by Morris Ray
Delta Recon men learned to blend into their surroundings, become one with the landscape. (Photo courtesy of Jerry Estenson)
Conceptually, Recon teams were committed for five days, the duration a team could operate effectively, transport enough rations and water without re-supply and account for the fatigue factor. Fatigue factor is the time span men can optimally operate in an enemy-controlled environment under the constant threat of danger, the inherent tension, the continual moving, reduced rations and lack of sleep, before losing the ability to remain alert and becoming careless.
Recon teams often crawled and scooted along on their bellies, spending days just inching forward. They learned to stay clear of ridgelines, roads, trails and streams—these were routes the enemy traveled. The Central Highlands, honeycombed by primitive native and animal trails, is where they lived and worked, preferring to slowly travel the steep slopes when navigating thick, rough brush. They often slept on slopes so steep, they had to straddle trees limbs to keep from sliding down, or in thick thorny patches, too difficult for others to get close without being heard. Underneath, their lightweight indigenous ponchos kept moisture from their chilled bodies.
Lying silently in the darkness, it was easy to hear the jungle vermin. Imagine legions of leeches crawling across a poncho, emitting tiny scratching sounds, slithering toward their next warm meal. The men’s constant battle with leeches often provided fodder for serious, yet embarrassing experiences. One team member had to be evacuated when a leech attached itself to his penis, but when removed, the wound wouldn’t stop bleeding. Engorged, the giant leeches of Southeast Asia are six to eight inches long, larger than a man’s thumb. When attaching to a warm host, they inject an anti-coagulant that thins the blood, causing it to flow for hours after removal.
One radio conversation between a patrol member and the base camp medic went something like this:
“We pulled one of these giant mothers off his dick, and he’s bleeding pretty badly,” the patrol leader said. “What do we do?”
The medic, unable to disguise his mirth, didn’t hesitate. “Put a tourniquet on it.”
“Hey, no shit! This is no time to be screwing around! This is serious! He’s been bleeding for more than an hour, and getting lightheaded!”
“Would you believe a pressure bandage, then?” said the medic, trying to maintain a serious tone.
The poor guy eventually got treated, but soldiers could be merciless, especially toward a buddy caught in an embarrassing situation, no matter what the circumstances.
It was common to awake and find two-dozen of those monsters sucking to their heart’s content, their heads so deeply buried they couldn’t be pulled off. The trick to removal was to either stick them with a lit cigarette, or apply a dose of insect repellant. It was easy to identify the men who’d spent time in the jungle, because of their quarter-size bite scars. These scars are permanent; some wounds never completely healed.
These earliest days were interesting times for the new Detachment B-52 Project Delta. During this period, they mastered the development and refinement of Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol (LRRP) operational tactics and techniques (a lost art in the United States Army) and constructed Camp Nguyen Van Tan, a permanent base camp at Nha Trang, replete with headquarters buildings, club and sleeping quarters. They also field-tested a myriad of new weapons and field equipment— radio equipment, claymore mines, weapon silencers, various foreign weaponry, 9mm rocket ammunition, oriental freeze-dried rations, developed extraction devices, such as the McGuire Rig, and discovered the usefulness of the GPS-tactical breakthroughs, to name a few.
They also received dozens of items, obviously the result of someone’s brainstorm, that were almost laughable in their presentation. One was a long plastic strip called a runway lighter, used for lighting up airfields and marking LZ/DZs at night. For years, SF soldiers had been using C-ration cans half-filled with a mixture of dirt and gasoline to do that. Who needed the extra weight? They continued to use C-ration cans. Another invention, lanolin-based insect and leech repellant, was, however, a huge success with all the troops. It’d stay on for days, and nothing but a river crossing would wash it away. But clearly the most ridiculous item delivered, as described by Special Forces Major (retired) Jim Morris, was an M-79 grenade-launcher round filled with luminous paint.
“What’s that for?” Morris had inquired.
The guy said, “If you’re ever attacked at night you can shoot the enemy with one of these, and then you can see them.”
“And do what? Shoot him? I already shot him. When I shoot somebody I don’t want him to glow in the dark. I want him to die.”
Project Delta planners also fully developed a fledgling combined arms Unity of Command philosophy, trained Army aviation resources to support clandestine special operations, provided LRRP support and training to American troop units arriving in Vietnam, and ratcheted up training for their own LRRP program to levels never before met—nor achieved since.
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Project Delta had the full support of high-level commanders and staff; they came first on the supply system’s priority-list. Major Strange knew that if his unit needed something and it was in the system, he’d get it immediately—if not, it was made available through commercial vendors—again, with a top priority. Watches, freeze-dried rations and camouflage uniforms were shipped direct from Okinawa. If an item wasn’t available, someone invented it. Such as in the case of Asian LRRP rations.
Current Army field rations hadn’t changed much since WWII, and it quickly became obvious they were not well-suited for the Vietnamese soldier’s sensitive digestive tracts. However, there were other drawbacks to using C-rations in the jungle. Once opened, the VC could smell the aroma a long distance, and since this was a foreign odor, they’d be alerted to the presence of U.S. soldiers. Concealment of the cans also became a problem. The enemy learned to watch for the small, freshly dug holes for hidden C-ration cans. Command was aware they needed something new and soon, so new rations were developed on Okinawa, primarily for indigenous personnel.
