Hàm Rong, An Xuyen Province, Republic of Vietnam
Autumn 1970, another night on the River of Nine Dragons
It is September 1970, my second year of war. I am Lieutenant (junior grade) Don Smith, 24, radio call sign “stonebreaker,” a soldier in the U.S. Naval Advisory Group, Vietnam. My unit is Giang Doan Ngan Chan bốn mươi mốt (River Interdiction Division 41) of the Vietnamese Navy.
My unit, RID 41, is sent to ATSB (Advanced Tactical Support Base) Vĩnh Gia, a remote forward operating base on the Kênh Vĩnh Tế (Vĩnh Tế Canal), that forms the border between Vietnam and Cambodia. I am the temporary officer-in-charge of the base.
At Vĩnh Gia, a few days ago, we were in a serious fight with a North Vietnamese force. Now, something new is happening. We have just received orders to move south of the U Minh Forest, the “Dark and Evil Place,” to the Cà Mau Peninsula, the southernmost tip of Vietnam.
When things heat up somewhere, we go there. We’re headed for a tortured, desolate area south of the town of Năm Căn, a community destroyed during the Communist Tết New Year Offensive of February 1968. This area is a free fire zone where Operation Sea Float, named Trần Hưng Đạo III by the Vietnamese Navy, is being built.
Trần Hưng Đạo was a Đại Việt royal prince, statesman, and military commander of the 13th century Trần Dynasty of Vietnam. Trần Hưng Đạo commanded the Vietnamese armies that repelled two out of three major Mongol invasions (1258 and 1285) in the 13th century. His multiple victories over the Chinese Yuan Dynasty of Emperor Kublai Khan are among the greatest military accomplishments in Vietnamese history.
Tết is short for Tết Nguyên Đán (‘Festival of the First Day’), the most important celebration in Vietnamese culture. Tết commemorates the arrival of spring, in January or February of the Vietnamese lunar calendar.
During the Communist Tết New Year Offensive in February 1968, the town of Năm Căn and the surrounding region was overrun and occupied by the Việt Cộng. The people of the destroyed town melted into the surrounding Năm Căn forest.
U.S. Air Force B-52 bombers then bombed the area into the mud, and the place was left to the Việt Cộng until the summer of 1969.
Upon our arrival in late September 1970, we see that our new operating area is a vast expanse of slimy, gray brown mud, with very few useable roads, bisected by a huge, strongly flowing, muddy, salt water tidal river.
Trần Hưng Đạo III is intended to project South Vietnamese presence into An Xuyên Province, 282 kilometers (about 175 miles) southwest of Saigon. The idea is to penetrate and hold this remote area, that is currently locked down under Việt Cộng control.
Our mission is to help establish the presence of the Republic of Vietnam in this strategic region of the Cà Mau Peninsula.
My unit, River Interdiction Division 41 of the Vietnamese Navy, is part of the spearhead that will penetrate this bitterly contested Việt Cộng stronghold to secure the Cà Mau Peninsula for the Republic of Vietnam.
The operation is called Sea Float, because it started as a sprawling collection of 12 large, flat, steel, floating barges tied together and anchored in the middle of the Sông Cửa Lớn (Cửa Lớn River).
This big river flows east and west for 58 kilometers (about 36 miles) across the southern tip of Vietnam. About a week after we arrive in the area, the base is moved ashore. Operation Sea Float becomes Operation Solid Anchor, and Trần Hưng Đạo III and becomes Trần Hưng Đạo IV.
Our new operating area is a sprawling wasteland of miles and miles of slimy gray brown mud, pockmarked with huge bomb craters, filled with perpetually standing, stinking water. The immense mangrove swamps have now become twisted, blackened, defoliated trees, killed by agent orange.
Our base is located on the north bank of the Sông Cửa Lớn (Cửa Lớn River), the southernmost part of the huge Mekong River system, the River of Nine Dragons. Our new home is in one of the most isolated, treacherous, dangerous places on earth. This area is a deadly place for all living things. We are living and fighting in a free fire zone.
The Sông Cửa Lớn is a very big, very powerful, east and west flowing tidal river that separates the very southern tip of Vietnam from the mainland of Vietnam. The powerful current of this dangerous river is very strong.
Each day, this surging salt water tidal river flows east from the Gulf of Thailand, then reverses, and flows west from the South China Sea. Only one or two hours of “slack” water occurs each day, when the current slows down to about one knot, but never completely remains still.
