Freedom Bird

By Donnell B. Jones

Drafted in the army at the age of eighteen while living in Phoenix Arizona,
Donnell completed his army training in the Deep South in middle sixties. Then
shipped to Vietnam where he was assigned to The 2nd and 18th Infantry
Unit with the 1st Army Division, on an operation assignment as his platoon
was separated from the main unit and pinned down behind enemy lines. Had
to fight their way out and back to their main unit. Then transferred to 2nd &
16th Rangers attached to the 1st Division. In a ranger unit and forced to be
a sniper. Then lift in the jungle and reported dead and missing too his mother
and family. Wounded in the jungles of Vietnam somehow he found his way
back and was rescued by another unit. Med Evace. to Zama hospital near
Tokyo Japan where he recovered from his wounds, his military records were
lost and they did not know who he was for weeks. Then assigned to a radio
and TV station located Soul Korea (AFKN) where he finished his military tour
Before returning to the States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 9, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462827350

Donnell B. Jones

I was drifted in the army at the age of eighteen in Phoenix Arizona did my army training in the deep south in middle sixties. Ship to Vietnam where aside too the a unit call the 2nd and 18th Infinitely with the 1st Division. Where we aside a point platoon in a patrol we was separated from our main unit and pin down behind enemy lines. And had to fight our way back to the main unit then I was transferred to 2nd &16th Rangers. In a ranger and then forced to be a sniper. As a range I was Then abandon in the jungle and lift in the jungle and reported dead and missing too my mother and family. Wounded in the jungles of Vietnam somehow I found my way back and was rescued by another unit. Med evac to Japan where in Zama hospital stay. my recorded were lost and they did not know who I was fore mouths. Then sent too South Korea sent on mission then sent too north Korea to destroy some tape on a little spy boat call the pueblo. Then aside to worked at a radio and TV station in soul Korea AFKN. Before returning home . The mean while my mother was receiving payments from the military fore my death . Once learning of my survival the payments stopped And the first thing she said to me when I walked in to her house after fourteen mouth was . “Boy you should have stayed dead.”

Book preview

 CHAPTER 1

Band of Brothers

Finally, my name was called. I was scheduled to ship out at 0900 hours on June 28, 1967. It was the day before my birthday, a day I will always remember.

The morning I was scheduled to leave, I was up early with my duffel bag packed and ready to go. Before I really realized what was going on, I had boarded the Boeing 707 jet and headed down the runway.

Suddenly I heard the pilot announce over the intercom, Welcome aboard Continental Airlines. Please observe the ‘No Smoking’ signs. Our flying time will be approximately sixteen hours and our next stop will be Saigon, Vietnam. Even though our flight is only sixteen hours, our arrival time will be slightly ahead of schedule, approximately twenty-four hours ahead because we will miss one whole day.

It must have been a smooth flight because I woke up fifteen hours and twenty minutes later to the voice of the pilot over the intercom saying, Ladies and gentlemen, we are awaiting landing instruction. They are having some problems with the landing strip. It seems that the Vietcong have hit the runway with rockets. As soon as they make the necessary repairs to the runway, we will begin our approach. So folks, please be patient, we will have you on the ground in a few hours. Thank you for your cooperation. Six hours later, we received clearance to land.

By the time the Boeing 707 touched down in Saigon, it was eight o’clock on June 30, 1967. Somehow, we lost June 29th in crossing the International Date Line and it just so happened that June 29th would have been my nineteenth birthday. However, since we had somehow skipped that day, I guessed I was still only eighteen rather than nineteen years of age. Some of the guys on board the airplane thought it was cool and we all got a good chuckle out of it.

Once we landed, we were loaded onto some deuce and a quarter, which are large military transport trucks that the army used to move troops and/or supplies. The convoy of about five trucks rumbled through the streets of Saigon loaded with young American troops. The bed of our truck was uncovered and the wind made me pull off my OD green military dress cap. From the back of the truck I had a good view of the city. The smell of poverty was strong in the air. I thought my family was poor. But compared to the condition of many of the people I saw, we were a lot better-off than these people were. As the smell of the tenements got stronger, it began to upset my stomach. With all the old Asian style buildings, it seemed as if we had stepped back into the Middle-Ages. The streets in the downtown area were crowded with motorcycles, bicycles and carts. Although there were cars, they were older models, the bicycles and motorcycles greatly outnumbered the cars three to one. There were carts pulled by horses, cows, oxen, as well as men.

