Finding Private Halley

This Memorial Day, Dennis Berg will quietly honor "the best friend I will ever have" -- a man Berg never met, but whose ultimate act of heroism haunted Berg for four decades.

On a sunny morning in November 1966, while traveling by convoy on a road that split the jungle near the village of Xuan Loc in southeastern South Vietnam, Pfc. Russell Louis Halley sacrificed his life to save Sgt. Dennis Berg's.

It would take 27 years for Berg to learn who had saved him. And it was not until two years ago, by telling Halley's hometown of Waterloo, Iowa, at a Memorial Day ceremony of Halley's heroism that Berg finally came to terms with the happenstance of combat by which his life had been saved and another's lost.

Berg now wants the world to know about Russ Halley, his mirror image in many ways, who made Berg's life since Nov. 21, 1966, possible.

Berg, now 62 and chairman of the Anoka County Board, and Halley were small-town kids from the Midwest who married their high school sweethearts the same month, August 1966, after receiving their draft notices.

Berg had known Darlene Otteson since they were toddlers in Starbuck, in western Minnesota. She lived on the farm next door.

Berg was going to business college in Fargo, N.D., when he was drafted. Halley was planning to become a meat cutter.

"Neither did we," said Darlene Berg.

Berg and Halley arrived in Vietnam in September 1966 -- Halley on his 20th birthday. He was with the 11th Armored Calvary, the Blackhorse Regiment. Berg was a convoy driver with the 87th Transportation Company.

Halley and his team arrived in Long Binh, Berg's base camp, late on the night of Nov. 20, Berg recalled. A vintage photograph shows Berg wearing a flak jacket, armed with grenades, a .45-caliber pistol and a grenade launcher.

But no amount of firepower could have prepared him for what would happen the next morning, the memories of which prompt Berg to say, "If you don't believe in miracles, live through something like that."

A deadly ambush

The first 45 minutes were quiet.

Berg remembers listening to the birds that morning. Until he was fitted with computerized hearing aids, it would be the last time he would hear birds sing for 39 years.

The enemy was the Fifth Viet Cong Division, 274th Regiment -- with more than 1,000 troops on the south side of the road and riflemen in the trees on the north side.

Suddenly, the world exploded in gunfire. Berg watched in horror as one truck erupted in flames. Bullets pelted the vehicles like hail.

A bullet grazed Berg's left cheek -- "like a bee sting," he recalled -- and robbed him of his hearing. Berg and Nighswander bailed out of their truck and scurried to the north ditch as other trucks exploded.

But the enemy was in the ditches, too.

Exposed to the enemy

Russ Halley knew that. His unit drove past the burning trucks and stopped in front of Berg's. Halley spotted a Viet Cong gunner with a clear shot at Berg.

Halley stood up, leaving his protective cover, and shot the enemy, exposing himself.

The heaviest fighting was over in 15 minutes. Halley had been shot multiple times -- 19, Berg was told. He died that night -- one of five Blackhorse cavalrymen to lose their lives in the battle, along with two truck drivers. Eight other soldiers were wounded.

Berg wrote about the battle in letters to his brother, Gary. His letters to Darlene were different.

"He never mentioned any of it," she said. "But over the years, bits and pieces came out. And he began to mention having nightmares."

Said Berg: "I was haunted by what this brave man had done. I had to find out who it was that sacrificed his life for mine."

Stewing inside

Berg returned to Minnesota in October 1967. He went to work, started a family -- the things Russ Halley never would do.

When the 1986 Freedom of Information Act declassified Vietnam records, everything changed. Without telling his wife, Berg began poring over documents, calling military officials and veterans -- searching for clues to the identity of the soldier who had saved his life. He narrowed his search first to 100 names. Seven years later, the list was down to four.

Halley's widow, Marilyn Halley-Tarr, was living in Monroe, La. She'd remarried and later divorced. Russ remained her true love. She knew nothing about the circumstances of his death. In fact, after many years, she had contacted government officials and had his body exhumed -- to see if it was really Russ in the casket.

In 1993, Berg met somebody who had Keltner's phone number.

He told his former commander that he had narrowed his list to four names. Everything clicked when Keltner heard the name Russell Halley.

Reaching out to the widow

"I hope this letter will be well received as I know it brings back painful memories. My name is Dennis Berg. ... I'm not sure how much information you have about the ambush. If you desire, I would be happy to share what I remember."

Halley-Tarr was stunned. She, too, had been searching for clues, contacting veterans. She and Berg met with Keltner in San Antonio, Texas.

"To have actually met Dennis and to see what he's done with his life makes me feel that Russ didn't give his life for nothing," she said from Waterloo, where she now lives.

Nightmares end after 40 years

Two years ago, with the blessing of city officials, Berg gave a Memorial Day address in Waterloo, to tell its people about the hometown hero most never knew.

His 40 years of nightmares stopped that night.

"I still think about Russell most every day and I'll take time this Memorial Day to be by myself and think about all he's given me," Berg said.

"It will be just the two of us. Just me and Russell."