Gold Coast Chronicle » Recognitions

Some Memories are too Bitter to Share

Dan — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 15:22:08 +0000

By Andy O’Meara
GCC/Staff
Sept. 7, 2010

When I joined the Blackhorse Regiment in 1968, we fought day and night.

We observed no holidays, which passed unnoticed in the struggle to halt the flow of communist troops, supplies and units moving into South Vietnam.

The demands on the unit were many.

I directed the reconnaissance operations of the Regiment. I flew with the scouts seeking targets for B-52 strikes, conducted bomb damage assessments when asked to verify an unusually successful strike.

I flew with the Regimental Commander when directed; and I managed to find a ride to the major fights of the Regiment.

Patton demanded detailed intelligence information on the outcome of every fight; and unless he saw me searching the dead, when the smoke cleared he would raise hell at the evening briefing.

The Blackhorse units in contact with the enemy tended to pursue the fleeing enemy, which posed the possibility that valuable intelligence on the enemy dead would be lost.

Consequently, I adopted the practice of catching a ride with a scout ship returning to rearm and refuel, when a major contact was made, so that I was on the ground when the smoke cleared.

The Regimental Commander directed me to coordinate periodically with the Province Headquarters we worked with.

And Patton directed me to accompany night ambush patrols to provide feedback on the efficacy of ambush patrolling, since I was the only Ranger trained member on his staff.

When Patton directed me to check the ambush patrolling in a unit, I normally gave the intelligence officer a call the day before, letting him know I would accompany one of their ambush patrols the following night.

Regrettably, the patrols sent out by the cavalry squadrons tended to be last minute details.

A platoon sergeant would receive word late in the day from the First Sergeant telling him that it was his turn to provide an ambush patrol.

The troopers were dead tired from a long day of reconnaissance operations. Moreover, they had limited training in combat patrolling.

The result was that the Regimental patrols tended to be listening posts at best. I informed the Commander that most of our patrols were ineffective.

The ambush patrols of attached infantry battalions of the 1^st Division were far superior. The infantry units had many Ranger trained leaders, who were well equipped to lead ambush patrols.

We in the Cavalry didn’t have Ranger trained leaders with the exception of an occasional volunteer.

When calling an infantry unit to inform them I would be joining them on an ambush patrol, I often baited them by saying that I didn’t want to waste my time on a patrol that didn’t make any kills, knowing full well they would rise to the occasion.

Their approach was to select a trail that appeared to have been used recently to run messengers and supplies between the base camps in the jungle and NVA units located in the villages in the western third of the Regimental AO.

The battalion staff supported the planning of the ambush. The intelligence officer and the operations officer selected an ambush site on the trail showing the best signs of recent enemy use.

They coordinated with other units warning them to stay clear of the area; and they alerted the supporting artillery units of the patrol’s location and warned them not to adjust illumination flares during the time the patrol would be moving into their ambush site.

The patrolling techniques taught at the Ranger School were used by the infantry patrols.

The infantry company selected to conduct the night patrol spent the entire day preparing for the patrol.

After the patrol members received the order, made a through map reconnaissance of the area, and rehearsed the actions during the patrol; they were allowed to rest. The company commander would personally inspect the patrol prior to their departure.

At dusk the patrol would move out and take up a concealed position well removed from the Battalion base.

They would hold up in their position until well after sun set, allowing eyes and ears to adjust to the night light and night sounds.

When they had time to adjust their night vision, they would take up their patrol formation and move to the ambush site.

The troops would form an L shaped ambush in accordance with the pre-rehearsed patrol order. Claymore mines would be placed to get the best coverage of the enemy soldiers on the trail. All actions would be taken in complete silence.

Needless to say I always had a positive report to make on the infantry ambush patrols that usually made enemy contact that produced valuable intelligence.

Colonel Patton always made a point of complimenting units that made enemy contact, which meant I was always welcome in the unit.

********

When the day was done and the night shift had taken their post in the tactical operations center of the intelligence section, it my custom to ask the radio operator to clean my weapons and to top off my magazines with pure tracer ammunition – making it easier to sense each round fired.

This was seldom a hardship because the night shift was usually quiet; and if a fight developed, I would claim my side arms and await instructions from the Commander.

One evening I returned especially wet and worn from the activities of the day. My weapons had been fired and my magazine needed to be refilled.

After getting the briefing from the Tactical Operations Center (TOC), I turned to the radio operator and asked him to clean my weapons, if the shift were quiet.

