Ed "Spooky" Nored

(Ed Nored is sitting in the door way with his legs hanging out. "Ridin' the skids" )

RVN Sep 69 - Sep 70

(Comments from Gordon)

The following has been taken from a book that was put together by Ed during the late 1980's. It contains a daily diary written during his time in Vietnam. Ed was kind enough to send this to me via Fed Ex in a rather large and heavy box. When I opened it I was amazed that he would send something as meaningful to share with all of us. I have scanned the photos directly from his book and re-typed his notes comments and diary. Since this is such a huge record I am doing this in bit's and pieces so this section will be "Under Construction" for some time. Please check back regularly for updates. (or you can click here to be added to the "mailing list" for updates.) Some of the photos in this record are very touching.

Please remember that the concept of this web site is to help all of us remember both the good and bad (hopefully more of the good) however this was war and we must remember the heroes who were with us during this time. NEVER FORGET!

Ed “Spooky” Nored Story

As retyped by Gordon Swenson 2006

Delta Company consisted of about 100 men. Divided into 3 platoons. 1st , 2nd , and 3rd (note there was a 4th platoon “mortar platoon” from 1965 to late 1969.) Each platoon had about 30 men in it. The platoon was in turn divided into 3 squads with about 10 men making up a squad. Another element of the company was call the C.P. (command post) This small group consisted of the company commander (a Captain), a high ranking sergeant, a medic an artillery forward observer, a man who was in charge of organizing our re-supply and making sure “log day” went smoothly and made sure we got everything we needed on that day and 3 or 4 people with radios all on different frequencies.

The people who you got to know by first name and the group you worked with most all the time was your platoon. In my case it was 3rd platoon. Once you joined a company in the field and were placed with a platoon you remained in that group until you went home or for personal reasons you wanted a transfer or in the case of Lt. Piekarski the captain felt that another platoon could use some shaping up by a better platoon leader.

A typical mission would be much like this. Army intelligence would best decide as to where to insert us based on enemy movement. Once the area was decided upon and a lading zone picked out we boarded the copters and would begin our Combat Assault (CA). If you were the first wave of copters going in it was always pretty exciting. Sometimes the landing zone would only accommodated 2 birds. The biggest zone I remembered landing in took 6 birds. If you were the first group to land you would be landing among friendly artillery and rocket fire from Cobra gun ships that fired into the tree line to discourage any of the enemy from firing on you as you landed. In addition the gunners on the copters would open up with their machine guns. Once the first group of the company was on the ground they moved to the tree line to help secure the landing zone for the rest of the company. You could only get about 7 fully loaded grunts on a copter so it usually took several shuttles before the entire company was on the ground. Once we were all on the ground the company commander would give the platoon walking point that day a direction and off we would go. When ever we moved though the bush we always moved single file. We would move a certain distance then the company would set up a patrol based. We would form a large circle around the C.P. drop our packs and wait for new orders. It was policy in our particular company for whoever had point of the company (That is when the entire company moved) they would stay behind and have “Palace guard” as we called it. That meant that if 1st platoon had point for the company they would stay behind to guard our packs and the C.P. While 2nd and 3rd platoon went out on patrols. Usually a patrol in the morning come back eat lunch go out again in the afternoon then return to the patrol base saddle up heavy and then move to a new location for our night-lo (night location).

Upon finding a suitable location we began setting up our night defenses. We formed a parameter dropped our packs and got our trip flares and claymore mines out of the packs. 2 men from each squad would go out about 100 to 200 feet and begin placing trip flares. Trip flares had about 30 feet of wire with you tied to a tree or usually a base of bamboo about 12 inches off the ground unraveling the wire till it was exhausted you then stuck the flare itself into the ground and set it so if any pressure at all was applied to the wire the flare made a pop noise and would go off illuminating the area. You over lapped your wires with the squads next to you on both side so by the time the process was completed you had a complete circle of defense or early warning around you. Each squad set up what we called the ‘guard hole”, where from this point we would run 3 or 4 claymore mines. (See photo of the “Bitch” and the Claymore.) This anti personal mine had a spool of wire 100 feet long that ran from the mine to the detonator or clacker. These mines were placed in such a way to cover each trip flare in our area. It was policy if a trip flare popped on your right you would detonate the claymore on you right. Etc. Once that was done we began building our hooch's if we felt it was going to rain. We cleared the ground so we wouldn't puncture our precious air mattresses, get out a can of food and if there we enough light left we usually wrote a letter, cleaned you weapon or started a card game. During the night one man in each squad would be on guard sitting by the detonators and the machine gun. Depending on how many men you had at the time depended on how long you guard lasted. It usually lasted from on hour to 1½ hours. I personally found guard quite relaxing at night in the field. It was so dark at times that you could not see you hand in front of you face. We were usually in such thick vegetation that I could not fathom the enemy ever sneaking up on us. If I couldn't see a damn thing at night I knew for sure he couldn't either. Other people though were I'm sure terrified because more than once a new guy in the filed would even go as far as to fire his weapon then blow his claymore in the middle of the night. There were times at night when it rained so hard and limbs and jungle debris would fall on a trip wire setting off the flare that I did not blow my claymore. The difficult thing about guard at night was trying to find the hole once you had been woken up and then trying to find the next guy in line to replace you. Hearing people trip and fall during the night was a common event. That and those damn mosquitoes buzzing in your ears all made for an interesting experienced. We never used a flashlight. Never. The new guys in the field who smoked learned quickly to cup their cigarettes in the palm of their hand to hide that small red glow it made.

