Blackhorse Tales: Stories of 11th Armored Cavalry Troopers at War

By Don Snedeker

The war stories and combat narratives of the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment during five-and-a-half years of combat in Vietnam.
 
When the U.S. Army went to war in South Vietnam in 1965, the general consensus was that counterinsurgency was an infantryman’s war; if there were any role at all for armored forces, it would be strictly to support the infantry. However, from the time the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment arrived in the country in September 1966, troopers of the Blackhorse Regiment demonstrated the fallacy of this assumption. By the time of Tet ’68, the Army’s leadership began to understand that the Regiment’s mobility, firepower, flexibility, and leadership made a difference on the battlefield well beyond its numbers.
 
Over the course of the 11th Cavalry’s five-and-a-half years in combat in South Vietnam and Cambodia, over 25,000 young men served in the Regiment. Their stories—and those of their families—represent the Vietnam generation in graphic, sometimes humorous, often heart-wrenching detail. Collected by the author through hundreds of in-person, telephone, and electronic interviews over a period of twenty-five-plus years, these “war stories” provide context for the companion volume, The Blackhorse in Vietnam.
 
Amongst the stories of the Blackhorse troopers and their families are the tales of the wide variety of animals they encountered during their time in combat, as well as the variable landscape, from jungle to rice paddies, and weather. Blackhorse Tales concludes with a look at how the troopers dealt with their combat experiences since returning from Vietnam.
 
“Without question, Donald Snedeker has paid a fitting tribute to this superb unit, its soldiers, and their families.” —Military Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casemate Publishers
• Release date: Aug 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781636240435

Book preview

Preface

This is a story about Americans at war. Like their mothers and fathers before them, when the Nation called, they answered. For many of the young men who received orders to the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment (hereafter 11th Cav) in the 1960s and early 1970s, the word Cavalry invoked visions of John Wayne, Custer’s Last Stand, and, well, horses. As Chaplain Larry Haworth said years later: I would have requested the Blackhorse in the first place except for one thing: I not only had never heard of it, I thought that cavalry was for horses in the Wild West.

There was a sort of mystique about being part of this regiment called the Blackhorse. It wasn’t parade-ground-spit-and-polish airborne bravado. It was equal parts riding-to-the-rescue horse cavalry and no-mission-too-difficult modern cavalry. Officers, non-commissioned officers, and enlisted soldiers all felt it. Hell, they lived it.

Over the course of its five and one-half years in combat in Vietnam and Cambodia, over 25,000 young—and not so young—men served in the Blackhorse. When they went to war, they took their families with them. Some directly—such as the three Terry brothers from Monroe, LA—but most indirectly, through letters, cassette tapes, photos, newspaper and TV reports, and the dreaded Western Union telegram that started with: We regret to inform you … And when they came home, they brought the war back with them. Some intensely—such as Jack Quilter who couldn’t let go—but most more subtly through the changed person they came home as.

In some ways, the troopers of the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment were very much like the millions of other young men who served in the armed forces between 1966 and 1972. Some were drafted, many more volunteered. You did your basic and advanced individual training and then went to Vietnam. Upon returning home to The World,¹ as the GIs called anywhere other than Vietnam, some stayed in the Army. But most didn’t.

Most troopers returned home, packed their uniforms, medals, and memories away and got on with life.

But in many ways, cavalry troopers were different from their contemporaries. First and foremost, they were cavalrymen. Like their predecessors in the Civil War, they rode to war—not on horses but on modern-day steeds of steel and aluminum. They lived—and died—together inside their armored cavalry assault vehicles (ACAVs), tanks, howitzers, and helicopters.

Grunts (infantrymen) went out on operations for a week or so, then returned to a fire base for a rest. Aviators flew out every morning, then back to a semi-permanent airfield almost every night. Artillerymen were almost always located inside a well-defended perimeter. Support soldiers lived in base camps or depots with many of the comforts of home—clubs, movie theaters, and yes, even swimming pools.

