1Lt. Larry K. Lorenz - Recollections of Vietnam and the U.S. Army

1Lt. Larry K. Lorenz served with Charlie Company, 2/14th Infantry Regiment, in 1967/68 at Katum, Bo Tuc and Tay Ninh, before being wounded and evacuated while fighting to retake the city of Tay Ninh.  Here are his recollections of his combat experiences...

Recollections of Vietnam and the U.S. Army
by Lt. Larry K. Lorenz
April 4, 1966 to March 26, 1968

  

Not too much was happening in my life in 1966.  My job wasn't that good, not in college, and the war was on.  I volunteered for the Army and entered service, April 4 1966, it should have been earlier but I sprained my ankle and was delayed 6-7 weeks.  I was then sent to Fort Knox, Kentucky for my Basic training, where I met guys from all over the country.  It was amazing to me that many of them had trouble with the running, push-ups and sit-ups, etc.  I had grown up playing sports and also lifted weights.  What had they been doing?  One soldier we called Gomer, never showered, but with a rifle he could take the eye out of a squirrel at 300 yards.  He was from Tennessee  or Kentucky and grew up hunting to help feed the family.  I was getting on fine, happy to be just one of the guys, when I was asked to attend Officers Candidate School (OCS).  At the time I did not know what OCS was and held off my answer, until some of the men informed me about it, and said it was a smart thing to do.  I finally accepted, went through a selection process, and after Basic, was sent to Advanced Infantry Training (AIT) at Fort Jackson, S.C., with a new group of men, also from all over the country, many of whom were headed to OCS as well.  It was here I met Lee, a black guy from Detroit, my home town.  He was in our barracks and we all liked him.  Lee was OCS-bound, smart, athletic and pleasant.  He joined in all the work assignments and did the schooling as well as anybody else.  If someone needed a couple of extra dollars, he would help.  We tried to take him into town, Columbia, and to the bars with us.  Bad idea.  This was not the north.  They had signs on the drinking fountains, bathrooms, etc.  "White Only" was posted in many places.  This was a eye-opener to those of us from the north.  After a couple tries and subsequent problems, Lee stopped going.  The rest of us were angry.  He had worked as hard as any of us, but this was the Southern way at that time and he didn't want trouble.

After graduating from AIT I was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia, for Infantry Officer Candidate School.  I knew this would all but guarantee Vietnam.  The classes had 245 to 265 men in them, of whom about 100 would graduate (only 40%) as 2nd lieutenants.  It was difficult competing with college grads, and I worked my ass off just to keep up.  They made me dig deep into my soul . . . just how bad did I want this?  I decided they were not going to defeat me, and worked even harder.  These programs are this way by design, the schooling modeled after West Point, and the field work from Rangers and Special Forces.  We had hell week, and trial boards at the 9th, 18th, and 22nd weeks.  No one returned from a trial board.  We were trained in all aspects of the Army.  I graduated when I was 21 years old, by being discharged as a sergeant and then commissioned as a 2nd lieutenant.  I had been in training for a year.

The first command was at Fort Polk, Louisiana, as a Training Officer preparing men for Vietnam.  I worked twelve hour days, and more when we had night training exercises.  All was going well until an arrogant E-8 master sergeant pulled a stunt on me.  He bypassed the chain of command and put me in a bad, foolish looking position.  Whether it was either intentional or dumb on his part, it called for a response.  I chewed him out for his actions, and let the Master Sergeant know I would not tolerate this type of treatment, or his lack of discipline.  He was surprised and didn't like it much.  At the end of the next day, I was told to report to Brigade Headquarters.  The colonel chewed me out for going after a 20 yr. master sergeant.  I said a lot of "Yes sirs", but never backed down on my reasons.  It turned out that this sergeant was fishing buddies with the unit's E-9 sergeant major (highest enlisted rank).

The sergeant's nonsense never happened to me again, from anybody.  Days later I found myself reassigned to another company in the battalion, and actually in a better place.  Now, I was acting XO (Executive Officer) and Training Officer.  I was warned about a black staff sergeant who would complain to Congress if you asked too much of him.  Its funny that they told me this, right away.  I gave the Sgt. the respect he deserved, as I did for all the staff.  He worked for me with little problem.  After 6 months, I received the expected orders for Vietnam.

Four Months Of Life And Hell

I arrived in Vietnam in mid November, 1967, and went through processing.  At Long Binh, two Lieutenants  from my OCS class noticed me.  They came over, shook my hand, and proceeded to tell me about our company XO.  He was second in command and full of conceit.  Later, when the captain was promoted, he became Company Commander of my OCS class at Ft.  Benning.  He had given us a very hard time and caused lots of grief.  He did not approve of a non-college grad finishing the program.  The two lieutenants stated that just before my arrival he had been a coward in battle and had hidden under a log, shaking, instead of doing his duty as an infantry commander.  Men had died because of this and he was relieved of command.  My classmates thought I should know, because of the problems he created during OCS.  In the Army way, it is likely he ended up with a good desk job, and would probably become a general someday...

I was assigned to the 25th Infantry Division at Cu Chi, and boarded a bus along with many others.  When our bus was full we headed towards the base camp.  During the trip, I observed Vietnamese buses with people hanging all over them.  As we drove down a dirt road I looked up just in time to see us hit a Vietnamese bus head-on.  We were knocked out of our seats and I quickly checked around for injuries among the men.  Then I headed off the bus.

I looked at the area.  What a mess!  Bodies of dead or injured Vietnamese were everywhere.  It seems our driver fell asleep.  Afterwards, we remounted the bus and completed our trip without further incident.  I was off to a good start . . . only in country a few days and seeing excitement already.  And I still had a year to go.

I was sent to Ambush School for 6-7 days, before being given my first assignment.  This was standard operating procedure (SOP) for the 25th Division.  We studied enemy booby traps, mines, tactics and procedures, etc.  After class there was a small, Army bar close by and we would stop to have a drink and talk about the day.  One day on the way into the bar, I saw five dogs that were kind of messed up.  Upon entering I sat at the bar, ordered a drink and noticed a kitten walking on the bar top.  The sergeant took a couple more orders and proceeded to mix them.  About then, the kitten walked over to me and I began to play with it for a bit.  It was different from any cat I'd seen before, but fun just the same.  My drink was delivered and the Sgt. asked if I would mind taking the Ocelot outside to go pee.   The "cat" fit in my hand and I walked to the door, opened it and set the cat down on the step.  Those same dogs took off running, yapping with their tails between their legs.  It was obvious they were scared.  The cat did its business, I picked him up and returned to the bar.  The Sgt. was laughing at my perplexed expression as I came in and explained that a couple days before, another soldier took the Ocelot out and the dogs went after the cat.  He attacked instead of running away.  He jumped from dog to dog, tearing at them with claw and fangs.  What I had seen when I entered was dogs with eyes, ears, and noses torn up, or missing.  I wanted to take that cat home with me, but the paperwork was more than a new Lt. could handle.  I thought at the time, "This country keeps getting more and more interesting."

After Ambush School, I requested a LRRP assignment (Long Range Recon Patrol).  As a 2nd Lt. I had no business asking, but I'd heard it was a good job.  But they sent me to Tay Ninh base camp and assigned me to C Company, 2nd Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment.  And this turned out to be very good luck.  The commanding officer of C Company was Captain Joe Maio, and this was his third combat tour in Nam.  He was a graduate of West Point and had Ranger and Special Forces experience.  At our first meeting he put me in command of 1st Platoon, and then told me, "Take charge of your platoon!"

I held a staff meeting with my NCO's (Non-commissioned Officers), introduced myself to the five sergeants in the platoon, and told them that while I was the one in charge, nothing could replace their experience.  Without their help and knowledge, we would get men killed.  If you don't listen to your sergeants, you are either stupid or arrogant.  I always treated them with respect and asked for their opinions on missions, etc., and we seemed to get along fine.

That night the VC mortared us and 2 of the company's men were killed.  Both were "short-timers" (their 1-year tour in Vietnam was almost over) and would soon be heading home.  You can't take going home for granted.

We had 30 men in the field, and about one hundred in our company, which included 2nd Platoon Leader Lt. Dennis Reynolds, 3rd Platoon Leader Lt. Phil Jacobs (from my OCS class), FO (Artillery Forward Observer) Lt. Chuck Lykins, and 1st Platoon Sergeant Dan Ireland.  These were the men I dealt with on a daily basis, aside from the Captain.  Each of the four of us C Co. officers began our military service as enlisted men.

Late November, 1967 -- Among my first missions was a company-size S&D (search and destroy mission) northeast of Tay Ninh, at the base of Nui Ba Den (the "Black Virgin" mountain).  We carefully swept through the jungle, and I began to know my men.  The sweep was uneventful, and the captain set up camp for the night.  We dug in and set out guards.  Our camp was about 150 yards from the mountain.  The CO told us that we controlled the top and the base of Nui Ba Den, but the Viet Cong (VC) controlled the middle ground.  The VC could just disappear when we bombed, or send a S&D up the mountain.

That night, at the mountaintop base camp, entertainer Martha Raye was performing.  During her show the VC attacked.  We sat at the bottom and saw no action, but it was Hell on top.  Helicopter gunships were brought in to get her out, and then Snoopy, an AC-130 aircraft, heavily armed with mini-guns and cannons, arrived on location.  It lit up the mountainside like a laser show.  The mini-guns shot at a rate of 6,000 rounds a minute!  Between the gunships and Snoopy, Martha Raye was safely extracted, and all was quiet on the mountain for the rest of the night.

