Operation Market Time, The Early Years, 1965-66
Copyright 2011 by: James Steffes
Written By: James Steffes
Smashwords Edition
FORWARD
This is a story of Operation Market Time, a joint mission designed to seal off the coastline of South Vietnam and prevent infiltration of troops and supplies from North Vietnam by sea. It included elements of the U.S. Navy, Coast Guard, and the U.S. Air Force. I wanted to tell the story of these brave men in a format that would be informative and interesting to the Veteran and non-veteran alike. I chose to write fiction-based on fact for several reasons.
I have been reading the books of Jack Higgins, the author of “The Eagle Has Landed” and many other books about WWII and the struggle of the Irish People. In many of his books he takes a real life event and weaves a fictional story about it, keeping the story intact but using fictional characters to make the story come alive. I have read all of his books but one and it is unavailable in print. Every one of his books were page turners and I have become a real fan of this author. Although I will be using the basic format i.e. telling a fictional story based on a true incident, I am not copying his work rather using his style of writing. The names of the crews and sometimes the boats are fictional but the actual events really happened. In my research for this book, I extensively used the Commander Naval Forces Vietnam monthly summaries to tell the true part of my story. My purpose is to tell the story of Operation Market Time because this was the original mission of Swift Boats and the Coast Guard in Vietnam. Because of its effectiveness, the enemy was forced to move his troops and supplies inland thus creating the Ho Chi Minh Trail. This resulted in the battle for the Mekong Delta region taking place in the winding waterways of this area. It also moved the war further inland because the enemy was now reaching for Saigon using trails through sanctuaries in Laos and Cambodia. Swift Boats joined in that battle as well as part of Operation Giant Slingshot with the specific mission known as Sea Lords. Swift Boats were assigned to the major rivers of the Mekong Delta and while patrolling these rivers would make lightening raids up the narrow canals and waterways deep into Viet Cong territory disrupting his flow of supplies and material.
This story has been told many ways by many authors because it involved firefights and ambushes on a daily basis. Market Time Operations however, consisted of coastal patrols that were for the most part very dull and boring with occasional firefights and ambushes. But it was only when the Market Time units moved in close to shore and came within range of the enemy, that the firefights erupted. With the open sea behind them, the Swift Boats could easily use their speed to move out of range of the enemy and to assess the situation before attacking the target.
At a gathering of Swifties in Washington D.C. in 1995, Senator John Kerry a Swiftie himself would describe a Market Time Patrol as “Twenty three plus hours of boredom interrupted by a few minutes of sheer terror”.
Sit back and enjoy the story of Market Time Sailors as they form a bond that only a small crew in combat can do.
Chapter One
Our story begins in late 1964 at the Naval Amphibious Base, Coronado, Ca at the newly formed training school for sailors bound for in country assignments. Yes, I said “in country.” But this is a ground war, we are told, the enemy has no Navy or Air Force. It is a rag tag guerilla army primarily engaged in sabotage and hit and run tactics against the forces of South Vietnam.
Ltjg Sidney Watson was the Damage Control Assistant aboard USS Higbee DD-806 home ported in Long Beach, California. The call to the Ships Office while operating off the California Coastline came as a surprise. He entered the office with hat in hand.
“Mr. Watson, you have orders to Vietnam,” said the Personnel Officer.
“Me, he replied, how can this be?” he said.
“Well, apparently, in OCS, you volunteered for combat duty on your dream sheet. Here they are in black and white,” handing the papers over to the young Lieutenant.
Sure enough, they read “Transfer to Naval Amphibious Training Command for eight weeks of training and further transfer to Naval Advisory Group, Naval Support Activity, Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.” The thoughts that ran through Mr. Watson’s head were of excitement and also dread. The war was in its infancy, not many troops there yet but the word was out, the war was here and it was the place to be for opportunities and advancement. After all, he was single and did not have many worries at all. The orders gave him until the end of the month to depart Higbee and with two weeks leave, he would report aboard in November for school. What kind of assignment would this be, he wondered as he walked back to his stateroom, orders in hand. He remembered volunteering in Officer Candidate School but got USS Higbee instead. He stopped off at the Executive Officer’s cabin and knocked on the door.
“Come in, Mr. Watson, take a seat.” The XO was a kind man with many years at sea behind those eyes and his door was always open. “How can I help you,” he said as the young officer sat down.
“It’s about these orders, Commander, what can you tell me about them?”
The XO began to explain, “ I received a message a month or so ago asking for a motivated junior officer to take on a new assignment. I sent in your name with a good recommendation. You were selected from a large group to be in this class to be sent to be advisors to the South Vietnam Navy.”
“What do I know about advising someone in a foreign Navy,” he asked.
“Well, the war is building up rapidly since the USS Maddox and USS Turner Joy were attacked off the coast of North Vietnam. The Government of South Vietnam formally asked for our help in repelling what is certainly an insurgency supplied and trained by the government in the North. The U.S. Military is supplying the South with arms and equipment, air support, and now advisors to work with the South Vietnamese Navy and our forces. It is more of an intermediary than an advisor per se, but I believe you are the man for this job.”
Back in the wardroom, news traveled fast and his fellow officers expressed their congratulations on his new station. He went to his stateroom and pondered this new turn in his life.
Ltjg Sidney Watson was a native of Waterloo, Iowa and went to Iowa State University before entering the Navy. After OCS, he went to Engineering School enroute to USS Higbee where he served until this time as Damage Control Assistant. As he stared at the orders, he began to look forward to this assignment. It would be dangerous of course, he thought, but life in the Navy aboard ship was dangerous as well.
