105 Howitzer in one of the "Thunder" positions.
I visited Phuc Vinh once to pick up supplies and was stopped by an MP at the gate. He turned out to be a fella named David Lemon, an old friend of mine from Perry, Oklahoma. I had enlisted with David and one other fella from the same town and taken basic training with them. We had a good visit and shared a few beers. It was the last time I ever saw him, for he was killed. No, not in Vietnam, but in his bed as he slept in Perry, Oklahoma! Fate can sure be strange at times.
I spent a good deal of my tour at FSB Gem, and alot of things happened there, many of them amusing. One fella we called "The Killer" took care of our pest problem, rats! In Vietnam these hairy mammals often grew to the size of small dogs, much too imposing for a cat to handle. I once saw one that was leaning into a messhall bucket eating garbage. His hind feet were on the ground and he was bent double, easily reaching the treasures at the bottom of the bucket! "The Killer" stalked the exec post at night, with a flashlight and a machete. Deftly he checked the cracks in the walls of the bunker where the ammo boxes filled with dirt met and made perfect tunnels. With a lunge and a squeal he would add another victim to his "body count". Each morning he would have the fruits of his latest harvest laid out for the battery commander to see. The captain always nodded his thanks to "The Killer".
There was a Vietnamese woman who did our laundry. Each day she made the trip from the small village to our South to wash, starch, and iron our uniforms. She had a young daughter who always came to me for the extra soap we got in SP (supplementary) packs. She would say "Docsan, mamsan send me get soap." and I would always oblige. If she or any of her family needed rudimentary medical care I would give it. They were always grateful, especially for aspirin. I can't remember her name if I ever knew it, I just called her babysan. She gave me a Vietnamese "friendship bracelet" as a token.
Other small incidents come to mind such as the Cobra that infested one of our latrines and rose up in the face of a GI as he sat doing his business. He cleared that outhouse fast I can tell you! Then there was the fnewgy (f...new guy) who cooked his rations over C4 and then stomped it out. He lost his rations in the resulting explosion as well as the bottom of his combat boot. Luckily he wasn't injured badly, just knocked unconcious. Or there was the time enemy rockets came in and blew up our shower and water buffalo and nothing else! The commander had requested a replacement for the leaking buffalo that had been denied. He had a hard time convincing the battalion S-4 officer that we really had lost the buffalo in "combat". Another time we had a skirmish with the enemy at night when I just happened to be on tower duty with a starlight scope and an M-60 machine gun. We killed our barber that night. Seems he cut our hair by day and was a VC by night! These things were preliminary to the main event that was to take place at FSB Gem.
I was awakened around midnight by the sound of incoming mortar rounds. At first I thought it was the guns firing a mission, but the flat "crump" sound to the explosions alerted me to the fact it was something else. A 105mm howitzer has a distinctive "ring" when it sends a round down the tube. I woke up the other two guys in my bunker, one the battery commander's driver and the other a member of the "exec post" or headquarters crew. I told them to lock and load and fire at the first thing that appeared in the doorway of our bunker. The VC were well known to send "sappers", men armed with explosive satchel charges that move about tossing them into bunkers.
Suddenly, just above the sound of the explosions I heard "Doc, Doc, I gotta man at the FDC (fire direction control center) with his arm blown off." It was the battery commander, Captain Madden. In my haste I tossed my .45 on my cot, and grabbed my aidbag. The only thing on my mind was what to do for a severed limb. "Stay low, there's small arms fire and RPGs comin' in." The captain said as I exited the bunker. I glanced to the left in the direction of the FDC and saw numerous explosions in that area. A three quarter ton truck was parked midway between my bunker and the first of the gun emplacements with their sandbag walls. I low crawled to the truck, wearing nothing but pants and helmet, my boots left behind.
I could hear the stutter of AK 47s and the crack of rounds passing close overhead. It reminded me of basic combat training when we had low crawled through strung barbed wire while an M-60 machine gun fired over our heads and quarter sticks of dynamite exploded around us.
Scanning the area ahead of me, I crawled to the first gun emplacment and looked back for the captain but couldn't see him. About that time the truck I had just left exploded as an RPG (rocket propelled grenade) struck it and ignited its fuel. Now I moved quickly through the warren of sand bags stopping behind each position before moving ahead. Laying on the ground and peering around a corner I was suddenly lifted from the ground, my ears ringing as a hand grenade exploded just on the other side of the sandbag wall I was hiding behind. "I've been spotted!" I thought and got to my feet, sprinting the last few yards to the entrance of the FDC. As I arrived I saw him, a small VC soldier dressed in the usual black silk pajamas. He must have used up his last grenade, because he turned and ran. Seeing as how I didn't have a weapon, I was pretty glad he'd decided to do that. I stepped to the black opening of the FDC and yelled "Where's the wounded man?" Receiving no answer I yelled it again. Still no one replied to my question. "Oh God, they're all dead." I thought, and moved into the bunker. The sharp stench of cordite, that telltale smell of a recent explosion, was so strong it burned my throat.
