A public speech by Tom Lacombe a Vietnam Veteran friend of mine

November 16,2005

Good Afternoon! This kind of reminds me of the first time I walked point. I was very nervous, but determined I would do what was asked of me. I had led my platoon for about a hundred meters, through a bombed out jungle, when I heard a branch crack, and I hit the ground, as did everyone else in response to my actions. After a few moments it became clear that I had over-reacted. My squad leader smiled and told me it was OK, and to move on. I feel honored today to speak as a Vietnam Veteran, speaking for Vietnam Vets. I’d like to offer each of you a gift by which to remember that our Vietnam Veterans served us well. Many of you may recognize these little Government Issue gadgets as P-38’s, the handiest little can opener ever invented. I have a long list of its uses I can show you later.

For those of you that are wondering. This is a “Ruck.” It is classified by the army as a lightweight rucksack, but it usually weighed about 70 pounds on my back, and felt like a ton. When filled to the max I had to enlist the help of a buddy or a nearby tree just to stand up under the load. The name of my book refers to one particular mission, when we were told to prepare to saddle up, pack a light ruck, just water and ammo. We were going to help a patrol that was ambushed by some NVA. If I had to pick another title for my book, it would probably be “Saddle Up”. When on patrol it seemed like every time I dropped to the ground for a break, and was starting to catch my breath, word came to “Saddle Up!”

Thirty-six years ago, in March of ‘69, I was a rifleman in an infantry company on a hill called 947, in the Plei Trap Valley, in the Central Highlands of Vietnam, near the Cambodian border. Life there was brutal, almost beyond belief. We clawed at the mountainsides trying to make it to places where the enemy had many advantages. We did without food and without water at times. We moved on into the darkness, struggling to make it to wherever it was that other GI’s needed some help. I knew I had to tell people of this mission. I wanted them to know of the sacrifices. I wanted people to know of the young men with me, who were being killed for their country. Back home folks were growing tired of the war, yet I was ready to die taking the next hill. We were told we were fighting for freedom, and for peace. We were willing to assault that next hill, because we understood that it was important. We knew we had to work together, so we could make it home, back to the world. We did what we were told and took the hill, we would call LZ Swift. I was lucky and survived; some of my friends did not.

When I came home many Americans didn't want to know about Ziggy, didn't care about Beaver, or Bill, or Morris, or Lew, or Hill 947 or LZ Swift. A couple of years after the war, I started writing about my
experiences, as a way of remembering, a form of memorial. My great grandfather had written of his experiences as a Union soldier during the Civil War, and his story helped keep me going. I piddled at my writing hobby for a quarter of a century. Then, my wife who has always been very supportive of this work, even though she herself marched for Peace in ‘69, told me, "I think it is time that you try and publish your story!" Jean is sometimes much wiser than me. This was one of those times.
“Light Ruck" was published in 2002. I have been very pleased by comments made by people from different walks of life. Friends and neighbors, and people I meet at the grocery store, thank me for my service, and offer their condolences, for my buddies who didn't make it. Soldiers I served with have thanked me for telling our story, in a truthful manner. I will admit some of these vets have memories of events that vary somewhat from my recollections. This is understandable, as we all reacted a bit differently to the stressful situations we faced. I told the story as I remembered it.

Things are different now for our soldiers coming home from war. The average citizen understands they owe a debt of gratitude to our veterans, and I am thankful for this. But, there are many Vietnam veterans, who after coming home to a nation that did not seem very thankful, have hidden their memories. They have locked their feelings in a secret place, a place they will not share. I hope by telling my story, some of these Vets will come to realize that their service was honorable, and is appreciated, and they will open up. I have seen this happen with a man who was my best friend in Vietnam. Roger had been through an extremely traumatic event in Vietnam, and would not discuss his tour with any of his family. I sent him a copy of “Light Ruck”. Roger called me to thank me for the book. Of course he pointed out a couple of mistakes, but he really enjoyed it. A month or so passed and I heard from his wife. She said Roger will talk about the war now. I think this is a positive step for my friend.

I would like to point out that during my tour, I did nothing I regret. I can say the same thing in regards to my squad, my platoon, my company. We made some mistakes, but they were mistakes I can live with. There were a couple of situations I found myself in, where if I had made the wrong decision, I would have killed civilians. But, in the Central Highlands for the most part we were fighting NVA, so the chance of killing innocents, was slim. We mostly were in “Free-Fire Zones”. We called these areas “Free-Kill Zones”, as we liked to talk tough. On a few occasions we ran into Montagnards, who were out in the jungle where they shouldn’t be. Montagnards were the tribal people indigenous to the Highlands. When we found Montagnards
in the jungle, we relocated them to resettlement villages for their own safety. That I know of we never killed any civilians. The soldiers that served near Vietnamese villages, for instance guys in the Americal Division, the guys who served with Lt. Calley, they found themselves in a much more difficult situation, when it came to determining who the enemy is.