No Two Men Fight the Same War: One Griffin's Tale

By Larry Allen Bond

This memoir follows a young man from his teenage years as a bloodhound trainer, farmworker, and student in and out of colleges and marriages to the battlefields of Vietnam. His mission is: "to keep Americans alive." Often irreverent, this book examines leadership in combat situations and the gut-wrenching decisions that must be made. Aeronautics, physiology of a crash, PTSD, and detailed accounts of actual battles are reported and examined from a "been there done that" perspective.

The book takes you on a roller coaster ride of successes and failures, as Bond evolves from an idealistic teenager to becomes one of the more decorated combat veterans in our Nation's history. Beginning with some of the history which accompanied him into combat, he weaves a tale of contrasts. Confronted with age-old questions of what is worth living for or dying for, he leads us through the decisions he faced and resolved for better or worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098385255

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© 2021 Larry Allen Bond

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Print ISBN 978-1-09838-524-8

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09838-525-5

That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all of the lessons that history has to teach.

Aldous Huxley

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

CHAPTER 1: Seeds of Heroism - Getting Lost

CHAPTER 2: No Two Men Fight the Same War

CHAPTER 3: My Way (NAVCAD)

CHAPTER 4: The Thomas Dooley Influence

CHAPTER 5: Last Nights of Peace

CHAPTER 6: Welcome to Vietnam

CHAPTER 7: Mortar Patrol

CHAPTER 8: Vung Tau to Lz Montezuma

CHAPTER 9: Consent of the Governed:The Election of 1967

CHAPTER 10: Maintenance Issues

CHAPTER 11: Happy Birthday!

CHAPTER 12: Between Tours: New Duties, Divorce, and the AH-1G

CHAPTER 13: Second Tour - It Was Like I Never Left

CHAPTER 14: The 101ST Again, XM-477 Slammer, and New Roads

EPILOGUE: Win Every Battle But Lose the War

APPENDIX A: PTSD (Put That Stuff* Down)

*Feel free to substitute a word of your choosing.

APPENDIX B: Understanding Basic Aerodynamics

APPENDIX C: Glossary

APPENDIX D: Letters Home

Acknowledgements

First, I feel compelled to acknowledge the influence of my God, who, for whatever reason, has kept me in the game, and having done so expected me to play. Starting out to become a United Methodist minister and winding up a combat veteran was not so much a journey shaped by reason but the faith that there were things I needed to do. Although my locus of control is mostly internal, I know I am not the only controlling force in my life.

At a more Earthly level, I would be remiss if I did not thank a great crew chief and friend, Russ Warriner, who made my fantasy of being a writer seem possible. Heavy reliance on the feedback of others requires that I thank them individually:

Russ Cone for planting the seeds of heroism through his bloodhounds;

Jack Bond, my brother, for his insightful feedback and support;

Clara Lou Humphrey, my sister, whose care of my children allowed me to pursue my obsession;

Gus Zenker, my classmate from the Class of ‘58, Vietnam vet, Field Artillery officer. Thanks for the feedback you and your friends provided;

Ed Parish, for keeping my ego in check and your usual, wise advice;

Dr. Edd Bond, my son, reminds me that I am not always the smartest person in the room. Thanks, son, for filling in while I was out;

Scott Taylor, combat vet, former student, and trusted friend;

Cousin David for editing and adding a professional perspective;

Last but far from least is my wife, Hilda (also known as Iris or Blondie), whose patience was the inspiration that kept me going. Thanks, Love, for all of the support!!

20 January 1961 - Inaugural address of President Kennedy

Let every nation know whether they wish us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty. This much we pledge...and more.

When I heard those words, I believed them.

Introduction

Even given the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, I’m not sure what I would do differently. My mission was simple: Keep Americans alive! My most important rule in combat was also simple: Don’t kill anybody you don’t have to.

On Memorial Day in Veteran’s Park in Ocala, Florida, I stood in the rain facing The Wall that Heals, (the three-quarters scale replica of the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial that travels to communities throughout the U. S.). One by one, I faced each panel and read over the names of those who did not make it back alive. Most names belonged to strangers, but I recognized a few of them. I was haunted by my failures in accomplishing my mission during my two tours in The Republic of Vietnam. That experience was the trigger that nudged me to write my version of a little piece of history, believing that all versions of history are somebody’s opinion supported by carefully selected facts. Historians are storytellers, hence the word history (his story). This is mine.

