For Vietnam, it was a comfortable assignment. As an Army specialist, I had been assigned since May 1967 as a clerk-typist for MACV (Military Assistance Command, Vietnam) Advisory Team 3, which provided U.S. military advisers to the Army of the Republic of Vietnam’s 1st Infantry Division, headquartered in Hue, the ancient imperial capital of Vietnam.

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It was a beautiful city, and my time there had been made even more enjoyable by the fact that throughout the war–evidently in deference to its historic past–Hue had been treated almost as an open city by the Viet Cong (VC) and North Vietnamese Army (NVA). Although there had been intermittent mortar and rocket attacks on our compound south of the Perfume River, which bisects the city, Hue had seemed peaceful and secure. In fact, Washington Post war correspondent Don Oberdorfer had reported that South Vietnamese army officers ‘paid large bribes to be assigned to duty there.’

But all that changed in a heartbeat. An explosion brought me back to reality. This was not a dream–it was Vietnam. I screamed, ‘Incoming!’ as I always did when the enemy lobbed mortars and rockets into our compound. By now it was automatic. I scrambled out of my cot, ripped away the protective mosquito net, donned my helmet liner and steel pot and slipped on my flak jacket. In a matter of seconds I had my carbine and ammunition and was out the door with my shower shoes on. My fellow hooch mates always made fun of me because I never took the time to put on my uniform. So there I was in combat gear in my underwear and shower shoes. To me, speed was the most important thing–I wanted to stay alive!

Usually ‘Charlie’ (the VC guerrillas) would lob some mortars or fire rockets into the compound and we would be on alert for about half an hour. After we got the all clear signal, we would return to bed to get some rest. But not this time! It was early morning on January 31, 1968– the beginning of the NVA and VC’s Tet Offensive. All hell broke loose after we were all safely in our bunker, which held five or six men. Small-arms fire could be heard from every direction, and more loud explosions continued after the mortars and rockets. The enemy had succeeded in scoring a direct hit on our ammunition bunker. The noise level was deafening, the smell of gunpowder filled the air, and I could sense the fear. The intensity of the fighting seemed to escalate with each passing minute.

The sergeant came by and instructed us to fire at anything that moved. When we opened up with a barrage, we hit the trip wires, and the flares on the barbed wire were ignited. Our entire corner of the compound was lighted up like it was daytime. We heard intensive small-arms fire coming from the school on our right and automatic weapons fire coming from the direction of the commanding officer’s quarters. Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) soldiers in billets directly in front of us fired a few rounds at our position, but we thought it was an accident so we did not return fire. After a minute or two, the fire from the ARVN billet stopped. But the explosions, the flares, the small-arms fire, the loud noises, the yelling, the screaming and the chaos seemed to go on forever.

We did not realize what was going on around us. We stayed in our bunker, followed the sergeant’s orders to defend the corner, and prayed that we would survive this hell. We would later learn that the 804th NVA Battalion had conducted a sapper-and-infantry assault in an effort to completely overrun our compound.

Suddenly, there was a loud explosion to our right. The hooch occupied by a group of Australians had taken a direct hit. The yelling and screaming indicated that one of the Aussies had been hit by shrapnel; he later died from a throat wound.

There was heavy fighting to our left next to Colonel George O. Adkisson’s quarters. Colonel Adkisson was the commanding officer of MACV Advisory Team 3. Our bunker got a message that Specialist Frank Doezema was in the tower, spraying machine-gun fire at the police station that the enemy had overrun earlier. As Doezema was firing at the NVA, an explosion blew off the lower part of his legs. His place at the machine gun was taken by another soldier, and Doezema was taken to the MACV dispensary. A medevac chopper was called in to evacuate him to Phu Bai, but the enemy snipers prevented the Huey from landing. I learned later that Doezema bled to death.

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