With the wounded now loaded, the lead APC, with its headlights on, moved out for the landing zone with the other carriers close behind. The lead carrier was commanded by Lieutenant Ian Savage, whose vehicle contained the Australian dead. Companies A and B would walk out 45 minutes later.29 Mollison, commanding A Company, recalled that during the next hour he and the others ‘crouched down in the watery shell scrapes we had dug and tried to present as small a target as possible. We shivered in the cold night air, staring into the pitch black, trying desperately to see the enemy before he saw us. We had only a handful more men than Delta Company had started with, and the enemy now knew exactly where we were. Time passed: 10 minutes; 20 minutes; our nerves were stretched to breaking point. After 40 minutes passed without incident, we started to relax.’30
When the time came, they moved out towards the landing zone to the west and before long the artillery got the word to start firing into their old positions – but not around 11 Platoon’s original position. The artillery also targeted suspected enemy escape routes; added to this, aircraft began to bomb in depth to try to disrupt the enemy’s retreat.31 Corporal Robin Jones of B Company recalled moving out after the APCs had gone. He soon received an order from Major Ford to set his ‘compass on a bearing and the bearing was checked by the OC. I was to lead Alpha and Bravo companies back to the area of the evacuations. This was a case of blind navigation, as you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. We stopped numerous times after falling over or running into a tree. Obstacles were numerous. We made the rubber’s edge about an hour or so later. I never liked night navigation ever again.’32
Lieutenant Peter Dinham recalled moving out in single file, the complete darkness requiring each man to grab hold of the webbing of the man in front. His platoon was the last to leave the battlefield, with Mollison’s tactical party just in front of his one remaining section, followed by platoon HQ representing the rearguard. It seemed to take forever to move a relatively short distance – approximately 1000 metres.33
At the very end of the line was Private Trevor Atkinson, who was acting as ‘tail-end Charlie’ – always a stressful and unwanted position. He recalled that whenever the line stopped, he faced back the way they had come, but every time this happened the ‘line seemed to take off twice as quick. Many times I lost contact with the man in front of me. It was a matter of stumble on in the pitch-black, hoping to catch up. I remember thinking once that, if I didn’t find the end of the line in the next minute, I was going to dig the deepest hole possible and wait there till daylight.’34
The APCs had arrived at the makeshift landing zone at around 11.20 p.m. Corporal Kevin Miller recalled arriving at an ‘old banana plantation which was reasonably clear – we could clear it and get the helicopters in’.35 Roberts organised his troop to form a square around the makeshift helicopter pad with all their hatches opened; they turned on their interior lights to guide the choppers to their exact position.36 The first to arrive was a US Army helicopter, just before midnight. With its lights beaming, it took on board the three most serious cases on litters. This was followed by other US helicopters. The RAAF helicopters followed, commanded by Wing Commander Scott. They were ordered not to use their landing lights and it took them longer to arrive. Sergeant Bob Buick recalled that the first helicopters to come were the US Army choppers, which flared dramatically just before landing. As the pilots made their steep descent onto the pad, they turned their landing lights on about 7 metres from the ground. The Australian pilots were a bit slower in their landing as they did not use lights and were far more deliberate in their approach. ‘It would have been a worrying time for the Australian chopper pilots,’ recalled Buick, ‘as they were new to this type of operation, especially at night. Although slower, the 9 Squadron RAAF pilots and crews did a great job of getting the dead and wounded out.’37
Wounded lance corporal Dennis Spencer of CHQ was among the last to be lifted, and one of his greatest memories was the medevac helicopters lifting off and taking him and the others to Vung Tau. They could see the lights coming up fairly quickly, and he recalled how unreal the world was up there, totally unrelated to the hell they had just been through. There was a sense of safety.38 Robbins recalled some of his mates walking him over to the helicopter: ‘I can remember that clearly and the bloody red lights flashing . . . the Yank machine gunners . . . I remember the ride . . . as clear as anything and just how good it was, the best taxi ride I ever had.’39 Private John Cash found himself on a chopper with another from 10 Platoon, Corporal Buddy Lea, who had helped him get back to CHQ, along with Sergeant James Todd and Private Grant Davis, both from 12 Platoon. All were conscious and no doubt pleased to have got out alive.40
There was no let-up for flight lieutenants Frank Riley and Cliff Dohle and their crew, as they too were involved in the evacuation of the casualties. Grandin recalled how they moved to the holding position and ‘circled waiting for the aircraft before us to pull out. There was a hold-up as one pilot was having some problems with his approach. Then it was our turn . . . We slid smoothly into the position. Someone ran forward and said that there were no more wounded. We could go, or maybe take some bodies out! Frank said we would take the bodies.’41 Four Australian dead were placed in the chopper and it lifted off, then turned and headed for Vung Tau. The wounded and dead were evacuated to 36 Evac Hospital at Vung Tau, with the last of the helicopters carrying Australian casualties leaving the battlefield area at around 1 a.m.
