The days before my first patrol passed quickly, too quickly perhaps, because even though Sgt. McDonald and my hootch mates helped me as much as they could, I felt I was somewhat ill-prepared for my first trip into enemy-controlled territory. The lieutenants in my hootch—Eric Barnes, Mike Henry, Ken Carlyle, John King, Lenny Torres, and Frank Guderman—all were very helpful and went out of their way to answer any questions I had, freely offering their advice based upon their experience. All of them, with the exception of Frank Guderman, who was the supply officer, had led patrols, so their advice was very welcome, indeed.
Early in the day before my first patrol’s insertion, Sgt. McDonald came to my hootch and invited me to join the other members of the patrol, code-named Brisbane, so I could be introduced to them. I could tell that every Marine in the patrol was sizing me up and wondering whether or not I would be a hindrance or a help on the patrol. They did not say anything, but I could read the apprehension in their eyes. They knew I would soon become a patrol leader for one of the platoon’s two patrols, Brisbane or Killer Kane, so their interest in me was not casual or insignificant. I was determined to make the correct impression and to do everything possible to assuage their apprehension, but I knew this would take time. These first few minutes were important since they were my only chance to make a good impression. Sgt. McDonald asked me if I wanted to say anything to the team. I did not feel it was the time or place for any long-winded speech, so I merely stated that I was very proud to be among them and that I realized I had a lot to learn about reconnaissance patrolling. I asked them to share their knowledge with me and always to feel free to talk to me if they had any ideas about how I might improve the conduct of a patrol.
The region around Da Nang, in which Killer Kane operated.
After my introduction, Sgt. McDonald sat us down and gave a detailed patrol order. I was amazed by the level of detail in his order. It seemed as if he had thought of everything and left nothing to chance. I could see that every member of the team had complete confidence in his abilities. After listening to his patrol order, I felt the same way. He told us we would be patrolling on Charlie Ridge, a large, jungle-covered mountain southwest of Da Nang that was notorious for the many enemy contacts made there by our recon teams. He also told us about the weather and terrain and what enemy units might be encountered. He went over the general conduct of the patrol, but he also carefully informed each man of his job on the patrol, what equipment and ammunition we were to take with us, and how such items as Claymore mines, demolition kits, and binoculars would be apportioned among the patrol members. He went over the radio call signs and frequencies we would be using, the artillery positions that would be supporting us, the locations of nearby recon teams and friendly infantry units who might come to our assistance, and a myriad of other details. He took over an hour to brief us fully.
When the patrol order was finished, he took us to the test-fire pit near the perimeter wire adjacent to the helicopter landing pad and had each of us test-fire the weapons we would be taking on patrol to make sure they functioned properly. I had been issued both a standard Model 1911 .45-caliber semi-automatic pistol and an M-14 rifle to take on patrol, which I test-fired into the pit. When I had finished, Sgt. McDonald asked me if I would like to take a new rifle with me on patrol, one he had recently “traded for” with the Air Force. He said it was a good rifle, much lighter than the M-14, and would allow me to carry more ammunition since the .556 mm round used in this weapon was much lighter than the standard NATO 7.62 mm round used by the M-14. He handed me the odd looking weapon and told me it was a Colt AR-15. I decided I would take this lighter rifle with me on patrol since it allowed me to carry more ammunition and its short barrel length made it easier to maneuver in dense jungle growth.
After everyone had finished test-firing their weapons, Sgt. McDonald took us over to the helicopter landing pad where he went over the patrol’s immediate action drills in the event we encountered the enemy while we were on patrol. He had us walk through “action front,” “action left,” “action right,” and “action rear,” and then he had us run through these drills at normal speed until we reacted to his commands as if they were second nature. He also rehearsed the “hasty ambush” drill in the event we had the opportunity to surprise a North Vietnamese Army (NVA) or Viet Cong (VC) unit. In such an instance, we would systematically search the ambush “killing zone” using CS gas to cover our movements and find out if any of the enemy were “playing dead.” He even went over the proper way to secure a prisoner with parachute cord that he had cut to the proper length for tying a prisoner’s hands behind his back.
We broke for lunch after Sgt. McDonald dismissed the team, but he reminded me that I would be accompanying him that afternoon on an “overflight” or aerial reconnaissance of the insertion and extraction LZs on Charlie Ridge. I agreed to meet him at the camp’s LZ as soon as the recon helos landed.
