The headquarters of River Assault Flotilla One, the U.S.S. Benewah, was air conditioned, a luxury in South Vietnam’s searing heat. Although the Benewah was a strange looking vessel, the more than one thousand army and navy personnel billeted there welcomed its amenities. In addition to air conditioning, there was fresh food, sometimes heli-lifted in, and a complete surgical suite able to handle many medical emergencies. Above all, there was security: Peace and quiet could almost be taken for granted aboard the barracks ships. It was moored near the center of a river, and countermortar radar aboard ship provided coverage of the surrounding area, while army security forces reinforced by artillery patrolled the shore. Unlike life aboard the attacking craft, the monitors and amphibious armored troop carriers, there was little danger of a sudden barrage of fire for those recuperating back at “the base.”

After several days of drying out and repairing equipment, troops assigned to riverine operations would be on the move again in the delta. Some brigades would conduct as many as four operations in a month, patrolling the rivers as well as engaging enemy troops hidden among the paddies and inland waterways. In their primary mission of providing security for commercial traffic and reducing VC access to population centers and the rice market, the riverine force encountered hazards that infantrymen near the DMZ were not likely to face. As Commander Sayre A. Swarztrauber recounts, while performing the routine, often unpleasant task of searching junks and sampans, a PBR crewman suddenly discovered “the latest in VC booby traps: opening a bilge compartment, he is met by a deadly — and very angry-tropical snake whose tail had been tacked to the keel board."

Enemy mines were an ever-present danger. Elaborate measures were taken to protect friendly commercial vessels and elements of the “brown water navy” against underwater explosions. Once more, the enemy’s deceptiveness occasionally caused problems, as Swarztrauber recalls: “A river mine sweeper crewman, throwing a hand grenade at a suspicious C-ration box, is startled by a 150-foot geyser of cocoa-colored water; the box was a VC disguise for a floating mine.”

When seeking out the enemy, away from the protection of their assault craft, members of the riverine forces encountered problems similar to those that afflicted American search and destroy missions elsewhere in the country. In addition to patrolling and interdiction, the mobile force employed a repertoire of offensive measures to encircle the VC and drive them against a blocking force, with the Americans’ flanks covered by helicopter gunships. But, as happened so often, when the enemy was not surprised and chose to withdraw, it took advantage of the concealment offered by dense foliage on the river banks, breaking into small groups and leaving the scene under cover of sniper teams.

The experience of the men of the army’s 4th Battalion, 47th Infantry, 2d Brigade, on patrol in late June 1967 was a particularly dramatic example of the VC’s ability to ambush an assault force disembarking to engage the enemy on his own ground. At midday, Captain Robert Reeves was leading his men from River Assault Force One across a stretch of water ten inches deep and bordered by mangroves. When they were about a hundred yards from the trees, in an open field, the VC cut loose. “During the initial contact,” Reeves said, “I had approximately fifty men wounded. Some of them died almost instantly.”

“We had nowhere to go,” added a private, “We just dove. into the water.”

Forced to keep their heads above water to breathe, and immobilized by heavy fire, the men were easy targets for VC snipers. River-based artillery and air support worked over the VC positions but could not stop the fire. Meanwhile the tide rolled in, placing the men neck deep in water and causing malfunctions in their M16 rifles. Four helicopters sent in to evacuate the wounded were shot down. Finally monitors accompanying the assault force were able to train their cannon and mortars on the forest and drive off the VC.

“Their firepower saved us,” Reeves recounted, “It was pretty bad.” Although a force had been sent to try and locate the ambushers, none was found.

It was a harrowing case of enemy and environment combining to make life miserable for the riverine fighters. In the last analysis, it was not immersion foot, the dangers of mines, or even water snakes that most affected the Americans, but the VC’s ability to set ambushes while evading the standard hammer and anvil movement. The delta was hotter, and wetter, than South Vietnam’s other battlefields — the highlands, northern provinces, and central coast. But in this crucial respect — the elusiveness of the enemy — the delta war was still the Vietnam War.

The End