For most Blackhorse troopers, there were few, if any, breaks from the war. You joined your platoon and stayed in the bush for months at a time. In the jungle, rubber plantations, rice paddies, and on the roads. In the dry season and wet season. Day and night, 24/7. Every day and every night. For the better part of a year—unless you were wounded and went home sooner.

Blackhorse troopers were unique in another way as well.

Everybody up and down your chain of command was also a cavalryman. They all wore the Blackhorse patch and the Allons unit crest. That meant that you were all part of the same brotherhood of war. With all the privileges and responsibilities due to your lifetime membership in this brotherhood.

Mike O’Grady (3/11 Howitzer Battery, 1967) sums it up succinctly: It was an honor and a pleasure to serve a year with the soldiers of the 11th ACR, by far the greatest honor of my life. I think of them almost every day, now 40 years later.

Yes, that made us different from the others who we fought alongside in Vietnam. In a good way. In a very good way.

Allen Hathaway (Regimental Headquarters Troop, 1966–67) didn’t have to go to Vietnam. He had a dream job. He joined the 11th Cav at Ft Meade in August 1964, fresh out of the Non-Commissioned Officers Academy at Ft Knox. A little over a year later, he was selected by General Earle Wheeler, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, to become his Enlisted Aide at the Pentagon. But, when word came down that his old unit had orders for Vietnam, Allen went to his boss and asked to be relieved from this prestigious position. He had trained with these troopers, and if they were going to war, by God, he wanted to go with them. Even if it meant extending his term of enlistment in the Army for two years (which it did).

Allen Hathaway is a Blackhorse trooper.

Gene Johnson was one of the first to join the newly formed Aero Rifle Platoon in 1966 at Ft Meade. He and the others trained for nine months together before arriving in Vietnam in early 1967. When they arrived, the platoon was reorganized into a Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol platoon. New missions, new tactics, new dangers. But Gene thought so much of being a Blackhorse trooper that when his number came up for a second tour in Vietnam, he made sure that it would be with his Regiment. But a full-year stint with Echo Troop in 1970–71 still wasn’t enough. Just a few years later, Gene was back with the Blackhorse—this time on the East–West German border. New mission, new tactics, new dangers.

Gene Johnson is a Blackhorse trooper.

David Harper, a Korean War vet, joined 3/11’s Mike Company in Regensburg, Germany, in 1960. In 1964, the Army decided it was time for the Regiment to come home, so David moved with his family to Ft Meade. He was still with Mike Company when the 11th Cav deployed to Vietnam in the fall of 1966. In fact, David Harper served eight straight years with Mike Company. The Army finally decided that other units should benefit from Harper’s wisdom and experience, bringing him back to The World in 1968. At the time, Armor magazine called him Mr Blackhorse.

David Harper is a Blackhorse Trooper.

Don Horn was the first Regimental Command Sergeant Major of the Blackhorse Regiment. He had three combat tours—one in Korea and two in Vietnam. In Korea, he was appointed his tank company’s first sergeant at the tender age of 23. During his two tours with the 11th Cav, he served with six different Regimental Commanders. Remarkably, he was at the side of Colonel Jack MacFarlane when he was severely wounded in March 1968. He was in the same helicopter crash that killed Colonel Don Holder, MacFarlane’s successor. Despite these close calls, he answered the call again when Colonel Donn Starry took command of the Regiment—and was by Starry’s side when he was wounded in May 1970. In an interview for the Blackhorse Newspaper in mid-1969, Horn said: To the cavalry soldier this is the finest assignment in the world … Once you’re a Blackhorse Trooper, it gets in your blood and you’re always one, no matter where you go.

Don Horn is a Blackhorse Trooper.

