VIETNAM MIRACLE (This is based on a true story from another person).



Our military outposts were divided up into small units in support of the South Vietnamese Army (SVA). We had been in country for almost six months and had lost many men because the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) was continually harassing us by day and by night. The weather was so humid that we continually were drenched in our own sweat. The slightest cut or abrasion, if not kept dry, would blossom into a raging infection. Insects thrived, weapons jammed, morale was so low that the only thing that kept us alive was the thought of God, family and country, in that order.


We all had short timer calendars to count the days of our DEROS or date of return from overseas station. I had little hope that I would get out of that mess alive. Choppers were sporadically bringing in supplies, replacement soldiers and then ferrying off the dead and wounded. Most of what we ate was canned food, vitamin fortified “C” rations. They were nauseating but better chow than the enemy ate. If we were hungry enough we’d bolt it down despite the taste. Our mission was supposed to be guarding the perimeter of the base camp from the outside of the perimeter but we were always moving, taking the same ground many times a month.


My Dad used to tell me that in WWII they would move into a new area, set up a defensive position, bring in reinforcements to hold that position and then move out taking further positions until the entire area was secured. Our commanders did not agree with this tactic because we needed to remember that we were a guest in that country. What did that mean anyway? Are we trying to win or just stay on the move?


We found that the SVA were almost totally useless as fellow soldiers on our side. They had little training, except what we gave them and seemed to have almost no motivation to fight or defend, perhaps because the people we were fighting were really their fellow countrymen.






It was about this time that we received a new commander by the name of Lieutenant Colonel Campbell (not his real name). Right away we knew something was up. He was not like any officer I have met before or since. It was almost like he walked with God. He really cared about us and yet we were strangers. He would go by himself into his tent every morning and evening and pray for us. He visited with all his soldiers, talked to us and wanted to get to know us, not in an informal way but with genuineness, as if we were all his sons. It was disconcerting and at first we thought it was all for show. We were to learn otherwise.


He changed our fighting tactics. Instead of smaller units, moving on the outskirts of the base camp, he combined every two units into one and surrounded us with guard towers and defensive sandbags. Air strikes were used with greater accuracy. We built bunkers that served as safe havens for the wounded and during times of shelling. We further dug deep trenches around our defensive positions and threw up large banks of earth which made it difficult for the enemy to overrun our perimeter.


Because of these and other defensive steps, our casualties began to drop significantly, so much so that in several major encounters, many of us were wounded but no one died. This was astonishing to similar units in other locales that sustained heavy damage in like situations. I was shipped out before Colonel Campbell left but I am sure I would have never lived to see my next birthday had it not have been for him.