Green Berets Mocked Australian SAS Rifles — Until One Jungle Ambush Changed Everything

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The Lesson from Newat Base: A Story of Adaptation and Survival

In March 1968, at Newat Base in South Vietnam, a group of American special forces advisers gathered to observe the Australian SAS soldiers as they prepared for a jungle patrol. The Australians carried L1A1 rifles, but something was distinctly off. The rifles had been modified—barrels cut down, stocks altered. To the Americans, these weapons looked butchered, as if someone had taken a hacksaw to military equipment in the dead of night.

One Green Beret couldn’t help but mutter, “Those idiots are going to get themselves killed.” Little did he know that within three months, those same Green Berets would be begging to learn from those “idiots.” The Australians were not merely modifying their rifles; they were solving a critical problem that was taking American lives daily—a problem the U.S. military had spent millions of dollars and countless lives trying to address without success.

By early 1968, MACV SOG (Military Assistance Command, Vietnam Studies and Observations Group), the most classified American unit in Vietnam, faced what intelligence officers referred to as the “prairie fire problem.” Reconnaissance teams were disappearing into the jungle, not due to enemy action but because they were detected before they could even engage. The statistics were chilling. In I Corps, the northernmost military region of South Vietnam, recon teams had an average lifespan of just six missions before suffering catastrophic contact. Operations into Laos had a 100% contact rate—every patrol was discovered, tracked, and engaged.

The casualty rates were staggering, with some SOG units experiencing annual casualty rates exceeding 300%. That’s not a unit; it’s a meat grinder. The issue was straightforward to describe but nearly impossible to solve. The Viet Cong could hear American patrols coming from hundreds of meters away. It wasn’t a lack of training—Green Berets underwent some of the most intensive infiltration training in the world. It wasn’t a lack of courage; SOG operators were among the most decorated soldiers in American history. It wasn’t even a lack of equipment; the U.S. was deploying experimental sensors, modified weapons, and early night vision technology. The problem lay in the jungle itself and the vastly different ways the two militaries approached it.

American doctrine in 1968 emphasized firepower and communication. A standard SOG recon team carried an AN PRC-25 radio weighing 23 pounds, M16 rifles with 20-inch barrels, and enough ammunition to sustain contact—400 to 600 rounds per man, plus grenades, smoke, and demo charges. A six-man team moved through the jungle carrying over 400 pounds of equipment, and the jungle heard every ounce of it—the metallic clink of ammunition pouches, the electronic hiss of radio squelch, the scrape of a 39-inch rifle barrel against bamboo, and the snap of branches under boots designed for temperate forests, not tropical undergrowth.

Lieutenant Colonel John Singlobe, SOG’s chief of operations, later reflected, “We were sending our best men into an environment where they had every disadvantage except courage. The enemy was quieter, lighter, more patient, and above all, invisible. We were loud, heavy, impatient, and obvious.” The U.S. military tried everything to combat this issue. They deployed sensors that could detect ammonia from human perspiration, infrared detection, and acoustic sensors. They spent $3.7 million on experimental low-noise radios. Nothing worked. The Viet Cong still heard them coming.

By March 1968, senior commanders were quietly discussing whether to suspend recon operations in certain areas altogether. The cost was simply too high. Then, 120 Australians from the 3 Squadron, Special Air Service Regiment, arrived at Newat Base. Captain Jim Wallace, a veteran Green Beret adviser with three tours in Southeast Asia, watched the Australians unload their equipment with growing confusion. He knew jungle warfare and recognized that what the Australians were carrying did not conform to what he believed was effective.

The Australians had sawn down the barrels of their L1A1 rifles from 21 inches to 17 inches and replaced the full stock with a skeleton frame. Captain Wallace frowned. “The barrel is too short for accuracy,” he told an Australian warrant officer. “You’re losing velocity, losing range. Why would you do that?” The Australian warrant officer, Ron Exton, simply smiled. “Because we are not here to shoot at targets 300 meters away, mate.”

Everything about the Australians seemed wrong to American eyes. They wore Australian-patterned camouflage that looked too dark for the jungle, yet they moved in shadows rather than sunlight. They carried half the ammunition Americans did, had no radios on most patrols, and wore canvas and rubber jungle boots that appeared flimsy. Most disturbingly, they moved slowly—painfully slowly. While American doctrine emphasized getting off the landing zones quickly, the Australians did the opposite. They would land, then sit motionless for up to an hour, just listening.

Captain Wallace was convinced they were setting themselves up for disaster. “The VC will have them triangulated within minutes,” he thought. But orders came down from MACV: let the Australians do it their way. They were Commonwealth allies who had learned their craft from the British SAS in Malaya and Borneo, where patience and stealth had proven more valuable than firepower. The Americans had no choice but to watch and learn.