While all of this was going on, Private Bill Akell recalled hearing ‘the artillery pounding away. They were firing at what they suspected to be the enemy withdrawal routes. It was a terrible night really.’42
Back at Nui Dat, Lieutenant Gordon Steinbrook was preparing to go out into the plantation at first light. He spent the evening of 18 August preparing himself – he had never been out in the bush before except for ‘one little A Battery patrol, nor had I ever operated with the infantry. I had been with the infantry three whole days, and now it appeared my initiation would be an experience to equal the worst nightmares. I packed my gear, oiled my Owen submachine gun, removed each 9-mm round from the magazines, checked for cleanness, and then reloaded . . . I went to bed that night praying, finding some peace.’43
Not far away, in the 6 RAR operations tent, the battalion second-in-command, Major John Hooper, operations officer Major Brian Passey, and the adjutant, Captain Max Turrell, had been discussing events when word came through from US Defense officials in Saigon asking about the big battle that had been fought in the Long Tan rubber plantation. What was the name of the operation being conducted? Operation Vendetta concluded at 11 p.m. 18 August 1966 and was replaced by Operation Smithfield.44 Turrell recalled that ‘our policy at the time was that operations were named after Australian towns and cities. Somebody had remarked that [Major Harry] Smith was having a field day. So the decision was taken to name the operation “Smithfield” after the town of that name and the officer commanding Delta Company. This decision was passed to HQ 1 ATF and to the commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Townsend, out in the field.’45 The later unofficial ‘amalgamation’ of Operation Vendetta into Operation Smithfield by Townsend and other senior commanders would result not only in much confusion but also controversy.46
Part Three
AFTERMATH
Dear Mum, Dad & All
Well, I suppose you got my letter saying we were going out on another Operation . . . I suppose you heard about the company on radio and TV that was surrounded by three battalions of Viet Cong and the bitter fighting. Well that was us. Seventeen of our mates were killed and twenty-four wounded . . . I know you worry about me, but I don’t want you to worry too much. I was close to death the other day and I thought I’d never see you all again but I came through. I don’t understand what we’re really fighting for but we’re all mates here and I think we fight to save ourselves and each other. It’s a funny thing, it doesn’t matter how bad it is, you won’t run out on your mates, and we all re
ally thought we were going to die. It looked so hopeless and there were so many of them, but everyone who died, died like a man. You feel sorry for the ones killed but when you see them lying there you thank God it’s not you, I’ll be glad when it’s all over.
Letter from Private Alan Parr, 7 Section, 12 Platoon, D Company 6 RAR to his parents, 21 August 1966
28
‘. . . I must say that I was troubled all night’
During the early hours of 19 August, Major Harry Smith and his men were still in their soaking-wet greens, huddled in and around the APCs. After the evacuation of the dead and wounded, the officers of D Company organised their survivors. A roll call was held, with a number of names going unanswered. The officers tried to establish who was missing and, of these, who was known to have been killed. This was a trying and difficult task for all concerned. Some were in a state of depression, some were clearly in a state of shock, and some were on a short-lived high having escaped what had appeared to be certain death.
