Bonds of Vietnam veterans renewed at Wall, Arlington Cemetery

WASHINGTON — Ronald Mallory eyed the name before him, carefully reading the letters etched permanently into the smooth black marble alongside 58,000 others.

For him, this one was special. This was his friend — the “comical” soldier who even on the toughest days running supply convoys through the Vietnamese jungles “was always smiling. Always happy.”

“Larry G Dahl” — Mallory ran his eyes over the name once more, recalling the day Dahl jumped on a grenade, saving Mallory and the other soldiers serving on the gun truck Brutus — an act for which Dahl would posthumously receive the Medal of Honor.

And then, after a few moments, the 66-year-old Mallory turned away.

It was his first visit to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial — “the Wall” — and like so many of the 35 veterans of the 359th Transportation Company who joined him May 11, the experience left him speechless.

“It’s hard,” said Ron Kendall, who served with the 359th between 1967 and 1968. “We all have brothers-in-arms on that wall. It’s such a sad place.”

Between 1966 and 1972, the 359th Transportation Company ran 50-vehicle convoys almost daily, often directly into enemy ambushes. Fourteen 359th soldiers would be killed and dozens more left suffering from physical and mental wounds.

In the 50 years since the unit first shipped off to Vietnam, many of those soldiers have committed to gathering together every couple of years to reconnect, share stories and keep their brotherhood alive.

“It’s the best thing to ever happen for a lot of us,” Kendall, 67, said of the reunions. “We have a good time, talking about the ups and downs. It’s tough to talk to others about some of it, but we can always talk to each other … I’m going to continue to do it until I die.”

‘It was rough’


By the time Mallory arrived at the unit in June of 1970, the North Vietnamese were well aware of the roughly paved routes the 359th used to deliver fuel and ammunition to troops across the battlefield. The enemy understood the impact attacking those convoys could have on the American war effort.

“We were just sitting ducks,” Mallory recalled. “When we were going through those hills – they’d just wait until you got into the mountains, just crawling 15, 20 miles an hour up there. That’s when they’d come and get you.”

It was an ambush that would lead to Dahl’s death.

Mallory was driving the behemoth gun truck Brutus — a 5-ton truck outfitted with makeshift armor, twin .50-caliber machine guns and a 7.62 mm Mini gun — when the convoy was attacked by North Vietnamese troops near An Khe on Feb. 23, 1971. The enemy had attacked the forward portion of the convoy, Mallory recalled. Brutus’ firepower was needed.

“Lots of shooting and everything,” he said. And then, the fighting stopped.

“We thought everything was over with, so we started to turn around to go back to get into the convoy line, and all of a sudden there was this explosion.”

It was not immediately clear what happened. Mallory saw blood and initially thought he had been hit. By the time he realized he was OK, his gunners in the rear of the truck started yelling.

“They said, ‘Go, go, go, go. We’re hit. We’re hurt. Go’,” he said.

When he finally looked back, Dahl, 21, had already jumped on the grenade, the source of the explosion, and died.

“Man, that was tough,” Mallory said. “It was rough.”

That day lives on in his mind. Forty-five years later, it is just as vivid as it was when he was 21 years old.

Medicine helps, he said, but the reunions, spending time with his fellow 359th veterans, is more powerful.

“They understand what’s going on,” Mallory said. “Sometimes, you just want to be around folks with similar experiences.”

Healing with brothers


They did not all serve together. Many of the 359th veterans who gathered this month in the Washington area to reconnect and honor their fallen comrades at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and Arlington National Cemetery did not meet until decades after the war.

They’ve bonded like family in the years since, said Bob Dye, who at 19 was drafted and sent to Vietnam in 1968 to drive an 18-wheel fuel truck with the 359th.

“We’ve gotten really close,” said Dye who was shot through both of his legs in an ambush on a convoy. “When you go through the things we did and have those experiences and learn from each other you do become like brothers. We were kids — 19, 20, 21 years old, sharing those experiences.”