One evening, on the bank of the Mekong River, across from Vientiane where fighting had been going on for two days, with an Army medic assigned to the unit who had been working with me to treat casualties, including refugees from across the river, I saw a rather dirty looking fishing boat, painted black, that had been beached. We had a squad of American soldiers with us at the time. There seemed to be some confusion and discussion going on between two guys clothed in black pajamas and the traditional grass hat. One of them was waving his arms and seemed to be caught on something that was preventing him from getting off the boat. Two men were sent to the boat to investigate. Suddenly, someone yelled, "Satchel Bag!" and all hell broke loose. The two black pajama guys had satchel charges but one of the straps from a satchel charge bag was caught on something on the boat. They were about to use them. Automatic gunfire filled the air and I was slammed to the ground by the Army medic, my ears ringing from the gunfire.

They must have emptied their ammo clips into these two guys, I tried to look up, and my head was shoved back down into the mud. I was told to keep my head down. The Medic had covered me with his own body; I had no Flak Vest on. It was back in the chopper. I had forgotten it. I was too green to realize that you do not go anywhere without it.

One black pajama guy was hanging half way off the boat. He had no face left. He was hanging by the strap from the satchel charge bag that was still caught by something on the boat. The other one had jumped from the boat, tried to get away and was lying at the edge of the water covered in his own blood, still moving. The colonel yelled, "Get over to that SOB and finish him off," and someone did. Automatic weapons fire rang out again. The edge of the water and mud all around the place was splattered with small pieces of tissue and blood. The back of his head was split open, as if someone had hit him in the head with a meat cleaver. He moved no more. The colonel and two men examined the bodies and checked the satchel charges, removing them from their bodies. The colonel took papers from their bodies.

I was trembling like a wind blown leaf in a storm. The Army medic held me to calm me down. He knew then it was my first time. My worst fear was that the satchel bags, would be hit by gun fire and that would we would all be blown to hell. I got up when we were told "all clear" and looked around for my two pilots, who had jumped into the river. They were covered with mud and fuel oil. I checked them both out and only their pride was hurt. While there, we worked with an elite U.S. Army unit. They were like us, with no identification of any sort carried. We were told if we were captured we would be denied as being U.S. Military. The Orders that I signed stated that if captured, you would never disclose your orders, or anything pertaining to your unit.

The war I am talking about was the first Secret War, or the actual beginning of the Secret War everyone talks about. We were never told any thing. There is not too much written about it. In every search I make for information I find am told, we were not there. However, I do have pictures of those areas where we never were. On The Wall in D.C. one can read names of fallen Brothers from 1960 to 1962.

During one run across the Mekong we took on some small arms fire and the door gunner let loose with everything we had. Our pilot was coming in on his run as low to the water as he could on a banking and zigzagging run, when the door gunner took what probably was a 37 mm in his head. There was nothing left of his head. The remains of his head and helmet were splattered all over the inside of the crew compartment. Another crew member took over the gun when a couple of T-28’s came up from behind us, tree top level and let go of everything they had. We got in and out pretty quick, but it seemed like forever.

 
H-34 Sits on a beach in Southern Thailand

While on the ground I thought I took a round in my left leg, just above the knee. It slammed in to me, burned like hell and knocked me down. I got up and I kept running towards the chopper. I could see the pilot waving his arm at me and shouting something. I was pulled in to the chopper, we did a catapult liftoff and were airborne in seconds and headed for the Mekong and the border once again with the T-28’s covering us and our second gunner was pounding away towards the incoming tracers.

Looking at my leg I saw it was a piece of shrapnel. I still have that piece, approximately 2 inches of twisted steel. It had just penetrated my leg about 1/2 inch deep on the front of my leg, passed most the way through my leg sticking out the other side. It made a nasty hole and burned. I put a tourniquet on it and another crewmember tied a camo dressing on my leg. I was in shock, because I do not remember anyone pulling the dead body of our door gunner off of me. I was covered with his and my own blood. I was numb. When we landed in Nong Khai, I went to pieces. The Army medic was there for me, checked me calmed down. This was the second time this man who became my Brother, had looked out for me. I was taken to the Thai Hospital and the piece of shrapnel was removed. I remember they just pulled it out with a large hemostat, no local anesthesia, covered it with a thick dressing and wrapped it. I meekly placed my hands together like I was saying a prayer and bowed my head and said Saw-wa-dee-kop. They released me to go back with my crew. I was given morphine for the pain, lay down in the chopper and fell into a state of floating, eerie sounds ringing and echoing in my ears and soon nothing. I had dozed off.

We made several more runs across the Mekong the next couple of days picking up more survivors and each time flying under the watchful eyes of the courageous Royal Thai Air Force in their T-28s. Without them we most likely would not have survived. We flew back to Udorn several days later, strung out and weary with the adrenalin still running high. The U.S. Army Command Post that was based there treated us to a home like cooked meal made up of 5 in one Rations. After a couple of cold Singha beers, I think I slept for 12 or 14 hours.

   
Left: Udorn RTAFB from the air.  Right: "Doc" Williams uses his training to help refugees in 1961

At that place we had showers but the water was ice cold. I remember taking my first shower there in days and the water was so cold I was screaming out loud and dancing around under the freezing water, when in the doorway appeared this big 1st Sgt with a large cigar in his mouth, his eyes as big as tennis balls. (He reminds me of Rodney Dangerfield every time I now think about it) He had in his right hand a .45 cal. cocked and ready to spit out some deadly rounds. He walked into the shower, calmly took his cigar out of his mouth, reached for the water faucet and turned it off, saying to me, " Doc if ever you pull something like this again, (all the while waving the .45 cal. at me) I will personally blow your friggin head off!!" He told me he had heard the screaming from the CP only 15 yards from the concrete shower room and thought we were under attack from the Pathet Lao. He said the Pathet Lao did cross the border from time to time, took no prisoners, they just cut your friggin head off and a couple of other things that they take with them for souvenirs. I said nothing to him because he was really enraged. He nodded his head to me winked, shoved his big cigar in his mouth and said gruffly, "Carry on Doc, and keep the friggin noise down" I did not sleep so good that night.

We rested up for a couple of days and went out again on RECON with the RCST unit, were dropped off at night at predetermined coordinates and stayed in the bush for three days looking for any stragglers from Laos. We saw nothing but a couple of cobras and black scorpions. We had no engagements.