After lunch, I went to the S-2 shop and borrowed a Polaroid land camera from Lt. St. Clair and told him I needed it to take some pictures of the LZs we would be using the next day. I also asked him for a map that included Charlie Ridge and asked to see the last three or four patrol reports for patrols on Charlie Ridge so I could get a feel for what it was like to patrol on that mountain. The words of Lt. St. Clair and my reading of the patrol reports did nothing to ease my mind since any logical conclusion drawn from both sources indicated Charlie Ridge was a very dangerous place. All three reports contained comments about NVA sightings, and one report told of a patrol that had gotten into a serious firefight requiring an emergency extraction under fire. I began to see why Charlie Ridge had the reputation it did.
The recon helicopter for our overflight, a CH-46 Sea Knight, arrived late in the afternoon, and Sgt. McDonald and I climbed aboard using the rear ramp. Sgt. McDonald had a laminated map in his hand with several spots marked in grease pencil indicating the proposed insertion and extraction LZs. He asked the crew chief for a headset so he could talk to the pilots and he settled into a seat near the gunner’s port. I sat next to him, and soon the helicopter lifted off and climbed into the sky. I felt the air change as we ascended. The heat at ground level gave way to cool and then cold air as we climbed into the sky and headed southwest. After 15 or 20 minutes flight time, I saw a large, dark mass appear ahead of us. To the west of this dark, ominous shape all I could see were mountains. They stretched as far as the eye could see. Somewhere far to the west was the Laotian border. I looked out the other side of the helicopter and saw the endless patchwork of light green paddy fields, dark tree lines, and tiny villages that made up the coastal plain of Quang Nam Province. I also noted that there were many bomb craters scarring the land.
The helicopter pitched violently and descended until we were only a few hundred feet above the trees on Charlie Ridge. All I could make out were tall, dark, 100-foot-high trees with thick foliage. The noise in the helicopter made talking very difficult, so Sgt. McDonald resorted to sign language most of the time. Sgt. McDonald pointed to his map and then pointed out the starboard port of the C-46, indicating the LZ on his map as we passed over it. I was so excited by this information and in awe of Sgt. McDonald’s ability to locate the LZ from the maze of jungle below I forgot the Polaroid camera on my lap. He pointed to the camera and then he spoke into the headset to the pilot, and immediately the helicopter began to make a wide turn. Within a few seconds, we were over the same LZ again, a small cleared area in the jungle on the side of the mountain not more than 50 yards long and 20 yards wide. I quickly leaned out the gunner’s port and took two pictures of the LZ. Sgt. McDonald smiled at me and used hand signals to indicate we were not finished. He instructed the pilot to fly over two other LZs; one was an alternate zone in case we were unable to land in our primary zone for some reason, and the other was our extract zone where the helicopters would pick us up when our patrol was complete. I took pictures of these LZs as well. We had been over Charlie Ridge for only a minute or two, and then the helicopter flew back to LZ Finch at Camp Reasoner.
That evening after dinner, I went over the notes I had taken when Sgt. McDonald gave his patrol order, made another map study of the terrain in our NFZ, checked my equipment one last time, and tried to assuage my anxiety by talking to the other lieutenants on our back porch. I found it difficult to sleep that night. It finally dawned on me that I was going into harm’s way for the first time—this was no training exercise. I was going on a combat recon patrol with seven young Marines and a Navy corpsman into an area controlled by the enemy and known for danger and death. Only our training and luck would protect us and prevent the enemy from detecting us. It seemed as if morning came just an hour after I went to sleep but my traveling alarm clock indicated I had been in bed for six hours. I was not hungry, so I did not eat breakfast, a mistake I would not make again. Instead, I put all of my patrol gear on the back porch and waited for the insertion helicopters to arrive.
When the insertion helicopter package of two C-46 helicopters arrived at LZ Finch and shut down, I joined the pilots with Sgt. McDonald and the other team leaders scheduled for insertion that day in the S-3 shop for a briefing by Maj. Welzant. He went over each patrol’s mission, the coordinates of the insertion LZs, the call signs and frequencies, and several other essential details so both the patrol leaders and the pilots had all the information they would need for a successful insertion. He also briefed the pilots on the patrols to be extracted that day, providing the same important information needed by the pilots, especially the information on any reported contacts with the enemy by the patrols. After the briefings, I went back to my hootch to get my gear for the patrol and await the call from Sgt. McDonald that our helicopters were ready for our insertion.
