Download PDF of this full issue: v55n2.pdf (41.4 MB)

The Kit Carson Scout

By Richard Fleming

He was one of us, and yet he wasn't. He was no more than a kid…but so were we. I never knew his real name. We simply called him "Kit."

In 1968, First Force Recon was based a few miles outside of Da Nang. Our teams were running combat patrols and clandestine operations all along the Laotian border.

I was on guard duty one afternoon when a shiny red motorcycle roared down our road and skidded to a stop in front of my post. A skinny Vietnamese kid wearing a new set of camouflaged utilities stepped off the bike and handed me his paperwork. At first, I thought that he was an RVN soldier, but his orders stated that he would be joining our company as a "Kit Carson Scout."

This was a new Marine Corps program that offered money and other perks to Viet Cong and NVA soldiers willing to defect to the American side and fight against their former comrades. They were named after the famous frontiersman Kit Carson. The South Vietnamese called them "Hồi Chánh", a term loosely translated as "members who have returned to the righteous side." I can only imagine what their former comrades called them.

In 1967, General Westmoreland decreed that all infantry units in Vietnam use Kit Carson Scouts in some capacity. Indigenous scouts have long been utilized in warfare. If an army can persuade someone who knows the terrain, language, and customs of the land to collaborate with them, the results can be decisive. Westmorland's program certainly made good copy for our in-country rag, The Stars and Stripes. Despite the bribery money, however, there were few takers. The casualty rate of Kit Carson Scouts was extremely high, and most communist soldiers apparently preferred to remain true to their cause.

Kit was assigned to our third platoon as their "point man", the most dangerous position on the team. The point man would be the first to walk into an ambush or trigger a booby trap. After he had gone out on a few missions, I asked my buddy in the 3rd platoon about how Kit had handled himself in the bush.

"He did OK…" he answered grudgingly, "but how can we trust a traitor? He might lead us into an ambush!" The Marine next to him shook his head and added: "I kept one eye out for Charlie and the other on him."

I couldn't imagine Kit intentionally leading his team into an ambush. He would have been the first to die, either shot by the enemy or by the Marines he was leading. If captured by the NVA and they found he was a deserter, he would have been executed on the spot. What a position to be in!

I was thankful that Kit had not been assigned to my team. I didn't see how he could help us. Unlike many infantry units in Vietnam, we had limited contact with the local population. We didn't need anyone able to speak Vietnamese. If we captured a prisoner, they were quickly extracted and interrogated in the rear. Our missions were run so far out in the mountains that any knowledge Kit might have had of local terrain would have been useless. We had our maps and always knew where we were. There were also more troubling issues. In Force Recon, we were trained to work together as a unit. Bringing in someone who had not gone through our training, whose loyalty was suspect, and whose English was limited didn't seem like a good idea to me—but of course, no one asked me for my opinion.

Unlike the rest of us, Kit was able to leave the compound whenever he wished, and this also created some tension among the other men. Kit Carson Scouts were given the nominal rank of staff sergeant and were exempt from formations, PT, and work parties. Kit would arrive on his motorbike the night before a mission and join his team when they went out the following day. He spent the rest of his time at the Vietnamese village a few miles down the road from our compound. The other men couldn't help but resent these privileges.

I had always been interested in languages and offered to pay Kit a few bucks if he would teach me some Vietnamese. He agreed but asked in return that I teach him English. We met every week or so for a few hours, and he seemed to enjoy being with me. I can't say that we ever became friends, but I was probably the closest person to a friend that he had in the company.

I never asked Kit about whether he had been an NVA soldier or a member of the Viet Cong, but after we had gotten to know each other better, I did ask him why he had decided to switch sides. I was expecting him to say something like he believed in democracy or hated communism, but he answered simply:

"I think Americans win."

That certainly sounded like a reasonable answer. In 1968, America had over half a million men in the country, and we were inflicting enormous casualties on the enemy. At the time, it certainly did seem like we were winning the war. From what he said, Kit had calculated his odds of survival and decided that he stood a better chance with the Americans—but then he added:

"And I wanted a motorcycle."

Now the truth came out! That second answer explained everything. Of course, he wanted a motorcycle, a shiny red one with plenty of chrome. He probably immediately took the money the Marine Corps gave him for deserting and went out to buy himself the fanciest Yamaha he could find.

At his age, few young men have a brain in their heads—I know I certainly didn't. Their thoughts are driven by hormones and other forces completely beyond their control. Kit had no idea what he was getting into—he just wanted his motorcycle.

Perhaps in time, Kit could have earned the trust of the other men, but after only a few months, he was transferred to a Grunt unit, and I lost track of him. The men in the 3d platoon had never really accepted him as a member of their team and weren't sad to see him go, but I was. I felt sorry for him, and I missed our language lessons.

Perhaps America could have done more to mitigate the war's atrocities, but our leaders preferred to put the whole dreary business of Vietnam behind them. This pattern continued decades later when Afghanistan fell, and the people who supported the US were left to the mercy of the Taliban. If America continues abandoning those who assisted us in the past, it is unlikely that we will find anyone willing to support us in the future.

War brutalizes everyone, the victors and the vanquished. It brings to the surface our worst tendencies. Perhaps that is why we seem to relish it so much. War throws aside civilization's rules and legitimizes actions that are reviled in normal life. The desire to inflict pain and the thirst for revenge seem to be ingrained in our very nature. We seem to be unwilling to show mercy even to those whom we have thoroughly conquered. It is always the victor who decides who is the hero and who the collaborator.

If I were able to speak to Kit today and ask him again about his decision to join the Americans, he would probably answer. "I chose the wrong side."

Richard Fleming served as a recon scout with 1st Force Recon Co. from 1968-1969. He wrote about his experiences in "Chasing Charlie - A Force Recon Marine in Vietnam."