Bill Trobaugh was the Regimental Chaplain in 1970. He was known as the marauding Methodist. Trobaugh had served a hitch in the Navy during WWII, so he had seen the elephant before. He had a reputation for being where the action was; he sought it out, and it sought him out. The rumor was that units seemed to get hit whenever he came around. Was he an NVA magnet, or did he just have bad/good luck? These were questions the Golf Troop commander had to consider when Trobaugh came around on the third day of the Cambodia operation. He’d heard that Frank Cambria had been badly wounded in action during the border fight, leaving his 3rd Platoon without an officer. Bill Trobaugh had already spoken with the 2/11 commander, and it was alright with him if it was alright with Sewall Menzel, the troop commander. Bill Trobaugh, lieutenant colonel and chaplain, was volunteering to take over as a recon platoon leader in the middle of the biggest operation the Blackhorse had conducted since entering the war. Menzel made it clear that even though he was two ranks his senior, he would be the one giving the orders to Brevet Lieutenant Trobaugh. The chaplain readily agreed. For the next several days, Trobaugh led the platoon with distinction, including being up front during the assault on the rubber plantation airfield outside of Snuol. Menzel described him as the epitome of the Army’s fighting chaplain tradition, going back to those Indian-fighting days of the wild west … This was a guy who could not only praise the Lord, but also pass the ammunition—Blackhorse style! Donn Starry considered him one of the greatest .50 cal [machine gun] guys I ever met.

Bill Trobaugh is a Blackhorse trooper.

These are their stories.

Blackhorse Tales is a companion volume to The Blackhorse in Vietnam. Whereas the first volume told the history of our Regiment between 1966 and 1972, this volume tells the stories of the men who proudly call themselves Blackhorse Troopers.

I am indebted to a number of people who helped make this book possible. The list of those who shared their memories with me can be found in the Sources section at the end of the text. But the following individuals went over and above. Trooper John Pretti has a sharp eye and a sharp pen. His drawings on these pages bring the war stories to life. Trooper Rex Saul’s prowess with an M16 rifle and a 35mm camera contributed immeasurably to the Blackhorse legend. And to this book, too. The leadership of the 11th Armored Cavalry Veterans of Vietnam and Cambodia – Troopers Pete, Frank, Greg, Ollie, Bill, Mike, Bob, Jerry, Eric, Jack, Larry, Allen, Otis, Paul, and Bob – volunteers and veterans all, have supported me for many years. Allons! Finally, a special thanks to the Blackhorse family members. Your support and understanding help us get through each and every day. Yes, that means you too, Victoria.

CHAPTER 1

The Troopers

We were young, we were committed, and we were very good at what we did.

JOHN CASTERMAN, M COMPANY, 3/11, 1966–67

The Blackhorse is like a ’57 Chevy. It’s the most recognized car in the world. And the Blackhorse patch is the most recognized patch in the world.

JERRY UTTERBACK, B TROOP, 1/11, 1970–71

A good cavalryman has got to be half crazy like George Custer. It’s just the wrong business for careful people to be in.

BILL PARIS, AIR CAVALRY TROOP, 1969–70

It was a crazy time, the Sixties. The whole world seemed to be in flux. The staid Fifties made the Sixties even more surreal. The Vietnam War was tailor-made for the Psychodelia Sixties. Talk about surreal …

Male high school graduates—and drop-outs too—were faced with a life-altering choice. To serve in the military or not. If you chose yes, then the next choice was multiple choice: volunteer, wait to get drafted, or join the National Guard or Reserves (if you had connections and could). Of course, there were various alternatives associated with each choice. If you volunteered, you got to choose what your military specialty would be.¹ Choose combat arms, you’re probably going to end up in Vietnam; choose ballistic missile repair, likely not.

There were even options for when you might get drafted. Get married (maybe a draft deferment), go to college (probably a deferment), see a doctor about your bone spurs (likely a deferment). Go to graduate school, have a baby, claim a moral objection to war, go to work in a defense industry factory—all potential get-out-of-jail-free cards.

So, everybody had choices. For Bryant Nelson, the choice was clear. My father-in-law … [who] served as a fighter pilot for the famous Flying Tigers in China and Burma … without saying a word, had strong influence on me to pick up the responsibility to serve my country and help in whatever way I could in a war I believed help free the Vietnamese from the yoke of Communism. Bryant ended up in artillery, serving with 1/11 Howitzer Battery in 1969–70.²

A war I believed help free the Vietnamese from the yoke of Communism, Bryant Nelson with his battery’s mascot, 1969. (Bryant Nelson)

Contrary to the popular notion at the time, most of those who became Blackhorse troopers in Vietnam were volunteers, not draftees. While some joined the Army in order to pick their specialty, others were motivated by patriotism, a need to get away from home, trouble with the law, and a wide variety of other reasons.

