FIRST KILL!
I arrived in the Republic of Vietnam in July of 1968 at the same time Col. George S.
Patton took command of the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment. Col. Patton is the son of
one of our countries most famous war heroes. I had never heard of the Blackhorse.
But, I was glad to know that I was going to an armored unit since I had enlisted to be a
tank crewman.
I had been a military brat most of my life. My father was a tanker in the Army before he made the switch to the Air Force. I suppose that is why I signed up to be a tanker. Another reason is that I had a low lottery number, I was not in school and was a breath away from being drafted. But the most compelling reason was the pitch given by the army recruiter which made perfect sense to an eighteen year old. “Vietnam is full of rice paddies, and those tanks weigh about 52 tons. Tanks can’t move in rice paddies and will sink. You’ll go to armor training at Ft. Knox and then probably to Ft. Hood or Germany. Germany, that’s some good duty.” Well, I did get to Germany - immediately after Vietnam. What was more amazing is that I met another Blackhorse trooper from my home town that heard the same story from this recruiter. We made ourselves a promise, we would pay the recruiter a visit if we made it home.
I was very patriotic and related to the first part of the movie “Born on the Fourth of July”, where the young Tom Cruse was playing army with his childhood friends. I did that a lot with the military surplus stuff my dad brought home, helmet liner, web gear and 45 caliber holster. A Daisey lever action BB gun. At age seven, I was a straight shooter. By the time I was twelve, my grandfather had given me a 22 rifle and 410 gauge shotgun. My passion was hunting and shooting. My childhood buddy was so confident, we would entertain the other kids, as he would hold a firewood chip between his fingers and I would send it flying with a BB. It was only natural that I qualified as expert throughout my military weapons training except with the cantankerous caliber 45 pistol which had a mind and direction of its own.
When I reached the Blackhorse Base Camp, I was assigned to 3rd Squadron Headquarters, Transportation. “But I enlisted for tanks,” I told the clerk. “The army needs some truck drivers today and you are it”, he replied without looking up. My protest that I had never driven a truck before fell on deaf ears. I could not believe what I was happening.
After the in-country orientation, I was assigned to drive a fuel truck. Well, anyone that went to Vietnam knows that the rear area guys were threatened with being sent to the field when they screwed up. I sat out to be the best screw up I could be. To demonstrate that I was not worthy to be in the rear. Not wishing to loose a stripe or end up in the stockade required a lot of thought and restraint. As it happened, I could not screw up fast enough to achieve my goal. But that’s another story.
3rd Squadron headquarters was at Long Binh, when I spotted a worn out M-548 that had been towed to the back of the maintenance area. That was a thin skinned truck looking vehicle with no armor, glass windshield, canvas roof and a cal 50 Browning anti aircraft machine-gun ring mount above the cab. And guess what else it had? Full tracks. I asked one of the mechanics what the story was. He said it belonged to Transportation Section. Nobody wanted to be on the crew because it was not armored and the guy on the 50 cal had no protection. Kind of a like sitting on top of a basketball goal in the middle of a firefight. This was my chance to get out to the field. It wasn’t an M-48 tank, but it did have tracks and a 50. I always wondered what the sarge thought after I convinced him that I should drive it. After all, I was a tanker, tanks have tracks. Those real truck drivers can’t handle anything with tracks. As if they wanted to.
As soon as the 548 was repaired I was off to the field attached to K-Troop. As we left Blackhorse base camp I fell into the convoy of ACAV’s (Armored Cavalry Assault Vehicles) behind the M-578 which was a tracked wrecker. I have seen several pictures in military history books that look just like this vehicle I followed. Rolls of concertina wire strapped on. It is almost like I was the one who snapped the photo. I seemed to be the only volunteer to man this vehicle so someone was detailed to ride up on the 50 cal. For the next few months that would be the case. Someone different would be detailed to man the 50 cal.
It was the dry season and the convoy kicked up dust as we rolled down the path. I was carefully placing my tracks exactly where those who went before me had made impressions. The consequence of not tracking would be hitting a mine. A piece of real estate was considered safe only after someone had rolled over that spot. But, one half inch either side could prove deadly.