Soon it was the end of the month and he was all packed and said his goodbyes, walking down the gangway with his head held high. His leave went quickly and soon he arrived in Coronado at the Naval Amphibious Base. He got a room at the Bachelor Officers Quarters and went to the club for a drink. There he met several other young officers reporting for the same duty. He found out that they would be serving aboard Vietnamese Junks, an armed wooden boat and he would have to learn to speak and read Vietnamese. School started the next morning at the auditorium with a week of orientation of the culture and the war situation to date. In this week he learned how the war was going so far, not like the news media said although there were correspondents in-country already. The South Vietnamese were holding their own with help from our air power and limited helicopter support for moving troops around and medical evacuation of wounded. The enemy was elusive using hit and run tactics and terror to try to bring the government down. Where do I come in, he thought and he soon found out. They were called advisors and consisted of Army, Navy and Marines in positions with the South Vietnamese, helping to train them and coordinate the air power and helicopter assets already there. Communication was a real problem in country at this time and as America was being drawn closer into this conflict, something had to be done. The enemy was using the coastline and waterways to move its men and supplies to the battlefields and had to be stopped somehow.
The second week started at North Island with classes on survival and an overnight mission on the beach where he learned to find and catch food from the sea. Some of the classes dealt with evading the enemy and some about what to do if captured. There was an instructor who had been a POW in Korea and he gave us some insight into how the oriental forces treat their POW’s. The week finished up with a bus ride up to Warner Springs Survival School. There his class set up camp the first night and located food from the desert area. This was getting serious, he thought as he ate a lizard mixed with greens from the ground.
There was a night problem where the students tried to evade the enemy forces by hiding and moving toward a light mounted on a pole. With all of the yelling and shooting going on, no one made it to the pole. When the whistle was blown the class was gathered up and sent back to their camp. By this time, the lack of sleep and food was telling on everyone.
Early in the morning, the class began the day evasion course and soon all were captured and formed into a column. Tied up and blindfolded they were questioned and knocked around by what was supposed to be combat troops.
“Escape is futile and those who try will be shot!” screamed the leader as he fired shots into the air.
Guess what, no one tried to escape, they were taught to go along with the enemy soldiers and not try to escape because they would be shot. Better to wait for an opportunity to organize and plan an escape. One man running away now would be shot and several more shot in reprisal. Soon they were herded into a barbed wire compound where the POW camp phase of the problem began.
Here the men were singled out and interrogated, asked questions and beaten with open hands in an attempt to get them to give more than their Name, Rank, and Serial Number known as the “big three.” They were put into small boxes, fed a watery soup and forced to do manual labor around the camp. Sometime during that night bugles were blown and the American Flag was raised over the camp, problem over but the students had found out first hand what it was like to be captured and beaten by an enemy. It was very realistic and everyone learned skills that may or may not have to be used. For Sidney Watson, Ltjg, USN, it was a very enlightening experience that he hoped he would not have to use.
For many of the students, there would be weapons training at Camp Pendleton. For Mr. Watson and his fellow classmates headed for Advisor Duty, it was back to Coronado and a well earned weekend liberty.
Monday morning muster led to the beginning of Vietnamese Language School. Instead of some grumpy old Boatswains Mate, the instructors were beautiful Vietnamese girls. The next four weeks passed quickly as the language and the customs now made more sense with learning the language. Mr. Watson paid close attention because he expected to use the language a lot where he was going.
Soon it was finished and the group now headed to Camp Pendleton for a week of weapons training. They learned how to strip and clean all sorts of small arms, machine guns, and then fired them on the range only to strip and clean them again. Contests were set up to see who could strip and reassemble the machine guns and the .45 caliber pistols the fastest with a slight twist. All contestants were blindfolded. It was fun and added some excitement to the training. The loser among the officers had to buy the drinks at the club. Mr. Watson did well, he did not have to buy the drinks any of the nights he was there.
On Friday, the bus returned the men to the base at Coronado early in the morning and they picked up their orders. At 1300, all fell in formation in Dress Blues for graduation and prepared to leave. When they compared notes on their orders, all were found to read “Commander, Patrol Forces, Seventh Fleet (Task Force 71) Saigon, Republic of Vietnam.” Their flight would leave at Midnight from Norton Air Force Base, San Bernadino, California. The group totaled 20 men, both officer and enlisted, and after shaking hands all around they headed for the club for one last drink and chow before boarding a bus for Norton AFB.
The bus departed Coronado for Norton AFB at 1800 and took about three hours to travel the distance giving them plenty of time to make their flight. They checked in at the terminal, dropped off their sea bags and gear and settled in the lounge to wait for the flight. It was a comfortable passenger lounge with a television and comfortable seating. There were men and women from other branches of the services making the same flight. A somber mood prevailed as the people gathered in small groups to chat or share a story or two.
Mr. Watson found a corner and sat down to reflect on his next year of duty in far off Vietnam. He pulled out a packet of information given to him before he left that updated the in country status of his command which was changing all the time. In January 1965, the Seventh Fleet controlled the operations of the Vietnam Patrol Force (Task Force 71) and the Naval Advisory Group in Saigon served as the liaison between Commander Seventh Fleet, COMUSMACV, and the South Vietnamese Navy. There were five U.S. and Vietnamese coastal surveillance centers set up at DaNang, Qui Nhon, Nha Trang, Vung Tau, and An Thoi in order to coordinate actual operations. The advisors were both U.S. and Vietnamese Naval officers and they sailed in the vessels of the other service. The enemy was using steel hulled, 100-ton trawlers and seagoing junks to infiltrate the south. The Viet Cong operated smaller junks, sampans and other craft to move the supplies and men within South Vietnamese coastal waters. At this time, much of the inshore boat traffic was monitored by Vietnamese Junks called Yabuta’s. Advisors such as Mr. Watson would serve aboard these junks to coordinate the American and South Vietnamese assets in this effort.
