Time Never Heals

By Gene Ligotti

TIME NEVER HEALS is the story of Dr. Frank Lunati, the first battalion surgeon for the 2/5th 1st Cavalry Division in Vietnam. This is his story of his tour of duty, the battles, the casualties and deaths, along with all his thoughts and feelings. He relives in vivid detail the Search and Destroy missions, the battles of Happy Valley, Ia Drang, and Bong Son. He takes you with him as he ships out and travels to Vietnam and lives through a horrendous year. You will experience the battles with him; meet the friends he made and those he lost. This story brings Nam to you in a way you will never forget

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 27, 2004
• ISBN: 9781462827657

Gene Ligotti

Gene Ligotti was educated at Adelphi University on Long Island and received his doctorate from New York University. After coming down with Rheumatoid Arthritis, he had to give up his successful thirty year practice of dentistry in Huntington, New York. After he retired, Ligotti began writing as just something to do, but it soon became a driving force. He is an American Revolutionary history buff, has given lectures about the impact the Revolution had on Long Island and he has written three novels of interesting characters of the American Revolution. Ligotti is also the author of the much acclaimed, Time Never Heals; the biography of the first battalion surgeon in Vietnam. He soon began writing suspense thrillers which has become his special passion. Each suspense thriller has a love story as a sub-plot, but Twisted Deception, the sequel to the much applauded, Incredible Deception, continues as a love story with the suspense thriller element as the sub-plot. As a freelance writer he wrote a monthly column for the Guide Magazine about the history of villages in the Catskill Mountains and of the romantic Hudson River. His widely praised articles on dentistry have been printed in various Dental Journals. Gene Ligotti lives in Smithtown, New York with his wife Corbina, where they can be near their family, Gina, Lisa, Nick, and their grandchildren: grandson, Gino and twin granddaughters, Gabrielle and Juliette.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The Vietnam War was the longest and most unpopular war in which Americans ever fought. And there is no reckoning with the cost. The toll in suffering, sorrow, in rancorous national turmoil,, can never be tabulated. No one wants ever to see America so divided again. And for many of the more than two million American veterans of the war, the wounds of Vietnam will never heal.

—David McCullough

A Historical Synopsis of the Reasons for the Vietnam War

In 1847 France invaded Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos to protect French missionaries. This began numerous rebellions against the French in the area which became known as French Indo-China. Vietnam became a colony of France in 1900. France and Vietnam never had a peaceful coexistence and Vietnam was always in turmoil. Immediately after the Second World War, the Vietnamese, under the leadership of the communist Ho Chi Minh, began fighting a war for their independence from the French. The United States believed that Ho Chi Minh’s Vietminh guerillas would be no match against the French army and would be defeated easily. By 1950, Ho Chi Minh had driven the French from the northern section and in 1952 began attacking the southern section. We aided the French effort to the tune of $2.5 billion, but after years of fighting, the French lost a crucial battle at Dienbienphu. In 1954, at the Geneva Conference, nine nations declared Vietnam an independent sovereign nation. Vietnam was divided along the seventeenth parallel of latitude. France agreed to evacuate all troops north of the line and the Vietminh would leave the south. The French complied and their troops left all of Vietnam. The Vietminh did not live up to their agreement, never left the south, remained to conscript new members, encouraged defiance, and assassinated civilians who refused to join them.

That began America’s replacement of the French in South Vietnam with the altruistic intention to stop the spread of communism. It was President Eisenhower who first mentioned the domino theory. If South Vietnam were to fall to the communists, it would produce a domino effect, leading to the takeover of all Southeast Asia by the communists. In 1955 President Eisenhower sent 342 advisors to South Vietnam to assist in training the South Vietnamese army. When Vietnamese guerrillas struck at Bienhoa in 1958, Major Dale R. Buis and Master Sergeant Chester M. Ovnand were killed. They were the first American soldiers to die in Vietnam.

President John Kennedy began a slow but steady buildup of advisors in South Vietnam. The United States conventional forces created special units to fight in a counterinsurgence environment. The jungle fighters known as Green Berets were created and they organized the various highland tribes, particularly the Montagnards, into Civilian Irregular Defense Groups (CIDGs). By 1964 there were an estimated sixty thousand Montagnard tribesmen serving in the CIDGs. Since 1963 large numbers of Vietcong (Minh’s communist soldiers/terrorists) continued the harassment of the south.

