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A-103, 1966 Christmas card, courtesy of Commo Sgt Bill Howe, A-103

 

          

Collection of 6 Vietnamese Christmas cards purchased in 1970 by Sgt Wayne Dobos NCOIC of 
 "THE RED BARON" 
gun truck, 444th Trans Company, 27th Trans Battalion, 8th Trans Group



Christmas card send by Tan Duong, a student at the Political Warfare College, Dalat, Viet Nam 1973

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 




If you were in Vietnam at one of  the A- camps and remember a story about one of your Christmas or the New Year there, 
please tell us about it!

These apply to members off "C" team, Mike Force, SOG and also our friends from Force Recon and MAT teams hosted on our website.

Please contact me so that I can upload your story:

contactgiavuc@tiscali.co.uk


Courtesy of  Dean Byrne A-503/B55, Christmas 1969


Christmas 1970,MAT I-27, Quang Ngai,the picture was taken sometime in the latter part of Nov 1970 just after the second of two large typhoons struck the Quang Ngai City / Chu Lai (Americal Div base camp) areas of Quang Ngai and Quang Tin Provinces.
Our team house was flooded in conjunction with the second typhoon. We awoke to water just an inch or two below our cots. Our team house sat on a berm roughly 8-10 sandbags above ground level. By noon the water had receded out of our team house, but it was still waist deep in the streets of the city. We had just returned from a mission the night before the storm struck. We spent the rest of Nov flying in CH 47s aiding in the delivery of emergency rations to stranded hamlets on the edge of the high western mountains. We sent this picture off to someplace and had it made into a Christmas card with "Greetings from our home to yours..."

Kneeling in front, SGT Dep,

Standing left to right, SFC Richard Edgar, SFC James Hollis, SSG Cuu, CPT Robert Hensler, SGT Fitzgibbons.

Thanks to Cpt R Hensler

 

Shortly after Sp 5 Paul Nay joined the team at Gia Vuc, in November 1967, he mentioned that his fiancée, Nikki, was a member of a sorority at the University of Indiana. Paul, several team members and I thought it would be a good idea to ask, Nikki, if she and her sorority sisters would be interested in helping us gather clothing and hygiene supplies, ie: soaps, toothbrushes and other items.
 We sent along several pictures of the locals and ourselves.
Several weeks later, around Christmas, we received a couple of large boxes sent by Nikki and her friends. The boxes contained clothing of various sizes, bar and granular soaps, brushes of various types and combs. The sorority sisters sent a nice letter and card which may have been a Christmas card, I'm not sure.
Shortly after receiving the supplies we started giving them away to the locals. Interpreters gave those who received the goods instructions, to include demonstrations, on how to use what was given to them.
It wasn't long before we saw villagers wearing the American style garb. The most conspicuous difference from the traditional clothing the Rhes wore were the colors as opposed to the basic faded black and earth tones. I got the impression that the tooth and stiff bristle brushes were being put to good use. The consensus of the team was that the project was working and that we might make another request. Based on the apparent enthusiasm on the part of the sorority members we felt that they would be willing to renew their efforts and help again.
Within a couple of days of our initial good evaluation of the benefits of what had been accomplished one of the interpreters came to me and said "bac si bad problem in Ap B, people getting sick stomachs". Dau bung (phonetic spelling of Rhe term for stomach pain). When we reached Ap B we saw a number of people obviously in distress. After talking to several of them and learning that they thought the well water was bad we walked over to the well. There was a woman washing clothes in a tin pail next to the well. We were almost at the well when she dumped the water from the pail into the well. We could see that the water was dirty.
Upon reaching the well we looked down at the water. It was brackish grey with some foam. Despite being told by the SF personnel, over the years, not to deposed of used water by dumping back into the well many villagers remained ignorant or disregarded the advice. Obviously the soapy water exacerbated the already compromised quality of the water. I think that many of the villagers were able to consume the well water with few health consequences until the soap scum was added. I should mention that much of the clothes washing took place in the nearby Song Re, perhaps 500 to 600 meters from Ap B.
As a result of what I saw a bucket brigade was formed and water was drawn from the well until it was clear. As much of the soap was collected from the villagers as we could find. Once again the villagers were warned about dumping used water back into the well. I'm sure that warning fell on deaf ears. Historically there were times when the village wells almost ran dry and the villagers felt that water should not be wasted.
One last thing. Going about collecting soap and passing out warnings we encountered a frantic woman. She pled with the interpreter to have me go check her husband whom she was convinced was dying. When we entered the hooch she took us to we saw and heard one of our CIDG moaning and thrashing about on a bed platform. We could smell insects repellent and saw several empty plastic bottles. The guy had been drinking the repellent. He hadn't vomited and I told the interpreter to tell him to gag himself to see if that would help. Within seconds of sticking a finger down his throat he let go. There wasn't much in his stomach other than repellent. It was apparent that that hooch wasn't going to be visited by insects for a while. Being that the repellent was oil based most of what he had swallowed came up. 
I sent the interpreter back to the guys hooch with a charcoal based mixture that would help lessen the effects of the residue.

