Route 14 was the only way to get from Kontum to Pleiku by road. That is not to say that I would have been happy to make that trip as long as there was still one helicopter flying in Viet Nam. The ‘Yard camp was about 3 miles south of the provincial capital of. Kontum. It was snuggled up to the east side of route 14. The Studies and Observation Group (SOG) Command and Control Central (CCC) camp was located about half way between the ‘Yard camp and Kontum.
My job at that time was to train a couple of teams of ‘Yards for a special mission. The team NCOs and our two teams of ‘Yards were using the ‘Yard camp as a training and launching site. My team was satellited on CCC for administrative support, but relied on Command and Control North (CCN) in Da Nang for operational control.
CCC kept two officers and about a half dozen sergeants in the ‘Yard camp to oversee the ‘Yards who performed missions for CCC. My troops and I lived in the team house with the CCC team. The team house was in the shape of an “L”, with one wing used as sleeping quarters, and the other wing was our recreation room, dining area and kitchen. The ‘Yard camp was only about 300 feet square, with over a hundred ‘Yards, some with their families, living in the trenches and bunkers on the perimeter. There were other buildings, too: a troop kitchen, a supply room, a dispensary, and a few other miscellaneous shacks.
One evening in late 1969 or early in 1970, the camp was quiet but tense and alert. We had information that CCC and the ‘Yard camp might attacked within the next few days, so we were in a heightened state of readiness.
One day just about dusk, as we were finishing supper, one of the guys went into the sleeping area for a pack of cigarettes. Moments later he came sprinting back into the dining area shouting at the top of his lungs that there was a mad dog in the hooch. In no time at all, we found ourselves standing on the top of the dining tables watching the doorway to the hooch. Sure enough, moments later a big dog staggered into the dining area. It had obvious symptoms of rabies: foamy slobber dripping from its mouth and an staggering gait. One dining table was close enough to the outside door that one of its occupants was able to lean over and open the screen door without dismounting. Seeing the open door, the dog made slow and halting progress toward what it must have thought was freedom from a bunch of weirdoes who ate standing on the table. It finally made it outside.
No sooner had the dog passed through the door than the world’s dumbest second lieutenant jumped down and grabbed a nearby M-16. Before anyone could say anything, he flung open the door and let fly full auto with a whole magazine at the dog.
The ‘Yards, having been locked, loaded, and pumped up to a high state of readiness naturally assumed that full auto fire signaled the anticipated attack. Before the echoes of rifle fire died away, the sentries opened up with their rifles and machine guns. Moments later, the mortar pit came alive, with the ‘Yard crew pumping out 81 mm HE and illuminating rounds. Each escalation triggered another, with grenades and Claymores adding their punctuation to the rapidly deteriorating situation.
At this point, we made a mad scramble for our ammunition belts and M-16s, and headed for our alert positions. It was quite a while before we confirmed that all the fire was outgoing. We then began to try to shut it down. It is probably easier to herd cats or earthworms than it was to convince the ‘Yards, one by one, that we were not under attack and that they should stop firing. We would get one stopped, but when his neighbor let loose another fusillade, he would join right back in. It was obvious that the lessons on fire superiority had been very effective.
It was maybe midnight before we had the shooting stopped. Then the real work began. We had to inventory M-16 ammo and grenades for each individual and the ammo for the machine guns and mortars, open up the ammo bunker, and reissue the basic load ammo load all around. We finally finished and returned to the team house about 3 AM.
To add insult to injury, we then discovered that the mad dog had only been slightly disabled by the lieutenant’s bullets. After carefully announcing that there would be one more shot, my team sergeant dispatched the poor animal with a single pistol shot. We were too tired to worry about the carcass at that hour, so we put that chore at the top of the list for the morning.
I was shaken awake around dawn, at which time I was informed that the dog was missing. Having once been bitten by a rat and having undergone the 14 one-a-day belly shots of the rabies series, I was wide awake in an instant. Sure enough, there was nothing but a bloody spot where once the dog had reposed.
We began a search to make sure that another animal had not dragged the carcass off. We didn’t want an epidemic of rabies--one case was quite enough, thank you. Since the ‘Yards ate food from a communal kitchen, we were surprised to find one of our teams squatting with apparent anticipation around a bucket simmering over an open fire. Our suspicions were right on. When we questioned the team, we found that they had collected, skinned, cleaned, and otherwise prepared the dead dog for the pot. I told them that they could not have the dog, but when one or two of them casually reached for their M-16s, I told them that if they were that hungry, they could have it.
Trying to keep from gagging, I hurried to the commo shack and called our headquarters in Nha Trang. When I got the surgeon on the horn, I explained the situation and asked for his advice. He told me that if the person who had skinned and cleaned the dog had no breaks in his skin, and if the flesh was cooked really well, there probably would be no problem.
As it turned out, there was no problem that we could detect. But for the next several weeks we were all jumpy. Whenever we would hear a noise behind us, we’d be skittish as a colt. We never really talked about it, but I could visualize one of those ‘Yards with foamy slobber dripping from his chin pouncing on my back and biting a chunk out of my neck.
Copyright 1999
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