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DR. EDYNAK PRESENTS...


DR. GENE MEDICAL WARRIOR'S BOOK MIRTH, MEDICINE, AND THE MILITARY







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BRAVERY

Starting with jumping from a 250 ft tower, running into a burning hospital to
rescue wounded patients, to returning hostile fire


ELITE

Airborne Special Forces that evolved after the Vietnam War into Delta Force and
Special Operations. The best of the best!


ROGUE

Had great fun: flour-bombing my instructor. Then poisoned the 82nd Airborne with
Senna, a stool softener that stained urine red


VALOR

Recognized by both the US and the Republic of Vietnam for the risk of his life
in a dangerous situation not involving combat


WHY THIS BOOK?

Eugene M. Edynak, M.D., looks back at being drafted and serving his country in
Vietnam in this memoir.

There were several reports reviewing the Special Forces Medical Officers
activities in the Republic of Vietnam. My building a mini-trauma unit for the
CIDG (Civilian Irregular Defense Force) was minimized in the first report that I
read. Feeling slighted, I wanted to set the record straight. The Special Forces
had never been designed to provide surgical care to support troops. Obviously,
they offered neither buildings, supplies, nor trained personnel. It was my team
including my first sergeant whose trading skills were able to barter for the
vital surgical equipment and supplies necessary to create the trauma unit. He
traded genuine blood covered Viet Cong battle flags (made in the marketplace
under his direction and covered with chicken blood). Then there was my reluctant
medic anesthetist who came from a long line of physicians. Although he was
silently protesting family expectations, he quickly developed the skills of an
excellent anesthetist and was able to train his Vietnamese counterpart.

There was I with minimal surgical training, who partially trained the
anesthetist, trained the surgical assistants and nursing staff to be able to
operate on the wounded including abdominal, chest and vascular injuries.
Interesting, after I completed the writing of this book, I came across another
report that indeed gave me full credit for the development of the LASH (Little
Army Surgical Hospital). It mentioned that some of what we had accomplished was
now incorporated into the training of the Special Forces medics.

SAMPLE CHAPTER 28 RESCUE OPERATIONS

THE CHIEF MEDICAL OFFICER



The chief medical officer (CMO) for the Special Forces in Vietnam had his
headquarters in Nha Trang. The CMO was a probably a lifer who desperately wanted
to get a Combat Medical Badge (CMB). Along with the Combat Jump Badge, the CMB
was a very prized badge to help in future promotions. He spent his day sitting
behind a desk. I know he never visited Bien Hoa. It’s possible he visited other
corps C-Teams but unlikely.


The rumor of his desperate want of a Combat Medical Badge described him joining
an operation with the area A-Team wearing crossed bandoliers of bullets, a
45-caliber pistol with multiple magazines on his hip, a combat knife on his
right leg, and his M16 rifle with multiple magazines, in addition to medical
supplies on his back. The same rumor had him literally being carried back by the
team members from severe exhaustion after the one-day excursion into the wild,
wild west, aka enemy territory.


I have no idea what his operation was all about, but here is my personal story.
In 1967, I participated in the rescue of American prisoners of war.

SAMPLE CHAPTER 28 PART 2

PRISONER OF WAR RESCUE


Not far from Tay Ninh, the biggest city in the area, and close to the
Vietnamese/Cambodian border, it was rumored that the VC had a prisoner of war
camp holding Americans captive. The rescue operation to retrieve said captives
would be administered by the area Tay Ninh B-Team in coordination with an A-Team
and a company of MIKE Force. The MIKE Forces were CIDG’s mercenary support
troops who had proven themselves in battle and were airborne trained. They were
prepared to act as a rapid-reaction force, including parachuting into a hostile
area if required.


Several ARVN and US helicopters attempting rescue had been shot down by RPGs or
heavy machine-gun fire . The intelligence we received shared the poor condition
of the prisoners. Because of the locale (and because GPS had not yet been fully
developed), it wasn’t clear whether or not the campsite was in Cambodia. It was
decided to send in a rescue team and carry, walk, or drag these prisoners a
certain distance east, from where they could then be safely medevaced out. I was
ordered/volunteered (after fifty-three years, I don’t remember which) to
participate with the rescue force of six SF Americans plus me and about thirty
(one platoon of) MIKE Force personnel. It was probably typical army procedure.
“We need three volunteers—you, you, and you.”


