Running Through the Fire
The Blues, Ken Perry and Some Tough Bastards
This article is about a group of men, and one in particular, who fought and died over thirty years ago. I will begin with a discussion of the Bravo Blues and the Air Cavalry Troop of which they were a part. It will also pay homage to the tough, brave young soldiers who were our enemies.
The Bravo Blues were part of 1st Squadron 9th Cavalry. 1/9 Cav was the reconnaissance arm of the First Calvary Division. It had three Air Cavalry troops. Each was the reconnaissance arm for a brigade. I served with B (“Bravo”) Troop (B/1/9 Cav).
The Air Cav troops of the Vietnam era were unique organizations in the history of warfare. Nothing like them existed previously. To my knowledge, none like them exist now. Each troop had four platoons – the Red, White and Blue platoons, and Blue Lift. The colors are derived from the colors associated with different branches of the service. Each branch of the Army has a color that is used for a variety of things, such as the facing on dress uniforms.
Red is the artillery’s color. Thus, the Red platoon was our airborne artillery and in 1970 consisted of AH-1G Cobra attack helicopters. Each gunship was armed with pods of 2.75 inch rockets, sometimes a 20 mm cannon, and a turret under the nose that could house both a 7.62 mm Gatling gun (known as a minigun and capable of shooting 100 rounds every second) and a rapid fire 40 mm grenade launcher. The miniguns fired so fast that you could not distinguish individual shots - they just sounded like a buzz saw. Bzzzzzzzzzzit. The 40 mm grenade launchers fired, I would estimate at a cyclic rate of fire of about 120 rounds per minute, or two grenades per second. Bap, bap, bap, bap. The pilots could choose which weapons to have installed in their turrets. Some opted for two miniguns, but most had both a minigun and a grenade launcher. These were fired by the co-pilot, who sat in the front seat.
The scout or White platoon consisted of OH-6A scout helicopters known as “little birds” or LOHs (for “light observation helicopter”), pronounced “Loach.” A LOH normally flew with a crew of 2 – a warrant or commissioned officer pilot and a sergeant who was the gunner. Being a gunner on a LOH with the First Cav was about as high risk as it gets. The gunner sat in the door opening behind the pilot. There was no seat, his legs dangled over the edge of the bird. By today’s standards a LOH gunner was a low-tech weapon system – he had an M-60 machine gun and a wooden box filled with explosive, smoke and white phosphorous (WP) grenades. My friend Jon Swanson was “White” for much of my time with B/1/9. Jon was killed in Cambodia on February 26, 1971, along with his gunner, Larry Harrison, in an action for which Jon received the Congressional Medal of Honor and Larry the Silver Star. Good men, both, and sorely missed.
The Blue platoon was a platoon of infantry, blue being the color of the infantry. I commanded the Bravo Troop Blue platoon or “Blues.” The Blue just prior to me whom I replaced was my friend Mike Nardotti. Mike was a stud, no doubt about it. He was my classmate at West Point where he was an All-American wrestler. No one messed with Iron Mike. Mike was wounded pretty badly but recovered and ultimately retired from the Army as a two-star general. The young lieutenant who replaced me at the end of my tour also was badly wounded and had to be med-evac’d back to the States with very serious injuries. I was lucky.
The Blues were a heavily armed, aggressive bunch of guys. Mike had trained them well by the time I took over. Being in the Blues was sufficiently high risk that no one was forced to join. Everyone was a volunteer – you had to volunteer to be in the
Blues. When I say that the Blues were heavily armed that is an understatement. Although we were only one small platoon, we had almost as much fire power as a line infantry company with 100+ men.
I took 21 Blues on operations every day. That number was dictated by the lift capacity of our UH-1B “Huey” helicopters from Blue Lift. Our Hueys could carry seven men each, plus their crew of a pilot, co-pilot and two door gunners. When carrying a fully loaded infantry company, however, they usually could only carry 4 or 5 men. That was because the line infantry companies typically were being inserted for two - three weeks of operations and carried full rucksacks, with much more gear, food and water, than we did. In contrast, we typically only carried one or two one-quart canteens, our personal weapons and all the ammunition and grenades that we could manage. We did not carry shovels, multiple days of food (or water, which was necessary during the dry season), a mortar and mortar shells, claymore mines for night defensive positions, or other gear that a regular infantry company would have. Because a typical rucksack carried by a line infantryman, with food, water and lots of ammunition weighed around 75 pounds, if you put five fully loaded grunts in a Huey, the extra weight would be about equal to an additional two more lightly loaded troops. So, by going light, we could load two more fighters on a Huey for a total of seven (plus a crew of four).