It was the first time I had been in a third world country or any country other than my own. After a short ride from the airport through downtown Saigon, we arrived at the Ninety-Second Replacement Unit. Here we were processed in and issued our jungle gear—boots and fatigues. Then we were taken to a wood-frame storage building with screens for window coverings. This old metal roofed shed of a building had bunks lined down on both sides of the floor. It was used as a barrack. By the time we finished selecting our bunks and dropping our duffel bags, it was chow time. Finding the mess hall was the easiest part; all we had to do was look for the longest line on post. As I stood in a line, I heard the sound of a voice I had heard so many times before.

Hey Jones, when in the hell did you get here?

Turning to see Jenkins and Marvin Dembrey dressed in their jungle military uniform I said, I been here all day, but we couldn’t land because the runway sustained damage from a mortar attack. We had to wait until the runway was cleared off before our airplane could land. How long have you guys been here?

Two days, replied Marvin.

All we’ve been doing is sitting around doing nothing, waiting to be assigned to a unit, said Jenkins.

We can’t go anywhere, they don’t even have a dayroom, said Wimply as he walked up and joined the conversation.

As we entered the mess hall, each one of us picked up a metal food tray. The servers behind the food counter, who were some of the locals, loaded our plate with army chow.

Once again I realized the fact that I missed my birthday. So I told Marvin that he was older than me even though we were the same age.

He asked me What the hell are you talking about Jones?

So I explained to him how yesterday I missed my birthday crossing the International Dateline. I was 18 when I left the states, but when I arrived in Saigon there was no June 29th, it was the 30th.

That afternoon I moved my bags into the same barrack as Jenkins and Marvin. We spent the rest of the day and into the night shooting the breeze. Talking mostly about how we got here. Lights were out at ten o’clock, but still it took me a few hours to finally fall asleep and get comfortable on my thin mattress. The next morning, we all received our orders pretty much at the same time. Marvin went to the Twenty-Fifth Division, Jenkins went to First Cavalry, and I was assigned to the First Division, Second and Eighteenth. The First Division was called the Big Red One. Then we were loaded on another meat truck and headed to our units.

Though it was morning, the sun was busily trying to burn through a heavy cloud cover that threatened to rain; and to compound that, the air was full of moisture. When we entered the First Division’s headquarters, I was already beginning to perspire. There was little relief inside this old sheet metal roofed building. After reporting in at the Division office, we now headed for the company unit.

It was about nine hundred hours when we arrived at the Second and Eighteenth Company area. Grabbing my duffel bag, I exited the back of the truck. I walked into the headquarters hooch. This was a wood structure building with shuttered style windows that were covered with screen wires instead of glass.

There was about ten of us who were assigned to different companies in the First Division. Two other guys and I were assigned to Delta Company. We were taken to the company area and placed in the Second Platoon and then taken to the barracks. After I picked out an empty bunk, I threw my duffel bag on it and started to unpack. I noticed that there were only a few people in the company area.

Where is everyone? I asked the E-4 (specialist fourth class), who was processing us into the unit.

They’re in the field, he said. As soon as you and the other replacements finish your training, you will be joining them. Be sure to report to the orderly room at eight hundred hours tomorrow morning. Then he walked out of the barrack.

It took about one day to issue our jungle gear, which consisted of a backpack, medical kit, trenching tool, trip flares, ammunition and fragmentation grenades. After receiving the weapons we were briefed on how and when to use them. During this time they took back my M16 and I was given an M79 grenade launcher. The reason they gave me was that they already had too many people in the mortar platoon. I was trained in AIT (Advanced Infantry Training) as an 11C, which was my MOS (Military Occupational Specialty). Here you are trained in light artillery weapons. Now they changed me to an 11B. This is what the army calls a leg or foot soldier, a grunt, an infantryman or a grenadier.

As I picked up the grenade launcher I said, Do I have a choice?

Well, do you mind asked the supply spec-4?

Not really! I said as I walked out of the supply office with my new equipment.

Then we were loaded into a small army vehicle, or in other words a jeep, and were taken to a nearby firing range to adjust the sights on our new weapons. It took about four hours of target practice for me to find my ranges on the M79. The target practices enabled me to refine my shot group and I thought my training was complete.

Afterwards, we returned to the barrack about fourteen hundred hours. First thing I did was clean my weapon. With the rest of the afternoon free, I headed to the NCO Club to look around and I made it back to the company area just in time for chow. That night I had guard duty.

The next day I was up early for exercise and a morning run. When it came time for me to join the rest of the unit out in the field I found I had been transferred again. This time it was to the Third Platoon.