The major escalation of the war occurred when President Johnson sent fighting troops to Vietnam. In a possibly contrived situation, where American naval vessels were attacked in the Gulf of Tonkin by North Vietnamese patrol boats, the United States used the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution to provide for the defense of its allies in Southeast Asia. By the end of 1966 alone, Johnson sent a total of 385,000 Americans to fight a war they found arcane, wearisome, and deadly, while still electrifying and unforgettable. Eventually a total of 2.59 million Americans served in Vietnam.

The massive enemy offensive at the lunar New Year failed to topple the Saigon government, but did lead to the beginning of America’s military withdrawal from Vietnam. President Richard Nixon instituted a program of troop withdrawal, increased bombing, and huge arms shipments to aid the South Vietnamese army.

While the battling went on, peace negotiations began in Paris. They lasted for four years and the agreement was finally signed in 1973. The Americans withdrew their troops. The South Vietnamese continued fighting until 1975 when North Vietnamese tanks entered Saigon and the South surrendered.

The Vietnam War, the longest war in American history (1965-1973), is one of the most misapprehended and unpopular wars in the history of the United States of America. But, it was nonetheless fought by Americans who answered the call.

The media propagated the babble and prattle of biased politicians and the rhetoric of those who were against the war for one reason or another. Many well-meaning discussions of the subject went by the wayside. So much was misconstrued and passed on as the truth, but were half-truths, innuendoes, and outright lies used to further politicians’ own causes.

So that we can establish some basis of truth, here are a few of the untruths accompanied by contradicting true facts about the Vietnam War. This is for your edification and in no way do we expect this book to change the feelings of a nation.

Untruth: Most American soldiers were addicted to drugs and guilt ridden about their role in the war.

Fact: "91 percent of Vietnam Veterans say they are glad they served.

74 percent said they would serve again even knowing the outcome. There is no difference in drug usage between Vietnam Veterans and non-veterans of the same age group during the same period of time. Vietnam Veterans are less likely to be in prison. Only V2 of 1% have been jailed for crimes. 97 percent were honorably discharged; the same percentage as ten years prior to Vietnam. "—General William C. Westmoreland

"85percent of Vietnam Veterans made a successful transition to civilian life. [Keep in mind that 75,000 were severely disabled] Vietnam Veterans’ personal income exceeds that of our non-veteran age group by more than18 percent and have a lower unemployment rate. 87 percent of the American people hold Vietnam Veterans in high esteem. "—Lt. General Barry R. McCaffrey

Untruth: Most Vietnam veterans were drafted.

Fact: 2/3 of the men who served in Vietnam were volunteers. 2/3 of the men who served in World War II were drafted. Approximately 70 percent of those who were killed were volunteers.—Lt. General Barry R. McCaffrey

Untruth: A disproportionate number of blacks were killed in the Vietnam War.

Fact: 86 percent of the men who died in Vietnam were Caucasians, 12.5percent were black, and 1.2percent were other races.—Combat Area Casualty File (CACF) and General William C. Westmoreland.

Untruth: The war was fought largely by the poor and uneducated.

Fact: Servicemen who went to Vietnam from well-to-do areas had a slightly elevated risk of dying because they were more likely to be pilots or infantry officers. Vietnam Veterans were the best educated forces our nation had ever sent into combat. 79 percent had a high school education or better. —Lt. General Barry R. McCaffrey

Untruth: The fighting in Vietnam was not as intense as in World War II.

Fact: The average infantryman in the South Pacific during World War II saw about 40 days of combat in four years. The average infantryman in Vietnam saw about 240 days of combat in one year thanks to the mobility of the helicopter. One out of every ten Americans who served in Vietnam was a casualty, 58,235 were killed and 304,000 wounded out of 2.59 million who served. Although the percent who died is similar to other wars, amputations or crippling wounds were 300% higher than in World War II. 75,000 veterans are severely disabled.—Lt. General Barry R. McCaffrey

MEDEVAC helicopters flew nearly 500,000 missions. Over 900,000patients were airlifted (nearly half were American). The average time lapse between wounding to hospitalization was less than one hour. As a result, less than 1 percent of all Americans wounded who survived the first 24 hours died.—Vietnam Helicopter Pilots Association (VHPA 1993)

In Washington, D.C., those who gave their lives in Vietnam for the American cause were listed in honor and glory in stone. On November 11, 1984, President Ronald Reagan accepted the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall as an official national monument. Since that day more names have been added bringing the total to 58,235. Only the names of veterans killed during the Vietnam War or who subsequently died from combat-related injuries can be honored by having their names placed on the wall. The names are arranged in chronological order and are alphabetized according

to the date of the casualty within each day. From the First Cavalry Division alone, the names of 177 medics who were killed are listed on the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C.

