by Gary McKay
Today Ho Chi Minh City is a sprawling, industrious, madcap metropolis of over 6 million people—and many of them are on 120cc motorcycles. Noisy, energetic and colourful, it is the commercial capital of Viet Nam and a bit more expensive than the rest of the country.
There are still many sights and places of interest to see in the city and the reader is directed to books such as the Lonely Planet guide and Australia’s Battlefields in Viet Nam1 for greater detail than can be included here. Saigon is a great place to kick off a pilgrimage because a few days in this vibrant city allows you to acclimatise, adjust to being in an Asian environment where road rules are totally ignored, and for those who want to shop it allows a quick comparison to be done early so best buys are guaranteed later in the tour. It also allows the traveller to conduct day trips to places like the Cu Chi tunnels, an overnight trip to the Delta and to visit the various museums in the city itself.
Visiting Cu Chi just north-west of the city can be unsettling as the veteran will find himself back in the bush again walking down jungle paths to visit various aspects of this now popular tourist attraction. The Vietnamese are particularly proud of their achievements during the American War, especially the fact that a Viet Cong division was able to operate and survive so close to Saigon for the duration of the war. However, there are times when the veteran will feel insulted by the way the war is portrayed here, especially in the propaganda film that is shown in a theatrette at the tunnel site. And veterans should also be aware that even though the tunnels have been widened to accommodate larger Westerners, they can be claustrophobic for some, and a bitter reminder to others who had to enter and clear tunnels during the war. Just outside the Cu Chi tourist complex is a large shrine that honours some 50 000 Viet Cong soldiers from the region who lost their lives; it is well worth a visit.
The veteran is also warned that the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City is particularly confronting and clearly biased in its approach to war atrocities, where only the ‘American imperialists’ and the accompanying ‘puppets’ are portrayed as committing misdeeds. There is no coverage of Viet Cong terrorism, or the savage National Liberation Front butchery in cities like Hué during the 1968 Tet Offensive. But that is something to be accepted as part of Viet Nam’s reunification and not intended as a slight against the individual veteran.
As Peter Isaacs wrote after his visit in 2005 about the official government slant on history and events:
I didn’t read anything in the War Remnants Museum in Saigon that was an obvious lie—but the story portrayed is totally one-sided. At the ‘Hanoi Hilton’ prison in Hanoi, there is a marble tablet which proclaims how US POWs received ‘adequate food and clothing’ and were treated humanely. They won the war, why do they feel it necessary to lie? The short history of Vietnam printed in the tourist guide in the seat pocket of the Vietnam Airlines aircraft that conveyed us from Da Nang to Hanoi states that the country has had three distinct periods of history. The most recent was the declaration of Independence from colonial rule by President Ho Chi Minh in 1945. No mention at all of subsequent events.2
But a visit to Ho Chi Minh City is not all doom and gloom. It is a city that unrelentingly pulsates with life—24 hours a day. There is non-stop traffic, non-stop activity and it boasts good restaurants, interesting attractions and represents Asia at its most colourful.
Peter Rogers has been back to Viet Nam several times and his first return to Ho Chi Minh City simply stunned him: ‘we couldn’t get over the number of motorcycles and when you want to cross the road, you need steely resolve: just step off the kerb and just go for it and don’t stop.’3 What Peter is referring to is the ‘river of humanity’ flowing around you as literally hundreds of cyclists and commuters on motorcycles zoom past in what seems to be a never-ending flow. There are few pedestrian crossings—and they would be ignored anyway unless a traffic policeman was operating on that intersection. Once you step off the pavement you are like a rock in a creek, and if you stop you are as good as dead. So the advice is to watch out, but just keep walking across the road at a steady pace. And please, don’t stop!
Tan Son Nhut international airport
The absolute thing one could not avoid when landing in Viet Nam during the war was the tropical climate. That heavy, heady mixture of high heat, oppressive humidity, and the odours of an Asian city was like having a warm, wet, smelly blanket thrown over your body. You breathed in the moist air and your nostrils flared, your head snapped back as the reek of rotting vegetation, open drains and sewers combined to make your eyes water, and you wished you hadn’t had lunch.
