Somewhere in the thick jungle near the Courtney rubber plantation, six Australian soldiers were about to make a critical mistake. They’d just been inserted into enemy territory, deep into Viet Cong country, a place the Americans called Indian territory because nobody came back the same. Captain Chris Roberts, commanding L troop of 3 Squadron SAS, watched his point man freeze.
Something was wrong. 10 m ahead, moving silently through the undergrowth, were approximately 40 North Vietnamese soldiers. They had no idea the Australians were there. Roberts had two choices: let them pass and hope they weren’t spotted, or engage a force that outnumbered his patrol nearly 7 to 1. But before he could decide, the North Vietnamese made the choice for him.
To understand what happened in that jungle, you need to understand who these men were. The Australian Special Air Service Regiment wasn’t like regular infantry. These were soldiers who volunteered for some of the most dangerous missions of the Vietnam War. Five or six-man patrols, no backup.
Deep behind enemy lines, their job wasn’t to fight, it was to watch, report, and disappear like ghosts. Between February 1969 and February 1970, 3 Squadron SASR operated out of Nui Dat under Major Reginald Beasley. They weren’t hunting for glory or body counts. Beasley made it clear. We were not there to kill people, but to gain information.
But there was one area where gaining that information meant playing a very dangerous game. The May Tao Mountains. This was Viet Cong headquarters territory, a vast jungle stronghold outside the range of Australian artillery at Nui Dat. The enemy operated freely here. They had bunker systems, supply routes, regiment sized bases, and the SAS, they had to walk right into it.
A typical patrol meant 7 days in the jungle. 7 days of near silence, 7 days where one broken twig could get you killed. They carried L1A1 SLR rifles, some converted to full automatic, M-16s with XM148 grenade launchers for the forward scouts, claymore mines, minimal gear, maximum lethality. The statistics tell you everything you need to know about how good they were.
One Australian KIA against nearly 500 enemy casualties. Those aren’t combat numbers. Those are hunter numbers. In late 1969, Captain Chris Roberts took his L troop patrol into the area near the Courtney rubber plantation. This was the borderland between Phuoc Tuy province and Long Khanh province. The Courtney rubber was a key infiltration route.
Viet Cong used it to move between their bases in the May Taos and their operational areas closer to Australian positions. Roberts had six men, a scout, himself as patrol commander, a signaler, a medic, his second in command, an ex-British paratrooper named Gary Doll, one additional trooper, six men against whatever they found.
The insertion went smoothly. A 9 Squadron RAAF Iroquois dropped them into a clearing. A second drone helicopter providing cover noise to mask the actual insertion point. Standard operating procedure. Make the enemy think you landed somewhere you didn’t. They moved off the LZ slowly, every step calculated. In thick jungle like this, you could walk within 5 m of someone and never see them.
Which is exactly what happened. Roberts’ point man stopped. The patrol froze. Moving through the jungle ahead, about 10 m away, a large group of North Vietnamese Army soldiers. >> >> In his oral history, Roberts described the moment clearly. About 40 North Vietnamese went past about 10 m in front of us. 40 soldiers.
That’s a reinforced platoon moving in organized formation, armed with AK-47s, RPD machine guns, RPG launchers. The Australians had the advantage of surprise, but they were outnumbered nearly 7 to 1. Roberts made the call, let them pass. Don’t engage unless absolutely necessary. But then something changed.
The North Vietnamese hadn’t spotted the SAS patrol, but they’d spotted something else. Sign of movement. Recent tracks. Someone had been here. And in the jungle, that meant only one thing. Prey. The North Vietnamese began executing a counter ambush drill. Roberts watched it unfold. Coming down the slope is a large number of North Vietnamese tracking us.
My sig thought there were about a 100. I thought they’re probably about 60. Whether 60 or 100, the math was terrible. >> was We were given the latest intelligence that they had on the particular grid squares. We worked in an area of nine grid squares, 1 km, 1,000 m um square. So, we had nine of those, three across, three down.
Nothing else was to come in, no other patrols, no other No one else was in there except us. And we had, as I said, a river or a creek line or something like that to look at or suspected uh encampment or a track or those sorts of things that that they wanted us to watch because they were getting getting word of of of of a build-up because we were building up we were we were getting word that there was a build-up by the North Vietnamese and they were getting stronger and they were taking more people into the Viet into
the Viet Cong the the militia, if you like. And we knew that because there was less of blokes in the villages when you went through and those sorts of things. And sometimes they’d work at home during the day, they’d go home and work the field and then go out at night and they’d do their their Viet Cong raid or whatever it was and then go back and live at home for a couple of three days and then go back in the bush again.