I did not go into combat alone; I brought my history along, which influenced every decision I made. It was rooted in a firm belief that God was ultimately in charge and that He had work for me to do. I had to figure out what that work was; then figure out how to get it done.

My assignments for both tours were Charlie Batteries, Aerial Artillery. Our unit patch in both the First Cavalry Division and the 101st Airborne Division has a griffin holding the division patches while throwing a bolt of lightning. Following the first aerial artillery unit’s success, 2nd Battalion, 20th Aerial Rocket Artillery (ARA), in the First Cavalry Division, the 101st Airborne Division, included a similar unit: 4th Battalion, 77th Aerial Field Artillery (AFA). Most of the Field Artillery aviators who staffed the new unit had served in ARA for their first tour. My assignment both tours was to the third platoon, Charlie Battery. I was always a Griffin.

Some of us supported the war directly by firing bullets and rockets at people firing back at us. Others supported in varying degrees of separation from the physical conflict. Transporting or manufacturing ammunition, paying the taxes used to create ammunition and its many means of delivery, or by electing those who made decisions that led to our involvement in Vietnam, all were participants in the ultimate game: WAR. What I did was not terribly unlike playing a video game. I attempted to make my flashes reach the source of their flashes before their flashes got to the source of my flashes, me. The hundreds of bullet and other holes in my aircraft were evidence that I frequently came close to being in second place in many of our continuing face-offs. And yes, keeping Americans alive was usually at the expense of killing somebody else.

It was important to me that we killed nobody unless their continued longevity threatened my primary mission of keeping Americans alive. We did not need to go old testament and do the genocide thing. Still, we did need to kill enough of the enemy to persuade him that continuing attacks after ARA joined the fight was not as desirable as withdrawal and survival. Those who made the rockets and other munitions had no such rule. Did that make us warriors nobler or somehow better than those less directly involved? Probably not. No doubt, some of those we kept alive were not nice people, and some of the others we terminated were perhaps good people with families who, through no fault of their own, just happened to wind up living under the influence of Communism. That is a distinction that continues to haunt me. Others who were in support of establishing the democratic nation of The Republic of Vietnam included South Koreans, Australians, and, of course, the South Vietnamese themselves. Together I like to think of us as the good guys.

An example of those who were on a don’t shoot list included what appeared to be a religious figure dressed in flowing, white robes. He appeared out of nowhere right in the middle of a landing zone (LZ). He did not react to the explosions surrounding him but continued to walk casually across the field. We were firing rockets and machine guns in preparation for the arrival of helicopters carrying infantry troops. He did not seem to be a threat to them. I ordered the other ships not to injure him. Other cases involved children who, though they might someday become a threat, were to be left alone if the mission was not compromised. Protecting children had some risk not only to my life and that of my crew but to my career. To be more accurate, my Army service was more like a series of part-time jobs than a career. That I wound up retiring as a field grade officer surprised me as much as anybody.

The supported unit commander ordered me to fire on a group of enemy personnel active around some newly dug trenches. The target had been detected from a hilltop position almost a mile away. Barking orders from the safety of his hilltop position, the task force commander ordered me to take them out. He could have said, Check it out, and it would not have been the first time we were asked to perform reconnaissance. We flew to the target area and, sure enough, there were freshly dug rectangular holes at the edge of a field in front of a tree line, with people moving around them. I did not know if the excavations were fighting positions, latrines, or grave sites. Digging a hole is not a capital offense. The people were children, and they did not flee as we approached. Something was not right, so I had my wingman circle the area to provide instant covering fire for me if I needed it as I went in for a closer look at our target.

Three children seemed to be playing in and around freshly dug holes, totally unaware that they were being observed. I landed next to them and waved the boys over to the aircraft with strict orders to the crew to not touch them. I assumed that their parents were VC and quite probably had their guns trained on us. Without making any aggressive moves toward the children, my crew chief, with his M-60 machine gun laying safely on his lap, communicated using hand signals that the children were being watched - that guy must have been great at charades. He apparently got the point across, and the children disappeared into the tree line behind the new trenches, probably to rejoin their VC parents.