Sgt Rob MacPhee, A-103 Medic Nov 67/May 68




Here's a story from MAT IV-32 on the Plain of Reeds, 1969. Christmas eve had arrived. 
A truce had been declared, so we were to have no operations out that night or the next day and night. 
Not trusting the enemy, we were determined to make sure the guard posts and security patrols around the village 
were fully manned; so SSG Lagasca, my heavy weapons guy, and I armed up around dark-thirty and left our
fort to go on a security check around the village. 
By the time we finished the check it was dark and Lagasca and I started walking back toward the fort from the other side of the village. We were walking down the village street, most people smiling and nodding as we passed.
Some kids, as usual, followed smiling and chattering. When we came to the hooch of a family I knew better than most, Lagasca and I stopped to wish them a Merry Christmas since I knew they were Catholics. 
We were standing there talking in the light of their little fuel oil lamp when I heard singing in Vietnamese. I looked up the street from where the sound was coming and in the darkness (there was no electricity in the village) I saw first one light pop up then another behind it then another and another. I quickly realized the lights were all I could
see of children coming out the entrance of the church yard of the Catholic church. They were making a candle-light procession down the village street toward us and they were singing "O Come, All ye Faithful" in Vietnamese. They were a long way away, and they had gotten to another song by the time they neared us. Then I could see
they all had on white capes made of cotton sheeting. Each one in the long row held a candle except for some of the boys who were carrying a creche made of chicken wire stuffed with colored paper. I began to feel out of place because here the children were doing a simple celebration of Christmas while Lagasca and I were standing there armed to the teeth. I was there to make war. Guilty as charged.
My unease increased when, seeing us, the priest accompanying the children had them stop the creche in front of us. Smiling, I knew he felt he was doing us a courtesy, and he had all the kids gather in a semicircle around us and the creche and sing "Silent Night." I stood there in the yellow light of all those flickering candles dressed in my
faded jungle fatigues, wearing my blue beret, and with my M16 supported across the top of my ammo pouches. I was ready for war in the midst of children celebrating the Prince of Peace. Friends, that just ain't right. It was many years later before I could hear or try to sing "Silent Night" at Christmas without weeping and without seeing again
that string of lights in the darkness coming toward me singing in Vietnamese, "Joy to the World." 
Even telling you now, there are tears in my eyes.
I said we didn't trust the enemy, and for good reason. Later that night, we got a air recon call saying there was a huge movement of sampans coming across the border and headed toward us. We were lucky to be able to divert an Arc-Lite mission and I got the opportunity to call in some B-52s on their heads. The Arc-Lite, I supposed had been
headed to areas where the truce did not apply. In any case, it made an impressive light-and-sound show, I can tell you that! My district chief immediately became concerned that the bombs might have missed their target and he wanted to take some troops out to the impact area right then to do a recon and make sure whatever was out there had been
broken up. I couldn't dissuade him, so I got SFC Tester, my light weapons specialist, together with a squad of troops, loaded them in a motorized boat, and we headed out to the impact area. I'm guessing that was 8-10 klicks away, maybe closer. Anyway, about the time of night I guessed we were getting close to our target area, the boat's motor overheated and quit. We checked our immediate area and saw no evidence the enemy, but no evidence of the bomb run, either. We were still short of our goal, but I didn't know how short. Also, we now had these troops out there with no boat motor (did I tell you this was high-water season and the water over most of the land was knee to waist deep--really, it would be a bad business to have to walk home in that mix of water, grass, and reeds). If the strike had hit whatever it was that had come over the border, we were in no danger; but our concern was that the strike had either missed the target or had only been partially successful. There might be enemy boats out there still coming our way and there we were with no way to maneuver. To make a long story short, Tester and I got all the others in the boat and told them to keep their heads down but to stay on watch while he and I, presuming we were the strongest swimmers, got in the water, put the bow lines in our teeth, and struck out swimming//crawling back down the reedy canal toward our village. I don't know how long it took for us to drag that boat out of that mess, but it seemed like hours. It doesn't need saying that we were a couple of tired puppies when, sodden and covered with delta mud and leeches, Tester and I finally pulled the boat back up to our compound. We were glad to be there though, so when all was said and done we went through the gate singing a Christmas carol. I think it was "Joy to the World."
The next morning we had Christmas. A chopper had brought out our last mail a few days before and all the guys and I had gotten packages from home. I had encouraged everyone to hold off on opening their packages until Christmas morning, so we all gathered around our Christmas tree, which SFC Mau, our medic had put together. It was some small green bush he had dug up from somewhere and set in a pot and had then strung with a string of lights made from flashlight bulbs and commo wire plugged into the battery of a Prick-25. He even had procured some red cellophane tape from somewhere and had wrapped it around some of the bulbs to have a mixture of red and white lights. One of us had a transister AM radio, so we listened to Christmas carols on AFVN radio as we opened our Christmas packages. I remember my mother's oldest sister, my Aunt Nadine, sent an aluminum pie-pan completely filled with divinity candy. I cut out chunks and gave pieces to my team mates. It was wonderful stuff. I had things from my wife and other family
members, too, but I remember none of them like that divinity. That was a real touch of home! A little later in the day, a couple of my team mates and I took candy we had been saving from our team's SP packs and a small, rubber band-powered airplane I had had my wife send me, and we went down into the village. We handed candy to kids until we ran out and I gave the little airplane to the daughter of the district chief. It was a simple balsa wood thing that only required slipping the thin wing through the balsa fuselage then winding the propeller until the twisted rubber band
was tight. It would fly for thirty yards or so and was a big hit. It was a low-tech kind of thing and I figured she could play with at least it until all the rubber bands broke. I might should have had my wife send a small doll, but I wasn't forward thinking enough for that! All in all, it was a pretty good Christmas. Tester and I survived our
Christmas eve exercise in the water, I got some Christmas divinity, and my team mates and I made some village kids happy with candy and a toy airplane. It could have been a lot worse.      
When I think back on that scene with the creche and its haunting "Silent Night,"  
I try to remember that, too; it could have been a lot worse.