That’s just what they were doing. >> [snorts] >> Um And so, therefore, just yeah, it was a variety of tasks, a variety of tasks. >> The North Vietnamese were using textbook tactics, moving to surround the area where they suspected the Australians were hiding, creating a perimeter, tightening it. Roberts had seconds to decide, break contact now or get completely surrounded.
The patrol began their extraction drill, moving slowly, quietly, trying to slip through the closing net. But in the jungle, silence only lasts until someone makes a mistake. And then all hell broke loose. The North Vietnamese opened up first, AK-47 fire tearing through the vegetation, RPG rounds exploding against trees. Roberts described what happened next.
The best counter ambush drill I’ve ever seen. But the Australians had trained for exactly this moment. Gary said to me afterwards, “Well, I only shot the first two.” That was Gary Doll, the ex-British paratrooper. In the opening seconds of contact, he’d already dropped two enemy soldiers. >> >> This wasn’t panic fire.
This was controlled aggression. Volume of fire designed to make the enemy think they’d walked into a much larger force. The SAS used a technique called marching fire. Continuous shooting while moving, creating a wall of bullets between you and the enemy. Roberts coordinated the breakout. The signaler was already calling for extraction.
The patrol moved as a unit, covering fire, bounding backward, professional. And then they heard the most beautiful sound in the world. Nine Squadron RAAF, the Bushranger gunships. Twin M60 machine guns on each side, pouring suppressive fire into the jungle below. The North Vietnamese response began to falter.
Nobody wants to stay in a firefight when gunships arrive. Roberts’ patrol hit the emergency extraction point. The helicopter came in low. Ropes down. This was called a hot extraction. Helicopter doesn’t land. Soldiers clip onto ropes and get lifted out while still under fire. One by one, the six Australians clipped on, and they were out.
All six Australians came out alive. No casualties, not one. The North Vietnamese they’d walked into a patrol they thought they could overwhelm. Instead, they’d lost multiple soldiers and let their target escape. This engagement represents something important about how the Australian SAS operated in Vietnam.
They weren’t there to hold ground. They weren’t there for body counts. >> >> They were there to be ghosts, to see without being seen, and when compromised, to fight their way out. Robert’s firefight was just one of hundreds of contacts, but it shows the pattern. Under Major Beesley’s command, 3 Squadron perfected the art of deep reconnaissance.
They gathered the intelligence that made operations like the December 1969 May Tao clearance possible. When 6 Battalion Royal Australian Regiment and the New Zealand company went into the May Taos that December, they knew exactly where the enemy was because SAS patrols like Robert’s had been walking those trails for months.
The 1969 tour produced extraordinary acts of courage. Two Distinguished Conduct Medals were awarded to 3 Squadron soldiers that year. Sergeant Fred Roberts and Sergeant J.M. Robinson. The DCM was the second highest award for other ranks. Only two were given to Australian SAS soldiers during the entire Vietnam War, both in 1969.
The cost of this kind of warfare, the Fisher patrol tragedy on September 27th, 1969. Five men, enemy contact, hot extraction. Private David Fisher fell 30 m from the helicopter rope and was never recovered. >> >> His remains weren’t found until 2008, but the broader statistics tell the story. >> >> 1,200 patrols, 492 enemy casualties, one Australian SAS soldier killed in action during the entire war.
That’s not combat. That’s mastery. The story of Roberts patrol near Courtney rubber isn’t famous. There’s no Hollywood movie, no dramatic retelling on primetime television because that’s not how the SAS operates. They don’t make noise. They disappear. But somewhere in the thick vegetation near that old rubber plantation, there are trees that still have bullets in them.
>> >> Evidence of a fight that lasted minutes but defined what elite warfare looks like. When a Viet Cong platoon tried to ambush Chris Roberts patrol that day in 1969, they learned what every enemy of the SAS eventually learns. You can’t hunt ghosts. The Australian SAS conducted nearly 1,200 patrols during the Vietnam War >> >> and every one of them has a story worth telling.
If you want to learn more about the forgotten battles of Vietnam, hit that subscribe button. We’re diving deep into the operations that changed modern warfare. Next week, we’re covering Operation Sterling. December 15th, 1969. The only operational parachute jump by Australian forces in Vietnam. You won’t want to miss it. Thanks for watching.
Remember these stories. Honor these men.