The radio operator asked me: “Major, why are you so aggressive.” He was a newly assigned trooper. He had a smirk on his face – no doubt the result of getting most of his combat indoctrination from Walter Cronkite and the liberal media.

I didn’t know what to say. I assumed that everyone felt about the war as I did: filled with anger at the atrocities the enemy frequently inflicted upon innocent civilians – actions that revealed the brutal nature of the NVA and were often ignored by the liberal, American media.

The constant barrage of negative reporting on the war was changing opinions on the home front, which in due course influenced the outlook of our draftee soldiers.

I returned to my tent that I shared with the members of the intelligence staff with a heavy heart. It was clear that a serious problem lay behind the innocent remark of the radio operator.

The Army fighting the war was becoming isolated from opinion at home – opinion that had begun to question the purpose of the War.

More serious was the implication of the soldier’s question suggesting that he had more faith in the liberal media than in his leaders.

I sat down on my bunk. I pulled my stationary box from under my bunk. I opened it and took out pictures taken during my first tour of duty. Pictures of close Vietnamese friends were now pictures of the dead.

Reminders of glad memories once prompted by the photos had turned to grief and anger for lost comrades. I could not look at the pictures without grief and feelings of hatred for our enemy; but I couldn’t get rid of the pictures, because I had been very close to my Vietnamese friends.

***********

I first arrived in Vietnam in 1962. I was the first advisor assigned to the mechanized infantry company I would help train and advise. The Vietnamese called the company a troop because it was part of the 1^st Cavalry Regiment.

The soldiers took an instant liking to me and looked out for me. My ability to speak Vietnamese was poor and they helped me.

They asked if I would like them to find me a girl friend to keep me company and help me to improve my Vietnamese fluency. I responded that I was newly married and a Roman Catholic.

Instead of a girl friend, I asked them to tell me when we were in a Catholic resettlement village composed of people, who fled communism when the French departed the North in 1954.

I told them I would like to attend Mass, if we were in Catholic village long enough for me to attend services.

Normally we passed through the villages without stopping during our operations against the Viet Cong in 1962 – 1963. One two occasions, we took up positions around villages with Roman Catholic Churches.

In the first instance the village was threatened by the communists and in the second case we occupied an assembly area near a Catholic resettlement village, while awaiting the start of larger operations.

In the first case our missions was to reinforce an infantry battalion of the Eighth ARVN Regiment guarding a Leper Colony that was overrun twice during my time in Country, inflicting heavy casualties on the Vietnamese Soldiers and stealing the medical supplies from the medical clinic.

The Colony was run by French Nuns. They had a Catholic Church and a French Priest, who conducted daily mass early each morning.

I would arise and wash in the dark to attend the services with my Classmate, Lieutenant Bill Mullen. We also shared our daily meal together with the ARVN Regimental Staff.

It was boring duty, because the enemy refused to attack, when we were prepared for them. Fortunately, I had Bill’s company, which was an unexpected joy in a boring assignment.

One night we had an unexpected bit of excitement, when a large explosion occurred in the vicinity of the bridge on the road to the Leper Colony.

In the morning we investigated to determine the source of the disturbance and found a large hole in the road near the bridge. We counted nineteen feet in the vicinity of the crater.

Evidently the VC were carrying a large shape charge – with the primer already set – on a litter made of wooden planks. We surmised that one of the VC lost his footing or grip on the litter jarring the primer and detonating both the primer and the shape charge.

The foot count – ten left feet – indicated that at least ten men were assigned as security or litter carriers. The torsos of the dead had been demolished by the devastating blast of the cratering charge intended to take down the bridge.

The directional blast of the shape charge blew a deep hole in the road as well as blowing away everything above the litter, sparing the sandals and feet of the aspiring sappers.

When the guard mission of the leper Colony came to an end the, Mechanized Infantry Troop (Company) I advised received orders to proceed to the North. We participated in several small operations and then were directed to proceed to Dong Xoai to await further orders.

Dong Xoai was a resettlement village carved out of the jungle. The majority of the population was Roman Catholic. The village was protected by a company of Regional Force militia and an Armored Car Troop, a sister unit of the 1^st Cavalry Regiment.

The villagers had constructed a humble church built of hand sawed lumber with corrugated sheet steel roofing.

After we established our assembly area in Dong Xoai, a soldier alerted me that mass was about to start in the village church. I stank. We had been in the field for weeks; and I had not had a chance to shower.

