When Green Beret Lieutenant James N. Rowe was captured in 1963
in Vietnam, his life became more than a matter of staying
alive.
In a Vietcong POW camp, Rowe endured beri-beri, dysentery, and
tropical fungus diseases. He suffered grueling psychological and
physical torment. He experienced the loneliness and frustration of
watching his friends die. And he struggled every day to maintain
faith in himself as a soldier and in his country as it appeared to
be turning against him.
His survival is testimony to the disciplined human spirit.
His story is gripping.
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1
Two hui???helicopters pushed northward, two thousand feet above
the swamp and rice paddy domain of the Mekong Delta???s Vietcong
legions, their blades beating a steady rhythm against the air. One
of them, the unarmed ???slick,??? carried Capt. Humbert ???Rock???
Versace, intelligence adviser with the Military Assistance and
Advisory Group at Camau. The other chopper, flying slightly to
their right front, was an armed helicopter, its landing skids heavy
with rocket tubes and machine guns. Their destination was a small
Special Forces camp twenty-six kilometers north of the provincial
capital and in the center of a Vietcong-controlled zone.
Rocky was a trimly built, twenty-six-year-old West Point graduate
who had volunteered for a six-month extension after completing one
year as an adviser. His slightly outthrust jaw and penetrating eyes
were indications of his personality, but his close-cut,
black-flecked, steel-gray hair looked as if it belonged on someone
much older.
He had recently been assigned as MAAG intelligence adviser in
Camau and had witnessed some hard combat as the Vietnamese units
his detachment was advising stood toe to toe with the best the
Vietcong had to offer. The battles were typical of that period:
Vietcong nighttime assaults; chance daylight encounters with an
elusive enemy and the seeming impossibility of pinning him down;
bloody ambushes; lack of adequate air support and artillery even
though our pilots were flying the wings off of the available
T-28???s, the frustration that went with the ???old war??? before
the arrival of jets, artillery support, and American Combat units.
This was the war known to the American advisers, to the isolated
U.S. Special Forces detachments in their efforts to combat the
Vietcong in their own territory. This was Vietnam, 1963.
Small groups of huts, clustered along canal banks bordered by
coconut palms and banana trees, passed below the open doors of the
choppers. The countryside was deceptively peaceful. To shatter the
illusion all one had to do was drop down into range of the weapons
which were, no doubt, pointed skyward at that very moment, hidden
by the foliage of the trees. Farmers worked thigh-deep in water,
tending their rice paddies, their conical hats reflecting the
sunlight. Water buffalo wallowed in the mud, oblivious to all
around them. A graceful ???spirit bird??? hung motionless in the
sky, ???suspended high in a rising air thermal,??? its lonely world
undisturbed by the passing helicopters.
Ahead, now visible at the intersection of two larger canals, was
Versace???s destination, Tan Phu. A streamer of green smoke
billowed up from the landing zone, a small rectangular area cleared
for chopper landing. At Tan Phu there was only one way in or
out???by chopper???and it wasn???t safe that way either. The
terrain one kilometer away from camp for 360 degrees belonged to
Charlie. It was an isolated fortress manned by an American Special
Forces A-Detachment, their Vietnamese Special Forces LLDB
counterpart team, and four companies???about 380 men on an average
day???of the Civilian Irregular Defense Group. These were the
Vietnamese and Cambodians from that area who had been recruited,
equipped, and trained to resist the Vietcong in their home
villages. It was a lonely spot for the Americans.
The armed Huey made its first pass over the camp, a cluster of
brown thatched huts surrounded by a mud wall, narrow moat, and
several distinct barbed wire barriers. Large machine-gun bunkers on
the corners and scattered rifle positions along the wall marred the
otherwise smooth rectangular layout of the camp???s main defense.
Mortar positions within the perimeter, a watchtower, a masonry and
tile dispensary, and a large concrete cube completed the major
interior parts of this barrier to complete Vietcong domination of
the area.
