John (Jethro) Thompson - Sapper, 1 Field Squadron

Wounded in action (WIA) while laying the Minefield on 9 May 1967


In the November 1966 1 was posted to SME to prepare for departure to SVN. l left Australia on the 6th Jan 1967 and was posted to l section, l Troop, 1 Fld Squadron as a plant Operator. After a few days working as a labourer in uniform around the camp 1 was then detailed to operate a variety of army machines working on the By-Pass road (this was to restrict the local population from having to pass through the main camp) and other camp construction jobs. We were very much in demand by the grunts to assist them on the side with our machines. In addition to small TAOR patrols and tree clearing for fire-bases out from Nui Dat 1 was required to join the remainder of my section on Operation Portsea. On this operation 1 was attached to C Coy, D Coy and finally A Coy as a mini team, our role being to search any tunnels, enemy structures and camp sights. On this operation we located two huge rice stacks. About three days were spent delousing the booby traps and removing the bags one at a time. A photo of the Section has been published in the 6 RAR Book showing about five of us sitting on rice bags having a break.

A few days after ANZAC DAY I was detailed with a few others to move out to the "Horseshoe" to join up with the rest of (Troop who had started on the laying of the minefield. Soon after arriving we were driven through Dat Do to the minefield. On arriving there, we were given mini detectors to familiarize ourselves with. Shortly afterwards l and other new guys were taken to a "Dogleg" in the mine field by Land Rover by the Troop Officer and Staff Sergeant. One or both asked what're knew about the "mines" being laid. As we had not seen them before we said so. We were taken into the minefield and watched as they placed and armed a number of mines in an irregular pattern; this was the practice where you had a change of direction. After this others and I were driven back to the "Horseshoe" and shown the supply of mines all stacked in boxes. l was partnered with another guy, and we sat in a big slot, that had previously been dug in the ground by a dozer,testing the fuses. The job was boring as hell. You sat there all day pulling the pins; seeing that they came out smoothly, then replacing them. Those mines were then loaded onto a truck and taken out to the minefield the next morning. The men actually doing the arming had to wear Flak jackets and helmets.

I never liked arming the mines; I would get splitting headaches from the concentration required, the tension and the hot sun. I still have visions of the beads of perspiration forming on the forehead of my mate and partner Butch Carman from Adelaide. It was nervous stuff, arming. The intensity, the concentration, the heat the bulky flak jacket. Some of the guys appeared not to be too concerned and acted like cowboys in a rather cavalier way and would compete to see who could arm the most in a day. Sometimes arming single-handedly while the other member had a smoke. These cowboys used to worry me as we were all working so close. One morning parade we were told to lift our game, the boss wanted more mines laid. The infantry company guarding the field at night was tasked to assist with. the labour. This was good for me. l had expressed my dislike of arming, because of the headaches. And I worked with a group of grunts placing mines in position ready for the arming teams.

1 remember the fatal morning 9 May. At the morning parade we were told that the boss wanted us to lift our number to 500 mines a day. To achieve this we were to work in sections doing in turn all the required tasks at some time throughout the day. My section was given the task of arming the mines first up. I thought "0 f#+*''. But was pleased that it was to be in the early part of the day, not too hot. From memory I believe we were to arm twenty clusters that's eighty mines then rotate to rotate to another task such as carrying, digging or testing. We armed our required number of mines and moved out of the danger area to where we had left our gear, webbing and rifles. While we were having a drink of water l noticed one fellow looking rather stressed, and agitated and not drinking. He had apparently not brought any water bottles to the site. 1 offered him one of mine as l always carried six and after some persuasion he accepted a bottle. I mention this as he later died of a gunshot wound to the head while sleeping one night a short time after my wounding, it would appear he committed suicide. At this point an NCO came along wanting to know what we were doing.

We explained that we had completed our task as instructed. My memory is that he responded by telling us all to get back into arming mines, this being contrary to what we had earlier been told. The members of the party started to head back to where we had left the Flak jackets and helmets. However, l was slow of the mark as 1 had to replace the extra bottle in to my gear, as it had a mug attached to it, it was difficult to insert into the webbing. Tne NCO gave me a serve for being slow. l went back to the end of the armed mine area where we had left our Flak jackets laying out so that the sun would dry the perspiration before the next teem had to wear Them I was anxious not to end up with the one a team member with very gross acne had been wearing; they all had a bad smell, which was bad enough. As I was standing there adjusting my jacket I noticed that my partner Ashley Culkin that morning was crouching over a mine in the pound; he had been noticed on earlier occasions arming single-handedly. He was a top little bloke but had that cavalier approach to arming. 1 thought: |"Oh shit, he's already into it". And that's the last thing I remember seeing before l was flying through the air. All the dust and crap seemed to float down and covering me in very slow motion. My hands were just spewing blood and I could not feel my left leg; actually, it felt as if it was hanging over an edge, dangling.

