Prologue
Vietnam the Hard Way
Chapter One
A Mission
Late June is a wonderful time of year in Germany. Summer is nearing the end of its reign, and fall is just
around the corner. The music of the Hofbrau Haus in downtown Munich echoes across the streets. Summer is pleasurable in Southern Germany, both days of it. The winds and rains
off the North
Sea seem to permeate
the land and turn everything a gray color, accented by the occasional patch of green. It reminds me of a dreary scene out
of an old black and white war movie, just different shades of gray accented by natural colors of nature.
Warner Kaserne is situated on the northern edge of Munich,
sharing the same road to Dachau, the infamous concentration camp. It was originally constructed by
German labor before WWII in 1934-1936 as the political headquarters or HQ of Adolph Hitler’s personal guard and regiment:
the Waffen SS.
Throughout World War II, the Kaserne was spared aerial bombing due to an ingenious camouflage
system. The large building was covered by netting entwined with small bushes. A short distance from the Kaserne a replica
of the roof was built to ward off bombing. Only one bomb struck the Kaserne courtyard.
As part of the German surrender, by 1950 the
installation was occupied by the United States Army, which quickly started giving it new uniformed names. “Building
1701” became the largest single-roofed structure in the world used solely for the billeting of troops and second only
to the Pentagon in Washington,
DC for use by the Army.
I was assigned as the Non-Commissioned
Officer In Charge of the US Air Force air liaison detachment to the 24th Infantry Division that called Warner Kaserne
complex “home.” In a way, it was a good assignment as only eight other AF personnel were assigned and our HQ some
300 miles to the north left us to fend for ourselves. The downside effect was being asked to participate in exercises and
alerts where we had to take our MRC-107 radio jeeps in field with each infantry unit in support of simulated air strikes flown
by American and now allied German aircraft, especially Fiats G-91. The F-86 look-alikes with German Air Force pilots flew
so low that they would almost hit the 20-foot antenna on the Jeeps.
My room was really an apartment in the northwest corner of the building. It was once home
to a WWII German field grade officer. The small apartment had all the amenities of stateside living and then some, including
a modern washer and dryer. A stateside senior NCO was authorized nothing close to the over 700 square feet of living area
and a private bathroom.
The 24th treated me very well. As a senior NCO, I was part of the senior staff
assigned to the brigade. I owned a very nice 1968 Blue Opel Capitan and I had no extra duties other than man the office in
the S-3 Air section of the 24th.
“Sergeant. Protz, Sergeant. Protz,” was the voice accompanying the
constant door knocking. It was early Monday morning and I had just returned the evening before from a very nice weekend at
Chiemsee, south of Munich. My 1968 Powder Blue Opel Kapitan A had a 4.6-liter V-8 high performance engine to keep up with Autobahn traffic
at a constant 200KM per hour. She was smooth as a baby’s butt as I zipped along the no-speed limit Autobahn in the company
of Porsches and Mercedes. Most Germans and some Americans bought a car in Germany for the advertised top speed (Höchstgeschwindigkeit), not
fuel economy. My Opel was advertised at 220 KM per hour and it would achieve that speed and more with the four-speed manual
transmission.
The Armed Forces Recreation Center (AFRC) Chiemsee offered sailing, windsurfing, and more
water sports, plus there's hiking, hang-gliding and more activities in the nearby Bavarian Alps.
Vacationing at AFRC Europe facilities in southern Bavaria was one of the many benefits of duty in Europe, as there were several in the southern part of Germany.
Central to the Chiemsee area were two hotels with 156 rooms, and a 112-site campground.
Either could serve as a base camp to take advantage of the wealth of sights to see and things to do in the area. Lake Hotel
actually sat on the edge of the 64 acre Lake Chiemsee. The stone terraces gracefully touched the water and added a sparkling ambience to the pristine setting. Park Hotel
was nestled in the woods a short distance away. The campground featured bath houses, a shoppete, Laundromat, playground, and
campsites with or without electricity. It was a great way to spend quiet summer hours.
“OK, Sergeant.
Franks, what do you want this early on Monday morning? It’s barely 0500,” I said as I opened my door.
“The S-3 air duty
officer asked me to inform you that you have a classified TWX (teletypewriter message),” said Sergeant. Franks, almost
out of breath.
