Eye witness account of the Death of Sergeant Richard Hawco
By Lieutenant Robert David Thomas
Artillery Forward Observer
A Co, 3rd Bn, 21st Infantry
196th Light Infantry Brigade, Americal Division

It is important to remember that although the artillery shared all the hardships with the infantry we technically did not belong to them and were not in their chain of command. I conferred artillery military affairs with the Captain of Alpha Company and stayed within his command group. When we came out of field into the base camp the Infantry went to their quarters and my team would return to the Artillery battery that we were assigned. This prevented the close wartime bonding that seems to belong to the infantry units. I was more like a houseguest who overstayed his visit.

Though both military units were on the same hilltop fortress it would have been totally different worlds. The Artillery would be dug in on what would be the military crest (a little below the hilltop but not silhouetted against a light background) and fortified quite well with some what better services. The infantry occupied the top of the hill which had a much more temporary and crude type of living arrangement.

The reason for these two classes was pretty simple. The artillery had three Forward Observer teams out with each of the three infantry companies. The rest of the battery personnel (about 100) manned the six artillery guns round the clock. This constant available manpower and the seemingly inexhaustible supply of wooden ammo crates allowed an Artillery building boom that seemed to never stop.

The Infantry on the other hand had as permanent residents of their base camp a small number of supply and mess personnel along with the battalion command group. The command group was a 24 hour operation and the service support folks kept busy getting daily requirements of food and supplies to the field troops. There was space for about one Infantry Company of the four that made up the 3rd Battalion, 21st Infantry, to spend a few days of rest before returning to the field for two to three weeks of combat missions. When the grunts (as field troops were called) came in it did not help morale to expect them to fill sand bags and fortify when they should be resting. As a result they lived in more harsh conditions then my artillery unit.

Every now and then a unit that had taken a lot of fire or lost too many troops would be sent to Chu Lai, home of the Americal Division headquarters, which was like a large safe city. There would be permanent barracks, showers, a large PX, movies, live entertainment, free beer and soda.

So to understand all, there were three levels of danger and comfort that Alfa Company could be in. About 80 percent of the time it was by itself in combat territory within the 14 mile range of its firebase artillery guns (in this case Fire Base Center) and for a short rest it would return to its hilltop Firebase but still be very much in an active combat situation as the enemy, who surrounded us on all sides, took every opportunity to harass or overrun a fire base, sometimes with very devastating results. There would be no quiet nights on the fire base as the Artillery guns would shoot hundreds of rounds per hour. Every few minutes during daylight hours helicopters would resupply the units on one of two helicopter pads. The higher pad was in the Infantry area and the lower one was in the artillery area. There was no other way to bring in supplies to these units. For real relief, unmelted Jell-O, and an occasional flushing toilet the unit could be sent to the rear (Chu Lai) and be relativity safe on a huge military base.

To paint a complete picture of everyone's state of mind let me go back three weeks before Sgt Hawco's death.

The weeks before Sgt Hawco's death had been filled with intense patrols in rugged jungle mountain terrain that seem to challenge the whole unit every day with new hardships that had not tormented us before. The company had been caught in an unusual situation of being completely fogged in. The whole area was so fog covered that no supplies could be flown in. While this was not too unusual this particular time did not seem like the fog would ever clear. Days mounted quickly into a week and a unit that had to carry everything it needed started to run low on food, radio batteries, and ammunition.

The food shortage was staved off by killing a water buffalo and some local chickens from a village. That water buffalo was the hardest food I have ever tried to eat and did little to help everyone out. Even the local dogs could not chew the meat of that old water buffalo. From my jungle training in Panama I was one of the few who could skin a chicken and we did eat a few til we opened up one which the entire inside was rotten black with cancer.

The unwritten Alpha Company combat code of field conduct was such that if you did not carry it yourself then you did not beg or borrow from someone who did. There was no real requirement of how much of anything you had to carry just as long it was all that would be needed to take care of yourself. The "big three" personal items that could get a trooper in real trouble were water, food and ammo. The average trooper drank two gallons of water per day, ate three meals, and carried an M-16 rifle that could fire a full clip of twenty rounds in 1.6 seconds.