I felt unworthy to enter the church, but decided to sit in the last row to avoid offending the congregation. I removed my helmet and slipped into the last row.

An altar boy spoke to the Priest, who stopped the mass and came back and insisted that I take a seat in the front row. He would not continue until I came forward and sat in the first row of seats.

I was embarrassed, but pleased to be able to participate in a Latin Mass, which I understood.

After the mass, the congregation surrounded me and made me feel welcome. They had never had an American Advisor stay in their village.

They all knew of JFK’s pledge in his inaugural speech to bear any burden to preserve liberty.

They believed that I was a living symbol of that pledge to help them in their struggle to build a country free of communism.

I was invited into the homes of the parishioners, many of whom were members of the Cavalry Troop stationed in the village. I was fed the best that poor people had to offer and they made me feel as if I were a son or brother of their own. It was the most touching experienced I have ever known.

The demonstration of love and appreciation was sincere, even if I was a very modest symbol of President Kennedy’s pledge to protect people threatened by communism.

They asked me to pose for pictures with them, which I did. Those pictures became prize possessions that I treasured long after I left the village.

The communists hated the Vietnamese people, who chose to flee the Red River Valley, when the French pulled out in 1954.

They were totally unsuccessful in infiltrating the Roman Catholic community, who had seen the crimes of the communists in the North.

Consequently, they resolved to overrun and kill every man, woman and child in the Roman Catholic villages that fled the north.

Two years after I departed South Vietnam in the fall of 1963 I received word that Dong Xoai had been overrun by soldiers from North Vietnam.

They killed everyone and they torched the village. Nothing remains of Dong Xoai except the ruins of a camp built on the location of the village by American Special Forces later in the war.

The pictures I treasured as reminders of the love and generosity of the people of Dong Xoai suddenly became painful reminders of the massacre of the innocent villagers, who attempted to flee communism. I was stunned by the news.

I kept the pictures, because they still held precious memories, even if my fallen friends were now reunited in the Kingdom of God.

I didn’t know how to tell my new radio operator how much I loved those people the communists had slain without mercy.

However, I realized that perhaps the picture could speak for me.

I took one of pictures of me with several of the parishioners of the Catholic Church in Dong Xoai to the operations draftsman.

I showed him the picture and asked him if he could frame it on chart board and cover it with acetate to protect it. And I asked him to print on the chart board below the picture the words:

“Charlie has killed all of these people except one.” The draftsman said he would have it for me in the morning.

That was the best I could do by way of explanation. I could not speak of the events, which were too emotionally charged for me to mention.

Early the next morning the draftsman gave me the picture he had mounted with the inscription that told of the fate of the Vietnamese people, who were my friends.

I took the picture to my M577 command track and I mounted the picture with tape above the radios. It told a story I could not tell.

I hoped it would help the new member of the intelligence section to understand that Major O’Meara was not aggressive. I had not invaded North Vietnam.

Nor had I slain innocent villagers from the homeland of the North Vietnamese soldiers, who were ravaging the villages of South Vietnam in savage attacks that went unreported in our news media.

I received no more questions from my radio operator, who gained some insight into the burden of sorrow I carried with me into battle, as well as the anger I harbored for those who butchered the innocent men, women and children of Dong Xoai.

Source: Andy O’Meara

Editor’s Note: Andy O’Meara @ andy.omeara@frontier.com

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The Bravest of the Brave

Dan — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 01:20:23 +0000

By Andy O’Meara
GCC/Staff
August 30, 2010

We knew the Regiment as the Blackhorse Regiment for the single black horse that was the unit symbol.

It decorated the sides of our track vehicles and aircraft as well as being the shoulder patch worn by each Blackhorse Trooper.

Prisoners we captured told us that they were told never to fire on a Blackhorse vehicle “…because the Blackhorse never breaks contact.” We fought until the enemy was dead or captured and we owned the battlefield.

My presence had been requested by the Regimental Commander. The Regimental Operations Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Jim Dozier, had received a request from the Province Chief for helicopter support for a raid by a combat patrol of the Provincial Reconnaissance Unit (PRU) on a communist village.

The Province Chief wanted the 11^th Armored Cavalry Regiment to conduct the helicopter support mission.

The Province Chief had received a clandestine message from a senior Viet Cong officer, who wanted to defect.

The officer was the executive officer of the K4 Battalion of the Dong Ngai Regiment.

The defection had to appear to be a kidnapping or his family would be killed in retaliation. The PRU team was the obvious choice to conduct the combat patrol.