I was carrying a cargo of two 500 gallon rubber fuel bladders and ammo. Fuel bladders - my mind ran images of what the result would be if a well placed rocket propelled grenade were to hit one of those unprotected containers. Would I have time to bale out before the flames reached the crew compartment? Then, once out, would I have had the time and presence of mind to grab my M-16?
After several hours we circled the wagons in a clearing surrounded by thick jungle. All guns aimed out at the tree line. The burnt out remains of a helicopter lay in the perimeter. You wondered the fate of the occupants. There were areas of elephant grass that was about five feet tall. So thick you could be three feet away and not see the other person. The word spread that we were part of a combined operation with other units. The other units completely encircled us and were closing the circle each day. We were the bulls eye, or ground zero. The plan being to close the circle and push the enemy to the center where we would be waiting.
I immediately volunteered to recon the tree line and loaded up some grenades and lots of ammo. Three of us walked out of the perimeter toward the tree line. This was the first jungle I had experienced. It was thick with underbrush and was just like some of the Texas country where I hunted as a kid. It wasn’t at all like the tropical jungle I saw in the Tarzan movies. I flipped the selector switch of my M-16 to full auto as we penetrated the tree line. After about twenty feet we turned to run parallel. We continued to move farther from our point of entry. I hoped our guys on the other side of the perimeter that didn’t see us leave wouldn’t be surprised if they got a glimpse of something moving in the trees and hastily open fire.
I was walking point just as I had played soldier as a child. My finger on the trigger and 18 rounds in the magazine. It was so thick you lost sight of the others if you got a few steps ahead. There was just no way you could move through this stuff quietly. Charles would have to be deaf not to hear us coming. I was beginning to get a little more relaxed. Piece of cake. Nothing out here, just a walk in the woods. Then about four feet to my lower right the brush suddenly moved. I instantly dropped to a crouching position as I swung my barrel and pulled and held the trigger sweeping the brush full auto with half a clip and. It was quiet except for the ringing in my ears. And I listened and watched for more movement. Waiting for all hell to break loose.
Again the thought crossed my mind, Do our guys know we are out here? I looked back to see the other two on the ground and ready. They had not fired and didn’t know why I had. We listened and watched some more. Nothing. I whispered that something moved in the brush and pointed the direction. I slowly stood and began to walk in the direction I had fired while they covered. I searched for a moment. Nothing. It was right next to me when I opened up. Had I imagined it? Could I have missed? We all began to search. Then came a laugh. I turned around to see a huge black crow like bird dangling from the hand of my seasoned comrade. It had long claws like a hawk. I had never seen anything like it. So this was to be my first kill!
Eric “Killer” Newton
Note: This "story" at first seemed not to belong on
the Tales from Nam page as it is a letter from Rick Belcher to Ron Pongratz who had
contacted this site asking if anyone had know his brother Ron. Rick saw the posting and
responded with this letter. Since it is a story of one of our brothers, and that of a
genuine hero it seemed only fitting that it be placed here for all to read. Both Rick and
Ron have given permission for this posting.
Dear Henry,
28 may 1998
I just returned from Thailand and was reading the "Blackhorse" Newsletter when I happened on your request for information concerning your brother's fate in Vietnam. I am privileged to say I was Ron's Track Commander during the period you referenced and in the following paragraphs will attempt to the best of my ability to reconstruct for you what happened.
Ron was the driver of an Armored Cavalry Assault Vehicle (ACAV) in 2nd Platoon, Troop A, 1st Squadron, of the 11th ACR. I don't remember him being wounded on April 13, but that is sort of irrelevant because I was wounded and "dusted off" to an Army hospital in Dau Tien, Vietnam. I do remember this though; we were going into contact (attacking) a heavily fortified bunker complex sometime around 2 o'clock in the afternoon on that date. It was our first "firefight" in quite awhile and we were assigned to support the 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile) in what was then referred to as War Zone "c". As we were approaching our "jump off" position, one of our gunners, George Rodriquez, noticed some North Vietnamese soldiers watching us as we maneuvered into position to support the infantrymen of the 1st Cav. Rodriquez tapped me on the shoulder to point out their position and I relayed to Ron instructions to turn towards them so we could engage with all of our weapons. Ron did this and we opened fire. In the ensuing melee, I was hit by shrapnel in the left cheek and knocked to the floor of the ACAV. The next thing I knew, Ron was at my side and helping bandage my face.