"If you are able, save for them a place inside of you and save one backward glance when you are leaving for the places they can no longer go.

Be not ashamed to say you loved them, though you may or may not have always. Take what they have taught you with their dying and keep it with your own.

And in that time when men decide and feel safe to call the war insane, take one moment to embrace those gentle heroes you left behind."

Major Michael Davis O’Donnell

(Listed as Killed in Action )

January 1, 1970, Dak To, Vietnam

Resentments, rancor, and protests in all American cities, draftees defecting and running away to Canada (this was the last war that used the draft system. It was done away with under President Richard Nixon), and political arguments in Washington, D.C., and throughout the country, could not stop American troops from being sent to this small tropical country in southeast Asia. The American soldiers had to face an environment that was totally alien to them. Also there was no clear front line and the enemy could be hiding anywhere. Life in the jungle was extremely difficult and there were no home comforts at all.

One of these Americans was Captain Frank Lunati, MD, battalion surgeon of the Second Battalion, Fifth Cavalry, First Cavalry Division (Air Mobile). His life had been moving steadily and swiftly forward along the lines he had established as the plan for his future. Frank Lunati had an abiding faith in himself, which told him he would succeed. He had completed his studies and training as a physician. He was married, looking forward to setting up a practice, buying a home, and having children. He was living the American dream, where hard work, honesty, and diligence will bring forth the good life. But, the government had different ideas for his immediate future and he was called to serve. Although he would be ripped away from his loving family, with his life as he knew it put on hold, he still did not hesitate. He answered the call to serve his country, entered a horrific war, and placed himself in harm’s way. Looking back today, he knows he would do it again, but at the time he was frightened and confused although he didn’t let on to his friends, his family, and especially his wife.

Millions of men served in the war of Vietnam; 58,235 were killed and hundreds of thousands wounded. Each has his own story; this is one such story—Frank Lunati’s story, Time Never Heals . . . The Memoirs of a Vietnam Doc.

CHAPTER ONE

IN THE MIDDLE OF THINGS

A rocket mortar explosive tore through the Vietnamese jungle and landed near the perimeter of the small LZ. The ensuing deafening blast rocked the camp. The air itself seemed to shake. I awoke from my usual light sleep and sat up with a start, knowing what it was immediately. The sound echoed from the hills and lingered in my ears as it had in my memory from previous mornings. This had happened before—too many times. Taking a deep breath, I covered my head with my arms and dove back onto my small air mattress as another explosion shook the small landing zone. It was followed by sporadic gunfire and then an unearthly quiet. Even the normal jungle sounds we had become accustomed to were now silent. The calm was broken by laughter when one of the troopers yelled out, Missed me again, you bastards!

Although outwardly I smiled at the comment, the amusement didn’t reach me. The rudeness of the early-morning fright only deepened my mood. I was despondent and had been so for more than a week. I kept my feelings to myself; not letting on to others and not wanting my frame of mind to trouble them. We had enough to deal with and didn’t need my foul mood to upset anyone else. I had been in Vietnam for less than four months and all of it—everything—was starting to get to me. I was sick of it. I had seen so many young men die, I was distraught and beside myself with bitterness and anger.

Tom Ward, one of the sergeants attached to my medical group, called out, Everybody okay? You okay, Doc? Captain Lunati . . . Frank, are you safe and sound? Are you among the living?

Yeah . . . I’m okay, Tom, but that VC alarm clock was a bit loud this morning. Check with the medics . . . see if anyone was hit. Let me know if I’m needed. Where’s Chuck? I said as I wiped the sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my uniform which was already drenched through and clung to my skin.

Our illustrious Lieutenant Holloway went off earlier. I saw him crossing the LZ and talking with some troopers.

I didn’t continue the conversation. Instead I glanced out into the jungle just outside the perimeter. The Vietcong were out there. We all knew it. Every night they would creep and crawl up to the perimeter and attempt to probe our lines.

Why didn’t they overrun us? Why this cat-and-mouse game? Are they trying to lull us into complacency or attempting to drive us crazy? What will they do tonight?

