1L   SPECIAL FORCES & THE PHOENIX PROGRAM  

I loved to cook, especially Italian, and when I could scrounge up the ingredients, I would try to have an Italian night at least one night a month in our Tay Ninh East compound. On one such occasion, a civilian was to dine with us, so I made the meal extra special by adding an antipasto salad. The civilian was from the CIA compound, but his appearance said military; a captain or major in the Army, probably from B-32, 5th Special Forces. When you live 24/7 with the same officers in a small compound, any news about the war, or whatever was happening back home, was cherished information, because of this, we always tried to extend our hospitality to our guests. That night, I had adequate food, and it was turning out to be an enjoyable evening with our new guest, until a safety incident ruined the evening. While serving dessert, I caused a ruckus when I tripped over two bags left under a table. It turned out that the bags contained loose hand grenades and my boot had caught on one of the open bags with enough force that five of them went rolling around the floor. Things got worse when I stepped on one of the grenades, lost my balance, then knocked over the food cart. Everyone was laughing at me until they realized what I had tripped over! – then everyone went silent hoping that the safety pins had not gotten pulled. This lack of security was unacceptable to me and I let everyone know exactly how I felt while gathering up the grenades. As I was about to take the grenades outside, the civilian grabbed and twisted my wrist so hard that I dropped the bag and the grenades rolled out of the bag for a second time! He informed me that those were his and not to mess with them. Being a wise ass, I snapped back with a derogatory remark, but that only inflamed the situation, causing my major to escort me outside to cool down. When I went back inside our guest was gone and nobody was in the mood to talk about the incident.
This incident was the final straw for me. We might be gathering intelligence for the 25th Infantry Division, but it was also a cover story for our role in the Phoenix Program. For one thing, what was a Green Beret loaded with enough hand grenades to wipe out a village doing in our compound in the first place? I tried to quiz one of the intelligence officers, but he warned me about security and told me to stop asking about our mission or face the consequences.
Two weeks later I saw the Special Forces Major at B-32. He apologized for the mess he had caused. His reply when I asked him about the grenades, “I use them at work!” and with that simple reply, he bid me farewell and jumped into a waiting jeep.
When my Vietnam tour of duty was over, I left the Army still not knowing what our “real” mission was in Tay Ninh East, and now, even after forty-nine years, I can only summarize the bits and pieces of information that I had gathered over the years. I am now convinced that our unit supplied intelligence to the CIA’s Phoenix Program. Just how and why we were involved I will never know due to all the secrecy that surrounded it. I base my beliefs on the following facts:
• I was not permitted to attend any of our intelligence briefings with General Black, although they were supposed to be part of my duties.
• The “Phoenix Program” building was located within one hundred feet of our compound and two of the intelligence officers that roomed with me made frequent trips there.
• We exchanged intelligence with someone from B-32 at least once a week.
• Our compound was in the middle of a Vietnamese fort quartering Rangers, CIDG troops, and Popular Forces.
• We visited the CIA compound daily and even had our noon meal there.
• Hand grenades were the weapons of choice for the PRU killing teams.
• What role did General Black have in the Phoenix Program, anyway? Even today I cannot find a General Black having ever served in Vietnam!
Now when I think about my time in Tay Ninh East, my mind gets fixated on that wooden “Phoenix Program” sign that hung in my compound, and how my obsession with those two words, and the secrecy attached to them, almost got me relieved from duty or worse. Back then, my age and the excitement of war prevented me from realizing the real danger of my assignment or how lucky I was to make it out alive.
See, I was part of a small intelligence team, isolated in a small Vietnamese compound; located on the outskirts of a Vietnamese city, surrounded by Viet Cong, with no American units assigned to save our asses if attacked.
What more could I ask for?