Veteran Leader Closes 40 Years of Service

June 29, 2010

For more than 40 years, Richard E. Patterson served his fellow disabled veterans through a long, storied career with DAV. The combat-disabled Army medic, who joined the DAV in 1968, immediately after leaving the service, recently announced his decision to retire on July 1.

This story recounts the harrowing tale of Patterson’s trial by fire as a young medic in Vietnam.

Trial by Fire Ambush leads Army medic to storied career with DAV By Rob Lewis DAV Communications Staff

Looking out across the dark courtyard, you catch the warm glow of light spilling out between the slatted blinds of a large office window. It is after normal business hours, and quiet has finally won out against the noisy hive of activity at the DAV National Headquarters in Cold Spring, Ky., the organization’s spiritual and business-based home. But work is not over in the lighted office. A bespectacled man sits completely still at his desk, forehead resting is his hand as he scans a spreadsheet with a hawkish eye bent on snuffing out fiscal accuracy. Staring down over his shoulder is movie star Mel Gibson, glaring intently from the marquis poster of the Vietnam War film “We Were Soldiers.” More than a piece of cinema memorabilia, the picture is a reminder of the path that has led this man to this desk so late on this night. It is a reminder that he once was a soldier too, and young—seemingly too young.

Legendary New York Tribune editor Horace Greeley once noted, “There never was a good war or a bad peace.” Distaste for war notwithstanding, the eccentric newspaperman of the 19th century would have been intrigued by a newspaper headline recalling a near-miracle during an ambush of troops from the 2nd Battalion, 503rd Infantry, 173rd Airborne Brigade at Dak To, located in the Central Highlands of South Vietnam.

SP4 Saves Medic from VC; Nip Pocket Bible Saves SP4

This biblical intervention occurred during the first major action of Operation Horace Greeley, which began on June 16, 1967, and saw the “Sky Soldiers” conducting search and destroy missions from the base camp at Dak To.

According to the battalion’s official history, nearly all contact with the enemy during the four-month operation was “with one to four enemy.”

June 22 proved to be a ghastly exception.

The nightmare began for the Sky Soldiers as Alpha Company humped toward the base camp at Dak To just as the fog of dawn lifted off the dense jungle floor. The paratroopers approached a ridge finger, outlined by a cliff-like descent. Despite reservations about splitting up the company on such difficult terrain, the company commander, Capt David A. Milton, ordered 2nd platoon to take point and descend down the steep slope into the thick jungle below. As 2nd platoon disappeared into the green wall, the morning quiet erupted with distinct crackling of AK-47 fire.

Then came the desperate call from the platoon commander on the slopes below: North Vietnamese Army regulars (NVA) in great force were attacking the platoon in waves.

“We shoot one and five of them drag him away,” the young lieutenant told the company’s command post.

The platoon was less than 100 yards down from the CP, so Capt. Milton sent in 3rd platoon to assist the ambushed paratroopers. The soldiers fought their way down to the decimated lead platoon, then another wave of NVA attackers hit.

Knowing the two platoons were effectively cut off from support, the NVA attackers began directing fire toward the company’s CP. What the U.S. paratroopers didn’t yet know was that on those slopes they had encountered an entire NVA battalion. The ensuing, daylong firefight would become known as the “Battle of the Slopes,” and would enter the 173rd’s history books as one of the fiercest ever fought by Sky Soldiers.

The situation seemed hopeless for the marooned soldiers in the jungle below: Wave after wave of NVA attackers, snapping AK-47 rounds, wounded men lying bloody all along the muddy jungle trail, ammo running low, and a thick canopy of foliage overhead preventing the effective use of artillery support.

The entrenched NVA force prevented nearby Charlie Company from linking up with the beleaguered troops from Alpha. Desperation held a grip on the voice of Capt. Milton as he radioed for ammo drops and air and artillery support.

“Some of my people are fighting their way through and we’ve got some real heroes and I’m damn proud of ’em! But I’ve got two elements out there I feel I’ve lost completely,” Capt. Milton shouted into his radio set. “These people all got black berets. They got AK-47s, every one of them, and they’ve got so much damned ammunition. They’ve got twice as much as I’ve got, over!”

Hearing the frantic radio calls from the platoon leaders being attacked below, the company commander turned to his senior medic, and told him more medical help was desperately needed in the raging battle below.

It would almost seem laughable that “senior” was a part of the young man’s title. He had enlisted in the Army shortly after turning 17. Now, at age 18, the native from one of the rough- and-tumble neighborhoods in Boston was senior among the company’s combat lifesavers.

Known simply as ‘Doc,’ the young specialist (Sp5) hesitated for a second, contemplating sending down another medic, before deciding to descend the slope himself, and entering the firestorm below.

