This+Was+Not+Supposed+to+Happen

Mike Sheehan, II, TIIF Instructor, ARLO, Det C 66 - 67, HHC 67 - 68
 * This Was Not Supposed to Happen**

I wasn't supposed to be drafted in 1965; I was supposed to continue in my Civil Engineering studies at West Virginia University. But of course I was drafted prior to my junior year because I stayed on too long at a very well paying summer job working as a field engineer in Pittsburgh, Pa. I was trying to save money for the last two years. I wasn't supposed to end up in Army Intelligence, but of course I did because in boot camp at rainy, swampy, rat-invested Ft. Jackson, SC, I fell for "enlist for one more year and pick your MOS or 11-Bravo and Vietnam are your future." (I think they also told me that I had won the lottery in England and to please send my banking information.) I wasn't supposed to end up at Ft. Holabird, Md., because the MOS I chose back at Jackson was soils analysis. Even the Company commander at Ft. Jackson couldn't tell me why the engineers had moved from Ft. Belvoir to Ft. Holabird, wherever the hell, that was. But that is what my order read, Soils Analysis AIT at Ft. Holabird. So, of course, from the start I wasn't a very good fit. I wasn't supposed to be my own Engineering Unit at Holabird, but I was. There were three real Casual Company "units": those waiting for analyst, investigative, and imagery interpretation training. Where was I? In the fourth unit, Engineers. The first week I reported "Engineers, present" or some such bullshit. In the second week, seeing no immediate resolution to my status, I was assigned to Permanent Casual Company which sounds a lot like Hotel California. I had a bunk in a small dorm room in the attic of the one of the dorms with guys like myself who were misassigned, were awaiting clearance or were awaiting reassignment. My duties were extensive: I was responsible for cleaning the pool room once a day and had the rest of the day off. I don't remember making formations and if we reported to anyone, I can't now remember who it might be, maybe the CQ. Nevertheless, we were all very, very good at our duties. It didn't take us long to figure out that I could clean my pool tables and your stairs and his railing on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and you two guys could sleep in or whatever. And you guys would take care of my duties on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. The "whatever" in my case was getting a job at Holabird Pharmacy, stocking shelves, delivering drugs in their little VW bug and serving ice cream and cokes at the soda counter. (The original Army of One!) You're thinking this cannot last and, of course, you're right. My paperwork finally caught up with me and after a rather stern tongue-lashing from some Lieutenant or Captain, who probably had his ass in the wringer for not accounting for one of his troops for about three months. Surprisingly, I was given an option to stay and take AIT at Holabird or they were "sending my sorry ass to Ft. Belvoir." At this point I knew enough about the training programs at Holabird to stay away from the Analyst training (the story was mud and death in the jungle), so I told them that I thought the Investigator training sounded real good. They told me to shove it, because that MOS was a great recruiting tool and they already had my ass. So I opted for Imagery Interpretation training. Anyone can look at a picture and figure out what's going on, right? So off to class, studying the military strategies and equipment of World War II, meanwhile watching the news and reporting from Vietnam and wondering if there was a disconnect. The one bright spot was that my class 66-something was the first to receive Tactical Imagery Interpretation Facility (TIIF) training. The TIIF was a million dollar piece of equipment that was an early version of computer-aided photo-interpretation. My training in this would pay off greatly later. Class 66-something graduated and most of the single guys when to Germany and most of the married guys went to Vietnam. The Army has a perverse sense of humor. I was one of those married guys, married in the Post Chapel in July. Joe Shandley was my best man. After a week or two of leave, it was off to Vietnam, destination Can Tho, Detachment C, 1st MIBARS. A few weeks after arrival, one of the NCOs or officers asked if anyone knew what a TIFF was, because there was one in the motor pool and no one knew what to do with it. Aha! Joe Shandley and I volunteered to get it up and running and train the others on its use if necessary. Well, there just wasn't much interest by the troops who had not been trained and other duties prevailed, so Joe and I had the TIFF to ourselves. We figured there must be something we can do with this van and its equipment to keep us occupied and out of sight. Joe and I made a pretty good team, he was the sales guy and I was the production guy. One of us came up with the idea of using the TIFF mensuration capability to determine the rice production in IV Corp. We would then compare our results with what the South Vietnamese government claimed was produced and the difference might indicate the production of rice the Viet Cong were intercepting. Pretty good plan, huh? Well, we sold it to the CO (his name has long faded) and off we went. After several weeks, using map overlays and colored pencils (about junior high school quality) we produced our results in hectares of rice grown, but were instructed not to do further analysis (we would have screwed that up for sure). I never did learn if our efforts were accurate, but I'm pretty sure that our CO sold our approach to MIBARS HQ in Saigon. It wasn't long, two or three weeks maybe, that Joe and I were told we were going to Saigon for reassignment. Yeah, Saigon!! It was late '66 or early '67, because my son was born February 6th 1967 and I was in the HQ Detachment celebrating at a USO show with Nancy Sinatra, boots and all. Saigon looked like New York City after Can Tho; French restaurants and a lot prettier women. My memory of events during this time is somewhat vague. I