Run For Life
19 April 2007
Charles McDonald

By November 1965, General Vo Nguyen Giap's regular North Vietnamese Army divisions had begun a bloody testing of the American divisions on the battlefield, and large numbers of American troops were becoming casualties. Major unit commanders needed to know what was outside the range of influence of their heaviest guns. As in every war, secret long-range patrols were the answer.
In December 1965, my home was the 5th Special Forces Group long-range reconnaissance unit known as Delta Project. Our four-man team was given an area recon mission to search for enemy activity. No information was available on our target area.

After completing our mission preparation, the team loaded aboard a Huey the next afternoon and flew to the AO. It was late in the day as we approached our area and made a false insertion, before turning north to our actual LZ. The sun had dropped behind the mountains as we neared our insertion point, now covered in deep shadows. The chopper had flared and hovered to far out in the field, leaving us with a long run to the safety of the darkening forest. We jumped into the tall grass and sprinted for the tree line.

We found a slick, well-worn trail skirting the wood line. Dropping to the ground on line, we lay watching and listening. As the chopper departed, silence settled over us, reminding us just how alone we really were. The team was up and running again, crossing the trail as one.

There was absolute silence in the forest. It would offer us protection until dawn. We crawled into a thicket on our hands and knees until the brush opened up inside. It was a well-drained, level spot where a layer of dead, dry leaves had drifted over the damp, decomposing layer that normally covered the ground. After we set up in our RON, the team leader called the C & C (command and control) ship and whispered that we were all clear. With the C&C ship returning to base, we were on our own until 0730 hours, the time for our next sitrep – unless trouble developed during the night.

We cleared an area large enough for the four of us, removing any leaves or sticks that would make noise if we had to move around during the night. There would be no eating or smoking. To do so would only deaden our senses and give off odors that could betray us to the enemy. We sat back, quietly listening and watching our backtrail. If the enemy came, it would be from that direction. Our survival depended on our alertness.

The Search
A warm, gentle breeze blew after dark. It was refreshing. I closed my eyes, lifted my head and took a deep breath. I sniffed the damp soil, decaying vegetation and pungent leaf mold. The night was our friend now. Having never smoked, I was more sensitive to odors than most. Sound carries well in the jungle. With our vision impaired by darkness, it would be our hearing and sense of smell that would alert us to the presence of intruders.

Two hours had passed since we established our RON. We were only 300 metres from our insertion point. My hunter’s sixth sense suddenly came alive. Something was wrong! There was none of usual night sounds. Where were the crickets and other insects? Everything was deadly quiet. We were in danger, and we knew it. The faint barking of a solitary animal in the distance suddenly broke the silence. It was probably only the diminutive barking deer that lived in the forests of Southeast Asia. A short time later, we heard several more animals, a little closer this time. I realized that the sound was dogs barking. The moon was up now, and we had previously decided not to travel with the moon unless we had no choice.

I reached out and grabbed Bell’s shoulder, gently but firmly. Leaning over slowly, I whispered that we were going to have company before long. Those dogs barking in the distance meant that men were up and moving around in some nearby village or encampment. A single dog barking didn’t mean much – maybe somebody stepping outside to take a leak. But all the dogs in the neighbourhood barking as they were doing now meant that a lot of people were up and moving. Maybe they were made nervous by the sound of our helicopter in the area earlier! What ever it was that had alerted them would cause them to search the area before much longer.

Bell listened for a few more seconds before putting his lips to my ear, “I don’t like the sound of that either, but I hope you’re wrong.”

It was nearly 2200 hours, and it had been quite awhile since we had heard the dogs barking. We were becoming tense and a little anxious. About an hour later, we detected a slight rustling coming from the trail. Our heads slowly pivoted in that direction. The sound came from the west, the direction of the barking dogs, and it was growing louder. Then we saw a pinpoint beam of light sweeping back and forth across the tail. They were looking for us. Thank God the jungle was dry and there was no dew on the ground to leave sign of our passing. We began to hear men talking in hushed tones and the occasional sounds of metal striking metal. Now we knew for certain – the enemy was aware of our insertion.

Bell reached out and touched every man on the team, alerting and assuring him that he was not alone. He knew it would help forestall the panic that was building in each of us. We were new with Bell, and, as far as he was concerned, untested. The hunters had become the hunted.

It was nearly midnight, and we had not heard the enemy in awhile. A FAC (forward air controller) was on standby alert at some distant air base, but he wouldn’t be on-station until after first light. Then he would circle off in the distance in case we needed him. It was always comforting to know he was out there, but then that didn’t help us now.

Discovered
Later in the night, we again heard the dull thuds of men walking the trail between us and the clearing. They began randomly firing rounds into the surrounding jungle about 15 seconds apart. They were close enough that we could see the muzzle flashes of their weapons. Bell leaned close and whispered. “They’re trying to make us give away our position.”

The movement of the enemy soldiers through our area was erratic. The seemed unsure of where we were. It was at least a platoon-sized element, broken into small groups. They hadn’t worked up enough courage to come into the thick stuff after us. Daylight would give them the courage. We decided for the moment to remain in place. Moving at night could give our position away, and we were a long way from help.

In the early hours of the morning, I sensed Bell stiffen. I reached over and gently but firmly squeezed his leg. “You awake?” I whispered. Bell answered quickly, “I heard it, too. We got visitors again on the trail.” I felt sick.

Time to Move
The moon had set, and the darkest hour of the night had come and gone. It was now Before Morning Nautical Twilight or BMNT, the time when you are first able to see to your immediate front, the time we had dreaded through the night. There was just a hint of a grey predawn light coming from the east. We knew the enemy soldiers had not returned the way they had come; we could only assume they had checkerboarded off the area and were waiting for us to move. If we didn’t flush, it would only be a matter of time before they would sweep the area for us.

I could now make out the face of each man on the team, and I knew the fear I saw was only the reflection of my own. There was also an anxiousness that came from the realization that we had to move…wanted to move. To stay was to be discovered, and to be discovered was to die. We had survived the night, now we would have to survive the day.

My mouth was dry, my hands sweaty. Fearing dehydration, I swallowed a couple of salt tablets, and drank a little water from my canteen. There would be no ti