Reeder - Through the Valley

This book has been brought to publication with the generous assistance of Marguerite and Gerry Lenfest.

Naval Institute Press

291 Wood Road

Annapolis, MD 21402

2016 by William Reeder Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Reeder, William, Jr., author.

Title: Through the valley : my captivity in Vietnam / by William Reeder Jr.

Other titles: My captivity in Vietnam

Description: Annapolis, Maryland : Naval Institute Press, [2016] | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2015044277| ISBN 978-1-68247-059-6

Subjects: LCSH: Reeder, William, Jr. | Vietnam War, 19611975Prisoners and prisons, North Vietnamese. | Prisoners of warUnited StatesBiography. | Prisoners of warVietnamBiography. | United States. Army. Aerial Weapons Company, 361stBiography. | Helicopter pilotsUnited StatesBiography. | Helicopter pilotsVietnamBiography. | United States. ArmyOfficersBiography. | Vietnam War, 19611975Aerial operations, American. | Vietnam War, 19611975Personal narratives, American.

Classification: LCC DS559.4 .R44 2016 | DDC 959.704/37dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015044277

Print editions meet the requirements of ANSI/NISO z39.481992 (Permanence of Paper).

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First printing

Maps created by Christopher Robinson.

Author Disclaimer: I have written this book more than forty years after my experience as a prisoner of war in Vietnam. I wrote it because so many encouraged me for so long, and in the end because once I started, I was driven to get the story told. After all these years, many of my memories remain crystal clear. Others have been dulled by the passage of time. At every turn, I endeavored to confirm my recollections by conducting research and checking facts with other participants whenever possible. Even so, there are surely some errors that remain. For those I apologize and can only promise that I will accept all criticism in the spirit of correcting those mistakes in any future editions of this book that might be published.

For Tim and Wayne

To my father and mother, and all who went before

To my children and grandchildren, and all who will come after

To Melanie for bringing me love and joy

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

Psalm 23:4

Table of Contents

Contents

Joe Galloway for his early support as I began my writing.

Bob Mason, John Duffy, and all who pushed, encouraged, and harangued me over the years to complete this book.

Patience Mason for her help in editing my manuscript.

Tom McKenna and Jack Heslin for setting the larger historical context for the battles I fought in, Tom in his book Kontum: The Battle to Save South Vietnam, and Jack for his marvelous website that presents a collection of impressive firsthand accounts of the fights that made up the Battle of Kontum (www.thebattleofkontum.com).

Ke Nghiem and Xanh Nguyen for saving my life.

Mark Truhan for not taking my life (as beautiful as his intentions were).

Pink Panthers.

Spuds.

Hawks Heroes.

Colonel Morgan J. Cronin, my first battalion commander, for teaching me what it is to be a good officer.

Professors Norm Bender, Jim Sherow, and Harald Prins for helping open my mind to the intellectual wonder that surrounds us all.

Mrs. Taylor (Montrose Elementary, California) for giving me a glimpse of my own self-worth during a troubled youth; Coach Tiky Vasconcellos (Roosevelt High School, Hawaii) for teaching me to never quit; and Coach North (Palisades High School, California) for impressing me with the importance of team and how to be a hard-nosed competitor.

Boy Scouts of America for giving me skills in the outdoors, a love of hiking, and confidence in myself.

United States Army for showing me my destiny and giving me the tools to face it and survive.

I played army as a kid and loved it. It was shortly after World War II when we played in the vacant lots and fields in the rapidly expanding San Fernando Valley, outside Los Angeles. We used stuff from our veteran fathers or gear from the war surplus stores that had popped up after the war. My dad had been in the Navy, so I used a clunky army helmet my grandmother picked up for a dollar at the new surplus store on Victory Boulevard.

We played with gusto. Sometimes wed get wounded. Other times wed die dramatically, only to come back to life again when we got bored being dead.

One day we were playing with a group of older boys, five- and six-year-olds against eight- to ten-year-olds. One of my friends, wearing his dads leather flying helmet, climbed a tree. He waved me up and we scooted out onto a low branch. He made airplane noises, held both hands up as if gripping a machine gun, and went, Rata-tat-tat, rata-tat-tat.

As the bigger boys got closer, I joined in, Rata-tat-tat, rata-tat-tat.

We shouted, You guys are dead! Were in an airplane and we shot you all.

A couple of the older boys came under us, snatched our legs, and pulled us to the ground with a thud. We shot you down, they said. Now youre our prisoners. They dragged us off to a deep depression near the middle of the field. In the bottom were several large cardboard boxes.

The older boys said, This is our prison. Into your cells!

I crawled into a big cardboard box. They shut me in. I panicked. Closed in the dark, I felt like I couldnt breathe. I shouted, Let me out of here!

Nothing.

Please let me out of here! Let me out! Please get me out! I shouted. Then cried, Let me out of here. I dont like this! Its scary! Let me go! I began sobbing and screaming.

I heard my mom coming from the direction of our house. She yelled at the boys. How could they do such a thing? She tore the box open and pulled me out, holding me close as I cried and cried.

I played war lots of times after that. No kids ever again tried to take me captive. But the terror of those moments in that closed-in darkness never left me.