The coastal surveillance operation was organized around eight, later nine, patrol sectors covering the 1,200 mile South Vietnamese coast from the 17th parallel north of DaNang to the Cambodian border in the south. These patrol areas extended 40 miles out to sea. This operation would become known as Operation Market Time.
Soon it was time to board the aircraft for the long flight over the Pacific Ocean to Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam. There in Saigon was an air base known as Ton Son Nhut, a very large military base at this time. It was a commercial aircraft, a Boeing 707 operated by American Airlines. Being a charter flight, they were served box lunches and no alcohol was allowed on the flight. Other than that, it was like a regular commercial flight with stewardesses included. Mr. Watson and the rest of the servicemen and women, tried to get some sleep as the lights were turned down shortly after takeoff. The flight took about 14 hours with a stop for fuel in Clark Air Base in the Philippines.
Ltjg Sidney Watson, a midwestern boy from Iowa was about to embark on the adventure of his life, in a new world, with new challenges, and with his head held high. The Navy just wouldn’t be the same for him after this tour, if he survived, and he had received the best training for this assignment the Navy could offer. He felt, deep down, that he was ready.
Chapter Two
The aircraft came in for a landing about an hour after the land mass of South Vietnam had been sighted and crossed. All hands watched through the aircraft’s windows as mile after mile of jungle and waterways passed beneath them. As the wheels touched down, a breath of relief passed and voices could be heard throughout the cabin. Taxiing to the terminal, the Boeing 707 rolled to a stop and a stairwell attached to a pickup truck moved into position next to the front door. The engines wound down and the door was opened admitting a blast of hot humid air filled with strange smells and sounds of a bustling air base. A man in green utility uniform and an “AP” for Air Police on his arm, stood in the doorway and picked up the microphone.
“Good Morning and welcome to South Vietnam,” he said, “Grab your handbags and follow me to the waiting buses on the tarmac. You will be taken to the Terminal for processing.”
The line slowly moved forward until it was Mr. Watson’s turn to exit through the door. He paused at the doorway to take in the sounds and smells outside. Hot, humid air mixed with smells of jet fuel and the heat rising up from the tarmac greeted his nostrils. Nearby there were jet aircraft roaring down the runway and into the sky loaded with bombs and rockets. He wondered how far away the enemy was that these bombs were intended for. He walked down the stairwell and boarded the bus with the others. Once loaded, the buses proceeded to the terminal for processing.
Inside the terminal was a bustle of activity with many people rushing about in uniforms of all services. They were ushered into a room filled with chairs and greeted by another Air Force man in green utilities.
“Take a seat, gentlemen and ladies, so we can start,” he began, speaking into a microphone.
I wonder what happens now, thought Sidney as they all took their seats and quieted down. Outside, the sound of jets taking off continued and he focused his attention on the podium.
The speaker began his prepared talk, “Welcome to South Vietnam, all of you are going to different places but this briefing is for all of you no matter where in-country you are sent. When I am finished with you, form a line in the corner to my right and you will move up to that window and turn in your greenbacks for Military Payment Certificates, known as MPC or funny money. Greenbacks are not allowed past this terminal because they find their way into the black market. Do not even think about trying to smuggle any outside, it is against the UCMJ and will be prosecuted, besides you will only help your enemy buy weapons to kill you with.”
He was very good and delivered his talk with authority, all eyes were on him as they listened attentively.
“If you have any contraband, such as alcohol, drugs, weapons, or ammunition, place them in the boxes provided along the walls of this room, you won’t need any of these here because all will be supplied to you or available for purchase depending on your assignment,” he continued, “Some of you will be issued utilities such as I am wearing and some of you already have them that were issued in the States by your commands.”
There was a sound of glass clinking as some people got up and placed their contraband in the boxes, mostly alcohol, no weapons were placed in the boxes that he could see.
He continued to speak, “Your checked baggage has been loaded on pallets and is sitting outside the door, go out and get your bags and do the same with any contraband in your baggage, placing the items in the boxes.”
Everyone went outside the room to the pallets on which the bags were lying to see two drug-sniffing dogs going over the bags but they did not detect anything so they moved on to the next stack of bags. Mr. Watson found his sea bag and duffel and took it inside. He did not have any of the contraband listed so he took his bags and returned to his seat. Once everyone had returned to their seats with their bags, the speaker returned to the podium.
“As I call your names,” he began, “fall out into the terminal where you will find members of your commands waiting with a sign noting the name of your command. Those I do not call remain here because you will be boarding flights up or down country to your destinations, good luck gentlemen.”
The names were alphabetical so Watson was near the end and Mr. Watson went outside to find a group standing near a sign that read, “Naval Advisory Group,” and he proceeded to join the group.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Watson, we will be going downtown to a hotel used for billeting, you will issued green utilities, and begin your briefing prior to heading for your duty post assignment,” said a man in green utilities wearing a black beret with an emblem on it denoting Naval Advisors or Junk Force.
Following this man, they boarded a bus after stowing their gear under the bus, and proceeded toward the gate of the air base. Before long the bus was in the flow of traffic, scooters and cars, all honking their horns in a noisy melee of chaos that seemed to flow endlessly in both directions. Thank God they at least drive on the right side of the road, he thought as he watched this flow of humanity in constant motion. As the bus moved through the traffic, the driver honked his horn just like everyone else.