The Provincial Operations officer had contacted the Blackhorse Operations Officer requesting helicopter lift for the patrol to and from the communist village.

In return he promised that we would get the intelligence take – the location of the companies of the K4 Battalion of the Dong Ngai Regiment – formerly a VC Regiment now filled with NVA replacements.

I reported to Colonel Patton. Jim Dozier was with him. They needed my help. They needed a member of the Regiment to accompany the patrol.

The individual would act as radio operator to control the lift ships during the raid as well as to call for artillery fire, if artillery support was needed.

The individual had to speak Vietnamese and be trained in the conduct of combat patrols.

And finally the Blackhorse patrol member would have to participate in the interrogation of the prisoner to obtain the locations of the units of the K4 Battalion. I was the obvious choice for the mission.

The lift ships were departing in a few minutes for the Provincial Headquarters in Bien Hoa to pick up the PRU patrol.

Patton’s instructions were simple – “Don’t come back without the enemy unit locations.” I replied, “Yes Sir.”

I was told that the lift ships would pick me up at the Regimental Headquarters within a few minutes.

I returned to the Tactical Operations Center to brief my people, designate my replacement, pick up my submachine gun, a back pack radio and steel helmet; and I headed for the chopper pad. The Choppers showed up within minutes.

I climbed aboard Major “Doc”Bahnsen’s Command and Control (C&C) Ship and we lift off. The flight picked up a heading for Bien Hoa and after a flight of about fifteen minutes landed at the Bien Hoa air field.

The PRU patrol was waiting. The patrol consisted of a control team, assault team and fire support team. The control team consisted of four men – the patrol leader and three men, who would provide local security.

The assault team was made up of five men and the fire support team of eight men. The patrol leader joined me in the C&C bird and the remaining troops boarded the lift ships.

We exchanged a few brief words letting him know that I would accompany him and call in the choppers to extract the patrol when the mission was complete.

He told me that a blue Lambretta, a French motor scooter, would be parked in front of the hooch where the defector awaited capture by the PRU patrol.

All of the patrol members were former VC and were dressed in black pajamas—indistinguishable from an enemy combat patrol. They carried AK47s and wore Chinese web gear.

We flew directly to the enemy village. Doc made several false insertions around the perimeter of the village that quickly sent the VC to the safety of tunnels under the village, while the villagers hid in fox holes dug in the center of each hooch – under the universal teak platform that served as dinner table, bed and card table in the homes of the villagers.

Doc made the final insertion in a clearing on the west side of the village adjacent to a large cemetery. The troops quickly dismounted.

They had been thoroughly briefed and took their positions, while the Control Group took up a concealed position in a drainage ditch along the perimeter of the cemetery.

Forming a single file, the patrol moved down the road into the village looking like a hard core VC combat patrol.

The Security Team led the way followed by the assault team. Once inside the village the security team split with two fire teams.

One team covered the patrol from the east side of the road, while the other team covered their movement form the opposite side of the road.

They moved through the village until they spotted the blue Lambretta. The security team provided all around security, while the assault team quickly entered the hooch.

The prisoner was identified. His hands were tied behind his back and he was led back through the village. This time the assault team led the way, followed by the security team that continued to provide cover from both sides of the road.

After what seemed an eternity, we saw the PRU patrol approaching along the road leading from the village. They had their man.

The Patrol Team Leader gave me the word. I radioed Sergeant Tim, who controlled the flight operation frequency. He had kept all traffic off the net awaiting my call, which consisted of four words: “Ready for pick-up.”

Soon we heard the sound of the chopper blades as the birds approached the Landing Zone. As soon as they set down the PRU Patrol members headed for their assigned birds.

When all were safely aboard, “Doc” gave the command and the lift ships increased the speed of the rotors and in a graceful movement with nose down, lifted off and picked up a heading for the Provincial Headquarters.

Everything had gone according to plan.

We landed at the Bien Hoa air field. Vehicles were sanding by for the PRU patrol and a jeep awaited the prisoner. They had forgotten about me; so I hopped in the back seat with the prisoner.

The Provincial Intelligence Officer sat in the front seat opposite the driver. We headed to the Provincial Headquarters.

I reminded the Intelligence Officer of our agreement. The Blackhorse provided the lift ships and the prisoner was to provide the locations of the units of the K4 Battalion.

We pulled up in front of the Headquarters, an old French colonial structure with a large covered veranda across the front of the building. There was a loud commotion as we entered the Headquarters.