After the excitement I was unable to sleep, so I got up and checked my AO (area of operation).  Moving slowly and cautiously, because it was dangerous to move about at that hour, I checked our watch positions.  Carefully approaching one dug in position, I found a soldier asleep on guard duty.  I gently woke him (while trying not to get shot).  Then I moved on to other watch posts.  But in the morning I exploded with anger at him, for putting the rest off us in such danger.  The VC could sneak in, cut our throats, and leave without making a sound.  I wanted to hang the guy, but Capt. Maio wouldn't allow it.  He calmed me down with his experience and cool demeanor.  I would never trust the soldier again and I let the sergeants know it.

November - December, 1967 -- Near the end of 1967, some of my missions were follow-ups to assess B-52 bombing strikes.  One night, while sleeping, I was suddenly shaken off my air mattress.  The ground was shaking as well.  I sat up and said, "Earthquake?"  "No, Sir," said my RTO (Radio Telephone Operator), "B-52 bombs north of us".  The amount of ground movement had surprised me.  I knew our morning mission would be a follow up on the B-52 strike.  The CO would report on the amount of damage to the enemy and the area.  That morning we were lifted in by chopper and cautiously moved toward the site.  Wow!  Instant, large swimming pools, dozens of them.  Trees were flattened and in pieces, devastated, and yet we found enemy bunkers close by that were still intact and usable.

I entered some of the bunkers and small trench tunnels.  They were incredibly neat and clean, with very smooth walls.  The roofs were constructed of many layers of logs, with adobe-like mud gluing the layers together.  To destroy them we had to blow them up.  I liked explosives and was trained to use them at OCS, so I tried to help the engineers as much as possible, while Sgt. Ireland set up our platoon's defense.  It took a lot of C-4 plastic explosive, but we managed to destroy those bunkers.

For a while I went on a lot of follow up assignments, and entered many small tunnels and bunkers.  But eventually, as I was about to enter a tunnel, Capt. Maio stopped me, and told me I had learned enough about tunnels.  He told me he couldn't have a Platoon Leader caught underground in the event we were attacked.  It could change the outcome of the battle.  This made sense to me.  I followed his orders, and that was my last time inside.

On one bombing mission the aircraft used a new bomb called a "Daisy Cutter".  It was described as a 1,000-plus pound bomb with a 4-5 ft.  nose.  Instead of creating a normal 500-1,000 lb. bomb crater, these would explode just above the surface and spread damage in a larger area, and leave a smaller crater.  The bomb did exactly that.  The trees were gone, many now just toothpicks, scattered over a 50-yard area.  What could possibly survive the power of these bombs?

On one bomb damage assessment mission, Lt. Jacob's 3rd Platoon was on point as we entered the target area.  We walked into an ambush, and dropped down and returned a large volume of fire.  After a while the VC disengaged, but he had done some damage.  Third platoon's machine gunner had taken three rounds in the stomach.  He looked like death, but was still joking around as he and another soldier were medevaced.  Only one injury was serious,  while several others were minor.  We searched for enemy bodies, but found only blood trails.  These were normal tactics for the VC - they disappeared, taking their wounded and dead with them so we wouldn't know how many we might have hit.  We finished our mission and flew back to base.  Typically our contacts with the VC were quick hit-and-run attacks.  We would fire back; but seldom recovered bodies.  We might find blood and debris, but little else.

Days later we learned that the gunner was recovering, he was up, watching movies and chasing the nurses.  The hospital wanted to send him back early.  We all laughed and were smiling about his recovery.  He was mentally strong.  During OCS, I had been schooled on mental strength, and now had witnessed it.  This strength would come into play for me personally, later on.

Early in my tour my Platoon Sergeant rotated back home, back to the world.  I needed a new Platoon Sgt.  Who was it to be?  I was pondering this, measuring each sergeant's pluses and minuses, when Top (Top Field Sergeant.) suggested Sgt. Daniel Ireland.  I hadn't had a chance to get to know him, but Top said, "If you don't like him send him back."  This was a pretty good offer, and so I replied, "I'll give him a try." As we got to know one another, I found he was a good fit, and had the qualities I was looking for.  He was smart, not afraid to lead and take charge, willing to speak up, direct when needed, and he was not afraid of me or my rank.  Dan was outspoken, and if you didn't really want an answer, you didn't ask him for one.  It would be honest, but you might not like the answer.  In addition, he spoke several Vietnamese dialects.  When you are looking for a sergeant to help lead in war, you need these qualities, and not some soft-spoken nice guy!  Though Dan could be that too.

Sgt. Ireland was put to the test when I was wounded during the Tet offensive, and he had to take over 1st Platoon.  I think our platoon ran smoothly with him as Platoon Sgt.  Together we were a team.  He took good care of the platoons, daily routines, making things much easier for me.  Once I had made my decision, I told Top that I would keep Sgt. Ireland, but wanted him promoted to Staff Sergeant (E-6, SSgt).  I had to make a deal with Top, because other men were also eligible for E-6.  He probably thought I was a bit pushy, but I wanted Dan to outrank my other sergeants completely.  I had to give up 3-4 lower rank promotions in order to get Dan his E-6 stripes, but I never regretted it.  I would work to get the other promotions when openings became available, and I did.  I felt that almost all of these men deserved promotions, just for fighting in this jungle.

Our company received a scout, a Chieu Hoi (former VC who surrendered) from the Kit Carson Scout Program.  Because Sgt. Ireland spoke Vietnamese, the scout was sent to 1st Platoon.  We didn't trust him at first but over time he did well.  He had been taken from his village at age 14.  He and others were led off at gun point, after the NVA (North Vietnamese Army) killed the village leaders.  Taken north, he became part of a mortar team.  He trained with the 60mm mortar, using just the tube and base - no sights and no legs.  A team included 2-3 men, carrying all the mortar rounds they could, usually making quick attacks, and then disappearing.  This was how we had been getting mortared.  Our new scout demonstrated just how they did it, and later helped us find a mortar pit, complete with aiming directions weaved in the jungle foliage.  I blew this up and camp was quiet for a short while.  It had taken the scout 6 years to escape the NVA.  Sgt. Ireland was the only one who could speak properly to him.  I was trying to learn more Vietnamese, but it was hard.  We had many laughs at my efforts, but he was just as bad at English.  We tried to learn each other's language without Dan's help.  While it didn't work very well, we all laughed a lot.  Sgt. Ireland had to intervene to get anything accomplished.

December 7, 1967, Operation Yellowstone begins -- Capt. Maio was given a new assignment by Lt. Colonel Bracy.  It involved more than our battalion.  We airlifted north into a LZ (landing zone) and hiked warily towards Katum.  This was the largest operation I had been on to date, and also my first major mission as point platoon.  4-5 men with machetes, Pathfinders or Special Forces, led the way.  The jungle was extremely thick.  Thorns and wait-a-minute vines grabbed us constantly, tore our clothing and cut us.  Looking back down the trail, we could see the tunnel we had carved, but could not see the sky because of the triple canopy jungle.

We reached the Katum area without incident or contact with the enemy.  Capt Maio set up a company defense and assigned each Platoon Leader their own AO.  We dug in and began building bunkers.  It was not long before we received incoming enemy mortars, 2-3 times a day.  This continued for quite some time as we developed the area.  We were building a small base camp from nothing but jungle.  Almost every day we went on S&D missions.  In between we built bunkers, improved our defenses, cleared fields of fire, strung concertina wire, set up claymore mines, or guarded the perimeter.

After many weeks of hard work developing the area, we finally began to receive hot chow.  Until then we had eaten C-rations left over from WWII.  We'd heat them with little pieces of C-4, which we rolled into a ball and lit with a match.  Don't try to stomp one out, you could lose your foot.  By now we had gotten pretty creative with what we had to work with.  My family, at my request had sent spices - Heinz 57, Kool-Aid, etc.  The cherry Kool-Aid made the water, with the necessary iodine disinfectant, taste better.

As our camp grew, more supplies were brought in, and each time a truck went by carrying concertina wire, I took some to fortify our AO.  My men were so tired of stringing wire and filling sand bags (even though I did much of it with them) that they attempted to get the supply trucks to go around us.  After some time, many days, my platoon's AO was finished, and it was full of concertina wire, multiple controlled mines, traps and noise makers.  Though my guys didn't like the extra work at the time, the enemy never attacked or seriously probed our section.  It was very difficult to get through.  To enter required crossing in front of all the mines, traps, etc., and we could sleep slightly better because of it.

As our base continued to grow, Combat Engineers became available to us.  I had them use explosives to create holes instead of having my men dig fighting positions.  They had worked hard enough.  The engineers used shaped charges and cratering charges to do the job.  The engineers had not done this before, and so we learned together.  If it's done wrong . . . instant swimming pool.

And we figured that problem out too, after a couple mistakes and adjusted for it.  Sometimes the bulldozer was not available to clear fields of fire (create open areas in front of the bunkers), so we blew up termite mounds and trees with C-4 plastic explosive.  The sky would rain termites.  They ended up in everything close by.  The explosives were fun, and I was trained.  I felt just like a kid on the 4th of July, with huge M-80's.