The Blues were divided into three 6-man squads plus my headquarters element consisting of me, my platoon sergeant (“Blue Mike”) and my RTO (radio operator). Each six-man squad was built around two three-man fire teams. Each fire team consisted of an M-60 machine gunner, a rifleman and a rifleman-grenadier who carried an M-203 which was a standard M-16 rifle combined with a 40 mm grenade launcher. So, our 21-man Blue platoon was armed with six M-60 machine guns (the same number carried by a regular 140-man infantry company), six 40 mm grenade launchers and fifteen M-16 rifles.
As I said, we had all the firepower you could want. Some guys also carried specialized personal weapons. One, Sergeant Cate, always carried a sawed-off M-79 grenade launcher. It had the stock sawed off, leaving only the pistol grip, and a shortened barrel. The whole thing, fully loaded, probably didn’t weigh more than two pounds. Plus, we had our birds overhead with their added firepower.
Even though 1/9 Cav was denominated as the division’s reconnaissance unit, it didn’t just do recon. They fought. The tactics were built around the “Pink Teams.” Combine a Red bird (Cobra gunship) and a White bird (LOH) and what do you get? Presto! A PINK team! Throw in an attached squad of Blues on a Huey flying with them and what do you get? (Hint: Red + White + Blue) A Purple team (I know, groan)!
The Pink team typically operated with the LOH flying at tree top level just above the triple canopy jungle. The pilot would use the rotor wash from the helicopter blades to blow aside the treetops and foliage so that he and the gunner could see down into the jungle below. If they saw something, they shot it up (we always operated in free-fire zones so that anyone we saw would try to shoot us if we did not shoot them first), marked the target with a smoke or WP (white phosphorous) grenade and got the hell out of the way so that the Red bird could roll in with its rockets, cannon and heavier firepower.
We Blues had three common missions. The most typical was to be inserted by air (or sometimes by rappelling down ropes from a hovering helicopter) when a Pink team found something. That “something” could be anything from unfriendly people with AK-47s who took offense at the snooping of the Pink team and decided to try to kill them, to a freshly used trail or bunker complex that indicated an enemy unit in the area.
The second most common mission was as the quick reaction force (“QRF”) for the Ranger teams. The Rangers or LRRPS (for Long Range Reconnaissance Patrols) operated in four to six-man teams. Their mission was to operate deep in the enemy’s area, far from US units and usually beyond the protection of US artillery. The Ranger company was commanded by my friend, Pete Dencker. Pete also was my classmate at West Point where he played varsity football. Another stud.
Because they were so small, if a LRRP team made contact with the enemy, they could get in hot water quickly. Often their first contact with the enemy would come in the form of a sudden eruption of heavy gunfire in the heavy jungle from 15 to 50 feet away. Because of the lack of visibility and the chaos, they often might not initially know if they were facing three, thirty, or three hundred enemy soldiers. They didn’t have the luxury of waiting too long to find out. Their immediate protection was the QRF — the Blues. We could be on our Hueys and airborne to help them in about 1 minute from the time we got the radio call. The Blues got in a lot of fights by going in to assist the Rangers. It was just such a mission where Iron Mike had been wounded, both by RPG (rocker propelled grenade) shrapnel in the neck and back and a gunshot through the arm.
The other most common mission — although thankfully less frequent than the first two — was going to the assistance of pilots and aircrew who had been shot down. If one of our birds was shot down, the two-man crew deep in Indian country needed help fast. We were on the way pronto. When crews were shot down or LRRP teams were in trouble, they often weren’t near a landing zone that could accommodate our helicopters. That could mean that we had to rappel into the contact area. Today the Rangers and Delta Force “fast rope” out of aircraft to get to the ground quickly. That is much more efficient, but back then we had to rappel, so we always carried gloves, a carabiner and a short rope to make a “Swiss seat” for rappelling.
