War Story 10: The Lord Was My Shepherd in Vietnam

After talking, I hung the phone up and sat motionless except for the tears running down my face.

I was still trying to find a hero who changed my world forever. The conversation with a fellow Army Veteran and Scout Dog Handler left me reflecting on the past.

It all started when my infantry platoon flew into a cornfield in the middle of the jungle along the Laotian border in Vietnam. It was crawling with NVA soldiers close to the infamous Ho Chi Minh Trail. The two Hueys carrying my 24 souls were noisy and straining as we came in fast and low at tree-top level. We had two other Huey gunships escorting us. As we approached the landing zone, the Huey's spewed massive amounts of smoke behind them to camouflage us from enemy snipers.

We swooped down, with a hill above us on one side and a thick jungle around the field's perimeter. As the Hueys leveled off just a few feet from the ground, we jumped onto the jagged tree stumps and corn stalks and ran to the jungle edge to seek cover. As quickly as they came, the Hueys were gone, and the silence was eerie. 

Once inside the jungle's edge, we formed a line and squatted down, looking all around as we knew danger was near.

I pulled out my binoculars and scanned the area opposite us. On the hill, I saw soldiers with lots of equipment, packs, and machine guns running around. I called my Commander and asked if any friendlies or "little people" (referencing ARVN soldiers) were in the area.

He took a few seconds and loudly proclaimed, "Negative! Negative on the little people, attack, attack!"

My God! This was going to be a gunfight, I said to myself.  

A half dozen or so NVA were scrambling fast to get into position. Maybe they wanted to ambush the next flight of Hueys. But we got there before they knew it. Instead, my platoon lay hidden across from the hill about 200 yards.

I wondered if there were many more enemies hidden in the jungle. I was at least 5-10 miles from the nearest American units. A constant fear was being overrun and captured.

I called for the "Firebirds" or Cobra gunships to rake the hill with gunfire. Moments later, they made several passes firing machine guns and grenades as we made our way around the cornfield and positioned at the bottom of the hill to attack.

After they made their last run, it was a classic rush up the hill online, yelling and screaming while firing and grenades exploding. It was nothing less than surreal.

When it was over, the enemy bodies were unceremoniously rolled down the side of the hill. We then set up our positions in their foxholes for the night. Incredibly, we suffered no casualties. I looked out over the cornfield and realized we were at a higher level than the Hueys that had brought us when they hovered to drop us off. If the NVA had been ready in these positions, it would have been a turkey shoot.

I got word that we would have to spend the night on the hill. The enemy now knew where we were. I was worried about a counterattack. We slept little that night. The stench from the decaying bodies was drifting over us.

The next day, we loaded a Command helicopter with our captured weapons. The Major was quite pleased. Intelligence was right. The enemy was here.

Soon, another Huey came to drop off a Scout Dog and its Handler. We would use them on our next patrols to search for enemy locations.

Speaking to the Handler, I learned the Scout Dog was well trained, but he newly arrived in Vietnam just a few days ago. This would be his first combat mission. I was quite concerned. I asked myself whether I could trust them. Would the dog make noise and give away our position?

The impressive-looking German Shepherd was breathing heavily due to the heat and humidity. I felt bad for such an animal with all its fur to be in this sweltering climate. Heck, I felt terrible for all of us in this climate.

It was not going to be easy. Our "point man" had to hack through the thick jungle as we left the hill. It was tough going, sweating, tripping on vines, picking off branches and bugs from our bodies while trying to stay alert.

A few hours later, we broke through a wall of foliage, and to our shock, we realized we were on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. It was a curved tunnel cut through triple canopy jungle and a path wide enough for large trucks to use as a jungle highway.

My goodness! I said to myself. All my warning signs lit up. My heart raced faster.

I quickly reorganized after seeing this exact scenario during training in the Panama Canal Zone at "Jungle School" for infantry officers going to Vietnam. 

I would put the untested Scout Dog and Handler "on point," leading the platoon. Private Larry Gatliff, standing about six feet, five inches tall, would follow in second place or the "cover" position. I would be third in the line of march with my machine gunner behind me, followed by the rest of my platoon.

I also took one squad and had them go back into the jungle alongside the trail and move quietly as possible in parallel to us. They would protect our right flank as we would go up the side of a hill with the incline to our right and a drop to our left.  

My squad leader thought it was a terrible idea and did not want to do it. Aggravated by the jungle, he was feeling the strain and heat. With no uncertain terms, I ordered his squad to move. I was in no mood for a debate.

Once we were ready, we slowly approached the small hill. There was no wind, and the air hung heavy. Not good for the dog's senses.

I was thinking of every possibility. I was so grateful for the training that told me how to approach this classic "OK, Lieutenant, now what do we do?" challenge.

As we got closer to the crest of the hill, we were ambushed by the NVA lying in the road and opened up with AK-47's.

From complete silence to explosive automatic gunfire, all Hell broke loose.

I dropped like a rock and found Larry falling backward, nearly hitting me. He was shot through his head. I could feel the air pressure as the bullets passed over my head. 

I heard the dog yelping, obviously wounded, and leaped down the hill to our left. Just then, I heard the Handler screaming that he was shot.

I immediately yelled at him to fire at the enemy to keep them from coming down on top of us. He cried out again that he was shot and needed help.

I screamed back, to shoot his M-16 any way he could to keep the enemy from coming down on top of us.

The Handler did get his M-16 and fired his whole magazine in the air toward the enemy.

The enemy was determined. Several ran to our right and were so anxious that they did not see my squad, who was fully alerted to the danger, and cut them down immediately.

Even knowing more enemies might be in the area, I had to get both Larry and the Handler out. I called for a Medivac who miraculously held his helicopter steady while dropping the basket through a triple canopy jungle so thick I could not see the Huey.

I thought about the vulnerable position the Huey was in and prayed it would not be shot down.

We loaded up Larry. It was an awful sight. I watched as he was raised upward through the trees, muttering with sadness, "I will never forget you, Larry."  

Then on the second drop, we put the Handler in the basket. I could see that he was shot through both his legs.

He whispered to me to please find his dog. He was distraught, even with the pain he felt.

I said nothing.

As the Medivac pulled away, I thought about the options. The NVA knew where we were and knew the terrain better than us. Can I risk more lives looking for a wounded dog? Even if I found it, would it live? Would I want to call and risk another Medivac for the dog?

I decided to leave the area. My heart was heavy. Larry was a good soldier, only 19, and always wanted to help others. Neither Larry nor the Handler saw it coming. I also knew the German Shepherd was alone in the jungle, injured or dying.

I concluded that the German Shepherd spooked the NVA lying in the road at the top of the hill to fire sooner than they planned and gave me enough time to drop down and hug the ground as bullets passed inches over my head. As a result, the dog saved my life.

I often think of him as the Lord accompanying me as my Shepherd.

I feel those words of prayer,

"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me….Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…"

Words that perfectly described my experience in the green jungle.

Over many years, I tried to locate the Handler and reach out to various Veteran groups like the "Vietnam Dog Handler Association."

On the phone, a Veteran who was a Scout Dog Handler reminded me of the famous poem "Rainbow Bridge." It is easy to find in a search on the Internet.

A couple of lines are incredibly emotional:

"Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge."

In time, I expect to meet him again on Rainbow Bridge.