VMO-3, Phu Bai, fall 1967. A correspondent from Stars and Stripes came looking to interview "Mouse". The story was he had captured a North Vietnamese soldier in the field. A rare occurrence for a huey gun ship crew chief. His version was never published in the Stars and Stripes. Mouse didn’t have the ability to relate the facts of the incident without a lot of embarrassment and awkward jokes. Mouse directed the correspondent to "Saint" who also took part in the capture. (2) This is Mouse’s version 33 years later.

The purpose of our single gun ship mission, was to be an observation platform, a containment element and if necessary cover fire for a squad of Marines who were sweeping the length of a small peninsula jetting into a bay of the South China Sea. They were checking the locals and looking for targets of opportunity, a routine assignment for them.

After arriving on station it didn’t take long for us to spot a 20-foot canoe leaving the shore opposite from the sweeping Marines. Major S (the pilot) maneuvered the huey near the canoe. We waved to the elderly couple, motioning them back towards the shore. They smiled and waved back. Major S circled and flew lower. I pointed to them and then pointed back to the shore. The Mamasan shook her head "no". I told Major S, "I don’t think they want to do it". The Major admonished me for taking our assignment too lightly. We circled around one more time. The Major asked me to fire a couple of rounds in front of the canoe with the door gun. I was surprised and amazed by the waterspouts the bullets made. They must have been 10- feet tall. I also remember the expression on Mamasan face. It wasn’t fear or terror that I saw. It was more like anger or great disappointment. I realized that maybe for the first time in country, I had just shot towards an innocent. The canoe began to turn around. The Major flew us back down the middle of the peninsula toward the Marines.

We zigzagged just over the trees when we spotted a bad guy. I think the maneuvering spooked him into running. Major S pulled up hard, swung to the right and slid the huey back down towards him. He appeared to throw away a rifle in some bushes, then quickly doubled backed under us. We circled for another run. By now he was about half way across a rice paddy heading for a thicker tree line. I suppose it was during this time that Major S thought we could capture the guy. The Major came in close and fast trying to knock him down with the skids (huey’s don’t have wheels). It was great fun but it didn’t work. Splashing through the mud, the bad guy was getting nearer the trees. After another attempt at knocking him down on his keister, Major S slid the huey to the ground within arms reach of the bad guy and said to us, "go get ‘em". The bad guy was next to Saint, (the door gunner). Saint leaped from the huey toward him. He would have gotten him if it weren’t for the 6-foot safety belt still attached to his waist. Saint doubled up and fell to the rice patty. It was a dramatic effort, but not a pretty sight.

Seeing him on the ground reminded me to unbuckle my belt and take off my helmet. By the time I jumped out of the cabin the bad guy had made it through the trees. Saint was up and running after him. It was then that I realized we didn’t have weapons. I reached back for my M14 and tried to pull it out from underneath the bench seat. Most crew chiefs kept a mess of jumbled up gear under this seat. I tugged a couple of times but the rifle wasn’t coming out. I reached for the next thing I saw, the survival hatchet, it’s an angry looking tool about 18" long. I ran towards the place in the tree line where Saint and the bad guy had disappeared. Wondering all the while "what was I going to do with the hatchet?" Having made to the other side I saw Saint and the bad guy running along a small dike separating two fields. Saint might have been 15 yards behind the bad guy and I might have been another 30 behind Saint. It turns out; we were now making great silhouettes for the squad of Marines. Remember them? They may have been 100 yards to our right. Mud began splashing around me. I felt something hit my arm. I thought it was a rock. I spun around to see who had thrown it. Then I saw the squad. They were in line, standing and kneeling shooting at us. Like the Mamasan earlier in the canoe I got pissed. Shouted some obscenities, flipped them off but kept running. I knew they were shooting but it never occurred that they were shooting at Saint and me. We were young.