Those questions were on our minds, but never on our lips. We knew all the probabilities and the possibilities, but we were sure the Vietcong would come again that night—if only to annoy us. They loved to play with the Claymore mines we had placed along the perimeter. These antipersonnel land mines were each shaped like a crescent moon. The convex side was placed toward the enemy just outside the perimeter. Wires ran from the mine to the troopers who could detonate the mine using the trigger controls. When the troopers heard intruders attempting to probe our perimeter, the mine was detonated remotely. It kills by exploding millions of small metal pieces that tend to shred the victim. The VC would twist the wires and turn the Claymore antipersonnel land mines around so they would explode toward us. They would make odd sounds and occasionally fire directly into the LZ, attempting to make us detonate the mines. The enemy just made it known to us that they were there and that they would always be there. We had about one hundred and sixty troopers with us, but the enemy could have at least three or four times that number in the immediate vicinity.

What were they waiting for?

Our unit was in the midst of a search-and-destroy mission west of An Khe, somewhere near the Cambodian border. I was the battalion surgeon and when the entire battalion went out on a search-and-destroy mission, I went with them. We were scheduled to be out from base camp for about ten days and were halfway through the mission. This LZ, or landing zone, was much like all the rest. It merely was a clearing in the jungle, devoid of trees, where helicopters could land. Some LZs were larger than others, but most were muddy and covered with a pale green grass up to three to four feet. On the other hand, elephant grass found in clearings sometimes reached eight to twelve feet in height . . . unsuitable for landed of helicopters. During this time of the year, here and there under the grass, there was mud in abundance. The LZ was exactly as its name implied—the spot or zone where helicopters would land to bring in men and supplies or, as the pilots and crews called their missions, delivering ass and trash. They also would remove the wounded and the dead as need be. Unfortunately there was too much of that.

There were no Hueys here at this time. The helicopters were nicknamed Hueys, after their aircraft designation: HU-IE. They were basically carriers of infantry troops. They dropped us off and then hightailed it out of there. They were much too valuable and vulnerable to be kept sitting at an LZ. No one seemed to be concerned about our vulnerability. We were expendable.

We had been at several LZs already and had not engaged in battle with any of the enemy. But they were there and they never would let us forget that.

I checked my watch with the light of a red lens flashlight. It was 0430. Perhaps I could sleep for another half hour, as I would normally wake about 0500. Climbing back under the poncho and onto my makeshift bed, I put my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. But sleep would not come to me so I just lay there and listened to the subtle jungle sounds around me.

My thoughts went to my wife, Connie, and how she looked the last time I had seen her. It was just before I shipped out of Fort Benning, Georgia. I remembered standing in the staging area, waiting with others to be placed on trucks. It was a very traumatic moment. My parents had come down from New York to see me off and then they would fly back with Connie. As the moment for departing came near, I embraced my parents, kissed them and then reached for Connie. She tried to be strong and so did I, but we both failed miserably. We clung to each other and she sobbed softly. Tearing myself away from her was difficult. She gave me words of encouragement and we kissed, each with the fear that we would never see each other again.

I shook these thoughts from my mind. I rose from my improvised sleeping area and stretched. My sleeping area in this LZ, or my hooch—as we all began calling all sleeping quarters since we arrived in Vietnam—was really only a poncho tied down to make a small temporary protective area, which actually protected very little, some mosquito netting, and a thin, half-filled air mattress. This was my little domain. I walked around the small area we all claimed as a temporary home. Home, home—how warm and safe that sounded. But this was not home. Home, for me, meant family. Home was Connie. Home was where Connie was waiting for me. I shook my head again, clearing it of the thoughts I knew would only bring me down further than I was.

The truth of it all was that I was here in the filth and depression of a war in Vietnam. That was the reality I had to live and deal with on a daily basis. Add to that the little fact that the enemy had no respect for life and was trying to kill you. They had little or no appreciation for the Geneva Accord. If you were captured they would just as soon put a bullet through your head or worse. We all had heard of the atrocities. We all had to be alert and vigilant, but even that might not help.

The first slivers of dawn rose as the sky started to lighten slightly in the east. I decided that I best begin my day. I first sought out the designated latrine area where a slit trench had been dug and then returned to my hooch. I washed up as best I could, brushed my teeth, and shaved. At times, even these simple acts seemed fruitless. When I initially came to Vietnam, I used a safety razor, but soon found out firsthand that it could be dangerous. In this hot, moist climate, where we found it difficult to maintain cleanliness, a simple nick or scratch could lead to a massive skin infection, which was difficult to clear. I quickly learned to use a small, battery-driven Norelco razor.

By now others were up and around and I could see Lieutenant Chuck Holloway approaching. He had a spring to his step and seemed especially cheerful, but he was always like that. He called out to me.

Good morning, Frank.

I looked up and saw Chuck’s tall, lean body coming toward me. He was smiling, as was usual for him. He stretched and ran his hands over his blond crew cut. We all sported the army cut. My dark hair was extremely short on top and almost shaved on the sides.