Katum -- Katum was not a free-fire zone, so our men on watch could not just open fire when they saw something suspicious, unless it was an outright enemy attack.  If they saw something at night through the starlight scope (night vision sighting device) they had to radio me first, then I would radio the CO.  Consequently the officers and platoon sergeants would get only 3-4 hours sleep each night, if they were lucky.  But we had been trained for this, and we were young and tough enough to bounce back quickly.

Capt. Maio was offered the use of Scout Dogs (German Shepherds), and was smart enough to accept.  They are such a great asset in the field.  The dogs sense of smell and hearing increase your odds of finding the enemy, their mines and their booby traps - before they find you.  The dog and handler are trained together as a team.  The handler learns to "read" the dogs particular move for each type of event, human, mine, punji stake, etc.  Each dog responds differently.  At OCS, there was a dog training area 200 yards from our barracks.  When we had some free time, I went there and watched them train as a unit.  They moved from station to station, with new problems awaiting at each one.  We used them often in Nam, and I was excited to have the dogs with us.  Their job was often dangerous.  They were up front at point, just ahead of me.  I could see dog and handler working hard together.  In camp I would often talk to the men and try to be friendly with their dogs.  Some were approachable, others not so much.  The handlers warned me not to get between the dog and themselves, because it could be dangerous.  I liked the dogs, and with that in mind I did get some to sit up for treats . . . very carefully.

December, 1967 -- Early on in the Kutum area, we were on a S&D mission east of camp.  We airlifted in and moved stealthily through the jungle.  At first it was uneventful.  My platoon was on point and I was watching the point man, when suddenly he was jumping around, his flak jacket going one way, his helmet another.  He stripped off his fatigue shirt and did a funny dance.  There was no shooting, but rather1/2 inch long red ants, hundreds of them.  We secured our area and watched his antics as he tried to remove them, and laughed.  The CO radioed me and asked about the hold up.  I replied, "Ants, Sir, just ants".  He said, "Get moving Lt."

And so we started again, alert, watching for the enemy.  We had covered some distance when it was my turn to do the ant dance.  My rifle going one way, my clothes another.  Hundreds of red ants all biting.  You must get them off.  The captain radioed again, "What the hell is going on".  I replied, "Ants sir, just red ants, its my turn now".  I'm not sure if he found it funny, but to my guys it was.  They all laughed at my dance, including myself.  The ant's nest was made of large leaves glued together with their saliva.  It was a large ball, well camouflaged against the other leaves.  When brushed against, the nest would burst open and hundreds of red ants would fall upon the victim . . . me in the last act.  We quickly realized that the VC could use this as a diversion, and attack while our attention was on the dancer.  The company finished the mission without incident, and we airlifted back to camp.

One day at Katum, Dec 67, we airlifted to an LZ for a S&D mission and set up a defense, then moved towards our assignment.  After moving cautiously through the jungle for awhile, with Lt. Reynold's 2nd Platoon on point, we were ambushed northwest of base camp.  1st platoon was located behind the Company command group, and the battle was to our right, as we exchanged bullets and grenades with the enemy.  The captain radioed for everyone to get their heads down.  He and Lt. Lykins, our FO, were bringing in air support.  I saw a F-4 Phantom jet fly past and then dive towards us.  The phantom opened up with 20mm Vulcan cannon fire.  The noise was so intense, nothing else could be heard.  The sound of battle was drowned out by the jets roar and the 20mm cannon.  The F-4 pulled up about 10 yds from us.  The jungle disappeared into dust, and the VC as well.  What VC were left, disengaged.  It was hard to hear for a while.  Initially, I could see men's mouths moving, but couldn't hear them.  I noticed that a soldier from the command group was hit, and I made my way over to help him.  Our medic took care of the man while the CO called for a Medevac.  We cleared a landing zone for the helicopter while other men looked for enemy bodies.  They only found blood and debris.  This was how it was with the VC, they had a way of disappearing even when badly shot up.  We had a few other minor injuries besides the man who was medevaced, but we continued on with our mission to the assigned LZ, and departed the area.  I did not hear how the wounded man fared.

December 1967 - ARVN base attacked -- Capt Maio sent each platoon on an overnight ambush and LP (listening post).  I set up on the southeast side of the base, 100 meters out and off the road, with a good view of the area.  At about 0200 hrs. an ARVN battalion (South Vietnamese Army) was attacked, 8-10 klicks (kilometers) down the road from our position.  The VC overran their base and killed all the senior commanders - CO, XO, captains, and several higher ranking sergeants.  The survivors turned tail and ran all the way to our base camp, leaving almost everything behind, including their wounded.  I received a radio message alerting me to be on the lookout for them.  We were faced with the possibility of trying to figure out which running Vietnamese was ARVN and which was VC, at night, using only a starlight scope, and not shoot the wrong one.  We had a restless night.  In the morning when we came back in, the ARVN's were already in camp, their heads hanging.  They had entered the camp from another direction.  The company was given the mission go and investigate.  It was a mess - torn, bloody, swollen, dead bodies, and equipment spread everywhere.  After just 5 hours and only 115 degrees, it already stank.  Capt. Maio made his report and we patrolled our way back to camp.

There were many more events and missions before we left Katum for the fire base at Bo Tuc.  It was just before Christmas 1967.  The entire battalion moved and relieved a unit that recently fought a major battle.  The VC had made a very large, mass attack on the camp.  It was so bad the CO gave the "Take Cover" signal, and had their artillery lower their barrels to fire at the enemy who were inside the wire and on the bunkers.  Firing beehive rounds (thousands of nail-like darts) from the 105mm Howitzers at point-blank range, left VC body parts stuck to things, including trees.  But it stopped the enemy, who retreated, dragging away many of their dead and wounded.  80 enemy bodies were found within the perimeter.

Our soldiers had stood their ground and kicked ass!  C Company was assigned to the inner perimeter of the base, close to the artillery.  In that earlier attack, the VC made it to this area.  The infantrymen and artillerymen had seen a lot and talked about the close combat, especially one VC they had shot 15 times, and finished him off with the 50 cal. machine gun to stop him from getting up again.  When they examined the enemy bodies, some were found wrapped up with tape, from hip to shoulder, to keep their guts in if they were hit.  They were very high on something, opium or cocaine?  This is the enemy we were facing.

M-16 Rifle Jams -- The U.S. M-16 automatic rifle, single shot or full automatic, was a good weapon - until it jammed!  And the early M-16's often did in battle.  It happened to me many times.  The early version in Nam didn't come with a cleaning kit.  We tried every way of cleaning and lubricating that we could think of.  But the rifle still jammed.  Sgt. Ireland and I had our men carry an intact cleaning rod, placed between the front gun sight and rear carrying handle, which helped a great deal in the field.  When the rifle jammed, it was usually because the weapon wouldn't eject the spent round from the chamber.  You could ram the rod down the barrel and thus clear the empty casing, and quickly begin to fire again,- until the next jam.

What a way to fight a battle!  I can't begin to guess how many men died, or were wounded, because of this flaw.  For a while I used a M-16 carbine, which was an improvement over the rifle.  I tried to locate more of them to issue to my men, but there were not enough in our Division to go around.  I had to give mine up to the 101st Airborne after they arrived in country, and I started carrying the regular rifle again.  Some men would carry a different weapon when they could.  Sgt. Ireland carried a M-79 Grenade Launcher with buck-shot rounds.  Eventually the M-16 problem was fixed, but that was after I had left Vietnam.

1st Platoon was assigned a new replacement sergeant.  I asked him what his experience was and where he had been assigned earlier.  He told me he had worked in Supply.  After a couple of patrols, I happened to mention that we badly needed certain supplies, but the company couldn't get some items delivered to our base.  He replied, "I can help.  I can get things, whatever you want.  But I'll have to go back to Tay Ninh base camp."  I looked at Sgt. Ireland, and he said, "We need this man in the field"  But we needed the supplies more, and so I told Dan to give the Sgt.  a one-time chance to help.  If he didn't come through for us, he would remain in the field.  I gambled he would complete this errand, and that I hadn't overstepped my authority.

Sgt. Ireland was correct, we could use another man in the field.  The new sergeant hopped on the next chopper and we went about our business for that day, a near-by search and destroy patrol, I think.  By the end of the day, I was concerned about his absence.  But just then an unscheduled helicopter arrived, and there in the doorway, waving, was the new guy, with a chopper full of the supplies we asked for, and many extras as well.  He climbed down and said, "Your order, Sir, and free delivery".  Sgt. Ireland and I stood there looking, and I said, "How."  He replied, "You don't want to know, Sir".  We gave him more latitude after that and he came through for our company.  Then, after about 7-8 days he disappeared.  One of the colonels in the rear needed him more.  We were now down one sergeant, and missing his ability to resupply when no one else could.  You don't often find a really good scrounger, and when you find one you do not ask too many questions when normal channels didn't work.

Christmas 1967 -- The military command had made a cease fire truce agreement with the VC and NVA for the Christmas Holidays, in exchange for their Tet Holiday.  We were all in somewhat of a holiday mood, at least as good as it could be in the jungle.  We were clean again.  I had helped build a fancy shower for us.  It was a pit with the dirt piled up on the sides, some boards in the bottom, and a pole across the top to hold a bucket with holes in the bottom, and another bucket to carry water and slowly pour it into the first.  We didn't have water to waste.  We were now in heaven.