“Thanks, Fred. Tell the duty officer you gave me the message and I’ll be over
to pick up the message as soon as I get dressed and have some breakfast.”
“But he said immediately, Sarge.”
“OK, tell the new infantry 2nd Lieutenant that you delivered the message and give him my message," I said to Sergeant.
Franks as he turned to leave.
Sergeant. Fred Franks was an over-age in-grade professional Staff Sergeant. He had almost
20 years in service and would retire soon, and I understood why, as he required constant supervision. He was one the USAF
Radio Operator and Driver (ROMAD) assigned to infantry units.
After a great breakfast at the brigade mess hall I made my way to the S-3 air office to
pick up my TWX message. The young Lieutenant couldn’t get off duty until I signed for the message.
“It’s about time you got here, Sergeant. I’ve been waiting over 2 hours
for you,” said the Lieutenant as I sat down at my desk.
“Sign here, Sergeant Protz,” he said as he thrust a clipboard in my hands.
“Where is the document, Lieutenant?” I asked him.
“It’s in the brigade vault. It’s classified Top Secret NIMDIS and I don’t
have the clearance to carry the document.”
“Very well, sir. Let’s see the document and I’ll sign for it.”
He looked very perplexed since he had just told me that he didn’t have the clearance
to hold the document. I was sure it was in the Top Secret vault located in the basement of brigade headquarters. He turned
on his heel and left in a huff, with his infantry blue scarf pulsing on his Adam’s apple.
“Good to see you, Sergeant Protz. Have a good weekend at Chiemsee?” asked Major
Lyles, the brigade S-3 air officer.
“Good few days off away from Munich,” I said as I offered my hand.
“Let’s go down to the vault and see why Lieutenant Fuzz has his skivvies in
a knot.”
“Sounds like a good plan. Let’s get some S-3 coffee to take along.” I
stopped by the coffee table and poured a cup for myself and Major Lyles.
“Your Lieutenant Fuzz is so new he only has an interim secret clearance and can’t
even venture to the basement war room and vault,” said Major Lyles.
“I suspected as much, but he should clean the Cosmoline from his bars before he starts
giving orders.”
“I know, but good help is hard to come by with the war in Vietnam going at full tilt,” said Major
Lyles.
Major Lyles spun the combination of the huge iron door to the war room. It was a carry over
from the WWII garrison and was still was in excellent condition.
I sat down and signed the entry log after verification of identification. Major Lyles handed
me a folder with Top Secret across the top.
“The message is long on security and quite short on instructions,” said Major
Lyles as he read the message.
“Master Sergeant Sean Michael Protz, United States Air Force 24th Infantry
Division Warner Kaserne, is ordered to report to Travis AFB, California, building 100 by fastest means available for an extended
TDY to Southeast Asia (SEA) for a highly classified mission. All funding in place to store POV and personal belongings for
a maximum of 189 days. Delay in route not authorized. Travel at most expeditious means using attached funding citations. Bring
only enough clothing for the trip. Travel in civilian clothes mandatory. Authorized use of diplomatic passport approved by
State Department.”
“What the hell does this mean Major, another trip to Vietnam?”
“I don’t know, but Vietnam sure as hell is in Southeast Asia. I’ll cut your orders and arrange for a Huey ride out
of a Cav unit to take you to Rhein-Main to catch your flight. I have no idea, but I expect you’ll know when you get
to Travis. Do you have your red passport?” asked Major Lyles.
“Yes sir, I have both passports. I’ll contact my headquarters and let them know.”
“No need Mike, it’s all arranged. I’ll meet you at 0500 at the chopper
pad. Remember, travel light,” said Major Lyles as he shook my hand.
The C-141 was awaiting my arrival as the chopper cleared approach control at Rhein Main
AB. As the gateway to Europe,
Rhein-Main Air Base was located near Frankfurt, Germany. There are no aircraft permanently assigned to the base, as its main function is an aerial port. Rhein-Main Air Base
is a small base named after the confluence of the Rhine and Main Rivers located to the west of Frankfurt.
I was met by two well-dressed
civilians who asked for my ID and orders. They picked up my AWOL bag, and escorted me to the running C-141, all in a matter
of a minute or so. I was in luck, as it had mostly cargo with only a handful of passengers. I took the aisle seat on the last
row, put my feet on the cargo, and settled in for a long flight.
