Part Two
THE BATTLE
D Company, Sixth Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, distinguished itself by extraordinary heroism while engaged in military operations against an opposing armed force in Vietnam on 18 August 1966 . . . As the battle developed, it became apparent that the men of D Company were facing a numerically superior force. The platoon of D Company were surrounded and attacked on all sides by an estimated reinforced enemy battalion using automatic weapons, small arms, and mortars. Fighting courageously against a well armed and determined foe, the men of D Company maintained their formation in a common perimeter defence and inflicted heavy casualties upon the Viet Cong . . . The conspicuous gallantry, intrepidity and indomitable courage of D Company were in the highest tradition of military valor and reflect great credit upon D Company, Sixth Battalion, The Royal Australian Regiment and The Australian Army.
United States presidential unit citation presented to D Company, 6th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment on the second anniversary of the Battle of Long Tan
10
‘I’m staying in and doing my time’
Thirty-three-year-old Major Harry ‘The Rat’ Smith, commanding Delta Company, 6 RAR, got his nickname during the Malayan Emergency, when he finally tracked down a bunch of noisy gamblers who had been keeping everyone awake for a few nights with their antics. Smith recalled years later that ‘after many successive but unsuccessful investigative incursions into the barracks area, I walked into the offending hut some nights later to discover a group of well-oiled soldiers noisily playing poker and two-up. I announced something like “At last – got you – you rats.” From then on, my nickname followed me everywhere.’1
He had joined the army in 1952, served in Malaya from 1955 to 1957 and was promoted to major in 1965. Smith was a hard taskmaster and made sure his men were prepared for anything; he would keep them (and himself) going until it hurt and then push on further. The men were justifiably proud of their company. When battalion commander Lieutenant Colonel Colin Townsend specified a 10 km march, D Company did 12 km; when 15 kg packs were to be carried, D Company put on 20 kg; when an exercise specified sandshoes, Smith ordered boots.2 They were undoubtedly the fittest company in the battalion and had adopted as their theme song the Nancy Sinatra hit ‘These Boots Are Made for Walking’. Sergeant Bob Buick recalled: ‘We didn’t walk anywhere – we fucking ran.’3
When Smith first took command of D Company he earned the wrath of the well-liked and respected Townsend, recalling how his CO* did not approve of the way Smith was training his company, which seemed more akin to commando training with 8 km runs every morning. The major was accused of trying to elevate his company above the standards required for an Australian infantry company.4 Smith had qualified for the commando green beret, but Townsend insisted he wear the infantry officers’ peaked cap. His CO was also distinctly unhappy that the young major would lead his junior officers astray by teaching them to do ‘parachute rolls’ out of the top-floor mess windows. This had already resulted in at least one broken ankle. However, Townsend agreed that the battalion was training for what would largely be company patrols and company-level engagements with the enemy, and as such each company commander had the right to train his men the best way he saw fit.5
One of Smith’s men, first-intake national serviceman Private Harry Esler, described his commander as a ‘very good soldier, in that everybody respected him . . . He was a bloke you trusted with your life. Nothing seemed too hard for him. He seemed calm at all times and gave a feeling of confidence. Don’t get me wrong – he could be a very hard man. The look he’d give you if you were playing up was enough to drill a hole in you.’6 Private Robin ‘Pom’ Rencher for his previous unknown sins was allocated as Smith’s batman and signaller. One of his first tasks as the OC batman was to cook the major’s dinner; he wasn’t happy about this until he looked around to tell the major his meal was ready and found him nearby, stripped to the waist, doing his share of digging a weapons pit with his men. Private Rencher later admitted that Smith was one of only two men he would follow to hell and back, stating: ‘Harry was a soldiers’ soldier, whose professionalism rubbed off on the whole company.’7 Smith’s strict training regime and discipline would pay huge dividends in the hours to come.
