Toward the end of 1968 an NCO from each infantry company in the Australian Task Force was assigned to an Australian Army Training Team Vietnam (AATTV) located at Hoa Long in Phuoc Tuy province. Also attached was an American officer and master sergeant. We were each assigned to a section-sized Popular Force group (that is Hamlet based soldiers). In the Vietnamese Army there was the permanents − the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN), then Regional and lastly the Popular Force ‘soldiers’. The Popular Force were poorly equipped because of their areas of responsibility and role. The AATTV contingent was commanded by a captain and if I remember four warrant officers (WOs), two of whom didn’t much like Kiwis, the ones I remember. Most of the dates but one escape me now (it was 58 years ago). Our job was to mentor and train our assigned group on patrolling and ambushing. The training was to be around two months long (November 1968−January 1969). My company, V3, was back on the Horseshoe over Christmas and New Year and W2, Kevin Smith’s (my offsider), hadn’t long been in-country.
On arrival at Hoa Long we met our Aussie Task Force cohort and members of the AATTV who were required to keep a weather eye on us all (only seen inside the wire!). The two Americans had no role with us but were very friendly. We preferred their company to the aloof AATTV WOs.
Other than our field kit and personal weapons (both SLRs) we had no extra gear and were somewhat taken aback to learn that unlike the AATTV quartered in an air-conditioned barrack block and offices we were to be left to our own devices including tent halves and ground sheets. Quicker than I, Kevin contacted his Officer Commanding (OC), the impressive Major Lindsay George Williams, MC, who promptly despatched a 180 tent, two bunks and two barrack boxes. Being quartered together, we pitched the tent, dug a trench and tried to settle down. There were a few Australian non-commissioned officers (NCOs) in the same boat and with whom we got on well.
We were assigned a Vietnamese ‘section’ (bigger than ours but not platoon sized). I was somewhat stunned to be introduced to an old man who was my assigned Vietnamese section leader, a fifty something sergeant. I hadn’t long turned 21, Kevin was 20. The members of the section were of all ages between teenagers to middle-aged men. They brought their own weapons, all 30.06 M1 Garand Rifles, with an eight-round clip, the standard US issue for WW2. There was no section member that the muzzle of the rifle did not exceed their height. There were no automatic weapons or machine guns. Somewhat concerned at the lack of firepower given as we were expected to take them on operational patrols when we thought them sufficiently able. I hunted out the armoury in the Hoa Long compound where I found a lone .45 Thompson sub machine gun – of Valentine Day massacre infamy – and promptly procured it hoping I could exact similar results on the Viet Cong/NVA if I stumbled across them. I also procured a few hundred rounds of ammunition. Both the Thompson and the ammunition were considerably heavier than my SLR and 7.62 ammunition but given the noise it made on pressing the trigger I didn’t care. It was good at close range not much good at medium and anything over a hundred meters hopeless. Given the ad hoc nature of this assignment, we were not surprised to learn we had no interpreter. Of course, we couldn’t speak Vietnamese (beside some phrases that were of no use in the jungle!) and they couldn’t speak English. Having now been in Vietnam for about six months, almost all of which was on operations with the most professional jungle fighters on the planet I was not looking forward to a venture surrounded by a ragtag group of Vietnamese whose loyalty was anyone's guess. Ours was not to reason why ……!
As it turned out after two months, we had all survived. Laying ambushes with one claymore mine and no automatic weapon weren’t tested and our less than stealthy patrolling uneventful (I had more than a sneaking suspicion that our prey knew what we were up to).
At the end of the assignment on 28 January 1969 we were all assembled by the AATTV captain and told that as we were now familiar with what was required, we would all be staying for the next intake.
On falling out I approached my comradely Master Sergeant and asked if I could borrow his jeep. He kindly agreed. I sped back to Nui Dat to my Company Commander, Major John Hall, MC, and rather tersely suggested he find a replacement as I had no intention of spending another two months away from Victor 3, especially with the AATTV. Being the good man that he was he agreed and despatched another NCO to Hoa Long.
On 30 January I was back with my old and trusty section mates on a search and destroy operation after the traditional last night on the wallop. It was great to be among professionals again. Kevin was pleased too. Ironically, late on the first afternoon after standing in a dry creek bed adjacent to an unseen bunker complex with myself with our machine gunner on the bank above it three of us were wounded – the platoon sergeant, section commander and myself (none seriously thankfully). The platoon signaller, Bruce Liddall, although not wounded was the luckiest. His water bottles on his belt order were perforated by bullets. Day one on operations and in the dry season. Poor Bruce, no water! Just shows life is such a lottery!
Bob Davies