We had probably run 75 to100 yards. Saint and the bad guy were slowing down. The Marines had hit the bad guy in the right side of his rib cage. The 40-pound standard issue aviation flack vest Saint was wearing began taking its toll. He was no longer closing the gap. I had made up most of distance by running hard and carrying less weight. I only wore the front plate of the flack vest. It was the custom for some of our crew chiefs at this time to take the back armored plate out and sit on it during flight.

Soon, the three of us made it to the beach, out of sight from the shooters. With Saint hard on his heals the bad guy chose to swim for it. I saw him wade into South China Sea and disappear under the waves. Saint jumped in immediately after and sank like a rock, this time it was the flack vest that did him in. I waded out waist deep, seeing an occasional arm and leg fly up from under the bubbling foam. I reached down with both hands and pulled up a collar and a head of hair. The collar belonged to Saint. He took a long deep breath. The head of hair belonged to the bad guy. I began pulling them both to the shore when the bad guy tried to take off. We ended up on sand wrestling. Eventually I was sitting on his chest strangling him when he stopped resisting and relaxed. (3) I remember thinking, what was I supposed to do now? Fear set in; I began tearing off his shirt looking for weapons. I was sure he had hand grenades strapped to his chest ready to go off. Didn’t find any, just his wound. About this time the squad of Marines showed up. A couple of them took custody of the bad guy. A Sergeant looked at us as if we were two drowned rats that came back from the dead. He explained; "you guys are lucky that you weren’t killed, some of our M16’s jam". This was the time period when M16’s were misfiring in the field. (4) A huey from VMO-6 landed near by, loaded up the bad guy and flew off. What were they doing here I thought? This was our territory, even if we are the junior squadron. How come we didn’t get to take the bad guy in? Shortly afterwards our bird landed. Saint and I climbed aboard, strapped our selves in and left the squad of Marines crouching from the rotor wash. (5)

We were still soaking wet. Saint and I looked at each other with an odd stare. We had just done something strange and goofy and it was just beginning to sink in. It was now that Saint noticed blood on the bulkhead behind me. He told me I was bleeding. I looked over my shoulder and saw the smear. Blood was also running down my arm into my glove. "The S.O.B. shot me! I said to the Major." The huey wobbled when the officers turned around to see what the hell was going on. I hadn’t made myself clear, Saint didn’t shoot me. We got back to the base. My replacement was waiting and I went to "Delta" med. and got sewed up. (6)

The above event is pretty much the truth as I remembered it, except for those parts that are not. Today it’s a story that has grown in the telling by some. I haven’t the heart to change their minds. To Saint and all of those who took part, please feel free to make an addendum.

Notes:

1) The quote is part of a note sent to me by Richard Armour, (writer and humorist) Feb. 20, 1985. It has nothing to do with this event; it just seemed to fit.

2)  Saint’s version was also published in Leatherneck. Probably late 1967 or 1968.

3) I was wearing a good luck charm around my neck. A Buddhist Monk in Thailand gave it to me a week earlier. It was dangling out of my flight suit in the face of the bad guy. I’m convinced that he thought I was a Buddhist and stopped fighting. OK, maybe he didn’t think that but that’s what I tell everyone.

4) One report I read in the late 70’s said the cause was slow burning gunpowder. The bullets were manufactured with the wrong specs. I don’t know if this was true but I hope not.

5) I think the ground units assigned to this area late1967 were 1^st battalion 4^th Marines (the China Marines), the 2^nd and 3^rd battalions 26^th Marines. I owe some of you (expletive-deleted) guys a bunch of beer "because you shot so bad". You can claim it any time from me at the "scarface" hooch during the Pop A Smoke reunions.

6) The wound was a three-inch gash above my right elbow. What I found interesting was not the nick in the arm but how small the hole was in the flight suit. It was smaller than a pea. I never understood the damage relationship. Also, I had borrowed Zack’s flight suit on that day. He laments in his book "FAREWELL DARKNESS" accusing me of not washing it afterwards. I wrote to him recently "I don’t remember washing anything during that year."