Chuck Truitt is a Missionary to the American Military serving with Baptist International Missions, Inc.  He spent 14 years in the Marine Corp and and served multiple tours of duty in Viet Nam.  His book on Pop A Yellow Smoke will be out soon.

I gotta tell you all this story, and I do it with some ambivalence; let me explain. Ever since I wrote that last story, "LZ Snoopy USMC" I've been anticipating writing this one, but it takes me a long time to write even a short one. I have to sit and think and remember, after all it has been 33 years. As I'm writing, often I'll remember something else - a little tidbit - and then I'll have to go back and amend what I've already written. As I've been thinking about it, sometimes I just start chuckling to myself, or even laughing out loud because, to me, it was very a funny experience. But, on the other hand, today at a much more mellow 53 years old, and I believe more considerate of other folks, even doggies (one of my best friends is an army SgtMaj) there is in me something that says "Chuck, that was not nice!" Ha, Ha, Hmmm.
Just a few weeks after the "modification of the Snoopy Doghouse" incident, which would have put it right around the end of January 1970, all of the 1st Radio Battalion was moving operations down further south, closer to DaNang. We got the word up there on FSB Fuller that we would be relocated too.
After the 4th Marines left, and the few of us 1st Radio Battalion guys were still up there, things were a lot different. Those combat veteran Marines were replaced by a company of soldiers that, according to what they told me, had 4 combat veteran NCO's and the rest were green, just recently "in country" men. It must have gotten better later on, but it was a bit scary at first. I'll never forget one M-16 (one of the newer ones with the round flash suppresser, not the three pronged ones like we had) lay up against the sandbagged wall for three days and got a red film on it before it was ever moved.
Those army medics had 45's, brand new ones. Mine was shot out; the lands and grooves were just about gone. I had gotten a case of 45 tracer ammo. It wasn't in a normal ammo can; it was a big green can holding 800 rounds, and it opened on the end with a "key" to undo the thing, just like opening an old coffee can, or sardine can. I suppose that's what they used in the old "grease guns," and probably "Tommy guns."
I used to shoot at a 55 gal drum on the ridge 350 meters to the west of us. Bracing the pistol on the sandbags, I'd fire towards the ridge, using a lot of "Kentucky Windage" and watch those tracers burn in a big basketball like arc towards the drum. My barrel was so shot out that I couldn't even hit a beer can thrown just outside the sandbagged wall. Even by bracing the pistol with sandbags, still the dirt would kick up all around the can. Seriously, the lands and grooves looked more like dimples. Well, the army helped me out with that. All those medics carried a 45. In the bunker just down from us there was a medic who always left his pistol belt hanging from a table just inside his bunker. I got one of my other Marines to sidetrack the Medic while I did a quick "field strip" of his pistol and switched barrels on him. WOW, what a difference I could now see dirt kicking up around the drum over there on the ridge 350 yards away, and occasionally hit the thing "with a perceptible bang" at that range.
I really liked it up there on Fuller, and I felt that I was really effective in my part of the war. There were alot of NVA, and VC too, who were put out of action because of us 1st RadBn SigInt/EW guys. Yes, that seems like a pretty cosmetic/euphemistic way of saying it. Since I worked DF which was very actively involved in locating the enemy, and I was told that our equipment was designed for up to 12 miles, you can understand that we had to be very near the enemy to be effective. Well we were, and it was. Net control would send us coordinates when we had a fix on a location. A fix with a CEP (Circular Error of Probability) of a 1000 meters to me was junk, although valuable in knowing the general area of a particular enemy unit. Often we'd get 300 meter or less fixes, and sometimes 100 meter fixes on the "bad guys." But, remember this was 33 years ago, though I do remember things pretty good from then.
The army took over the six 105mm howitzers, and one day the army arty OIC, a mustang lieutenant, if I recall, came in and talked to me since I was the DF dude. He told me that he had formally worked with the ASA (Army Security Agency) and knew all about what we did, and especially knew about the "pigs" (PRD-1's) and their capabilities. He told me that I could walk right in to his bunker, stick a pin in the map and not tell him anything, but just make sure it was a 300 meter fix or less, and he could have steel on the target "Most Ricky Tick." Now you have to understand that they had info on our own and ARVN operations and positions, so he knew where not to "lay in a fire mission" but, on more than one occasion I'd stick the map and almost immediately there was a fire mission and a "splash" on target real fast. Mutters Ridge, just a thousand meters north, was the splash area on several occasions as I recall, as was The Razorback to the west. There was a ridge just to our NE, between us and A4, that I recall putting steel on as well; that's the same ridge where I saw two birds (Cobras) get shot down on in one day - seems like near the end of January 1970 - just before we left.
