3:20 a.m. - 2002-01-26
To Craig's sister
In 1967, the powers that be made the decision to move the 2nd and 3rd Brigades of the 101st Airborne Division en masse from Ft. Campbell KY to Vietnam to join the 1st Brigade and to support a build-up of forces in that country. Airborne soldiers from around the country received orders transferring them to the 101st in order to fully man the Division. I was a young soldier serving with the 82nd Airborne Division at Ft. Bragg NC when I got my orders to report to Ft. Campbell and the 101st in late summer of 1967.

I arrived there at about the same time as Craig. We were assigned to the same squad in the 2nd platoon of A. Company, 1/502 Infantry Battalion. We were, in fact, assigned to the same bunk in the 40 man common bay in that company. I got the top bunk, he got the bottom.

Craig was a couple of years older than me. I wouldn�t turn 18 years old until September. I don�t know for sure if it was my age, or the fact that I happened to have the same first name as his girlfriend, Leslie, but he and I took to each other right away. He looked out for me in many ways, as we went through the various stages of training, getting our equipment and standing endless inspections. I can still remember him getting his own equipment squared away and laid out properly and then turning to mine and fussing at me while he helped me straighten my things out. I was never a stickler for details.

Just because we lived and trained together, we found ourselves spending our off-time together as well. I appreciated him for his concern about me. I had little of that since joining the army in Oct. �66. I needed a guy like Craig to show an interest in me and to act as a kind of role model.

At mail call, I almost never got letters. I had no girl at home, and my parents were not much in the letter writing department. Craig would share his letters from Leslie with me. I began to feel as if I knew her. I did in fact meet her after I returned home to the hospital in Denver, but that�s a different part of the story.

His favorite song was �The Letter� by the Boxtops. Even now, whenever I hear that song, I can see him dancing and singing to that song. He was really very taken by it; especially the lines that go �Lonely days are gone, I�m a goin� home, My baby, she wrote me a letter!�

After a short time living in the barracks, we moved into the field, in the wooded hills and farmlands around Ft. Campbell. Each soldier was issued a shelter half.. one half of a pup tent. Craig and I joined our shelter halves together to form our shared tent and new home.

In the daytime, we marched with heavy packs up and down the hills to condition us for combat. We also did helicopter assaults into various pastures, more training on different weapons, such as M-79 grenade launchers, M-60 machine guns and 50 caliber machine guns. For Craig and I, it didn�t seem real. We didn�t have any true idea of what lay ahead for us.

There was a time when we were tapped to drive an army 2 � ton truck full of garbage to the dump. We were dying for some junk food, so we hatched a plan. We hurried to the dump and got rid of the garbage, and then took the truck for a side trip back to the Fort. We stopped at the PX and loaded up on chips, candy bars and soda. We were so hungry for that stuff, we ended up getting carried away and buying a lot more than we could ever eat. So, when we got back to our camp, we stuffed all the booty into our tent. There was barely enough room to get inside to sleep. Then, for the next few days, we ran a land office business, selling cokes and candy for triple what they were worth. Oh, how smart we thought we were.

Another time that stands out for me is when we discovered that a small creek near our tent had crawfish living in it. Neither of us had ever eaten crawfish, but we decided to give it a try. While I was scooping them out of the water, Craig happened to notice the smell of root beer and traced it to a tree; a sassafrass tree. So we gathered some of the roots and took them back, along with our crawfish, to where our fire was kept. We boiled water in a gallon can, added some salt and dropped the live crawfish into the water. At the same time, we boiled those roots in another can of water. It was a glorious feast for us. I don�t imagine it really tasted all that special, but for us it was a feast that we had procured on our own from the land.

I think it was the little escapades like this that drew us together. We were both kids, and both really very innocent and mischevious. We were, of course, part of a larger group, but within that group, we were very close partners. We developed a lot of trust and care for each other. Trust that was only accentuated by our training. We had live fire training, for instance, which required that I run ahead of Craig while he fired live rounds past me until I found cover a few yards ahead of him. Then I would fire while he ran past me and found another position ahead of me. It takes trust and confidence to do that. I had all the faith in the world in his skill, and I was proud that he had the same confidence in me.