Daryl Carlson (Mike Company and India Troop, 1969–70), for example, signed up with Uncle Sam because he had too many traffic tickets.

Golf Troop’s Bruce Watson joined in 1966 after he was caught in a compromising situation with the daughter of the president of the local draft board. He chose tanks as his military occupational specialty because of course nobody would think of using a tank in the rice paddies and jungle of Southeast Asia. Less than a year later he was in Vietnam.

Greg Mason (Headquarters Troop, 3/11, 1968–69) was drafted in the fall of 1967: I spent my academic career chasing girls and drinking a little too much beer …

Dan Nedolast (Echo Troop, 1968–69) received a letter from his brother in early 1968 who had deployed to Vietnam with the 9th Infantry Division a year earlier. The letter said whatever you do, stay in school. Don’t come over here. Dan volunteered for the draft the Monday after he got that letter. When he arrived in-country and processed through the 90th Replacement Battalion, a Sergeant First Class picked Dan and seven other medics and said: You guys are going to the best damn fightin’ unit in Vietnam, the 11th Armored Cav Blackhorse. Dan admits: I had no idea what he was talking about.

The Terry brothers from Monroe, LA—Gary, Pete, and Wesley—all volunteered for the Army when they came of age. All three served in the Blackhorse in Vietnam. Wesley joined Alpha Troop in 1967 (he was wounded and medevaced in January 1969). Gary was assigned to Headquarters Troop Regiment in early 1969. Younger brother Pete went to Kilo Troop at the end of the year. They knew about the Army policy to not assign brothers to the same unit; they weren’t about to let a policy stand in their way. Gary recalls:

While Wesley was home on convalescence leave and I was home on leave going to Vietnam he told me some stories about the 11th Cav, I remember the last thing he told me before I boarded the plane was that I didn’t need to go to the 11th but as luck would have it I was the only one at the 90th Repo [90th Replacement Battalion] to get assigned to them that day … I knew about the no brothers policy before Pete came over but decided if he really wanted to come then I would do what I could to get him assigned with me and it worked out that we were able to do it with some help from the personnel officer of the regiment.

And even when you’d finished Basic Training and were in-country, your choices didn’t end. Mark Crist was a school-trained helicopter mechanic assigned to Air Cav Troop in 1968. I could have stayed one, he says, but I had to see the war. Three weeks later he was a gunner on an ACAV in India Troop.

Bob McNeil (Mike Company, 1967–69) was sent to Vietnam right out of Advanced Individual Training. When the sergeant major found out he could type, he was assigned to the staff as a clerk. He recalls: The Sergeant Major says all you guys who can type, you’re staying at headquarters, you’re lucky, you will be typing for a year. But Bob didn’t feel lucky. He wanted to be on tanks. So, he did what you’re told to do from day one in the Army. Got a problem? Go see the chaplain. Who just happened to come from near his home in Massachusetts. A couple weeks later Bob was reassigned to a Mike Company tank.

When Dave Summers arrived in-country just after Tet ’68, he flew into Cam Ranh Bay. I had a direct assignment to the 18th Engineer Brigade in Cam Ranh Bay. And we’re landing at Cam Ranh Bay and I’m looking down, and they’re water skiing on Cam Ranh Bay. And it’s beautiful. And I’m thinking: ‘Um, I don’t think I’m going to mind this much …’ Two days later, he was told he was going to the 11th Cav. But I’m an engineer. I have a directed assignment to the 18th Engineer Brigade. All to no avail. Dave joined the 919th Engineer Company shortly thereafter. Six months later, he was tasked with teaching the Aero Rifle Platoon (ARP) how to use explosives. The ARPs were impressed with Dave’s skills, and he thought it looked like a big adventure. So, Dave spent the rest of his tour as an ARP.