Major Smith was grateful to have as his company sergeant major an experienced, exceptional and dependable 31-year-old Korean War and Malayan Emergency veteran, Warrant Officer ‘Big’ Jack Kirby. Sergeant Major Kirby was a bear of a man who was not as fit as he used to be and feeling his age compared to the young soldiers in his charge. Even so, he accompanied the men in all their runs during training and, while not being able to keep up with them, always finished. He had recently been an instructor at the British jungle training centre in Malaya and was up to date on all the current teaching and techniques. Kirby was a welcome addition to the company and, like his OC, insisted that everyone give 110 per cent. He was known as a fair and just disciplinarian:8 all knew his bark was far worse than his bite. He was very much the rock of the company, and his actions during the Battle of Long Tan would only deepen and broaden the men’s appreciation for his steadiness, bravery and humour under enormous pressure. It was principally due to the efforts of Smith and Kirby that D Company became the crack rifle company it became.9
The company consisted of three platoons. A 25-year-old regular,Lieutenant Geoff Kendall from the Officer Cadet School at Portsea, commanded 10 Platoon. He had been a professional rugby league player and coach in western Queensland, but with the season finished was working as a roustabout on a station when he saw an advertisement that read ‘Would you like to be an officer in the Australian Army?’ and recalled thinking to himself, ‘Boy, it’s gotta be better than this!’10 He reckoned he could handle a year at a holiday resort called Portsea, with sport, a hectic social life and eventual graduation as a dashing young lieutenant; that was quickly drummed out of him when he was dropped off by bus at the officers’ training school. On hearing that he had been accepted, his father, who was a World War II veteran, remarked that there was nothing wrong with the army: ‘It’s the bastards who are in it that’ll give you a problem!’11
After completing training as a lieutenant and on hearing that he was to be appointed to D Company, Kendall’s immediate reaction was horror that he would have to help train the influx of national servicemen. That attitude changed, certainly after the Battle of Long Tan. Early on, however, he remembered one occasion when a national serviceman in uniform passed him in the classic ‘thumb in bum, mind in neutral’ mode. The young lieutenant let the soldier get about 5 metres past and then roared, ‘Don’t you salute officers?’ The startled soldier turned around and saluted, replying, ‘Oh, Jesus – sorry, mate!’12 Private Tony Stepney of the young lieutenant’s 3 Section recalled: ‘Geoff Kendall was a fantastic platoon commander – he was easygoing and spoke to you nicely, and he’d get the respect.’13
Sergeant Neil Rankin, a veteran of Malaya from 1961 to 1963, was the recently installed sergeant of 10 Platoon. The quiet, fatherly figure and respected NCO had recently been transferred from 11 Platoon. He joined the army in 1960 and was posted to 6 RAR as a corporal, but was soon promoted to sergeant with the first national servicemen intake. His primary concern was always the wellbeing of the men under his command. Like the company OC, he led by example and was often seen working with his men, doing his share. The men of 11 Platoon, his previous assignment, were sorry to see him go: while he could and did invoke his stripes, he did so judiciously.
Twenty-one-year-old lieutenant Gordon Sharp, who would command 11 Platoon, was a national serviceman who had been a television cameraman on the popular Mavis Bramston Show before being drafted and sent to the Officer Training Unit at Scheyville, near Richmond, New South Wales. While there he suffered concussion and broke both his forearms when training on the scramble nets; each was covered in plaster, but even so he pushed on and completed his training. His cousin Don Sharp told him: ‘“There’s your
way out, if you don’t want to go on.” He said, “No, I’m staying in and doing my time.”’14 This would be highly commendable at any time, but especially so when he had previously admitted that he would lose a lot of experience as a cameraman while away, and would not have volunteered for overseas service but went anyway.15 His fellow officer cadets obviously held him in high regard. It speaks volumes that the young trainee lieutenant with both arms covered in plaster could not graduate without his uniform and equipment all being in order (pressed and polished to perfection) – his fellow classmates, no doubt led by Gordon’s boyhood friend and fellow trainee officer John O’Halloran, ensured that all was correct and accounted for.16 Both Gordon and John would graduate and be posted to command an infantry platoon of 6 RAR.