The large concrete structure was being used as an ammunition
bunker now that it had been strengthened and sandbagged. It was the
only survivor of a militia post that had been overrun by the VC in
1962. The last of the soldiers then manning the post had been
trapped inside the building as they made a final stand. The
Vietcong had jammed the muzzles of their weapons into the firing
ports and riddled the inside of the building, then hurled grenades
into the ports and wiped out the remaining defenders. The inside
walls of the building still bore the scars of that last
stand.
The choppers settled onto the sheets of perforated steel matting
which prevented them from sinking over their skids in the soft muck
of this delta swampland. Rocky jumped to the matting, clutching a
small bag in one hand and a portable Thermofax machine under his
other arm. His baseball cap was canted to one side of his head and
his carbine had slipped from his shoulder to the crook of his
arm.
???Welcome to the end of the world! I didn???t expect you so
soon.??? Ducking against the powerful downdraft of the blades and
holding my beret on with one hand, I greeted him. Members of the
American team took his gear as I introduced him to Al Penneult, the
crew-cut, bull-necked ex-football player???our detachment
commander.
Rocky???s grin was one of the nicest things about him and his
greeting made it seem as if we???d known each other for years.
Actually, it had been only a few weeks since I???d met him. I had
been en route to Tan Phu from Saigon after picking up funds and
supplies for the camp. Rocky had been just another face in the
vehicle that took us from the Catinat Hotel to Tan Son Nhut
Airfield and I had said no more than ???Good morning??? when I
first saw him. It wasn???t until we found ourselves sitting side by
side on the same Caribou flight to Can Tho that we began to talk
and introduced ourselves. Before we landed at Can Tho, we had gone
through the whole problem of exchange of vital information that
existed in our operational area and had hatched a plan to establish
communication between our posts. We received permission at my
B-Detachment to put in voice commo between Tan Phu and Camau. It
was to be strictly for exchange of information and not used as a
command net. With that guidance, we went to work and in three days
had installed an ANGRC 9 radio at Tan Phu and linked the two
groups of Americans, the Special Forces and MAAG. I had spent two
days at Camau, coordinating the setup and requisitioning the radio
which I subsequently took back to Tan Phu to be installed. Rocky
had planned to come up to Tan Phu for a visit to check out what we
had and coordinate further exchanges.
This visit had been prompted by a briefing we had given his
senior adviser earlier the same day on the situation at Tan Phu. He
had questioned whether or not Rocky had been up to coordinate yet
and after my negative reply had decided to send the choppers for
him. It hadn???t been more than a couple of hours after the
Colonel???s departure that Rocky arrived.
Rocky, Al, and I walked through the gate into the main camp,
saluting the stern-faced striker on guard as he snapped to present
arms with his carbine. We passed a clothesline, sagging under the
weight of dripping fatigue shirts and trousers. ???Big Boy,??? our
Vietnamese laundryman, was attempting to dry the freshly washed
uniforms before the humid rainy-season climate induced mold to
form. The intervals of sunlight were short and it took no time at
all for the clothes to develop a broad velvety covering of either
light green or dull orange.
Pluto, the team???s canine mascot, lay in the middle of the path,
luxuriating in the warmth of a patch of sunlight while one of the
Vietnamese chickens pecked intently at some delicacy it had
discovered on Pluto???s tail. Neither seemed to disturb the
other.
Inside the team hut, Rocky met the other members of the team and
stowed his bag and weapon on the bunk Al indicated. The dirt floors
and thatch construction of our buildings contrasted sharply with
the masonry structures, cement floors, and screened windows at
Camau, thus prompting Rocky???s first comment: ???Why don???t you
fix this place up a little???? He indicated the sacks of portland
cement stacked high along the wall. ???You???ve got plenty of
cement, why not put in a floor and walls????
The questions caused heads to turn in his direction as the team
members scrutinized the visitor who had immediately begun to
criticize our hootches. I felt compelled to answer, since he was my
guest and I knew no one else would reply.
???We have a priority on construction, Rocky. The cement is for
civil affairs projects with our Vietnamese and we can???t use it to
make our quarters more comfortable until we finish the sanitation
and construction in the villages.???