So much for water skiing on Cam Ranh Bay.

Jim Smith was a Cobra crew chief in Air Cav Troop (1968–69). He remembers thinking: I wanted to get in a small unit that saw a lot of action. Not because I’m a hero, but because I wanted to mentally know whether I could do it or not. And the 11th Armored Cav was the answer.

After being commissioned out of Officers Candidate School (OCS), Davidson Loehr (17th Public Information Detachment, 1967) was given a cushy assignment—Vietnam Entertainment Officer, responsible for coordinating all the United Service Organization (USO) shows that entertained the troops in Vietnam. Living in Saigon. With an expense account. Beautiful, talented round-eyed women. Hot and cold running water. Flush toilets. Tu Do Street nearby.

After meeting two of his OCS classmates (both assigned to combat jobs in infantry divisions), my cocky little world came crashing down. He recalled the words of two people who had influenced his young life up to that point (and still do today). One, a leadership instructor in the 7th Army NCO Academy in Germany, the other a Tactical Officer (TAC) in OCS. Their words made Davidson realize: "This wasn’t about patriotism or courage, but about the fact that war is an archetypal experience, much the same for soldiers in all eras, and this was my only chance for it. If I returned home without experiencing war, without being out where the action was, I wouldn’t want to live with myself. I will not

feel cowardly and ashamed! Not again, not ever! Thank you Dr Jones … and Captain Whitehead."

Much to the amazement of his commander, Loehr volunteered to be reassigned to the 11th Cav. His transfer was approved in early 1967. After the war, he wrote: My first five months, in Saigon, were fun and cool; the last seven months in the field were sacred.

* * *

The first few days in-country were a shock. First, the heat getting off the airplane hit you like a ton of red-hot bricks. When you finally caught your breath, you almost wished that you hadn’t. Vietnam smelled. No, it stank! Like crossing the border into Tijuana in the 1960s—on steroids. Rotting vegetation, nuoc mam (Vietnamese fish sauce), burning shit, jet fuel exhaust, acid rain. Fox Troop’s Cary McMasters says his duffle bag from 1966 still smells that way. You almost wished you could go back and sit next to that fat, drunk sergeant on the plane (who hadn’t showered for a week) for another 18 hours.

Bob Walradth (Lima Troop, 1969–70) describes the feeling: You walked off the plane and took that first or second step off that ladder to come off it and you’re thinking, ‘Man, I got 12 months of this crap’ … But there’s others out there doing it and they done it before we did and it wasn’t easy for anybody over there.

Then it was off to 90th Replacement Battalion, fill out forms, stand in line, stand in formation, pull a detail, stand in another formation. Jack Stoddard (Air Cav Troop, 1968–69) recalls the ordeal: I have never been in so many small offices and long lines in my life. One for filling out your will, the next to get paid, and another to fill out your life insurance form. This went on for two full days until I was finally given my orders … When your name is called, you’re loaded onto a truck/helicopter for the trip to your new unit. The 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment. THE BLACKHORSE.

Jack Stoddard, Aero Rifle Platoon guidon bearer, 1969. (Jack Stoddard)

Jim Smith remembers landing at Fire Support Base Holiday Inn in April 1969. He was joining 3/11’s Howitzer Battery. Finally, the chopper landed and the [door] gunner told me to ‘get out newbie’ … There I was, with my two duffle bags of clothes and gear and my nice clean, new jungle fatigues. There were a couple of Blackhorse troopers there to greet me. Their uniforms looked nothing like mine, they were worn and dusty, and the guys looked mean and serious. Then came the hammer: I heard someone say in the background, ‘Here comes my replacement.’

Welcome to the Regiment, Newbie. Stow your stuff and get to work.

In the following sections, troopers explain what it was like to be a Blackhorse trooper. A day in the life describes a typical 24-hour day living in an armored vehicle in the field. Firefights outlines a not-so-typical day—a day when you were involved in a deadly battle with the enemy. Down time turns to those times when troopers tried to take a break from reality and have a little fun.