Lieutenant Sharp liked playing cards and would often be found with his men, cards in hand. Just before leaving for Vietnam, the young lieutenant in his sports car was with one of his men, the then Private John Robbins, in Melbourne when Gordon spotted a sign that said ‘Delta Company Construction’. The later-to-be-corporal Robbins recalled: ‘Sharpie says, “I’ve gotta have that sign.” So he swings around, pulls into the curb, walks onto the road, stops a passing truck, tells the driver the story, gets up on top of the truck and acquires the sign. He converted it to Delta Company Destruction and that sign went with us to Vietnam, along with a nude photo in a frame from a hotel in George Street.’17
Another member of Sharp’s platoon, Queensland bank clerk Private John Heslewood, remembered: ‘He mixed with the diggers as much as the officers. He come down with the diggers when we’re having a beer, but he never drank in his life . . . but you’d go out with him and you’d think he was as drunk as you were . . . He just had that natural personality to enjoy company . . . [but] if he had to be hard, he could be as hard as anyone – a real leader. As I said, he enjoyed the company, but if he had to put his foot down . . .’18
During the 70 minutes or so that would define the young lieutenant’s battle command of his platoon, from the first contact during the afternoon of 18 August 1966, he indeed showed himself to be a leader, taking command of his men and the situation and exposing himself to concentrated enemy fire to call in artillery fire to protect them. He would be killed in action.
Sharp’s second-in-command was South African–born 26-year-old sergeant Bob Buick. He had joined the Australian Army in 1959 and served until 1965. Within months of being honourably discharged he re-enlisted and was posted to the newly formed 6 RAR as a private, but was soon promoted to corporal and then sergeant. Buick was a no-nonsense disciplinarian, and when he gave an order he expected it to be obeyed without question.19 He would take command of the 11 Platoon after Lieutenant Sharp’s death during the battle.
Twenty-one-year-old lieutenant David Sabben, a layout artist based in Sydney, had been called up by the ballot but was told he would not be going in this round of intakes. He recalled many years later he was determined to be a part of the first National Service contingent and packed his bags and presented himself first thing at Victoria Barracks. He argued with the authorities there, who eventually gave up and put him on a train for Kapooka. His determination to join resulted in him becoming the subject of newspaper articles, and even a cartoon. He too was a graduate of Scheyville and commanded 12 Platoon, D Company. Like Gordon Sharp, he was a likeable character and would prove his leadership value in combat.20
Sabben’s second-in-command was the extremely popular and experienced Korean War and Malaya Emergency veteran Irishman Sergeant James ‘Paddy’ Todd. The oldest man in the company, he had completed two tours in Malaya with the same battalion as Jack Kirby, and they were great mates. In demeanour he was similar to Kirby and took great care of his men, often providing sound advice and always playing the peacekeeper. When one of his men was charged for accidental discharge of his rifle despite claiming the safety had malfunctioned, Todd advised the young soldier to insist on a court martial, which he did; predictably, the matter was dropped.21 After arriving in Nui Dat, the war-experienced sergeant was having a few beers with his OC, Major Smith, and remarked, ‘There’s something wrong with all this. It might not be us, but one of these days one of our companies is going to run into something.’22
* CO (Commanding Officer) refers to battalion commander, rank of Lieutenant Colonel and above; OC (Officer Commanding) refers to the rank of major, captain and lieutenant.
11
‘I noticed everyone else had done the same . . .’
It was 6.30 a.m., 18 August 1966 – the day after the mortar attack against the base. Lieutenant Colonel Colin Townsend, commanding 6 RAR, radioed to A Company, who had taken up a harbour position west of the Suoi Da Bang stream, that they were to ‘search area SOUTH and EAST of present location but NOT EAST of the creek line which was searched previously. Providing nothing untoward happens you will return as planned this afternoon.’1 Captain Charles Mollison replied that they were preparing to move out and would commence platoon searches; they moved out at 6.42 a.m.
Townsend then radioed Major Noel Ford of B Company at 6.35 a.m.: ‘D Coy will take over approx 1200hrs. Continue search to EAST and NORTH. No farther EAST than track 473660 [the main track running into Long Tan Plantation from Route 52]. Can you get your R&C [rest and convalescence] people back early? – 48 pers., will return by approx 0830. Aim for B Coy is to determine whether en [enemy] withdrew to EAST.’2
At 8 a.m., Captain Mollison of A Company, patrolling about 2 kilometres north of B Company, radioed to Townsend that they had come across a track showing strong indications that several people had recently used it. A platoon was sent south to follow it for a short distance; they were soon back with nothing to report.3 Even so, Mollison sent out a number of platoon-strength patrols to cover the immediate area. With one of these was Private David Hede, who was patrolling through the numerous paddy fields that were then in flood. Each man kept to the bunds (embankments) to keep dry. Even so, someone – Private Hede believes it was Private Gordon Best – tripped and fell into the paddy field head first. The men of the patrol couldn’t help laughing, even though they knew the fertiliser used included human excrement. There is no comment regarding Private Best’s reaction, but it probably involved a few expletives at their expense!4
Back in Nui Dat, Major Harry Smith and his men were looking forward to the concert that was due to start around midday – there would be three concerts in all. At 8 a.m., Smith got word he was required at battalion headquarters and on arriving was informed by the battalion CO that he and his men would be missing the concert. His orders were to relieve the depleted B Company at around noon and continue the search for the enemy mortar crews that had shelled the Task Force the day before; these crews were expected to amount to no more than 40 Viet Cong from the local D445 VC Battalion.