The first joint operation on April 15, 1968, was a disaster from the American perspective. The mission was to locate and identify a suspected VC base camp in the Hat Dish area, 10 kilometers northeast of Newat. The American team, call sign Python, was a veteran SOG unit with six men led by an experienced sergeant. They carried full combat loads—M16s, 600 rounds per man, and all the standard equipment. The Australians, call sign Ferret, had five men with L1A1 rifles, 200 rounds each, and minimal gear.

Python inserted at 0600 hours and moved quickly, making steady progress. By 1410 hours, they triggered an ambush. The VC had been tracking them for two hours, and the result was catastrophic. Python lost two men and had several wounded, with zero intelligence gained. The extraction helicopter came under fire, and the mission was scrubbed.

Meanwhile, Ferret patrol heard the contact from 3 kilometers away. They froze in place for 30 minutes before continuing their slow advance. By 1800 hours, they were overlooking the VC base camp. They had approached from a different angle, moving so quietly that they had stepped over a VC sentry trail without being detected. They observed the camp for six hours, counting structures and photographing key leaders with a telephoto camera. By dawn, they withdrew along the exact route they had come in, having gathered invaluable intelligence without encountering the enemy.

Captain Wallace was stunned when he saw the intelligence dump. “There is no way they got that close,” he thought. But aerial reconnaissance confirmed it. The Australians had achieved what seemed impossible.

On May 6, 1968, another Australian SAS patrol, call sign Bravo 2, tracked a VC supply column for 16 hours. They identified the column at dusk, approximately 40 VC carrying supplies. Instead of engaging, they paralleled the enemy column throughout the night, waiting patiently. By dawn, they had formed a hypothesis about the VC’s predictable movements.

Sergeant Barry “Tiny” Peters positioned his patrol along a likely ambush site. They waited for 11 hours, remaining perfectly still even as ants crawled into their boots. When the VC column moved into the kill zone, Peters let the first ten VC pass, then opened fire with precision shots. In just eight seconds, they killed 14 VC, and the remaining fighters scattered. The Australians remained still, picking off additional VC who thought the firing had stopped. Total ammunition expenditure: 97 rounds. Total VC casualties: 20 confirmed killed.

The contrast between American and Australian tactics became starkly apparent. The Americans had previously engaged in firefights that resulted in casualties and a loss of intelligence. The Australians, however, had achieved their objectives with minimal risk and maximum effectiveness.

General Creighton Abrams, the commander of MACV, personally requested that Australian SAS provide cross-training to selected American special forces units. Captain Wallace was among the first to volunteer. He sat in the front row during the briefings, absorbing every detail.

The lessons learned from the Australians were profound. They taught the Americans that in jungle warfare, invisibility and patience could be more powerful than firepower and speed. The philosophy of warfare shifted, and American special forces began to adopt Australian methods, leading to a dramatic decrease in casualties and an increase in successful intelligence operations.

By late 1968, an unofficial Australian method was being taught at the SOG training site at Long Thanh. Captain Wallace became one of the most vocal advocates for these techniques, sharing his newfound understanding with every unit he encountered.

The legacy of the Australians in Vietnam extended beyond the battlefield. Their approach to warfare influenced American military doctrine for decades to come. In 1989, Colonel Jim Wallace stood in front of a class at Fort Bragg, teaching jungle warfare doctrine to a new generation of special forces. He held up two rifles: an M16 with a 20-inch barrel and an M4 carbine with a 14.5-inch barrel, now standard issue.

“This shorter weapon,” he explained, “was developed because of lessons learned in Vietnam—specifically from Australian SAS operators who understood something we did not. In jungle warfare, invisibility matters more than firepower.”

As the students listened, Wallace reflected on the journey from skepticism to acceptance. He had once believed that the Australians were doing everything wrong, only to realize they were doing everything right. Their patience, their stealth, and their commitment to adapting to their environment had saved countless lives.

In that moment, he imparted a crucial lesson: “Do not assume that someone doing things differently is doing them wrong. Sometimes they are just solving a problem you have not figured out yet.” The class fell silent, absorbing the weight of his words, and then they picked up their weapons, ready to practice the techniques learned from those 120 Australians who had once seemed like misguided fools.

The Green Berets who had mocked those modified rifles had learned their lesson the hard way. But because of their willingness to adapt and learn from their allies, the next generation of soldiers would not have to face the same challenges. They would carry with them the wisdom gained from the jungles of Vietnam, ensuring that the sacrifices made were not in vain.