The company toughed out the dwindling supplies but it finally came to pooling the ammo and discovering there was not enough ammunition to sustain more than a minute of firepower. The ebbing radio batteries, normally replaced daily, had the command group concerned that we could soon lose contact with our fire base. The troops who were a little too light on their original supplies were pretty desperate for a good meal and the comfort of a few crossed bandoleers of ammo on their chests. It was decided to force-march back to Fire Base Center. It was a tough hump through steaming rocky jungle and on the final approach we seem to endlessly zig zag through the "safe way", a path that led up through the fire base's back slope's defenses of minefields, booby traps, and barbed wire.

We no sooner got to the infantry compound than the sun broke through the fog and a locust swarm of helicopters carrying weeks of huge red mail bags rumbled in. Remember Alfa Company was now out of schedule with its normal rotation from the field so suddenly there were two companies in the infantry compound instead of one. We quickly loaded up, spent the night, and moved out the next day with an unusual addition.

We had with us a Viet Cong soldier who had deserted and come over to the American side. Part of his amnesty deal was to lead us to a nearby North Vietnese enemy base camp which he claimed had a hospital that had saved his life. When he removed his shirt he had at least seven bullet wounds in a row down his torso received from being gunned down by a Cobra gunship's minigun. This one-eyed guy and his interpreter gave everyone the creeps.

The next few days we rounded our base camp to the relatively close area where he claimed the base camp was and found nothing. The rear commanders insisted on locating the base camp so a helicopter was brought in and the Viet Cong soldier was flown up in the air over the area. He kept pointing and insisting the area we had just gone by was the location of the hidden base camp.

Most troopers did not believe this turncoat VC any more but it was decided by higher command to go through the search again. Captain Wolfer (Alfa's commanding officer) decided to pick a compass line bisecting the area and not stray from it. At this time we were back near the back slope of our firebase so it was a downhill walk.

The compass theory soon got us in big trouble. We went a short distance and hit a field of seven foot tall razor grass. It was too dense to push through and it cut the uniforms right off our bodies. Because the grass was so high, not a breath of air stirred and with our sleeves rolled down to protect us from grass cuts the heat was unbearable. Flies pestered the bleeding cuts caused by the razor grass which forced everyone to cover more of their body. The point man whacked at the grass with a machete but it was very slow going. Soon everyone had to take turns at point to push the unit another foot or two. I took a turn, something that a Forward Observer was never expected to do and barely got three feet before being exhausted. In about three hours we got about 50 feet and the entire company had at least one turn on point. Some of the real point men came up and one was whacking away when suddenly he disappeared. The rest of us froze in combat poise when suddenly he reappeared and said "You won't believe this".

We pushed forward in the dense curtain of razor grass and it parted to a triple canopy style jungle floor. That meant so little sunlight could penetrate that little if any vegetation growth was on the jungle floor. There were slender tree trunks and very heavy over-hanging growth but for the most part it was like a groomed park. We loped the next few kilometers in record time before reentering a double canopy growth that was as dense as the razor grass field.

Struggling we came across a brook about two feet deep by about six feet across with almost impassable growth on each side. The brook was wide enough for us to travel down and we made better time than attempting the impenetrable jungle growth. Sliding down mini-waterfalls at least cooled us off and we were still on the compass point theory which had piloted us into the grass field and double canopy jungle that could have accommodated a whole regiment of enemy that would have never been spotted from air but still be in our firebase's backyard.

Once again, the point man who was wading down the stream suddenly sank out of view. He came up looking startled and reported he walked into a river well.

A river well is dug and stoned up like a regular well but is located in the middle of a stream where the water level may change. The well collects cool clear water and can handle a larger volume of usage than attempting to get water out of a shallow stream. The point man was right on top of things to be so suddenly alarmed at a well being found in an uninhabitable jungle.

