In Good Company
IN GOOD COMPANY
On Friday 8th March 1968, 20-year-old Gary McKay lost the lottery. He was conscripted.
From a comfortable and carefree life of surfing and rugby football, he was drafted into the deadly serious preparation for war in the jungles of South Vietnam.
In Good Company is his story told in his own words. It begins with induction and selection for the officer academy for national servicemen at Scheyville, a six-month ‘pressure cooker’ course which produced second lieutenants ready to lead troops into action against the Viet Cong. It ends three and a half years later with a burst of NVA machine-gun fire during a battle among enemy-held bunkers in the hills of Nui Le.
Here is a grass-roots account of the blood, sweat and tears shared by a rifle platoon in jungle warfare, a straightforward story of the fears and the camaraderie which soldiers experience in combat.
Gary McKay fashioned this account from his experience in action, leading his platoon. The detail is provided from the 80 letters he wrote to his wife while he served. He wrote his story for the reader who wants to know what the soldier on the ground went through – in the fetid jungle, in battle. Anyone who wants to understand what service in South Vietnam meant to those who were there, should read this book.
LIEUTENANT GARY McKAY was ‘medevaced’ from Niu Le on the 22nd September 1971, severely wounded by machine-gun fire. Early the next month he was returned to Australia. In July 1972 he was awarded the Military Cross for his service in South Vietnam. After a convalescence which included three operations and lasted more than a year, he resumed his duties. Lieutenant Colonel McKay is still serving, as a staff officer in HQ 1st Division.
GARY McKAY
IN GOOD COMPANY
One man’s war in Vietnam
This book is dedicated to the men with whom I fought and to the memory of all those servicemen who lost their lives in the Vietnam war.
© Gary McKay 1987
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
This edition published in 1998 by
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone:
(61 2) 8425 0100
Fax:
(61 2) 9906 2218
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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
McKay, Gary.
In good company: one man’s war in Vietnam.
Includes index.
ISBN 978 1 86448 904 0
1. McKay, Gary 2. Australia. Army—Officers—Biography. 3. Vietnamese Conflict, 1961–1975—Personal narratives, Australian. 4. Draft—Australia. 5. Soldiers—Australia—Biography. I. Title.
959.70438
Set by Graphicraft Typesetters, Hong Kong
Printed by McPherson’s Printing Group
10 9 8
Contents
Preface
Foreword by Major General J C Hughes AO, DSO, MC
Glossary of Terms
1 Drafted Civilian
2 Doing Extras at Scheyville
3 Training for War
4 365 and a Wakey
5 Leeches, Mud and Viet Cong
6 Rest and Recreation
7 Search and Destroy
8 Nui Le and the NVA
9 Returned to Australia
Afterword from the Publisher
Index
* * *
Maps and photographs appear between pages 86–87
* * *
Preface
After I returned from Vietnam in 1971, I had a desire to tell any young platoon commander who would listen what my experiences were. My lengthy hospitalisation and the subsequent withdrawal of all Australian military forces from the war zone virtually extinguished my fervour to tell what had happened.
So, why am I telling my story now? The main influence was my involvement with training cadets at the Royal Military College (RMC), Duntroon. I saw a need to remind the young officers who were about to embark on a career in the army what a platoon commander’s life on operations is like. The army is fast losing its experience in jungle fighting and, with the renewed emphasis on low level operations within the Australian Defence Force, my story may well find a purpose.
Another prime reason I wanted to write this book was to record the experience of being drafted; the training I underwent at Scheyville—an institution which is now unique in Australia’s modern military history—and the unforgettable experience of leading a rifle platoon on operations in a war zone.
I will always be indebted to my wife who kept every letter I wrote to her; from our courtship in 1969 through to my last letter from Vietnam in 1971. Without this collection of letters I would have been unable to recall as much as I was able to. The letters were also a constant reminder to me of my naivety, my youth and my exuberance at the time. It is quite a sobering experience to go back in time; read your own writing and discover that memories can be distorted out of all proportion to fact.