Eventually, our training came to an end. Everyone was given leave to go home for a few days before coming back to Ft. Campbell to prepare to ship to Vietnam. Once we returned, things became a bit more serious. Tremendous amounts of supplies and equipment were being packed and strapped onto pallets to fit into the big C-141 jets that would carry us to Vietnam. There was a lot of work to be done. I�ll be honest.. neither Craig or myself were especially eager to do a lot of this heavy work, so we managed to get ourselves assigned as drivers of the little four-wheel drive platforms called mules. We were both excited and nervous about actually going to Vietnam, but we took our minds off of it by having a ball driving those little mules around; loading pallets of equipment on them and them driving them to the staging area.

When the day came for us to leave, we, as drivers, accompanied the mules on a loaded C-141. There were only a few of us on that plane, while the majority of troops flew all together on a number of other airplanes. It was a thrill to be all loaded up and taking off from the airfield at Ft Campbell, but the flight quickly became tedious, as there was little to do and not much to see. We flew over the pole, stopping near Fairbanks for fuel. It was pitch black and about 40 below zero. We must have looked a sight, dressed in tropical combat fatigues, running across the runway to get into a small passenger terminal where we could buy chips and cokes while we waited for the planes to get fueled.

Our next stop was Bien Hoa airbase in Vietnam. There weren�t a ot of windows, so Craig and I were bumping each other to get a look out of one small round window as we landed on the runway. As we made our approach, we could see Vietnamese in their straw hats, working close by. The whole place seemed alien and dangerous, but our landing was uneventful. As I recall,, we spent at least one night in Bien Hoa, although we were both so excited and busy, I doubt that either of us would remember much about it. The one thing I do remember is that we were relived of our driving duties and joined the convoy of trucks that was to move us to Cu Chi, a small base north or northwest of Saigon. I was assigned to ride shotgun on one truck, while Craig pulled similar duty on another. We drove non-stop from Bien Hoa to Cu Chi, but we did go through the heart of Saigon. That was one hustling bustling place, and nerve wracking. None of us had ever been in combat before and we were absoluteley delusional with paranoia that we would be attacked.

Once we were in Cu Chi, we saw our new company area. It consisted of rows of long, narrow huts, which were enclosed about waist high in wood and then screened from there up to the top. There was a mess hall, serving hot meals and cold milk, as well as communal showers with cold water only.

We slept on army cots under mosquito netting. It was actually quite comfortable. Across a dirt street was an outdoor theater, where we could watch John Wayne movies; lying on the grass and drinking warm beer, which we bought for ten cents a can at the little concession stand. For the first few days, it seemed as if this combat stuff might turn out to be not so bad after all. It was only after few days, however, that we suffered out first mortar attack. It happened, coincidentally, as Craig and I were watching one of those movies, just after dark. After some initial confusion, Craig and I were seperated as we both sprinted back across the street to dive into the long deep bunkers alongside out hooch. As I was running, I saw a round hit the street very near to me. As I jumped into the bunker onto the top of the other soldiers already there, I heard another round explode. It hit the edge of the next-door bunker near the end and penetrated into the space before it exploded, killing one and wounding several others.

This was a wake-up call for us. We realized then that this was a real war, and that people wanted to hurt us. I got the message, even at my young age. I think Craig got it even more, and it weighed heavily on him. He turned a lot more serious after that.

The plan for us in Cu Chi called for us to get further training and conditioning in the jungle environment. We were to go on daylight patrols in the area around Cu Chi. At the time, I guess it was thought that this area was relatively secure. Later, it was discovered that Cu Chi had the most extensive and sophisticated tunnel system in the country. The Vietnamese government has preserved some of these to this day, and operates them as a museum open to the public. With that in mind, it�s little wonder that we came under fire on our very first patrol.

We had been burdened with a lot of excess baggage, such as axes and shovels�as well as our full combat gear. It was our company commander�s intent (Capt. Joseph Holland) to toughen us up quickly. Every one of the men was upset by this, and grumbling. It was awful tiring, trying to carry all that stuff in the humid, blistering heat. The thought and the goal in everyone�s mind was simply to get through the day and get back to camp. It was miserable.

As we toiled along a footpath, we passed near a peaceful small village. It was a postcard picture of Vietnam, with a couple of old men working the rice paddies; driving their water buffaloes along in the muddy water. We saw a group of children running into the trees and disappearing in an Asian game of tag. Some of the guys waved to the old men and they waved back, showing their blackened teeth in friendly smiles.

