Tally Ho Green: Sgt. Weitzel´s Big Test

Introduction By Allen Weitzel

It took me nearly 40 years to convince my brother, Warren Weitzel, that he owed it to his only son, Timothy, to capture the events of his two years as a combat soldier during the Vietnam conflict. Warren was working at Frontier Village Amusement park in San Jose, California, as the Operations Manager, when he was drafted into the Army in 1966. He had no idea what adventures were ahead. He quickly learned that he was to receive an infantry assignment, at a time when the battle in Southeast Asia was heating up. In this far eastern world, Sergeant Weitzel learned to fight and survive the jungle, the tropical varmints, as well as the enemy. After Warren returned the states and was honorably discharged, he seldom talked about his combat experiences. He would tease me from time to time with short tales of some lighthearted events, but would never share his complete story. Before our parents passed away, Warren and I had learned from mom and dad that we might have had a family relative in the Civil War, and some of the furniture we now owned belonged to the family of General Robert E. Lee – another story for another time. We had always postponed talking to mom and dad at any length and clearing up this piece of family history. Both parents passed away before Warren and I learned the truth about this family heritage and mystery. About 4 years ago, armed with this life lesson of history lost, I began reminding my brother of this fact and that he needed to capture his "story," so his son would not wonder about it if Warren should depart before is time. I did such a good job convincing my brother to relive his story that the text turn into a manuscript of 55 chapters, with some consideration toward a self-published volume down the road. To allow American Chronicle readers to get a small glimpse into the life of a "ground pounder" from that unique conflict, here, in his own words is a small portion from "Tally Ho Green;" Warren P. Weitzel´s life as a Vietnam combat soldier, and a CIB recipient. At the time of this adventure, Warren was already a battle-tested combat veteran.

An Army Infantry Lesson

There is a misconception that everyone in the military is in a combat unit. It is true that everyone goes through some sort of basic training, but upon graduation, many service personnel go into specialized units, such as cooks, maintenance, personnel, medical, transportation, quartermaster, logistics, communications, and many more. These people may never hold a rifle, or are remotely involved with combatant disciplines, after basic training. For every one (1) person in a combat unit (infantry, artillery, and armor--tanks), there are nine (9) more individuals in some sort of support role. It is true—even in time of war, such as in Vietnam—only a small percentage of soldiers ever see any sort of combat. Of the 560,000 troops in Vietnam at the height of the Vietnam War in 1967, only 60,000 of those G.I.s were in combat units. Even units such as artillery, may be removed from the front lines, and may never face enemy fire. Combat units (infantry, armor, or artillery) do get special recognition on their uniform. In the Army, such unit personnel will wear color-identifying ascots (light blue for infantry, red for armor, and yellow for artillery) to identify them as combat soldiers. In addition, the infantry soldier who has seen actual combat (30 or more days of engagement with an enemy from a hostile force) proudly wears the Combat Infantry Badge. Ribbons and awards are worn on the dress uniform (Class A or B dress) in the ranking from the lowest award/ decoration on the bottom to the highest on the top. This colorful array of ribbons is called "fruit salad." You will always see the C.I.B. worn on the very top of the collection of ribbons.