I have many people to thank for pushing and prompting me to put my story down on paper. Peter Charlton was an instigator in getting me to consider the theme of the book. Brett Lodge at RMC taught me how to use a word processor and allowed me to call for help on countless occasions when the mysteries of the computer had me stymied. He was a critic, a counsellor and a constant source of support. Sandra Burchill from the English department at RMC (now the Defence Academy) was the first unfortunate who attempted to turn the manuscript into a book and Gaye Riley cast a close eye over the final draft. Many of my former fellow officers from the 4th Battalion, the Royal Australian Regiment were kind enough to lend me photographs and notes. I must formally thank Kevin Byrne, Dan McDaniel, Graham Spinkston and Jeremy Taylor for their assistance and advice. Bob Sayce and Bob Elworthy were also helpful in lending me some personal snapshots. Special mention has to be made of Cpl Dunn, the curator of the 2nd/4th Battalion museum and Pte Doran, unit photographer, for their assistance in sifting through the Battalion archives and preparing the many photographs I had to choose from. Peter Wallace a rugby colleague, generously assisted with support from his business, the Computer Shop, and saved me from bankruptcy. Thanks must go to Lisa Macintosh who assisted in the preparation of the maps. Finally, to my former commanding officer, Major General Jim Hughes, my sincere thanks for his advice and for kindly writing the foreword to this book.
The facts that I have put down are as I recorded them at the time and are not intended to form a military history. There may be minor inaccuracies owing to a lack of fact at the time of origin, however I have tried to write the story without the prejudice of hindsight.
G. J. McKay
Foreword
by Major General J. C. Hughes, AO, DSO, MC
I first met Gary McKay in November 1970 at Canungra, Queensland. His football prowess had preceded him and we had expected he would join the Battalion in Townsville about September 1970—before our football finals! Subsequently Gary and I served together for the next three to four years.
What was it like to be drafted, to be trained as a national service officer and finally, to be a rifle platoon commander in Vietnam? Based on 80 letters Gary wrote to his wife Gay, he vividly recalls events, images and his impressions.
The story is autobiographical and concerns the period 1968–1972. Real Australian mateship stands out in the surfing, football and military environments. Likewise, self and corporate discip
line that only comes from thorough training and high standards. When you add teamwork, leadership and pride you have a winning combination. Australia had good cause to be proud of its representatives in 11 Platoon, 4th Battalion, the Royal Australian Regiment, both regulars and national servicemen—I was very proud of them.
The motto of the Royal Australian Regiment is ‘Duty First’ When you read this story you will find a mixture of fun, drama, sweat, tears and tragedy. The young men concerned learnt quickly, matured, found support from each other, and above all, put ‘Duty First’. As the author states, ‘Our unit, our company and our platoon was a very tight unit’.
There is one notable omission from the story, and that is the award of the Military Cross to Lt G. J. McKay for his bravery and the actions of his platoon on 21 September, 1971.
Glossary of Terms
AIF
Australian Imperial Forces
AMP
Australian Mutual Provident Society
ANZAC
Australian and New Zealand Army Corps
APC
armoured personnel carrier
1 ATF
First Australian Task Force
ARVN
Army of the Republic of Vietnam
casevac
casualty evacuation
chopper
helicopter
Dustoff
acronym: Dedicated untiring service to our fighting forces—a helicopter for casualty evacuation
field ambulance
a cross between an aid post and a field hospital
free fire zone
an area where civilians were prohibited and there were few restrictions on firing
hootchie
nylon cover carried on patrol
Jade
radio callsign used by forward air controllers
Kiwi
nickname for New Zealanders
maintdem
maintenance demand for stores or equipment
MBE
Member of the Order of the British Empire (honour)
medevac
medical evacuation, the Hercules aircraft flight returning wounded to Australia
mm
millimetre (calibre)
nasho
national serviceman; conscript
NCO
non-commissioned officer
NVA
North Vietnamese Army
picquet
sentry
pink team
US Army helicopter teams, who at a certain amount of risk, drew fire in order to locate enemy for the jet bombers
pogo
personnel on garrison operations—anyone serving in a base installation
RAAF
Royal Australian Air Force
RAR
Royal Australian Regiment
recce
reconnaissance
shellscrapes
shallow dugouts for protection against shrapnel
sign
evidence of enemy presence—usually footprints
silk
a lightweight sleeping bag liner
stand to
be on alert
US
United States of America
VC
Viet Cong
VHF
very high frequency (radio band)
white mice
South Vietnamese police—socalled because of their uniforms
Weapons
AK-47
Russian 7.62 mm assault rifle (commonly known as a Kalashnikoff)
claymore
anti-personnel directional above ground mine
GPMG
general purpose machine gun, 7.62 mm
M16
5.56 mm Armalite assault rifle (US)
M26
high explosive grenade
M79
40 mm grenade launcher
RPG
rocket propelled grenade, the weapon called B-40 or RPG-2 (and larger RPG-7)
SLR
7.62 mm self-loading rifle
XM203
the experimental forerunner to the 5.56 mm M16 rifle with the M79 grenade launcher fitted below, also known as the ‘under and over’
Aircraft
A37
Super Sky Master, fighter ground attack aircraft
Bell Jet Ranger
light observation helicopter
Bronco
aircraft used by forward air controllers (US)
B52
strategic jet bomber (US)
Cessna
fixed wing light aircraft
Cobra
assault helicopter
F4 Phantom
jet bomber
Pilatus Porters
fixed wing aircraft
1
Drafted Civilian
The sound of the starter’s gun shattered the air and six surfboat crews leapt from the ankle-deep surf into their moulded plywood craft. This was it, this Easter Sunday in 1968. This was the race we had to win. After this last effort there would be no more. This was the final of the senior surfboat race of the Australian Surf Life Saving Championships.