We were told there was a spy in the prison camp who had shared information about
where the camp was located, the condition of the prisoners, the usual number of
guards, and the proximity of a nearby VC reaction force. From the spy in the
camp, we knew twelve to fifteen Americans were being held. That meant we could
spare up to thirty men to assist and/or carry the American prisoners, with the
seven American SF team, including me, as the security force to protect our
flanks.


It was decided a Special Forces doctor was required to jazz up the prisoners
with IV fluids, B12 shots, muscle relaxants, morphine, and amphetamines (speed)
to separate those prisoners who would be able to walk several klicks and those
who would have to be carried. Even the walking wounded would require some
assistance in walking. We had no provision for VC prisoners.


We prepared several days in advance by eating nuoc mam-flavored foods at
breakfast, lunch, and dinner to change our body odor to match that of the
Vietnamese. Nuoc mam was awful on scrambled eggs! We did not bathe or use
deodorants. We were a smelly group at the end of preparation. We all wore
VC-like black pajamas. Our faces were covered with green and black camouflage.
The camouflage paste did block some of the pores of our face, only to redirect
the sweat to another location.


The MIKE Force and I choppered from the C-Team to the B-Team site in Tay Ninh.
We brought the IV fluids and all of the medication with us from the C-Team
supply unit. We left the B-Team in Tay Ninh in two trucks at midnight and drove
for about an hour on a dirt road. On the drive, we were sweating in the enclosed
truck. Nuoc mam was oozing from our skin. We all smelled like the Vietnamese.
Tear gas could not possibly assault your senses to the degree that our stink did
in that truck.


We were dropped off in the middle of the jungle. We checked our equipment for
noise control, taping loose metal items like dog tags(ID tags) and loose clips.
We taped two M16 magazines side by side with ease of access for sixty bullets.
This would allow the rapid ejection of the spent magazine with the sister
magazine taped in reverse for quick insertion into the rifle. Several of the
Americans had night vision goggles (NVG). The wearers complained about the
bulkiness and headaches of the goggles but wore them all the same. And of
course, in my pocket was my little .25 caliber Beretta that accompanied me
throughout my stay in Vietnam.


The SF medic from the B-Team and I carried the medical supplies—IVs, morphine,
amphetamine, liquid IV vitamins ( B12 and D) and oral multivitamins, and some
splinting material—plus ammunition. We all carried extra canteens of water.
(This predated the use of the camelback water container.) We walked single file
for another hour with the point man, wearing NVG, sweeping the jungle floor for
booby traps. They were usually thin monofilament nylon line stretched between
trees and linked to a hand grenade. The VC also dug deep pits into the jungle
floor and lined the bottom with sharpened bamboo stakes dipped in human feces
(punji sticks). They then covered the pits with branches and grass.


The heat and humidity were almost intolerable. We were dripping with sweat. Our
fear certainly aggravated the sweating. We heard the night sounds of the
jungle—clicks, buzzes, and the occasion grunt. I carefully stepped into the
footsteps of the man in front of me. We walked slowly and silently, the jungle
night sounds unaffected by our presence.


Our point man held up his fist, and we stopped and huddled down. He could see
the clearing about fifty meters in the distance with two oil lamps set at their
lowest setting.


Three of the American SF and ten MIKE Force troopers slowly crept toward the
camp. They eventually flanked the prison area on two sides. I was left with ten
of the remaining MIKE Force in reserve. The danger was that, in the enthusiastic
firing, the MIKE Force troopers could shoot at one another—which may, in fact,
have happened. Because of the prisoners, we couldn’t use mortars, but we had an
M60 machine gun and the blooper, a 40-mm grenade launcher. This blooper was like
a sawed off single barreled shotgun. Some of the M16 had similar grenade
launchers underslung under the barrel of the rifle nicknamed “over-under”.This
was the American answer to the omnipotent RPGs of the Asian forces. The accuracy
was greater than the 60- or 80-mm mortars since the 40mm was often line of
sight.

SAMPLE CHAPTER 28 PART 3

CONTINUED...


The VC were holding the prisoners in a jungle clearing. The fittest Americans,
without major wounds, were kept in bamboo cages. The small cages didn’t allow
prisoners to stand or sit with legs extended but only squat. The most
ill/wounded were kept under a roof of palm fronds and restrained with rope ties
to their litter. Not sure why they bothered with the wounded other than as a
future prisoner exchange.