As I walked into the hooch, an orderly from the company commander’s office said, Private Jones, you are moving to another barrack. Get your gear,

As I began repacking my bag I asked Why are you moving me to another barrack? This was making me uneasy. I had been traveling for the last week, packing and unpacking.

The staff sergeant from the CQ office told me that he thought the platoon leader, who was a white lieutenant over at the Third Platoon, wanted all the brothers assigned to his platoon. He believed that blacks did not break as easily as other soldiers did. At least that’s what I think, said the staff sergeant as he pointed me to the next bungalow.

After you move your things to the barrack, report to the mess hall with all your field gear, the staff sergeant said.

So I headed to the barracks first. I unpacked my duffel bag at my new bunk and then started packing my field gear along with all the ammo and my M79 grenade launcher. Then I walked up to the mess hall.

Private Jones, is it? a spec-6 asked, reading my name tag.

Yeah, I replied.

Grab that keg and load it on the chopper, he said.

I turned to see a helicopter sitting in front of the company area. Without hesitation, I sat down my backpack and thump gun and I grabbed the canister and started for the chopper. After placing the first keg on the chopper, I ran back for another load. By this time, I had gotten used to being ordered around by any noncommissioned officer who had a job to be done. If you were a buck private, you were at the mercy of any sergeant. I then joined the other guys to finish loading the chow on a helicopter. After we finished, we were ordered to board the chopper and report to our units in the field. With my pack strapped on my back, I grabbed my thump gun and boarded the chopper, along with the other replacement troopers. The chopper was taking chow to the troops in the field.

As the engine revved up and the chopper blades began to whirl faster, I could hardly hear myself think. One of the men on the chopper with us was returning from R & R. He had been in the ’Nam about six months. He started telling us new soldiers about the bush, or what they referred to as the jungle.

New recruits! he shouted over the chopper noise. Is this your first time in the bush?

It was not really a question. He could look at the state of our new gear and the anxiety in our faces and tell we had never been in a war zone or jungle before.

I nodded my head and shouted back, Yeah. Why?

The shiny new camera, it’s a dead giveaway. He said as he smirked with satisfaction at his brilliant deduction.

I continued to click the shutter as we flew over rice paddies and jungle. I took pictures of everything in view. The guy seated to my left shouted out, Hey man, how long have you been in Vietnam? Then he introduced himself. My name is Ted, Ted Banks. I’m from Ohio, he shouted over the loud chopper engines.

My name is Robert Clark. I have been here six months. I returned from Bangkok on R & R, he replied.

I just got here. Have you seen any action? I shouted. Of course, I did not know what he meant by R & R and did not dare ask, thinking it would only make me look like more of an idiot but I soon learned that meant rest and relaxation.

A little, he replied. He then turned to look out the chopper.

What do you mean by a little? asked the other fellow seated next to me on my right. Have you killed any VC?

Turning his head back and looking at the guys, Robert said, Four firefights with six confirmed kills. He nodded his head with a slight smile on his face.

We all kind of got quiet for about fifteen minutes into the ride. The humming from the chopper engine had a kind of numbing effect on me. I gazed into the air and down to the ground, watching the seemingly small objects as we passed over the trees and villages about eight thousand feet below us.

The chopper ride seemed rather short to me, but I knew we had traveled several hundred miles. This was not just any trip; it was to a combat zone. I guess I did not know what to expect when we reached our destination being in the middle of a war zone. But I was not at all disturbed about the situation even though we had heard so much about the jungles of Vietnam. Somehow, I felt I was ready for whatever and anything that came my way. I thought that if the next twelve months went by as fast as the first six months, my Vietnam tour and military service will all be over in no time at all. I will have served my time and done my duty for my country. Then I will be headed back home to tell everyone the story of how I served in Vietnam or I will be dead. Either way it will all soon be over.

Two hours had passed: now the seemingly, tiny little objects below us began to grow bigger as the chopper descended. Suddenly, with a slight bump, the chopper touched down in a small woody clearing. In the distance I could see a small village that sat against a green hill that gave way to a dense jungle. As the chopper came to a standstill, the hot muggy air from the blades kind of cooled off the perspiration-soaked fatigues I was wearing.

As we exited the craft, the master sergeant chief cook shouted, All right men!

Everyone jumped out and grabbed the food canisters, sitting them on the ground. As soon as the chopper was unloaded, it lifted off and looked as if it was floating backward, turning all in one motion and disappearing over the treetops of the deep green jungle.