Another thing that was different for the Blues than for a line infantry unit was that we went on our missions during the day, operating out of a firebase somewhere, and returned to our rear area at night to eat and sleep. So, we might make two or even three combat assaults, getting into gunfights during the day, but at night we would get a hot meal, shower, and sleep between sheets. That also allowed us to carry lighter loads during the day, instead of a full 70-pound rucksack. It was a good life!
I took over the Blues in December 1970 after Iron Mike was badly wounded and evacuated back to the US. When I got there, I heard a lot about a soldier who was not there at the time. His name was Ken Perry. When I arrived, Perry was on extension leave. Our standard tour length was one year, but if a soldier volunteered for an extra six months in-country, he got 30 day’s leave for R&R. I think that it was Perry’s second or third extension, which meant that by the time he was killed in December 1971, he had considerable time in combat, with no time “in the rear with the gear.” When I got to the unit, the men told me about Perry and it was all along the lines of, “Wait ‘till you meet Perry. He is incredible.”
Before Perry returned from leave, I heard lots of stories about him from the other Blues. It is not an exaggeration to say that he was a legend. One of the first things I remember hearing about him was that people called him Ghengis Perry or the Savage Mongol. That was because Perry identified as a pure warrior and wanted to be like one of the fearsome members of Ghengis Kahn’s Golden Horde. When he took his 30-day extension leaves, instead of flying home to California or going to one of the R&R destinations that young bachelors tended to favor, such as Australia or Bangkok, Perry went to Japan. The Blues were all convinced that was because Perry wanted to go to another Oriental culture close to Ghengis Kahn’s empire, and Japan was the only one he could visit that was anywhere close to Mongolia.
When Perry returned from his leave, I was his platoon leader for the next 8 months. He was the most aggressive soldier I had. He was absolutely fearless, at least as far as anyone could tell. With all his extensions he had more combat experience than anyone, except our Montagnard scout, Dieu Luong.
My favorite recollection of Perry was from one day sometime in 1971. He often walked point because that was where initial contact with the enemy usually occurred. Walking point in a combat zone when you can come under fire or spot the enemy any second, will definitely get your adrenaline going. I would
rotate the point squad so that one squad only had to walk point every three days. When it was his squad’s turn, Perry always wanted to be the lead man on point. Right at the tip of the spear. One day he came to me and told me that he didn’t want to walk point any more – he wanted to walk “drag” (last in line, usually farthest from the initial point of contact). You could think of it as being “in the rear,” although “the rear” typically meant that at first you were maybe 50 yards or so from the people shooting at us.
I thought to myself that Petty had been in combat for going two years or more, had paid his dues and if he wanted to walk drag, I would let him. But I did ask him why he wanted to change. His reply floored me. He said, “Well, Blue, I like to run through the fire. We usually make contact at the front and if I am in the back at first, it gives me more distance to run though the fire to the point of contact.” That was Perry in a nutshell – where most people’s instinct when coming under hostile file – especially from automatic weapons at short range – is to hit the ground or seek cover, Perry wanted to run through the fire. Like I said, Perry was afraid of nothing.
Another anecdote reflects Perry’s fearsome reputation. I did not personally witness this incident, but several of my men who did related it to me. In the early 70’s the Army in Vietnam was beset with racial problems and strife, particularly in rear areas. I did not have any racial problems in the Blues, but when we were back at our rear base area (in Bearcat) after being in the boonies all day, the situation with the rear echelon troops could be different. There was a lot of racial tension, even murders, in the rear areas.
One of the favorite intimidation techniques employed by militant black soldiers involved breaking into a line ahead of white soldiers and then daring them to do something about it. This typically happened when there were soldiers waiting in line to get into the mess hall to eat. If there was a black soldier near the head of the line, a group of other black soldiers would go up to him and cut in line in front of all the waiting white soldiers behind them. The group would intimidate the waiting white soldiers into accepting it. Of course, not every black soldier did this, but it occurred often enough to be a problem.
