{"product_id":"recondo-isbn-9780891418405","title":"Recondo","description":"\u003cb\u003eFor firefights in the swamps, ambushes in the jungle, or just facing the enemy dead-on, Recondo trained LRRPs to win.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eThey will never be able to duplicate the 5th Special Forces Recondo School and the training that gave its grads something they desperately needed—the skills to survive Long Range Patrol missions in the jungle that NVA considered its own. Vietman veteran Larry Chambers vividly describes the grit and courage it took to pass the tough volunteer-only training program in Nha Trang and the harrowing graduation mission to scout out, locate, and out-guerrilla the NVA.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHere is an unforgettable account that follows Chambers and the Rangers every step of the way—from joining, going through Recondo, and finally leading his own team on white-knuckle missions through the deadly jungles of Vietnam.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“I made this book mandatory reading for my Rangers. . . . We went from the worst platoon in the regiment to the best platoon in six months. In training we'd get to the objective so fast they had to hold us back.”—U.S. Army Master Sergeant H. “Max” Mullen Ret. 75th Ranger Regiment\u003c\/b\u003e“I made this book mandatory reading for my Rangers. . . . We went from the worst  platoon in the regiment to the best platoon in six months. In training we’d get to  the objective so fast they had to hold us back.”\u003cb\u003e—US Army Master Sergeant H. \"Max\"  Mullen Ret.\u003cbr\u003e 75th Ranger Regiment\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eLarry Chambers\u003c\/b\u003e spent fifteen months in Vietnam with the 101st Airborne as a LRP\/Ranger. Among other awards and decorations, Chambers earned two Bronze Stars for valor, a Purple Heart, two Air Medals for valor, the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, the Army Commendation Medal, and the Vietnam Cross of Gallantry. He was with L Co., 75th Infantry (Ranger) \u003cbr\u003eand F Co., 58th (LRP), in Vietnam. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter returning home he earned a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree form the University of Utah, and graduated as a member of the Phi Kappa Phi honor society. Chambers lives in Ojai, California.\u003cb\u003e1\u003cbr\u003e Preserve, Protect and Defend February 1968\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The highway to Fort Lewis from the Sea-Tac Airport was covered with a thin film of water that reflected the lights from the oncoming cars. I leaned my head against the cold window. The air smelled clean, like fresh-cut wood. The bus ride was long, and I sat in silence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Once we arrived at the base, we were greeted in the parking lot with friendly words from a well-starched drill instructor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Now get your sorry butts off my bus. Get down and give me push-ups until I get tired!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e George Ellis, my high-school buddy, muttered something obscene my way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The fort was quiet except for the echo of the fifty of us counting out push-ups in the rain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The next morning we shed our civilian clothes for olive-drab fatigues. The pants were too big, and the shirts were too stiff—and then to the barbershop, where zip zip, off came the hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The next few weeks of basic training were pretty rough. After the first week, our DI finally started to lighten up, even joked around a bit, although he never smiled. We had a theory that the drill instructors never slept. They had a nasty habit of pulling surprise inspections in the middle of the night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We were all sitting in the corner of the large open bay of the 1st Platoon, A Company, 1st Battalion, 2d Brigade, building. Dave Smith had just punched Dumpy Drivold in the arm as our drill instructor, Sergeant Koffman, began his instructions on night watch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Koffman said, “One of these nights you’re going to be walking on fire watch, you’ll walk into the latrine, and you might find someone masturbating.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everyone started laughing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Don’t turn the poor guy in. It will embarrass him, it will embarrass you, and it will embarrass the sergeant you turn him into.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everyone was really laughing by now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I raised my hand—then grabbed Ellis and shouted, “Sergeant Koffman, what if you already caught someone?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ellis and I had played sports together all through high school and college; we were always playing jokes on each other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What? Not me!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ellis struggled to get free of my grasp. The more Ellis tried to explain, the harder everyone laughed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After basic training, Ellis got a thirty-day leave and truck-driving school in Fort Ord, California. I couldn’t believe it! My orders were to leave immediately for AIT.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I thought you volunteered for infantry school, like we agreed, right? Remember our pact?” I asked Ellis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He shrugged. “I couldn’t help it, they asked me what I wanted to do, so I put down drive a truck.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e George was the worst driver in our high school class. The only truck he had ever driven was his brother’s old pickup, and he couldn’t park that without hitting something. George left for truck-driving school.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e George stayed in the States and never left California. I headed across the base to report to Company E, 2d Battalion, 3d Advanced Individual Training Brigade. Our company commander was Capt. Boudewijn Van Pamelen, an ex-Special Forces A Team leader. His example encouraged me to volunteer for Airborne.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e AIT went by quickly, and soon I was on my way to Fort Benning for Airborne training.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I walked up to the airline ticket counter and was told I would be flying military standby. The attendant handed back my ticket and told me to go wait in line with the others. I looked in the direction she indicated and saw what must have been two hundred GIs, who looked like they’d been camping in the airport for weeks. I turned back to the ticket salesgirl and asked, “Is there a bar in this place?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We finally boarded the Boeing 707 jet, and I celebrated my twenty-first birthday on the long flight to Georgia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I arrived late in the evening, the day before training. I picked up my bag, tossed it over my shoulder and walked down the hot, dusty road, which led to the only building left with an empty bunk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No sooner had I closed my eyes than I was awakened by a short, squatty staff sergeant who told me to follow him down to the mess hall. I thought I could orient myself to the school, but instead I was greeted with a work detail. This was one detail I would soon learn to avoid at all cost—KP!