THE COMMAND POST GROUP

The CP or command post group was the controlling part of the company.  On this mission the CP group had three radiotelephone operators.

The first RTO (radiotelephone operator) was Harvey (see photo 14). At least that’s what he wanted to be called. His real name was Melvin—Melvin Houk. He hated the name Melvin. That’s what I was told. I don’t think I would like to be named Melvin either. He sure didn’t look like a typical Melvin. I’m sorry, but when I hear the name Melvin, I imagine some stereotype goofy looking guy that is short, over weight, and wears thick glasses.  Harvey was just the opposite. He had to be at least six foot tall, the perfect weight and one of the most handsome guys I had ever met. I don’t think the guy had a pimple on his face—just a real good-looking guy.

Carl R. Swan was the second RTO. Swan was probably only a few inches over five feet tall, making him the shortest of the group. His fairly large bushy mustache probably made him appear older than he was.  He’d often make a funny face when I’d take a picture of him.  (See photo 15) I’ve seen his name spelled two ways. Swan with an A and Swon with an O. I always thought it was with an O, but the company CIB (Combat Infantry Badge) award roster (See Document 1 and 2) dated October 4, 1967, spelled it with an A. Some of the guys and the Captain called him Swanee.

Document 1. Page one Combat Infantry Badge Award Roster

 The “CIB” highly treasured and the highest badge award.

“Kind of a “Cheesy” document for such a prestigious award”.

The Combat Infantry Badge

   Displayed on uniform and designates served in combat.

Document 2. Page 2. Combat Infantry Badge Award Roster

The third RTO was Barney, who carried the radio for the artillery officer.  He was known to most only by his nickname “Barney”, but his real name was John R. Barfield.  Barney was a lightweight kid like me. He was easy going and had a good sense of humor.  I once ran into Barney (see photo 16 and 17) standing in the company with this big Polish sausage sticking out of his mouth. The thing was huge. I asked him where he got it and he said the mess hall. I said, “I didn’t know horse cock was on the menu.” When he heard that, he started to laugh and could barely hold on to the sausage with his teeth. I quickly whipped out my little camera and took two photos.

Photo 16. “Barney” with Sausage.                      Photo 17. John Barfield - Arty RTO

Oscar Draughon was the First Sergeant and we called him “Top”, as most First Sergeants were called. He was the highest-ranking non-commission field officer on this mission with a rank or grade of E-7.  I have to assume that Sergeant Droughon was the eldest of the group. A quiet, well seasoned career sergeant, who could take charge in an instant. A photo taken by an unknown (See photo 18) shows me checking out my little camera and Sgt. Draughon behind me. Not quite sure if he was doing anything other than reading the stars and stripes.

      Photo 18.  Me with my camera and Sgt. Draughon—“Top”

Our Commanding Officer or CO (see photo 19) was Captain Jack Merrill.  From the first time I met him I liked him. Possibly because he seemed so relaxed. He was a fairly large man. Not fat, just a big guy. I really didn’t get a chance to talk to Captain Merrill much or try to be chummy with him. I never called him “ the old man” as some of the guys did.

A distinguishing thing about Captain Merrill is he had a cane or walking stick that he carried. I think they also called it a swagger stick.  The top of the wooden cane or handle had a carved dragonhead. Several photos that I took from our chopper on past missions show the silhouette of the head of his cane. His cane (see photo 20) really looked cool but it had one major shortcoming. It didn’t shoot. In spite of that, it was an honor to be part of the command group and I was proud to be chosen for my job.  My job…was the Commanding Officer’s bodyguard.

  Photo 20.  Dragonhead of the Captain's Walking stick    

Photo 19.  A Co. Commanding Officer

Captain Jack Merrill

Bodyguard

Bodyguard—Kind of a peculiar job title for describing the act of trying to keep some one alive. Even kind of humorous when you really think about it. Even contradictory— Like I was against all odds of succeeding before I even started. Bodyguard—It sounded as if I was assigned to guard a person whose vital signs had long stopped functioning. 

I always wondered why they selected me CO’s bodyguard. I was a Weapons Specialist E-4, but only had been in country about two months or so.  That’s not very long. Other guys that were here longer were more qualified than I was. I really didn’t          know a heck of a lot yet, but on the other hand, felt I’ve already seen enough blood, bugs, and body bags, to last me the rest of my tour.  Maybe I’ve just seen enough for the new guy look to fade… on the outside anyway. On the inside, I still was an FNG (F**king new guy).  Maybe I just looked cool enough. Boy, did I fool them.

According to data from my diary and photos from prior missions, I was his bodyguard, starting some time in November of ‘67. As the Commanding officer’s bodyguard, I went most everywhere the Captain went. We rode the same choppers, the same vehicles and walked the same paths. I followed him and watched his back, his right, and his left as much as the circumstances let me. When the Captain was discussing plans or strategy, or even taking a break, I was pulling surveillance.  Even though I used to joke that I drew the line when he was using the latrine, I took the assignment of being his bodyguard very seriously.

Being the commanding officer’s bodyguard had good points and bad ones, and it was hard to distinguish between most of them.  It was a toss up between which target was the enemy’s most popular— the machine gun crew, or the command post group.  Many times the CP group was at the front, wherever that may be, and so very often it was hard to tell where the front really was. Being with the command group and the RTO’s, you had first-hand information. Whether the information was good or bad true or false, going out or receiving it, you had most of it first. When the RTO’s were on the radios, and being distracted, I watched them as well. I would watch the surroundings, the bush, the woods or people.  By watching out for the group as well as I could, I was watching my own ass as well. I occasionally would monitor the radios when we set up camp. I felt real comfortable working with these guys. They were easy going, and all had a good sense of humor. It was the best job so far—especially now that I didn’t have to carry thirty pounds of ammo on my back. It will tear your ass up! 

During some idle chat one day someone asked me, “Being the Old Man’s body guard, why don’t you carry a forty-five?”(.45 caliber pistol) …… I told them of the first time I fired a forty-five in Nam, I was trying to hit a beer can lying on the ground about thirty-five feet away. After the third miss, I started to laugh. I looked at the end of the barrel and said, “Is there anything coming out of this freakin’ thing?”  The guy said, “ Yeah, but it is a little sloppy and wore out.” I told him, “I’d have better luck hitting the can if I just threw it! “  I defended my inability to hit the can with the forty-five by telling him I qualified expert with the sixteen in AIT (advanced Infantry training) and almost with the M-14. According to my SPECIAL ORDERS NUMBER 220, from basic training, only four of us, out of sixty guys hit fifty-nine targets with the M-14. Pretty sure if I had hit one more stinking target, I would have made expert with that too… I replied, “I’ll keep my M-16.”

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