Soon the bus stopped front of a hotel that looked like no hotel he had ever seen. The entire front was sandbagged and had a bunker style watch station on one side of the entrance containing a guard in helmet and flak jacket. The men inside the bus debarked and entered the hotel picking up their gear as they left the bus.
Inside the hotel lobby were several armed guards sitting in chairs. The escort explained that these were standby security in case the hotel came under attack. The men were paired up alphabetically and Sidney noticed the man next to him was to be his room mate.
He turned to greet his new roommate and realized he didn’t know his name. He had sat several rows in front of him on the plane but Mr. Watson had been too tired to walk around and socialize and besides he didn’t know who was who on the plane any way.
“I am Ltjg Sidney Watson, I don’t believe we met before,” he said, reaching out his hand to shake the other man’s hand in greeting.
“My name is Dennis McArthur, please call me “Mac,” he said shaking his hand with a firm grip, “I am from Dayton, Ohio.”
“I am from Waterloo, Iowa,” replied Mr. Watson, “And I am assigned to the Junk Force, how about you?”
“I am assigned to the Naval Support Activity, Saigon,” he said, “I am not sure where I will end up. Junk Force, huh, that sounds dangerous.”
“I was sent to four weeks of Vietnamese Language School, so I guess my job will involve extensive talking in that language without much contact with English-speaking folks,” Mr. Watson replied.
They grabbed their bags and headed up to their assigned room which was on the fourth floor. Both men began to stow their gear temporarily just to get it off the floor and lay down for a quick nap. This didn’t last long as there was a knock on the door. Mr. Watson opened it to find a young sailor standing there with a message telling them both to report to the Officer of the Day in the lobby.
Both of them followed the sailor down to the lobby and reported in to the Officer of the Day. He handed them a watch bill that showed them standing a phone watch from midnight to 0400 that night, uniform was green utilities. The OOD explained that there were armed guard watches on the rooftop all night and their job would also require them to check on these watches during their phone watch with one remaining in the office to man the phones.
After leaving the office, they decided to get some chow and turn in early since they were still a little groggy from the time changes on the flight. The restaurant in the hotel had been converted to use as a chow hall for the transit personnel in the hotel by adding a serving line. The menu looked good and so they grabbed a tray and went through the line. Swiss steak and potatoes sounded good and it was filling and delicious.
After the meal, both officers settled down for a nap and were soon sound asleep. A knock on the door woke them up and a voice informed them, it was time to go on watch.
Arriving at the office, they got their orders for the watch and relieved the men standing the 20-2400 telephone watch. It was pretty quiet in the office so Mr. Watson decided to go up and check the watches on the rooftop. Strapping on a sidearm, a .45 Caliber pistol, he climbed the stairs to the rooftop. What he saw, took his breath away as he opened the door to the roof. The sky over the airbase was lit up with parachute flares and the sky had many blinking lights of helicopter gun ships circling the area.
“What is going on over there,” he asked the first lookout watch he saw.
“Oh, Good Evening, Sir,” replied the watch, “just the usual night time light show over the airbase. It is always like this at night.”
Mr. Watson watched in amazement at the countless flares lighting up the sky. The watch told him that this was normal and was used as a precaution to keep the base illuminated to prevent sneak attack by sappers. A sapper is a Viet Cong carrying a satchel charge of explosives. If he gets through the perimeter, he can cause a lot of damage to the aircraft if he tosses his charges into the area where the planes are parked. It has been done before, he explained. After a while watching the action, he returned to the office where he explained to his partner what he had seen.
The watch continued without incident and soon it was time to be relieved. Turning over the side arms and the watch duties, they went up to their room to get some sleep. They stopped at the front desk to check for messages and found one for Mr. Watson. It said that at 0900, he would be met by a representative from the Naval Advisory Group in the lobby. Wondering what that was about, they went to bed until they awoke at 0800. A quick shower and Mr. Watson went down for breakfast and sat down to wait for his appointment.
He was watching the desk when a Lieutenant in greens approached the desk and asked for Mr. Watson upon which the desk watch pointed in his direction. The Lieutenant introduced himself as Lt Armstrong and they shook hands warmly.
“We are going to give you a tour of the shipyard and then take you to headquarters to check in, Mr. Watson,” he began. “The skipper wanted you to see close hand the boats you will be riding on for the next year.”
They left the hotel and climbed into a jeep moving out into the traffic and soon they arrived at a gate manned by South Vietnamese Military Police known as QC by the letters on their helmets. Mr. Armstrong showed his Identification and was waved inside where he followed a road down to the waterfront. There were several boats under different stages of construction and as they walked along them, he explained the differences to Mr. Watson.
The vessels were made of wood or fiberglass with a cabin amidships and were divided into four sizes. Yabuta, Coastal Raider, and Kien Giang Junks had one Gray Marine 3-cylinder diesel engines and were 36 feet long, weighing about seven tons and had a draft of about two feet. These vessels carried one 30 caliber and one 50 caliber machine guns as well as small arms. Command junks had a six-cylinder diesel engine and were 50 feet long. They carried one 50 caliber and two 30 caliber machine guns as well as a 60mm mortar. The coast was divided into five coastal zones with 20 coastal groups, which is what the bases he would be assigned to are called, each composed of 12 boats. These coastal groups were supported by 16 coastal radar sites. All of these boats were built in this shipyard. Each boat had a red bow and two eyes painted on the red bow to ward off evil spirits. Right now, these boats and some Vietnamese vessels and U.S. Navy ships are all that stands in the way of the infiltration of men and supplies from the North. With thousands of civilian watercraft moving along the coastline, fishing and transiting the ports with goods to market, this is a tremendous job to search as many as they can everyday. Regardless of which boat you were assigned to, they were all nicknamed “yabuta” junks. He would learn the main differences and their individual strengths and weaknesses after he reached his assignment.