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Once inside, he introduced me to a hundred-pound bag of potatoes and a potato peeler. I learned to never arrive early in the army again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We began orientation by standing in formation on the open grounds in front of a large, white sign with huge letters that read jump committee, painted above a set of jump wings. Our instructor was a white-haired, wiry gentleman who introduced himself as Colonel Welch and then spent the next twenty minutes officially welcoming us to jump school. He told us that our training would last three weeks and while we were there we would observe a few rules. Attendance at all formations was mandatory, and we were to run everywhere we went. Because the training was during the hottest part of Georgia’s long summer, we were required every hour to roll through the specially arranged outdoor showers set up at every training station and to take a couple of salt tablets. We soon learned to love those showers and hate the salt tablets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One morning during our second week, we heard that one of the holdovers killed himself. As we ran past the Animal Farm, the holdover barracks, we could see the outline of his body hanging just inside the doorway. Seeing someone dead made the training take on a more serious tone. Death had suddenly become a reality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Later that night, as we ran back past the Animal Farm, his body was still hanging there. What possibly could have pushed this guy this far? Was it because he didn’t make it through jump school? I wondered how his parents would react and what they’d think when they got word that their son had killed himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e By the third week we were in great shape. We ran everywhere, even to and from the mess hall. We were now ready for the real training to begin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Down on the airfield, we boarded an old, silver C-119. She shook like hell as we taxied down the runway. It took forever for the plane to begin the climb. I became more afraid of the flight than the upcoming jump.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They called the C-119’s flying boxcars. They would take up a planeload of fifty paratroopers, fly us into Alabama, and dump us out over the drop zone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Up in the sky, we sat nervously along both sides of the cargo compartment, waiting to stand and hook our static lines to one of the two cables which ran the length of the plane. It was very hard to be brave inside that bouncing plane, but I was trying. I had my eye on the two lights near the exit door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One was red, warning us to get ready. The green one meant go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The jumpmaster yelled, “Get ready!” He lifted his arms over his head, causing all of us to tighten up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Stand up! Hook up!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was just as we had trained. The jumpmaster, with his hands held high, crooked his index finger, the sign to hook up. We fastened our static-line snap links to the parallel cables running down both sides of the airplane. We checked our reserve chutes, then turned and checked the main chute of the guy behind us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Stand in the door!” the jumpmaster screamed. I shuffled to the open door. I was one of the first ones to jump. I tightly grasped the doorway and waited for the tap of the jumpmaster. I leaned back a little to see the red light on the side. A sick feeling washed over me. It was the same one I had when I watched the shower scene from the movie Psycho. I stood, almost paralyzed with fear. But this time I couldn’ t go out to the lobby for a Coke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The ground below didn’t look real. The green light came on. I tucked in my head, grabbed my reserve, and jumped! A blast of wind blew me back against the side of the plane. I started rolling as I fell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Wham!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My main chute opened—partially. I looked up and saw the shroud lines wrapped around each other. The chute was tangled, and I was spinning uncontrollably.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I reached up. I couldn’t free the tangled mess. Then I remembered the training. Run in place! There wasn’t much time before I would have to make a major decision. Cut loose the main or pull the reserve. I had maybe fifteen seconds before I would hit the ground. I ran like hell! With a loud pop! my main chute fully deployed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As the wind whistled past me, I looked down. The earth was still coming up too fast! The instructors had explained ground rush to us during training.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “If you fix your eyes on the ground, you start reaching for it. You involuntarily straighten your legs out, and if you hit that way, it’s broken-leg city.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I quickly pulled my head up, looked straight out at the horizon, then pulled down on the front risers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Crunch! I hit with a jarring blow and rolled to the right. I lay on my back, looking up at the sky. I had done it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The three C-119’s, off in the distance, flew back to Georgia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Welcome to Alabama, Private.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One of the jump school’s cadre watching me hit laughed because I was just lying there talking to the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, you’re alive, but you’d better give me five, troop,” he said as he bent over and held out his hand. When I reached out, he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to my feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Better yet, make it ten.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then, still chuckling to himself, he walked away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I uncoupled my harness, pulled in my chute and started doing push-ups.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “One Airborne, two Airborne . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Later in the week, after our fifth and last qualifying jump, we all met back at the parade ground, and Platoon Sergeant Williams, our head instructor, awarded us our jump wings.","brand":"Presidio Press","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301916299493,"sku":"NP9780891418405","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780891418405.jpg?v=1767735523","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/recondo-isbn-9780891418405","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}