We proceeded on and got into one hell of a fight.....the bottom line being that we lost seven killed and a whole bunch wounded.... Probably where you heard about Ron. I don't know how he got wounded, because like I said earlier, I got medevaced to a hospital. I do know this though; when I returned to the field the next day, Ron was there as our driver.
Henry, I need to tell you this in retrospect. This operation was serious
business. We moved from a place called "Cu Chi" into this area by road
during the day and kept pressing forward until long into the night. All of a sudden
this guy walks out onto the "trail" we were following and he turns out to be an
infantry major carrying a full rucksack and weapon.....something we had never seen before
(officers didn't do that sort of thing.... move around at night, by themselves, carrying a
full field pack). At any rate, he guided us to our position for operations to begin
on 13 April 1969. We were all "scared" shitless. We knew we were
going into contact the next day so two of my fellow Track Commanders came over to Ron's
and my ACAV that night to confer about the upcoming operation. Their names were
Terry Jones and Bruce
Johnson...both killed in action the next morning. Anyway, we drank a half bottle of
Crown Royal and then went to sleep. Like I said, it was probably the most intense
fight I experienced in my time in Vietnam.... We lost a bunch of people and couldn't find
any North Vietnamese dead. This may sound a bit jumbled as I tell it, but again, my
recollection of events are somewhat sketchy to this point.
Anyway, we pushed on after the 13th of April with intermittent contact every day until April 18, 1969 when we started the day following a very fresh "bicycle" path. Around 10 o'clock in the morning a pair of helicopters were fired upon to our front. One went down in a ball of flames. We continued on and swung to the left. A tank about three ACAVS in front of us suddenly was engaged by the North Vietnamese with rocket propelled grenades, which knocked out the tank, killing the driver and Track Commander. The gunner and loader managed to get out and jump on one of our ACAVS. We were in the middle of a battalion sized (about 750 men) bunker complex, and they were waiting for us!! The only way to get at them was to dismount our ACAVS and assault them on foot using covering fire from our machine guns for protection to the guys on the ground, and then for those guys to throw hand grenades into the bunker openings. Once that was done our guys (Ron amongst them) would rush into the bunker and kill any remaining survivors with pistols. What I'm trying to say henry is that Ron did one hell of a job that day in clearing bunkers. It was around 3 o'clock that afternoon that we finally got control of the battle and Ron returned to our ACAV. We were moving towards a landing zone we had made to evacuate our wounded and Ron was again back at the controls and driving us to secure the site.
We had stopped and were watching one of our friends (Andy Anderson) getting carried to a helicopter (he had sustained wounds to both of his legs doing the same thing Ron had been doing all day) and was laughing that he had the "million dollar wounds" that would get him back to the States. Ron gave him the "thumbs up" and we were all laughing when Ron got shot by a sniper. We killed the sniper and immediately put Ron on one of the evacuation helicopters.....we later learned that he died of his wounds that night.
I know this is a very terse treatment of what happened to your brother, but I felt that you probably wanted to know that he was killed in action as a hero.... Not that he "later died on April 18th 1969." He, along with a guy named "Tex' were key in our success that day. Had it not been for their willingness to meet face - to - face with the North Vietnamese, a lot of us wouldn't be around today. Although I was the Track Commander, Ron taught me many things that would help save my life in future operations. He was our demolitions man and showed me how to set up explosives, trip flares, detonations techniques, etc., all of which made my crew and me to survive 1969 and 1970.
Henry, I guess the only thing of comfort (and small comfort it is) that I can share with you is that we renamed our ACAV for what Ron wanted it to be called....."Texas Outlaw". It became sort of infamous later on in the battles (firefights) that came throughout May and into June. We lost (under my command) two more ACAVS, but we always renamed them "Texas Outlaw" in honor of your brother. I hope this e-mail answered your query about Ron.....your brother was a true hero among a lot of heroes and you should be proud!!
We have reunions from time to time and if you ever feel the desire to attend, you have a place with "A" Troop.
Allons,
Rick Belcher
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