After I had sat the food canister down and returned to pick up my weapon, I was approached by a young officer, a first lieutenant. Private Jones? called a short blond-haired officer with a freckled nose who had come to meet me.

Yes sir, I replied with a salute, noticing the gold bar on his helmet.

You don’t salute in a combat zone soldier, he corrected me very politely. My name is Lieutenant Parks, and you’re in the Third Platoon. Get your gear and follow me.

The pack on my back weighed about ninety pounds. I also had one hundred rounds of ammo and four fragmentation grenades strapped to my belt. I raised my M79 from the ground, walking while resting it against my leg, I breathed in the pure fresh air of the hostile land around me.

After we had walked about three hundred yards, the lieutenant stopped at a bunker.

Hey, Tyrone, he called to someone inside a small tent.

Yes sir, the soldier answered as he crawled out.

This is Private Jones, your new replacement.

Jones, meet Sergeant Thompson. He is your platoon sergeant and if you need anything just be sure you ask him. Do not forget to do just that. It could keep you alive. Okay soldier?

Yes sir, I replied.

This way Jones, said Sergeant Thompson standing to his feet.

I followed him and as we passed a bunker, he shouted, Hey, chow time! Couple of you guys fall in the line.

We walked up to a foxhole where two soldiers were filling sandbags.

Leroy, said Sergeant Thompson. As we approached the small bunker, a soldier turned to look our way.

This is Jones, Shank’s replacement.

Leroy and I shook hands. I dropped my pack to the ground.

Grab a few sandbags Jones. Don’t be shy. We’re all family here, said Leroy.

Then the sergeant said in a serious tone, Leroy keep Jones close for a few days, at least until he learns his way around.

No problem Sarge, said Leroy.

We filled sandbags while waiting for the other guys to get back from chow line. As we worked, Leroy and I began to get acquainted.

Where you from Jones? Leroy began. As he handed me a trenching tool, he shook open the sand bag holding it on the ground.

Phoenix. Phoenix, Arizona. What about you, where is your home?

Kansas City. How long you been in the ’Nam? he asked.

Four days, I answered as I put another scoop of dirt in the sandbag with the trenching tool that Leroy was holding open on the ground. How about you, how long you been here? I asked, expecting him to say six or seven months.

This is my third tour, he replied without looking up.

It’s your third tour! You mean three years? You have been in Vietnam for three years? You must be an RA! I said as my voice rose with astonishment.

No! I am not RA. I’m U.S., but I re-upped last year so I could stay here with my family.

So you could stay with your family? You mean your family is here in the ’Nam?

Yeah, I married a local girl and we have a daughter with another one on the way.

"Do you miss the States? I asked

Nope! he replied

How about your folks back home, you miss them?

Kind of, he said

Damn man, you must know your way around these parts pretty well.

To me this is home. I know it like the back of my hand and it’s a lot easier when you speak the language, he replied.

As we stopped filling the bags and got ready for chow, we heard the choppers touchdown in the middle of the perimeter. I could not help but stop to witness the huge Chinook helicopter setting down a water trailer.

As Greg returned with his mess kit filled with army chow, Leroy and I were dismissed to the chow line. With my M79 strapped on my shoulder and a mess kit in my right hand, I followed Leroy back to the place where the chow line had been set up. We passed through the line as they filled our mess kits with food, we returned to the bunker with our food.

After we had finished eating and cleaning our mess kits, the conversation continued. It was time for more training as they began to inform me about the ways of jungle. For the rest of the day they spent most of the time in educating me.

Lesson number one: Stay alive.

Lesson number two: Stay alive.

The things the brothers in my new unit told me that first day and even the days after were something I could never forget, if I was to make it out of the jungle alive. They explained to me Charlie’s ways. The way they explained it was the way only a brother could have. Being from the Phoenix area, I had very little exposure to any animals but farm animals, but I knew that if someone is in the chicken coop, the chicken would let you know. However, the brothers made me conscious of that and how important that could be in the jungle. They taught me to listen to the sounds of the jungle. When the animals are quiet, or when they become overly animated, you know something’s up. You are not only to listen, but you have to know what to look for and know what you are looking at. They emphasized the fact that we watch each other’s back.

One other thing in this unit, remember this one thing, we never leave a brother behind. Leroy stressed.

They taught me about the different kinds of foliage and what kind of cover Charlie would most likely use. Much of what they shared went beyond what I had learned in jungle training back at Fort Polk. Charlie of course was the widely used nickname the American GI’s had given the Vietcong soldiers.