1Lt Terry Turner
MAT IV-32 CO (1969-70)

The card is from the 44th STZ commander send to Terry Turner
who was at the time a district senior advisor within the 44th STZ 
The front cover show what he think is the Sa Dec famous pagoda tower in the delta. 
This was adopted by the 44th Special Tactical Zone as part of its logo. 
Thanks to 1Lt Terry Turner, MAT IV-32, 69-70

 



 New Years, 1967, I was at A-104 working the radio.  I had been in country for a couple of months and been at A104 for that time.  My senior commo person SSGT. Duke, had arrived in camp from the 10th GRP.  Jim was teaching me the correct way to send morris code using the "bug".  For you non commo techs, that is the speed key.  Jim had learned to "ditty-bop" on the key which I found fascinating.  Not to many of the commo people had knowledge of this.  Sure screwed over the C-Det group trying to copy.

Anyhow, we were trying to figure out how to celebrate New Years Eve.  We had a team meeting to discuss and when a solution was agreed upon, we implemented it.  The final approval was Capt. Gesregan.  At the stroke of midnight, we were going to illuminate the camp by firing flares from the 4.2 and 82MM mortars.  I talked with the other commo people at the other camps to see if they wanted to join the festivities.  I believe the weapons team consisted of SGT. Gleason and SGT. Holman.  They prepared about 25 illumination rounds and was waiting for the countdown to begin.  We did not inform C team of our plans.  (Definitely heard about it later).  Nor did we inform the CIDG camp commander.  At the stroke of midnight, we blasted the sky with the rounds.  What a sight to see.  Off to the distance we could observe the other camps doing the same same.  After the first volley, the CIDG came running out of their hootches scared shitless. 
It didn't take C-Det long to get on the radio trying to find out what was happening. All of the team got together in the crowded  commo bunker singing "Silent Night" to them over the radio.  SGM. Hodges and Col. Schungle didn't have a good sense of humor.  Guess they were not in the celebrating spirit.
So in the words of a**hole Walter Cronkite, 
"And that's the way it was, New Years Eve, 1967 and New Years Day 1968."  
Sgt Ivan Davis A-104 Ha Thanh