I sure hated to leave that place. I remember on two occasions Bn Hqs sent us an SP pack (Sundry Pack) which are supposed to be for a hundred men. There was usually only 5 or 6 of us, plus our two "Dancers." An SP pack was a box of goodies, like razors, and blades, not that we had much use for them up there, since we just had drinking and cooking water. There was also cards, soap, cigarettes, and chewing tobacco, as well as an assortment of candy and other things. Now most of that stuff was useless to us, but great trading material! With the SP stuff we got LRPs, cans of dehydrated beef patties, canned donut mix and cooking oil, plus a bunch of other really good stuff - all from those soldiers. I even traded for one of their metal framed ruck sacks, and one of their soft flack jackets. I got rid of that plated piece of junk, flack jacket that the Marines were stuck with. That also made it nicer firing the 40mm M-79, which kicked like a mule when firing the shotgun rounds, although the HE was OK. While filling sandbags and working at Vandergrift Combat Base in August I had started putting a pebble in my mouth and rolling it around to keep my mouth from drying out too bad in the heat. Boy, that's tough sometimes when you turn your head fast or make some other movement. It can really make you see stars when you bite down on one of those pebbles. That's why and when I first started chewing tobacco. I'd get Redman and Day's Work there at Stud, but on FSB Fuller, those SP packs had Mailpouch - prettygood, Beechnut - yuck, and Redman - oorah! I chewed tobacco from August 1969 until January 1981. That's a tough thing to stop, and I love that Redman, I just don't chew it anymore. Poor Linda, I suppose it sure made for some embarrassing times for that dear lady too. Not only that, it's embarrassing sometimes with those brown streaks down the side of the car when a spit didn't go as well as planned. Linda used to hate to drive with the brown streaks, I do remember washing them off a few times for her. It's been a long time now, Praise The Lord!
Man, I forgot where I was at. Oh Yea, Leaving Fuller, Ha! Seems like we had already had most of the gear that we were taking staged by the LZ when the four of us left. We were awaiting a Huey to pick us up. Oh, you do know that the Marine version of a UH-1E was called a Huey, but the doggies had a slightly different version (I've been on all of them plus others too) of UH-1 which they called a Slick. They're not the same! Did you ever wonder why a Marine UH-1E is called a Huey? Well, try and phonetically pronounce UH-1E; it comes out kinda like "Huey!"
To get to the army's command bunker, where the captain stayed most of the time, from the LZ to the you had to go north about 40 to 50 yards just up and over the highest point of the Fire Base and down just a little; it was right near the northern end. So from the LZ you could run the 50 yards north, up over the top and across the the top of that command bunker and right down to the northern perimeter wall. On the top of their bunker was the end of a wooden ammo crate with the ends taken out. It went right down into the bunker as a chimney, or vent hole; so you could actually talk right down into that bunker through the end of that ammo crate vent, and it only stuck up a couple inches higher that all the thousands of sandbags around it. Well, on the spur of the moment I got a great idea. As soon as we threw our gear into the Huey, I yelled to the pilot, "wait a minute, I forgot something," he gave me the "high sign" and I grabbed a yellow smoke grenade, and took off up over the top. In a flash I pulled the pin but kept my hand over the spoon. As soon as I got to the vent, I released the spoon, "piiinggg" dropped the smoke down the vent and took off back to the LZ. Never missing a step I flew into that Huey, and yelled "Go, Go Go!" Now I have to tell you, there was one other Marine standing next to the bird waiting for me to come back, and when I jumped aboard, he then boarded, being the last Marine on Fuller. I didn't want to argue with him, I just wanted that bird to "didi mau."
As the bird was climbing up and around the north end of Fuller I looked out to see an extremely interesting sight. As I'm remembering this, and putting it down on paper, I'm absolutely cracking up. I can't hardly type properly, and I've got water sprinkles on the inside of my glasses. (Now if you're in the army, it's because I'm crying in remorse. But, if you know me, or you're in the Marines, I'm really hurting because my sides are splitting at the remembrance of it all.) In my mind's eye I'm watching billows of yellow smoke come out of the entrance of that bunker, and from up out of the vent. There's three soldiers already laying down on the sandbagged surface in front, with yellow smoke curls all around them, and one more soldier bursting through the entrance way and rolling out across the sandbags. The Marines finally let the army have the whole mountain all to themselves.
Yes, 33 years later, I've got mixed emotions. I'd never do anything like that today. But, it sure is funny! Di Dah, Di Da Dit Chuck Truitt sends

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