“It looks like I have my self a strange assignment lined up by someone I didn’t know or for that matter
I didn’t want to know,” I thought outloud to myself.
I could see the “suits” that escorted me on the aircraft as they gave the crew
chief a manila package and pointed to me. I would just have to wait and see.
Between three trips to the tiny in-flight bathroom and a dry tasteless in flight lunch,
I heard the overhead speakers announce arrival at Travis AFB. I got up, stretched and re-molded the earplugs and awaited touchdown.
* * * * * *
Building 100 at Travis AFB was isolated on the Eastern edge of the base. There was one access
road in and out and it was surrounded with plenty of security, although no fences. There were no signs except the standard
deadly force signs on the previous fence.
I rang the buzzer on the front door under a covered overhang. A uniformed security police
officer answered the door. He had no nametag or other identification except a side arm with a Sam Brown belt.
“ID and a copy of your orders please,” he said in a kind voice.
I passed him my ID card and a copy of my orders. I was given only three copies so I was
worried if I had enough to file a travel voucher.
“Follow me Sergeant. Protz, and I’ll take you to the briefing room.”
There were eight other individuals in civilian clothes seated around an oblong table. I
would make the ninth.
“Have a seat at the end of the table. The coffee and some snacks are in the back,
so feel free and help yourself,” said the officer as he closed and locked the door with a distinctive prison lock sound.
All of the faces looked at me as I pulled out my chair and put my small AWOL bag behind
it. No one said a word. The room had two long mirrors, one on each end. I was sure they were two way mirrors like the ones
used during interrogation.
I got up and got myself a cup in addition to a fresh Dunkin’ Donut from a box by the
coffee pot. As I sat down I looked around and I was the only one with a cup. They all looked like they were frightened and
didn’t want to take advantage of the coffee and donuts.
No one said a word as I sat down next to a tall black man with very short hair and without
an ounce of fat. I pegged him as a full-blooded card carrying United States Marine. Looking across the table I saw that the
others filled in the spectrum of various branches of the service. It looked like I was the relaxed exception.
“You want a cup Marine.” I asked him.
All heads in the room turned around. It was so quiet that you could hear a drop of sweat
hit the tile floor.
“Don’t mind if I do, and maybe one of those “gedunks” you got.”
He returned with several “gedunks” and a black cup of coffee, took a combat
knife from his pocket, and surgically sliced one of the donuts in half. After the surgery, he carefully dunked one end in
his coffee. He took a drink of coffee, turned in his chair, and looked at me.
There were 14 eyes riveted on our every move and hanging on every word, yet no one said
a word.
“It’s that obvious, huh? What gave me away,” said the Marine.
“It’s that forced recon look I’ve seen before. As a former Marine, it
stands out like a sore thumb,” I said to him.
“Looks like another goat roping, but with what kind of rope,” said the Marine
as he digested my answer.
“It’s a wait and see game again. I see that the rest of the pack are very quiet
and frightened, like a pack of newbees on R&R in Saigon.”
“Roger that, I need a refill, how about you,” said the Marine.
Again, 14 eyes followed us to the table and watched every move, yet no one said a word.
They looked like they were hungry and thirsty, but they were glued to their seats. One young somewhat heavy, blond haired
man started to giggle to himself. I pegged him as an Army grunt with little or no experience. The 14 eyes then shifted to
him and then back to us.
“Place all personal belongings on the table. Empty your pockets completely. Take out
all your identification and lay it on the table next to your wallets. Take off all clothes and put on the jumpsuit provided,”
said a voice from the back of the room.
With a shrug, the Marine and I got up and did as instructed. All 14 eyes were looking and
following our example. Unlike the rest of the crew, we remained standing after we completed our instructions. We both turned
our pockets inside out as a precaution. The 14 other eyes were in various positions, trying to get their stuff organized.
“Place all of your personal items in a box that will be passed around to you. Note
the number and the date on the box, as that will be your number for the remainder of this meeting and processing. The number
and date will be used to reclaim your items once you return through this portal. Once the items are placed in a box, you have
no name, just the number on the box.”
My box number was “1” and the Marine’s “2,” along with today’s
date. All the others were scattered numbers. We remained standing while the rest sat down.