Christmas Eve was quiet and all was well.  It was early Xmas morning when the enemy mortars poured in on us.  A couple hit my bunker, others just missed.  Then we heard what sounded like a train coming towards us, it was 122mm rockets, one landing 6-8 ft away.  The rockets were almost 7 ft. long and far more deadly than the mortars.  You can't imagine how it felt, or how loud it sounded.  Our heads hurt and hearing was strained, but none of the men in our platoon were injured.  I can't explain how we escaped injury, just not our time yet?  This was replayed again on New Years morning.  Some holiday truce!  Mortars were a daily event, often 3-4 times each day.

Sometimes LZ's were hot (under fire) when we landed.  Helicopters were a favorite VC target, and they used the RPGs (Rocket Propelled Grenade) and AK-47s to shoot them down.  When it was a Hot LZ, the helicopter didn't land, but instead hovered with some forward movement.  Men would have to jump out quickly, often 3-9 ft.  above the ground.  On occasion the choppers were even further from the ground, if the men were too slow getting off.  The door gunners fired their M-60 machine guns at the enemy while the choppers left as quickly as they could, flaring away from the shooting.  They didn't want to be shot down. 

The grass in an LZ was often tall, from 3-10 ft.  Looking down from inside the chopper you might not be able to tell where the ground actually was.  This was hard on the body, because without knowing the distance, a man can't properly prepare for a landing.  Many times our gear added 50-60 lbs. to your weight.  When landing hot, there is not time for pain.  It was crucial to immediately return fire and establish a defensive perimeter, then lay down covering fire, and get all the men on the ground.  Gunships would attack the VC with rockets and machine guns, often ending the fight.  Once on the ground we could call for air support or artillery, or attack them ourselves.  But I could not call a time out - no matter how bad the pain.  As a leader, it is critical to set a good example, even when things hurt, if you expect your men to follow you.  Hot LZ's happened often enough, but not on every flight.  Occasionally there would be just a few dozen shots, and sometimes a real fight.  You never knew what to expect from the enemy, so we prepared for the worst, and hoped for something less.  On the easier LZs, the chopper might actually touch down for just a few moments, but their crew was always ready for an enemy attack.

January 1968, Bo Tuc Base Camp -- Lt.  Phil Jacobs and I received a road clearing assignment from Capt. Maio.  This included 1st & 3rd Platoons, Combat Engineers, and a platoon of 5 Tanks.  All were in our command, about 90 men.  The engineers checked the dirt road with mine detectors and we secured the area.  Each time they found something we would set up a defense perimeter, while they investigated, disarmed it, or blew up the mine in place.  The tanks had their 105mm guns leveled and loaded with beehive rounds.  They would sweep the guns around looking for an ambush, or any other potential problem.  On one such occasion, an engineer came to me and said, "Sir, this mine is different and should be looked at more closely".  Lt Jacobs and I examined the mine where the engineers had cleared off some of the dirt.  We could see the writing on the mine was different.  Russian, no doubt about it.  I radioed Capt. Maio and he had Intelligence (S-2), radio us.  Describing what I saw, the OIC (officer in charge) told me to "Disarm the mine".  I said, "The hell you say, its Russian."  The response was, "Disarm it", and so I said, "Instruct me."  Then I was commanded, "Disarm it Lt., you've been trained."  I replied, "Not on Russian mines I haven't."  About this time Lt.  Jacobs, overhearing the radio message, started digging around the mine and I joined in.  We removed dirt and blew around the sides and top, ever so cautiously.  Meanwhile, Sgt. Ireland had set up a defense.  I could rely on him, and didn't have to give to many orders, he knew what to do, and that allowed us to focus only on the mine.  The tanks traversed their guns around the area, keeping watch for an attack, or something out of the ordinary.

More than 88 men watched as two motivated, but crazy, young Lieutenants tried to disarm a mine that no one had ever seen before.  They all backed away, and must of thought we'd been hit in the head, or something, to be crazy enough to do this.  As we cleared the dirt off, I could see the fuse plate with a hole in it.  Someone tossed us a pin and we put it carefully in place.  Satisfied it was safe, I gently grabbed the fuse collar and started to turn it, while Lt.  Jacobs firmly held the mine's base.  The collar started to turn and I unscrewed the fuse from the base, while we sweated profusely.  Once separated, all was safe - I think.  Then I moved the fuse to the rear area and put it on the last tank.  We then put the mine on the front tank.  The tank commander, a Lt., had a fit and started to complain, saying, "Get this thing off my #@%* tank".  The mine's base was about 14 in. wide and weighed about 40 lbs.  I said, "We're under orders to bring the mine back to S-2.  Do you think my men are going to carry it 10 klicks back to base camp?  Besides, the fuse is on the last tank, and that's 5 tanks away".  We returned to base camp and removed the 2 mine parts, each of us carrying one into the S-2 Intelligence bunker.  Lt.  Jacobs and I reported in, laid the mine on their table, and they just stood there looking at us, never saying a word.  We walked out, returned to the company area and reported to our CO.

Several days and missions later, Jacobs and I returned to the S-2 bunker, hoping to receive a report on what we found.  I inquired about the mine and a senior officer said, "What mine?"  I said, "The mine Lt. Jacobs and I brought in here a few days ago."  "What mine, Lt.?" was again the answer.  I repeated, "The mine Jacobs and I brought in here."  The response was, "There is no mine, Lt., there never was a mine."  I'm now angry and started over the table towards the officer.  The idea that we risked our lives for this treatment was more than I could take.  Just before I could reach him, Lt.  Jacobs grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me off my feet.  I tried to get loose as he carried me from the bunker, kicking.  Lt.  Jacobs tried to calm me down and I said, "We risked everything for this?"  We returned to our area and to Capt. Maio.

Nothing more was discovered about the mine.  I thought I was going to receive a good ass chewing for my temper, but didn't.  I just recently found out that Intelligence never said anything to Capt. Maio about my poor response in the S-2 bunker.  As I think of it now, it still irritates me.  The event should have led to a commendation of some sort, or at least a pat on the back or a kick in the ass for a good job.    But the mine didn't exist - only about 88 other men saw it.  Sgt. Ireland thought this was our chance for a CMH, and he didn't mean the award.

[CMH - Congressional Medal of Honor, our nation's highest combat award.  Or, Casket with Metal Handles, where most end up receiving it.]

Quite often we couldn't find the VC or NVA, but would come across their jungle base camps, with a fire still smoldering and the pungent odor of opium or some other drug still in the air.  Sometimes a camp was large enough for just a few men, other times for many.  They had spider holes and tunnels to hide in.  Also bunkers, sleeping huts, traps, mines, and punji stakes.  The punji stake was usually made from split bamboo with one end sharpened.  The VC placed them in the ground as a trap, and put human feces on the sharp end.  It was not something you would want to step on.  While their mines could kill us, these could take you out of the field, cutting and infecting the body.  It required immediate medical attention, and you would be out of action until after treatment.

The enemy had many such traps and clever ways to maim or kill.  Often we would destroy the camp and area, so they didn't use it again.  Other times we'd call in artillery after we thought they had returned.  I never lost respect for the enemy's ability to fight with less.  A small dose of respect and fear makes you alert, and that can keep you alive.  Although we were out to kill the enemy and didn't like the terrorist methods he used, I still respected his ability to fight.  They gave us all we could handle and often didn't back down until they were nearly overrun.

January 16, 1968 -- We had a staff briefing where Capt. Maio informed us of a very large enemy buildup.  The enemy had been spotted, and three companies from our battalion were assigned S&D missions.  We were shown Co. C's area of operations and handed new maps.  Companies A and D would overlap some of our AO, to support us and each other if needed.  We were introduced to another captain, new in country, who was assigned to shadow Capt. Maio, for training

January 17, 1968 - Ambush -- We assembled the company and started on our S&D mission, leaving base camp behind.  We headed into the thick jungle, trying to be extra quiet, knowing that we might face a well-prepared enemy.  My 1st Platoon was on point.  I was several men behind the point man, and had placed Sgt. Ireland in the mid-rear, so an attack wouldn't kill both leaders at the same time.  If I was hit, he would take over immediately.  We were moving at a good pace and were right on course.  The CO.  radioed, instructing me to change my azimuth 20 degrees left.  We adjusted our course and kept moving.  We had covered about 40-50 yards when we were viciously ambushed by a very large VC force.  I was knocked down by an exploding claymore mine.  Sgt. Ireland, who was closer to the center of the blast, was knocked out momentarily.  I quickly got up and started defending our position, attacking with my M-1 6, then moving to the machine gunner and directing his firepower on the enemy.  Over the noise of the shooting, I heard one of my men scream.  Leaving the M-60, I moved to help him, calling for medics.  He looked at me and said, "I'm going to die!"  He didn't say, "Am I going to die?"  The medics came quickly and took over.  Later, I learned that he went into shock and died.  About this time, Sgt. Ireland was up and fighting in his area.  Once again I opened fire, and together the platoon laid down a heavy barrage.

