Navy Swift Boat bagged a general

It was cold the morning of Feb. 29, 1968. My boat, PCF-81, a U.S. Navy Swift Boat, was patrolling the familiar Area A1, which ranged along the Vietnamese coast in the South China sea from the border with North Vietnam at the 17th Parallel to a few miles South of the Cua Viet River.

I was the skipper, a lieutenant, junior grade. I had volunteered for this job. I had turned 24 the previous December.

My crew that day was one short. Engineman Darryl Williams had come down with a terrible stomach problem. That left Ronald Wheeler, signalman 1st class; Harris, gunners mate 2nd class, Lane, boatswains mate 2nd class; and Ronnie Gimbert, radarman 3rd class, manning the boat. Also with us was Ho Van Cuc our Vietnamese Navy crewman.

We left Da Nang and ran north for about 95 miles to Area A1 to relieved the swift boat on station. It was a little bumpy on the way up as a Norther had blown through the day before.

After arriving we commenced patrolling and the seas started to flatten out. A1 was a no-friendlies zone. If you were there you were presumed hostile. Nevertheless, local fishermen sometimes encroached. Also there were “fish stakes” in the area — long bamboo poles anchored to the bottom with trot lines attached. At night these showed a radar signature similar to a small junk.

It was a dark night. The evening progressed and we changed the watch. Wheeler came on to run the boat. I stayed up with him for a while as he had a habit of going to sleep. Finally, I went down the three steps into the cabin and laid down on the top of the small arms locker.

I told Wheeler to call me if anything of interest was seen. Hadn’t been 15 minutes when Wheeler called down saying, “Mr. Moll, there are a couple of radar contacts, and they don’t look like fish stakes.”

I went up into the pilot house, took one look at the radar screen and saw what he meant. I told him to sound general quarters: “All hands, man your battle stations.” On wwift boats we don’t have loud horns ... it is all done by word of mouth. The other four woke up and were at their assigned places immediately.

A few months prior another of our boats encountered a similar situation. The skipper, Griff, shined his spotlight on the junks, which gave them a target, and they almost cut him in half with machine gun fire. Fortunately, his crew was able to withdraw and take him to a hospital ship, which just happened to be passing by. His life was saved, barely.

At general quarters, I was conning the boat from the after station outside on the main deck.

As we approached, I fired two hand held flares — little rockets that open with small parachutes and hold a white illumination flare over the targets. Sure enough, two junks, about 300 yards apart. I made a fast approach to the first one then slowed to glide in an take them alongside.

Harris, in the twin 50-caliber gun tub on top of the pilot house, hollered back, “Mr. Moll, the guy on the left is reaching down to get something.” At this point we were about 100 feet apart and closing quickly. Using my M-16 I fired half a clip next to him. I walked the rounds across the water and through the wooden junk about 6 inches from his leg, throwing up lots of wood chips.

At that point all six of them stood up and raised their hands. Seconds later their boat was alongside ours. We saw the vast amount of arms and ammunition they were carrying and their personal weapons and grenades ready to roll up onto our boat. All hatches were locked. Any grenades they threw up would have to be dealt with on deck.

I told the crew if one of them so much as much as made a false move to shoot them and kill them, no questions asked, and to try not to hit the explosive cargo!

So then we had to take them aboard, one by one, at gunpoint, search them, all in the dark with only a few small boarding lights, then move them to the stern of our boat and guard them while we brought the next one aboard.

Then I had to go inside the pilot house, call the nearby Coast Guard Cutter Point Ellis and vectored them in on the fleeing second boat and call on the radio our Marine buddies at the Amtrac base at Cua Viet and get them to provide continuous illumination with their 105mm howitzers by firing parachute flares into the air above us. Then I had to send the flash traffic to Saigon, some 400 miles to the south, on the single sideband radio, notifying the Naval Command of the action.

The Coasties were pretty far out but arrived in time to shower the now-beaching second boat pretty well. We were able to get off a few shots at the second boat but not many because any overshot from us would go directly into the Marines’ camp at Cua Viet. The crew of the second junk escaped, but the Marines arrived quickly in their Amtracs and secured the boat and its cargo.

Now we were getting organized, the prisoners were sitting down on the stern with two of our six guys pointing their M-16s at them. I got all the required radio messages out. We still had the junk next to us heavily laden with cases of AK-47’s, 82mm mortar rounds, machine guns, plastic explosives, and a huge amount of booby traps and related explosives.

Now the radio message came from Naval Command in Saigon. Leave the enemy junk. Proceed as quickly as possible to Da Nang with the prisoners. We asked for clarification. Saigon said the Point Ellis was on the way to take over the junk and tow it to Da Nang and that we should hurry up!

Morning twilight is now coming. It is a cold beautiful day. We interviewed the prisoners separately down below in the cabin. We followed the Geneva Conventions to the letter. We wanted to know where they came from and how many more were coming. None of them would say much. However, we were able to determine that two of them were just North Vietnamese fishermen/militiamen. Each of these two had an old Russian carbine with the usual long Phillips screwdriver type of flip bayonet.

The others were clearly military officers, even though they wore the black pajamas of the fishermen. The were clean shaven, had neat haircuts and carried themselves with a military posture. Their weapons were Czech PPSH-41 folding stock submachine guns .... cheap, disposable but deadly as a rattlesnake at close range.

These men were furious about being captured. The two fishermen were just scared out of their pajamas about these military guys.

Later we were told unofficially that one was a general officer of the North Vietnamese Army and the other was a colonel.

So now we were off to Da Nang at 26 knots. There wasn’t much wind but the wind over the deck from the boats motion made them really cold, so we provided them with blankets, which they were glad to use. All the while they were under double guard.

In the late morning we were in the Bay at Da Nang and received instructions to proceed up the Song Da Dang (DaNang River) and deliver them directly to the First Division of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam, at the pier at the White Elephant.

The White Elephant was a three-story office building left over from the French Colonial days. it was the headquarters of the American and Vietnamese military in all I Corps.

We pulled up to this pier in the river and there was a squad of South Vietnamese soldiers waiting.

I asked for a receipt for the prisoners. No receipt was forthcoming and I was ordered by radio to release them anyway, which I did. I did manage to get the name of the South Vietnamese officer in charge of the prisoner reception details.

Later, the Point Ellis arrived with our booty which we got to examine and play with. It would have been used to kill hundreds of Americans and Vietnamese. We didn’t touch the explosives, only some of the cases and cases and cases of brand new from-the-armory AK-47’s and SKS carbines, still in the original cosmoline and wax paper. Cleaning kits in the butts, straps still folded and not yet rigged. Your own war in a box.

This was in the latter days of the Tet Offensive and was clearly a resupply mission, just to the south of our interception point, very near to the town of Hue.

I feel sorry for what happened to the six prisoners.

I’m proud that we did what we were trained to do and did it well.

Three months later I was sent back to the states to escort the body of my wife’s brother, Army 1st Lt. R.L. Springer, killed in action in the Parrot’s Beak area west of Saigon. I carried him back to Waco, conducted the military side of the funeral and presented the flag to his mother.

God Bless America. I am proud to have served.

Bill Moll lives in Galveston.