A tall, agile, well-dressed man came around a podium on the long side of the table. He exuded
a positive command presence as if he had been a leader of men for a long time. He commanded attention without saying a word.
“No one told you men to sit down. Stand up like number 1 and 2,” he said with
a firm voice.
“Back up two steps from the table.”
Everyone complied as several well dressed men with no nametags gathered the boxes, placed
them on a wheeled cart, and sealed them with red tape. They were wheeled out of the room. The door closing and solid metallic
clicks of the lock engaging, felt as we were in a jail cell, but neither the Marine nor I let on.
“Step forward and have a seat.”
“You are all gathered here in anticipation of a special mission because of your unique
skills and security clearances. From this point forward, you will have a different identity. When you return through this
portal again your military and personal identity will be re-established. All mail will be to a Travis address and be held
for you until you return.”
“Number 2, step forward.”
The Marine got up, went to the podium, and shook hands with the speaker.
“This gentleman is Sanford 2. We will all use our assigned call sign designators until you
are assigned identities. Sanford 2 is your processing control. Get used to the word “control,” as it replaces supervisor in a very big
way.
“Number 1, I suppose you want to be Chico 7 again,” said Sanford 2.
“Roger that,” I said in a loud clear voice.
“Please come up and give me a hand,” said Sanford 2.
He pulled me to one side and asked if I had any misgivings about anyone in the room. I selected
two men that I didn’t care for. He conferred with the leader, walked around the table, and asked my selected two and
one other to follow the guard at the door. We never saw them again.
“ I’m Ned 6 and I will be your team control throughout this mission. After we
assign names, I will still be Ned 6. All others will use their assigned names and identities.”
“We don’t have a lot of time to prepare, so this will not be a full Sheep Dip.
You will assume new identities with a statement in your records of detached service. You will still draw your military pay,
but you will be given money as needed, depending on your control element assignment. Team members will be working directly
or indirectly for the Military Assistance Group Vietnam Studies and Observation Group and Air America. We refer to it as MACVSOG or just SOG.”
“If there are no questions, and I know there won’t be any, you will be escorted
to begin the processing,” said Ned 6.
“What about my ID card. I was told never to give it up to anyone,” asked the
red-haired man.
“Like I said no questions. Escort number 8 outside,” said Ned 6
“Stand by Chico 7.”
“I want you be the team control,” said Ned 6.
“Mike, this is John the Marine you so apply ID’ed. We can still use our first
names, but not our real last ones. John and I want you because of your record and you think on your feet. You got up in a
relaxed state, got a cup of coffee, and told John he was a Marine, which he is. We kind of like that attitude.”
I said nothing because his remarks were rhetorical in nature and were completely understood
as he had just described my personality.
“You also ID’ed two fake members, and that is excellent. Number 8 was a bit
flaky, but we don’t need anyone who can’t follow simple instructions. That leaves us with six in this group. We
need sixteen, so in the next few days we will be making more selections. Let’s get you set up and acquainted with the
new you. How do you like Mike Weir for a name?” asked Ned 6.
It took about a week to process all sixteen of us through the semi sheep dip process and
issue new ID’s. We were issued casual clothes with no labels on anything to tie us to any country.
All of us went through M-16 training at Hamilton AFB again. I was scheduled to attend snake
school at Clark on my way to SEA. The shots were more
than terrible. We all were a bit ill, especially from the bubonic plague shots.
“This is a tough assignment and you need little training except to be ready for the
jungle, and we can provide that in aces. With the exception of Chico 7, who has to go to Clark, your training is over. You will all need to qualify in the M-17 gas
mask,” said Ned 6 in a briefing.
“John, isn’t that mask a partial body mask to counteract nerve gas? I’m
used to the old M-4, easy on and easy off,” I asked.
“It looks like we are getting more than we bargained for,” said John.
“The M-17 gas mask is a series of gas masks that were designed and produced to provide
protection from all types of known chemical and biological agents. The mask has different components like a filter, a face
piece and outserts. Filter elements in the face piece prevent harmful agents from entering the mask. These gas masks have built in systems that allows communication either through a radio or direct voice.
There is a tube for drinking water and a pair of inserts to protect eye lenses and prevent fogging. The mask is packed in
a carrier that also contains other items like nerve gas antidotes.”
said the gas chamber instructor.