I pulled my red lensed flashlight from my aidbag and immediately saw a casualty at my feet. It was the soldier with the serious arm wound. It wasn't completely severed, and I reached and pulled his arm into my lap. Someone held the flashlight for me as I applied the tourniquet. His blood rose in long ropy strands to splash on my bare chest. I adjusted the tourniquet, made from a medical cravat and a stick. When the blood flow slowed and then stopped I was relieved. I dressed the wound and then secured his arm to his side. Two of the soldiers in the FDC helped me place him on a litter. I turned to the radio operator and asked for a medevac "dustoff" chopper. While he radioed battalion headquarters I pulled chunks of shrapnel from his back and dressed his dozens of wounds until he collapsed from the constricting muscles that had been shredded. I would treat this particular soldier for months to come, removing pieces of metal as they surfaced and fighting any onset of infection.
I treated a couple more minor wounds as the sounds of the continuing battle came to us. Our battery was up, all six guns firing direct fire high explosives and the devastating "beehive" round with its 20,000 arrow-like darts known as flechets. These small but deadly missles could nail a man to a tree, and often did.
Despite the incoming fire of mortars, RPGs and small arms, the dustoff was coming in. I organized a litter detail for the seriously wounded and led it out through the incoming fire and stopped them just inside the last parapet nearest the road which ran down the middle of the compound, the only place the chopper could set down. Low crawling to the road I pulled out a battery operated strobe light and waited for the chopper. While laying on my back I watched the tracers arching over our position and sometimes disappearing into the sandbags. They had no idea I was there, but they would in a minute. Hearing the chopper over the blast of the guns, I turned the bright white light flashing strobe on, and held it as high above my body as I could. I immediately drew enemy small arms fire and mortars began to fall around my position. But I could hear the chopper, and out of the darkess he came despite the arching tracers and the firey trail of an RPG as an enemy gunner tried to take the medivac down. He settled onto the road beside me, and as his door gunner fired into the enemy's position and our battery opened up with protective fire, I motioned the litter team forward and loaded our wounded onto the chopper. With a roar and a cloud of dust he lifted away, taking those men to safety. I returned to the gun sections and as they continued to fight the enemy throughout the night, I moved among them treating small wounds. One individual I approached, a buck sergeant, was wounded in his left shoulder. He refused medical attention, continuing to lead his soldiers in the defense of our position. Seeing that it was only a flesh wound I didn't insist. Little did I know that my remark to the commander later about him refusing treatment would help earn him the Silver Star. We fought all night, and as the morning sun rose, the enemy melted away, taking most of his dead and all of his wounded with him.
The battery commander called me to the exec post and wanted the names of the casualties and those to be put in for the purple heart. I filled out the report and the commander wanted to know why my name wasn't on the list for the award and he pointed out the many cuts my feet and legs had sustained from my movements during the battle. I thought a moment about all the men who had sustained serious wounds and the engineer sergeant who'd been killed and then declined. I just didn't think my wounds warranted a purple heart. I told him about the sergeant who refused treatment and he made a note of it. He later recommended the artillery sergeant and myself be awarded the Silver Star for "Gallantry in Action".
Please understand dear reader that the Silver Star is an extremely high decoration awarded for heroism. Needless to say I was pretty impressed. But it was not to be. Back at Divarty HQ my recommendation was downgraded to a Bronze Star for Heroism (Valor "V" device). The artillery sergeant who I mentioned to the battery commander as "refusing medical treatment" got the Silver Star. The commander was embarrassed, and he saw to it I received a second Bronze Star before I left, this one for meritorious service. Later in my career an army interview board wanted to know how in the world I had earned two bronze stars only a month apart. I just shrugged. But the loss of the prestigious Silver Star was disappointing.
The radio operator received an Army Commendation Medal with Valor "V" device as did the lieutenant in command of the FDC. Seems he had kicked at least two hand grenade out of the FDC before the third one went off. He also admitted to me that he had nearly shot me as I came through the bunker entrance to help the wounded. Thank God for indecisive lieutenants!
The highest praise I could get however, came from the Pheons themselves. Comments like "Way to go Doc" and "Good job Doc" is what I heard the next day as we cleaned the debris of battle. A few days later I was promoted to Specialist Five, the board had heard of our fight only two days before, it was an easy board. A couple of weeks later we loaded up and moved to a little known area of the war.
