Captain Purdy elected to remain as ground commander and attempt to gain some control over the whole confused situation. Back in the air, the pilot gave permission for me to turn on a flashlight so that I could further assess the medical situation of Sergeant Duboise. A decision had to be made as to where to take the wounded soldiers. Should they be taken back to B-43 base camp or directly to the 3rd Evac Hospital. Duboise was so seriously wounded that I didn't think he would make it to the Evac Hospital without much needed fluids. They must have been lying out there for a while because they had both lost a lot of blood. I told him over the intercom that we were to go immediately to B-43. The B-43 team was ready and waiting when we reached their location. They quickly unloaded the two wounded men onto stretchers and rushed them into the dispensary. Under the guidance our Master Sergeant, everyone pitched in and assisted with the effort to stop the bleeding and patch the wounds. I yelled, "Start the IVs!" We had to get these in place as soon as we got the bleeding stopped. I established an IV "Push" on Duboise quickly, but the dispensary Sergeant was having problems with getting into a vein on Beall. He yelled, "I can't do this. Let's get him on a Dustoff to the hospital!" Knowing his veins had probably collapsed while on the table, I screamed loudly, "Do a cut-down! You need to do a cut-down." Staff Sergeant Peter Follini bellowed for a cut-down kit, but the master sergeant said that he had dismantled them earlier because he had considered them unnecessary. Follini quickly asked a Cambodian medic to go and find a scalpel. Pushing his way to the edge of the table, Folini proceeded to do the cut-down on Beall. After the procedure was complete, a catheter was threaded into the vein and fluids were "pushed". Thank God for Follini! The Dustoff helicopters finally arrived to transport the wounded. We rolled them out to the waiting aircraft and began to load them on board. The pilot of the Medevac shouted over the noise of the engine, "We don't have a medic on board. Sergeant Reed, you've got to come along". The ship took off a few seconds later for the 3rd Evac Hospital just north of Can To. I rode in the back, monitoring vitals, IV flow and morphine dosage as the two wounded men continued to fight for their lives. When we set down at the 3rd Evac, Beall was rushed immediately into surgery after I gave a quick briefing on his medical aid and condition. The severity of the wounds to Duboise required that he be taken to the 45th Evac Hospital where they had a specialist in abdominal surgery. Duboise's vitals started to slip during the hour and a half flight to the 45th. Going forward to the cockpit, I shouted to the pilot over the roar of the straining engines, "Can you kick this thing in the ***? We're losing him!" The roar grew louder as I knelt down and began talking to Duboise. Leaning close to his ear and rubbing his head, I repeatedly promised, "You'll be okay. I won't let anythingn happen to you. You're going to make it..." I attempted to follow Duboise through the doors of the operating room, but was pulled back at the last minute by several people. They thought I might have been wounded myself, but I assured them that I wasn't. I was just a sorry sight - weary, dirty and covered with dried blood and body fluids. Whatever the reason, I was too exhausted to argue. Seconds later I collapsed into a deep sleep in the nearby hangar and never saw Duboise again. Twenty-five years later those promises I had made to Duboise still haunted me. They quietly existed in the back of my mind, occasionally coming forward into my conscious thoughts. "What happened to Duboise? Was what I did out there the right thing? Did I make the right decision in that moment of crisis?" I never knew how to go about getting in contact with Duboise, if he survived his wounds. We hadn't been close buddies in Nam, just a couple of guys stationed together. One thing about time, though...time brings progress. On 8th August 1996 my companion and cohabitant, Vicki Andrews, was viewing e-mail on her home computer when I asked her if there was any way to find people over the internet. "Of course," she said...and that started my search. She contacted people using e-mail, news groups and the World Wide Web. She posted a message on a military bulletin board and then tried searching a database of U.S. telephone directories. That did it! She was able to locate nine people named John Duboise. I had some clues in my hand - addresses and telephone numbers. It was a start. The second call I made was to the only John D. Duboise (I knew the middle initial was "D" from the military orders I had) on the list. I think my first statement was, "Are you the John Duboise who served in Special Forces and wounded at Chi Lang, B-43?" There was a long, silent pause. Then he said, "Yes." "Well, I'm Robert Reed and I carried you out that night!" The silence was longer this time. There was a crack in both our voices as we tried to express our feelings at the same time. As the words tumbled out of my mouth, my emotions cut loose, welling up in my eyes. My heart was in my throat. He was surprised and very emotionally touched by my call. He told me that he had also been haunted by my words and his memories of that night for over 25 years. In fact, he had just thought about this incident a week before my call. He had as much desire to learn about the person who rubbed his head and gave him comfort and assurance as I did to learn about his well-being. We know that we have to meet in person sometime soon. Through Duboise I learned of Beall and told him that I would try to look for him up on the internet as well. We found the listing for Beall and I was able to locate him the next night on my third call. The search process escalated and I was able to contact several more of the soldiers serving in SF Detachment B-43. Although in the early planning stages, we wanted to get together for a reunion. Author's note: The preceding story was a collection of my memories and conversations with Sergeants Duboise, Beall and Follini. A big "thank you" goes to Sergeant Gary Wilkes for maintaining a journal about his experiences and providing me with the exact date of this incident. If you have personal knowledge of this incident and have not been contacted by me, please do so. This event is only one of many, many stories of the 5th Special Forces Group, Detachment B-43, Chi Lang. Sidebar: On 11th September 1996, Bob Reed had his reunion with Bill Beall, John Duboise and Gary Wilkes. They met at the Little Saigon Restaurant in Tampa, Florida. Naturally, the restaurant was Vietnamese owned and operated.
This story, on it's own merit, deserves to be told on these pages, but I have a personal interest in it. I'm the Vice President of the local Chapter of the Special Forces Association here in San Antone, Chapter XV, The Alamo Chapter; Bill Beall is the Secretary. Last summer I was going through my records looking for something, and I came across a copy of orders "awarding" me the Purple Heart. Many names were on this; members of RT California, i.e. Chuck, Bob and yours truly, our names were on the top of the list. MTP's name was on the back page, as this was his second "award". As I scanned the list, I noticed "Beall, William", and I wondered. I called Bill, and axt, "Are you Beall, William, SSAN number yadayada, assigned to U.S. Army, 5th Special Forces Group, Detachment B-43, and were you wounded 20 February 1971??" He answered in the affirmative, and demanded to know how I got his SSAN. I told him I was looking at an original copy of my Purple Heart orders, and he was on it. Turns out we were wounded a week apart in the same year and thus on the same set of orders, and 30+ years later, we find this out!!
Fact is, there's a collection of OUR stories that many of my buds and I collaborated on. It's called Tales From The Teamhouse. The proceeds go to our courageous 'Yards who made it outta RVN and live in communities in NC and the Great Northwest.
I agree you should write a book. I have read one of the SOG books mentioned but I am going to look for the others. True life books are the only type books I like to read. I grew up around some SEALS in San Diego and I am fascinated by Spec ops accounts. Thank you !!!