And then, within an hour, we walked into an ambush. The children had been running to raise the alarm and allow the local VC to set up ahead of us and catch us unaware in a blistering hail of automatic weapons fire. The ambush was sprung with two claymore mine explosions, which killed one and wounded another. The point man was killed in the first burst of automatic fire. Craig and I were farther back down the line. We scrambled into a hole, which turned out to be an old tunnel entrance. It was frightening, of course. We could hear the rounds snapping and buzzing just over our heads, and see them striking the trees, tearing out huge chinks of bark and splintered wood, and yet we couldn�t see a thing at which to fire our own weapons. It was frustrating. We dared not leave our protection, even though we could hear the firing and shouting just ahead of us. All we could do was watch around us, on the chance that we might be or become surrounded.

Within a few minutes. Maybe fifteen, we heard the familiar sounds of a huey helicopter coming towards us. We had obviously been pinned by the ambush, and so our commander had called for some air support. Soon, the helicopter roared over us and began making passes at the enemy machine gun position ahead. Even though it was only a single gunship, it was awesome to watch. We could see the right side door gunner; a black soldier with a white helmet. We watched as he leaned far out the door, watching that position while the huey made it turn right over me and Craig and then flew up for another pass while that gunner fired non-stop. A we watched, Craig came up with an idea we had never considered. He told me that just as soon as we got back into the camp, he planned to volunteer to be a door gunner, just like that guy. I was pretty skeptical, until he explained that as door gunners, we would always sleep in a cot, inside a perimeter, and we would always get hot food. No more humping along out here in the jungle, sweating our a**es off.

Explained that way, it seemed like a pretty good idea, and we.. or at least I� started to feel a kind of kinship with that black door gunner. We both watched him for a number of passes, feeling more and more like being door gunners would be the right thing to do. Then, all of a sudden, right before our eyes, the tail rotor on the gunship just kind of disintegrated. The body of the helicopter began to rotate wildly in the opposite direction of the main rotors and the ship went down in a clearing just to our right and ahead of us. When it hit the ground, it exploded in a huge fireball and billowing black smoke. We never spoke of being gunners again. Eventually, the VC simply ended the engagement and disappeared. I can�t say we beat them; we didn�t. They had their way with us and then disappeared before any kind of serious reinforcements or help could arrive. We went over to the crash site, but there was no use. The black gunner still sat in a kind of blackened nest of molten metal and debris. He was not really recognizable as human any more. It must have been a hideous and painful death.

After this initial contact, our unit seemed to get a little smarter. We continued our patrols, minus the extra weight. On most of them, we had little or no contact, but we did get more used to being out there. Soon, we began being used to provide support or reinforcement for other units a little farther afield. We would load into our helicopters and fly to where ever the action was and land, sometimes under fire, to help out the other unit. I�m afraid that most of these have become a blur in my mind. I can remember bits and pieces. An occurrence where we discovered a major tunnel complex. Several times when we went into those tiny villages to look for weapons or other signs of the enemy. And at least two times when we received fire from the villages and ended up burning them down with the tracers from our M-60 automatic rifles. These are the times when I began to be repeatedly traumatized and since he was with me, I believe Craig was too.

An important event for him, and one we talked about was during one of these firefights. In most cases, the kind of combat we were in involves firing your weapon in the direction of the enemy. Seldom do you see your target. You only see smoke, or movement, or sometimes nothing at all. Then, when it�s over, you go and see what happened. When there are bodies, you don�t really know who, exactly shot them. But for everyone, there comes a time when you see your target. I certainly remember mine� and I remember Craig�s.

He had seen a small, bushy tree move, and as he glanced at it, he saw the end of a rifle barrel. Nothing more. And he fired at it instinctively, killing a VC soldier. This had a huge impact on him. It was a personal thing. It bothered him a lot that he had killed someone; but what bothered him even more, as it did me, was that it was so easy to do. Like it didn�t take a lot of thought or soul-searching. It just automatically happened. That upset him a lot.

Soon, back at Cu Chi, we were told to pack our personal things into duffel bags and stack them up outside. We were moving north. I never saw my stuff again. I am guessing Craig�s was lost as well. Almost before we knew it, we were flying on helicopters in formation, high over the landscape; headed north.