Everybody went into combat mode and followed the point man who had discovered a footpath near the well. We had not gotten too far when gunfire started from a hidden enemy bunker which was quickly subdued by the leading squad despite the fact they had a misfire rocket laucher. Alpha company ended up walking into the back door of a major enemy base camp. There were meeting rooms, latrines, POW cells, and areas where our Viet Cong guy said he received his medical care.

There were some 10 inch by 10 inch square holes in the ground in one area. Most of us decided they were vents to hidden tunnels so a few troops grabbed a field shovel and unearthed a strong lattice work of criss-cross bamboo. One trooper beat at the bamboo when suddenly it gave way depositing him waist deep in a dug out cavity filled with human waste. We had mistaken the latrines as vents for tunnels.

We spent some time searching and reporting on the area. The reason we never saw it from the air was because of the dense jungle growth and the fact that the buildings consisted of live trees planted to form the walls and roofs. I tried to call artillery on the location but the shells exploded high in the upper canopy and never penetrated to the floor, even after trying to use delayed-fuse rounds. Not wanting to be caught that night in such a dense area we started moving out of the back slope of our firebase into the short grassy area we had used before and as a result missed the hidden encampment. We took a short break on the trail out with everyone just sitting in the line of patrol. During this time many of us pulled a considerable number of leaches off one another. I only had a few as I had not removed the shoestrings wound tightly about my lower legs to prevent leaches from crawling up into the groin area. I studied my map and looked for probable ambush locations in the area we would be traveling through. The locale where we would break out of the heavy growth and onto a grassy hillside to camp that night seemed a plausible spot for an enemy ambush.

I followed my usual military practice of jotting that grid location on my battle map. By doing this mental battle work I might have a starting point in an emergency. It was my habit to do this several times an hour as we moved along on patrol.

Now here is where hindsight serves well. The North Vietnesse regulars in the camp we had just discovered were running out the front door as Alfa Company came in the back door. They (the enemy) set up a deadly L-shaped ambush knowing Alfa would be coming out of the jungle soon. About a third of the company had exited the jungle onto the short grassy hillside when, way back in the rear, an explosion took place. However it was a muffled explosion and then a louder one. To an infantry man that has all the earmarks of a mortar attack and everyone hit the ground. This must have greatly confused the enemy ambush in waiting and perhaps they thought they had been spotted.

What really happened was that the last guys in our strung out line during the break decided to dispose of the misfired missile launcher with a grenade. The grenade went off sending the rocket on a short trip before it exploded. As the self-appointed bomb disposal squad came up the trail they were told to get down, "Mortar Attack". Soon the real story got out and the unit got up, cursed at the idiots and continued to move into the clearing. I had not gone more then a few paces when all hell broke lose. A sea of AK-47 bullets filled the entire area. The ground was alive with rounds hitting the dirt and all of us were pinned down in grass about 12 inches high.

Capt. Wolfers was on his radio to the Infantry command and I called for artillery fire from my unit. There was no time for map reading; I gave the grid I had written moments before. The killing radius of our shells was 50 meters; my target grid was less than 60 meters away making it a "Danger Close" fire mission. I shot a white phosphorous aerial round which exploded over my head but seemed like it could also be over the enemy lines. I called "fire for effect" as the enemy rounds poured in on the command unit position which was now being given away by the 10 foot high radio antennas we were forced to use because of the hillside interference.

I was given "Shot" over the radio meaning rounds were on the way and then "Splash" which meant 5 seconds before they hit. I counted to four and stood up so I could see where the shells hit and figuring to some extent if I just called them on my own position it would be best not to go to my court-martial. I saw a long row of enemy fire seemly all shooting at my spot on the hill. I could feel the buzz of rounds flying though the air. A few days later I was told by one of the troopers that he saw dozens of green tracers inches from my throat. Somehow I must have counted my 4 seconds too fast as nothing happened for what seemed like forever when suddenly, less then 60 meters away, the shells landed in the enemy lines. Bodies flew into the air and I heard screaming. I was so excited to get a direct hit that it was my radio operator who pulled me down to the ground. The enemy gunfire intensified but the Artillery kept pounding.