Mr. Watson and his host climbed aboard one of each of the different types of Yabuta junks and noted the difference between each one and their specific uses. There were even a couple of the Coastal Raider junks that were being made of ferro concrete in a separate area of the shipyard and he was amazed to learn that although heavier and slower than the wooden hulls, these were remarkably sea-worthy and less costly to build. It was certainly turning out to be a very interesting assignment after all. Learning to live and operate on these boats with the South Vietnamese sailors in close quarters would be the most demanding assignment he had ever undertaken by far. He would have to eat and sleep under the same conditions as they did and therein laid the challenge for he was used to the plush quarters aboard ship as an officer.
Once the tour was over, they proceeded by jeep to the Headquarters for the Naval Advisory Group in Saigon where he would meet the Staff and get his assignment to a Coastal Group. At this time, in early 1965, the Commander, Seventh Fleet operationally controlled Market Time units through Commander, Patrol Forces, Seventh Fleet (Task Force 71). The Naval Advisory Group served as a liaison between the Seventh Fleet, the Commander, United States Military Assistance Command Vietnam (COMACV), and the South Vietnamese Navy.
Lt Armstrong explained all this as they drove from the shipyard to the Headquarters building in Saigon. Here he was introduced to several staff members and finally into the office of Rear Admiral Norvell G. Ward, Chief of the Naval Advisory Group.
“Admiral, this is Ltjg Sidney Watson, our newest member of the advisory team,” said Mr. Armstrong, “I gave him the tour of the shipyard as you ordered, Admiral.”
“Sit down, Mr. Watson,” replied the Admiral, as he shook his hand with a firm handshake, “Welcome aboard and welcome to one of the finest units in country. I have been looking at your record and you will be a valuable asset to our team. I have decided to send you to Coastal Group 24 which is located at the entrance to a small river about midpoint between Qui Nhon and Nha Trang in the second Coastal Zone, come here and I will show you on the map.” He pointed to a spot on the mouth of a river that wound its way past a town called Tuy Hoa. “You will be part of a team that has seen a lot of activity in recent months, I trust your Vietnamese is pretty fluent.”
“Yes, Admiral, I did well in the school, and I am anxious to put it to use,” replied Mr. Watson, feeling more at ease with this man who was to be his new boss.
“Good luck to you, Mr. Watson, I will expect to hear good things about you,” said the Admiral getting up and shaking his hand again, “Mr. Armstrong will see to your flight to Nha Trang and your transportation to the Coastal Group.”
As he said goodbye to Admiral Ward, he felt that he would be seeing him again in the course of his duties. Mr. Armstrong took him to personnel detachment where his flight was arranged aboard a C-130 to Nha Trang and would be leaving the next morning. From there, he could catch a helicopter north to the Coastal Group. He picked up his records and his orders and got into the jeep for the ride back to the hotel. There, he found out that he had no watches since his flight was early in the morning. He decided to sample the nightlife in the area around his hotel.
He found a club nearby and entering it found several G.I.’s enjoying a drink around a table. He found a quiet spot in the corner and ordered a rum and coke from the waitress, a lovely girl with almond eyes that seemed to say, “Welcome” with a warm smile attached. There was American music playing on a jukebox and he settled back to relax and ponder his next moves in his assignment. He was on his second drink when he heard a loud explosion outside the bar and loud voices screaming and yelling for help.
Leaving his drink, he rushed outside to see what happened. Several Military Policemen along with South Vietnamese police pulled up in two jeeps. Asking the nearest MP what had just occurred, the MP looked at his fresh utilities and his silver bar and replied.
“It must be your first night here, Lieutenant,” he said, “There has been another bombing, it happens all the time. A man on a motorcycle threw a satchel charge of explosives at a hotel up the street. It exploded against the sand bagged bunker at the entrance to the hotel but the rebar and sandbags absorbed most of the blast. There were minor injuries among the bystanders but nothing serious. Viet Cong or their sympathizers were the culprits, I would guess. The targets are usually hotels used for billeting but sometimes they hit a bar or club that Americans frequent along this street.”
Looking up the street, he saw several ambulances and police near his hotel and realized that he could have been coming out of the hotel when this bomber tossed his package. Visibly shaken he returned to the bar to finish his drink. As he sat down and picked up his drink, several Military Policemen and South Vietnamese Police known as QC entered the bar and began questioning the locals in the bar. One of the MP’s came over and asked for his identification. As he reached for his ID card, he asked him which hotel was hit and how bad was it?
“It was the Waldron Hotel, was that your billeting location?” He asked as he handed my identification back.
Sidney nodded as the realization that his hotel was a target of the bomber set in causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.
“How soon can I return to my hotel?” He asked with a quiver in his voice.
“You can return anytime, the blast caused only minor damage to the sand bagged entrance. It is hard to hit the doorway from a moving motorbike, but they try anyway,” he replied.
He finished his drink and walked down the street to the hotel with all his senses on full alert. The hotel entrance was surrounded by uniformed men but they let him inside when he explained that he was staying there. Going up to his room, he found Mr. McArthur staring out the window. He seemed visibly shaken but all right despite the explosion at the hotel entrance.
