Tower Guard, Phu Loi Vietnam

I don’t know what it was. Karma? For whatever reason, Major Matos always assigned me and Rock to tower guard together. I guess he had a lot of trust in our astute observation abilities, our ferocious killer instincts or he just wanted to get rid of us for a week. Either way, we were always together for that long week. Tower 6 was our responsibility. It was located on the southeast perimeter of the base. Steel plates were mounter on the front face. It had a ladder on the right side consisting of sixteen rickety steps. The whole tower shook when someone ascended this steps.

The tower was actually fully equipped. We had a M-60 on a door gunner mount, an M-79 grenade launcher and a starlight scope. We had about five-hundred rounds of M-60 ammo, three or four hand flares and a variety of ammo for the M-79. These included high explosive rounds, buckshot rounds and flares. We were loaded for bear. The starlight scope would show us the perimeter in a green light. It was big and bulky but did the job in the dead of night.

Sometimes Rock and I were on day guard. Nothing ever happened at Phu Loi during the day. So, Rock and I would play 500 rummy. When we were bored with that we would play 5,000 rummy or maybe 200–300 games of casino. The only action we ever saw was when one of the base junk yard dogs tried to return from a night of booty call in the village and stepped on a landmine. The sudden explosion startled everyone. The sirens blared signaling a Red Alert. Our field phone went off from base defense asking what the hell the explosion was. We tried to keep from laughing when we informed them that one suspected VC K-9 was seen crawling through the wire, was engaged and terminated with prejudice. The simple reply was “Roger, out.” The sirens stopped. We did feel bad about the poor dog who died after a night of unbridled passion. If we could find any pieces of him we would have given him a decent burial.

Night guard was a totally different story. It was always interesting. Previously I had been on night guard with a guy named Underside. We did not get along. We were stuck together on night guard in Tower 6 for a week. It was pretty boring until we heard a loud GONG from the front of the tower. We looked at each other in the dark and said at exactly the same time “What the hell was that?” Then a second one. Obviously someone was shooting at us, or at least the tower. I cranked up the field phone telling base defense we were taking fire. Another round went zinging by the tower causing us to duck. Underside got on the starlight scope and I prepared to fire the M-60. He searched the area then yelled “I got him! He is in the ditch at 2 o’clock with an SKS. I looked through the scope and saw him. I got back on the field phone telling base defense that we have him spotted and requested permission to open fire. Permission was denied. There was a village to our front and wounding or killing civilians accidentally was out of the question. I calmly instructed them that the target was nowhere near the village and once again requested permission to fire. It was denied again. I was told they would send up a Huey night ship to find the target and eliminate him. Crap, I thought. We watched the VC slowly crawl, then run, then walk into the village. Twenty minutes later the night ship appeared on scene. Old Nguyen was home with his mama-san safe in bed. Probably bitching because he had to clean his rifle.

Rules of engagement on the perimeter were strict. Unless we were under a bonafide attack no return fire was allowed. Hell of a way to run a war.

Back to Rock. Rock and I got along great. He was one of my closest friends in Nam. But Rock had his issues. He loved the drink. Just about any drink really. There was a point early in 1971 when there was a lot of action all around us and the PX supply of beer and spirits could not get through. The road to Long Binh had been cut by a lot of enemy activity so we were out of critical alcohol supplies. For most of us that wasn’t a big deal but it was for Rock. He scrounged booze from everyone and when that ran out he drank aftershave. You have to remember that Rock had his demons. He had spent a previous tour in the infantry and had been wounded receiving a Purple Heart and Bronze Star. No matter what his issues were he was a good man to have with you when the shit hit the fan.

One night Rock and I were on night guard and Rock looked at me and said “Jack, I need a drink.” I told him I could use one too but we’re here and it would have to wait until morning when we were off duty. He said, “Bullshit, I will be back later.” As he started to descend the tower I said “Rock, you can’t do this. You will get both our asses in a sling.” “You can handle it, Jack. Cover for me” and off he went. Well, wouldn’t you know it about an hour later the officer of the guard came around. They never did because they were usually afraid someone would shoot them and claim they never gave the password. This must have been a new lieutenant. The nice thing was they never and I mean never climbed up into a tower. “You guys awake up there?” “Yes sir” I hollered. “How about the other guy?” “Awake sir” I said in a lower voice. “Ok, stay alert.” Off he drove in his jeep with the blackout lights on. About twenty minutes Rock returned, slightly inebriated but functional.

Here we were again in the tower on guard. Phu Loi’s first line of defense against the communist hoard. Normally were had C-rations or they would send out a truck with chow around midnight. Today we hadn’t received C’s so we figured they would bring us out some chow. When 0030 rolled around we wondered what the hell was going on. As they say, an Army runs on its stomach and we were hungry. Finally the field phone rang and I took the call. “Tower 6.” “No chow coming tonight, send someone back to battalion to pick up something.” “Roger, out.”

“One of us has to go back for chow, Rock.” “You go Jack. I am tired. Bring me a steak.” “Right.” I grabbed my M-16 and a bandoleer of ammo and proceeded to climb down the tower to fetch chow. The road behind the bunker line was dark but it could have been worse. There wasn’t a full moon but it was close. There was an eerie glow from the moon. Moon shadows. All the available electrical lighting was aimed outward at the wire lining the perimeter. It was a long walk back to battalion. I finally arrived at the mess hall and was given two bologna sandwiches. I looked at the cook and said “You have to be shitting me. This is it?” “That’s it, take it or leave it.” “I hate bologna” “Tell it to the chaplain.”

So, here I am walking back in the dark to Tower 6, my M-16 slung over my shoulder, bandoleer of ammo across my chest and a stinking bologna sandwich in each hand. As I walked down the lone dirt perimeter road a heard the zing of a bullet go by my head and the round striking something to my right with a thud. Shit I thought as I hit the deck. I laid in the road, heart racing, arms outstretched looking at those two bologna sandwiches. Another round came in hitting the dirt about a foot in front of my face. Shit I thought. I am going to die here and I hate bologna! I jumped up and took off, running at a zig-zag pattern back to Tower 6. I climbed the stairs at a record pace. “What did you get?” Rock asked. I threw the sandwich at him and said “Here is your f**king bologna sandwich!” Rock knew me well enough to keep quiet and wait. When I calmed down I told him the story. The fact that I was shot at wasn’t what bothered me. I had been shot at flying door gunner but they weren’t shooting at me, they were shooting at the helicopter. Of course we were shot at by rockets and mortars but those were addressed to whom it may concern. This guy was trying to kill me. Me. Jack McCabe. He aimed in the dark and tried to kill me. If it had been lighter I would have my name on the Wall in DC. For the grace of God, in the dark he missed.

I never forgot that night. I thought about it often over the years. At times I remember it when I look at my wife, my children and now my grandchildren. I am blessed that a random Viet Cong soldier missed me. I wonder if he ever thinks about the shot that missed that lone American on that dark night in 1971. If he would have felt any guilt if he killed me. I wonder if he survived the years of war after that incident. I hope if he did he lived a long, happy life and lived in peace with grandchildren of his own. I have no animosity in my heart for him. It was war.