That night, Leroy and I were assigned to set out trip flares and claymore mines in front of our position as booby traps. This was used as an early warning system that would let us know if Charlie was trying to sneak up to our position. But we had to wait until just before dark to set out the booby traps so that Charlie could not see where they were.

While we waited for the dark, I noticed some of the guys waving their hands in the air with their blades in them. It was not just one man, it was several.

Hey Leroy, I said, What are those men doing?

Without looking, he said, They are just acting a fool. All of them crazy mother lovers are just passing the time.

Yeah, but what are they doing? I asked for the second time as I felt his response was inadequate and left me still searching for an answer.

They are trying to cut wings off of flies, he answered reluctantly.

I didn’t understand what he was talking about as he mumbled away. Hey man, this is the first time I ever saw anything like that, I replied. I was still puzzled at the strange sight as we left the perimeter to set the trip flares. Walking about two hundred feet out in front of our position, the brush was tall and dense. We stopped.

Leroy pointed at what looked like a trail running through the brush and said, Let’s start setting up the wires to the trip flares here and then we can arm our mines. I mean our claymores closer to our bunker.

As I started to set up the trip flares the way I was instructed to at Fort Polk, Leroy took one look then said, Man, Charlie ain’t no fool. He would see that booby-trap you are setting from twenty feet away. Besides, it will take you the next two hours to set out these flares. If we do it like this it will be a lot faster.

It took us about thirty minutes as he instructed me on the best way to lay out the booby traps where they would be most effective. Then we headed back to the perimeter.

After we finished setting up the trip mines and headed back to our bunkers, darkness fell in Vietnam and it fell hard.

Blacker than a thousand midnights, as the poet once said.

I had never seen it so dark in my life. It was about nineteen hundred hours when the sun started setting and it was pitch-black thirty minutes later.

After we finished setting out the flares and claymore mines, we spent the rest of the evening talking about what was going on back in the world, as they called the States back home. Since I was fresh from the States, I guessed it was my duty to update everyone on the news, including all the latest dances and songs and fashions. I told them how tight the girls were wearing their jeans and about how short the miniskirts were. I told them some of the skirts were so short you could literally see the ladies’ underwear while they stood up. This of course brought a roar of laugher through the group that gathered at our foxhole to hear the news from home. As the night grew later, the men returned to their positions.

I looked up into the night. The sky was lit with stars. I had never seen so many stars before. This was my first night in the bush, or the jungles of Vietnam. I could clearly hear people laughing across the perimeter. It kind of felt like back home, on the block, in a sense that so many brothers were around. I was beginning to feel comfortable, but then suddenly a little fear would rise up in me. Though I did not let anyone know how disturbed I was. I thought these guys would be a lot more serious about being out here in the jungle.

I turned to Leroy and said, Man, these fellows are loud out here.

What do you mean they’re loud? he answered.

They don’t think Charlie can hear them making all that noise? I added in a concerned tone of voice. They sound like they are back home on the block!

Loud and clear, he responded with a slight grin on his face as he laughed. Most of these guys have been here so long they know Charlie’s first name. They know he is out there and we make sure he knows who’s in here.

There was not the slightest concern among the guys about Charlie hearing them or knowing their positions. I found that odd.

You know Leroy! I imagined that we would pretty much be whispering and crawling around in the jungle quietly on our knees, I said.

It was not like that at all. I guess everyone knew that Charlie knew we were here. We knew he was out there somewhere, hidden, lurking behind every tree and every bush. It looked like I was the only one who seemed to be concerned. Each side seemed to understand the rules of engagement.

Suddenly someone had had enough of the chatter and laughter.

Shut the hell up, you guys! commanded a voice of authority that rang through the darkness. After that, we heard a few little chuckles, but then a hush fell on the jungle.

That was the first sergeant, whispered a soldier named Greg, sitting against the bunker wall, smoking a cigarette. Although we were in the same bunker he had little to say.

In the stillness, Leroy began to explain to me more details about living in the jungle for the last three years. Things that most highly trained soldiers would overlook, but little details that could help save one’s life. They were the kind of things you absorb day by day, invaluable lessons you pick up after a near-death experience. Things like the difference between the smell of a north Vietcong and the South Vietcong.

What’s important about a smell is that it can help identify the enemy and if you know what you are up against then you know how to prepare

And we never leave a brother behind! he would say. Leroy had hundreds of little details to share. It helped that he was a country boy who grew up near Kansas City, Kansas and he was on his third tour in the ’Nam.

Soon it was time to turn in. I had the