“Ben,” an agent at the CIA’s Counterinsurgency Support Office (CISO) on Okinawa, received Delta’s request for such rations, and put out requests for proposals to various companies with the capability to produce them. The best bid came back at three million dollars and about three years to produce them. That was way over budget, and the lead time far too long for Delta’s needs. “Ben” called his girlfriend who was a dietician at the Camp Kue Hospital. They spent the afternoon in the main commissary on Okinawa, buying the items they would need, and a fifth of scotch. That evening they devised the rations, drank the scotch and spent a wild night together. It is appropriate to remain informed about how Project Delta’s Asian LRRP rations came into being; a best case of “your tax dollars at work.”
With the Japanese LRRP rations, the basic substance of the dehydrated meal was rice, one meal per package. Each meal consisted of a packet of brown rice, some type of meat (fish, beef jerky or shrimp) and vegetables (usually green beans). Very hot peppers were included, but only the bravest of souls ventured there. Before an operation, the U.S. soldiers would slice open a packet, mix the vegetables, meat, rice and peppers all together (supplementing with Tabasco sauce and dried onions, in some cases), add water, reseal and place in the large thigh pocket of their tigerfatigues. As they moved through the jungle, their body heat and the humid jungle air “cooked” the meal—it was waiting to be eaten anytime the trooper was ready. If very hungry, one could eat it all, or apportion it over a longer period. Most men split it into more than one meal.
These Japanese combat meals were tasty and provided maximum energy for the amount of food consumed. The Recon teams found the new Japanese LRRP rations to be so savory that the supply officer had to quit issuing them while in garrison lest the teams devour them instead of the hot meals at the mess hall, then they’d run short for combat operations. The primary problem associated with the new rations was an almost uncontr
ollable urge to defecate within just a couple hours of consumption, and the copious amounts of human waste they produced. Recon teams knew full well that C-rations alone weren’t the only way to emit long-distance odors in the pristine mountain air, and resisted the urge to defecate while on patrol. (Of course, there had been the distinct possibility the enemy might also catch them with their pants down at the precise moment of their maximum discomfort.)
Because patrols often continued up to five days, this was a serious problem. A story often retold as the “butt of many jokes,” came to light when one of the guys told the team leader he had to “go” and “go right then,” even if it meant he might die. So the team sent out tight security around the area while the suffering individual positioned himself aside a tall bush, placed his rifle within easy reach, pulled down his jungle fatigues and cut loose. According to an accompanying team member, the sounds were akin to incoming mortar fire and a simultaneous torrential rain. He remembered the crusty NCO team leader say, “My god! That boy could’ve shit right through a wire screen door!”
Enter an enterprising Special Forces medic, Larry Dickinson, who finally resolved Recon’s problem by issuing everyone “no-shit” pills, which did the job nicely. No one knew exactly what they were and didn’t care to ask, but few rarely left for an operation without swallowing some. Once the team returned to garrison, Dickinson simply gave them two big brown pills he affectionately called “Brown Bombers,” designed to “correct” the situation. After ingesting those, the regularity issue was taken care of in about two days—no one dared stray too far from the nearest latrine.
If necessary, troopers could get by on only one of the Japanese meals per day, with the added benefit of substantially lighter combat loads. Conventional units—ground-pounders, legs or grunts, as they were often called—traveled with much heavier loads than did Special Forces, whom the conventional guys referred to as “Super-grunts.” USSF learned that anything taken with marginal use took up space needed for more important objects: additional ammo, grenades, radio batteries, food, water and extra first aid kits. Bill Roderick claims he carried 450 rounds of ammo, four hand grenades, and a 4x rifle scope to see farther than with the naked eye. He shunned the extra socks and change of dry clothing highly touted by conventional units, opting instead for the “necessities of life.”
This is a typically equipped recon team. L to R: SSG Parsons, SSG Brakeman, SFC Simpson, SFC Strick, SSG Sheppard, 1LT Sullivan. You can pick out the new guys because they have the hats with large brims. It only took one time out and then they took their hats to the Indian tailor to have two inches cut off. The wide brim restricted peripheral vision and when absolutely stationary, just moving one’s eyes in a 360° circle, the brim interfered with upward vision. All the “old hands” knew this. (Photo courtesy of Maurice Brakeman)
Extra medical kits were one such necessity. The standard Army-issue field dressing consisted of a single bandage with a gauze tail attached to each end. The inventor either had never witnessed an actual combat wound, or tried to save money. Most combat wounds are not at all like the clean little holes shown in the movies. High velocity rounds are so powerful they can often tear an arm or leg off. Then, there is another small consideration. When a bullet enters the human body, most of the time it exits. Therefore, two puncture wounds might need to be bandaged with that single field dressing. Morphine is not a standard issue item for most U.S. conventional soldiers, but no SF soldier in his right mind would have departed without at least two curettes in his makeshift first aid kit.
