Linda Riesenberg Fisler, click
here to update your pages on AuthorsDen.
Blogs by Linda Riesenberg Fisler
Jenkins's Journal: June 6, 1964 6/29/2015 6:16:11 AM
This week as we lead up to the 4th of July, we follow our Southern gentleman and Vietnam Veteran, Senator Robert Jenkins. This week's installments will be from his journal written in 1964. We arrived, my team and I, at the Military Assistance Command Vietnam-Studies and Observation Group (I'll refer to this as MACV-SOG from now on. That's just too much to write.) two days ago. We were briefed on our mission. It's a rather complex reporting structure maybe because our assignments are classified and orders are to be received from the Pentagon or higher.
We have just returned from a mission and I'm sitting on my bed writing this. I feel awful and I can't sleep. This mission was my first here and I had five men under my command. It was suppose to be an easy in and out rescue of a naval pilot whose RF-8 Crusader was downed by AAA (Anti Aircraft Artillery) during a strike over Laos. Intelligence reported that their was minimal enemy around the crash site and we knew it was just a matter of time. We were not the only ones who knew this aircraft was down. We knew that the Viet Cong saw it go down. We scrambled quickly to our helicopter. I was the last on as I received special instruction from the general--last minute intelligence information. We took off and as fast as the helio could go, high-tailed it to the crash site.
We took fire as we landed, but nothing that stopped us from trying to rescue the downed pilot. It was dark, but the fire from the aircraft lite up most the area. We deployed in darkness. The helio took off--we didn't need our ride back hanging around like a sitting duck. We search the area and took heavy fire. We fought courageously and fiercely as we tried to locate the pilot.
And this is what hurts. I was only a few seconds late. I saw five Viet Cong kicking and dragging the pilot away. I managed to shoot two men. I shouted commands and we tried our best to get the Lt. out of their hands. We were outnumbered. The more we tried to rescue the Lt. the more they kicked and abused him. Our enemy has an advantage. They know their way around this jungle. I'll never get the image of them dragging the injured pilot away from me. He was literally no more than 15 yards from me.
They disappeared into the darkness, as stealthy as they arrived. We took heavy fire throughout and miraculously all five of my men came back uninjured. I just finished debriefing the general and staff. While they were supportive, I still blame myself. I keep going over in my head what we could have done differently. When I close my eyes I keep seeing the Lt. and his terrified face as they kicked him and dragged him through the jungle.
John just arrived in my tent with a bottle of whiskey. I won't be able to drink too much because the general has called a meeting that I'm to attend early in the morning. I do welcome, however, a remedy to this agony. I welcome the burn of alcohol as I throw back a couple in hopes that the numbing will ease the brain enough for me to get some sleep.