This dynamic tidal river rises and falls several feet each day, with surging east-west currents flowing at speeds of six to ten knots. Really. The Sông Cửa Lớn is a treacherous river that complicates combat operations.
Many different U.S. Navy units operate in this area, including PCF “Swift” Boats, amphibious ships, and support ships. The patrol boat, USS CANON (PG 90), the most highly decorated U.S. Navy ship of the Vietnam War, is here. Here also is a HAL 3 “Seawolves” attack helicopter detachment, as well as SEALs, Underwater Demolition Teams (UDTs), and Construction Battalions (“Sea Bees”).
Vietnamese Navy units include River Assault Groups (RAGs), PCF “Swift” Boats, Coastal Force junks, amphibious ships, and support ships. Vietnamese Marines and their U.S. Marine advisors are here also, in addition to Kit Carson Scouts (KCS), former Việt Cộng soldiers who are now part of the South Vietnamese armed forces.
Today, three of our “alpha” boats (Assault Support Patrol Boats) conduct a daylight patrol on the river toward a small canal about five kilometers (three miles) east of our base.
To the north on this canal are two small Vietnamese hamlets, Ap Mot (Hamlet One) and Ap Hai (Hamlet Two). Together they are known as Hàm Rong.
Hàm Rong, also known as “the annex,” is a ramshackle collection of bamboo and thatch huts, the homes of very poor Vietnamese crab and shrimp fishermen, and their families. Charcoal production is also an important industry in Hàm Rong.
The people of Hàm Rong began to form their community soon after the Solid Anchor naval base was built. Originally, there were 47 people, but within a year, more than 10,000 people had gathered there. They just came in, out of the forest.
A small “Ruff/Puff” (Regional Force / Popular Force) self defense militia unit is stationed in a nearby triangular fort to protect the people of Hàm Rong. In reality, the Việt Cộng own the night.
During our patrol, a Việt Cộng sapper (mine laying) unit command detonates a mine intended to explode in the canal underneath one of our RID 41 “alpha” (Assault Support Patrol) boats. The mine explodes behind our boat, after it passes over the underwater mine.
The mine detonates directly beneath a group of Hàm Rong sampans that have clustered behind our boats for protection. A huge upheaval of water, splintered sampans, outboard motors, wooden planks, cooking utensils, clothing, vegetables, market sale items, and dead Vietnamese villagers shoot up into the air and fall, plop, smack, plop, plush, back into the canal and onto the muddy brown river bank.
Eyes wide, one of our guys exclaims, “Holy shit! Mama sans are falling out of the sky!”
Late that night, I am with our night patrol on the black water, outside the mouth of the Hàm Rong canal, where it empties into the Cửa Lớn River. The strong river current is pulling water out of the canal and into the eastern flow of the river in the direction of the South China Sea.
In the sheen of silver moonlight, we begin to see many bodies of dead Vietnamese villagers floating in the strong current on the surface of the black river. These are the bodies of people who had been killed by the underwater mine explosion earlier this morning. Gases within these bodies have lifted them to the surface of the water.
The lives of the unfortunate Vietnamese victims, now floating on this powerful, fast moving black river, are far beyond our aid. We cannot help the dead, but we can protect the living.
All eyes turn toward me. My guys ask, “Should we try to recover the bodies, sir?” I think ahead to the possible consequences, knowing full well that unfriendly eyes are likely watching us in the dark, waiting for us to take the bait.
Our enemy is sly, cunning, clever, adept, indirect, deceptive, treacherous, vicious. Every living thing, every dead thing, is a tool and a weapon. Our enemy is well indoctrinated, fanatic, determined, relentless. There will be no happy ending to this war.
And yet, someday, My Lord, you know it, to most people in America who have never experienced war in their own homeland, our enemy of today will become “just folks” again 20 years from now. Perhaps, by God’s healing grace, we too will become “just folks” again.
For now, I am surrounded by my guys, all of them better men than I. Their eyes are fixed upon me. A potential life or death consequence depends on clear thinking, quick, accurate evaluation of likely outcomes, and a calm, slow heartbeat.
In a flash, I consider the wisdom of moms (every kid knows that moms are the most watchful creatures on earth). I sense the moms of my guys watching us out on the black river this night.
My own mom is among them, watching, considering, measuring our worth in this matter, hoping, trusting, believing that common sense and wisdom will win out in this dangerous situation.
As a unified force, I sense each mom willing me to exercise the good common sense and thoughtful judgement they know we have all learned from them at home.