RPG's, hand grenades and bullets flew all around us.  I began to move from man to man, to organize their weapon's firepower, and to keep them as calm as possible.  And at some point I arrived at the grenadier's position to direct his weapon onto the VC, and was immediately struck in the head..  My helmet was knocked off, but I continued fighting.  Moving towards the next position, I found my helmet, with a large crease and dent on it.  The platoon continued firing, delivering intense suppressive fire on the enemy.  The men fought well, their actions made me proud of them.  The captain issued orders to regroup at the new company perimeter, where we had gathered our wounded.  I ordered Sgt. Ireland to handle this, so I could direct and cover our movements.  He was to move our remaining men to safety, then return to help me regroup with the company.  Sgt. Ireland took 4-5 men with him, while I moved from position to position, sending men back to the perimeter, 2 to 3 at a time.  I remained behind to repel the enemy, and stop a counterattack.  Soon I was alone with the VC, in their jungle.  Maybe not my smartest move.  Someone had left me with extra magazines, and I continued to lay down intensive fire with my M-16 and grenades.  Fewer enemy soldiers showed themselves, and I hoped they didn't realize that there was just one man doing all the shooting.

And in the middle of all this, my M-16 jammed.  I had to roll on my side, remove the cleaning rod from the handle and sight, ram it down the barrel to dislodge the empty casing . . . while enemy bullets whizzed by and hit the ground around me.

In the meantime, Sgt. Ireland had killed several VC with his grenade launcher, carried a couple men to safety, and taken charge of the M-60 machine gun when the gunner was wounded.

Capt. Maio saw our efforts, and called for gunships and artillery to assist us, although I could not hear them over the noise of battle.  At one point he lost sight of me in the dense jungle, during the latter part of the fighting, though he could see Dan.  And then Capt. Maio himself was hit and knocked down, and lay stunned for a while.

Other men were doing a hell of a job as well.  The new captain had pulled in a stranded man, and was himself wounded, and then he was killed as he tried to help another soldier.  My medic, PFC Gerald Chino, went out under fire to assist our stranded, and wounded, flank man., pulling him to safety.  Here was a young, new medic, who until recently had seemed like he couldn't cut it, the kind of guy others might pick on.  We were so wrong.  Be careful how you judge.  What is inside a man often surprises us when the action starts.

It took many such heroic actions to keep us alive this day, and many of the men did more than their share.  It's a shame that all of their stories could not be told - they were heroes all!

Alone, and now that my men were safe, it was time for me to move back to the perimeter.  While doing so and continuing to fire, I joined Lt. Jacobs and together we laid down a barrage on the enemy.  We were quickly joined by Sgt. Ireland who still had the M-60.  The three of us stood side by side and rained fire down on the enemy positions, hoping to keep the enemy at bay.  Lt. Reynolds called to us, "What is this, John Wayne, Sgt. York, and Audie Murphy?".  It was a joke that we afterwards shared from time to time.

Continuing to fire at the enemy, we finally moved back inside the company perimeter.  Sgt. Ireland came last, firing the M-60.  For a short time we four leaders had been too close together . . . a tempting target for the enemy.  The others had taken a big risk to help bring me in.  And once we were back inside new perimeter, the enemy fire became less intense.  Perhaps the VC moved on?

Captain Maio ordered us to move out of the area, back to base camp, and as we tried to evacuate our wounded, we were attacked again.  Capt. Maio called for an air strike, with bombs and napalm, to clear out the VC, and make a hole in the jungle.  Choppers arrived and we extracted the wounded and the dead.  Then, our company started moving again, and we were attached once more.  Battalion headquarters sent Alpha Company to help relieve the pressure, but soon they were also under heavy fire and pinned down, as they fought their way in to join us.

The VC tried to cut off 1st Platoon, to isolate us from the rest of the company.  And they circled around, attempting to trap our company between two forces, so that they could finish us off at their leisure.  But Alpha Company was able to maneuver to a position to thwart their movement.  The battle became intense, fought in dense jungle, with the enemy sometimes no more than a few yards away, using guns, grenades, and fighting man-to-man.  The fighting was so close that we could not call in artillery for support.
 
Sgt. Ireland played a major role in this battle.  After he was back on his feet and fighting, he moved from man to man, encouraging them, while I did the same on the other side of our perimeter.  We performed well as a team!

Were it not for the courage, experience and leadership of Captain Maio, events might have ended very differently.  We had just missed walking into a U-shape ambush.  It was later estimated that we killed 48 VC and fought a VC battalion.  Brigade later found many blood trails and sixty fighting bunkers, and spider holes.  Brigade and Battalion Commanders were pleased with our results.  When we returned to base camp it was time to reorganize our men.  Because of our losses, our platoon now had only 13 men.  One of my men had died, and many others were wounded.  His death was my 2nd lesson on mental strength.  Such strength can help avoid sudden shock of injury, allowing you time to be medevaced for a better chance at survival.

I interviewed my NCO's and other soldiers to gather the details of their courageous actions, then wrote awards for many of them.  I wrote one for Staff Sergeant Daniel Ireland, as did Capt. Maio, and Dan received the Distinguished Service Cross on July 22, 1968.  Capt. Maio put me in for a Silver Star for my actions.  Until just this past year, he had not known that I stayed behind to cover the retreat of my men, and then fought my way back in with Sgt. Ireland.  And I was unaware of his awards recommendation.  Capt. Maio, Lt. Jacobs, Lt. Reynolds, Sgt. Ireland and I never spoke about the battle again.  Ongoing missions kept us too busy. 

Sgt. Ireland sustained hearing loss and he was out of action for about a week.  Dan wanted to go out with us anyway, and I had to order him to stay back.  I appointed another NCO as Platoon Sergeant until Dan recovered.  I'm sure he took some ribbing about it.  Sgt. Ireland was anxious to get back into the field, and when his hearing recovered I was glad to have him back.

Days later, in camp, I thought about my own actions in the attack.  I wondered if I had performed well enough.  Did I do a decent job on behalf of my men?  I had told my men, "You fought well and made a great effort during the battle".  My question was later answered when several men commented, "You really had your shit together, Lt."  And that's about as good as it gets as far as compliments are concerned.  I guess I did OK.

Several days after the battle, Capt. Maio summoned me to his CP (command post).  He looked at me and sternly said "The colonel wants to see you, immediately!"  The captain and I marched down to the battalion's Tactical Operations Command bunker (TOC).  Knowing colonels don't waste time on 2nd lieutenants, I was thinking, "What did I do to receive an ass chewing."  I figured that as a 2nd Lt., I must of messed up somewhere, somehow, but where?  I saw the commander and saluted, and reported smartly, "Lt.  Lorenz reporting as ordered, sir."  He walked towards me, then shook my hand and said, "Just wanted to meet you, good job Lt.", then turned and went back to his work.  I had shaken hands with Lt. Colonel Al Bracy, Battalion Commander.  The other officers were busy discussing something when the commander turned to me again and said, "I have an assignment for you lieutenant.  I want you to recover a downed helicopter."  He assigned me two platoons and a recovery team, about 70 men in all.  The lieutenant of the other platoon was quite senior to me and I mentioned it to the colonel.  He replied, "Just do your job, Lieutenant." 

Our platoons were to escort the recovery riggers to the site and secure it, while they prepared the chopper to be lifted from the area.  On the way back to my company area, Capt. Maio had a grin on his face.  He had set me up.  Here I thought I was going to catch hell.  I could of kicked him, but you don't kick the CO in the ass.  (I was placed in charge of a senior lieutenant 4 times)

I prepared for the recovery mission.  The helicopter recovery team, the other Lt., and his platoon reported to me.  I assigned the order of march and we started down the road towards the downed chopper.  We had been notified by radio that the road was cleared that morning.  But I set up like it wasn't, just in case.  I stayed off the center of the road, walking on the sides with flank guards out.  Keeping on high alert.  I looked back to make sure we were spread out properly, and noticed one of the recovery NCOs talking to one of our Squad Leaders.  We had walked about 6-7 klicks before we saw the helicopter on its side.  I gave orders to Sgt. Ireland to set up a defensive perimeter.  The rigging team knew their job and set about it right away.  Soon a Chinook helicopter was coming our way to lift the downed chopper, and the NCOIC directed it to the hook up they had prepared.  The chopper was soon connected, lifted up, and flown out of the area without any problems.

When we were finished, the NCOIC walked over to me and asked if I was Lt. Larry Lorenz from Redford High School in Michigan.  His name was Max Baer, and he had attended the same high school.  And that is why he had been talking to my NCO.  We were friends in school and I hadn't seen him in years.  On the way back, we talked.  He was curious about how I received my commission and what I had done since school.  I had the same questions for him.  And once we arrived back at camp and parted ways, I never saw him again.

Perhaps 10 days after the Jan. 17th battle with the VC, we were sent back to the battle site to check for recent activity.  My platoon was again on point.  I was up front, like before, and I had never seen 1st Platoon be so stealthy.  Before, they had been quiet, but now they were at Special Forces level.  As we moved quietly, it was necessary to constantly adjust the men's spacing, depending on the density of the underbrush.  It was so dense in places that you might lose sight of the man just three or four yards in front of you, and need to tighten up.  At other times the brush was more open and we could expand the interval.  It was the same for the men on the right and left flanks.  This was a constant drill on all the missions.

While moving along, one of the squad leaders came up to me, with a soldier in hand, and said, "This man won't walk point, Sir."  I looked at the soldier and told him to take his turn, like everyone else had.  I had walked point and flank myself until the Capt. stopped me.  He said, "I can't, Sir".  About then the CO radioed, asking why the hold up.  I told the NCO to pick another man, I would handle this later, then turned to the soldier and told him there would be consequences.