Most of the camp was asleep, with only a few standing sentries awake. We
attacked at “zero-dark-thirty” (4:30 a.m.) when the “z’s” (snoring) were at
their greatest. The sentries were quickly and quietly dispatched by knife. There
was a shout when one of the sleeping VC awoke and started to shoot, which
awakened the ten to twelve VC who were controlling the camp. One could see the
tracer rounds of the machine guns were flying in both directions, and the smell
of cordite (gunpowder) laced the air, interspersed with the explosions of the
40-mm grenades. The battle was over in about ten minutes. The silence was eerie,
given the intensity of the firefight that had just concluded. Yes, even as a
physician, I fired my M16 into the area of the guards.


I was one of the first into the camp and was shocked to find the lovely
Vietnamese LPN who had abandoned our LASH unit some three weeks earlier. I was
somewhat dismayed at her sudden leaving since I’d thought a certain “chemistry”
had been developing between us.


I walked to her and asked, “Co Sanh, what are you doing here?”


Before she could answer me, she screamed, “Watch out!”


A shot rang out. I ducked, and I turned to see a VC falling. He had faked his
death and was about to set off a grenade when one of the MIKE Force troopers
checking the VC bodies shot him first. Co Sahn had saved my life!


It turned out that the C-Team intel had approached her about serving in the role
of a nurse spy, since she was originally from the Tay Ninh area. I begged her to
return to the LASH unit, but she was fearful for her life given the role she had
just played. So much for chemistry. Or maybe the sparks were only one-sided.


The prisoners were filthy and reeked of human urine, sweat, fear, and feces. The
stench was indescribable. If possible, the stench was far worse than our own
nuoc mam prepared bodies. The Americans held in the bamboo cages couldn’t stand
or walk without great pain. They had been imprisoned for weeks or months. Their
muscles had contracted and protested when challenged to walk again.


We had to move swiftly. The medic and I did a quick assessment and identified
those prisoners who were the most dehydrated. We started infusing the caged
prisoners with IV saline (Ringers lactate) laced with vitamins—particularly
B12—and amphetamines. We injected muscle relaxants (methocarbamol) and morphine
for those in extreme pain. Most of the caged prisoners, after medication,
rehydration, and stretching with quick massage were able to hobble with some
assistance. The litter patients had to be carried. We had two MIKE Force
troopers per litter and two assisting each caged prisoner to hobble.


Our attacking force sustained some MIKE Force casualties, including a gunshot-
fractured tibia and an abdominal wound. The gunshot wound of the tibia I treated
by sprinkling sulfa powder, dressing the wound, and then wrapping a fast-setting
plaster cast on the leg from toes to midthigh. Survival was predicated on
mobility. if you couldn’t move, you died. The definitive treatment would happen
once we got back to the base. But he had to be able to walk with minimal
assistance. With morphine, he was able to walk. Mobility was safety. Immobility,
a death sentence.


The MIKE Force gut-shot patient could not walk even with some assistance and a
heavy dose of morphine. We did not have enough men to carry him and have a
sufficient guard to prevent reattack by the VC. We spoke to him, including an
interpreter in case my Vietnamese was not understandable. He was single and had
no family. He was hurting so badly he opted for an extra heavy dose of morphine
left with him, his loaded carbine, and a couple of grenades to greet the VC when
they caught up to him. We thanked him for his service and moved out.


There were several walking wounded besides the fractured tibia, with gunshots
wounds to the shoulders and arms and a couple of glancing head wounds. These
were dressed with sulfa powder and pressure dressings to control the bleeding.
And we trudged on. We made it out of the camp in just under fifteen minutes with
all our American prisoners. There were no VC prisoners.


Our movement was to the East, which meant Vietnam and safety. About ten minutes
after leaving the camp, we heard a grenade explosion, which meant the Vietcong
reaction force had probably caught up to the gut-shot MIKE Force trooper who
we’d reluctantly had to leave behind.


The VC knew we had to move East and quickly countered with blind mortar attacks
in our general direction. Blind means they did not have a spotter or an observer
to direct the positioning of the mortar, predicated on how close to the target
the bomb hit. I can tell you that being the subject of a mortar attack is one of
the most helpless feelings in the world. Perhaps it’s not as bad as a rocket
attack or a B-52 bomber attack, but it’s bad enough. You don’t know where the
mortars are coming from or where they are hitting next. The fear evoked is
demoralizing.