In 1969, A Vietnamese Platoon Tried To Ambush 5 Australian SAS
>> Somewhere in the thick jungle near the Courtney rubber plantation, six Australian soldiers were about to make a critical mistake. They’d just been inserted into enemy territory, deep into Viet Cong country, a place the Americans called Indian territory because nobody came back the same. Captain Chris Roberts, commanding L troop of 3 Squadron SAS, watched his point man freeze.
Something was wrong. 10 m ahead, moving silently through the undergrowth, were approximately 40 North Vietnamese soldiers. They had no idea the Australians were there. Roberts had two choices: let them pass and hope they weren’t spotted, or engage a force that outnumbered his patrol nearly 7 to 1. But before he could decide, the North Vietnamese made the choice for him.
To understand what happened in that jungle, you need to understand who these men were. The Australian Special Air Service Regiment wasn’t like regular infantry. These were soldiers who volunteered for some of the most dangerous missions of the Vietnam War. Five or six-man patrols, no backup.
Deep behind enemy lines, their job wasn’t to fight, it was to watch, report, and disappear like ghosts. Between February 1969 and February 1970, 3 Squadron SASR operated out of Nui Dat under Major Reginald Beasley. They weren’t hunting for glory or body counts. Beasley made it clear. We were not there to kill people, but to gain information.
But there was one area where gaining that information meant playing a very dangerous game. The May Tao Mountains. This was Viet Cong headquarters territory, a vast jungle stronghold outside the range of Australian artillery at Nui Dat. The enemy operated freely here. They had bunker systems, supply routes, regiment sized bases, and the SAS, they had to walk right into it.
A typical patrol meant 7 days in the jungle. 7 days of near silence, 7 days where one broken twig could get you killed. They carried L1A1 SLR rifles, some converted to full automatic, M-16s with XM148 grenade launchers for the forward scouts, claymore mines, minimal gear, maximum lethality. The statistics tell you everything you need to know about how good they were.
One Australian KIA against nearly 500 enemy casualties. Those aren’t combat numbers. Those are hunter numbers. In late 1969, Captain Chris Roberts took his L troop patrol into the area near the Courtney rubber plantation. This was the borderland between Phuoc Tuy province and Long Khanh province. The Courtney rubber was a key infiltration route.
Viet Cong used it to move between their bases in the May Taos and their operational areas closer to Australian positions. Roberts had six men, a scout, himself as patrol commander, a signaler, a medic, his second in command, an ex-British paratrooper named Gary Doll, one additional trooper, six men against whatever they found.
The insertion went smoothly. A 9 Squadron RAAF Iroquois dropped them into a clearing. A second drone helicopter providing cover noise to mask the actual insertion point. Standard operating procedure. Make the enemy think you landed somewhere you didn’t. They moved off the LZ slowly, every step calculated. In thick jungle like this, you could walk within 5 m of someone and never see them.
Which is exactly what happened. Roberts’ point man stopped. The patrol froze. Moving through the jungle ahead, about 10 m away, a large group of North Vietnamese Army soldiers. >> >> In his oral history, Roberts described the moment clearly. About 40 North Vietnamese went past about 10 m in front of us. 40 soldiers.
That’s a reinforced platoon moving in organized formation, armed with AK-47s, RPD machine guns, RPG launchers. The Australians had the advantage of surprise, but they were outnumbered nearly 7 to 1. Roberts made the call, let them pass. Don’t engage unless absolutely necessary. But then something changed.
The North Vietnamese hadn’t spotted the SAS patrol, but they’d spotted something else. Sign of movement. Recent tracks. Someone had been here. And in the jungle, that meant only one thing. Prey. The North Vietnamese began executing a counter ambush drill. Roberts watched it unfold. Coming down the slope is a large number of North Vietnamese tracking us.
My sig thought there were about a 100. I thought they’re probably about 60. Whether 60 or 100, the math was terrible. >> was We were given the latest intelligence that they had on the particular grid squares. We worked in an area of nine grid squares, 1 km, 1,000 m um square. So, we had nine of those, three across, three down.
Nothing else was to come in, no other patrols, no other No one else was in there except us. And we had, as I said, a river or a creek line or something like that to look at or suspected uh encampment or a track or those sorts of things that that they wanted us to watch because they were getting getting word of of of of a build-up because we were building up we were we were getting word that there was a build-up by the North Vietnamese and they were getting stronger and they were taking more people into the Viet into
the Viet Cong the the militia, if you like. And we knew that because there was less of blokes in the villages when you went through and those sorts of things. And sometimes they’d work at home during the day, they’d go home and work the field and then go out at night and they’d do their their Viet Cong raid or whatever it was and then go back and live at home for a couple of three days and then go back in the bush again.
