![Speaking to the handler, I learned "Larry" the scout dog was well trained, but the handler was new, in Vietnam only a few days. [John Shoemaker]](http://127.0.0.1/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/ghows-DA-84605339-e68d-36b2-e053-0100007face5-e9e0a168.jpeg)
After talking, I hung up the phone and sat motionless except the tears running down my face.
It has been 48 years and I am trying to find a hero who changed my world forever. The conversation with a fellow Army veteran and dog handler left me reflecting on the past.
It all started when my infantry platoon was flying into a corn field in the middle of the jungle along the Laotian border in Vietnam. It was crawling with NVA soldiers. The two Hueys carrying my 24 souls were noisy and straining as we came in fast. We had other choppers laying smoke alongside to protect us from the NVA snipers.
We swooped down, with a hill above us one side and thick jungle around the perimeter of the field. As the Hueys leveled off just a few feet from the ground, we jumped and ran to the jungle edge to seek cover. As quickly as they came, the Hueys were gone and the silence was eerie.
I pulled out my binoculars and scanned the area opposite us. There they were. A dozen or so NVA were scrambling fast to get into position. Maybe they wanted to ambush the next flight of Hueys that did not come. Instead, as my platoon lay hidden and ready behind me, I called my commander and told him we had found the enemy at their supply point.
He ordered me to attack.
I wondered if there were many more enemy hidden in the jungle. I called for the “Firebirds” or Cobra gunships to rake the hill. Moments later, they made several passes firing machine guns and grenades as we made our way around the corn field and positioned at the bottom of the hill to attack.
It was a classic rush up the hill online with yelling and screaming while firing and grenades exploding. It was nothing less than surreal.
When it was over, the bodies were rolled down the hill and we set up in their foxholes for the night. Incredibly, we suffered no casualties. I looked out over the corn field and realized that we were at a higher level than the Hueys that had brought us. If the NVA were ready, it would have been a turkey shoot.
We loaded up a command helicopter with the weapons we captured. The Major was quite pleased.
Soon, another Huey came to drop off a scout dog and its handler. We would use them on our next patrol to search for enemy locations.
Speaking to the handler, I learned the scout dog was well trained, but the handler was new, in Vietnam only a few days. This would be his first combat mission. I was concerned. I asked myself whether I could trust them.
The good-looking German Shepherd was breathing heavily due to the heat and humidity. I felt bad for such an animal with all his fur to be in this climate. Heck, I felt bad for us in this climate.
It was not going to be easy. Our “Point Man” had to hack through the thick jungle as we left the hill. It was tough going, sweating, tripping on vines, picking off branches and bugs from our bodies while trying to stay alert.
A few hours later, we broke through a wall of foliage and to our shock, we realized we were on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. It was a curved tunnel cut through triple canopy jungle and a path wide enough for trucks to follow.
“My goodness!” I said to myself. All my warning signs lit up. My heart raced faster.
Having seen this exact scenario during training in the Panama Canal Zone at Jungle School for officers going to Vietnam, I quickly reorganized.
I would put the scout dog and handler “on point” leading the platoon. In second place or the “cover” position, Private Larry Gatliff would follow. I would be third in the line of march with my machine gunner behind me and then the rest of my platoon.
I took one squad and had them go back into the jungle alongside the trail and move quietly as possible in parallel to us. They would protect our right flank.
My squad leader thought it was a terrible idea and did not want to do it given the strain, heat, aggravation. With no uncertain terms, I got him to do it.
Once we were ready, we slowly made our way toward a small hill. There was no wind and the air hung heavy. Not good for the dog’s senses.
I was thinking of every possibility. I was so grateful for the training that told me how to approach this classic, “OK, Lieutenant, now what do we do?” challenge.
As we got closer to the top of the hill, the NVA lay in the road and opened up with AK-47′s.
From complete silence to explosive automatic gunfire, all hell broke loose.
I dropped like a rock and found Larry falling backwards nearly hitting me. He was shot through the head.
I heard the dog yelping, obviously wounded and leaped down the hill to our left. Just then I heard the handler screaming that he was shot.
I yelled back at him to fire at the enemy to keep them from coming down on top of us.
The handler got his M-16 and fired his whole magazine in the air toward the enemy.
The enemy was determined. They ran to our right and were so anxious that they did not see my squad who was fully alerted to the danger and cut them down immediately.
Even knowing more enemy might be in the area, I had to get both Larry and the handler out. I called for a Medivac who miraculously held his helicopter steady while dropping the basket through triple canopy jungle so thick I could not see the Huey.
We loaded up Larry. Then on the second drop we put the handler in the basket. He was shot through both his legs.
He whispered to me to find his dog.
I said nothing.
As the Medivac pulled away, I thought about the options. The NVA knew where we were and know the terrain better than us. Can I risk more lives looking for a wounded dog? Even if I found it, would it live? Would I want to call and risk another Medivac for the dog?
I decided to leave the area. My heart was heavy. Larry was a good boy, only 19 and always wanting to help others. Neither Larry or the handler ever saw it coming. I also knew the dog was out there somewhere alone and injured or dying.
My conclusion is that the German Shepherd spooked the NVA to firing sooner than planned and gave me enough time to drop down and hug the ground. As a result, the dog saved my life.
I often think of him as the Lord accompanying me as my shepherd.
I feel those words of prayer, “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me.”
Today, I continue trying to locate the handler and reach out to various Veteran groups like the Vietnam Dog Handler Association. I realize it has been over 48 years.
On the phone, a Veteran reminded me of the famous poem, “Rainbow Bridge.” It is easy to find in a search on the internet. But a couple lines are especially emotional: “Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.”
In time, I hope to meet him again on Rainbow Bridge.
John Shoemaker can be reached at shoerfid@yahoo.com.
This article originally appeared on Crestview News Bulletin: The Lord was my shepherd in Vietnam