Green Berets

Terry's courage and skills saved the lives of many Green Berets and their indigenous teammates. The men he served with, like him, deserve much more than this "tardy salute."

March 1, 2024

I am into Chapter 7 of Terry’s book titled ”It Was My Turn.” The book starts with the story of his “persuading” the Spec 4 in charge of R&Rs to allow him to go Thailand for a week after being very nearly shot down by an anti-aircraft cannon. His Cobra had over 300 shrapnel holes in it. Then, it recalls the stories of first, his dad’s cousin, a World War I pilot who is honored to this day with the name of Felts Field in Spokane, then his dad’s exploits as a fighter pilot in WW II surviving 70 combat missions in the fighter group with the highest losses of any fighter group in the war. But “Wild Bill” Crump’s claim to fame is mostly about Jeep, the coyote he tamed and made a pet which flew with him on five combat missions over Holland during Operation Market Garden.

Terry’s story begins in 1948. He spent his childhood years following his dad around the world as an Air Force pilot. His dreams of becoming a professional third baseman were dashed by a broken ankle in a skiing accident and then by the appearance of Ron Cey playing third base at Washington State University where Terry was enrolled.

Losing his student deferment, Terry faced the draft, joined the Army’s Warrant Office program, “enjoyed” basic training, learned to fly helicopters and finally chose to fly the mean fighting machine called a Cobra. His journey to Vietnam is about to begin.

A challenge in an accurate and interesting accounting of Terry’s life is the context. A question for a writer trying to tell his story is what to leave in and what to leave out. Those who have offered to review the drafts will have to give me honest guidance in how I am doing at attempting to weave a bit of the history of the war and the details about the machines used to conduct the war, especially the Cobra.

One part of the story that absolutely must be told is the Green Berets. The reason is that Terry’s purpose for existence in the war was to help bring as many of them back safely from the exceedingly dangerous job they were given. That Terry did that with a very high level of success, demonstrating extraordinary courage and skill as shown by his seven DFCs, is why this story is being told in the first place. One cannot know the value he and his fellow Cobra pilots provided without knowing a bit about the men he was serving and the specific war they fought.

Frankly, I was and am blown away by these men. What they were assigned to do, the ridiculous obstacles put in their way by the politics of the war, the way they conducted themselves, the effectiveness of their fighting skills, their indomitable courage –– I just don’t know if these things can be adequately told. One thing is for certain, the more I learn the more I am motivated to give them this “tardy salute.” It is one of the great tragedies and shame of our time that the men who did so much for all of us were so poorly treated and offered so little in the way of honor and gratitude. 

A bit of history. The origin of the Special Forces in the US military was in WWII. An official Army history of the Special Forces in Vietnam was written in 1985 by their former commander, Colonel Francis Kelly. Called the 1st Special Service Force, it was trained and prepared to attack critical German infrastructure in places like the snowy, mountainous area of Norway where the Germans had high value hydroelectric facilities. It became known as “the Devil’s Brigade” while fighting in Italy because of a dead German’s diary that complained about the black devils all around them who they could never hear.  

The Special Forces first became involved in Vietnam way back in 1957. One of the interesting facts about these highly trained, dedicated commando-killers was that they were above all trained to teach. Many of the initial leaders of the Special Forces in the Vietnam era were originally insurgents dropped into Nazi-occupied countries in Western Europe. They were operating as the Office of Strategic Services. Their job was to train, equip and lead the local resistance fighters in countries like the Netherlands and France. This would be very similar to the role the Special Forces would play in Vietnam. They trained something like 40,000 thousand local fighters including in the SOG war that Terry helped fight.

On September 21, 1961 President Kennedy announced increased military and economic aid to the struggling and repressive South Vietnamese government. That day the Fifth Special Forces were formed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. This group would lead all Special Forces operations in Vietnam. 

Kennedy was enamored by this group. He visited the Special Warfare Center in late 1961 and in that visit they got one of their nicknames, the “snake eaters.” A rattlesnake was shown to the President saying this would be dinner. The President asked what they would do if they didn’t have a knife. The soldier holding the snake bit its head off. It was at this time that the President authorized them to wear the green beret as a symbol of their special status. The Green Berets were born and with them the legends. “Americas finest,” Green Beret Sergeant Barry Sadler sang in the “Ballad of the Green Berets.” It became the number one hit song of 1966.

