History Blog Post #6 – 1967 – January & February – The Pond.

         I awoke to another hot, sultry, insect infested day in Viet Nam.  I had been informed by my squad leader, Sgt. Howard, that two squads, one from Moore’s 3rd platoon and one from weapons platoon, will be going out on a long range patrol in two Armored Personnel Carriers, better known as APC’s.  This will be our 1st. mission in country using this type of vehicle, as usually we would be “choppered” out to the bush.  For those un- familiar with this piece of mechanized equipment, it is a large track vehicle, similar to a tank, designed to safely transport troops.  For armament this particular APC had two M-60 machine guns mounted on top.  This vehicle is capable of navigating water as well as land.  Eight soldiers can comfortably fit inside the vehicle and several additional troupes can ride up top sitting behind the gunners.  The APC has a large steel door at the rear, which is operated by the driver, it can be raised or lowered to allow soldiers entrance to, and exit from, the vehicle.  It also has an open roof hatch measuring approx. 30” x 30” as another means of egress.  The drawbacks associated with this piece of equipment is the thin 1” aluminum body armor which can be penetrated with armor piercing bullets and the troupes riding inside, should the vehicle hit a land mine the percussion created by the detonation would cause serious injury or death.

	Stateside we had very little training using the APC’s, just an introductory training session one time to acquaint us with its capabilities.  What we did learn is that they drove on land and traversed on water.  So when the rare occasion occurred that we, the “grunt,” had an opportunity to ride rather than “hump” we jumped at the chance.

	Third platoon squad leader, Sgt. Howard, loaded his squad on the 1st. APC and a squad from weapons platoon loaded into the 2nd. APC.  Sgt. Howard’s squad consisted of me, Fahey, Harmon, Harley, Fischer, Pittman, DeMoss, Levesque and Lt. Martin.  I was the last to get inside and grabbed a seat near the rear door-ramp.  That would make me one of the first out upon reaching the village.  Inside with me were Harley, Fahey, Levesque and Pitman, the rest of the squad rode up top.  The air inside the compartment was hot and stifling, a mixture of sweat, mosquito repellent and diesel exhaust.  The mechanical monsters rumbled past tiny villages and through rice paddies until it came upon a pond about 200 ft. across.

	 Before I continue I feel it is important to describe how an infantryman is dressed and what equipment he carries on his person when going on patrol to somewhat help you to understand the difficulties he would encounter trying to get through a 30” scuttle hole, swim 20 feet to the surface and then another 30 feet or so to the safety of shore, should the need present itself. 

	The typical combat dress would be a fatigue shirt and trousers.  The trousers would be bloused in the jungle boots.  Along with your weapon, in my case (carried an M-16, you would have on the web suspenders  attached to the web belt which was capable of carrying four magazine pouches, one or two canteens of water, four hand grenades and at least two belts of ammo for the M-60 machine gun.  The web belt would be securely fastened around your waist, offering some comfort, to prevent it from riding up and down on your hips when “humping.” 

	 As these machines are amphibious, crossing the pond made perfect sense as it would save precious time in reaching our objective.  The APC I was in entered the water first. “Upon entering the pond the nose of the vehicle pitched downward allowing several inches of water to enter the compartment.  Alarmed and confused we all jumped to our feet not knowing what to expect next.  The APC leveled out and we regained our composure and sat back down.  We all thought, due to our minimal experience with this type of vehicle, that this was normal.  It was not. 

	 Within seconds it took a nosedive and sank to the bottom of the pond, approx. 20 plus feet in depth.  Utter panic at the thought of being entombed in this steel coffin kicked in our adrenalin.  As everyone else inside scrambled towards the 30” escape hatch in the ceiling, and I was the furthest away, I foolishly tried to exit the rear steel ramp door, which unfortunately can only be opened by the driver.  As he had his hands full at the moment my attempt was in vain.  Realizing my futility I turned toward the front of the APC searching with my eyes for the escape hatch.  Water flowed in, filling the small compartment, and I noticed I was alone.  The others had made it out.  Within seconds the inside of the compartment was flooded and pitch black.  There was absolutely no sound and it became a very scary and lonely place to be.  I searched the ceiling of the beast with my fingers moving slowly forward desperately searching for that scuttle.  My lungs felt like they were going to burst, my air had run out and I started to take in water.”  I thought “I have no idea where the location of the scuttle is.  Is it behind me?  Did I pass it?  I have no air left, it's futile to try anymore.”  At that moment I relaxed and my body descended in the “murky” water settling  on the bench.  “Strangely, I’m not afraid. I feel no pain, no panic, no fear.”  In fact I experienced an eerie calm.  Thoughts of family and home rushed through my mind, as I felt at peace.  I was ready.

	It was then, while sitting on the beasts bench I caught a glimpse of light reflecting downward.  I looked up and by the Grace of God I had settled directly under the escape hatch.  “To this day,” I would later recall, “I know Divine Intervention played a role in saving me, but for what purpose I don’t know.”  I pushed myself upward through the scuttle and swam for the surface and life giving air.  “When I broke water and gasped air, I then tried to remove my web belt and get rid of the extra weight, but it was too tight and I couldn’t unfasten it.”  Sgt. Howard, my squad leader, was directly to my left, not more than ten to fifteen feet away.  