The prisoner had family or friends on the staff. The prisoner was untied and they embraced. He was welcomed by the Province Chief. They had planned a luncheon to honor their new comrade in arms.

I had to remind the intelligence officer several times of the quid pro quo – they owed us an intelligence read out.

The intelligence officer spoke privately to the Province Chief, who nodded and the intelligence officer, the prisoner, an interpreter and I entered a side room.

I spread my map on the table. The intelligence officer explained the promised intelligence owed the Blackhorse Regiment; and the prisoner took my grease pencil and carefully marked the locations of the units of the Battalion on the map.

I had to request transportation back to the air field. In due course a jeep and driver showed up and took me to the airfield. As I approached the C&C bird, Doc said; “The Old Man is hot.

He has been calling for you every five minutes for the last hour.” I nodded and belted myself into the chopper seat.

The birds lifted off and head to a field location, where George Patton had a Spartan Tactical Operations Center. Located nearby in concealed assembly areas were a cavalry squadron, a mechanized infantry battalion of the U.S. 1^st Division, and a Vietnamese Ranger Battalion.

Everyone was ready to converge on the enemy locations as soon as the Operations Officer could produce the order.

As we landed Colonel Patton exploded: “… it O’Meara. Where the Hell have you been? We’ve been standing around here … for three hours waiting for you.” I replied: “Yes Sir.”

He motioned me to a field table where the Operation Officer awaited the intelligence to write the order.

It took only a few minutes and the unit commanders departed at a run for their assembly areas. Soon the sound of engines starting could be heard in concealed position all around us, which was followed by dust plumes as the vehicles moved out to execute the attack.

The field table was quickly loaded into the Operations jump Command Post vehicle and I stood alone in the clearing. My ride was long gone. Colonel Patton called to me: “O’Meara you can ride with me.”

He always sat of the right side of the C&C ship directly behind his pilot, Captain Charlie Watkins. I ran around the chopper, hopped in and belted myself in. I replaced my steel helmet with a flight helmet and soon heard the Colonel telling me to let him see my map.

I handed it to him and he directed the pilot to fly in the direction of the enemy positions.

We observed the area occupied by the enemy was cut by deep ravines formed by erosion during the rainy seasons.

Colonel Patton directed the pilot to fly over the forested area of the enemy position to observe the Blackhorse units surround the enemy position.

A Chinese Communist 51 caliber MG opened fire as the chopper approached the enemy position.

The green tracers of the machine gun rounds slowly reached up towards the bird increasing velocity as they passed on either side of the chopper.

They were followed by the sound of rounds thudding at they struck their target. The engines were hit and suddenly we were without power.

Charlie Watkins maintained control of the chopper, auto-rotating the falling bird, allowing the turning blades to slow the descent of the aircraft.

He succeeded in directing the crippled bird into a clearing with a crash that damaged the chopper and shook up the occupants, but no one was seriously injured.

I asked the pilot to report our situation to the Operations Center; then pulling off my flight helmet and replacing my steel helmet I took my M16 and looked for Colonel Patton. He was gone.

We were taking small arms fire from a wood line directly ahead of the chopper. Patton was running in the direction we were receiving fire and hit the ground.

He began firing at the muzzle flashes in the tree line with his revolver. I ran after him and hit the dirt beside him.

I began placing fire on the individuals firing from the tree line with my M16. Then I turned to Colonel Patton and said: “Colonel you are the point man in the attack of the Regiment. You are the lead man in the attack.”

He replied: “Fuck you O’Meara.” Grabbing my M16 he resumed firing. I took out my 45 caliber pistol and began to place well aimed shots at the muzzle flashes of the enemy soldiers.

Looking around I observed an American mechanized infantry platoon closing on a position to our left rear.

I told Colonel Patton to hold up the attack until I could get some reinforcements; and I ran in the direction of the infantry platoon.

They spotted me and recognized me as a friendly. I spotted the platoon leader’s track and climbed up the front slope of the vehicle.

Squatting beside the platoon leader I told him that the Regimental Commander’s chopper had been shot down; and to take his platoon and provide cover for the commander and the downed chopper.

The platoon leader issued orders to his platoon over the radio and following his lead they headed in the direction of the downed chopper.

After he had positioned his M113 vehicles in defensive positions on either side of the downed aircraft, I told him to report to the Regimental Commander.

The chopper crew had set up the M60 MG (C&C door guns) in the bottom of the ravine by the time the infantry platoon leader reported to the Regimental Commander.

