Delta Co Trooper Page 1965 -1971

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A YEAR IN THE NAM
It all started out back in the states,
when I got my orders by a trick of fate.
As I read my orders I got quite a fright,
but there it was in black-and-white,
Vietnam.
I got on a plane California bound,
and when I got to Frisco that was quite a town.
I reported into Oakland late one night,
drunk and tired, I was quite a sight.
I got on a plane again the next day and for seventeen hours we flew,
We landed in a place they call Pleiku.
When I stepped off of that plane looking my best,
I sank to my knees in mud. It was a hell of a mess,
Vietnam.
I went the next day to a base called An Khe
and there they said "Boy you got a year to stay".
I got an assignment called the 1st of the 8th.
That's part of the 1st Cav if you ain't up-to-date.
They said you're in the RECON platoon you lucky cat,
and I heard someone behind me say "Sorry about that".
Well after three days training I was sent to the field,
and I knew right then that I had eaten my last good meal, in Vietnam.
Now we walked over many hills and through many small towns
but Ole Charlie was nowhere to be found.
Then one day while on patrol, we came across what they call a spider hole.
As we moved up the trail we found more of the same,
and I knew right then Ole Charlie was to blame.
A shot rang out and I looked to my right,
and there on the ground dead was my pointman, Mike.
I saw three Charlies at one quick glance,
and I knew right then it was my very first chance.
The gun in my hand bucked as I fired,
and those Charlies laid down like they were really tired.
Well after that first encounter, I've killed many more,
and I'll tell you right now man, I'm strictly "HARDCORE".
Six months went by as quick as a flash,
and yet in another way, it seemed like it took a year to pass.
One morning the Old Man looked at me and said,
"Mac it's getting too hard, I'm gonna give you a seven-day pass".
When I flew from the battle area the very next day,
and in a few short hours, I was on my way.
I landed in Saigon on a CV-2,
stepped out and looked around and felt as good as new.
Went downtown in a taxi cab,
and that scared me a hell of a lot more than Charlie had.
So I got out of that cab on Tudor Street,
and I found me a bar that looked, "clean and neat".
I walked in the bar and sat at a table,
and said "Hey Papa San, give me a cold Black Label".
He said "No can do only beer 33",
I said "well give me one of them, if it will please me".
I was sitting there sipping my beer,
and feeling real keen,
when through the door walked a Vietnamese queen.
She came over sat right next to me,
looked up and said "Hi G.I. You buy me Saigon tea?"
Well needless to say, I didn't last seven days,
cause money can be spent in so many different ways.
I was back in An Khe after the fourth day out,
looking for my buddy, for a cigarette handout.
Well as time passed on many more battles we fought,
and as for Charlie, we killed a whole lot more.
We wrote our own name of fame and glory,
in the 1st Cav some situations got mighty gory.
Then the great day came when from Vietnam I flew,
as I looked back and said "So long Pleiku".
Well I'm back in the states now living a life of ease,
and for at least thirty days doing what I please.
But for all you guys that are just going over,
Let me tell you son, it's no bed of clover.
And if by chance you get to An Khe,
to the 1st of the 8th, it will be O.K.
But if they look at you and say "You're RECON, you lucky cat",
all that I can say is "Sorry about that".

Poem by Roger McDonald, Platoon Sergent and Leader in 1967.
We love you Mac.

WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL
by PATRICK W. DOOLEY
These words come at the end of the pledge of allegiance. Saying
these words everyday at school must have resonated something
in me. “Liberty for all”, and fighting for it, go hand in hand. At
Cam Rahn Bay, Vietnam and exotic locations beyond. Liberty
was for all. Our fathers and uncles went off to fight. The
country mobilized behind the effort, women took jobs,
grandparents helped, sacrifice was made by all. These people
were from hardy stock. The great depression, religious
persecutions, poverty, had made these survivors tough,
passionate, independent thinking, compassionate, and my
teachers. “I was a dutiful son.” We answered our nation’s call,
notified by letter: “Greetings, you are hereby ordered to report”
a practice, which has since been discontinued.
This duty was misplaced and America was without an answer.
Unfortunately the dutiful sons were blamed. It rocked our
nation. The shame projected on the mis-fortunate participants,
continues to plague our nation’s character and the mental well
being of those involved. We did not start the War, had little to
no knowledge of the underlying reasons for our required
participation.
Most of us were 20 years old when we found ourselves in a
distant land, trying to make some sense of our new
surroundings. We were inserted into an on going military
situation with few or no tight personal connections. My two
hometown buddies were put in different units. You are flown
out to join your unit, on choppers (helicopters), for me it was
my first ride. I wasn’t alone, there were other young men with
me. We had the distinction of experiencing our new- found
family at the same point in history. We formed friendships
during our tours.
The liberty we knew, was at a pinnacle, the prosperity that
followed WWII had put us in a position much different than our
families had known. The boundaries were expanding; the belief
that you should think for yourself and standup for what you
believe in, were the gravitational force from which this
expansion took place. Questioning evolved from such liberty.
“Honesty is the best policy.”
Now over 40 years later I have connected with over twenty guys
that were in my outfit, most were in the same platoon. We
share some very unique experiences, including talking with
someone after nearly forty years. Everyone I’I've talked with,
have stated that they have never found any group that got along
better. We were the dutiful sons who took our teachings and
projected them into our current environment. The little group
that was formed during this point in history is quite
remarkable. We were souls searching for some sanity.
Independent but like-minded, we developed friendships and
alliances. Laughter was the universal language, fun could be
poked at and made out of our situations. Respect for the
individual, permeated a fairness and understanding that became
our unspoken bond. You could count on this person. A number
of us would be quick to enforce this accepted code. I was not on
the receiving end of such rebukes or recollect others involved in
any altercation. You don’t take “any crap”. You don’t give it
either. This is the core you have. You listen to those who try to
help, you pass it on and add your wisdom. Personal safety and
the safety of others around you should be your highest priority.
Anything that compromises safety, must be dealt with
immediately. The clock and the calendar only go forward, you
are part of this point in time. Make the best of it and rejoice in
the luxury of having made it through these times and being able
to review them now. This is a unique group , it is an honor to be
part of such a group. We are Americans, our sacrifices were
made to protect liberty. This liberty has been contorted almost
to extinction and those that try to preserve it, pay with a piece
of their soul. “Our voices cry out like the ceaseless pounding of
one’s fist on the chest of reality.” This was an America that
used to think for itself. If something isn't’t right you have to be
able to change it. Liberty demands challenges or becomes lost in
fear. If you are afraid to challenge you don’t have liberty. A
small measure can be had with straightforward ways, stand up
for things and you’ll discover that the fear of confrontation will
give way to the self confidence and respect you’ll receive. No
one is better than you. Fear no man, you are an American.
Embrace your rights and those that fight for them. Fight for
liberty and regain the core of being an American.

patdooley@hotmail.com “JUSTICE FOR ALL” is a subject I
hope to devote some time to, stay tuned

Delta Company 1965 - 1971
Trooper's Page

The morning got off to a good start, one of the men shot his own
foot accidentally or on purpose, I don’t know, but we had to wait
for the Medevac to come and pick him up.
After he was gone, we were air assaulted (picked up in helicopters
and dropped at another location.) I remember it didn’t seem like a
long flight and we were set down on top of a hill, which was kind of
grassy. We got lined up and humped along the ridge in this kind of
open grassy terrain for a short distance till we came toward the
end of the hilltop. I remember there was some milling around
while they were deciding which way to go.
Well hell I’m pretty observant, I saw a trail going off towards our
left and said, “Great, lets take the trail.” I got this reply that the
trail is going off the left and we need to go straight down the hill. I
said, "We’re trying to get to the bottom of the hill, ain't’t we?"
Well we ignored the trail and began hacking through the brush. I
hollered hey, “The fucking trail would take us where we want to go
a whole lot faster.” A gnawing feeling went into my stomach as we
started working our way down the mountain. The terrain got
progressively worse, we were going straight down into the middle
of a ravine full of big boulders. I said “This is fucking brilliant, if
Charlie was here he could set up on both sides and wipe us out.”
We started climbing over boulders. They started getting pretty
large and difficult to maneuver around. I was still cussing about
our not taking the trail when I encountered the next boulder, which
was huge. I remember having to sit and then kind of lay back to
try and make it to the boulder below.
Well I just started sliding off, when a wait-a-minute vine caught the
machine gun. I was caught midway between the boulders. I was
coming off from one to the boulder below. I was momentarily
stuck, I couldn’t go back up and the only way down was to let go of
the machine gun and get the vine off of it. I looked down at the
boulder below. I hollered out “Fuck it!” real loud, as my knees
came in contact with the boulder. Boy that smarts.
I grabbed my machine gun and threw it down the mountain. It
bounced end over end down the ravine, I heard a voice down the
line, “Who threw this?”
I hollered out, “I threw the mother fucker, and if you have
anything to say about it, pick the son of a bitch up and carry it the
rest of the way down the mountain, and I’ll talk to you at the
bottom.”
I continued down the boulder filled ravine. There was my machine
gun right where it landed. I picked it up and carried it the rest of
the way down the hill. When we came out at he bottom we were
within 10 feet of the trail. Oh shit what brilliance, a three hour
bust ass climb down the boulders could have been a 30 minute
cake walk down the trail. Not a word was ever said about the
flying machine gun.
Wasn’t much could have been said, when I proved to be right when
we got to the bottom. Some other country’s army probably would
have shot me on the spot. If they had shot me, at least the
insanity would have been over.