	Sgt. Howard was a striking man from Texas, whose big smile could light up a room.  He was dedicated to and protective of his men, a true leader who was liked and respected by all who knew him.  The problem was that he was 6’2” tall and around 225 lbs. Although he was extremely muscular with the body of an athlete, he couldn’t swim.

        Sgt. Howard’s arms were flailing in the water and he was screaming for help.  “I can’t swim, help me,” over and over again.  My eyes locked with Sgt. Howard’s for what seemed an eternity.  I could see the fear and hopelessness in his eyes.  I feel he’s looking at me, and only me, to save him.  To this day I feel guilt at not attempting to save the Sgt., but weighing 140 lbs. exhausted from the escape and weighed down with wet gear, I knew it would be suicide as Sgt. Howard would have overpowered me out of panic and we both would have drowned.  I headed for the shore leaving the Sergeant behind.  I made it to about 15 feet from shore but the water was still over my head, which was bobbing under then resurfacing, and standing several feet from shore stood Jimmy Blanchard calling to me “ come on McCann, swim, swim.”  Not having the strength to make it the few extra feet and taking in water, out of desperation, screamed to Blanch “god-damn it Blanch get the hell out here and get me.”  To which Blanchard reacted. “He grabbed my hand and dragged me to shore.”  Blanch was to die within a month, victim of a sniper's bullet. 

	Once on shore, I removed the heavy web belt and scanned the pond looking for Howard, but he was gone.  I ran around the pond to the 2nd. APC which had not entered the water, there was much confusion with soldiers screaming and moving in all directions trying to get men out of the water.  When I reached the APC I saw Fischer, the RTO, being dragged up on shore and laid on his back.  He was unconscious and not breathing.  At times, even during tragedy you may spot a hint of levity.  I noticed Fischer had removed his false teeth and had them firmly gripped in his right hand.  “What an odd thing to notice under the circumstances,” I thought. 

	 A trouper from the armored unit was straddling Fischer’s waist but just sat there and did nothing.  I yelled to the soldier to “give him artificial respiration.”   When he answered he didn’t know how, I yelled to him “you f__ing  a__hole, get the f___ off him.” I pulled him off, jumped on Fischer and administered CPR.  He spit up water, started to breathe and the color slowly returned to his face. 

	 When Fischer returned to the unit, upon his release from the hospital, he shared with me his near death experience.  ” I went into the water when the APC went down and the weight of the radio prevented me from surfacing.  I struggled with the radio harness straps trying to get them off my shoulders.  The weight was pulling me down it was dark as a bastard.”  Fischer recalled.  “I managed to free my right arm from the harness but by now I was getting weak and running out of air.  Able to free myself from the left shoulder harness, I felt a sigh of relief knowing I was now free from my radio and could swim to the top.  Just then I felt a heavy tug on my left side, the fucking thing caught on my canteen and I began to sink even deeper.   I reached around and tried to release it.  With my efforts having failed, I knew I wasn’t getting out of here, not alive anyway.  I swallowed water and began to lose consciousness.  I felt an inner peace as flashbacks of my family and home raced through my mind. It was then I saw the “light.”  The next thing I remember was regaining consciousness on the shore.  How I got there I don’t have a clue.”  The common thread which Fischer and me shared is during our near death drowning we both experienced the same thoughts, emotions and feelings.

	I jumped back in the pond to look for Sgt. Howard but it was too late.  Lt. Martin and then Harley were pulled from the pond, they didn’t look too good.  A dust off was called in and within a short time Fischer, Lt. Martin and Harley were being evacuated to the hospital.  We later learned that in addition to Howard and Harmon, two of the armored crew were missing and presumed dead.  Four in total.

        Looking around I thought “this whole thing is surreal, I just want to wake up from this nightmare.”  The facts are, yes, this is a nightmare, but he wouldn’t be waking up from it any time soon.  A security perimeter was set up around the area while they retrieved the sunken APC from the pond.  Weapons and some gear were all that they found inside the armored vehicle.  

	While on security I reflected back on the events of the day and cold shivers ran through his body as the reality of almost dying came over me.  A host of emotions consumed me.  A great sadness at the loss of my comrades, remorse at feeling glad I survived when they didn’t, better known as survivors guilt, also guilt for not trying to save Sgt. Howard.  These feelings would soon pass as the business of war continued.  Although the feelings passed it was only a temporary reprieve as they would be stored in my subconscious, like some “dark passenger” patiently awaiting his trip back to “the World” as a stowaway in my mind. My dark passenger” would re-appear, in the World, at a time of his choosing.

	Around 1400 hours (2:00p.m.) our C.O. ordered Fahey, Pittman, DeMoss and me to board an APC and head back to the firebase.  I remember the ride seemed to take an eternity.  The air was hot, thick and stifling.  “We were very quiet, there was no conversation the only audible sound was the monotonous drone of the machines engine.”  I knew that all on board, including myself, were just trying to process the events of the day.

	It is now 1500 hours (3:00 p.m.) . I and the others are back at the firebase and word just came down that they have not yet recovered the bodies.  The mood amongst the troupes is very somber as Sgt. Howard and Harmon are the first KIA casualties in the 3rd. platoon.  Reality sets in “we are in a war and we may very well die over here.  I fear many dark days ahead.”