John Plaster was a famed “One-Zero” in the SOG war. The One-Zero was the leader of the insurgent team which typically included a One-One as number two in command, a One-Two who typically was the radio operator, plus eight or nine indigenous fighters. These were usually tribal Montagnards or ethnic Chinese called Nungs. Terry’s war was mostly about protecting these teams as they were inserted and extracted from Laos and Cambodia where American military forces were forbidden, supposedly to respect the neutrality of these nations. Never mind that nothing was done by their governments to stop North Vietnam from using these countries to send soldiers, supplies and equipment to the south. Plaster is the preeminent expert on the SOG war writing the book SOG: The Secret Wars of America's Commandos in Vietnam, (1997) and a more personal account called Secret Commandos: Behind Enemy Lines With the Elite Warriors of SOG (2004).

It was his description of the training given the Green Berets that really captured me. Plaster graduated from high school in Minneapolis in 1967, the same year as Terry, and entered the Army. Training as a paratrooper, he was approached by a soldier in a green beret. The Green Berets were “gods,” he writes. You had to meet the Army’s highest physical standards and pass an intelligence test that qualifies you for Officer Candidate School to be considered for the Special Forces. John became obsessed with the idea of wearing the coveted green hat. At nineteen years of age he was accepted into the program and headed to Fort Bragg.

There he was surprised to find the first priority was learning how to instruct. Beyond that was the most rugged physical and mental training the Army could create. Lifelike combat situations were enacted and all the while the men pushed to the very limits of their physical and mental endurance. They were repeatedly encouraged to quit. When they were most tired and hungry, the instructors would say, come back with me and we’ll get you a hot meal, cold beer and a shower. But Plaster writes, their motto became, “they can kill us but they can’t make us quit.” Many did quite, and those that didn’t faced ever tougher challenges.

Plaster tells how the night prior to their final training exercise the coveted headgear was almost in sight after a long march with packs including through waist-deep mud, they camped for the night. They rotated guard duty. An instructor snuck up on the group and through sleep or inattention the team member on guard duty failed to stop him.

“Bang, bang, you’re all dead,” the instructor announced, waking the team. “Now dig your graves!” 

They were told to use their small trench shovels to dig a hole big enough for four of them, six foot deep, six foot square. The inattentive guard promptly quit, leaving three team members to complete the task. They dug all night, taking turns taking quick naps. They finished just before dawn. They were exhausted, but now they faced the final day of Phase One of their training, the toughest test yet.

The exercise was a night raid on a POW camp to rescue POWs, an activity that would consume many of them in the months ahead in Laos and Cambodia. All day they marched to the camp. When night came they reconnoitered it and all eight trainee teams converged to assault the camp. The instructors were satisfied. The teams split up and headed to different landing zones where helicopters were to pick them up. Plaster’s team made the two mile march arriving at 1:25 in the morning. Instead of Hueys thump thumping overhead, they saw headlights approach. Sergeant First Class Torres, their instructor, got out.

“The helicopters have been shot down,” he announced. “You have to march out.”

Plaster said he wanted to scream. The worst of it was the destination Torres pointed to was 22 kilometers, about 15 miles, away. Be there by noon or you won’t wear a green beret, he announced. 

“Or you can quit now and I have hot chow in the truck.” Plaster saw several men from other teams eating and smoking cigarettes.

They had ten hours to march through swamps, fast flowing streams, and thick undergrowth. There was no time to stop for a break. They came to Big Muddy Creek and their team leader lost their only compass as he was almost swept away. He promptly quit.

They followed the landmarks on the map the rest of the way. But paratroopers from the 82nd Airborne had been sent along the route to find them as their training exercise. Discovery meant failure. They would stay in the brush near a road and when they’d hear a jeep they’d hunker down for a moment –– and fall fast asleep. Time became a blur, legs heavy as logs, but they kept moving. 

They arrived with three minutes to spare. As he sat eating his C rations, Plaster watched the next hour as team after team came in, tough men weeping, for there was no allowance. Later Plaster heard of another team who was delayed by one minute because they had carried a sick teammate for a long way, leaving him on a road where medics could find him. Torres said there was no allowance, but under the circumstances he would give them one more chance. 

“It’s twenty seven miles back to Smoke Bomb Hill,” Torres said. “You can get in the trucks and ride with us, but if you do, you’re done. But, if you walk out, I’ll give you another chance.” The men’s feet were blistered, bloody and swollen. Three of them had had enough and climbed in the trucks. Two decided to push on.

The trucks drove off and the exhausted men walked down the road about a hundred yards to a curve in the road. There they met Torres.

“Get in, Green Berets,” he said.