For the next 8 hours we learned about Sarin Gas and all other agents in our and the international arsenal and how effective
the mask was. We went through a gas chamber with exposure to tear and chlorine gas.
“Pack your issue bags and IDs, get a good night’s rest. We leave for Nakhon Phonon (NKP) Thailand at dark
20 in the morning on a nice new C-141 Starlifter,” said Ned 6 as we looked at each other with questions in our minds.
*
*
*
*
*
*
The stop at NKP was just a brief call to let off part of the team for a different assignment.
Sanford 2 (John) went along with the selected
eight.
“Have a good trip Mike, and keep it between the lines,” said Sanford 2 as he deplaned the C-141.
“Good luck to all,” said John as he and his team left in a steady trot.
It wasn’t long when the ramp came up and we were in a full combat roll for take off.
I settled in for a bit of rest but it wasn’t long before we started flaring for landing. It wasn’t the usual steep
combat approach as I had experienced, but a gentle landing like any passenger airplane. I watched as we settled into a long
run on the taxiway. We stopped in front of hangar 19, known to be the base of operations for MACVSOG with Air America affiliations at Ton Son Nhut AB.
As John said, “we were in for a special goat roping.”
We were met by a brazen looking old Colonel in a combination of jungle attire.
“Follow the tall Sergeant," said the Colonel as we left the airplane.
We went inside the hangar and it took a few minutes to adjust to the dark surroundings.
“The latrine is in the back. Make your pit stops and join us in the right side conference
room. There are drinks on the table and snacks for you to eat until we get the chow line set up,” said the Colonel.
We were directed to sit down in a small conference room. There were now ten of us, including
some locals that I couldn’t identify from their uniforms.
“Chico 7, we have a special briefing after this get together,” said the Colonel.
“Men, this is Major Reid, the Operations Officer for this calling,” said the
Colonel as he walked to the back of the room.
“All of you are well trained in your specialties. You all are on board for several
very classified and sensitive missions. You may have heard about the Secret War in Laos. Consider yourselves directly in the
middle of it. This operation is overtly Top Secret Sensitive with LIMDIS”
He pulled down a map of The Kingdom of Laos with parts of adjoining Vietnam, Burma (Union of Myanmar), and Thailand.
“The Golden Triangle area is the largest opium producing area in the world, with Afghanistan close behind. Stay clear of any involvement
with the drug trade, as that is another war altogether,” he said as he pointed to an area on a map.
A red lighting bolt with the words “Prairie Fire” AO in large red letters written
under it accented the operational area in Laos.
“You will be in the middle of the golden triangle area of SEA. The code name for this
operation is Prairie Fire, as designated by the Joint Chiefs and Secretary Of Defense. This mission is in support of two other
missions that we will discuss later.”
“The Southern pan handle of Laos is controlled by the NVA and is the principle infiltration
route to smuggle arms, men and ammunition into South Vietnam via the Ho Chi Minh trail. It is not one trail, but a complex
system of hundreds of trails. They change the routes several times a day and use very deceptive means to camouflage their
operations. The communists are serious about winning this war.”
“The problem is the supposed neutrality of the US and Laos. We have been totally hampered by inadequate
intelligence. Air reconnaissance by the Raven Group based in Lima Sites has been met with stiff resistance. We need people
on the ground to recruit local friendlies to act as our own network completely divorced from all their agencies and their
system. We want direct and instant access to the most up to date intell as humanly possible. The Kingdom of Laos can be considered like Switzerland, a neutral country. The local government
doesn’t have the military might to control its borders or the country. There are over 240 ethnic groups in Laos and as many distinct languages and dialects.
Fortunately, the Laotian Hmong are trusted and liked by most of the southern Laotian cultures. Regardless, it is going to
be a hard job.”
“The joint chiefs have authorized this mission to go into the area around Chavane
Laos. With the help of trained Hmongs, we can develop the intelligence network we need. It is a maximum risk program to American
personnel, but so important to keep from embarrassing the neutralist government of Laos. You will be broken up into groups to
manage the mission. It is not an easy task asking you to violate the sovereignty of a nation, and you will be walking a razor
edge between diplomacy and getting the job done. Be safe and good luck to all.”
