Fordham Veteran's Writing Project - The Cambodian Incursion

The Cambodian Incursion

We weren’t told where we were going, but we knew that our 11^th Armored Calvary Regiment was facing the Cambodian border.   There was a general understanding that we were going to cross the border the next morning as the lead unit in what became known as the “Cambodian Incursion.”   The night was spent guarding our perimeter and watching tracer bullets flying overhead, listening to the sounds of sniper fire, along with the sounds of mortar rounds being launched in our direction.   Near daylight we were told to move back away from the border about ¼ mile.  A few minutes later, B52 bombers unloaded their payloads in the area from which we had just moved.   The magnitude of the bomb explosions was terrifying and unlike anything most of us had ever experienced.  The ground shook underneath us in waves of violence. 

At daylight, we crossed into Cambodia and quickly discovered that there was absolutely no resistance as we moved forward. We assumed the bombing along the border had obliterated many of the North Vietnamese, with the remaining having fled the area.  North Vietnamese used the area, known as the Ho Chi Minh Trail, to supply their troops in the south.  Our task was to patrol the Cambodian areas along Highway 13, interrupting the supply line.  The highway was an important link between Saigon and the district capital of Snuol, Cambodia.

As it-turned-out, the time in Cambodia was a relief from the battle-scarred landscape of Vietnam.  The lush unspoiled countryside and jungle, plus the simple, mostly welcoming Cambodian villagers we encountered were wonderful.  The contrasts with the war weary Vietnamese was stark.

There were two events about my time in Cambodia that stuck with me.

The first was during a time when my unit stopped in a small village to rest.  The villagers were by all appearances very happy to see us.  The children ran alongside our caravan as we arrived and many villagers were along the road, waving as though we were heroes having come to liberate them.  After a few minutes, a trooper brought a relatively young man over to me, introducing him as the leader of the village.   He spoke very limited English, but I understood that he was inviting me into his home.  His house was made of bamboo, had a thatched roof and was on stilts.  We entered his single room house by climbing a wooden ladder, where he then introduced me to his wife and young family.  They were extremely hospitable to me and I had no sense that they were afraid of my presence, treating me as an honored guest.  As we tried to communicate, I noticed a homemade musical instrument made of bamboo, partially covered by snake skin, with two wire strings and a bamboo bow.  I later learned that it is called a Tro – a Cambodian violin.  I asked him if he played it and he proceeded to demonstrate the instrument.  The Tro had the most beautiful, interesting sound.  It was played to imitate the human voice in song.  He noticed how much I enjoyed hearing it and gestured that I could have it. I was very touched and traded food, cigarettes and some currency in the exchange.

I remember another incident in a village several weeks later that left me shaken.  Again, our troop had been traveling for quite a long time and we stopped at this remote village to rest.  As it turns out these villagers had abandoned the area as we approached.  Possibly they were North Vietnamese sympathizers, or they were just simply afraid of us.  It was a poor village with palm trees, a dusty main road with branching lanes, homes on stilts, water buffalo, chickens and other livestock wandering about.  Each home had a garden that supplied the family with vegetables.   After resting for a while, I ordered the troops to get back onto their tanks and armored personnel carriers, to resume our patrol. 

I noticed as the troopers were loading up, joking and laughing, that many of them had stolen vegetables from the villager’s gardens.  I remember being shocked that they would take food that these poor people depended upon.  Even as soldiers it was clear that we had many more material things than any of these people.  I suddenly had an overwhelming sense of rage and anger that these kind, simple people would be treated in this manner.  I ordered everyone back on the ground and remember yelling and cursing at them for desecrating the gardens of people that would likely return home after we left.  What a terrible example of who we were as Americans, I told them.  We were not leaving until they left something of value in the gardens, in payment of what had been removed.  Nearly everyone went back into the gardens and left such things as cans of C-rations, cigarettes, soda, beer, clothing, and money, as compensation.

I’ve often wondered why I was so overcome with anger and rage during this second memory.  Clearly, the anger had to be more than just the incident in the gardens.   Although, a sense of the immorality of pilfering items from people that had little probably played a part in my response, that was not quite it.  I had been feeling worried about leaving this unexpected respite in Cambodia and dreaded the return to Vietnam.  I now suspect that It was returning to the shattered sites like defoliated forests, bomb craters, the burned-out villages, as well as the seemingly never-ending sounds of tank engines and motor scooters, exploding landmines, all-of-which we had distanced ourselves while in Cambodia.  For me is was also the smells of Vietnam.  The smell of the dead water buffalo that someone had used for rifle practice, the acrid burned metal smell of a helicopter that had crashed with two dead pilots still strapped into their seats, the constant smell of diesel fuel, the smell of dirt and most offensive…my own stink.  Upon reflection, it was likely the totality of all these things that contributed to my overall response to the event in the gardens.

After my personal explosion near the gardens, I felt some relief.  When it was over and we were on-our-way once again, I was proud of the troops and their efforts to set things right in the village gardens, plus their matter-of-fact response to their “crazed” Lieutenant.