“What is going on with you?” asked Sidney when he noticed his friend’s uneasiness.
“I am so glad you are OK,” he said, I was on my way to find you when the blast went off.”
“I was in a bar up the street, I missed the blast by only a half hour or so,” replied Sidney, “I am leaving in the morning and none too soon at that. Let’s go down and get some chow and call it a night, what do you say?”
Over their meal, they discussed their assignments, Mr. Watson going to Coastal Group 24 and his friend would be staying here in Saigon, assigned to a staff billet at Naval Support Activity, not too exciting but Saigon would prove to be a volatile powder keg in the months to come. After their meal, Mr. Watson and his friend went up to their room and chatted about their plans on staying alive and promised to stay in touch during their tour. Wishing each other good luck and God Speed, they fell asleep dreaming of their future in this unsettled land.
Morning arrived all too soon and Sidney Watson reported to the air base operations and boarded an Air Force C-130 aircraft for the flight to Nha Trang. Arriving just after noon, he stepped out of the aircraft to a different set of smells and sounds. Nha Trang was a resort town in the days of the French Occupation and had a more tropic feel to it then Saigon. He did not stick around long as he was guided to a UH-1 Huey helicopter sitting among a large group of these small helos on the edge of the airbase. Tossing his gear aboard the helicopter he was directed to, he waited for the aircraft to start up. He had not ridden one of these helicopters before and was not prepared for the noise and vibration. He strapped himself in and hung on to his gear as the Huey lifted off the airstrip and banked out over the ocean. The flight was uneventful and he watched the jungle coastline pass rapidly by on the way north to Tu Hoy and his new home for the next twelve months. He put on a set of earmuffs that were plugged into a box on the wall so he could listen in on the radio chatter with the pilots. He heard them call the Coastal Group and request to land on the small pad near the water. As he looked out the open door of the Huey, he saw an open space on which a blue smoke grenade had been tossed. His pilot identified the smoke as blue and moved down to a soft landing on the pad. Two men in greens gestured to him as he jumped down and grabbed his gear. As soon as he was clear of the aircraft, it took off sending clouds of red dust and sand into the air and filling his nose and ears. As he approached the two men in greens he noticed that one was American and one was Vietnamese.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Watson, I am Lt Bill Haywood, OinC of this Coastal Group and this is my counterpart Dai-uy Vinh Nguyen,” said the American.
The three men shook hands and Lt Haywood’s warm smile made him feel welcome immediately. He followed the two men along a narrow trail with minefields on both sides and into a small village filled with women, old men and many children all laughing and juggling to get a closer look at the new American. On the other side of the village was a group of straw huts and a building that looked remarkably like a house complete with a porch. Lying on the porch were several large dogs dozing in the afternoon sun. Inside the house were several bunks with footlockers and a desk in one corner with a large radio sitting on a shelf. Another sailor came forward and showed me to a bunk with a footlocker so I could stow my gear. There were four officers and four enlisted men and we would bunk together in the house. The South Vietnamese Navy sailors that manned the junks lived in the village with their families.
“I’ll leave you to store your gear, Mr. Watson,” said Mr. Haywood, “I have to go down to the dock and meet the patrols coming in.”
As they left to go down to the docks, Mr. Watson surveyed the roomy house and opening up the footlocker, began to stow his gear in it. He found some sheets and made up his bunk.
Sitting around twiddling his thumbs got boring fast and he decided to go down to the docks to observe the activity there. He strapped on his gun belt with his Navy issue 45-caliber pistol and headed down the path toward the docks. He heard sounds of Vietnamese shouting over the engine noises coming from the dock area so he hastened his pace to see what all the excitement was about. Arriving at the docks he saw one command junk or chu luc, towing one of the smaller junks known as a yabuta. As they tied up to the dock, Lt Haywood went aboard to assess the problems. It seemed the smaller yabuta junk had its engine fail due to water in the fuel and drifted onto a reef causing damage to its rudder and propeller. The crew of the command junk had dived down to assess the damage after pulling the yabuta off the reef. Luckily no enemy troops were nearby while the helpless junk laid on the reef so no casualties or injuries were sustained. The two other junks on patrol had moved in to cover the area until a replacement could be sent out. Mr. Watson walked over to listen in on the conversation between the VNN crewmen and the U.S. Advisors. Lt Haywood looked up as Mr. Watson approached the group.
“Glad you could make it down to see this, Mr. Watson,” said Lt Haywood, “I’d like you to meet one of our enlisted advisors, Engineman Chief Jeff Russell, Chief this is Ltjg Watson, our new member of the Coastal Group staff. He is from Iowa, Chief, you are almost neighbors.”
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Watson,” replied Chief Russell as he shook the young officer’s hand in greeting, “I am from Chicago, Illinois, I guess we are almost neighbors.”
“Thank you, Chief, I am looking forward to working with you and learning from you as well,” said Mr. Watson.”
Chief Russell took a stick and began to draw in the dirt. He drew the hull of the yabuta and showed the rudder and propeller explaining that the steel rudder was bent and the propeller badly bent over from bouncing on the reef as the waves rocked the boat up and down.
“I believe we can remove the rudder and the propeller and straighten the rudder on the forge in the village and just replace the propeller with a spare we have,” explained Chief Russell, “I’ll get the troops on it right away, Sir.”
“Let’s go back up to the house and leave the job to the Chief, Mr. Watson, and we will talk about getting your feet wet on patrol tomorrow,” said Lt Haywood.