It was beginning to get late in the day and the shadows were lengthening as the sun began to set. Patton turned to the infantry platoon leader and the platoon sergeant and said the enemy is holding up in the ravine on the right side of the chopper.

He told them: “I have set up an ambush at the base of the ravine. Take your platoon to the head of the ravine and drive the enemy into our ambush.”

The lieutenant’s eyes opened wide as he turned to his platoon sergeant, whose eyes were just as large. It was a difficult challenge. It was beginning to get dark and driving the NVA soldiers from their prepared defensive positions was no small challenge. Patton sensed the problem.

He drew his .357 magnum revolver and said: “Follow me.” Leading the platoon to the head of the ravine, he led the way as they made their way down into the vegetation that had overgrown the ravine.

Remaining on high ground, I observed the platoon as they made their way down the ravine. I positioned myself opposite the point man of the patrol, allowing me to observe enemy movement ahead of the patrol. I called out: “Hold what you’ve got.

There is movement ahead of you. Throw grenades.” Two grenades were thrown into the brush ahead of the patrol, which exploded with resounding concussions.

When the smoke cleared, I called out again: “It’s clear. Continue moving.”

Following the progress of the infantry from the high ground, I again spotted enemy movement.

Again I called out: “Hold up. There’s more movement ahead. Throw grenades.”

Again two grenades sailed down the ravine and exploded with devastating explosions.

The American M26 Grenade is highly lethal and the enemy was evidently terrified. They feared our grenades would detonate the rocket propelled grenades (RPGs), which they planned to fire into the infantry platoon.

There was no sign of enemy movement. I called out a second time that it was clear. And the platoon proceeded down the ravine.

I spotted movement again and called out to hold up and throw grenades again, which they did. The detonations resounded through the ravine.

When the smoke cleared there were no signs of enemy movement. I called out the all clear and they completed the movement to the base of the ravine.

I have no idea how many enemy soldiers were killed in the movement down the ravine, but when they reached the base of the ravine they found a wounded enemy soldier. Climbing down into the ravine, I joined Patton and the platoon.

That wounded enemy soldier was shouting: “Lou Dang. Lou Dang.” Patton asked, “What’s the problem.” I pointed to an RPG beside him and said; “He is warning us of the danger of the RPG.”

A medical evacuation helicopter had arrived on the scene. Two medics helped us load the enemy soldier on a stretcher. The medics positioned themselves at the front of the stretcher.

Charlie Watkins and I took up positions at the rear of the litter to make our way up the steep slope of the ravine. Before we could lift the stretcher, Patton drew himself to a position of attention and saluted the enemy soldier, who had fought against us.

And the enemy soldier lying on his back on the litter returned the salute. It was a mark of respect between two soldiers.

Then we began the steep ascent up the slope to the medical evacuation chopper. It was hard going and Charlie and I had most of the weight at the bottom of the litter.

After some heavy lifting we made it to the top of the ravine and the medical team took charge of the wounded soldier. I was soaking wet with sweat and blood.

Patton’s damaged chopper had been evacuated and a replacement helicopter stood ready for the use of the Regimental Commander.

Patton thanked the platoon leader and his platoon sergeant and we made our way to the replacement chopper.

As I belted myself into the seat and put on my flight helmet, I realized that I was soaking wet, covered with blood, sand and muck.

As the pilot lifted the bird directly up out of the clearing the prop wash chilled us. In the western sky we could see a thin blood red line on the horizon as the sun set.

I was shivering like a leaf. And my knees were shaking. For the first time, I realized that we had had a very close call.

The Regimental Commander turned to me with a broad grin and said: “That was better than sex.” And he slapped me on the thigh. I managed a weak smile in return.

The pilot picked up a heading for the Regimental Headquarters, when we cleared the trees surrounding the clearing.

Patton was in his element. He was a fearless warrior – a man among men. Patton intuitively recognized that as long as we maintained suppressive fire and pressed the enemy, he had no freedom of maneuver.

Pressing the enemy became a protective shield for Patton and the soldiers under his command. It characterized Patton’s method of operation.

We learned from prisoners that the enemy taught their soldiers never to engage a Blackhorse vehicle because the Blackhorse never breaks contact.

It was the ultimate compliment to the man, who taught the Regiment to find the bastards, then pile on – Colonel George S. Patton, III.

Source: Andy O’Meara

Editor’s Note: Andy O’Meara @ andy.omeara@frontier.com

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