So, there was a militant black soldier who tried to bully Perry, thinking it was a no-risk proposition to pick on a guy who was maybe 5’ 8” and 130 lbs. soaking wet. Perry was waiting in line to eat dinner in our rear area (at Bearcat) after we had returned from the field when this happened to him. Uncharacteristically, Perry did not have his M-16 rifle with him. As he waited his turn, a group of black soldiers busted the line right in front of him.
Perry said something that caused one of them to grab him by his jungle fatigues, lift him off the ground and threaten to beat the s**t out of him (among other things). Perry, as my guys related it to me, looked him in the eye and said, “Go ahead. You are a lot bigger than me and can beat the s**t out of me. But then I will go get my M-16 and I will kill you.” Another of the black soldiers told their friend who he was messing with, and he immediately let go of Perry and apologized profusely. Such was Perry’s reputation. Everyone believed Perry would do exactly what he said.
My tour ended and I returned home in September 1971. Perry was killed three months later, on December 2. I don’t know the details of the fight but have little doubt that he was killed while running through the fire. I understand that the lieutenant who replaced me as Blue was seriously wounded that day and another sergeant from the Blues, Schyler Watts, also was killed.
Years later, I was looking at a web site known as “Faces on the Wall.” It is a site that is essentially an electronic version of the Vietnam Wall. It includes photos of the KIA’s and comments and remembrances from family, friends and even strangers. I ran across a thoughtful remembrance of SGT Ken Perry from one of his high school classmates named Ken Reeves. Here is what he said: “Ken was bullied and made fun of and treated like he was mentally challenged. I can only hope that those guys will be aware of his ultimate sacrifice and figure out that this man was a HERO. He rose through the ranks of the military and distinguished himself. I was one of those who sometimes made fun of Ken and yet, I am not a veteran. I have lived a decent life but I remember Ken and I think how I wish I could shake his hand and apologize for being a stupid kid who didn’t consider the real character of a dedicated soldier and a person of tremendous qualities who served his country for me and so many others could live on. Bravo to you Ken. All these years Ithink of you and appreciate you. Rest In Peace. Thank you for your sacrifice.”
RIP Ken Perry
There is one other incident from Vietnam that a friend recommended I include in any article I wrote about Vietnam. Sometime in 1971 we conducted a successful ambush of a number of NVA. The ambush was initiated by claymore mines, which are “directional” mines that contain hundreds of 1/4” steel balls that the mine’s explosion fires out in a fan-shaped pattern with an effective range out to 100 meters.
The initial velocity of the steel balls is almost 4000 feet per second, which is substantially faster than the high velocity 5.56 mm M-16 bullet (3250 fps). Since ambushes in Vietnam were normally close-quarters affairs (typically maybe 10 to 30 meters), this meant that a man-sized target in the kill zone might be hit with dozens of steel balls, each with a tremendous amount of kinetic energy due to their high velocity. The close-range results were devastating. This particular ambush
was triggered at very close range and one or two of the claymores was aimed a little low so that the results included a number of enemy soldiers who were killed outright but several others who were grievously wounded but not immediately killed.
I don’t want to get too graphic (any more than I already have) but the wounded were lying on the ground making a great deal of noise. Suddenly, through the cries came one strong voice, shouting something in Vietnamese. Immediately, everything got quiet, and the wounded suffered in silence. Afterwards I asked our Vietnamese Montagnard scout, Dieu Luong, what the one Vietnamese had shouted. Dieu Luong told me that it was a North Vietnamese officer who shouted, “You’re PAVN [Peoples Army of Vietnam or North Vietnamese], so SHUT UP AND STOP CRYING!” And shut up they did. They suffered and died in silence. Like my late former father-in-law said of the German SS troops his battalion fought, “They were tough bastards.”
I have always remembered this incident because in recent years the U.S. has tended to underestimate our adversaries, denigrating them as mere “rice farmers” or more recently as “illiterate goat herders” or “camel jockeys.” But this incident illustrated just how disciplined and tough the Vietnamese were. We underestimated them at our peril. And we underestimate current enemies at an even greater peril.