Hey, Russ--
I was with the 1/327 Infantry myself back in 1969, from July until January. We operated in I Corps in Tua Thien and Quang Nam provinces. Our basecamp was Camp Eagle outside of Phu Bai and very near Hue. We spent most of our time in the A Shua Valley, Run-Run Valley, and Elephant Valley, going on combat assault missions that usually lasted three or four weeks, then back to Eagle for a two- or three-day stand-down.
We walked into an ambush in August and I was the only one of the first seven guys in the column who wasn't hit. I spent the first half hour pulling our point man down the hill, and then the next three hours or so lugging ammo up to our gunner and helping the wounded down the hill, and then back up with more ammo. Our point man ended up dying three days later, and I ended up thinking I was invincible.
Once the rains started in October (eighty-nine inches in three days) we were extracted to the lowlands where we stayed until early December. Then it was back to the hills. I remember spending my 21st birthday in the A Shau, celebrating by sleeping on guard. Actually, there was no reason to stay awake. It was pitch dark and I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or closed.
They kept us in the A Shau until a week before Christmas. Then we went back to Eagle for a train-down to learn rappelling. Halfway through the training, three days before Christmas, they said we were going back to the hills in two days. The whole battalion was totally pissed. It was still the monsoon season, which meant if it happened to be raining, which it usually was, we'd get no medevacs, no reinforcements and no resupplies. About fifty of us met in the day room that night to talk about refusing to go. The battalion higher-ups learned about the meeting, though--and our plans to meet again the next night to vote on what to do. The next morning, they transferred a couple guys and let us eat breakfast. Then, after breakfast, the CA started a day early. No second meeting, no Christmas dinner, and, luckily, no mutiny.
We were over-run just after dawn the next morning. Our new CO was a Cobra pilot who now had one full day's experience in commanding a field unit. He panicked and called in artillery on our position from his foxhole. Nobody else was in a foxhole--we never used them. The result was two dead GIs and a dozen or so wounded. I was one of the wounded. I spent nearly three months in hospitals recovering from a severed vena cava and collapsed lung from friendly fire. Hence my PTSD.
Those were the highs and lows (most of them, anyway) of my time with the 1st 327. I've learned to cope pretty well with those memories. I hope you do the same.