Arriving at the site we set up defense and began to look around, very cautiously because of our earlier battle.  There were lots of fighting bunkers, spider holes, and one other item that caught my attention - several yellow paper flyers, offering a reward for our death.  A wanted poster, for the captain,, lieutenants, and platoon sergeants of Company C, 2nd Battalion, 14th Infantry.  We were surprised.  I thought this was pretty cool, as it meant we were a threat to the VC and had done our job well.  Finding more flyers, I put a few in my pocket.  Capt. Maio radioed in his report and we headed back towards the base camp, patrolling carefully all the way along our route.  I gave a couple flyers away and mailed two home, with an explanation to my family.  These never arrived and they didn't get to enjoy the pride, or levity of it.

Late January, 1968 -- Capt. Joe Maio received a company-size mission from battalion commander Lt. Col. Al Bracy.  Our mission was to air assault into an area that was being reinforced and heavily fortified by the NVA.  Capt. Maio briefed the three of us, Lt. Jacobs, 3rd Plt., Lt. Reynolds, 2nd Plt., and me, 1st Plt., plus his company staff.  Maps and assignments were handed out.  Because we did not have enough helicopters available to all go at the same time, Capt. Maio and his command group would fly in the first lift, with Jacob's 3rd Plt.  The choppers would land at the LZ and then return for 1st & 2nd Plt.  I was put in charge of the second lift.  At first I was a little disappointed, because I wanted to go with the captain and learn from him directly, but quickly realized, he had placed me in a position of trust, and leadership.  That showed me he had confidence in me, maybe more than I had in myself.

The first airlift landed without enemy contact and the choppers returned to pick up the second lift.  I boarded the first chopper and sent Sgt. Ireland to another.  I assigned Lt. Reynolds platoon  to the choppers at the back of the lift.  We flew to the LZ without incident, until we tried to land.  The LZ was hot, much too hot to land.  We flew to the alternative, LZ-2, and tried again.  Once again we came under heavy fire.  It was obviously a very large NVA force, with automatic weapons, 51 cal. machine guns, RPG's, and 37mm anti-aircraft cannons.  The air was full of bullets and explosions.  There were black clouds of flak from the exploding 37mm's.  Bullets and shrapnel were going into the helicopter body and through our open doors.  I could feel the heat from bullets and shrapnel as they passed by.  I felt a really hot one go by and nick my RTO on his hand, leaving a small bloody crease on the top of it.  My RTO said, "I'm out of here.  This is my second wound, rear duty for me now."  I told him jokingly, "You can't escape that easily, its only a scratch, a paper cut."  We laughed about it, as bullets and shrapnel continued flying through.  The NVA were all over the place and standing on bunkers shooting at us.  We dropped smoke grenades, as markers for the gunships to dive on.  Our choppers were moving evasively, rapidly maneuvering to avoid getting shot down, as were the gunships.  It looked like the chaos from a film of WWII Navy air battles.  We dropped so many smoke grenades on the enemy bunkers it became cloudy on the ground.  The gunships had more targets than they could handle.  This was the largest visible enemy force I'd seen in one place.

The pilot told me they were getting low on fuel and the entire airlift would have to return to refuel soon.  I asked, "What about the captain and his men?"  He replied that they needed to fill up, now!  We returned to a refueling area, shooting and fighting, as we flew away.  When we landed, I was glad to climb out, I had become airsick, even with the doors open.  The flight and the fight had been long, and I didn't fly well for long periods.  My men went out the right side and I exited out the left so that they would not see their leader throw up on the other side off the tarmac.  Returning to my chopper I noticed holes in the body on my side, bullet and flak holes, 26 in all.  6 had been made by the 51 cal. rounds, and the rest from AK-47 rounds and 37mm flak.  I wanted to look underneath, but thought I would throw up again, and I never had a chance to see the other side because the refueling was completed and the pilot yelled to mount-up.  We loaded back aboard, in hopes of going back to reinforce Capt. Maio's group.  The ship lifted off, but could only get us a few feet off the ground.  It was too damaged to give us more.  The pilot tried once more to make the chopper rise, but no luck.  Then he radioed this in, and my mission was canceled.  The helicopters were too shot-up.  I argued that we couldn't leave Capt Maio's command out there alone.  But there were no other helicopters available at that time.  We returned to our company area to wait.  Lt. Reynolds, Sgt. Ireland and I tried to find other ships to go back out, to help bring the company in, but it just wasn't going to happen.

Capt. Maio was on his own.  I walked in circles, hoping nothing would happen to the rest of the men.  We felt helpless.  All that could be done, was being done.  They had to hike back and after quite a few hours we saw them.  They marched in with the Capt. leading.  We walked over to them, glad they all made it in, and without injuries.  I ask him how he did it and received just a smile.  It seems the NVA never knew about them, which is unlikely, or instead waited to attack our helicopters.  We were the higher priority target, and the enemy force was way too big for the Capt. to engage.  His group held in place, then moved away while the VC attacked our helicopters.  Afterwards, command sent in artillery and air strikes to the area.  Either way it was good luck for us, the men were safe.  Capt. Maio was one of the finest commanders I have ever had the pleasure to work for.  I was placed as OIC on several more missions.

It is completely amazing that none of the Capt.'s men were attacked or injured, and none injured in my command either.  No dead, no injured, except for my RTO's nick on the hand.  The Capt.'s command had watched the air battle from their position near LZ-1, and could see the 37mm anti-aircraft rounds explode all around us.  Just how did we escape almost certain death, and how did we all get out of there?  I'd like to think it was because my cousin, 1st Lt. Ted Sherman, was my pilot.  He had flown missions for the 25th Div. and 1st Brigade, and was a skilled aviator!  Or, were we being watched over?

Early February, 1968 -- Our next mission, early February, 1968, was along the Cambodian border where the enemy actively crossed back and forth.  We airlifted the full company this time and headed northeast.  As we approached the LZ, it turned hot.  We were taking fire from several places.  We were able to land, set up defensive positions and fire back, as we prepared to attack.  It soon became quiet, and being motivated lieutenants, Jacobs, Reynolds, and I quickly got ready to attack the VC.  I had watched them cross the creek, heading to the village on that side.  We were just about to go after them - we could see the VC in the village - when Capt. Maio grabbed us by the collars and said, "You three will be sergeants by morning if you cross that border!"  The C&C chopper was overhead.  We must have looked like the nephews of Donald Duck,- Huey, Dewey, and Louie.  Our legs were moving, but we were being held by Donald (Capt Maio).  He settled us down, but we were pissed off at not being able to respond and fight back after the VC shot at our men.  The CO knew when to fight and when to hold, and how to handle the three of us, Thank God!  Our men received only minor injures.  The rest of the mission was quiet.  We only found areas where they had been and no further contact was made that day.

February 1968 -- On the Cambodian border the entire battalion was air assaulting into a new area.  This was, to date, the largest helicopter air assault I'd been on.  The NVA was very active at this border area.  On the map its called the Parrot's Beak.  Our company was not in the lead this time.  We airlifted to our LZ in two or three stages.  Our lift landed peacefully, we were all prepared for a Hot LZ, but got lucky this time.  Once down we assembled with the other companies, and started off in the order of march.  I think we were about in the middle of the battalion, heading for the Cambodian border area.  All was going well for a short while, when we were suddenly ordered to pull back.         A very large NVA attack was coming in our direction.  An enemy regiment was on the move.  They were a much larger force, several times more soldiers.  They were everywhere, according to the radio transmission.  We moved to the planned LZ, loaded onto the choppers, and lifted away.  I saw many gunships fly by, headed for the place we had just departed, then heard explosions and guns, but wasn't able to see the action, as we were now headed away from it.  Perhaps we had just been a decoy, to draw them across the Cambodian border so we could hit them with gunships, artillery, and air strikes.  If so, it worked!  We could not cross, or shoot into Cambodia at that time.  This would change later in the war, when my brother Gary, and brother-in law George, were there.

Firebase Burt -- Firebase Burt was a short assignment, before we shipped back to Tay Ninh base camp.  We continued S&D missions and defended the perimeter for the artillery and tank companies.  This was the largest concentration of cannons, tanks, and support equipment I'd seen so far.  The largest were the 175mm artillery pieces, they're very big, long, and extremely loud.  I found that out the hard way, as I was inspecting their defensive perimeter and a fire mission came in.  They don't wait for you to get out of the way.  The gun crew fired and my head hurt, and the ensuing headache did not go away for awhile.  I did not do that again!  Let them inspect their own damn area.  The rest of the big guns were various 8 in, 105mm, and 155mm howitzers, plus many tanks.  Because of all the tracked equipment the dirt was ground up to the consistency of talcum powder, often 4-6 inches deep.  Consequently, when we walked in the dirt, clouds rose up and covered us with a fine film of dust.

Someone found a football and the men started throwing it around.  As expected, a game was soon underway, and I was going to play, but we needed some ground rules first.  I stated, "No cheap shots.  I'm not going to try to explain to Capt. Maio why we're not fit for duty."  We played tackle football in that dust.  As we played and laughed, we became covered with dust, up to a half inch thick and sometimes more after being tackled.  It attached itself to our sweaty bodies and clothes.  I looked like I weighed 200 lbs. instead of 160 lbs.  The game was the perfect diversion from our normal routine, and a great chance to bond with the men.  It felt good to laugh that much.  We were sure glad they had showers.  I had my wish, no one was hurt and we never had to explain anything to the CO.