Morning, Chuck, where’ve you been? I answered, although I knew he had been wandering the LZ and talking to troopers. Chuck was a medical service officer in charge of supplies and he enjoyed spending time with the troopers. He lowered his five-foot-eleven-inch frame to sit on the ground.

I was talking with a bunch of grunts; I wanted to know just how much company we have out there and what damage they may have done during the night. They just did their usual crap, but there seems to be more of them than were here the last few nights. The troopers will move out and try to find them today, said Chuck in his colorful Floridian accent.

And? Do I have time to have something to eat? I said as I opened a can of C-rations. Opening a can of C-rations was like a game. You never knew what you were getting. Opening a can dating back to the Korean War was somewhat nauseating to me. But it was clear to me that I had to eat or starve to death. Ham and eggs, or ham and lima beans and the like, were the usual. It was just another reminder of where I was.

Grabbing a can of C-rations from his hooch, Chuck sat down crosslegged in front of me and began opening the canned food with his P-38.

Oh they’re still out there, but they won’t interfere with our breakfast. They’ll wait, he said in a jovial manner. His personality was such that he always appeared to be in a good mood as if nothing bothered him.

I’m glad you’re so sure of that. So you think more Vietcong are moving into the area?

It seems so. At least, that’s what I was told. Troopers are going to move out later and try to find them.

Or they find us, I said in a matter-of-fact way, although I knew that the VC knew exactly where we were.

I watched him dig into his C-rations as if they were delicious. I began to eat slowly, then stopped.

Chuck, I began, tell me, in your opinion, are we doing any good here?

You mean here on this search-and-destroy?

Well, that and . . . No! Hell no! I mean . . . are we doing any good here in this godforsaken country. I’m sick of all the death. Are we helping these people or just getting a lot of good men killed? I surprised myself that my tone was so angry. Chuck didn’t seem to notice.

Yeah, I think we’re helping . . . you know . . . stopping communism and all that. I’m telling you, Doc, you think too much. We can’t change anything anyhow. We just do the job assigned to us. We do what we’re told. Don’t even think about it. Stop thinking so much. You know the army rules: one, do what you’re told, and two, don’t volunteer. We could add a third rule, at least you should . . . don’t think about it.

He finished his breakfast and tossed the can aside. He stood and walked off toward the latrines. I stared off after him and continued eating.

How can you not think about it?

By midafternoon the unit continued our search-and-destroy mission in a north-northeast direction where the Vietcong had been sighted by small hunter helicopters. We had to walk carefully, keeping our eyes open for trip wires as many of the trails were boobytrapped. The sky was cloudless, giving not even the slightest relief from the sweltering Vietnam sun. The temperature in the LZ clearing was well over one hundred degrees and I had hoped that perhaps in the jungle it might be cooler. It wasn’t cooler at all; in fact, the humidity added to our distress and discomfort and made it seem hotter. The blistering heat was unbearable, the air dense and humid. Breathing was difficult. Perspiration just seemed to pour from our bodies. Insects buzzed around our heads and tried to crawl into our nose and ears. The thick, stagnant air was alive with flies, mosquitoes, and gnats. Our body odor attracted them and I was forever swatting them away. The air was so thick with moisture I had the sensation of walking through a hot mist. We moved through the jungle at a slow and quiet pace. No use in announcing our intentions. We had followed this same procedure over the last few days and had not encountered any of the enemy.

The day was growing longer and we began to think about going back to the LZ. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire came from up ahead. We all hit the ground and lay still. The troopers had their guns ready and began to crawl forward. The combat was about forty yards to the front. It seems that our point man had surprised the Vietcong and they were making a stand. Rifle and machine gun fire was punctuated with the occasional explosion of a grenade. Word got back to me that one of the troopers had been hit. I followed the trooper who had reported the downed trooper. We were both crawling on our bellies through the thick tangled underbrush. I could smell the pungent dampness of the muddy earth. Vines caught on our clothing and sticky, wet vegetation slapped our faces. I was praying that I wouldn’t run into any of Vietnam’s numerous poisonous snakes.

The sounds of battle became increasingly louder and bullets were whistling over our heads. A blast of machine gun bullets pounded into the ground a few yards in front of us. The trooper continued to crawl forward. I swallowed hard and kept up with him. Soon I reached the fallen trooper and pressed my fingers against his neck. He was unconscious, but the weak pulse in his carotid artery told me he was still alive. I tried to administer CPR to him. I could tell he had been hit twice—once in the jaw and again in