I can still see with my mind’s eye a lot of fool things I did without thinking. Comes to mind sometime early into 1970 while serving with River Patrol Group SS, working off the YRBM 16 (Yard Repair Berthing and Messing) Barge; tethered out in the middle of the Mekong River, not far off was the village of Chau Doc and the mouth of the Vente Canal.

Both us and South Vietnamese were existing on the YRBM 16 and come time to go ashore, one just waited for the next patrol out and was dropped off in the village.

I was on a 35 ft. river patrol boat not far off from the YRBM 16 when an 18-ft. Kener ski barge (outboard motor boat) left for patrol. Armed to the teeth and with as many South Vietnamese sailors going ashore for some leisure time as it would hold.

Being one watching everything on the river, I noticed not long after it left the 16, the engine (outboard motor) sparked up, then caught fire. Some of the party on that boat decided it was time to bail out and face the river. The rest of the crew (undecided) waited ‘til the tank (gasoline) caught fire and followed suit.

Those sailors, being born on the river and all, knew what to do…took up with the current and made do ‘til picked up…with one exception of two sailors hangin’ on to the bow rope. Bam, boom, pott, pott, ping, and other such noises almost drownin’ out the caterwaulin’ of these two sailors hangin’ on, smoke billowing from the burning fiberglass.

Decision time was at hand. Being the only U.S. person on board a Vietnamese boat, I could only advise. Kind of requesting everyone on board to take cover and come close in, throw a line over and drag them two sailors off a ways to bring them safely on board. Advice or no advice, the crew was having no part of it. What was going on in that boat was a better part of Hades and I couldn’t really fault them.

Takin’ matters in my own hands, or should I say the good Lord’s, I just stripped down to bare essentials (at least I thought), fumbling with the laces on my boots. Can’t remember if my heart was racing or completely stopped.

I hit that river head on, not taking into account the current and the combat boot socks I didn’t take off. I had about one and one half foot of limp wool hangin’ off my feet. Until I wrestled with the current and pulled them socks off, I wasn’t for sure who was in more trouble – me or them two sailors hangin’ onto that burning boat!

Once the socks were off, it didn’t take but a few minutes (I thought it was an hour) to make up the distance I lost down river (offing the socks). Then a few more to get to the burning boat from where I started.

Here I was hangin’ on, both other parties dong the same; the pain on their faces, I was for sure resulted from a grenade or fired off ammunition in the burning boat above. You’d know it…the boat crew did what I told them to do at first. Just wouldn’t do to say what I thought at that time, takin’ account of the position I was in. They throwed us a line O.K., but one of the gentlemen I was helpin’ decided he wasn’t stickin’ around any longer. He takes the line, leavin’ me and the other just hangin’…boom, bam, and whatnot still going on and being aware of the heat and smoke. Making another pass was necessary to extract us from the floating inferno.

Can’t remember just how I got back on board our boat, but when we were clear and takin’ stock, no persons had a scratch. Them two sailors, out of a dozen, couldn’t swim!
I guess hindsight is, “if you’re going to be a sailor, learn to swim.” “And if you swim…take your socks off!” In my mind’s eye, it still feels good to do what I did.