As I was lying there many guys come over and started to assist the wounded guys, four of us were on the ground and several others had received shrapnel wounds. Ashley I believe was badly lacerated and had vision problems, Ray Deed received a fatal wound in the area of the throat and died later that night. Dennis Brooks received wounds to his leg and would probably have lost his leg if he had of survived. l believe he suffered from a clot on the brain about two weeks later in hospital. I got hit from left to right. Shreds at the high thigh only attached my left leg. My dick is now longer then my left leg and I'm not boasting. My left hand was a mess of fingers hanging all over the place and blood rushing down my arms. 1 lost all but the thumb and index finger. My right hand was bloody, but not so bad apparently. 1 only lost a small piece of a finger, but my wrist had been badly gouged. My buttocks and right leg were badly lacerated and now have many scars at the rear. My left eardrum was perforated; shrapnel was lodged behind my left ear and above my left eye. it's still there. Abdominally l took a penetrating wound at the base of the flak jacket. This opened me up exposing my intestines. My belly button is now a funny looking thing more like a keyhole shape. I put my arms up and thought what a bloody mess. I heard someone yelling out to put the pins back in the mines near us. Then one bloke said, "We can't Jethro's got them". I remember the medic from the infantry company with us trying to open a pack with his teeth and cursing the American product, it was a drip he was trying to put into my arm near the inside of my right elbow. Over the years doctors have been critical of the cut down he performed, but when I tell them he was only a medic with a number of casualties in the middle of a minefield they then agree he did a pretty good job.

Bret Nolen the Troop Sergeant was hovering over me trying to stop the blood flow. 1 was hot and looking into the sun. Two other guys were attending to me also, and I tried to keep them between the sun and me. I asked for a drink. They looked at each other then at the medic. As l had so many wounds l think they thought I was going die anyway, so they gave me a drink despite my intestines hanging out. Apparently the chopper that flew me Vung Tau had to land at a small fishing village to collect more blood or whatever was required to keep me alive. Over all I received 51 units of blood products during the first operation and evacuation to hospital.

l always remember an American nurse with big blue eyes asking me questions about what l may be allergic to and had I had this or that needle. l did not have a clue what she was on about really. Behind her was standing what looked like the biggest, blackest African American I'd ever seen. He had a pair of shears in his hand. These were obviously to cut away any clothing. After hearing the doctors calling for one of the choppers to remain on the pad, 1 passed out. The chopper was required to fly Deed and Culkin to another hospital. l woke up five days later feeling very sore and shitty. I kept looking at the guy in the next bed to me and was trying to speak to him, but he would not answer me. Later 1 was told that he had his jaw wired and could not speak. Sometime later a nurse woke me and asked me to speak to Brooksy, and then later they wheeled him out of the word. l asked where did they take him and l was told to another part of the hospital. I found out much later that he had died of his wounds. In fact, I had no idea what had happened to the others until my sister told me one day while she was visiting me to Heidelberg Repatriation Hospital many months later. After about ten days one of the doctors told me he had some bad news for me: they'd have to amputate my hand. l thought that was not too bad. It was a mess held together with wire and pips. 1 looked at what was left of my left hand and moved it forward as if offering it to the doctor. "Sorry, the right hand" 1 was told. The surgery to repair my lacerated right wrist was not successful They didn't have microsurgery available in those days. Shrapnel had also perforated my intestines and 1 lost my gall bladder several weeks later along with most of my small bowel.

I was always bitter that no one ever asked me what had happened. Reports were written on the incident etcetera, etcetera, but no one ever asked me. In the early days, I suffered a lot from anxiety and I packed a lot of guilt. But now l'm 57 I've had another 35 good years and its no good bitching about it. l give 111 credit to my mates, the medics and DVA. They have all looked after me well.
Reprinted from th Vietnam Veterans Federation Newsletter December 2002

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