Military: 15th Administrative Co.; Caddo Par., Louisiana Submitted BY FRANK M. SMART Date: March 2002 ************************************************ ********************************************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ********************************************** 15TH ADMINISTRATIVE COMPANY, 1ST CAVALRY DIVISION (AM) SERVICE IN THE REPUBLIC OF SOUTH VIETNAM APRIL, 1968 TO APRIL, 1969 The grunts did the dirty, dangerous work of ferreting out the enemy and killing them. The helicopter pilots and door gunners did their part, often displaying uncommon valor. The medics risked their lives to save others. Someone had to tell their stories so the people back home would know. In Vietnam, as in other wars, that job fell to the Combat Reporter/Photographer. That was my Army job in Vietnam. To get these stories we had to hump the bonnies withthe grunts, suffer the agonizing cries of pain alongside the medics, and we rode with the chopper pilots and door gunners to bring those stories to life. This then, is the story of a day in the life of us Army men who performed these duties with the First Cavalry Division (Airmobile) in the Republic of South Vietnam. I served from April, 1968 to April, 1969, as a Staff Reporter/Photographer for the “Cavalier” newspaper, the official organ for my unit. And while the day I describe is not necessarily a typical day, it is nevertheless a close approximation of those days we spent plying our military trade during the Vietnam War. Military journalists did not have the freedom of our civilian counterparts. Regardless of what went down in the field during any given day, we still had the military to contend with and all that entails. We could not, for instance, return to Saigon each day, file our stories and head to the Caravel Hotel rooftop bar for cocktails and dinner as they did. The best we could hope for, if we were in the field, was warmed-up C-Rations, a quick smoke before dark on some small Night Defensive Position (NDP) on a hilltop and a couple of hours fitful sleep before being roused for our stint on radio watch or foxhole guard duty. If we were back at our main base camp we would probably get a hot meal, a shower, maybe a couple of cold sodas or a beer, after we filed our stories. And then, of course, the Army extracted it’s pound of fleshwith KP, guard duty, shit-burning detail, (Authors note:Vietnam had no sewer system, so all feces was burned using kerosene. Substitute ‘feces-burning’ if necessary) charge-of-quarters duty, etc., ad infinitum. Working out of a Brigade Public Information Office required spending time in the field with the infantry companies to get our stories and photographs.Normally we would team up with an Army photographer who was assigned to my office and we would spend three to five days in the field with the grunts. When enough cameras and film were available we did our own photography as we were cross-trained. Each Army Brigade consisted of three battalions of five companies each, plus support units. Our office attempted to cover as many of these units as possible with the three or four reporters and one or two photographers available to us.Our articles and photographs were primarily written for the Division newspaper, “The Cavalier”, but were also made available to the mainstream media in the us and to other military publications such as “The Stars and Stripes”. One factor we had to contend with was trying to be self-sustaining while in the field with the infantry. Logistic support for the troops in the field was always a problem and each additional mouth to feed and water was just another burden on that system.The key was the proper loading of the field pack and that became an art, to keep it light as possible and yet contain the minimum necessitates of life. The rule of thumb was to take enough food for three days and enoughwater for two days. Of course you wanted to keep your pack light since you had to hump it all day through ofttimes severe terrain in tropical heat. To accomplish this you stripped the C-Rations down to one can of Fruit Cocktail and coffee and breakfast, a main meal for lunch and supper, a few heat tabs to warm things up, plenty of Tabasco sauce t liven up the meal, matches, toilet paper and you were basically set. In addition you carried an Army .45 sidearm, your M-16 rifle, two bandoleers of ammo, a bayonet, an entrenching tool, several fragmentation and smoke grenades, a couple of pen flares, a medical field kit, a poncho and liner, smokes, a bar of soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, your steel pot, writing material, and one, two and sometimes, three cameras, both personal and military.And depending on the company you were traveling with,how the company commander felt and the situation, perhaps a Gas Mask and a Flak Jacket. At best your pack would weigh about 50 pounds and at the worst about 70 pounds.There were other goodies you could bring along, like a pair of clean socks (we didn’t wear underwear) mosquito repellant and some candy. After checking with the Brigade Tactical Operations Center (BTOC) to see where the various units were and what they were doing was next and then a trip to that company’s area to arrange a ride on the next outbound chopper to their location and your mission was on. Normally we took more than the required two bandoleers of M-16 ammo and plenty of hand grenades and anything else we could get our hands on to give to the grunts in the field. They never turned down ammo, clothing, food, writing materials, candy, smokes, and they always seemed grateful. Arriving in the field the Reporter/Photographer introduced himself to the Company Commander or the Platoon Leader and explained what he was doing there and how long he expected to stay. Sometimes we were welcomed, especially if we werewell-known to the company as honest and fair journalists and had proven that we were not a liability in the field. We had to carry out own weight and not burden the operation in any way. We were often viewed as another gun in thefoxhole. I have often said that my three years of Army Junior R.O.T.C. at C.E. Byrd High School helped me immeasurably during my seven years in the military, but especially in Vietnam. Of course, having been raised by my father, Frank Madison Smart, Sr., to be a competent hunter and fisherman didn’t hurt either. When the unit moved out on that day’s mission, we took our assigned position (with a particular squad or platoon) and moved out with them. What ever the unit was assigned to do, search and cordon, patrolling, ambushes, etc., we tried to assist them in any way. More that a liability, we tried to provide that extra gun on the line or in the foxhole. All of us had undergone basic training, plus our specialty training and we knew the fundamentals of fire and maneuver and enough field craft to take care of our selves in the field. In my case, I had originally been trained as a Combat Engineer. That’s basically just an Infantryman who blows things up and builds portable, temporary bridges. In a nutshell, whatever befell the unit we were with, befell us, for better or worse. If they were on a stand-down (a 3 to 5 day break from the field) at a Fire Support Base, or at a Main Base Camp, then so were we. That break from the field generally gave us a chance to get caught up on those interminable Hometown News Releases the Army required us to produce. You’ve seen them in your local newspaper: PFC Joe Smokes, son of John and Susie Smokes, is currently serving with the First Cavalry Division in South Vietnam. Smokes a 1967 graduate of......” The more adventurous of our kind went out on night ambushes and night combat assaults. I went out on several, but that’s another story for another time. Some of our fellows followed Special Forces and SEAL units on combat mission and a number of them were wounded and some were killed-in-action and still other received medals for valorous actions while doing their jobs. I was one of the lucky ones who made it through the longest year of my life, unscathed, physically and mentally. Returning from the field we wrote our stories and turned them in to our main office at Camp Evans or Ben Hoa , sent out film to the photo lab for processing and starting thinking about our next trip to the field. All in all the Combat Reporter/Photographers plied their trade pretty much the way everyone did in Vietnam. They did their best under trying, uncomfortable and dangerous conditions. In no way is this story intended to portray our jobs as being as dangerous as those who actually did the fighting, although we also fought when necessary. But, our jobs were important, and it was dangerous and dirty at times. It required great stamina, fortitude and a nose for news. We were not heroes.But, we were there in the foxholes, on the jungle trails and in the villes with the real heroes, taking their pictures and getting their stories for the world to know. And those stories will live for time immemorial, in print and film. –30–