Walking up to the house, Mr. Watson felt a warm feeling that goes with small units and small commands. Yes sir, I am going to like it here, he thought. However he would soon learn that the South Vietnamese sailors didn’t always do what they were advised to do and the red tape between the Americans and the South Vietnamese could be very frustrating indeed. He learned from Lt Haywood about something called “The Bucklew Report.” A Captain Phil Bucklew replaced Rear Admiral Paul Savidge as head of a special commission sent to study the infiltration problem and to recommend remedial action. The Admiral had taken ill and Captain Savidge, who was under orders to take command of the Naval Operations Support Group in Coronado, California, was ordered to delay his new assignment to finish the study. His report was very critical of the effectiveness of the Junk Force and the River Assault Groups to counter the infiltration. Included in the recommendations of the report is a call for strengthening the coastal patrols to create a virtual blockade using additional assets such as U.S. Naval Ships from the Seventh Fleet and air reconnaissance patrols, and increasing the number of U.S. Navy Advisors to both the Junk Force and River Forces. This report came out in February 1964 but the recommendations are only now being implemented on a noticeable scale.
“You are part of the recommendations, Mr. Watson, as men like you are sent to the Coastal Groups and River Assault Groups throughout the country,” said Lt Haywood, “increasing our presence along the coastline and in the rivers. Here at Coastal Group 24, we have numerous boats that you should be familiar with having toured the shipyard in Saigon. We have two of the command junks or chu-luc, one of which towed in the yabuta junk this morning. You will be going on a break-in patrol tomorrow in that command junk. We also have ten yabuta’s of which four are on patrol at any giving time to cover our patrol responsibilities.”
He went on to explain that the command junks were the largest we had and carried the most firepower, were more sea worthy, but were very slow and sluggish underway. The patrols are normally three days and you can take C-Rations with you however if you get bored with that food fare, the VNN sailors catch squid and dry it out on top of the boat cabin. It is not bad tasting and gives you about a three hour chew and some nourishment as well.
He talked some more about the Bucklew report and said that the findings of the report showed that in all of 1964 the VNN Junk Force boarded and searched 211,121 civilian junks and sampans and checked 889,331 people only to find eleven “confirmed” Viet Cong. It was not a total waste because the inspections helped further good relations between the VNN and the local people. This can be very helpful when the local people share knowledge of the Viet Cong and their operations in their village and surrounding countryside. Until we received additional assets from the American Forces, the Junk Force remains on the front line in the effort to stop the infiltration of men and material into the south. Without these patrols, it is unknown how much infiltration would go on amongst the local fishermen.
Mr. Watson went to his bunk to pack a small bag and his Vietnamese/English language book, some cigarettes, and a book to read on patrol, and stowed his bag for the next day’s patrol. He would be riding with Chief Russell in the command junk in a patrol area north of the Coastal Group. After a meal of cooked fish and rice, he turned in early to get some sleep. He was anxious to get broke in so he could become a valued member of this team.
Chapter Three
Mr. Watson awoke early and for the first few minutes wasn’t sure where he was as the smell of coffee brewing and bacon and eggs frying brought him suddenly wide awake. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and dressed quickly. On the table was a fresh pot of coffee and he poured himself a large cup with sugar and cream.
“How do you want your eggs,” said a voice from across the room, “My name is BM1 Tim Jackson, I am one of the enlisted advisors here. I have some bacon and fresh eggs that we bummed from one of the ships operating nearby, it’s kind of a special treat so sit down and I’ll fix them for you.”
“I’ll take them over easy, Boats, I am Ltjg Sidney Watson, the new guy,” replied Mr. Watson, “Where were you yesterday when I arrived? I understand that there are three more officers and two enlisted advisors that I haven’t met yet.”
Tim Jackson placed two plates of bacon and eggs on the table and sat down across from Mr. Watson. He explained as they ate, that some of the advisors were on patrols that were three days in length and staggered in such a way that there were always fresh forces on patrol in case a crisis happened and reserve forces back at the coastal group. The other three officers were Ltjg Ken Norton, Ltjg Jim Bush, and Ltjg Ed Petroski. The latter two were on patrol at this time and Ltjg Norton was down in the village getting the intelligence for today’s patrol areas. The enlisted men were RM2 Dave Wallace and SM2 Jerry Douglass, both of whom were on patrol at the present time.
The patrol area that you and Chief Russell will be going to is near Cap Varella, a large peninsula that makes up the eastern side of Vung Ro Bay. Today is February 14th and the southern monsoon season is just beginning to be felt in our patrol areas with heavy seas and high winds developing. It is hard to find shelter in a storm if the seas come from the south. The enemy likes to use the bad weather to try to smuggle arms trawlers in because many times our junk force is kept in port. The command junk you will be riding is the largest one we have but is very slow. Make sure you have rain gear with you because if a storm catches you in the open sea, you could get wet.
Mr. Watson grabbed his bag and rain gear and headed for the dock where he found Chief Russell discussing the latest intelligence with Mr. Norton. The weather near the coastal group was calm but after we would get on station, conditions may change. He followed Chief Russell down to the command junk and climbed aboard. Chief Russell introduced him to the crew where he was greeted with big smiles and warm handshakes. They went down below in the cabin to stow their gear and then sat down with the boat captain to discuss the intelligence for the area. Meanwhile the crew of the junk started the engines and made preparation to get underway.