Within a heartbeat, I reply, “No. They might be booby trapped. I don’t want any of you guys to be hurt.” Best to keep it simple, straight forward, genuinely honest.
Each mom relaxes a bit, smiling quietly within. Our moms exchange knowing looks. “Can it really be? Our teaching has actually worked.” Reason has prevailed, at least for now, in this very small moment of war on the river, in this dark and lonely place so far away from home.
I love my guys. They are more than friends. They are the treasure of America. Their friends from other allied countries (mostly Australia and New Zealand) are the pride and joy of their own homelands.
I will not ask my guys to bend down blindly into the black water to lift heavy, water soaked, potentially booby trapped, broken, mangled corpses onto the hard aluminum deck of our “alpha” boat, then afterwards, try to avoid stepping on fifteen or twenty dead people.
No. My guys are the best of men. I don’t want to make some stupid decision that would unnecessarily endanger their lives, or do any more damage to their mental health. Being the spearhead of a brutal war is already doing enough of that.
Slowing down, holding steady in the strong current to recover bodies, will take a long time. It is definitely not smart to remain dead in the water at night in this very dangerous neighborhood.
If the strong current pushes us close to the river bank, we are vulnerable to attack by automatic weapons, rockets, and RPGs (rocket propelled grenades).
No. Hell no. This is a Viking funeral. Leave it alone. Let it be.
In my thoughts, I am truly sorry for not recovering the bodies of the Vietnamese dead now floating on the surface of the fast moving black river. My apologies to you, innocent Vietnamese moms and dads and children and grandparents of Hàm Rong, you who are constantly terrorized by war in your own homeland.
I am truly sorry that you will not be able to say “goodbye” (God be with you) to your beloved family members, to experience your own personal spiritual closure with the death of your treasured and cherished ones. Blessings to you, and to everyone you love, and to everyone who loves you.
Eventually, we complete our patrol, and begin our return home. But there is more to come. A new surprise awaits at the end of this night patrol, as we return to our base.
Our “alpha” boat glides in toward the dock, to be tied up. Suddenly, I am blinded by the bright white flash of one of our base perimeter searchlights. Standing among my men on deck, worn out, and thinking we had pulled up tight against the dock, I step off the boat deck, and drop straight down into the Cửa Lớn River. My helmet disappears into the black water.
Instantly, on both sides of me, two pairs of strong arms reach down into the black water, grab me by my flak jacket and equipment, and pull me back up on deck, just as our boat bumps heavily against the dock.
In half a heartbeat, two of my men have just saved my life. We look at each other. No one says a word. We walk wearily back to our quarters, and flop into bed.
Some time later, when my mind settles down, I speak to the Maker of All Things, “My Lord, why do you do this? What are you trying to teach me this time?”
“I don’t deserve any consideration at all. I am the least of your creation, yet You are generous with me. I do not understand, but I know, for sure, it’s You. Oh, yes, I know it’s You. It’s always You.”
I remain with my RID 41 guys until November 30, 1970, when I leave Vietnam to return home to Fargo, North Dakota.
Months later, I find out that our Solid Anchor naval base is heavily rocketed and mortared in late January 1971. The base is formally turned over to the Vietnamese Navy on April 1, 1971. The last Americans leave Solid Anchor on February 1, 1973.
The Republic of Vietnam falls to the North Vietnamese two years later, on April 30, 1975.
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Fast forward more than 30 years to November 2004. I am returning home to America from a trip to Israel.
Waiting in Ben Gurion International Airport for the announcement to board our plane, I take a moment to speak with a young lady who is part of the security team protecting the passengers and staff at the airport.
She tells me she is a veteran of Tzahal (צה״ל), the Israel Defense Forces, the IDF. She is a former company commander of the 33rd ‘Caracal’ Battalion. The caracal is a small desert cat, a desert fox.
The 33rd ‘Caracal’ Battalion is an infantry combat formation of the IDF composed of both male and female soldiers. About 70% of the ‘Caracal’ is female, including a tank unit of female soldiers entirely.
Speaking softly in perfect English with the most beautiful Hebrew accent, she said to me what we both know so well, “I loff my solyairs.” Yes, I whispered, “I love my soldiers, too.” We shared a smile and a soft knuckle bump, and bid each other farewell.
I will always be grateful for the unforgettable conversation I shared with this young Israeli woman at Ben Gurion International Airport in Israel in November 2004.
Yes, Lord, we both know that the values we share and live out with each other every day will become our children’s inner voices. Thank you, Lord. You are truly generous with me, and I am truly grateful to You.