Sergeant Bob Buick had understandably mixed emotions and, while numb, was on a ‘high, but not tired. There was too much to do, and I was still thinking about the guys in the battle area. How many were still alive?’1 He spent most of the early morning in Lieutenant Adrian Roberts’ APC with Lieutenant Colonel Colin Townsend while his battalion commander set about drawing up plans and orders for the return to the main battlefield area. The operation was given the codename of Smithfield at about 2300hrs on 18 August.2 Private Kev Branch of 10 Platoon was ‘remorseful, shaken up, wet as a shag, and couldn’t relax. Maybe I caught twenty minutes or an hour’s sleep, then it was daylight.’ Private Bill Akell of CHQ didn’t remember much of that night as his mind was ‘blown [away] at what had happened . . . in too short a time to be able to think straight. It wasn’t till days later that we knew what had happened. I appreciated a hot cup of coffee and a cigarette, followed by a cold can of meat and a packet of dog-biscuits.’ Private Russ Perandis, also from D Company CHQ, remembered someone giving him a ‘raincoat to sleep in, and in the morning I found I’d been sleeping in a thorn patch and didn’t know. I was numb.’3
Private Brian Halls of 11 Platoon was sitting in an APC also feeling pretty numb and ‘probably going into a bit of delayed shock . . . Buggered. Drained, but not ready to sleep.’4 Close by were privates Terry Burstall and Richard Brown, both from 12 Platoon, hardly speaking to each other. Burstall recalled that it was ‘pitch dark where we were and I just sat there, staring into the bush. Gun pickets were changed in silence and a numbness seemed to hang over the whole area. I couldn’t even cry, although I know I wanted to. I kept thinking of Paul Large wrapped in a groundsheet somewhere, seeing nothing with his blank eyes and cold skin.’5
Lieutenant David Sabben, after putting the events of the previous 12 hours into some kind of sequence and perspective, recalled having something to eat and a hot brew while trying to answer the questions of the A Company and APC troopers.6 He then sought out another platoon commander and both sat against a carrier ‘looking into the darkness. There was nothing to discuss. What could I say? I was just deflated, I suppose. A drained feeling. I remember drinking a lot of water.’7 He eventually found some uncomfortable and fitful sleep.8 His fellow platoon commander Lieutenant Geoff Kendall was feeling extremely anxious about the fate of their missing men. ‘We were really afraid that night, waiting to go back in or do what we were going to do the next day – that they’d get our guys . . . We don’t know if they’re all dead or if any are alive.’ He was terrified that the wounded who were still alive in the plantation might be mutilated. ‘We were also pretty worried that we were going to go in the next morning and find it’s all been swept clean, there’s nothing there, and no matter what we say for the rest of our lives nobody’ll ever believe us. They’ll say, “Well, they had a bit of a scrap, lost 18 guys and went home with their tails between their legs.’9 Kendall sat back and waited for dawn with these and many other thoughts going through his mind.
Captain Morrie Stanley desperately wanted to collapse into sleep, but he had too much to do. His OC, Major Harry Honnor, wanted to make sure he had a fire plan to harass the withdrawing enemy force and target any who might still be lurking in the plantation. He found that ‘an APC made a comfortable enough place for me to prepare the small fire plan and after sending it by radio to Nui Dat, I probably sat there and fell asleep. The guns fired during the night at a more leisurely pace and that was virtually the end of my fire support duties at Long Tan . . . I hoped ATF would organise a US Army block to the east of the Long Tan area to cut off the withdrawing enemy, but as [we] later discovered, this did not happen. Like the return to the battlefield on the 19th, nothing was to happening quickly.’10
Out in the battlefield area, two wounded Australians from 11 Platoon were hoping to survive the night. Private Jim Richmond of 6 Section was fading in and out of consciousness but knew he had to try to stop the bleeding:
I thought . . . well, I’ll have to try and survive the night and the only thing to do with me wound was to lay in the mud and try and pack the wound with mud to try and stop the bleeding. I knew that I had a bad wound because before we went overseas they take you through with the doctors . . . [who] give you a lecture on all types of wounds you could have, and I remembered this one was a sucking chest wound because I could feel the air being sucked in through me back. So I knew what sort of a wound I had because that’s what he told us it would be like. So I just packed it full of mud and rolled on my side and just tried to survive the night, which was fairly long. I yelled out a couple of times in the night for a medic but just got fired upon so I kept quiet and tried to survive the night and the artillery kept pounding me all night. I did hear movement around me but none of it was friendly so I just tried to keep as quiet as I could.11
