TFBStories

We had a job site that was about a half mile from the rode. We had to lug everything in on our back. We
were used to that, but the killer was the river. Someone the VC or our own Air Force had blown the
bridge to the job site. There was only a span of about 18 inches left. It didn’t bother anybody else that
you had to walk across this small width of bridge. Every man in the unit walked across like they were
gazelles. Remember, this is a tidal river. The tide was out when the men crossed in the morning. It was
about 30 feet, 40 feet, hell it was deep down there. It looked like the Grand Canyon to me.
One man did not cross the river that man was me! First, Lt. Mac came back and tried to coax me over. A
couple of other guys came back and told me how easy it was to cross. I am sorry, if it were easy I would
have been over there with the rest of the guys. Somehow Captain Miller got wind of the incident. He
comes striding nonchalantly across this span that is getting smaller in my eyes. He explained very
patiently that I am the medic, and the unit has to have the medic with them. My presence was required
on the other side.
It is times like these that officers show leadership, and brilliance. From somewhere they got two lengths
of rope. I didn’t even know we had that much rope. They tied a length in front of me, and one to the
back. I sat down on the bridge. I tried to scoot across on my hind end with this rope holding me, but
basically I held on for dear life, and they pulled me across.
The guys in front of me were laughing, the guys in back of me were laughing. I wasn’t laughing. I finally
made it to the other side. I got off of that span and stood up. Every guy in Task Force was there and
watching by that time. I think it was Dockery who said, “Glad to have you here Doc. You’re the Airborne
Medic.” For about a week that is what they called me. Luckily it didn’t stick.

Best Wishes,
Don (Doc) Bee

One night –I believe it was my second or third night in the Delta--I was in my bunker sitting and listening
to music my transistor radio and my roommate, a buck sergeant named Schultz, was listen to reel-to-reel
audiotapes of the TV series, Peyton Place, his wife sent to him every week. He had his headphones on
while was listening to Armed Forces Radio Saigon playing one of the songs of the Temptations.
Suddenly out of nowhere, I hear a sound that kept coming closer and closer to us. At first it was faint,
then it became louder. Ziiiiip boom. Ziiiip boom. Ziiip boom. I lowered the volume and said to myself,
“What the hell is that?” As the sound became louder, and neared to us, I went over to Sergeant Schultz
and tap him on the shoulder and said, “Do you hear that?” “Do you hear that?” He immediately took off
his headphones and jumped out of bed and grabbed his flack jacket and his rifle and cried out loud:
“Incoming, incoming.”
As rushed to grab my rifle and flack jacket, I felt my blood rush down to my toes. I must have looked as
pale as a white sheet to Sergeant Schultz because he stood in front of me and said are you alright?
Come on put your flack jacket on and grab your rifle and lets go out to the perimeter bunker. Thanks to
him I jumped into action and as we headed out Captain Miller comes running out yelling, “Incoming,
Incoming.”
By this time the mortar rounds were falling in our vicinity, and all I could think of was making it to the
bunker. Then Captain Miller stops for a brief second, looks at me and said, “Sergeant Alvarez, go out
there and turn the generator off.” Without thinking I said, “Yes sir!” And at that instant he was gone,
he simply disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Now the mortars were falling everywhere! And I knew that the damn generator was located in the back
of our base camp because I had filled the tank with gasoline just before dark. But trying to see where
you were going in the dark was one hell of a thing. I ran as fast as I could towards the generator but in
the dark I couldn’t see the doggone switch to turn it off. Mortars were falling all around us, and here I
was fooling around trying to find the off switch in the dark??
Hey that night I did not have the time, or the inclination to play the fool. What I did next was more out of
desperation than clear thinking. I grab my rifle and hit the 2.5 k generator with my rifle butt a couple of
times and the engine went dead. Then I ran as fast I could to the nearest perimeter bunker.
After the incoming fire was cleared, we stayed on dark mode until the next day. I think the generator
was replaced, but I was thankful Captain Miller never raised this as an issue with me for destroying
government property. Whew!

Juan Alvarez

If we are going to tell stories, I will tell one on myself. By the way, Bill Cosby is to blame for part of the
story.
First let me say, I have to admire you for keeping me after my first night in the Delta. I think I replaced Doc
Bishop. I arrived in the afternoon at a job site. I rode in with the men at the end of the day to Rach Kein. I
was settled into a bunker with a couple other guys. They showed me around, and then I bedded down for
the night.
Well, I guess the VC knew the outfit had a new man, and wanted to baptize him. Long about one or two in
the morning they started walking the mortars in on us. I learned quick and fast how to dress in a hurry. I
had my rifle, helmet, and medical bag, boots, and maybe some pants on. I was quaking in my boots as
those mortars whooshed around us. A few moments later, I heard the phone ring in the bunker. I answer.
“PFC Bee.”
Captain Miller’s words are as clear today as that very night. “Jiminez has cut his finger on a can of potato
chips at the outpost. I want you to go out and bandage it.”
I paused for a moment listening to the thump, thump, thump of the falling shells, and trying to remember
just where in the hell the outpost was. Then I said the first thing that came into my head.
“How bout I put a Band-Aid on a rock and throw it to him.” I had heard this line from a Bill Cosby record of
his time as a medic shortly before I arrived in Vietnam.
There was a long pause on the Captain’s end of the phone, and then he answered in a slow exasperated
voice. “I meant after the shelling stops.”
In a meek voice I answered, “Yes Sir.”
To this day I wish I had said something else. A better response like, “I don’t make house-calls.”
Surprisingly, Captain Miller didn’t ship me out. I stayed for nine months.
A true story, I don’t know if the Captain remembers it, but I do.