“Chico 7, you and two others will be flown to Dak To, Republic of South Vietnam, where you will be choppered in under the cover of darkness in a
CH-53. We are sending along six local Hmong tribesmen from the area in with you to help break the language barrier and identify
terrain. It will be your job to set up a base camp and control your assets to establish the Prairie Fire Network of undercover
locals in your assigned area within very short time constraints. You will have to depend on friendly tribes, as the countryside
is sparsely populated with few roads.”
“Do the Hmong tribesmen know the territory well enough to set up meeting with the
locals?” I asked.
“The Hmong have all the skills in most of the local dialects and know the southern
area very well. That is where most of the recent enemy activity has been sited. Confidence is high that they will fill our
needs.”
“You mention enemy. Exactly who is our enemy in the operational area?” I asked,
with a bit of apprehension in my voice.
“Let me put it this way. If you don’t know them personally, they may well be
your enemy. There are reports of American deserters wearing the NVA uniform. Regardless if they are American or not, they
are your enemy. There are even enemies among certain Hmong tribes. There are reported Russians, as well as Chinese, in the
Plain Of Jars area of Laos and that is exactly where you are going. Does that answer your question Chico 7?”
“ Absolutely sir, but what about the Hatchet teams assigned to the operations?”
I asked.
“That men, is a horse of a different color.”
“They are carefully trained MACVSOG operatives. They have Carte’ Blanche to
use any weapon in the inventory except atomic weapons. Don’t challenge them or get in their way. We don’t want
one of those cases where they could be your enemy. Remember, Laos is a neutral country and we aren’t supposed to be
there, so the standard rules of warfare don’t apply. Just a word from the wise.”
“You will be taking in over 500,000 in Laotian KIP to pay the tribesmen when necessary.
The exchange rate is about 10,000 to one US dollar. That’s why the denominations are so large. You will also have several
thousand greenbacks on your person for back up. Sometimes American greenbacks speak much louder than words. Keep an accurate
accounting of the expenditures as much as you can, and when possible have a team member co-sign the expenditure release slips.
Sometimes this may be difficult because most Laotians don’t trust signing any kind of paper.”
“There will be no more questions. This is a "learn as you go" operation and I don’t
want to influence any of your field decisions, as you will be in total control of your mission. I can and will live with any
decision or action that you deem necessary. Men, that is the definition of Carté Blanch. Like the Hatchet teams, you have
complete control of any assets you can use to get the mission accomplished.
“Read this op order, memorize it, and make sure your team members understand the contents,
as you can take nothing in writing with you.”
My team consisted of myself, Snake 4 and Oscar 2. I renamed all of us as Larry (myself)
Moe and Curly. Curly spoke several of the dialects so he could help be my interface with the locals.
The op order in part states how we were in support of operations Gauntlet and Tailwind.
They were scheduled to go into effect with Hatchet teams in place and ready to
act on the intell we provide.
“An operational Gauntlet team is assigned to find and destroy a large suspected casch
of ammunition in the area of Bunh Tram. There was a suspected soviet KGB detachment in the area, but by all means, we were
directed not to engage the Russians. Their area was in a Phonsavan village in or near the Plain of Jars. We expect to find
rockets, mortars, anti-aircraft ammo, hand held rockets and small arms ammunition. They will find their way into South Vietnam
by the way of the multitudes of Ho-Chi-Minh trails if they aren’t destroyed. We need to know what the KGB are up to,
but we need not engage them unless they force the issue,” said our current ops briefer.
“ Operation Tailwind is scheduled for a search and destroy mission in the area south
of the Plain of Jars around Chavane Laos. They have full USMC support out of MAG-16 as well as A1E Skyraiders out of NKP Thailand.
All efforts are focused on search and destroy and to look for suspected American and Korean deserters that had been reported
fighting against our units. We are especially interested in a deserter who was supposed to be an Army Captain and was active
in planning the 68 TET offensive.”
“There is a strong fact based rumor that 20 or more Americans are among a group of over 100 deserters. There
are Korean, Thai, Vietnamese, and others. There have been reports of “round eyes” in NVA uniforms fighting the
locals who opposed them. They are either American deserters or Russian KGB, we need to find out which. Now it’s up to
your individual teams. Good luck and God speed,” said the briefer as he walked out of the area.