wait-a-minute vine = A vine with lots of hooked thorns on the
runners, that would reach out and grab your fatigues and not let
go. It had to be physically removed either by reversing the
direction it had grabbed you, or very forcefully tearing it from your
cloths.

Back to the rear, LZ English, Good deal. We were near Bong Song
in the field, now its back for some clean clothes, showers, beer, etc.
We stayed in tents with sandbag bottoms. There was a mess hall
very close; not quite room service, but better than two c-ration
meals and one hot mermite meal. Although we did get coffee and
coffeecake at times. Loved that cake; but there’s something about
coffee from a mermack can, you could stand up a spoon in it. I’m not
a lifer yet.
After squaring away your gear, rucksack, etc. Blowing up your air
mattress, showers, clothes, haircut, food and beverages.
Off to get a haircut; walking across the base, gravely, dusty but in
good spirits. We come to the tent of a gook barber. It was cheap.
Wasn’t much styling going on, but it wasn’t stubble either. The
barber had a cutting tool that looked like an electric hair trimmer
but had scissors handles. Snip, Snip. He didn’t take too long on the
process. Soon it was my turn to sit in the chair.
Snip, Snip. The next thing I notice is the gook barber is clopping on
my back. His hands were placed pyramid style with his thumbs
crossed. He would lightly strike your shoulders and upper back it
made a clop sound. Clop, Clop. The barber then took me
completely by surprise and grabbed my head to one side “crack”
then back the other way “snap crack” I was startled to say the
least, it happened so fast.
I composed myself for a second, moved my head and neck from side
to side and went from pissed off, to I guess I’m OK.
We went back to the company area. I think we went by the mess
tent, and back to our sleeping area. Making plans to get drunk if
we could. The mood was invigorating. About this time my neck got
stiff. It had been about an hour since the haircut.
Oh shit! I couldn’t move my neck. Damn! I had to walk very
straight and easy over to my air mattress, move straight down and
ease onto the air mattress. I couldn’t move my head without pain.
The guys were getting ready to head out for the evening’s
entertainment, movie, beer, let loose a little. I laid on the air
mattress straight as an arrow all night. Some where around 3:00 am
I had to go the bathroom, shitter, like an emergency situation. My
neck was much improved, but not one hundred percent. I made it to
the latrine and sat in the aromatic splendor, only an Army facility
could provide, for about an hour. As I sat suffering with a stiff neck
and loose bottom, I became quite angry. F’in gook! Couldn’t drink
beer and now I’m sitting here, when I could be sleeping. I went back
to the tent but couldn’t get back to sleep. I’m going to get you.
First sign of daylight, I strap on a 45 pistol and take off walking. On
a mission to the haircut place. The journey was uneventful, I don’t
remember much movement around the base. As I neared the tent, I
took the pistol out and prepared it to fire. I proceeded through the
front flaps of the tent; the gook barber busted out of the back. By
the time I got out the back of the tent, I could see the bastard
jumping across the wire. The guy was like a track star, jumping
hurdles. There was no way to hurt him with a pistol at this distance.
I watched as he cleared another row of wire.
He must have been expecting me. The last I saw of him he was
crossing the helicopter compound. I do remember seeing a couple
of people in the area. The gook track star zooming across their
area amazed them.
I was upset that I didn’t get a shot at the barber, but the track show
was worth the ticket price. I walked back, rejoined the company in
time for breakfast. Some time later we learned the barber turned
out to be a spy.
They found maps under his cot.