After all, this was the whole reason I had initially opted to do six years of part-time Citizen Military Forces (CMF) duty instead of two years’ national service. By doing my national service obligation over six years I could continue with the sport that consumed most of my time and energy.
We desperately wanted to win. A fifth placing was the best we could do. After pulling our boat up the beach there wasn’t much to do but collapse onto the sand and get stuck into some serious drinking.
The race saw the end of our rather successful crew who had been together for the best part of three seasons. The bow man, John Germon, was heading off overseas in pursuit of his career as an industrial chemist; the stroke, Ian Alwill, wanted to concentrate on his studies at university; and the second stroke, Ron Payne, was intent on furthering his own career as a surfboat sweep with his own crew of juniors at Newport. Now that the 1968 season had finished I reversed my decision. I had nothing to look forward to now but two years as a ‘nasho’.
I decided to do my two years’ full-time service instead of the six years’ CMF for a variety of reasons. Principally, the crew was breaking up and as it takes some considerable time and luck to find a crew that can row and train hard and well together, I didn’t think my chances were particularly good of being in a top crew again, at least not for some time. Secondly, the CMF duty was far from unpleasant. I enjoyed my basic training course at Wallgrove and was most impressed with the way in which we were trained. It cannot have been easy for the staff to train platoons of what were mostly draft dodgers week in and week out. However, I had been posted to 7th Field Regiment in Willoughby, an artillery unit that must have been close to 50 per cent over-strength. Whilst the long-serving members of the unit did their best to try to make the training interesting, they were hampered by a lack of equipment with which to train and a lack of enthusiasm on the part of most of the gunners, whose main interest was when the boozer would open. Still, it had its good times and P Battery was a fairly happy crew.
Highlights of my thirteen months were training on the 25 pounders for six months of the year and training on the 105 mm pack howitzer ‘spaghetti’ guns for the remainder of the year. I never found out why this was organised in this way, but at least it reduced the boredom of relearning the 9 mm Owen machine carbine for the umpteenth time. Live firing at Holsworthy and Queen’s Birthday salutes gave some incentive for interest, but it was one such range practice which more or less convinced me that I should chuck the part-time obligation and get my national service over and done with. The law was that if you were drafted and opted to do your two-year obligation over six years, part-time in the CMF, if you failed to meet or finish that part-time commitment, you were still drafted to do your two years.
We went to Holsworthy Range for a live-firing practice and I was particularly looking forward to th
is ‘shoot’ as I had been a range sentry on the last one and if I had to sacrifice a summer weekend with the army I was going to do something interesting. However, my battery sergeant major had other plans for me and I was again rostered for sentry duty. Not only was I unhappy that I had been left all night on a locked gate which saw no traffic for my entire tour of duty, but I had missed one of the best surfs that summer. My mind was made up: I would take my medicine like a man and become a nasho.
Once I had decided to do the two-year stint I began to be made aware of what I had previously been blissfully ignorant. My surfboat sweep, Gordon Harmon, was a rabid anti-Vietnam War type and he berated me at considerable length, asking that I reconsider my decision. If nothing else, Gordon drew my attention to what was actually happening in South Vietnam and to the national servicemen who were going there. Quite frankly the war in Vietnam meant little to me until I was actually confronted with the prospect of serving there sometime during my national service.
At work I was comforted by the fact that when I left my employment as an electronic data processor, the Australian Mutual Provident (AMP) Society would make up the difference between my meagre pay as a soldier and that which I was currently being paid. Not only was there financial security, but by law they would also hold my job for when I would return. I knew of only a few fellows from work who had been drafted but none of them had been to Vietnam.