The ground unit commander rebuffed me for not following his order to kill the enemy. It was not the first or last time I disobeyed orders that seemed wrong and was part of the personal history that affected the choices I made, which gave me my unique identity. I mention the above incidents to reveal some of the complexities of the combat environment. Sometimes it was like we were playing a video game, then there would be a gut-wrenching decision to disobey an order for a higher cause. Commissioned officers have been tried and convicted by court-martial for obeying as well as disobeying orders. We cannot use the excuse that somebody ordered me to do it. It was not black and white, good versus evil, right versus wrong, or even Democracy is good, and Communism is bad. We were there as people dealing with other people attempting to keep America’s word. It was and is America’s policy to support governments based on the informed will of the governed. Our involvement in Vietnam was a test of that policy.

The Vietnam War provided a unique experience for the media to report whatever they saw without the filters of censorship that were common to previous wars. The American population received a more graphic and less noble version of the new war. Faced with direct threats in World War Two, dying was a necessary sacrifice for freedom. However, Vietnam’s situation posed a less immediate and less obvious threat than posed by Germany and Japan. Still, less obvious intentions of world domination by China and the USSR lurked in the background. War has always been ugly, but much of the ugliness was hidden from the public in the past. Improvements in technology and the happening-everywhere-at-once nature of combat allowed every living room to have a front-row seat. Many people didn’t like what they saw. An anti-war mood built over time to the point where opinions about the war reverted to a simplistic good/bad dichotomy overlooking complex issues. From A Few Good Men, the famous movie line, You can’t handle the truth! applied to large segments of the population. I found it most distressing that the war portrayed by the media, from which the masses formed their opinions, was not the war I personally experienced.

In my lifetime, technology has changed rapidly, while we humans have changed little or not at all. We are still limited to the same range of needs and emotional responses available to our ancient ancestors, in spite of the self-created illusion that we have expanded our personal abilities. The rate of technological change continues its acceleration, outpacing our ability to adapt. In such a confusing world, there is a strong desire to simplify the increasingly complex world.

There were many arguments for and against our involvement in Southeast Asia. Valid arguments existed for different courses of action based on research and presentation of facts in an open environment. Instead of listening to each other, however, most just waited impatiently for their chance to speak. We were not prepared for the newness of the TV war experience. Overwhelmed by what we saw, logic yielded to emotion. Our best intentions to resist Communism and support those who would join us in our fight against the spread of it, succumbed to the emotional outbursts of irrational mobs of both anti-war and anti-Communism supporters, not informed discussions. Within the context of that frenzied atmosphere of national hysteria, many of us answered the call to arms. We joined the Twentieth Century crusade to resist, if not prevent, the spread of Communism to South Vietnam and beyond.

Concern for loss of life was less of a factor than pretended by the anti-war movement. There were almost as many vehicle-related deaths each year of the Vietnam War as combat deaths the entire ten years of our involvement in the war. Somehow the loss of forty thousand American lives for the freedom to drive our vehicles did not set off an anti-drive movement. Still, fewer deaths of those helping others resist Communism precipitated a significant anti-war movement. It is not my intention to glorify war, but given that we each will die, the reason that death reaches us seems significant. Throughout history, people have died so that ideas might live.

This story is about success and failure in the real world, not just in my mind or in a video game. It flows from my teenage experiences as a bloodhound trainer and handler through my early attempts at college and work. My path continued through a roller coaster ride of successes and failures that led me into the Army. This tale shines light on the choices I made that led me into and out of combat and marriages. These events actually happened. I will not swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I do not pretend to know the whole truth, and I am unwilling to surrender my Fifth Amendment rights by telling all that I do know. As I have become increasingly aware of others’ recollections and compared them to my own, I am firmly convinced that no two men fight the same war! This is one Griffin’s tale.

CHAPTER 1:

Seeds of Heroism - Getting Lost

There is a hero inside each of us, sometimes buried deep beneath layers of fear and doubt, possibly only fantasies. Yours might be like the character in T.S.Eliot’s The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, or it might be more in your face John Wayne like, but within each of us lurks a hero longing to be turned loose on the world. Courage hidden safely in the imagination, if ignored, will wither and die in a pool of regret. Safety destroys souls - the very essence of each of us. Something must occur to allow the seeds of heroism to sprout.

In the Bible parable of the seeds (also known as the parable of the soil), some seeds fall on rocks and lack