Suddenly the shells hit above us on the hillcrest and started to walk down hill to where we laid in the grass. I called "Check Fire" on the artillery as it was now coming into our position. "Check Fire" is a sacred emergency command understood by all soldiers to immediately cease firing. However, the rounds kept advancing down the hill to our position. I called "Check Fire" again. There was a short delay, then a voice told me over the radio that no friendly artillery was in the air. The next explosion made me realize that we were under enemy heavy mortar attack. Using Russian gunnery range chararstics which I had memorized I was able to pinpoint the Mortar Battery and silenced them by redirecting the artillery fire.

Cobra gun ships arrived and provided the company protective fire while we backtracked into the jungle.

Months later for this engagement I received the Silver Star. Captain Wolphers and both of our radio operators received the Bronze Star for Valor.

We made it back to the jungle stream before the dimming daylight was just clicked off like a light bulb. The company trudged as far as it could up the stream in the pitch-black dark but it became way too dangerous. One trooper chipped his kneecap during a fall in the stream. The Captain rather cleverly decided to camp in midstream. He put a machine gun nest at each end of the unit. The troops strung hammocks or ponchos over the water for the night. We all felt pretty safe knowing how hard it was going through the growth along side of the stream. The novelty of trying to sleep over the stream in flimsy ponchos left more then one trooper a little wet but I heard no complaints and very little GI chatter as we all kept an ear to the black jungle that surrounded the unit.

The unit was moving at the earliest light the next morning and was relieved to get out of the stream and back under the triple canopy forest. Trying to not to repeat the horrid march through the grass field we did a slight detour and ended on high ground overlooking the area of the enemy base camp which had been shelled most of the night. One of the troops with eagle eyes spotted the continuous movement of camouflage units of five enemy soldiers moving across the valley from the discovered NVA base camp. These camouflage groups were crossing to another jungle about 3,000 kilometers away. Though several troops tried to point them out to me I never really spotted them. Believing the point men I zoned swept the entire valley with massive Artillery barrages. Aircraft Recon did a flyover and reported a huge number of dead. We all felt pretty justified as the reported dead must have been the remnants of the unit that ambushed us the day before.

Continuing our trek back we once again got swallowed up in dense jungle but suddenly found a clearing about the size of a basketball court and as night was approaching felt we better camp down in the clearing. We trusted the dense jungle to alert us to probing actions or an attack.

That night was the first night we got to employ a new experimental defense weapon. It was four sound- and vibration-sensitive green stakes, each about the size of a tent peg. The concept was that you would put them out along the perimeter and they radioed to a receiver in the center of the unit if any movement was near them. Each stake had a distinctive beep that the operator would listen to with a head set. It worked somewhat like a Geiger counter with a background beep every 30 seconds or so but if someone walked near it would beep faster and faster then fade off to background beep as the walker moved farther away. However, this really was a new concept and very experimental for combat in those days. Our problem seemed to be determining the stakes' sensitivity settings.

About three hours into the pitch black night those stakes started sounding off. Captain Wolfer would have the perimeter guards shoot in the area of the alarmed stake. As the alarmed stake became silent another one on the opposite side of the unit would alarm. At one point they went off one at a time in a row as if someone was walking around our perimeter. All night we were shooting small round fire into the jungle. The best theory everyone had that night was it was junk technology that was much too sensitive and/or a herd of wild pigs in the jungle.

The following morning most of the troop were more than run down from the ambush, a night in the stream and the constant perimeter alerts in the clearing. Everyone took a keen interest when one of the squads discovered their protective perimeter Claymore mine wires had been cut and the mine was missing. Then it was discovered that one of the new sound stakes was missing but could still be heard. By walking about the jungle it was located by its beeping and was discovered over 50 feet from where it had been placed. The missing Claymore mine was next to it. Other perimeter violations were soon discovered such as mines being turned toward the American unit instead of facing the jungle. Several outlying trip flares had been deactivated. Everyone believed those sound stakes may have saved the entire unit that night from a deadly attack.