Engine warmed up and all loose gear stowed the command junk cast off the lines and headed away from the dock. Chief Russell brought the radio up and called in to the CSC, Command Surveillance Center advising them that they were underway for their patrol area. He then explained the frequencies that were monitored by the other junks and the way to call for assistance from the Navy, the Air Force and other Allied assets in the area. He showed him where the charts were kept and explained the duties of the various members of the Vietnamese crew. Our job, he explained, is to advise the Vietnamese in proper inspection procedures and to call in American air support if needed. Other than that, we would watch them do the job of boarding and searching the hundreds of large and small junks and even sampans as they plied the offshore waters in our patrol area.
About an hour after we left the dock, we sighted another junk headed in our direction and moved toward them. On board was Ltjg Jim Bush on a yabuta junk coming off a three day patrol. The two junks met up and were tied together so the advisors could exchange information. Mr. Bush reported heavy junk traffic, gradually deteriorating weather and no problems with Viet Cong activity. Once completed, the two junks untied and Mr. Bush headed for home at the Coastal Group and some badly needed rest. Riding the junks is very uncomfortable in rough seas and takes a toll on the body because you cannot really rest bouncing around. Chief Russell and the command junk head toward their patrol area arriving on station just before noon. Situating the junk near the mouth of a small inlet that had sampans coming out of it, they settled down to boarding and searching the boat traffic, checking papers and searching cargo. It was a tedious job but exciting for Mr. Watson as he quickly learned the proper way to call the junks alongside and using the other guys mooring lines to tie up so one can cast off quickly in case of an emergency. These could include sudden moves by the fishermen or any number of suspicious movements requiring an immediate cast off from the junk or sampan.
For the next two days and nights, Mr. Watson and the crew of the command junk maneuvered around the patrol area checking papers and looking under bilge boards. Moving farther out to sea meant searching larger junks, some filled with cargo and some empty, but papers to check none the less. On the second day, Mr. Watson tried the dried squid and found it tough to chew and a little salty, but not altogether unpleasant.
On the morning of the third day of the patrol, Chief Russell and Mr. Watson were moving south along the coastline of Cap Varella when they heard the sound of a UH-1B Huey helicopter flying overhead heading south. They looked upward following the flight as the helicopter pilot banked right heading toward Vung Ro Bay. Chief Russell changed frequencies on the radio to wish the pilot a good morning. Instead they heard the pilot’s excited voice calling his base.
“This is Lt Bowers calling Second Coastal Zone Advisors, do you copy, over?” Lt James S. Bowers, U.S. Army was flying a routine mission out of Qui Nhon when he banked over the tip of Cap Varella and spotted what looked like a tree covered island in Vung Ro Bay.
“This is Second Coastal Zone Advisors, Lt Harvey Rodgers here,” came a voice over Lt Bowers radio, “what do you have to report, over?”
“This is Lt Bowers reporting a suspicious looking object crossing the bay, it looks like a tree covered island except it is moving slowly,” said the Huey pilot into his radio, “requesting instructions, over.”
For the next few minutes, Lt Bowers described the object from his vantage point high above the bay. He was instructed to make a low level pass over the object for a closer look. As he descended to a lower level, he made a pass over the “island”. Suddenly muzzle flashes appeared from the object and Lt Bowers heard bullets bouncing off his aircraft. He banked sharply to his right and accelerated to put some distance between the “island” and his aircraft. As he passed over he noticed that the object was a steel hulled cargo ship approximately 130 feet long with tree branches sticking out of it everywhere to disguise its size and features. Once clear of the gunfire, Lt Bowers reported what he had seen and asked for assistance. He had stumbled on a trawler smuggling arms and ammunition. He was instructed to return to base to make a full report. Turning his helicopter around, he headed back toward Qui Nhon.
Lt Rodgers reported the sighting to his counterpart, Lieutenant Commander Ho Van Ky Thoai, the Second Coastal Zone commander and arranged for an aircraft to investigate. An air strike by South Vietnamese Air Force AD-1 Skyraiders was called in, and after a third strike, the ship was awash in shallow water resting on its port side. A fourth strike was directed on a nearby area on the beach where crates were stacked and from which small arms fire had been directed at the attacking aircraft.
Thoai made arrangements for an ARVN company from the 23rd Division at Tuy Hoa to be lifted into the area by a Vietnamese LSM. A request for divers to assist in the salvaging of the trawler and its cargo was also made.
Meanwhile, down on the command junk, Chief Russell reported the sudden activity to his base at Coastal Group 24. Lt Haywood responded by ordering his junk and the adjacent patrol areas to proceed to the area known as Vung Ro Bay to assist. Coming around the tip of Cap Varella, they could see the Skyraiders diving on the target and smoke and fire coming from a beached ship. Moving in closer at battle stations the junk began to receive small arms fire from the beach. They immediately returned fire from the single 50 caliber and two 30 caliber machine guns. The 60 MM Mortar was set up and the crew began to lob mortar rounds into the area on the beach. After several rounds landed in the vicinity of the stacks of crates, the small arms fire ceased. One round hit the stacks of crates and caused a huge secondary explosion as the munitions in them exploded. Chief Russell moved his junk out of gun range as darkness fell and he waited for the other junks to arrive. He prepared his spot report and radioed it in to Coastal Group 24 and the CSC in Qui Nhon. He was advised by message traffic that his relief would be coming out tomorrow but could he remain on station for at least one more day. Chief Russell replied that he could. Mr. Watson was getting some real on the job training on his first patrol.
Later that night the two adjacent patrol area junks joined up with the command junk and they rendezvoused off the tip of Cap Varella and planned the nights patrolling to keep an eye on the activity on the beach. Sometime after midnight, there were lights on the trawler and on the adjacent beach area indicating that the trawler incident was far from over.