Sincerely,
Don (Doc) Bee

Here is my version of the story. I was the happy Asst. S3 of the 46 Engr Bn. Iwas in the sweetest, safest job
in Vietnem. Had been there about 2 weeks. Then one day Col. Gray walks in and says, "grab a rifle and
helmet, come with me. I want you to see one of our projects." Sweet, innocent, unsuspecting me then a
few minutes later found myself in a chopper flying over the beautiful andmystical Mekong Delta.
We land at a TFB jobsite. It is a school that is about half finished. It was one of the most amazing things that
I ever experienced. I saw the look of happinessand contentment on all of those busy soldiers,
and I experienced what can only be described as a "cosmic moment of clarity". I somehow knew that I had
arrived at my destiny.
But it didn't make any sense. I already knew that I was going to get out of the Army. As a 2Lt I had had a
really bad experience in Panama when I had defendeda black SSG against my Company Commander's
unfair racial persecution, and I hadbeen soundly thumped by the Army for "doing the harder right instead
of the easier wrong". Very bitter experience. So I
wanted out of the Army. I just wanted a safe desk job during my last assignments. Definitely no combat
for me.
Anyway, back to my story. After we visited the job sites, we got back in thechopper to return to Long Binh.
Col. Gray made it a point to sit next to me. He
casually leaned over to me and said, "How would you like to take over the task force?" I was stunned.
Every fiber in my body said, "Don't do it. You'll get killed. Stay in the safe desk job." But I heard myself say,
"Yes sir, I'll do it." I didn't even hesitate. My destiny had arrived.
I remember all of this as if it were yesterday. Had Col Gray asked me about the job before I has seen that
job site, I would definitely have turned him down.Has he simply assigned me to do the job, I would have
been less than enthusiastic. But he was so clever, and he knew just how to entice me. How didhe know
that I would fall in love with the task force when I saw it? I'll neverknow. Yes, he is one clever person. And
he was the best boss I ever had, in or
out of the Army.
As to your other question. I was newly married and had a one-year-old son. Mywife mailed me one of his
used baby pillows. It smelled faintly of baby powderand other baby smells. I kept it stashed away in my
bunker, and I sniffed itevery night before I went to bed, to remind myself of my beautiful and precious
son. Just as you young men of TFB who I was responsible for had parents who loved you as much as I
loved my son. So my son had a lot to do with medeveloping a burning fire within myself to get
all of you safely back to yourparents. This became my obsession, my total focus, and we did it. It is the
thing in my life of which I am most proud. 42 base camp attacks, 3 ambushes. Nofatalities.
Years later I realized that the 3/39 Inf. Bn. had 100% casualties over the yearwe were in Rach Kein. 800
lives gone. Yes, their jobs were much more dangerous,but we also shared some common dangers. I
remember when they lost 200 men onenight in 45 seconds during a rocket amd mortar attack. About 60
yards away fromus. I still remember the bloody mattresses all stacked up the morning after attack.
That we all made it still amazes me. And I still thank God for it.

Well I have waxed a bit nostalgic, haven't I? You have to be careful when youask a 66 year-old old-timer
any questions. He can be pretty long-winded.