A Day in the Life

They [armored vehicles] were our house, they were our fortress, they were our assault vehicle, they did everything.

DEE CUTTELL, B TROOP, 1/11, 1967–68

We rarely saw Base Camp as we were constantly on operations. Food, fuel, ammunition, and spare parts were all flown out to us by helicopter. The squadrons were self-sufficient. Tank engines were even changed in the middle of the jungle.

MICHAEL COYNE, D COMPANY, 1/11, 1967–68

Each day is different, but just the same as before.

JEFFREY LOPEZ, HOWITZER BATTERY, 3/11, 1966–67

Bob Hersey arrived in Vietnam just after Tet ’68. He immediately ran into a problem. No one in the personnel shop had ever heard of his military occupational specialty before. What is a 94Delta, anyway, the personnel sergeant asked? I’m a school-trained baker, Bob replied. There were no slots in the Regiment for a baker; cook was close enough, though. Bob learned to cook (the Army way) on the job from the Kilo Troop Mess Daddy (affectionate nickname for a unit’s chief cook).

For the next year, Bob was up before dawn—either in the base camp or in a troop-sized night defensive position—cooking breakfast for his very hungry fellow Blackhorse troopers. Bob admits that he wasn’t much of a cook and didn’t really care for it that much. But there was one thing that Bob was famous for. If gasoline, diesel, and aviation gas were the lifeblood of the Blackhorse trooper’s mounts in Vietnam, coffee was the lifeblood of the troopers themselves.

To make my famous GI field coffee, you will need to begin with 20 gallons of potable water from the water trailer. It’s best when it’s carried through a rice paddy knee deep full of water. Bring to a boil in a kettle over a standard issue field mess gasoline operated burner—preferably in the early morning darkness so as to give your position away to the enemy. If you survive the lighting of the stove then proceed to the next step. When the water boils, stir in two, 2-pound cans of ground coffee … Once thoroughly stirred, lower the stove’s setting until the water simmers. Cover and let simmer for about 5 minutes. Remove from the stove and add slowly one quart of cold water in a circular fashion starting in the center and working outward. This step takes the grounds to the bottom of the pot. Be careful not to disturb the brewed coffee but gently ladle from the top downward the coffee into another container, preferably into a coffee urn. Leave the little bit of coffee remaining in the bottom of the kettle behind. It contains the grounds.

And that’s how Blackhorse troopers started their days in Vietnam.

A day in the life of an armored cavalry trooper was different than in the lives of most other GIs in Vietnam. Grunts typically split their time between the bush and base camp. Grunts in the bush had to carry what they needed on their backs—C-rations, extra sox, radio batteries, bandoleers of ammo, hand and smoke grenades, a towel, and four canteens of water. When those ran out, they were either resupplied by helicopter or returned to home base. An infantry patrol typically lasted a week or less; then you stood down for at least several days. Artillerymen (except for the forward observers, who lived like the grunts and cavalrymen they worked with) lived on fire support bases. Even further away from the action were those who populated the major base camps—supply depot logisticians, personnel clerks, swimming pool lifeguards.³

Home-away-from-home for many Blackhorse troopers—the inside of an M113 ACAV— (Larry Kingsley)

David Greenlee (17th Public Information Detachment, 1969–70) provides a perspective on how life was different when you were at a base camp. In the last few months it was pretty rear echelon stuff—not enough to do during the day, people more interested in saluting and the uniform being clean. These things I didn’t like so much, but I lived better and felt safer. I was no longer in a dugout or with sandbags all around.⁴

Because armored cavalrymen had mobile homes (the vehicles they crewed), they carried most of what they needed with them. Helicopters brought in fuel and ammo and water, so there was no need to return to a fire support base. Resupply, maintenance (except major repairs), church services, promotions, and sick call were all handled in the bush. Most Blackhorse troopers saw the base camp when they arrived in country and attended the in-country training school, when they went on R&R or were wounded, and then again when they got short and processed out to go back to The World.⁵ In between, most stayed in their vehicles in the bush—24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 340 or so days in a one-year tour. And everybody worked seven days a week. Every week.