A few hundred metres behind Richmond, Private Barry Meller of platoon HQ was wrapped in an enemy groundsheet and trying to lie undetected in low brush. He tried to get as much sleep as he could, but shells were exploding all night through the trees. Luckily for him, they were not exploding in his immediate area as the gunners were careful not to fire where Australian wounded might be located. All around, the Viet Cong were in search of their own wounded and collecting weapons and ammunition. After a few hours Meller reckoned they had cleared out as he had not seen or heard them for some time. By now he was so fed up that he decided ‘Stuff the Viet Cong’ and tried to light a cigarette, but he couldn’t get his lighter to work.12
The Australian wounded who were conscious and had made it to the large US 36th Evacuation Hospital finally felt safe. Lance Corporal Dennis Spencer of CHQ recalled as his helicopter landed how several medics were waiting. An American asked him where he was hit:
[He] picked me up and just bolted straight into an open operating theatre which was like a huge hangar that was lined full of beds, doctors and surgeons. He placed me on a table and brought out the biggest pair of scissors I’d ever seen in my life, and I lost my boots, shirt, trousers, and the whole lot in about three snips. I was lying there naked on the table with the surgeons and nurses working and talking to us very quickly, finding problem spots and sorting things out. That didn’t seem to take very long and then we were in a ward having a hot meal. I suppose at that time it would have been about 3 a.m. All of us who had been attended to were lying there just looking – we were all pretty much stunned by the events, I think.13
Corporal John Robbins of 11 Platoon, doped up on morphine and undoubtedly dazed and in shock, remembered landing at the hospital; most of the nurses who met and helped him and the other Australians were male, mostly African Americans ‘and good fellas, too’.14 His recollections are similar to those of Spencer:
A team met each chopper – there were other choppers coming in when we came in, and there was a team there that met them. I can’t remember who else was on the chopper with me, but there was a team more or less that was met for every person . . . [that’s] how organised they were. I don’t think I walked in �
�� I think they put us on a stretcher and took us in and they get these bloody big scissors and just cut all your gear off because you’re covered in mud and blood . . . cut all your gear off including your boots, throw everything in a big bin and wash you down, and talked to you trying to make you as comfortable as they could. The next thing I remember was going into the operating theatre; it was something I’d never seen before . . . There was a lot of pain in there, yelling and things happening, doctors and tubs and bottles and all the rest of it . . . 15
Private Ron Eglinton, also of 11 Platoon, recalled when the ‘chopper was coming down there were about a dozen or so people lined up and as soon as the chopper put down they just grabbed you and raced you inside.’ His most vivid thought was the feeling of being safe.16
Major Smith’s exhausted radio operator, Corporal Graham Smith, recalled being in the back of an APC with the headquarters group, including Major Smith. For hours the corporal was in radio contact with the Task Force base and at one stage he was ‘asleep and they [the headquarters team] could hear from my handset so they didn’t bother waking me up but as soon as I did get a call, I’d wake up and answer it anyway’.17 Corporal Ross McDonald of 10 Platoon was near Corporal Smith at the time when a radio message came in from Task Force headquarters stating that they could withdraw back to the base so as to reorganise, and from there they could spend a couple of days’ leave at Vung Tau – but Major Smith was adamant and replied ‘No’, saying that at first light he and his company would be moving back into the battle area to collect any wounded and dead.18
The enemy had almost certainly departed and there was now an ample force available to search for the missing Australians from 11 Platoon, who were still in the heart of the plantation. Major Smith was aware that the men of his company were in a dazed and confused state and needed to take psychological control of the battlefield to shake them out of their malaise. In the distance the Anzac batteries continued to fire into the plantation, targeting likely escape routes.19 Corporal Smith was immediately privy to Major Smith’s decision to return to the battlefield at first light and recalled being ‘very apprehensive of what we would find because we had heard stories of enemy mutilating bodies and so on and we had so many missing at that point’.20
The Battle of Long Tan Page 28