Conferring with Captain Wolfer I suggested we pretend we were leaving the camp but hide a squad in our old fox holes as a stay behind ambush. He was intrigued by the idea and ordered it. The squad that stayed back saw it as a joke and a little extra nap time. They got in the foxholes where they went to sleep, read books and cooked up a breakfast. The breakfast maker happened to look up to find five North Vietnamese Regulars going from foxhole to foxhole picking up our leavings of discarded food and supplies.

The grunt, stunned, stammered out " D..D..D..DINKS!" and shot the enemy soldier who was almost upon him point blank with an M-79 grenade launcher cutting him in half. The others of Alfa Company's squad reacted and in seconds killed the remaining enemy.

This was an amazing sequence of events. No one had tried a stay behind ambush and no one until then realized that every American unit was shadowed by enemy soldiers who lived off the American trash and learned that unit's individual traits, and later became the technical advisors when that friendly unit became vulnerable to attack. The intelligence community wanted proof of this strange event and sent a helicopter for the bodies. Although one pilot got into the small clearing, as the Alpha squad started loading the gristly body parts he waved them off not wanting that much blood and gore in the craft as it could short out the navigational controls. One trooper bought me back a rare NVA belt with the Red Star buckle but he kept the prized 9mm pistol as his personal trophy which I heard was later sold to a General.

The squad soon caught up with us as we were waiting just a short distance away and we continued climbing upward toward the back route to our firebase, LZ Center. As we came out of the jungle proper we encountered the grass field again but in a much less dense area. As we trudged through an explosion went off about midline. Word quickly spread that someone hit a booby trap and was wounded. A medevac was called in and as was my custom to keep those in the rear posted with things that should not be over radios I wrote the reported enemy death count from the hillside ambush "55 dinks killed" on the back of my battle map in grease pencil. I held the map up so the pilot could see it and report to my leadership in the artillery. Those words are still on that map today.

I should say at this time Alpha's "game" was being followed in the rear by a great many high ranking officers. I was later told that during the hillside ambush eighty replacement troops were on standby on a helicopter pad in the rear as at least that many in Alpha Company would be dead in the next few hours. More than one troop was later questioned about the artillery direct hit in the ambush, the sound stakes, and the stay-behind ambush. Slowly Alfa's credibility was building as each story was confirmed.

Meanwhile all kinds of theories were bouncing around about the booby trap injury. No wires could be found so perhaps a VC was hiding in the grass and lobbed a grenade. Most of the leadership soon decided that more than likely the thick grass and vegetation had scraped off one of the trooper's instantaneous grenades (the kind used for booby trapping which exploded with no delay) hanging from his field harness and exploded behind him. I believe he lived but never knew the extent of his injuries.

In about an hour and a half we were back zig-zagging threw the defensive perimeters of Fire Base Center.

After a few hours of officer debriefing it was announced we were to be sent to the Division rear base for a well deserved R&R. I always thought perhaps Captain Wolfers felt the unit had too many close calls in such a short period of time and needed a break.

I did not know much about these rear base breaks as this was my first. The infantry put quite an unwind mat out. The first thing that greeted the troops was a basketball court with two dumpsters. One was filled with ice and sodas. The other was filled with ice and beer. It was considered high society to just jump in and have a drink of your choice. There were all kinds of activities for the troops along with showers, new uniforms, and PX trips.

During this fun time a commotion broke out that there had been a fight between two of the troopers. This was not uncommon and usually not very serious. This time however one of them stabbed a fellow soldier. The Sergeants and Officers locked up the stabber in a storage container till the MP's arrived and medevaced the wounded trooper where he later died.

Not knowing how serious the fight had been the party went on and later that night the Company was treated to a live rock concert by an Australian band. It did not matter if they were very good or bad, they had a girl singer and it was nice to know girls still existed. The concert seemed to be going well as they were playing all the 60s hits when they announced the last song would be the Vietnamese National Anthem. Everybody groaned and then they started playing "We got to get out of this place!" The troops went nuts and sprayed beer everywhere especially on the leadership. I was sitting next to Captain Wolphers as he got a dousing of beer in biblical proportions.