Doug Campbell commanded Kilo Troop for six months in 1969–70. He says the troop was only once back from the field in a secure base area for three or four days where we did a maintenance stand down. India Troop’s Charlie Locklin thinks he might have been at Blackhorse Base Camp 5 or 6 times for a period of maybe 10 days total in the eight months he was a platoon leader in 1967–68. Bob Walradth (Lima Troop, 1969–70) sums it up for most: Our time was out in the jungle most of the time. We lived in the jungle, that was our home. We lived on the back of our tanks … Some troopers envied the soft life those on Blackhorse Base Camp had. But not everyone relished that life. Bruce Miller, a postal clerk with the 7th Army Postal Unit attached to the 11th Cav, recalls in early 1967 the call went out for volunteers to accompany the Regiment to Operations Cedar Falls and Junction City. "I was tired of burning manure and filling sandbags.⁶ That was a good incentive for going to the field."

Eric Newton arrived in-country in July 1968. His first job was hauling fuel around Blackhorse Base Camp. After just a couple of weeks, he asked to be transferred to the field. To me, anything was better than being in the rear … Guys were drinking, guys had guns, grenades … It was more frightening being back there with crazy people than it was going out and facing the enemy. Eric spent the rest of his tour with Kilo Troop—in the field.⁷ Greg Mason recalls that Quan Loi Base Camp was rocket city. We were fighting hardcore NVA [North Vietnamese Army] up there … [They] would set up rockets in the middle of the night with delayed fuses … There’d be two or three [rockets] every day, sometimes one. You never knew what time they were going to hit. His unit suffered no killed in action in his first 10 months in the bush. In two days while at Quan Loi, four were killed. The squadron left Quan Loi a week later and moved to the field, which, according to Greg, was a lot quieter.

Home in the field was a 25-square-foot area (less for tank crews). You and three or four other troopers. You stank. Everybody stank. You adjusted to everybody else’s odd habits. Or not. But somehow you all got along. There was no getting away for more than five minutes at a time.

David Berger (Delta Company, 1967–68) recalls: Normally we would have four men on a tank, but we were short one man. That meant a lot of time doing guard duty. When you weren’t pulling guard duty you were never more than eight to ten feet away from the radio and main gun controller. In that small area you would sleep, eat and yes, use the bathroom. It would be like working in a plant in a small work area and never leaving even for a break …

Yes, a day in the life of an armored cavalry trooper was, indeed, unique.

Mike Rafferty was the medic for the 3rd Platoon, Golf Troop, during the Cambodia operation in 1970. Just before 2/11 attacked the town of Snuol, Mike’s crew aboard armored cavalry assault vehicle (ACAV) G-36 was joined by a reporter from Newsweek magazine, Maynard Parker.⁸ The reporter asked a lot of questions as they moved up Highway 7. Mike hoped they might get mentioned in a magazine article (it didn’t happen). But when the shooting started on the outskirts of Snuol, Maynard took the crew’s advice and kept his head down inside the vehicle.

Golf Troop pulled back and let the Air Force work over the enemy positions. During a break in the action, Parker and several other reporters were picked up by helicopter and flown back to Saigon to file their stories. Doc Rafferty reflected on the differences in their lives. At that moment I really envied those men who could drop in and out of the war as they pleased. We did not have that option.

2/11 Howitzer Battery celebrating Christmas, 1969. (Danny Kays)

Joe Hogan (1/11 Headquarters Troop and Charlie Troop, 1966–67) remembers life in the field. One day just ran into the next. Always tired and occasionally scared. You never got enough sleep—up early, mission all day, break down ammo and pull maintenance before dark, at least one two-hour guard shift every night. Art Rambo (3/11 Howitzer Battery, 1969) described his day in a letter to his wife: It took

Reviews for Blackhorse Tales

[cartmike · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Another well done book by Don Snedeker!