For many Australian servicemen, Saigon’s Tan Son Nhut airport was their first point of entry to the Viet Nam War and will undoubtedly bring back memories for veterans returning today.
Tan Son Nhut was huge in area and very high in aircraft movement during the war. It combined civilian and military air traffic, although the vast majority was military during the time of Australia’s involvement in the conflict. Literally hundreds of military aircraft were permanently located on the airbase, and a three-metre-high wall topped with barbed wire encircled the entire airfield. Aircraft were stored in sandbagged concrete revetments, and some were housed in open-ended concrete hangars. The remains of those reinforced hangars are still evident today. Trying to photograph these war relics will result in your camera (and film if relevant) being confiscated, as Tan Son Nhut is still an operational airbase for the Socialist Republic of Viet Nam air force.
Australia’s national airline Qantas was chartered to deploy many of the individual reinforcements and replacement personnel to South Viet Nam, with almost half of the Australians carried by Qantas charter jet. The Boeing 707 aircraft usually flew out of Sydney, and were scheduled to arrive at Tan Son Nhut airport around mid-morning and to depart with returning personnel several hours later. Initially the aircraft staged through Manila, but later flew via Singapore after diplomatic arrangements for the transit of Australian service personnel were made with a somewhat reticent Singaporean government.
There is an old joke that goes, ‘How did you find [insert a country or place]?’ And the jokester will answer, ‘I got off the plane and there it was.’ And anyone who flew into Tan Son Nhut on the Qantas charter can tell you what they remember about the first time they stuck their head out of the 707. Derrill De Heer recalled:
I had been in Asia before and I expected the smells to be there again. They weren’t as bad as Singapore and Malacca in 1962. My most vivid memory was the number of planes at the airport. Fighters like F-4 Phantoms, helicopters—load carrying and gunships. Transport aircraft—C-123, C-130, C-117, OV-10 Broncos, etc. I couldn’t get over how close they were to each other. Many in the open, many in arming bays and others under overhead protection with side revetments. I was surprised at the number of civilians working in and around the airport. All wearing black pyjamas. When I was at the Infantry Centre we were told the enemy wore black pyjamas. We were surrounded! I got over that easily, but a number who hadn’t been overseas before were seen to be nervous.4
Captain and Quartermaster Ron Shambrook first flew into Tan Son Nhut as part of the 5 RAR advance party in 1966. He had been to Asia before, but when he looked out across the tarmac he couldn’t believe his eyes:
I guess the biggest impression when I landed at Tan Son Nhut was the American air equipment that was there. Be they helicopters, be they all sorts of shapes and sizes of aircraft, many of which I had never seen before. The revetments that were around some of them; the activity by the Americans, and that was clearly the most significant thing.5
Pilot Peter Rogers was on his way to join the 161 Recce Flight in Nui Dat and was craning his neck to look out the 707 jet window. Peter remembered what he was taking in through excited eyes:
My most vivid memory is of flying really low and steep into Tan Son Nhut. I could see the craters from aerial bombs, artillery and whatever . . . and looking out and thinking, ‘Oh God, it looks like we are in a war zone.’6
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Captain Ted Heffernan was posted as a medical officer to the artillery field regiment and also to serve in the field ambulance at Nui Dat. He was given the desultory pre-deployment briefings at Healesville and Canungra and recalled looking out into the glare of the tropical haze as he stepped onto the aircraft stairs in 1966:
We had a briefing at Puckapunyal and my understanding of it was that you would know who were Viet Cong because they wore black pyjamas—when we landed at Saigon everyone had black pyjamas on, and we thought we were too late!7
Some soldiers flying into Saigon found themselves in a war zone much sooner than they expected. Infantryman Second Lieutenant Neil Weekes flew into South Viet Nam as part of the 1 RAR advance party in early 1968. Neil wrote in a letter:
When we arrived at the airport, Saigon was under attack. There was artillery fire going in, fires around the airport. There were several damaged planes that had been hit with rocket or artillery fire, and as we got off the plane we were issued our weapons and live rounds for our magazines. We were then shown across to the protection bays of the aircraft where we huddled against the walls while waiting for a couple of Caribou to fly us into Nui Dat—my diary records, ‘Guns blasting everywhere—we’re in it.’8
Most units, other than the infantry battalions, used what was called a ‘trickle reinforcement system’ to replace their soldiers when their tour of duty was completed. Cavalryman Ross McCormack recalled his arrival at Tan Son Nhut in 1970:
As the aircraft descended to land at Saigon, I remember the green paddy fields of the Delta area soon changed to the harsh realities of Tan Son Nhut airport, with all sorts of military aircraft coming and going. The noise was continuous, the smell of aircraft exhaust was overpowering, and the temperature and humidity debilitating. I was at Tan Son Nhut for about three hours before I was able to jump on board a Caribou ‘Wallaby’ flight to Nui Dat.9
Tan Son Nhut today is like many other international airports with its multi-storey construction, chrome and glass fittings, baggage carousels and airbridges. The only frustrating thing about moving through the airport complex is what seems like the inordinate amount of time to be processed through Customs and Immigration, however that unfortunately seems to be the case anywhere around the globe in the new millennium.