Rocky nodded. Once he understood why something was done, he would
accept it. That is, if he agreed with the reasoning. I had, in the
short time I???d known him, noticed a dynamic, outspoken frankness.
He had an eagerness and disregard for danger that would blend well
with Al???s similar traits, but perhaps not so well with the older
team members??? outlook. It was a matter of liking Rocky a hell of
a lot or disliking him intensely. He was too positive a personality
to allow any other reactions and his unreserved observations could
be quite abrasive.
Supper that evening was a festive occasion as our Vietnamese
cooks, Hai and Sha the grinning, bucktoothed, local con artist,
outdid themselves. Barbecued pork, French fried potatoes, and green
beans were steaming in serving bowls on the long tables, with
French rolls and butter. Fruit cocktail topped off the meal and we
were all in a relaxed mood as we sat outside the hootch, sipping
coffee or beer and watching the spectacular Vietnamese
sunset.
These moments of quiet were ones I think all of us will remember
about Vietnam. Tan Phu was a beautiful place in the evening. The
wide rice paddy, graceful coconut palms, the glorious burst of
oranges and reds fanning up from the western horizon and reflecting
from the masses of clouds created a feeling of harmony and peace.
The village children playing and laughing along the canal banks and
the birds high above, quiet and graceful, returning to their nests
dispelled any thoughts of the war that began when darkness fell.
The mosquitoes were the first sign that night was coming and soon
after their arrival, our moments of peace ended. Darkness came and
with it came the VC.
That night there was a minor probe along the outpost line across
the canal. We fired a few illumination and high explosive mortar
rounds. The troops on the line exchanged shots with the attackers
and then it was quiet again. The team had become accustomed to
these harassing attacks and paid little attention unless required
to support the strikers. We slept in our fatigue trousers, with
boots and loaded weapons in reach of our bunks in case something
big came up. Also that night, Rocky met our mobile rattrap, a
seven-and-a-half-foot python, who proved to be an affable companion
to his very few friends. The strikers eyed his as a substantial
meal, but refrained from tangling with him for reasons other than
his belonging to the American team.
The next morning, after a breakfast of Hai???s two-ton pancakes,
which were a good ten inches in diameter and as think as the palm
of my hand, we began to go through the intelligence gathered at Tan
Phu. Captain Versace proved to be extremely efficient in extracting
the pertinent facts from agents??? reports and classifying it
according to the information he already had. At the same time, he
was filling our intelligence sergeant and me in on information that
clarified our picture.
I briefed Rocky on the enemy situation, mentioning the new
reports we had been getting on a buildup of VC regional force
units, hard-core types with the latest Communist-bloc equipment.
The day before, the Colonel had mentioned during the briefing that
there were large units moving northward from the rest areas deep in
the mangrove swamps south of Camau and they had disappeared after
reaching this area. All indications pointed to our old
troublemaker, the VC 306th Battalion, roaming around somewhere near
the fringe of the U Minh Forest. We had clobbered them in an
all-night battle on 30 July. They disappeared, licking their wounds
and swearing revenge. They were now back with replacements and new
equipment. It was a developing picture of enemy strength increasing
radically, with no obvious reason to sit idle once they massed
their forces. We could expect some rough nights ahead.
Rocky met Lieutenant Tinh, the Vietnamese Special Forces
detachment commander, a quiet, sleepy-eyed, young second
lieutenant, who had been assigned to Tan Phu for his first command
position. Then he met Sergeant Canh, the Vietnamese team sergeant,
a veteran of the French conflict who had served at Tan Phu from the
time it was reestablished some seven months earlier. He had been
team sergeant under Major Phong, the first camp commander, as was
wise in the ways of staying alive at Tan Phu. Aspirant Dai was the
second in command to Lieutenant Tinh and was a pleasant young man
in a position where he balanced survival against fulfilling the
requirements in this tour of duty for his promotion to second
lieutenant. Tan Phu was a rough place to learn how to be an
officer.
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