VietNow National Magazine

I Wasn't Who They Thought I Was
A Vietnam remembrance: Death, pain, heartbreak, guilt, and a story that continues to this day.

By Carlos DeLuna

In-Country, Vietnam – left to right: Sergeant Carlos DeLuna, Lieutenant Inman, and Staff Sgt. Youngblood.

I am currently recuperating from the amputation of my right leg, which was injured during a firefight in Vietnam, in 1970. The Veterans Administration doctors and staff at Waco, Temple, and San Antonio (Texas) hospitals have managed to save my right leg all these years, but with the understanding that I was on borrowed time. I now sport a mid-thigh stump.

I served with D Company, 2nd Battalion/5th Cavalry, Airmobile, from December of 1969 through November of 1970. Our company lost five men on January 5th of 1970. It was a fierce firefight, but I had only two weeks in country, so I did not participate. The memorial service that was held in honor of the lost men was very emotional, and I realized that Vietnam was serious business, and for real.

The next few months were uneventful for me. I was sent to a leadership school in March because some officer saw potential in my being promoted to the ranks of a non-commissioned officer in the future. I enjoyed the training, and scored well.

Cambodia

Our company commander received notice that our company would be moving into Cambodia the first part of May. Our Cambodian campaign would last a total of two months. I lost count of the total number of firefights we participated in. I heard grown men cry many nights, and my heart ached for those men who had wives and children back home. This was especially hard to accept.

I remember, vividly, flying into Cambodia at tree-top level, peering down at the greenery, and thinking to myself, it is so beautiful, can there really be a war going on down there? Looks can be very deceiving.

We landed at our new firebase around 11 in the morning, and were given a briefing. Our forward command had been attacked by sappers the previous night. It was a very nasty and brutal attack, but our forward command had prevailed, despite having lost several men. We were now in very hostile territory, and the gates of hell were about to be opened for us.

Our company commander was given orders. Our company was to follow a well-used trail that the North Vietnamese were using to move equipment and men into Vietnam. Our mission was to stop them at all costs.

We moved out in formation, away from the firebase, and late in the afternoon we came upon a village. Our captain and Kit Carson scout (interpreter) spoke with the village chief. The village chief told our captain that every night their village was pillaged by North Vietnamese soldiers for food and water. The village needed our help in stopping them. Our commander ordered Staff Sergeant Akers forward, and told him to choose six of the best men in the entire company for what could be a suicide mission.

The mission

Why he picked me, I will never know. The rest of the company and the captain moved away from the village, leaving us behind in the village.

Staff Sergeant Akers was an older, professional soldier. He told us that we would be engaging anyone entering the village that night. The people of the village were very kind to us. They cooked chicken and rice for us to eat. We were grateful for the kindness, but we were careful not to overindulge in eating their meal. Meanwhile Staff Sergeant Akers, being older and wiser than us, did not trust the village chief. He had decided to shadow the chief like a hawk. His instinct paid off. He followed the chief until he found him deep in conversation with six North Vietnamese soldiers, and he was pointing in our direction. Akers immediately engaged them with several rounds, and the North Vietnamese soldiers scattered. Our plans had been given away, and our safety was in doubt.

Akers, being a professional soldier, gave an order for us to move away from the village immediately. Since it was late, darkness would be falling soon, and the company was too far away from us to catch up to, so we were forced to establish a perimeter not far from the village. We set up our claymore mines and trip flares all around our perimeter, and settled in to wait. All night long we could hear movement in and out of the village. We could hear oxen-pulled wagons coming and going, and around 2 a.m. one of our booby traps exploded. We prepared for the worst, but nothing happened. We did not sleep the entire night.

Carlos Deluna (center), along with two pals, during his time in Vietnam.

Point

When morning finally arrived, Akers said, “DeLuna, let’s go see what set off our booby trap.” I was designated the “point man,” which any soldier in combat knows as the most dangerous position to be in. I began to follow a small, well-used trail. We came upon what little was left of a dog. A dog had run into our booby trap and had been killed. I continued to follow the trail, watching my step very closely, moving forward at a very slow pace.

More friendly villagers

I could see that up ahead was a small opening, and suddenly there were six guys standing in the middle of the opening. They were facing me, smiling and waving. They apparently thought I was one of them. It was as if I were looking at a mirror image of myself. Same jet black hair. Same complexion. Same beautiful smile.

Akers called out to me, “DeLuna, what do you have up there?” I honestly believed them to be friendly villagers, and told Akers that it was some friendly villagers. Akers moved up to my side and suddenly the expressions on the other guys’ faces turned to horror. They pointed toward us and yelled, “Americans!” Simultaneously, Akers is yelling, “DeLuna, gooks! DeLuna, gooks! Shoot! Shoot!”

For me, time went into slow-motion mode. My knees were trembling, the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end, and I could feel bullets missing my ears by inches. It was over within seconds. Blood was everywhere. We killed six beautiful people within seconds. I have never felt such horror. We didn’t receive any wounds to speak of, and our men were safe.

We contacted our company commander, relayed what had just happened, and managed to catch up with our company later that morning. By the time word reached battalion headquarters, our squad was the toast of the battalion. Everyone in the company was celebrating except for me. I sure didn’t feel like any hero.

Nightfall finally came, and I cried like a baby. I begged God to forgive me for killing someone’s father, son, brother. I had never felt such shame, and could not accept that awkward feeling that my grandmother was in heaven and had witnessed it all. I just knew she would be so ashamed of me.

When I was 5 years old, my father was struck by lightning as he labored on the railroad. He died three days later. My grandmother raised me with discipline, and taught me to always respect my elders, but most importantly, my teachers.
The following morning my eyes were swollen. Lieutenant Inman pulled me aside. He explained that he had been told how well I had done on our mission. He knew that I had cried all night, and made me realize that my family could have been mourning for me if things had worked out differently. I couldn’t have it both ways. It was either them or me. I thanked him, for he had always been a great leader.

This was only my first day in Cambodia. We saw action nearly every day. In two months, we lost half our company. All this happened over 30 years ago, but the guilt I felt then has never left me.

Carlos Deluna, born and raised in the state of Texas, couldn’t afford college, and so he followed in his older brother’s footsteps and joined the Army. A recipient of the Silver Star medal, DeLuna is now retired, after working many years for the United States Postal Service.

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