DAIWI. Chuck Pfeifer
as the 17th parallel, was a five kilometer, or a little over three-mile area, and ran east and west, separating North and South Vietnam. During the Second Indochina war (Vietnam War) the north part of Vietnam became known as the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. It was controlled almost entirely by the Communist Viet Minh, under the leadership of Ho Chi Minh. The south part of Vietnam became known as the independent State of Vietnam, first under the leadership of Bao Dai beginning in 1926. The State of Vietnam later became the Republic of Vietnam. As one can readily see, Vietnam was, and undoubtedly still is, a study in complicated politics.
During the 1940s and 1950s the United States and Britain collaborated on the development of herbicides for possible use in war. The British were the first to use these herbicides when the Malayan Communist Party attempted an overthrow of the British colonial administration. This resulted in a 12-year war from 1948-1960, named the Malayan Emergency, in which the British prevailed.
There are differing estimates, but at least 20 million gallons of herbicides of varying components were sprayed to defoliate crops and trees during the Vietnam war. At least 12 million gallons, or 60%, of these herbicides were Agent Orange (AO), so named because of its striped orange storage barrels. Spraying was primarily done by specially equipped helicopters, or low-flying C-123s, under the call name “Hades,” and lasted from 1962 through 1971. Millions of acres in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia were affected by this program named Operation Ranch Hand. AO had two components including Tetrachloro-dibenzopara-dioxin, and thought to be many times greater than the level approved by the United States Environmental Protection Agency. There were nine major producers of AO, most notably Dow and Monsanto. They claimed not to know the dangers of Dioxin. It is believed Dioxin can remain in humans for 11 to 15 years and in protected-from-sun soil for up to 100 years, and is not soluble in water. AO is no longer produced. Hundreds of thousands of Vietnam citizens and U. S. Vietnam veterans still suffer the effects of these extremely dangerous herbicides, especially AO. Vietnam veterans have a high incidence of health issues, such as throat cancer, liver diseases, Hodgkins’ disease, lung cancer and colon cancer. Certain mental conditions, as well as birth defects, have also been detected and may be related to AO exposure.
The United States military dropped more bombs on North Vietnamese Army-occupied Eastern Laos during the Vietnam war than were dropped on Germany and Japan combined during WWII. There are still unexploded ordnances in large parts of those countries.
The nature of the Vietnam War made it virtually impossible to know for sure, but the United States estimates that 200,000 to 250,00 South Vietnamese soldiers perished. Over 2,000,000 civilians, on both sides were killed. 58,000+ U. S. soldiers died and 304,000 were wounded. 1.1 million Viet Cong and North Vietnamese were killed, with thousands wounded. These figures include the Missing in Action. General Giap may have been right when he said, “It was a people’s war.”
In the Vietnam War, a commander was assigned a call name to distinguish him from a radioman. My call name was “Waterbird” from my first mission to my last, no matter my location or mission. I hoped I would not have to use it, but I knew I would. I could not imagine completing many missions without having to call in a Prairie Fire or two.
February 1968, was the first time I had been called “Waterbird.” I was in the company of a couple of experienced SOG officers in an H-34 helicopter flying over Laotian mountain passes. They loved to show off to new members and subject them to theretofore-unknown fear. I was no exception. I sat with my feet close to the open side of the chopper, and watched tracers the size of footballs fly past, and smelled the trailing phosphorus disappear into the sky. “Waterbird,” one of the officers yelled over the roar, “Better get back.” There was no place to hide, so I backed up and prayed we did not go down. There were just the two SOG officers and me, and they had been through it more than a few times. They were laughing their heads off, but they quickly stopped laughing when a couple of 12.7mm rounds came too close to the chopper. I was genuinely scared, but these guys were not going to know it. No way in hell.
My role as Captain (Daiwi) was to command a battalion of Nungs that could be as many as 1000, but mine numbered 200. Indigenous Nungs, Montagnards and Cambodes were CIA-recruited. Many Nungs had come to Vietnam from China’s southern area of Kwangsi Province around the Highlands area of NV. The Montagnards were often referred to as hill people and “Yards.” They did not particularly fight for money, but they were well paid by the United States government, under the auspices of the CIA. The Chinese Nungs had been exiled by Mao in the early 1950s, and worked primarily around the Ho Chi Minh Trail. They were sometimes called “indigs” and sometimes the “fat ones,” although they were much smaller in stature than most U.S. soldiers. They hated the Vietnamese and the Chinese, and were hated in return. As a result, the Nungs were perfect to fight for the United States. Ferocious, fearsome, loyal, clever and brutal, they fought to the death. The bond between us quickly became very strong, due in part by necessity on both sides. The United States Army needed their trust, support and extremely good fighting abilities, and they needed our guidance and teaching. We had learned to communicate - they in broken English, and I in broken Vietnamese or Nung, facial expressions, hand gestures, and a lot of initial frustration. Most of them could not count beyond three, and I was amazed at how fast they learned.
I consider myself a “universal” soldier, although, obviously, I do not personally know every solider who served in our wars. But I respect their service more than I can ever express. I identify with their struggles. I have had the same experiences, the same gnawing sickness and acute anxiety. I see the same devouring images and have the same thoughts that sometime make us nearly strangers to all who love and know us best. With my eyes wide open, in my sleep and in my nightmares, I still see the faceless men with severed limbs, burns, and mental scars. I have felt the spit of disenchanted and ill-informed American citizens who blamed some of America’s bravest for serving in the Vietnam War. Maybe, I think, this has hurt more than anything else. I suppose they just could not understand or relate to what the soldiers had been through. I fought for their freedoms, or at least thought I did. If there is any fault, it does not lie with brave veterans, but with the government who sent them there. I would fight again if called upon. I would, however, hope it is a war that needs to be fought and that our country goes in with the dedication needed to win it.
In Vietnam, I awoke many mornings with the same conviction: Fuck this. Go home. But I was a soldier and a good one, and I knew there was only one way to fight a battle, even when the territory was internal like Vietnam: eyes wide open, straight ahead. There is nothing left for me in New York anyway if I don't face this here. I headed back to I Corps.
My favorite quote about war comes from Nietzsche: “Nothing like a good war to make life so . . . personal.” My Vietnam was so personal. I wrote my own rules while fighting in my enemy’s backyard. I was a demigod in charge of everyone, already a servant to power. At times, however, I found myself a servant to powerlessness, too
When I began to write this autobiography, I chose not to write a “war” book. Instead, I chose to bring the reader into a world of privilege and into the pain, fear, and impact of indelible memories before, during, and after the hell of war. I chose to include a few battles because I felt they were important to who I am and to the theme of the book. A few battles were major, some not, and some were merely incidental. With Vietnam far behind me, at least physically, I am still called Waterbird or Daiwi by a good number of my friends and acquaintances.
Chapter 1
PRIVILEGE, HEARTBREAK, AND THINGS IN BETWEEN
I attended St. Luke’s Private School in New Canaan, Connecticut. My father owned an apartment in New York City, and we traveled back and forth until we moved into a Park Avenue high-rise in New York City when I was 12 or 13. I spent a lot of time as a young boy without a worry about the rest of my life. I lived high above the Manhattan streets and the never-ending noise, separated from the rank and file. I wore clothes from the best tailors, frequented the best museums, and the best restaurants, where I ordered the best cuts of meat, and received the best service from the maitre ds. I had tickets to the hottest Broadway shows and attended upper-crust schools.