do remember sitting in the EM club on the top floor at HQ, listening to doo-wop oldies on a reel-to-reel tape deck and being served Budweisers by our bartenders, Sunshine and Na. Maybe too any beers explain the vagueness. I remember working as an Imagery Interpreter on a special task force (where I can't tell you) that was following the North Vietnamese invasion of the Demilitarized Zone. We employed ONs (original negatives) from RF-101s flying on the deck. You could see the fear in the NVA running from their AAA not knowing the recce planes had no armament. General Westmoreland passed through, starched and 12 feet tall. Around this same time, Joe and I were reassigned to the Combined Intelligence Center, Vietnam (CICV). All show no go. Joe and I thought we could continue our rice study, but we were assigned to the night shift where very little of anything got done. We were using large, rear projection screen viewers in attempting to determine rice from mangrove from whatever. Didn't work! We complained (like we thought that would work) that we were there to instruct on mensuration and analysis, but it was just not that kind of operation. Our immediate supervisor was Air Force Master Sergeant Bob Boyette (Someone I would work with four years later at the CIA) who thought our duties were to wax the floors so that the brass and visiting dignitaries would be pleased in the morning. We didn't agree, but we mopped and waxed and buffed. Joe and I approach the MIBARS CO, Major Matta (I know he was there at some point and is another gentleman I would meet later in a CIA environment) and pleaded for another assignment. Well, we got them. Joe went back to imagery interpretation and I was sent downtown to Cholon and MACV Studies and Observation Group (MACV SOG). I was assigned billeting in a hotel about two or three blocks from the Embassy Annex. I remember carrying my friggin' duffel bag and/or foot locker two or three flights up the back stairs of that hotel. My assignment was as the only imagery guy in whatever SOG (studies and observation group) unit I was assigned, using U-2 imagery in support of clandestine operations. It was an OK assignment, working nights with little supervision and really great breakfasts at the hotel. (Here too I met someone I would encounter years later at the National Photographic Interpretation Center (NPIC) in Washington). After several months the operation was terminated. It's now mid-to-late '67 and time for another reassignment, this time to the ARLO (Air Recon Liaison Officer) shop. I wasn't there long when I got my orders out of Vietnam, to Germany! You're kidding, not stateside, friggin' Germany! I was married with a son I had not seen and I am going to Germany! I can beat this! I'll show 'em, I'll extend six months. (Kids, never ever do something this stupid.) The good news was that I got 30 days home leave over the Christmas holidays,1967 with my new family. But then it was back to Vietnam. You may be thinking my timing pretty much sucks. Abso-friggin'-lutely!! Something big happened in January 1968. Oh yeah, TET. Seems like I am no sooner off the plane and all hell breaks loose. Germany looked real damn good about this time. It was not long after that I found out that Joe Shandley died in a car accident at his new post in Germany. Back to the ARLO shop; there I worked for a super guy, Captain, then Major (and I hope later) Colonel Korf (sp?). By now I had made Staff Sergeant (E6) and was one of two NCOs manning the shop. I worked nights of course (I learned to sleep upside down from tree limbs in Vietnam). My shift was responsible for the early briefings of RB-57s and some of the RF-4 Infra red missions, but mostly we built the packages for the day shift and their heavier load of visible missions. I really enjoyed the opportunity to combine the OB aspects of the ground threats with targeting. Prior to TET, the ARLO assignment was the best I had. The MIBARS officers and enlisted, I believe, were professional and I believe the AF pilots greatly respected our input. Across the room the AF weatherman always had us in good humor. TET was another story, and again, much of it remains blank. I will never forget the rocketing and being trapped by snipers in the ARLO shop for 2 or 3 days during the VC/NVA Saigon offensive. Sitting so close to the water tower, the ARLO shop was right in line for targeting by the VC from the airfield perimeter. The AF personnel in general seemed unprepared for the attacks. There were stories of AF personnel climbing the water tower only to be shot by friendly fire. I also remember how glad I was to see the Armored Cav arrive on base. It was a tough week or more. We tried to keep the AF missions going and some of our guys went out to bring the pilots in. The pilots and ground crews showed a lot of guts, getting the unarmed RF-4c's airborne under heavy fire. I was lucky, as was any one who made it back alive, but I think I had the very good fortune to have had such a wealth of assignments and to have met so many great guys along the way. I just wish my memory would let me remember all their names. Maybe if the next reunion is in the East, I will have that opportunity. Rest of the Story: I served out the remainder of my enlistment assigned to the 18th Airborne Corp at Ft. Bragg (no jumping for me!). As an E6 with no intention of reenlisting or jumping, I was relegated to minor details until I talked my way into attending NC State Fayetteville pretty much full time. I separated from the Army in January, 1969. I went back to school under the GI Bill and graduated from Penn State in 1970. I went to work for the CIA in 1971 as an Imagery Analyst, but practiced that skill for only four years. Most of my career with them was in development and system engineering. I was again lucky to work on some of the most exciting programs imaginable. I guess that wasn't supposed to happen either?? I retired from the Agency in 2003 and then did some contract consulting work. I am now fully and happily retired in Wilmington, NC.

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