The next day word that the fight had become murder got out and the company was returned to Fire Base Center. Several Sergeants and Officers were told to be prepared to give testimony and depositions for the Court Martial and were to meet with the military lawyers at the Infantry Day Room which was a sandbagged bunker half in the ground and large enough for chapel services, briefings, general service and in this case a Court Martial.

I recall at least two other Alfa Company Infantry Lieutenants, Sergeant Hawco and myself waiting outside the bunker where there was a little makeshift bench, chatting away about the new camera I had just purchased in the rear. Sergeant Hawco seem to know a lot more about the camera then the rest of us so he showed me how to use it. He took a picture of me. I then experimented taking pictures of the other officers standing with me.

It was a grey overcast day with slight dew on everything. The temperature was not uncomfortable.

A light LOACH helicopter came in overhead from our left. Someone said "That's Jag". I had never seen military lawyers before so I keenly watched hoping to size them up as they landed. We were standing with the bunker to our back with a makeshift bench and a half wall of sand bags in case of attack. All of this formed a little patio area by the bunker entrance. The 50'x50' infantry helicopter pad, formed out of runway metal plating that interlocked together, was about 30 feet to our front. There was a walkway made out of metal milk crates about three feet by three feet and six inches high extending that distance to the landing pad. These crates were recycled quite often as walkways because they would not sink too deep in the mud while the open gratings made natural boot scrapers to remove mud off the bottom of our combat boots. It was second nature to traverse these crate freeways to get to various bunkers within the firebase.

Typically the pilot came in what I call cowboy style, swooping down like a bird of prey from high then easing back to float level a few feet above the helipad. In this maneuver the tail rotor is below the landing struts with the nose pointed slightly upward. As the pilot adjusts the controls, the nose of the craft leans forward leveling out the landing struts to allow a smooth landing. This maneuver also would create a minimum target to anti-aircraft fire.

This helicopter came in like an eagle, tail feathers down and in that critical time to pull back did so, but the tail rotor scraped the ground to the edge of the left of the landing pad. In a fury of mechanical screams the rear rotor blades, moving thousands of revolutions per second, disintegrated into lethal flying debris flying all around the unit.

The craft slammed down about four feet landing just off-center left of the square metal landing pad. With the tail blades sheared off the whole craft started spinning in wild rocking circles. In this unbalanced spinning the tail of the craft would dig in the ground sending the craft off in another direction like an out of control top. Depending where the tail hit there would be a shower of sparks from the metal landing or a dirt shower as it dug into the earth surrounding the pad. It spun at least five times, maybe more, and "climbed" on and off the lips of the landing pad several times. It came to rest off center right of the pad sitting on its belly. Unbeknownst to us at the time the reason it was sitting on its belly is that the landing struts were sprung outward and the main rotor blades, still spinning. were now about two feet lower than the normal height.

Sergeant Hawco uttered "My God, I'll get them out!"

He raced out of our group which was the closest to the accident. I yelled "Blades" but I do not believe he heard as he raced down the raised metal crate walk way.

The main blades were spinning over the last of the raised milk crate walkway. Sergeant Hawco did the characteristic hunch of all soldiers going under a moving blade. In this case with the colapsed skid booms and raised walkway it was not enough.

A horrendous "SLUMPH" was heard and the top of Sergeant Hawco's skull with hair sailed across the pad.

I have been haunted by that sound all my life. I have heard no other sound like it. The closest has been when a big wood chipper gets temporarily hung up on a log and hesitates before releasing all its energy to the log. It was a sound of something horribly gone wrong.

The body was kicked up where the second rotor blade hit it and (I was told later) broke his legs while bringing the body forward on the revolution of the blades. Sgt Hawco's body then hit the glass canopy's upper top. The pilot and passengers watched their would-be rescuer's lifeless body, facing toward them, slowly slide down the cockpit window, inches from their faces, leaving a stream of blood from his head wound. He came to rest, face down, just under the cockpit window.

