Montana Plains replay Vietnam memories: confidence and competence were the sterling characteristics that shone through when four severely disabled Vietnam veterans participated in VFW's annual antelope hunt. This year marked the 20th time VFW has sponsored the outing

VFW Magazine, Jan, 2003 by Jack Ballard

Confidence. Competence. Twin characteristics that successful in both military and civilian life. Ask the American to identify individuals who most exemplify these character traits, and you'll likely hear the typical review of personalities from the world of sports and entertainment.

Launch the same question in the direction of Roger Greenwood, hunting guide and retired brigadier general, and you might be surprised by the answer.

Each October, he scours the sagebrush and scoria of eastern Montana, assisting disabled Vietnam veterans who, thanks to the generosity of Doonan Gulch Outfitters and VFW, have come to hunt antelope under the Big Sky.

It's those veterans, not the celebrities of pop culture, who claim top billing on Greenwood's list of confident and competent citizens.

`I Can Still See My Limbs'

And why not? With men like Ray Utley as models, there's little need to look elsewhere. By the time he landed in Vietnam in 1966, Utley was already a seasoned soldier, having served in the 101st Airborne Division for more than a decade.

By his own admission, Utley feels his first Vietnam tour was the most dangerous even though his wounds came later.

Nov. 5, 1966, found Utley's platoon securing a new artillery position. Night fell quickly, eerily. Noise and light created by the artillery installation made him doubly nervous. It seemed as if the operation was "just asking for trouble."

At 5 a.m. they hit. No. rag-tag band of Viet Cong, the assaulting force involved two companies of "hardcore" North Vietnamese soldiers. Utley's B Co., 1st Bn., 327th Inf., sustained heavy casualties, including the platoon leader.

Utley assumed command, orchestrating defensive and reactionary measures. He personally eliminated a machine gunner who was devastating his forces. At the end of the engagement, just seven of his 50 men were walking.

For his heroics, Utley received the Bronze Star for valor. In August of 2001, the medal was re-awarded as the Silver Star, the nation's third-highest decoration for valor.

But battle honors are no insurance against subquent injury, as Utley dis-covered during his second `Nam tour in the Chu Lai region, In January 1969, Utley's platoon of A Co., 5th Bn, 46th Inf., 198th Inf. Bde., was hit by a booby-trapped 105mm artillery shell, "I can still see my legs, my boots, going by my head," recalls. Hitting the ground, Utley glimpsed intestines protruding from his body.

Miraculously, he survived the airlift to the USS Sanctuary, a hospital ship in the South China Sea. Nearly two years of medical treatment were required before he was released from the VA hospital in Durham, N.C. Utley credits his survival to the VA physicians in Durham.

Can a double amputee make good on his expert rifle citation some four decades after its issuance? A competent, confident man can. Before sunset on the hunt's opening day, Utley downed a trophy antelope with a single shot at 300 yards. Mighty good from a wheelchair. Doubly good for a 71-year-old who modestly states,"I don't generally tell people my age."

Lifeline for Others

But Utley wasn't the only vet who dropped an exceptional animal with an outstanding shot. Enter James Mason. Just hours into the hunt, his guide spoting a small herd of pronghorn, including an impressive buck whose massive black horns loomed large against the faded face of the prairie.

However, the terrain favored the antelope. "Geez" muttered John Smith, a local rancher on whose land the vets were hunting, "I'm not sure we can get within range."

Range, though, is a relative term for seasoned marksmen. Minutes later, Smith and Greenwood were wrestling a wheelchair up the rough side of a hill. "There he is," Greenwood coached from the top of the rise. "Shoot when you're ready."

Strong, maimed fingers cradled the .270 Remington as Mason's squinting blue eye found its target in the scope. At the shot, the herd bolted, leaving behind the beautiful buck and three adult men, smiling and shouting like exuberant schoolchildren.

That night in the lodge, another hunter asked Mason if he had any doubts about making such a difficult shot. "No," replied Mason, a slow grin spreading over his face. "I thought I could hit him."

Such confidence is exactly what you'd expect from a man whose "I think I can" attitude conquered debilitating injury. On June 28, 1969, Mason triggered a mine while patrolling near his base camp in Cu Chi. "Next thing I know, I was sitting fiat" he remembers, "with a big chunk of shrapnel in my throat."

By the time his comrades from A Co., 1st Bn., 27th Regt., 25th Inf. Div., loaded him onto a poncho and finished tending his wounds, the medivac chopper landed. It quickly returned aloft. "I happened to see the co-pilot glance at me. He got a funny look on his face and shook his head `no' at the pilot."

Mason passed out during x-rays at the field hospital. On July 2, his birthday, he woke up in the hospital at Camp Drake, Japan. Doctors had already amputated one leg. After sipping some juice and nibbling at cake to celebrate his birthday, Mason was whisked away to surgery for removal of his remaining leg. Gangrene had taken its toll.