It was at Burt that I developed a defensive idea for our bunkers.  I thought, if I put air gaps between the roof sections and kept them open on each end, some of the energy from a mortar impact should dissipate through the gaps.  From that idea, Sgt. Ireland and I rebuilt our bunker, a bit thicker because of the roof air gaps.  We were never hit there, but the theory was sound, as energy goes to the place of least resistance.  Our time at FB Burt ended, because of the Tet Offensive.  I told the replacement Lt. what we'd done to the bunker, so he could pass it on if the idea worked.  We flew back to Tay Ninh base camp, approximately the morning of Feb. 8th.

Tay Ninh Base Camp -- Base camp life seemed strange after all the time we had spent in the jungle, living on the ground, in bunkers, with little sleep and few showers.  This was heaven.  We had a regular roof over our heads, bunks to sleep on, toilets, showers, and hot chow in the mess hall.  I had been out in jungle since mid-November, about 90 days, and would have still been out if not for the VC and NVA takeover of Tay Ninh City.  I had also been preparing to go to Hawaii on R&R (rest and recuperation) in two weeks.  My girl friend was planning to meet me there, and I was looking forward to it.  It would have been my first break since getting to Vietnam.  But it may have been too much like heaven.  Because of the attack on Tay Ninh, now everything would have to wait until we took care of the enemy in the city.  They were heavily fortified and dug in.  The Brigade and Battalion Commanders were working on plans to engage and kill them.

I had not forgotten the young black soldier who wouldn't walk point when it was his turn.  This was the time to deal with the issue.  I told him that he would be disciplined, but that if he soldiered on, nothing more would be said about it.  Otherwise he would be court-martialed for disobeying direct orders.  I did not want to ruin his military career, if he wanted one.  He was restricted to the company area and assigned any tough duty the First Sgt. could think of, including shit-burning duty.  I informed the CO, XO, and First Sgt., of my decision.  Then I told Sgt. Ireland to keep his hands off of him, until we saw what he was made of, and to treat him like the other men if he served his punishment and soldiered like everyone else.  That was as fair as possible.  Other leaders were not as lenient.

When the battalion came back to base camp, there was a large amount of equipment that needed to be placed in the supply and ammo dump area.  We set up a temporary area, until a more permanent one could be completed.  About 2010 hrs on the 1st or 2nd night, VC mortars rained in on us.  The enemy also sent in Sappers.  We awoke to noise, fire, smoke and tear gas.  They had hit our ammo dump, which started a fire.  I left the area along with other soldiers, looking for my men, to assemble and fight the enemy.  I rescued only my boots, pants and M-16.  The fire consumed our area.  We were lucky to get out with the rifles, and our butts in one piece.  The VC had done their damage and didn't stay and fight, at least not in my area.  There wasn't much remaining near where my hooch (shack) had been.  Those of us who shared it, had almost nothing left, and all my letters and pictures were burned, but at least we got out alive.  The next day the extent of the damage was clear, and we were issued new gear and assigned to another hooch.  While we went on a few S&D missions, we also had some time to ourselves, as our commanders planned their next move.

Tay Ninh was a large base camp, with Officer and NCO Clubs (small shacks) where you could buy drinks.  Lt. Jacobs found us a jeep and driver, so Lt. Reynolds and I went with him to one of the Officer's Clubs.  We dropped the enlisted driver at an NCO Club, so he would have a good night as well.  At the clubs you could drink, talk shop with the other men, or discuss whatever else you had on your mind.  Later that night we stopped at the NCO Club, had a drink with some of the men, and picked up our driver.  The next time Lt. Jacobs just borrowed the jeep.

Orders came down from Brigade Headquarters.  Capt. Joe Maio had made the promotion list for Major.  The Battalion Commander had built an Officers Club for our 2nd Battalion, and expected the officers to congratulate the soon-to-be Major.  We didn't have to be asked twice.  The three of us were cheerful about his promotion.  At the club we had a chance to meet the other commanders, surgeons, etc.  Normally, in the field, we never had the chance to talk with them.  It was also at this point we realized that the promotion meant we were going to lose Capt. Maio, and receive a new CO.  We wondered if we would get someone his equal, but it didn't seem likely.  His promotion took more than a month to finalize, waiting for a slot to open up.

February 16, 1968 -- By the 15th of February, the battalion commanders had a plan in place, and we received attack plans for a Search & Destroy mission the next day, on Feb. 16,1968.  Our mission was to air assault into Tay Ninh City, to an LZ on the southern side, and then move north.  Our goal was to find the enemy and engage him, killing as many as possible.

We landed without contact, assembled, and started our assault.  While sweeping through the city, we were savagely attacked by a very large, dug in enemy force, at least two battalions that were well fortified.  Bullets struck all around us, and I dropped down to return fire.  While firing, I moved next to an Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) for a better look at the objective.  The APC was firing it's 50 cal. machine gun and I thought, "Can't stay here long,"  And sure enough, there was an explosion, and I landed somewhere else, perhaps 10-12 feet away, feeling nothing.  An RPG had scored a direct hit on the APC, sending me flying six feet high.  I was wounded, and paralyzed from the chest down.  As my men worked to help me, one said, "You'll be fine in a week."  The first face I saw was the young soldier I had disciplined.  I thought to myself, "You did right by him, and now he's here to help, when he could have just looked the other way."  He field dressed the wound and the medic gave me a shot for pain, and then I was loaded into an APC, placed on top of a floor full of ammo boxes, and driven toward a Medevac helicopter.  The ride in the APC was rough as we rode quickly through the rice paddies and over low earthen dikes.  Arriving at the chopper, I heard the crew chief say, "Were full."  There was some whispering and then they loaded me aboard anyway.  It was then I knew the medic had lied to me about my condition, just as we had trained them to do.  I kind of smiled to myself, thinking, "They did it right".  I was chewing gum, and started to think about that, instead of the wounds.  The gum was breaking apart and I asked the chopper crew for more.  They must of thought I had a head injury, instead of back wound.  I could have written a paper on chewing gum.  But the thoughts were keeping my mind straight and in a positive direction (mental strength lesson No. 3).

Tay Ninh Hospital -- After the chopper ride, somewhere on a bus or ambulance, before arriving at the Tay Ninh Hospital, I saw Captain Maio for a few moments.  He wished me good luck, and told me, "We got 81 of those bastards . . . just thought you might like to know." At the hospital they rushed me inside.  There was an abundance of medical help, and lots of frantic activity.  Nurses and medics cut off my blood soaked clothing and boots.  The blood dripped everywhere, while a priest gave me the Last Rites.  Then I was headed to surgery and told to count backwards from one hundred, as a mask moved towards my face.  I never made it to ninety before passing out.

I awoke with a violent jolt as a 122mm rocket hit in the next room.  The post-op medics slid us under our beds for protection.  Grabbing one of their arms, I asked what was happening, and was told we were under attack.  I asked for an M-16 to fight with.  Even though there wasn't any feeling below my chest, I could still shoot and it was the best option to protect the men nearby, who were in even worse shape then me.  As I was passing out I noticed all the various bottles hanging on the racks around these men.  My last view was of the door and the bottom of the bed frame.  When I awoke later, I was last surviving patient from that operating room.  Rockets had blown up the OR, killing the surgeon and staff.  Later I met a replacement doctor, who apologized and told me about the attack, the death of the very next patient, the surgeons and staff members, seven or eight altogether.  A 122mm rocket had landed right on the chest of the next patient, lying on the operating table, killing all of them, just after I had been lifted down and placed on a bed in the recovery area.  Aside from the unfortunate loss of lives, some of the surgeons' medical records were lost as well.  The doctor explained my wounds to me.  He told me that an RPG fragment had struck across my spine, opening a 4x6 inch hole in the center my back, and then turned and entered like a knife.  The doctors made a seven-inch incision in my stomach to remove the fragments and repair the damage.  A follow-up operation would be necessary, but it would be done at another hospital.  This OR was in ruins.

I don't remember much of the rest of the time I was at Tay Ninh Hospital, but do recall flying to Cu Chi in a special propeller aircraft, set up to carry the wounded.  I believe we were sent there because of the damage to the Tay Ninh Hospital, but I cannot find a record of my visit to the Cu Chi Hospital in my records.  The staff there took good care of us.  They tried to get me to breath deeply, and cough, so fluid would not build up in my lungs.  This was painful to do because my stomach had been cut open to remove RPG fragments, and any movement hurt.  There were more than seven inches of stitches, plus large staples, holding everything together.  But pain was a good thing, it meant some feeling was returning, though there was still no feeling in my legs.  I gave my best effort to help keep my lungs clear, in spite of the pain

After some days I was able to sit in a wheelchair, in front of a small TV near the door.  Suddenly the door burst open and a man fell into my chair.  While pushing him off of me, I recognized him.  It was Tony Nagy, from Redford High School.  We both asked, "What are you doing here!"  He had stopped by to see another wounded friend.  Later, back home, I would see Tony again.

Camp Zama, Japan, February 27, 1968 -- My next stop was Camp Zama in Japan, arriving on February 27 in a large, medically-prepared jet aircraft.  It must have been carrying up to one hundred wounded, plus nurses and medics.  We were wheeled aboard on mobile beds and strapped down.  Three bottles hung from the bed pole, with tubes connecting them to my body.  I awoke riding on a bus through the streets of Japan, noticing the well-kept farm terraces as we passed.  Everything seemed very neat.  Our bus arrived at a holding area, and before we were assigned to our various hospital wards, I had a chance to speak with men from all over Vietnam, from most branches and ranks of the armed service.  It was very informative and interesting.