The second event was the Bob Hope Show. He'd entertained my father in WWII and now he was in Vietnam. I caught a chopper in to Lai Khe and got to see Bob; Neal Armstrong, the astronaut who had walked on the moon just six months before; the Golden Girls; and Debbie Reynolds. It was quite a show!
Each day at the Catcher's Mitt, we could see the Freedom Bird (commercial plane returning to the states). I figured that once I got on that plane and took off, I was going to look down and see if I could see our position there on the mitt. A few days later I left for the U.S. aboard that same Freedom Bird. I looked down, and amid the moon-like cratered surface of Vietnam, I saw our position. It was eerie, after all those days of watching this same flight go overhead, I was aboard it. My heart went out to the guys I knew were watching as I flew over. I blinked back a tear and saluted them goodbye. I'd been with them for the past twelve months, and now it was over. It was hard to believe.
The 105mm howitzers that had fired more than 1,250.000 rounds during its Vietnam service of 55 continuous months of combat while earning 11 new battle honors, were replaced with "Pallidans" 155mm self propelled guns (mounted on tank like vehicles). "Duty First!" The 7th FA served in Kosovo as part of the NATO peace keeping force there. Ironically, their first fire mission was to fire illumination in support of Russian troops under attack. The First Battalion, 7th Field Artillery was inactivated at Fort Riley on 25 March 1983, ending 66 years of continuous service with the 1st Infantry Division.
The 1st Battalion, 7th Field Artillery reactivated as an element of the 10th Mountain Infantry Division, Fort Drum, New York, on 24 September 1986. During its brief service with the 10th Division, elements of the Battalion deployed in support of the Persian Gulf War, provided fire support elements in Operation Restore Hope in Somalia, aided in the relief of Florida after the devastation left by Hurricane Andrew, and secured Haiti in Operation Uphold Democracy. It was inactivated on December 1995 at Fort Drum, NY.
The 1st Battalion, 7th Field Artillery returned to the 1st Infantry Division on 16 February 1996 and activated in Schweinfurt, Germany. The Battalion deployed to Bosnia-Herzegovina in September 1996 in support of Operation Joint Endeavor/Joint Guard. It returned to Schweinfurt in April 1997. The Battalion re-deployed to the Balkans on 24 June 1999 as part of the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Infantry Division, in support of Operation Joint Guardian II in the Province of Kosovo, Former Republic of Yugoslavia. During the operation, it made history again with Battery A firing the first artillery rounds in hostile action in the Balkans in support of the 1st Battalion, 26th Infantry on 30 July and again on 4 August when the Battalion fired in support of the 13th Russian Tactical Group (Airborne); the first time since WWII, that American artillery fired in support of a Russian army unit. The 1st Battalion, 7th Field Artillery re-deployed to Schweinfurt in December 1999. Redesignated 1 October 2005 as the 1st Battalion, 7th Field Artillery Regiment. This unit, the spiritual descendent of the one that served in Vietnam, still serves the 1st Infantry Division, the U.S. Army, and the people of the United States.
Battery A change of Command in Kosovo. Pre-Vietnam Unit Insignia
Walt Cross served twenty one years in the United States Army and retired with the rank of Master Sergeant in June of 1988. In addition to the 690th Medical Company and the 7th Artillery, he served with the 237th Engineer Battalion in Heilbronn, Germany as well as the U.S. Army Recruiting Command. Assigned to reserve component duty, he served as the active army element of the 1st Bn, 291st Infantry Regiment and the 3rd Training Brigade of the 95th Division in Stillwater, Oklahoma. He is a graduate of the United States Army Sergeants Major Academy, Class XXVII, July 1986. 
7th Field Artillery Unit Crest
The 7th Artillery is still a part of the 1st Infantry Division and is stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas (recently the 5th Bn, 41st Field Artillery in Germany was redesignated 1/7th FA and is stationed at Eagle Base, Schweinfurt, Germany). Alas however, they are no longer the "Pheons". After returning from Vietnam in April of 1970, the 7th Artillery was redesignated the 7th Field Artillery on 1 September 1971. The unit insignia was redesigned by replacing the squared shield with a more rounded one, eliminating the three pheons on the bend of the shield, and replacing the seven crosslets with seven blossoms of the Texas bluebonnet, alluding not only to the unit's number, but its birthplace as well. The motto "Nunquam Fractum" was replaced with "Nunquam Aerumna Nec Proelio Fractum" (never broken by hardship or battle). I would guess that more soldiers in my era knew the unit motto than do the present members.