In the morning there was always one new guy (cherry) who while still lying on his air mattress would pull the plug letting the air rush out. A logical thing to do but in a world where too much noise would alert the enemy this was a definite no no. The thicker the bush was the quieter we were. In normal conversation with another man who was 3 feet away you voice level would be just above a whisper and just below you normal speaking voice.

When you had to go to the bathroom in the bush you took you weapon and a small shovel that each squad carried and you told everyone else in the squad you were going “out front” to take a shit. Word was passed to the squad on your left and right. The term everyone seemed to use was “Friendly out front”. It was important to do this to keep from getting killed. Everyone expects to see men to their left and right. We expected only the enemy to be out front. If the flares and mines hadn't been pulled in you it was a good idea to disconnect the detonators. Why take chances? You would dig a small hole wherever you decided to go to the bathroom and then cover it back up when you were done. You didn't was the enemy to see you hear you or smell you. And nobody who goes out on patrol wants to step on any thing but solid ground. After breakfast we pulled in the claymores and trips.

If we were lucky it would be just another uneventful day. Another day you survived, another day closer to home. The day before “Log Day” (re-supply day) during our patrols we would also be looking for an area to land a copter or at least a place where we didn't have to do much chopping. On real good days we would find some of the enemy equipment with no gooks around. That way we at least hurt them a little and no one gets hurt.

There were no Mondays or Friday etc. in Nam. There was no schedule. We lived from day to day having no idea where we would be the next. It really didn't' matter because we all simply waited for the day we would go home. We all started at 365 and began a count down to day one. The day we would catch the “Freedom Bird” back to the “World”.

During the first week I was home after getting back from Vietnam. I can remember very vividly me sitting on the couch in the living room of my parents' house. I was alone except for my mother who was elsewhere in the house. At least physically that's where I was. Mentally I was sitting in the jungle, I could see that wall of green that was always there when we were in the bush. In my heart I felt as if a group of thugs had raced into my parents living room and dragged me outside and had just beat the livening hell out of me. They then dragged me back inside and threw me back on the couch. I was dazed and in a state of shock. The year in Nam had gone by so quick. One minute I was home with my parents watching Nam on T.V. the next minute I'm there and then the next I'm back home wondering what the hell had just happened to me. You couldn't talk about or begin to describe Vietnam. Everybody was sick of hearing about Nam. Sick of seeing it every night on the news, sick of hearing Walter Cronkite tell us each Friday how many Americans were killed and wounded every week. Vietnam was like bad graffiti that no matter where you went it was on some wall somewhere. My mother entered the room and said something and I looked up at her and replied to what ever she had said and at the same time I “switched off” Vietnam.

During the early part of the 1980's Vietnam began to creep back into my life. It's hard to give an accurate date concerning such things but I began what I like to call my “second tour” of Nam. A mental tour filled with images of the past and a nightmare that had spawned one night in the jungle, years ago. A dream in which an enemy soldier races toward you and you try to fire your “16” and it doesn't fire. I made the mistake of artificially trying to deal with these feelings but it only made matters worse. The “gook” kept charging. In 1986 I decided if Nam wasn't going to go away then instead I would deal with it in a positive way, on my terms. I have gone though all my letters that had been sent to my parents and to Linda Dalton my girlfriend at the time. Over a period of about 11 months I have contacted 45 of the people that I served with in Vietnam and talked to them for the first time since lat 1970. This book was made out of desperation in an attempt to deal with Nam. It's important that who ever reads it realize that. And if it's any measure of progress in my dealing with Nam the last time I dreamed about that gook charging, I woke up swinging my arms and I haven't seen the son-of-a-bitch since.

Ed “Spooky” Nored

September 69 to September 70

You are on page 1

Grunts & the gear we carried (start here)

Maps

LZ's

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