Halloween and Christmas story
We got a big, round squash from the Vietnamese and made a “Jack-o-Lantern” out of it for Halloween.  The Montagnards were fascinated with it.  We left it in front of the main hooch until Christmas.  By that time, it began to mold and the mold looked like a beard, so we made a Santa Claus out of it.
XO- 1st Lt George K Garner Gia Vuc A-725 1963/64



Courtesy of  Dean Byrne A-503/B55, Christmas 1968

This didn't happen in I-Corps but at my first A-Team, which was at An Phu, 4th Corps. 

Around midnight on New Years Eve, Dec. 31, 1965, we noticed that the next A-team down the border from us was firing a lot of stuff in the dark sky.  Flares and tracer bullets.   We radioed them and they told us to relax:  
"It's New Year's Eve!"  We slapped our foreheads. 

We had just installed a 50-caliber machine gun that our team had bought (illegally, by the way, from the US Army's point of view) on the black market in Saigon.  So we loaded it with belts of tracer ammo and began writing giant "S's" across the midnight.   A few moments later, a VC camp over the border in Cambodia, began criss-crossing the sky with tracers.  And within in a few minutes, we made out another US A-team far to the north of us firing flares and then apparently some more VC across the Cambodian border started shooting flares in the sky. 

For a few moments, we all lighted up the sky over the border of South Viet Nam and Cambodia in a celebration of a New Year.

Loyd Little
An Phu, Gia Vuc and lst Corps MF

 


C team watch tower Da Nang 1966

Christmas 1966 at the Mike Force new compound in Da Nang

For more on the I CORPS Mike Force, please visit Cpt Virgil Carter website

 

Here’s a A-113 Mike Force New Years Eve story 1966

A-113 was a combined U.S.-Australian team, with two companies of Montagnards (one Rhade and one Koho, from II Corps), 
and one Nung company (from Cholon in Saigon).  The Ozzies (God love ‘em) were famous for fixing Salty Dogs and celebrating almost anything and everything.  This was a very good thing.  
As it turned out, New Years Eve in Danang in 1966 was quiet and we weren’t on alert to go anywhere.  
So the setting was perfect to usher in the new year with a celebratory Salty Dog New Year.

On New Year’s eve, the requisite tubs were mixed with the brew, and someone (no names will be used) had the great idea to celebrate the coming of the New Year, beginning with Moscow time, followed by Istanbul, Paris, New York, Chicago, Denver, San Francisco, Honolulu, and finally, yes, Danang time. 
Thus, on the hour, every hour, the intrepid Mike Force team lined up on the South China coast facing east, salty dogs in one hand and hand-held flares in the other.  On the hour, we would chug the salty dogs, and then fire off the flares—red, green, whatever.  It was an awesome sight.  I believe we thereafter retired to the team house to reform and rearm, for the next hourly recognition.  
You can see where this is going.

Since there were 59 minutes until the next formation, we might have even replenished the salty dogs while we waited, hour after hour.  I’m not sure about that part.  Well, actually I am, but there’s a limit to how much I can disclose.  I can say, with some authority, that by the time New Year’s arrived in Danang, there were more than a couple of team members that needed several tries to launch their flares (after all it took two hands to fire the flares, and a certain hand-eye coordination).  
But let’s be clear:  no one ever faltered in putting away the salty dogs.  History will long note that we saw our duty, overcame all odds and our team performed magnificently, even if (and especially because) some team mates were in the prone position at the end. 

Thus we ushered 1967 into existence in I Corps.  

De Oppresso Liber!

Cpt V Carter, A-103, A-113

 


 

Christmas day, 1967, 
dawned cold and rainy over Camp Cung Son. 
A front had moved in off the South China Sea, and the weather was dark and forbidding. 
It was the kind of rain that soaks you and chills you, accompanied by fog and low clouds.