The ward was full of badly injured men, Lieutenants to Majors, perhaps 15 of us, from Army, and Air Force.  It was here they operated on my back again.  After the operation, I awoke to new neighbors and we talked.  The guy in the next bed had been pronounced dead in a chopper crash.  He was the pilot and his gunship was shot down.  His last words were, "The hell I am!" as the medics declared him dead, with no pulse.  Waking in the hospital was a shock, and it would be his home for quite some time.  For many months, this had been home to several of these men.  When looking around at the wounds of the others, I felt pretty lucky compared to my present company.  I was beginning to get some feeling in my legs, and the staff was working to help me stand up again, with their support.  Each day was better than the last and easy on my mind, knowing walking again was a real possibility.  Standing without support was becoming easier and easier.  Asking the medics for a phone was next, so that I could inform my parents that their son was alive.  Hearing stories from the other men about their families receiving Red Cross notices saying they were KIA (killed in action), motivated this.  Mom answered and was excited to receive the call, of course.  They had not yet received my death notice, or heard anything about my injuries yet.  Later they would receive a notice saying, "Received a minor injury in battle".

Beginning to walk on my own was a relief, but it made me feel bad for the other men who were not doing so well.  Some of them would never walk again.  Being allowed movement, with crutches or canes, around the floor, and seeing men with missing body parts, in various stages of repair, was an eye-opener for me, and it made me very sad.  I was thankful for my "minor injuries".  The doctor told me that had I not been as strong, and well built, I might not have survived this ordeal, or ever walked again.  At the time of my injury I had been in the best shape of my life.  Hurrah for being fit, it had just saved my life

Each day I felt better, and I expected to return to the fight again, and wanted to after I was healed.  Nothing to it, just get up one day and go back to Nam, a small wound was all.  Wrong!  They were shipping this soldier stateside, to Valley Forge Hospital in Pennsylvania.  I received orders for home.  USA-bound, via Alaska, and on to Pennsylvania.  I was joyful.  I do not remember much of the flight, but do recall seeing the Alaskan Mountains near Anchorage, and landing just before sunrise . . . very beautiful.

Valley Forge Hospital, Pennsylvania, March 5, 1968 -- Valley Forge Hospital was old, large, and outside Philadelphia.  I was assigned a private room, though I would have been happier in the ward with the other guys.  By now I was moving around fairly well and doing exercises.  About mid-March they sent me home for 30 days, on convalescent leave.  My doctor prescribed Darvon w/codeine as a painkiller.  My plane landed at Metro Airport near Detroit.  While walking down the corridor with a cane, I could see my parents up ahead, with tears in their eyes.  My health was better than expected, although I had developed an infection in my back.  It was still an open wound, in the center of the 4x6 inch scar.  Mother cleaned this each day, then applied medicine into the hole, and covered the area.  She could see the tips of three vertebrates.  This duty may not have been as bad as it sounds, because Mom had nursed me back to health and helped coach me to walk again when I had Polio as a child.  She was very diligent, didn't give up, and would never allow me to quit.

It was during this leave that I met my future wife.  My old girlfriend had dumped me, probably afraid of how bad my injuries were.  Friends fixed me up on a blind date with Henrietta Keating (Hankie).  She probably felt cheated when she saw this crippled guy walking with a cane, and I can't blame her.  I must of been a sight at 126 lbs.  We went out anyways and are still together after 46 years.  We were married November14, 1969 . . . I think she is still blind.  Her father was a wounded Marine from WWII.

During the second convalescent leave, on April 25th, my retired neighbor, Mr.  Sam Termini, put a golf club in my hand and encouraged me to swing it.  At first my body couldn't move more than a long putting stroke, but each day, with his help and coaching, I improved.  After many tries, I had a chipping stroke.  This became a daily routine with my friend.  Then later, a slow full swing.  We advanced to swinging harder, it was smooth and clean, better than before the injury.  This essential movement accelerated the healing.  When Sam, his son Tom and I finally played golf, the ball flew longer and straighter than ever before.  Mr. T's therapy was indispensable.  My lifelong friends, Tom, Dave, and I played golf often and I worked hard to get into shape again.

It was time to return to duty.  I Informed the Doctors and was placed on restricted duty on May 16th.  I called the Pentagon to see about getting an assignment that was open at Ft. Wayne in Detroit, Michigan.  I got my ass chewed out for asking.  They had a different job in mind, as a Company Commander, at Ft.  Dix, NJ.  They told me they had plans for me, and that this was a better assignment, it would help round out and advance my career, that it was a smart move for my promotion resume.  But my father was quite ill at the time, and Ft. Wayne was much closer to home.

Fort Wayne, Detroit, Michigan, May 20, 1968 -- I received the post at Ft. Wayne on May 20, 1968, after 93 days of healing.  My new job was as Assistant Joint Processing Officer, in charge of paperwork and swearing in new men for all branches of the military.  There were some good men and commanders here, but it was simply not as exciting as Vietnam.

One day I received orders to report to the Colonel's Office.  Capt.  Edwards took me there, and once again I was thinking I'm in trouble.  But instead I was surprised to be receiving two Bronze Stars for my actions in Vietnam.  One with a "V", from the January 17th battle, was for valor.  The Purple Heart and other medals arrived at the same time.  Much later I received a letter stating that I had been recommended to receive a Silver Star.  Weeks later, as my CO, Capt. Edwards, was promoted to Major, he gave me his Captain's bars.  It was an honor.  He also submitted the paperwork for my promotion to captain.  I was honored by his efforts and thought hard about an officer's career, deciding instead to Honorably Discharge, on March 26, 1968.

A civilian again --  According to my friends and the newspapers, there were plenty of jobs available, some seeking commanders with combat experience.  Companies like Ford Motor were looking for staff supervisors.  Everything looked easy, I had the credentials they sought and thought I should be able to hire in right away.  That is until the physical, when they saw my wounds front and rear.  I couldn't hide the large purple scars.  None of them wanted a used up, wounded Vet, especially one with a back wound.  I went so far as trying to sign-off on any future back injury, with the State of Michigan.  But no was the only answer I received.  The very same country I had fought for didn't want me.  Privately, a VA Doctor told me my wounds should be rated at 40-50 percent disability, but warned me it would not be enough to live on, and no one would hire me with that percent disability.  I went to the VA to be examined and they treated me with complete distain, and later awarded me 10 percent.  I was really living large now, with $21 per month from the VA.  When my friend Bob Lawrence informed me that the Detroit Police and Fire Departments were hiring, I felt it was just another waste of time, but applied to the Fire Department anyway, along with Bob.  What was another "No" after so many disappointments?  The written test, plus the strength and agility tests were not a problem, but when I took their physical the doctors saw the purple scars and said, "My god, will you look at that!"  Dr. McAlone pulled them aside and stated, "He's a Vet," and then they had a quiet conversation.  I was approved to enter the training program.

Dr. McAlone had been our family physician when I had Polio.  He had stayed with us until the fever broke and made sure the necessary therapy was scheduled at Children's Hospital in Detroit.  He was also a VA doctor, and agreed with the other doctor's estimate of my disability, and knew about vet's not being hired if it was too high.  I never applied for a greater disability from the VA, out of fear of losing my new job.  There were not many other options available to me.

September 2, 1969 -- The Training Academy greeted it's new recruits.  We received training for eight weeks, then were placed in firehouses as Trial Firefighters.  It would be four more months before we were fully accepted as firefighters.  This was like being back in the military, and that made it easy to adapt.  Compared to my military training, this was not so hard, and it was interesting.  We were training to be safe and stay alive.  That seemed a bit familiar.  The starting pay was $6,900 per year, which was less than I had received as a lieutenant, and a lot less than a captain earned.  But at least I had a job and an exciting career.

In firefighting, failure was not an option.  We had to defeat the enemy every time.  Fire never backs down and requires a complete victory each time.  The men I fought with in the Vietnam war were very brave.  Men like Joe Maio and Dan Ireland were outstanding brothers in war.  They are still my friends today and I'm lucky to have them.  But the firefighters were the most courageous men I ever worked with.  They stuck their necks out for 25 years or more, and as in war, men were killed and injured.  Sometimes we were even shot at.  I had jumped from the frying pan into the fire.  Firefighting is a constant war and without a truce.  Men like Jerry Haney, Bob Lawrence, Mike Dell, and Tom Schreiber were my brave brothers in the Detroit fire wars.  I retired in 1998.

There is much more that could be written about Vietnam, including my early training, and also about firefighting . . . these pages are just the highlights.  I'm not foolish or arrogant enough to think I did my job better or smarter than any other leader, or than anybody else.  I simply tried to take care of my guys and keep them as safe as possible.  To bring them all home alive, I failed.  Regarding the battle on January 17, 1968, I have recently received 5 letters of recommendation for a Distinguished Service Cross.  They are in the hands of the Michigan Dist.11, Congressman, K. Bentivolio.

 

1Lt. Larry K. Lorenz:  Recollections of Vietnam and the U.S. Army
Copyright © 2015  Larry K. Lorenz
Last modified: September 24, 2015