Coral and Balmoral battle sites
In May 1968 the Australian Task Force was redeployed out of Phuoc Tuy Province and tasked to sit astride a main ingress route into Saigon about 35 kilometres from the capital and twenty kilometres north of Bien Hoa City. The 1st and 3rd Battalions RAR found themselves facing a numerically superior force on the north-western approach route for almost a month as they occupied and fought out of Fire Support Bases Coral and Balmoral respectively during what became known as the second Tet Offensive. The two fire support bases were only six kilometres apart and able to support each other with troops, tanks and field artillery.
Veterans of the Fire Support Base Coral and Balmoral battles are advised that the areas where they fought so tenaciously against the Viet Cong in May 1968 are now working rubber plantations, and are regarded by the Vietnamese government as ‘sensitive sites’. There are now large obelisk monuments at the sites honouring the Viet Cong soldiers who died in the battles. At the Coral site is a crypt that holds the remains of about 41 Viet Cong soldiers who were buried in a mass grave by the Australians.10
To visit the battle sites requires a permit that travel companies need to organise in advance with the government’s tourist organisation and which must be carried by visitors. It is also customary to visit the local People’s District Committee beforehand as a courtesy before entering the sites.
I was on such a visit in 2002 and mistakenly believed that the tourist company had issued my guide with permits for both sites, but found myself detained at the local police station for an afternoon as only one battle site was covered by the permit. Spending an afternoon at gunpoint in a holding room is not everyone’s idea of a good time, so it pays to make sure with your guide and travel company that your permits cover all ‘sensitive sites’ you intend to visit. When in doubt, ask at the local police station. You may find a ‘fee’ will allow you unfettered access. Enough said.
The Mekong Delta
During the war, the Mekong Delta to the south of Ho Chi Minh City was the preserve of the brown water navies of the Republic of (South) Viet Nam and the US Navy SEAL (Sea Air and Land) commando teams, the US Marine Corps and US Special Forces soldiers. The Allies relied principally on amphibious and heliborne operations, with Australian support in the form of the AATTV, Canberra bomber crews on air strike missions, forward air controllers, and Royal Australian diving teams who helped clear stakes, booby traps and mines from the many waterways that created dangerous obstacles for Allied patrol craft. The enemy were also heavily engaged in the destruction of bridges, using floating birdcage mines with timed fuses.
Travelling south to the Mekong Delta region has been fraught with problems in recent years mainly owing to poor roads, unreliable ferry services and communication difficulties. However, within a year or so it is anticipated that trips down to the Delta will become more frequent. There is a lot of flat, green empty space to look at on that voyage, apart from the ribbon development on each side of the road. Unless there is a special reason for seeing the area, a single overnight trip will usually suffice to satisfy the curious.