No one moved as the blades slowly stopped spinning, coming to rest even lower to the ground. The pilot was white as a ghost and needed help in getting out. I heard the rumor he was later cleared of any wrong doing in the accident and attempted to fly again but mentally could not do so. The JAG officer was completely shaken so all court martial work was cancelled and he left quickly.

I cannot say what happened next because I did not witness his body removal. Perhaps I went down to the artillery area to let them know what happened. In less than an hour I did go back up into the Infantry area and at that time the body was already removed. The area accident report apparently had already taken place as clean up was just starting. It was at this point I took several pictures of the accident area exactly as it was minus only the body of Sergeant Hawco.

The First Sergeant got a line of troops together for a police call. This is a common housekeeping drill where soldiers stand shoulder to shoulder walking forward picking up garbage, cigarette butts, etc, to keep the area clean. This police call was to ensure every body fragment was picked up to be returned home following the American Army code of leaving no one, not even a small piece, behind.

As difficult as Sergeants Hawco's death is to describe it was a relatively clean death. He died instantly and most surely did not even know what hit him. There was very little blood loss because he was retrieved so quickly. Other than the skull cap his body was not mutilated and remained intact.

The troops on the police call found only a few small pieces of brain matter. The First Sergeant told them to pick it up but one of the troops said he could not touch it with his bare hands. The sergeant suggested using the only thing around to help him and that was a little stick. The solider refused to do it. Understanding, the First Sergeant had the medical personnel come back and complete the clean up. He (the First Sergeant) also suggested to the medical personnel that this was not the kind of details that field troops should be doing.

The following day I was once again in the Infantry area about mid-afternoon. A flash of gold caught my eye coming from the recesses of the day room bunker where the Court Martial was to have taken place the day before.

The olive green field table where the officers would have sat in judgement had been covered in bright white linen from the Chaplain's field kit. A large gold cross, brilliantly shined, was the golden beacon that caught my eye. On each side of the cross were white candles in golden bases that matched the cross. In front of the cross sat a pair of shined leather and canvas jungle boots. A standard cloth camouflaged cover had neatly been pulled over a steel combat helmet which had been placed on top of the boots so just the boot toes were visible. There was also the standard band holder around the helmet neatly holding the helmet's camouflage cover in place.

In our world of mud, olive drab green, and camouflage the whole scene seemed very surreal. The brilliance of the white and shining of the gold was mesmerizing. The sadness of those boots covered by the helmet makes me melancholy even three and half decades later. The altar in the bunker, less then 30 feet away from Sergeant Hawco's sacrifice, was where fellow soldiers would say goodbye in a field memorial attended by an Army Chaplain. The space was only large enough for maybe twenty troops which would mean that even those who could get free of their combat duties would find it crowded. I deferred to his infantry comrades and did not attend. I never heard a bad word or negative thing about Sergeant Hawco who by time he was 21 years old had become an Army Sergeant, led men into combat, and selflessly given his life in an attempt to save others. May God protect this forever young trooper.

At the time of his death I was only one year older. Even though I write these recollections three and a half decades later I still hear and smell those jungle sounds as if it were yesterday. It has been a long time coming to bear witness to this and another incident. Only much later in life do I respect what we did and how hard it must have been for loved ones back home.

I debated with myself for than a year if I should write this story. Then I debated what to include or leave out. A local historian suggested writing it in my own words and being sure to write everything with no censure. Knowing how painful details could be I decided to record a document more for future generations than for mine. I trust it will be held in that thought.

Additionally I have tried as best as one could, 35 years later, to get the details right. If another witness should challenge with better information please assume I have made an unintentional error.

I also hope other veterans may be able to add more insight to the man than I am able to do.

If I wrote "I saw" then it is how I remember that moment. If I wrote "I heard" then consider that a rumor or possible wartime puffery by another story teller.

Captain Robert David Thomas
April 19, 2004
1130 Hanchett Ave
San Jose, California