The typical Recon man dressed in tiger stripes (jungle camouflage fatigues). He carried a CAR 15 (shortened version of the M-16 automatic rifle) with an extra-large magazine (30 rounds). The CAR 15 was rigged to be carried suspended around their neck with parachute cord, about ammo-pouch height for easy access. The average time to put fire on a target, from acquisition to pulling the trigger, was less than a second. Most carried handguns as backup; either the standard Army issue .45 caliber automatic, or a personal weapon, normally a 9mm automatic or .357 Magnum. Nearly all Recon patrols found room for at least one of the issued silenced .22-caliber, high-powered automatic pistols.
Delta Recon didn’t use the standard Army rucksack. Those issued to Delta were coated canvas, sterile (no U.S. Army markings), with three pockets, one in front and two on the sides. It contained an extra-large main pouch and had a flat narrow pocket sandwiched between it and the man’s back, designed for carrying ground sheets. The ground sheet, a 3’ x 6’, thin, light-weight, green plastic sheet sufficed for sleeping. Most opted for two basic ammo belts, held in place by a web shoulder harness. Some also used a standard web belt with ammo pouches or filled canteen covers with loaded magazines. A few scrounged Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) belts used in Korea. With six pouches, three on each side, they could carry an extraordinary amount of ammo. In addition, the BAR belts could hold two canteen pouches and a knife. Most Recon carried a knife, one either on their belt, or taped upside down on the harness. Field bandages lined the bottom of ammo pouches, which not only gave them extra bandages in case of casualties, but held the magazines notably higher so they could be easily grasped on the first attempt.
Weapons: M-16, “mini-pistol” modified from an M-79 Grenade Launcher (left); CAR-15. The mini-pistol, considered by the Recon guys to be “personal artillery,” was shortened to 11″ and carried in a shoulder holster. (Photo courtesy of Chester Howard)
Signal mirrors, mini-smoke grenades, an orange panel and a couple of hand grenades typically went into a rucksack pocket. Additional grenades were taped to the web harness, carried in an empty canteen pouch or placed in a side pocket of the rucksack. A military issue compass was a necessity, as were wrist compasses, Army-issue olive drab plastic watches that didn’t shine and topographical maps. Additional loaded magazines were typically placed in an ammo bandolier that held ten of them, giving each man between 380 and 560 rounds, plus four to six grenades. American team members typically carried a “mini-pistol,” an M-79 grenade launcher, shortened to approximately eleven inches, tip-to-tip and fitted with a pistol grip; it had no sights and a shortened barrel. It was carried in a shoulder holster, pre-fabricated to attach directly to the web gear. Primarily used for close-in combat, with practice one became deadly accurate with this improvised weapon. Eighteen to twenty rounds filled with “double-ought” buck-shot or flechette rounds, a few high explosive rounds and some CS tear gas completed the armament for the mini-pistol. Some missions called for “silenced pistols,” or rifles with scopes.
On the upper front shoulder strap of his web gear, every Recon man carried two morphine curettes and a pill-kit. The pill-kit was personally assembled by the Delta medics to fend off any possible pain or illness that might afflict them while in the hole. Some really didn’t cure anything, but just gave the men the strength to continue. This arsenal included malaria medications, Darvon, amphetamines, allergy tablets, antibiotics, and “no-shit” pills. A snap-link and rope was attached to the shoulder-harness for tying a rappelling seat. While the rucksack might have to be dropped when running for your life, the web gear retained the necessary life-saving items essential to survive. When in the hole, it was never removed.
Additional canteens were placed in the side rucksack pockets. The front pocket held serum albumin (blood expander), more grenades and toe-poppers (a small mine one could quickly push into the ground). Smoke grenades were latched between pockets of the rucksack, and the team always found enough space for an extra battery for the PRC 25 radio. The team leader (One Zero), nearly always carried the PRC 25 radio, and the assistant team leader (One One) carried a “mini-ponder,”15 which emitted a beacon signal the FAC could detect, if they ever became separated from the radio.
They always counted on a claymore mine or two, a pound of Composition-4 (C4) explosives, an additional bandolier of ammo, more ammo for the short M-79 and eight to ten small cans of C-ration meat or fruit. One can of meat or fruit, mixed with a small amount of
rice, provided nourishment twice a day while in the hole. When they infiltrated, their pant pockets held a bag already mixed with water and indigenous rice. In the field, water was too precious to waste on food preparation.
All members wore canvas jungle-boots, a short-brim flop hat and an olive drab cravat around the forehead or neck as a sweat catcher. Unlike conventional U.S. units, Special Forces never issued steel helmets, flak-jackets, or toted gas masks, unless remaining stationary in an FOB for a long period. With grease-painted faces and hands, they carried a tube to replace the color as sweat and rain washed it off. Altogether, including fully loaded weapons, each man hoisted around sixty pounds. A six-man Delta Recon team could generate some awesome firepower. In Nha Trang, while on stand-down, the weapon, rucksack and all equipment was kept nearby, ready to travel at a moment’s notice.