Peter Rogers and his wife Suzie visited the Delta region, and although Peter never served there he did find it interesting:
Down on the Delta, where people live their whole lives on their boats, was something else. It is a land of contrasts and is totally different to what most Diggers remember, and that is reason enough for going back to my mind.11
Chapter 4
INSIDE THE WIRE: NUI DAT
The Nui Dat base
The Australian Task Force base at Nui Dat was ‘home’ for a year for the vast majority of soldiers who served in South Viet Nam. The base was sited centrally in Phuoc Tuy Province around Nui Dat hill (Nui Dat is Vietnamese for ‘small hill’). It was astride the main arterial road, Provincial Route 2, an all-weather road that ran from the provincial capital of Ba Ria (also called Phuoc Le) to the Long Khanh Province border. Being only 30 kilometres from the logistic support base at the port of Vung Tau, it was an ideal location and all that was needed to occupy the site was to clear the locals out of the immediate vicinity and construct a bypass road. Positioning the main base in the centre of the province, away from the main population concentration in Ba Ria, suited the operational counter-revolutionary warfare plans and greatly hindered the Viet Cong’s intelligence-gathering opportunities. The area was relatively flat and was mostly covered in rubber plantations. The well-groomed avenues of trees had provided steady work for several villages in the local area.
The soldiers arrived in Nui Dat by several means. Some flew in by Caribou after transferring from chartered Qantas 707 jet airliners at Tan Son Nhut airport, landing at what was named Luscombe Field. Some came in by road in the backs of trucks. Others flew off the HMAS Sydney in US Army Chinook CH-47 helicopters, like Bill Kromwyk. He recalled arriving at Nui Dat airstrip in 1969:
The adrenaline was running high: here we are, we are actually in Viet Nam. And you were expecting trouble straightaway, like are we going to get shot at? Are there any mortars coming in? We just didn’t know what to expect, so we were wary at all times, but of course nothing happened and it was actually a very peaceful entry into Viet Nam. And then we made our way to our lines and where we were going to be camped and were allocated our four-man tents. From Luscombe airfield we just walked down to our lines.1
Regardless of how you arrived, you had heard about ‘The Dat’. It was going to be your home for the next 365 days . . . and a wakey. Derrill De Heer looked around him and remembered later that ‘the dust at Nui Dat was a bit surprising’. Coming in on the advance party for 8 RAR, he was to be billeted by the outgoing 9th Battalion. He recalled, ‘I was there when the soldier fragged
the officer [Lieutenant Convery] with a grenade. It was a scary few days as the person had vowed to kill a few other people in his company.’2
But not all new arrivals had such an unsettling reception. Staff Sergeant Bob Hann’s main memory of landing at Nui Dat after being ferried via Chinook choppers from Vung Tau was ‘the heat and the smell’.3 Ian Ryan came in by military convoy in the back of a truck. This was his first time in a war zone and his first quick impressions of the area were: ‘[It was] hot; the different landscape, the people, the military activity and the uncanny realisation of the unknown, and how important our training was going to be.’4
When 5 RAR first swept through the area on Operation Hardihood in late May 1966, Nui Dat was a recently abandoned rubber plantation, with clear ground between the rows of trees and good visibility. There was no airstrip that later dominated the geographical landscape of the base. There were no huts, kitchens or aluminium huts. It was just a rubber plantation.
Roger Wainwright recalled going into the area on his first deployment, his memory of it still crystal clear, aided by the map he has kept from that operation. Their first contact with the enemy was:
On Day 1, up near An Phu, right up near where 5 RAR eventually had its headquarters. There was a little cemetery up there where the mortar platoon was deployed and that was where we had the first contact. We flew into LZ [Landing Zone] Hudson, which was on the western side of An Phu village.5
The battalion had to start from scratch in establishing what would be their home for the next eleven months. Not only did the surrounding area need to be secured, but the base as well. This was no easy task owing to lack of equipment, as Quartermaster Ron Shambrook recalled:
The biggest job was trying to get the base equipped to be able to manage a small number of people in defence of a large area whilst the battalion was out. We then had to go and secure by fair or foul means switchboards, telephones; we got some .30 cal and .50 cal machine guns.6
