bobdina
09-20-2009, 01:54 PM
Viet War Vet Tells Tale of Capture
September 19, 2009
El Paso Times
By the summer of 1965, Ike Camacho had survived 19 months in a North Vietnamese prisoner of war camp. Distant thunder from a monsoon signaled his opportunity to escape.
Camacho, a U.S. Special Forces soldier from El Paso, had worked loose a peg holding one end of a bar in the wood cage where he was held. That bar, as big around as a man's calf, hinged on a squeaking peg on the other side. Camacho needed the thunder to cover his escape.
His captors had shackled him each night. But on July 8, with three new prisoners in camp, Camacho had been spared the leg restraints. As the storm hit, he pulled up the bar and he was gone.
Camacho, a 1955 graduate of Jefferson High School, spoke Friday at Fort Bliss' National POW/MIA Recognition Day ceremony. He told of his captivity during a brief talk and in an interview after the ceremony.
A weapons specialist, he was captured in 1963. Camacho was part of a small Special Forces contingent training South Vietnamese soldiers in marksmanship and small-unit tactics.
One day, when most of the South Vietnamese soldiers were on a mission, a regiment of North Vietnamese soldiers attacked the camp and overran it. About 35 soldiers, Americans and South Vietnamese, were killed in the attack, he said. After helping some soldiers escape, he returned to the camp and took cover in a mortar pit. It was there that he was taken prisoner.
Torture, forced labor and fear followed.
"You're living a life of emptiness," Camacho said.
"They told us, 'You are not a soldier anymore. You belong to us now.' "
But Camacho decided he would be free again, and planned his escape.
After making his break, he climbed trees at night, bracing himself so he could get short periods of sleep. "At night you can hear for miles and miles and miles," Camacho said. He found a piece of wood he planned to use as a club.
On the fourth day, he came across a camp and as he scouted its perimeter, he noticed a small single-engine plane landing. It had "U.S." painted on the fuselage. Once he got inside the gates, the Vietnamese told him he did not look like an American. A fellow Special Forces soldier walking past had to identify him.
When Camacho was debriefed, one thing in particular interested U.S. intelligence officers.
"I learned that they (North Vietnamese) had tanks," Camacho said. "You could hear the clanking of the tracks."
Because of that information, camps in the area were equipped with rocket launchers. That same year, the North Vietnamese mounted their first tank attack on a Special Forces camp near the Laotian border. "We knocked out three tanks," Camacho said.
Listening to Camacho's story was Shoshana Johnson, a Fort Bliss soldier taken prisoner in 2003 when her company was ambushed during the invasion of Iraq. She was held for 22 days before Marines knocked down the door of the house where she and others were being held.
"To hear him talk about his experience, it really reinforces how lucky I am," Johnson said. "Three weeks was long enough."
The experience can be almost as hard for family members.
"It's gut-wrenching, not knowing what's going on," said Eunice Johnson, Shoshana's mother. "You don't know what's happening to them. You think, 'I just wish I could take their place.' "
September 19, 2009
El Paso Times
By the summer of 1965, Ike Camacho had survived 19 months in a North Vietnamese prisoner of war camp. Distant thunder from a monsoon signaled his opportunity to escape.
Camacho, a U.S. Special Forces soldier from El Paso, had worked loose a peg holding one end of a bar in the wood cage where he was held. That bar, as big around as a man's calf, hinged on a squeaking peg on the other side. Camacho needed the thunder to cover his escape.
His captors had shackled him each night. But on July 8, with three new prisoners in camp, Camacho had been spared the leg restraints. As the storm hit, he pulled up the bar and he was gone.
Camacho, a 1955 graduate of Jefferson High School, spoke Friday at Fort Bliss' National POW/MIA Recognition Day ceremony. He told of his captivity during a brief talk and in an interview after the ceremony.
A weapons specialist, he was captured in 1963. Camacho was part of a small Special Forces contingent training South Vietnamese soldiers in marksmanship and small-unit tactics.
One day, when most of the South Vietnamese soldiers were on a mission, a regiment of North Vietnamese soldiers attacked the camp and overran it. About 35 soldiers, Americans and South Vietnamese, were killed in the attack, he said. After helping some soldiers escape, he returned to the camp and took cover in a mortar pit. It was there that he was taken prisoner.
Torture, forced labor and fear followed.
"You're living a life of emptiness," Camacho said.
"They told us, 'You are not a soldier anymore. You belong to us now.' "
But Camacho decided he would be free again, and planned his escape.
After making his break, he climbed trees at night, bracing himself so he could get short periods of sleep. "At night you can hear for miles and miles and miles," Camacho said. He found a piece of wood he planned to use as a club.
On the fourth day, he came across a camp and as he scouted its perimeter, he noticed a small single-engine plane landing. It had "U.S." painted on the fuselage. Once he got inside the gates, the Vietnamese told him he did not look like an American. A fellow Special Forces soldier walking past had to identify him.
When Camacho was debriefed, one thing in particular interested U.S. intelligence officers.
"I learned that they (North Vietnamese) had tanks," Camacho said. "You could hear the clanking of the tracks."
Because of that information, camps in the area were equipped with rocket launchers. That same year, the North Vietnamese mounted their first tank attack on a Special Forces camp near the Laotian border. "We knocked out three tanks," Camacho said.
Listening to Camacho's story was Shoshana Johnson, a Fort Bliss soldier taken prisoner in 2003 when her company was ambushed during the invasion of Iraq. She was held for 22 days before Marines knocked down the door of the house where she and others were being held.
"To hear him talk about his experience, it really reinforces how lucky I am," Johnson said. "Three weeks was long enough."
The experience can be almost as hard for family members.
"It's gut-wrenching, not knowing what's going on," said Eunice Johnson, Shoshana's mother. "You don't know what's happening to them. You think, 'I just wish I could take their place.' "