Regards
Mike

It started out as one of those beautiful days that we all looked forward to. It was a warm sunny day, as
we looked forward to taking advantage of the benefits of being stationed in the sun and fun capital
of South Vietnam, Rach Kein.
Then that sound we knew all too well. The sound took several months before we were able to
distinguish between outgoing and “INCOMING!!”
Every one is yelling “incoming” and running as fast as they can to their positions. Mine happened to
be up in the tower at the m- 60. As I was running I was aware of these different sounds. The sound of
the M16’s wasn’t so bad, but that distinct sound of AK- 47s. That meant we were not only being
mortared but were under ground attack.
I was running as fast as I could, past the commo bunker, into the Vietnamese building, up on the roof,
into the first level of the tower and then up to the weapons. I wish I could remember the name of the
guy that manned the 50 cal. He had beat me up there and was letting loose with the 50. I took the 60
and began to spray the tree line I thought fire was coming from.
Then just to my left this little guy comes running out of the trees. He is the perfect picture of a V. C.
He had the black P.J.’s, the round straw hat, carrying a AK- 47. I remember thinking this guy is
history. I turned the 60 on him, sighted in, and pulled the trigger. Click. I recharged the 60 several
times but each time all I heard was that damn CLICK. I was doing everything I could think of but
nothing worked. Now I am watching this VC running into the area we parked the heavy equipment.
After that I lost track of him. Now Captain Miller yells up “why isn’t that 60 firing?” I really didn’t want
to tell him that it wasn’t working but I had to. He came up checked it out and recharged it, with the
same “CLICK”.
Capt. Miller starts chewing my butt out for having a dirty weapon that wouldn’t fire. What could I say,
but "YES SIR". I didn’t think he was correct but maybe he was, I really didn’t know for sure. For the
remainder of that ground attack I was the gofer.
As soon as everything was clear I took the M- 60 down to my bunker. I tore that sixty down and
cleaned it until it was spotless. I didn’t tear it down as far as Loyd did. I wasn’t sure I could have
gotten it back together right and I figured I was in enough trouble as it was. I am not one to do any
more work that necessary, so instead of cleaning the brass and links I went to the ammo bunker and
got a fresh can of nice clean ammo.
After cleaning it I took it to Capt Miller for inspection. He looked at the sixty then at me and asked
“does it fire now ?” At that moment I really felt like the true meaning of obtuse. The one thing I
hadn’t done was test fire it.
We went to the range and I walked up to the firing line with this perfectly clean weapon and clean
ammo. Charge the weapon, weapon goes to the hip (John Wayne style) squeeze the trigger for a
three to five round burst. I am going to show Capt Miller I know what I am doing. As the trigger is
squeezed I hear CLICK..
Here we go again. I check everything from firing pin to the chamber, nothing. Capt Miller tells me to
give it to him in the morning, he’ll take it to the 3/39th armor. The next morning I did as I had been
told.
The next day Capt. Miller comes up to me carrying a M-60 with an extra barrel. He shows me a ring of
brass casing in the chamber. It was so far down the chamber it could hardly be seen. Capt Miller tells
me to turn in the barrel for replacement.
After that we always had two M- 60s in the tower and several spare barrels.

Howard Snyder

Our Dining Arrangements

An officer should not eat until all of his men have been fed. He should also dine with his men to make
sure that they are being fed properly. These are rules that I had been taught. But for a short while at Rach
Kein I forgot the rules.
When I arrived at the task force, the dining setup had already been established. The task force ate with
the infantry battalion. The enlisted men ate at a separate mess hall, while the officers had their own mess
hall. So I ate at the 3/39 Inf. officer’s mess. I never gave much thought to how well the enlisted men were
being fed. No one had complained about the setup.
Eating at the officer’s mess was all right. The food was OK. But the infantry officers, just as battered as
their men, had an aloof and somewhat arrogant attitude. I really couldn’t blame them, seeing the horrific
combat they faced daily. But they weren’t a warm and fuzzy bunch of guys.
Then one day Sp4 Danny Steinford approached me and asked me if he could have some extra C rations.
As you will recall, we ate C rations for lunch at the jobsites. I asked him why this request. He said that
eating at the infantry mess hall made him sick. He explained that the utensils were dirty, and the food was
many times poorly-prepared, cold and greasy. As all of the NCOs from the infantry battalion ate at their
enlisted mess, I could not believe that any such situation could exist. But if Danny wanted to eat C rations
rather that eat there, something was amiss. When I visited their mess hall, I found that Danny was right.
The enlisted mess was a dismal and dirty place. It was as if the high casualty rate of the battalion had
sucked all of the life out of the place. “Doomed men didn’t care if their food is bad” was the feeling that I
got standing in their mess hall.
So, with the usual Task Force Builder “can-fix” attitude, we sprung into action. I spoke with our mess
sergeant, SSG Raymond Barajas about the problem. He agreed with me, and said that he would seek out a
solution. Which he did. He spoke with the mess sergeant from the Rach Kein 105mm howitzer battery, and
they worked out a deal for us to eat with them. I then approached the battery commander. He replied, “It’s
a good idea, but our mess hall isn’t big enough for even my artillery people”. I smiled, and replied, “How
big do you want your mess hall to be?” So we left a squad behind in Rach Kein for a couple of weeks, and
they added an addition onto the mess hall. They pretty much doubled the size of the place.
The officers ate in a separate alcove, but we all ate the same food, which was as it should be. It was a
perfect arrangement. SGT Barajas, a wonderful and resourceful mess sergeant, was happier (by the way,
SGT Barajas was also a “master scrounger”, but that is another story). The enlisted men were happier.
And Lt. Mac and I were happier.
The artillery officers became friends with Lt. Mac and I. Nice bunch of men. We could joke with these
guys. But I soon began to “tune out” the 2nd Lt. forward observers. These were the guys who went out
on the front lines with the 3/39, and directed the battery’s artillery fire. They had one of the most
dangerous jobs in the army. Their life expectancy in combat was short. None of them seemed to last for
more than a few weeks. So after a while, they ceased to have faces. This is not something that I did
deliberately, but rather, it seemed to be some sort of self-defensive mechanism that kicked into place. To
this day I cannot recall what any of them looked like. A line of faceless young men.

Regards,
Mike