We had a battalion of the 173rd Airborne working in the eastern part of our AO, up in the costal highlands.  
We had run one CIDG/US operation looking for a reported VC prison camp up there, 
but there was nothing where the report said it should be. 
This Christmas morning we were all happy to be in camp, with no operations out.  
We constantly checked the perimeter, as the weather would allow Mr. Charles to come in closer without detection 
and make air support next to useless. Lucky for us, all remained quiet.

  It was getting toward noon, and some of the team was in the team house, drinking coffee 
or hot chocolate from C-rations, and listening to the 173rd’s radio traffic.  
The Airborne had a patrol out, up there in the highlands, looking for the VC.  We heard the voice on the radio, the patrol leader by the authority in his voice and his call sign, call in at various times to report his progress and location.  
This happened repeatedly, and became routine.

  Suddenly the squelch broke and this time stress could be heard in the voice as we could hear firing in the background. 
The patrol was in contact, and it was not clear with how many or where the enemy was. 
After several transmissions and responses, we learned that we had witnessed the death of seven fellow American soldiers. The VC had hidden in the wet foliage, and the rain and fog the patrol had walked right by them. 
The enemy then rose and shot down the last of the troopers in the file, after which they disappeared into the mist.  
The weather prevented a MEDEVAC and the dead and wounded had to be carried back to base.

  Our team house was silent for a long time. Finally the heavy weapons SGT said it all as he put down his coffee cup 
and walked out of the team house into the rain. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

  A depressing memory, 
but one that brings into focus the sacrifices and dedication of our armed forces, especially those in harm’s way during this holiday season. May God grant that no other NCO has to mutter those words over the loss of fellow soldiers.

  Bac-Si Padgett


 

My only recollection of Christmas in Gia Vuc was probably December 1967.  My sister sent a small, fake Christmas tree, complete with blinking lights, that we put between our bunks in the Commo Bunker.
I had purchased a Dokorder Stereo Tape Deck in Danang, which we connected to a Sansui Tuner/Amp that I had also purchased in Danang before heading out to Bato and eventually, Gia Vuc.  Somewhere along the line I had also picked up a box with 3 lights and a crossover network inside, which reacted to 3 distinct frequencies when music was fed to it.  Colored lights would flash in time with the latest and greatest Nancy Sinatra song, "These boots were made for walkin'". 
Between that display and the lights on the Christmas Tree, it was pretty festive in the ol' Commo Bunker!
My Grandmother sent chocolate chip cookies, which I received well after Christmas (all of my presents from state-side were at least a month late), packed in Salted Peanuts in the Shell.  I remember making a little reel-to-reel audiotape (with one of those little, battery-operated recorders) thanking her for sending me those delicious Peanuts, "packed in the broken chocolate chip cookies".  She never forgave me for that comment!
I had a knack of recording those tapes when we were being shelled from one of the hills near camp, just about every morning, about 3 O'Clock.  Of course, being the only Radio Operator in camp, my shift was 24/7.  We couldn't do much at that time in the morning, under fire, except hunker down (and make recordings with one hand and hold a rifle in the other).  Today I listen to those tapes and can hear mortars exploding in the background.  My relatives must've thought I was in some kind of danger, or something!
 
SSGT William G. Howe RA16817975


Card sent Sgt W.G. Howe

 

Merry Christmas To All,
 
I know it is a little late to reflect on Christmas in the trenches but I do want to share my Christmas story in 1967 with you. I was at My Da "A-433" well down in the Delta. A few days before Christmas Team Sgt Rip Burns told me he wanted to send me to Saigon to acquire supplies for the Team. A chore that someone had to do every 4 to 6 weeks. Just happened that my very close friend Gordon Yntema was being transferred to one of our sister A Camps "Cai Cai". Ike and I left camp on the same chopper to Can Tho and spent a lovely evening at Tiger's. Next morning we said our goodbye's and I went to Saigon Ike went to Cai Cai. Got to Saigon and settled in at Camp Goodman. Just happened that the father of a girl I had known in San Antonio while we were at Ft Sam    " Marion Williams " was head of the Cholon PX in Saigon. Needless to say I managed to get all the supplies I needed and then some, he even put me up in his Hotel for a night. 
 