WAIT A MINUTE VINE
THE TUMBLING MACHINE GUN
by Patrick Dooley

"Snip Snip" "Clop Clop" "Snap Crack"
by Patrick Dooley

Poems, Stories and Recollections by Delta Company Troopers

POINTS WORTH CONSIDERATION
BY PATRICK DOOLEY

Recognize the history of the events you participated in, can not be changed. As a young person you had to learn fast, being afraid
heightened whatever you encountered. Paying attention, watching, listening, and trying to make sense of your situation occupies your
being. The physical challenges of the environment take their toll. The heat, the rain, the dark of night, the packing of the basic
requirements for camping, the terrain, interrupted sleep, and the anticipation of danger all blend together as one day leads to the next.
The first time you get shot at, it changes your life and attitude from that point forward, from a happy go lucky young person, to “shit
someone is trying to kill me.” You can not put this back in the bottle and reclaim your youth. They call it breaking your cherry. It
hardens you and eases the conscience, making it a normal reaction to try and kill in kind. Surviving gets more hazardous. Friendly fire
adds another element of danger and witnessing the outcome, causes anger from the depth of your soul. You need to survive, the enemy,
the Army, and whatever comes your way.
Somewhere near the middle you might be promoted, your charge is the livelihood of other young men who dream of going home. New
family members generally come in groups and are allocated to the various squads. It is a cautious but welcomed meeting. The impact can
ease anxiety and create a bond. These moments stay with you, particularly if somebody cares. Recognition means a lot.
2.
Humor in Uniform. The serious nature of your circumstances can be overwhelming, but the truly serious moments are hopefully
separated enough to allow for some light-hearted fun. Certain situations are humorous because human nature can strike a funny bone,
and you can’t take yourself too seriously. Just laugh with someone, not at them. A little picking is good if it comes from respect and
recognition. Get close to somebody, it is hard to go it alone. If you have to be there, you need to try and make some sense of it. If you
are close with someone it is easy to share some laughter and your plans when you get back to the world. The hope of survival is
universal. When your number comes up it is time to go. It is more luck than anything. Might try to live and make the most of it. It is all
you’ve got. Why are you here? What’s it all about?
Your luck and short-timer calendar is leading to a world bound airplane ride. You go out like you came in only now you get to ask, “how
much time you got left?” to the new guys. You meet some people on the way out that you came in with. It was great to see them, glad
they made it. It is exciting! we are going home. F’in made it!
You race back to your family and roots and scatter your excitement with no thoughts of your recent history. Young, skinny, and longing
for the things left behind. You are different, the people who didn’t go, missed the crash course in life experiences. Your cherry had been
broken the others were still virgins. The blame for the war was directed at those that participated in it, and carrying the shame for it was
just something else to deal with. American soldier.
3.
Fitting in. Long hair and a beard. Differences in attitude, being more straightforward, not taking any disrespect. You are isolated
because you were different. What sense does it make? I’m not a philosopher or a politician, I’m just a young man who endured the wrath
of war and everybody is pissed at me. We philosophized about letting the leaders play cards to determine the outcome and turned 21 and
able to vote in the Republic of Vietnam. We were considered by many to be baby killers and real men don’t talk about such things.
NEWS BULLETIN : We didn’t start the war, we went when called. And if you are not just a little upset something is wrong.
Come to grips or bury history. As a lean fighting man it is hard to imagine defeat. We possessed weapons of mass destruction: machine
guns, aerial rocket artillery, mini guns, artillery, bombs, and napalm. But history almost repeated itself. The French were defeated at
Dien Bien Phu in Vietnam, which is Khe Sanh and the Marines were about to suffer the same fate by the same general who defeated the
French. The Tet offensive followed by Khe Sanh was the Vietnam campaign to end America’s involvement. It is hard to figure this
outpost so valuable. Like the American revolution it is hard for an occupying force to control vast territory. You can’t defeat a united
people. If you can come to grips with this, it may make your efforts less noble, but can help with healing the wounds. Figure out what you
did and reach out to those who share your history. Bonds created by such turmoil are unique and unbreakable and help close the
isolation gap created by your separation. No one can understand like someone who was with you.