Adjustment of the angle of the mortar tube can change the distance of the
attack. The direction of the attack can be changed by moving the mortar tube on
its base, back and forth from left to right. But you need an observer to direct
you to adjust the tube to hit your targets. Thank God, they were no observers,
so the VC were just guessing with their shots.


Mortars were exploding to our rear and to our left flank. The VC were actually
making a pretty good guess with the proximity of the mortar bombs. You could
smell the fear-induced sweat pouring off all of us during the mortar attacks.
The mortars were being fired off blindly in the general direction of west. The
mortar explosions were mainly in the general area, but several bombs landed
pretty close. I caught a bomb fragment on my nose. Thank the Lord it didn’t hit
my eyes. One of the MIKE Force troopers caught a fragment in his shoulder.
Again, that was treated with sulfa powder and ACE bandages to control the
bleeding.


With each mortar attack, we lay flat in the moist dirt and prepared for the
reaction force to attack us under the cover of the attack. Seemingly every
creepy-crawly bug that inhabited the jungle dirt all decided in concert to
relocate onto my body. I could feel them creeping onto my exposed skin and up my
legs and arms under my BDUs. Besides the sweat and the fear, I was being slowly
consumed by every bug in Vietnam! Then you had the dive-bombing mosquitoes. It
seemed that the DEET (mosquito repellant) we used only served to notify the
’squitoes where to find us, rather than repelling the little bastards.


In between the series of mortar rounds, we picked up our litters and walking
wounded and ran like hell. Now, there was no bothering with noise control. There
was a rattling of metal, but we were past worrying. It was still dark, which
multiplied the fear of the mortar rounds. It was about 5:30 a.m. when the rounds
started to explode again. We hit the dirt and hoped the VC would not catch up to
us. There were gunshots at a distance, but we were still worried about the
random lucky round hitting one of our people. Several of the MIKE Force troopers
set up grenade traps triggered by strings of nylon across the path we had
created. A little later, you could hear the grenades exploding in the distance
and the screams of the wounded VC. Hopefully, that would slow down the pursuit.


We dragged, carried, and cajoled the American prisoners to keep walk/running in
the shambling gait. I had to administer more morphine, amphetamine, and B12
several times before we were able to reach the medevac zone. We lost one of the
litter patients, but the other fourteen were safely airlifted out of this border
zone.


I received the prized Combat Medical Badge. I guess not being a lifer, it really
didn’t mean that much to me. What was more meaningful was the rescue we pulled
off, and the lives we saved.


MEET THE AUTHOR

Dr. Gene is the grandson of Ukrainian immigrants and even though he was born in
America, he didn't speak English until the 1st grade. His parents always
supported education as the path to success. He studied hard and was accepted to
the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine where he received both a bachelor's degree
and a M.D. in 5 years instead of the usual 8 years. He was accepted for surgical
internship and residency at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania where
he was drafted out of the 8th month of his first year of residency. He was
nearly booted out of his residency by re-operating on a dying patient before the
Thoracic Fellow was able to come back to the operating room.

Once drafted, the Army offered him a "dream sheet" of thirteen choices. they
denied every one of his 12 requests all revolving around surgery or geography.
When he asked what the Army's intent was, he was faced with assignment to a
general medical clinic for one year and then to be sent to Vietnam as a
battalion surgeon (cannon fodder). In desperation he asked was there any other
choice? He was told that there was Airborne Special Forces. He promptly
accepted.

After his Airborne and Special Forces Officer's training he arrived as the
medical officer for the C-team in Bien Hoa, Vietnam. He had inherited a
forty-bed convalescent center for the wounded mercenary troops working with the
Special Forces in the III Corp area. He convinced his commanding officer to
build a two-room operating suite. With the help of his senior sergeant, the LASH
(Little Army Surgical Hospital) was created.

The Rade Montagnards (mountain tribesmen) gave him a testimonial banquet and
made him "blood brother" of the Rade. Dr. Gene was presented with a tiger skin
that the chief of the tribe had personally killed with a spear roughly 15 years
earlier. Interestingly, after completing his residency while living in Miami,
Dr. Gene met a former CIA agent who also happened to be a blood brother of the
Rade's. That meant that he and the CIA agent were blood brothers to each other.