Our move north was the start of our real operations in Vietnam. We were used aggressively to seek out and engage the North Vietnamese Army. It was a bad time to be a foot soldier in the 101st Airborne. We were spread out around the province of Quang Tri. We spent some time at LZ Sally and Camp Evans; both small outposts used as bases for a few helicopters or an artillery battery. Mostly we were in the field. Whenever intelligence had information about the location of NVA troops, we would be rushed to the scene for an assault. We had no home.

Back in Cu Chi, even though we had spent two or three nights at a stretch out in the jungle, we could always look forward to going back for a shower and some hot food. Up here in Quang Tri, it was a different story. We lived in the mud full time. We were on the move almost constantly, which meant that we had to create a new night perimeter almost every day. We slept in two hour shifts in whatever hole we had managed to dig. I would roll up in a poncho and do my best to sleep while Craig sat over me, watching the night. All too soon, he would shake me awake and we�d trade places. He would try to sleep while I watched over him. It was exhausting. We were always tired. More than tired, we were at some other level of fatigue. And then in the daytime we either swept through various areas,,, trying to find the NVA or we were flown to a known contact. These were dangerous times. Our fatigue induced a kind of dream like state. For both of us, the fear we had during a firefight began to subside in some crazy way, to be replaced by a sense of hopelessness and despair.

We spoke of the despair. At one point Craig and I agreed that we would not survive our entire year of this. It just seemed impossible. Again, I can�t describe every firefight, or every time one of us, or both, felt that we would die. There are literally too many, and the mental state I was in during each of these was too charged with intense feelings. All I can say is that we talked, and we agreed that we would die. In a way it was a turning point for him and me. It took away a lot of the fear. In some distorted way, we wrote ourselves off and no longer thought about life after war. We gave it up.

At the same time, we became even more protective of each other. Craig did a lot of little things for me. Unmentioned things, like pretending to like lima beans from our C rations, and trading me for scrambled eggs. He didn�t like lima beans.. no one did. He ate them in order to give me the top item in C rations.. eggs and ham. But then, I gave him my pound cake. Which he loved. And somehow, we took care of each other, and in the process, became close in a way that few people can understand. The clich� about �I would take a bullet for you� is true. I would have gladly taken his bullet. Once, as we passed the night in a deep sandy hole, I was startled awake when something fell onto my stomach and then rolled into the little hole at the bottom we dug as a grenade sump. The idea was that if a grenade rolled into the hole, it would not do as much damage when it exploded. I screamed at Craig, trying to push him out of the hole; out of the way. He wasn�t fast enough to suit me. I knew the grenade would go off any instant. I threw myself down; covering the hole with my body so he could escape. It sounds melodramatic, I know. And it turns into a funny story when I tell you that the �grenade� was really an armadillo that had accidentally tumbled in on top of me and rolled into the sump when he closed himself up. But the point is, I didn�t know that at the time. I can say I would have taken his bullet because I know it�s true.

The place where the armadillo fell on top of me had been a marine perimeter. It was a great spot from which to go on our local patrols, and so our officers decided to stay there for several days. It was a bad decision. There was a large force of NVA in the area, and they were looking for us as hard as we were looking for them. On the third night, they found us. I can remember the beginning of the attack, and I can remember afterwards, but I cannot remember the middle of it. I was fortunate to meet our old company XO at a reunion a couple of years ago. He remembered the battle and recounted it to me. It occurred during the Tet offensive of 1968.

It began, and I remember, with a rocket attack on our perimeter after dark.. it was about 9:00 pm. It seemed to be an especially vicious one, with a lot of incoming rounds. And then the poor guys out on the listening posts detonated their claymores and came running in a panic towards the safety (?) of our perimeter. Right after that, gunfire broke out all around the perimeter as we saw NVA coming towards us. I don�t remember much after that, but the XO informs we that we were overrun that night. He said that they broke through 2nd platoon�s area, and that most of 2nd platoon were lost. Craig and I were in 2nd platoon. The XO told me that they had called for air-dropped flares, which lit the outside of the perimeter, but it took them some time to realize that we had been overrun and were receiving fire from inside the area. He said that once they directed the flares to be dropped into the perimeter, they were able to see the NVA soldiers more clearly and turned their fire inwards into the perimeter.

As I say, I cannot remember what all happened. My next memory is of the following morning, when I found myself gathering equipment and some bodies and taking them to be loaded onto helicopters. It was reported by intelligence that they had counted around 250 confirmed NVA killed outside the perimeter. It must have been something awful.