Sgt. Weitzel´s Big Test

As the Junction City operation wound down, we moved south into the Mekong Delta region. We were going to help the Riverine Units. The 9th Division had three separate bases in Vietnam: Dong Tam, Tan An, and the main base at Camp Bearcat. The Dong Tam base was a Riverine Unit in the South Delta region. They used brown watercraft as a means of travel rather than helicopters like those that we did. A Riverine Unit will travel in shallow draft boats into the many rivers and streams in the delta, and the troops will disembark and wade through the marshy countryside trying to make contact with Charlie. About mid-tour, I was ordered to report for duty to the southern Riverine Unit, but for some unknown reason my orders were cancelled and I stayed with the 4th Battalion. That was fine with me. It was nearing the end of June, 1967, and we had been "in country" for six months. We had just gotten a new platoon Lieutenant, Lt. Walker, who was just out of West Point. I remember the day he arrived to our unit, in freshly starched fatigues—clean as a whistle. Here we were, bloodied, muddied, and deeply tanned from the tropical sun; he was fair-skinned. Lt. Walker was a nice guy, about my age, 23, but green. He was textbook smart—very—and I was an experienced, battle-hardened jungle warrior. We bonded. He was very respectful of our experience, even when it went contrary to his leadership training. I remember one of the first things one of the guys told the young Lieutenant to do was lose those pretty, gold, Lieutenant bars on his helmet and collar. Charlie would love to have those in his gun sights. The Lieutenant quickly complied. Lt. Walker listened to his men, respected their wisdom, and set about learning how a real war was to be fought. A few days after he joined us, I was called to the C.P. (Command Post). We had just set up a night perimeter with Claymore Mines, trip flares, and fields of fire. A call to the C.P. usually meant a recon patrol or night ambush; I was hoping for the former. The Lieutenant told me he had a mission for me. "We need to secure a landing zone for a new artillery base to be established some 9,000 meters (five miles) from this location. The spearhead contingent will be helicoptered in at 0530 hours, followed at 0600 by an airlift of 88s and 105s. You are to take your squad, avoid all contact, and reach the LZ by 0500 and secure it. There will be no available artillery cover. You will have a radioman so you can communicate with the incoming choppers, but there is to be no other radio contact. Get your guys ready. We will alert the line that there is an outbound unit, and you will leave through Delta sector. Second and first squads will take over your vacated positions. Any questions?" "No, sir!" "Okay, here is a map and the L.Z. location. This is a critical mission. Good luck, now move ´em out." Now, 9,000 meters (5 miles) is a long walk even in daylight hours. On flat, level terrain, with fully loaded gear it would be a push, but doing a night patrol, going through rice paddles, staying off roads, avoiding villages, and the V.C. was going to be a challenge. Everyone, including me, was tired. I went back to the squad and told them the news; it was not well received, but they quickly fell into line. I checked the map and looked for the best route. with gear secure, radio ready, and map in hand we started out through the cleared field of fire opening in the perimeter. Many other squads were looking at us, and they were glad they did not receive this assignment. The distance on the map did not look far, but believe me this assignment was not going to be any walk-in-the-park. As we moved through the lines, I wondered what challenges we would face for the next seven hours. This was a big challenge for me. I had taken the guys on night recons—500-700 meters—and set up night ambushes, but never this distance without serious support. The idea of no artillery availability was worrisome. This was my big test. Would the guys let me down? Would I make some fatal mistake? Would I let the Lieutenant and C.O. (Commanding Officer) down? Who in the hell thought up this assignment? Why me? Eleven tired guys, hours away from any meaningful support, fumbling their way through hostile territory, and hoping to reach a mark on a map using just compass readings, counting steps, and the skills of a simple-minded Sergeant with an amusement park background. Talk about pressure! Okay Weitzel, you wanted to lead. Be careful what you wish for. The guys did well. I did not have to worry about them. It was me that I was concerned about. Dog tired, leading the way, trying to hold the whole thing together. At one point, about midnight, we nearly ran into a bunch of V.C. crossing a rice paddy. They heard us, and for whatever reason, chose to disappear. Whew, we lucked out on that one. I just about pissed in my pants. We had no more encounters, except for a couple of water buffalo humping each other in the bushes. The terrain was brutal. The packs (rucksacks) got heavier and heavier, and our feet slower and slower. We pushed on without complaints. I know the guys were more tired than I was, but they kept moving. What else could we do? We had a mission, and once we were past the point of no return (that never entered our minds), we had to move forward. Somehow, we reached our destination about 0515, and secured the L.Z. The sun was coming up over the jungle canopy. The radio crackled and we heard the inbound choppers calling for I.D. and marking smoke (grenades). We tossed several smokes and waited as 26 Huey helicopters came swooping into the area carrying our company—Charlie. They immediately took up a defensive perimeter, and a few minutes later came the artillery choppers slinging 88s and 105s from their underbellies. Lt. Walker congratulated and thanked the squad for a successful mission. Not only did we look good, but also he had passed his first leadership assignment. His platoon/squad had not let him (or the Company Commander) down. We tried to rest/sleep for the next few hours, but all the noise, activity, and movement made it nearly impossible. Those artillery guys were sighting and test firing their big guns—loud! About 5 hours later, in came the tank mounted 155 mm big guns. By afternoon, our company was on the move again, this time replaced by Delta Company. They looked refreshed. It seemed that Charlie Company was always on the move. I often wondered why that was. A few days later, I was promoted to Platoon Sergeant, and told by Lt. Walker that the Company Commander had specifically requested me for the L.Z. mission. I was told that he knew if anyone could accomplish such a squad mission (speed), it would be me. lf true, a nice compliment. For that, and other outstanding performance, I was later awarded the Army Commendation Medal; the Army´s eighth highest decoration.