The medic scrambled down the trail, seeing wounded comrades being tended to by fellow soldiers. He made it to the platoon’s skewered defensive perimeter to find what was left of the lead element. The remaining soldiers of 2nd platoon fired in all directions and desperately scanned the wall of jungle for signs of the enemy.

Seconds later, the NVA launched another attack with grenades and small arms fire. Doc hit the dirt and made his way to another medic, who was tending to a badly wounded paratrooper.

The two worked furiously to pack the wounded soldiers intestines back into his abdominal cavity using bandages. Doc leaned forward to say something to his fellow medic. Their eyes met in a gaze just as the other medic was hit in the neck by an AK-47 round. The mortally wounded medic slumped forward and died among the hail of gunfire and desperate cries of wounded men. Doc choked back his horror and crawled forward to continue chipping away at the growing pile of casualties. He could hear the desperate shouts of “Medic!” over the bursts of machine gun fire and the incessant roar of grenade and artillery explosions. He flattened his body as best as he could and pushed his medical bag from man to man.

As he crawled toward yet another call for help, the young medic felt a burst of pain on the back of his right hand, and looked up to see his bones protruding through a gunshot wound. As he assessed the damage to his hand, a grenade exploded near his right foot, severing his Achilles tendon and spraying his leg with blistering shards of metal.

Now he was one of them—a severely wounded soldier pinned down by an NVA battalion with no immediate prospect of rescue. Severely wounded and barely able to move, Doc continued to toss medical supplies to nearby paratroopers. But no amount of gauze could hold together the rapidly deteriorating situation around him. The NVA continued to apply intense pressure on the beleaguered Sky Soldiers. All three platoon leaders down on the slopes had been killed or badly wounded. Attempts to “throw smoke” for air support had only helped the NVA attackers zero in their artillery and drop precision rounds on the paratroopers’ increasingly frail defensive position.

As he grew weaker from loss of blood, Doc began to think of his wife at home, who was pregnant with their first child. He knew his only chance to see his family again was to follow the other paratroopers who were crawling back up the trail toward the company CP. As he crawled along the path, he took another enemy bullet. This shot hit his right hip. But he continued pulling himself with his hands, even the one mangled by enemy fire.

Then the young medic looked back across the perimeter and saw the enemy for the first time. They emerged from the jungle, brandishing AK-47s, and executing those wounded paratroopers who were still alive.

Doc’s hip was shattered and he was dizzy from loss of blood. He crawled into the underbrush, hiding from the executioners below.

Finally, he was able to get the attention of a passing soldier, who called to nearby paratroopers to assist the badly wounded medic. While carrying Doc up the slippery hill, the group was strafed with bursts AK-47 rounds. The wounded man was dropped to the ground as the paratroopers returned fire.

In the exchange, one of Doc’s fellow paratroopers, Sp4 William L. Reynolds, used his body to shield Doc from the fire. His bravery was rewarded with an NVA round to the hip. But divine intervention saved Reynolds from harm as the bullet lodged in the Bible he carried in his hip pocket. What should have been a kill shot was downgraded to a deep bruise and a great newspaper headline.

Finally, a rope was thrown down to Reynolds, who secured it around Doc. The young medic was then pulled back up the hill into the company CP and, at last, out of the nightmare of the Battle of the Slopes. In a state of shock, the young medic was placed with the scores of other wounded before being choppered to the nearest field hospital.

Three days later, back in Doc’s hometown of Boston, the Sunday Advertiser ran a small report on the battle under the headline, “Reds Chop Up GIs.” In a few paragraphs, the article put cold figures on the heated fight: 76 dead and 24 wounded U.S. paratroopers, and an estimated 400-500 dead NVA. A large number of the dead paratroopers were found to have had fatal wounds to the back of their heads, indicating execution-style killing of wounded soldiers.

Doc was one of the fortunate survivors of the battle, although his decimated body could hardly be described as fortunate. He was flown back to the States and endured several operations, accompanied by a long period of physical therapy.

With great luck and even greater determination, Doc survived the severe wounds inflicted in the Battle of the Slopes and lived to see his first child. As the years passed, he became the father of three more children, and now the grandfather of three.

During his recovery time, Doc had been impressed by the expert care and assistance he received from a DAV National Service Officer. He had observed this dedicated veterans’ advocate visiting with several wounded veterans, offering assistance in a time of need.

Doc channeled the experienced at Dak To and the months spent recovering in that VA hospital into a desire to assist his fellow disabled veterans. He decided to continue serving his fellow fighting men as a civilian, just as he had during his tour in Vietnam. After completing an intense training period, he began his DAV career as an NSO in Boston.

And now he finds himself working late into yet another evening at the DAV. These days, National Headquarters Executive Director Richard E. Patterson is called “Rick” by those who know and serve with him, just as he was once called “Doc” by his fellow Sky Soldiers in the 173rd.

And like the title of the movie poster on his office wall, he was also once a soldier.