This is one of the two major traumas I had in Vietnam. Two that I know of where I completely blanked out and am unable to recover any memories. Craig was with me that night, and so I am certain that he was traumatized as well. We shared everything. We talked about everything. But we never talked about this. We were perhaps overwhelmed in two senses.. one physical and the other mental.

I was wounded just a few days later. Our company was in pursuit of probably this same regiment of NVA that had attacked us before. We swept through the jungle, under tall trees and broke out on the banks of a river. On our left was an old broken steel bridge. We didn�t try to use the bridge, but instead waded across the river and lined up behind a low bank on the other side. Before us was an area of rice paddies and a small village beyond that. On this side of the bridge was a defunct conrete �pill box� type of bunker. It was round and had small openings through which a gun could be fired. I had been assigned to left flank. That�s sort of a point position, but instead of in front, the left flank stays on the left side and a little bit away from the rest of the company. Craig was a few yards to my right.

Once all the company was across the river and lined up along the bank, we were ordered to move across the rice paddies. Almost immediately, we started getting a lot of fire from the village. It was so heavy that we were forced to drop back to the river bank and seek cover behind it. As we were returning fire in the direction of the village, I noticed mud kicking up close to me and behind the bank. When I looked over to the left, I saw that there was someone firing a machine gun from out of that old bunker. I grabbed Craig and showed him. I asked him to fire his rifle into the bunker opening to make them stay down while I ran over there. He agreed and I took off. I ran over there and stood under the opening, up against the concrete wall and slipped a grenade into the opening. There was a little scuffling inside, then a muffled explosion. I felt I had done a good thing. But we were still under fire from the village. I got back to Craig and we continued firing for a time. Then we heard the order to advance, so we climbed back over the bank and into the paddy. It was at this point that I was shot in the left leg. It hit me in the thigh, shattering my femur. I was knocked down and after a few seconds of shock, I started feeling the pain.

It was Craig who returned to my side and dragged me by the scruff of my collar back to the bank and to relative safety. He always took care of me. Craig started working on my wound to try and stop the bleeding while a medic worked his way over. The medic did what ever he did. I was getting woozy from pain and loss of blood. I felt that I was dying then, and lost track of time to some extent. But I remember that medevac helicopters finally arrived. I remember Craig helping to drag me onto a poncho. That hurt so much I was screaming at him. And then I remember him, along with some others, grabbing the poncho by the corners, hoisting me up on the bank and then climbing up themselves and running with me. Half carrying and half dragging me towards a waiting helicopter. I knew we were still under fire. So did they. They were not careful with me at all. They threw me into the open door so hard that I slid on the floor already greasy from blood almost all the way out the other side. There was a gunner in the door, firing furiously towards the village, but he reached down to grab me with one hand and pulled me back in as he continued firing.

As we lifted off, my head was still hanging out the door. The helicopter was turning away from the village, and as it did, I could see Craig standing alone on the ground. He wasn�t running back towards the bank. He was just standing there, watching me go. It�s the last time I saw him.

I�m honored to have known your brother, and I�m happy for the chance to tell you, all these years later, that he served in some of the most extreme and difficult conditions of the war and did so with courage and honor. Beyond protecting e and saving my life, Craig had more of an impact on my life than anyone has before or since. That includes even my wife of 25 years or my own two children. Craig�s loss left me unable to take the risk of feeling very close with another person.

I grieved for Craig secretly for all these years. I think of him on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death. I think of him when I hear that old song, or eat peach pie, or smell root beer or a pile of boiled crawfish. Even my own name, Leslie, draws my thoughts to him as I remember those shared letters. And when I�ve thought of him, I have always cried.

Today I am not ashamed to say I loved him. I think he loved me too. Had he survived, I believe we would have been the closest of friends for the rest of our lives.

The war changed us both in fundamental ways. If Craig had survived to come home again, I think he would have seemed to be a different person. He would have needed you and the rest of his family to listen to his story.. maybe over and over again, as he tried to digest it all and deal with it mentally. It would have been very difficult for him and for all of you. I like to think that I might have been a part of that. I think we could have once again helped and supported each other by getting together to talk and assimilate our experiences. I know for sure he could have.. and would have.. been a great source of strength and comfort for me. His loss left a great hole in my own heart, as I am sure it did in yours.

I�ll never forget him.

Leslie Smith

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