Smith’s CO asked him what he thought he had out there. Smith replied that B Company had found what appeared to be the heavy-weapons platoon base plates of D445 VC Battalion, who had fired the mortars and rockets into the Task Force base the night before and who by now were probably long gone. Colonel Townsend told him to go out and find the Viet Cong heavy-weapons team.5
Lieutenant Geoff Kendall, commanding 10 Platoon, recalled being warned to prepare for a three-day company patrol; their objective was to locate and destroy Viet Cong mortar and recoilless-rifle units that had fired on the Task Force base. However, at no stage of the briefing or later was he, or anyone else, told there might be an enemy regiment somewhere near Long Tan. Given the ongoing ‘shoot and scoot’ tactics used by the enemy to that date, Kendall and his men believed that the enemy were by now many kilometres east of the plantation, heading back to one of their jungle bases.6
Attached to D Company for this operation was the 35-year-old quiet, experienced and competent New Zealander and Duntroon graduate Captain Maurice ‘Morrie’ Stanley, from 161 Field Battery, Royal New Zealand Artillery. He would act as the artillery FOO. Accompanying him were Lance Corporal William Walker and Bombardier Mur
ray Broomhall of the battery. In all, Smith’s command would total 108 men.7
At 8.20 a.m., a much-depleted B Company with just 32 men radioed Townsend that they were located at position 467670 – indicating that they had crossed the eastern branch of the Suoi Da Bang and were heading in a north-easterly direction about a kilometre from the western edge of Long Tan Plantation. Those who were due for R&C were already heading back to Nui Dat. Two hours later, at 10.20 a.m., Major Ford and B Company radioed their position as 47256740, at the very western edge of Long Tan Plantation. There they found freshly dug enemy defensive pits, dug after the last rain – each large enough to hold two people.8 Corporal Robin Jones remembered entering the plantation. It had been ‘pretty nerve-racking stuff in the open, but eventually we entered the rubber plantation and felt immediate relief from the heat and from the threat of enemy ambush. But just under the second row of trees we located many hastily prepared but freshly dug enemy fighting pits.’9
The enemy seemed to have cleared out in a hurry, leaving behind 16 ‘metal ammo containers of Chinese origin’ likely used for recoilless-rifle rounds; a track leading south-west was noted to have recently been used to carry a heavy load.10 Soon additional ammunition containers were found nearby, totalling 22 in all. Major Ford assessed that the track had likely been used by one of the mortar crews. Additional tracks were identified leading to the north-east and south, suggesting that the area had been used as a rendezvous point for the recoilless-rifle teams moving south. Ford sent out two sub-section patrols, one along each track.11
The first patrol was under Sergeant Harry Keen, who, along with three of his men, moved into the heart of the plantation. They came across the familiar small rubber-tapper’s hut about 1000 metres east of the main track that originates from Route 52. They searched the hut and found no signs of any enemy activity; close by they found plenty of fresh tracks but did not see anyone. It was obvious to all of them that the enemy had been there, and might still be around.12 With Sergeant Keen was recent reinforcement to the company Private David A. Thomas (not to be confused with Private David J. Thomas of D Company), who saw a nearby well that had recently been used, as there were signs that water had recently slopped on the ground. He also noticed some ammunition boxes and Ho Chi Minh sandals. He then experienced ‘a very creepy feeling. The plantation was too quiet. No birds. No insects. I slid down the tree I was standing next to and took up a prone position. I noticed everyone else had done the same without any orders or signals.’13 He recalled feeling that something sinister was present – they could all feel it, but whatever it was, it was not going to declare itself. He had never been a superstitious person by nature, but from that day onwards he developed certain habits as the section scout that he practised for the rest of his time in Vietnam.14 They moved back to Ford and reported what they had found.
The Battle of Long Tan Page 9