EUGENE M. EDYNAK M.D.

AUTHOR

Capt. Eugene M. Edynak, M.D., is a board-certified surgeon who, after being
drafted in the first year of his residency, built a little version of the
traditional M*A*S*H unit in Vietnam for the indigenous mercenary troops. At the
completion of his tour, he was one of the most decorated medical draftees
leaving Vietnam. He has been an academic surgeon for several universities.



GALLERY

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


SAMPLE PHOTOS

Here is a selection of sample photos from my time in the Army.

250 Foot Jump Tower
Airborne trainig was no fun but the jump tower separated the men from the boys.
Looking down to the plowed field below, there were several guys that were so
afraid of heights that they quit on the spot. No one from my squad quit. That
was neither Buckwheat nor the three SEALS
The Nutcracker
This was the training exercise where you wore the parachute harness including
the straps that crossed your groin (front to back). You either jumped or were
pushed from a 12 ft platform. You were stopped by the straps across the groin.
If the straps weren't exactly in the right place... Ouch BLUE BALLS!
The First Jump
As I remember, the first jump was from a C-119, the “Flying Boxcar"... The plane
moaned and groaned, shook, and shuddered from takeoff... You almost expected it
to flap its wings to try and get off of the ground. No one wanted to land in
this damnable plane so we all were happy to make that first jump
Army Payback Stinks
After flour bombing the training Lt. Colonel during Forward Air Control
exercise, the Army paid me back in the night jump by dropping me into a pigpen.
I was shunned by my squad for several nights there after. There was no water to
wash until I found an old hand pumped water pump at an area farm
Tet Celebration 1967
Tet was the Vietnamese New Year. There were parades with floats, marchers in
colorful dress, and men in regalia walking on stilts. The South Vietnamese Army
expended so much ammunition firing off its guns in celebration that we Americans
were fearful that VC could attack at anytime
Buddhist Monks in Tet Celebration
We were invited by the chief monk to join him in a special Tet celebration
banquet. The monks were colorful. Most of the food was delicious. I did ask our
interpreter to explain what the different foods were. I stopped at the minced
raw pork wrapped in the delicate rice crepe
Cow and Calf at the Side Door of the Province Hospital
The Province Hospital in Bien Hoa was over-run with both illnesses and wounded.
Inside the hospital because of overcrowding and the small stature of the
Vietnamese, you would commonly find two patients in the same bed lying head to
toe. By the side doors, you could find chickens, cows, and calves
The Little Crippled Girl
I found this poor ten year old girl begging in the marketplace. I had her
parents meet with the Chief of Orthopedics at the American 93rd Evacuation
Hospital. He explained that she would need multiple operations to walk upright.
The parents refused. They said, no money if she couldn't beg
Montagnard Bamboo Tiger Wall
The Rade mountain tribesman built the bamboo spear wall as a protection against
tiger and Viet Cong attacks. At the time of this photo, it was 10-15 years since
the chief of the tribe killed the last tiger with a spear. A tradition like the
Masai of Africa where the young men killed the lion with a spear
Cao Dai Temple
Inside the Cao Dai Temple in Tay Ninh province. The Cao Dai was the youngest
religion in South Vietnam. The interior of the temple was very ornate with
carved pythons wrapping around the colorful columns. Then there was the "All
Seeing Eye" that was the center piece near the back of the temple




>

"A remarkable story of a remarkable man who was both an elite US Special Forces
warrior and a physician. His story is one of humor, accomplishment and the
embodiment of the Special Forces Creed."

Allan F - Palm Beach, Fl

"From pg 1 what seemed to be an invitation to step into the unknown with Dr
Edynak when he was drafted. It’s more than a peak into the lives of those
drafted and in the special forces. A surgeon who survived to tell his story!"

Heather P - Brooklyn, NY

"The Dr is a masterful storyteller with the ability to make you feel layers of
emotions as you follow his journey as a hero wearing multiple hats. The
overlapping worlds of medicine and the military is an absolute treat."

James S - Jersey City, NJ

"Well I just finished reading Captain Doc's book. What else can I say but WOW!
When I was reading it, with the photos I could almost imagine being there. Thank
you for sharing and thank you for your service!"

Stephanie C.B. - Middletown, DE


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