That’s just what they were doing. >> [snorts] >> Um And so, therefore, just yeah, it was a variety of tasks, a variety of tasks. >> The North Vietnamese were using textbook tactics, moving to surround the area where they suspected the Australians were hiding, creating a perimeter, tightening it. Roberts had seconds to decide, break contact now or get completely surrounded.
The patrol began their extraction drill, moving slowly, quietly, trying to slip through the closing net. But in the jungle, silence only lasts until someone makes a mistake. And then all hell broke loose. The North Vietnamese opened up first, AK-47 fire tearing through the vegetation, RPG rounds exploding against trees. Roberts described what happened next.
The best counter ambush drill I’ve ever seen. But the Australians had trained for exactly this moment. Gary said to me afterwards, “Well, I only shot the first two.” That was Gary Doll, the ex-British paratrooper. In the opening seconds of contact, he’d already dropped two enemy soldiers. >> >> This wasn’t panic fire.
This was controlled aggression. Volume of fire designed to make the enemy think they’d walked into a much larger force. The SAS used a technique called marching fire. Continuous shooting while moving, creating a wall of bullets between you and the enemy. Roberts coordinated the breakout. The signaler was already calling for extraction.
The patrol moved as a unit, covering fire, bounding backward, professional. And then they heard the most beautiful sound in the world. Nine Squadron RAAF, the Bushranger gunships. Twin M60 machine guns on each side, pouring suppressive fire into the jungle below. The North Vietnamese response began to falter.
Nobody wants to stay in a firefight when gunships arrive. Roberts’ patrol hit the emergency extraction point. The helicopter came in low. Ropes down. This was called a hot extraction. Helicopter doesn’t land. Soldiers clip onto ropes and get lifted out while still under fire. One by one, the six Australians clipped on, and they were out.
All six Australians came out alive. No casualties, not one. The North Vietnamese they’d walked into a patrol they thought they could overwhelm. Instead, they’d lost multiple soldiers and let their target escape. This engagement represents something important about how the Australian SAS operated in Vietnam.
They weren’t there to hold ground. They weren’t there for body counts. >> >> They were there to be ghosts, to see without being seen, and when compromised, to fight their way out. Robert’s firefight was just one of hundreds of contacts, but it shows the pattern. Under Major Beesley’s command, 3 Squadron perfected the art of deep reconnaissance.
They gathered the intelligence that made operations like the December 1969 May Tao clearance possible. When 6 Battalion Royal Australian Regiment and the New Zealand company went into the May Taos that December, they knew exactly where the enemy was because SAS patrols like Robert’s had been walking those trails for months.
The 1969 tour produced extraordinary acts of courage. Two Distinguished Conduct Medals were awarded to 3 Squadron soldiers that year. Sergeant Fred Roberts and Sergeant J.M. Robinson. The DCM was the second highest award for other ranks. Only two were given to Australian SAS soldiers during the entire Vietnam War, both in 1969.
The cost of this kind of warfare, the Fisher patrol tragedy on September 27th, 1969. Five men, enemy contact, hot extraction. Private David Fisher fell 30 m from the helicopter rope and was never recovered. >> >> His remains weren’t found until 2008, but the broader statistics tell the story. >> >> 1,200 patrols, 492 enemy casualties, one Australian SAS soldier killed in action during the entire war.
That’s not combat. That’s mastery. The story of Roberts patrol near Courtney rubber isn’t famous. There’s no Hollywood movie, no dramatic retelling on primetime television because that’s not how the SAS operates. They don’t make noise. They disappear. But somewhere in the thick vegetation near that old rubber plantation, there are trees that still have bullets in them.
>> >> Evidence of a fight that lasted minutes but defined what elite warfare looks like. When a Viet Cong platoon tried to ambush Chris Roberts patrol that day in 1969, they learned what every enemy of the SAS eventually learns. You can’t hunt ghosts. The Australian SAS conducted nearly 1,200 patrols during the Vietnam War >> >> and every one of them has a story worth telling.
If you want to learn more about the forgotten battles of Vietnam, hit that subscribe button. We’re diving deep into the operations that changed modern warfare. Next week, we’re covering Operation Sterling. December 15th, 1969. The only operational parachute jump by Australian forces in Vietnam. You won’t want to miss it. Thanks for watching.
Remember these stories. Honor these men.