Was assigned a driver with a Deuce and a half truck for a few days to do my scrounging which I managed to do very well. We had cases of frozen T-Bones, all sorts of canned goods for the cook and even another 5 KW diesel generator to send back to camp. I stayed at Camp Goodman for the Christmas party another day or so. "68 Tet" activity was starting to heat up and it took several days to get out of Saigon. We would go to the air field every morning and they would say too much incoming today, all flights canceled. I finally got out to C Team in Can Tho and was sitting in the club there by the airstrip enjoying a cool refreshing libation when the biggest explosion I had ever seen, part of the fuel dump by the airstrip was blown up. Next morning I was able to get back to the trenches where it was much safer. Everyone was very happy with all the goodies I had sent back but since I wasn't there on Christmas they opened a package I had received from my Day. There were two bottles of Crown Royal in there and at least the bastards left me one of them. I forgave them later after remembering the time I had in Saigon.
 
A few days later I was in our commo bunker with Chuck Hightower  our "28"and we were monitoring an operation out of CAI CAI where they had crossed the Cambodia border and ran into a much bigger force of Uncle Charles. From what we could tell Ike was the last one alive and he was out of ammo and swinging his weapon at them when he perished. You can read his story in the CMH list. 
 
"Merry Fucking Christmas Ike"

   Bac Si James L Weldon, A-433 My Da, 19/67 -68

 

Christmas 1968 in Ha Thanh

Merry Christmas everyone, 
in 69 the Santa Bou came into A-104  Ha Thanh. 
The crew came up to the team house bringing eggnog, cigars and round eyed nurses. 
I always remembered them as being from Pleiku, but searching on the web, points to Da Nang or Phu Cat I think.  
The yards loved the Santa Bou as he buzzed the camp and if truth be known, we thought it was pretty cool too. 
I actually got to show a couple of nurses around the camp and through the hospital/dispensary.
If I understood it correctly, the AF unit that flew the Caribous paid for all the refreshments and candy etc out of their pocket and flew into several camps. 
It was a damn nice thing to do and at Christmas I always have a warm memory of them in a little corner of my heart.

SSG Michael Fairlie

For photos of "Santa Bou",  visit the C-7A Caribou Association
 or

Click on "Santa Bou" below for direct link

If any of the crew from "Santa Bou" or any of the nurses  who visited the A camps during the Vietnam war 
are reading this.

This story is on behalf of the Force Recon teams working out of Gia-Vuc, Tra Bong and Bato during December of 1965. We had been using these camps to develop strategies to perform deeper and deeper reconnaissance missions. My team, Team 3, 2nd Platoon, was sent to Okinawa with 2/9 (2nd Battalion, 9th Marines) for a long needed rest, replacements and re-supply before making the largest amphibious landing in Vietnam which spearheaded Operation Double Eagle, January, 1966. Several Force Recon teams were working with Special Forces, Nungs and CIDG units out of Gia-Vuc, Tra Bong and Bato. We received a report that three Force Recon Marines were killed, one captured, ten CIDG members (one of which was a Vietnamese Lieutenant) and one Special Forces Sergeant were killed and several other Marines, ARVN's, CIDG, Nungs were wounded and/or MIA. There had been a night ambush by North Vietnamese, and Viet Cong/PAVN units that was the result of the teams staying in the same base camp situated on a prominent hill top for three days. This mistake was extremely costly and led to reevaluating strategies for utilizing combined forces on the same mission.
 
On Christmas Eve, First Platoon was rotating back to the States and we got together for a celebration...however, as  hard as we tried to cover up our feelings the celebration turned into a solemn tribute to our fallen warrior brothers. We had been using the Special Forces camps very successfully up until this time, both learning invaluable skills from the Special Forces soldiers and developing clandestine insertion techniques.
 
Every Christmas since 1965, while family members are engaged in playful activities and the drinks are poured in celebration of the seasons festivities, I quietly dismiss myself and find a darkened corner where I can pray for my warrior brothers...their names don't have to be on a wall, they're forever engraved in my heart, mind, soul and spirit...we'll all meet again on that Parade Field for the Holy Spirit...
 
Respectfully submitted,              Ray Rossi, Team 3, 1st Force Recon


 

1967 Christmas card send by WO P Hart, Raider 37, who flew from Gia Vuc in August 1967. 
See his article in the Vietnam magazine Dec 2011 issue, 
Air Cav Strikes Deep into Song Re Valley by Paul Hart.

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