Our insertion was due for the early morning of February 8, but weather and the delayed extraction of another team resulted in delaying our insertion until mid-afternoon. All morning I waited on the back porch for the insertion helicopters to arrive, and with each passing moment, my anxiety and apprehension built. This uneasy feeling deep in the pit of my stomach just before an insertion would never be allayed with time. I always felt a pang of fear before each insertion, and it always lasted until the helicopter landed and the patrol began. Once I was on the ground, the conduct of the patrol and the process of always thinking in advance as to what we were to do kept my fear at bay. It was not dissimilar to the feeling I experienced before a big basketball game in high school or a school yard fight, yet the feeling was far more intense before a reconnaissance patrol into enemy territory because the stakes were infinitely higher than the outcome of a game or a fistfight.
Our ride to the insertion zone lasted less than 30 minutes. I watched as Sgt. McDonald left his pack on his seat and moved into a position between the pilot and copilot of the CH-46 helicopter. He pointed to the map and showed the pilots the Polaroid pictures I had taken of the LZ on the overflight the day before. They nodded, and then Sgt. McDonald returned to his seat and put his pack back on. Seated next to me he placed his mouth close to my ear and shouted, “We are going into a false LZ first, so don’t move from your seat until I tell you to.” I had no real idea what he was talking about, but I knew I was not going to move until he told me to. The helicopter began a rapid, spiraling descent that seemed to force my stomach into my mouth. As we descended, I saw the trees come into view outside and heard a distinctive cracking sound. I suddenly realized we were taking fire from somewhere near the LZ. The helicopter briefly touched down in some elephant grass and then with a shudder it began to rise up out of the LZ and gain altitude. Sgt. McDonald again put his mouth to my ear and yelled, “That was a false insertion. We did it to fool the enemy into thinking we had actually landed there. It was a good thing because they were waiting for us. That was the shooting.” The thought struck me: This was the first time in my life someone had shot at me, and I thanked God that they had missed.
Our helicopter and “chase bird” circled another LZ not too far from the false insertion zone while Huey gunships prepped the LZ with machine gun fire. After prepping the LZ, the gunships flew in beside our helicopter and followed us down as we again began to spiral toward the earth in what appeared to me to be “crash mode.” As we descended into our LZ, Sgt. McDonald instructed all of us to take the safeties of our weapons off and get ready to exit the helicopter. The helicopter shuddered violently as it lowered into the LZ. When we exited the helicopter, we had to jump off the rear ramp because the CH-46 could only get partially landed in the small zone. I was the third person off the ramp, and I dropped about four feet through the elephant grass onto the hard ground. The weight of my 70-pound pack made my drop seem like the height was a lot higher than four feet, and it sent a shock through my spine. Our eight-man team scurried to cover in the dense jungle while the helicopter shook itself loose from the bounds of earth and lifted slowly into the air like some huge, primeval insect, sending dirt, grass and other debris into the air around us. As the helicopter flew away and the sound of its rotors became more distant, we huddled in silence, straining our ears for any telltale signs that the enemy was near. Sgt. McDonald had told me that the enemy often waited until the helicopters and the fixed-wing escort planes departed to hit a recon patrol, so we stayed on alert in a small circle facing outboard, our ears and eyes straining to pick up any sound or movement that might indicate the enemy had seen us land and were preparing to attack us. We wondered if the VC who fired at us during the false insertion would attempt to find us in our new location.
After twenty minutes and no signs of the enemy, Sgt. McDonald whispered to our radio operator to send a message to base that we were safely inserted and were beginning our patrol. When the message had been passed to one of our radio relay stations, Sgt. McDonald used his hand and arm signals to indicate we were to move out in a column uphill in a westerly direction through the jungle. My position was in the middle of the column, right behind Sgt. McDonald so I could observe him during the patrol and learn from him as he went about his duties.
The patrol, which had developed its procedures through trial and error over time, began to move slowly through the thick secondary growth at a pace I initially thought was excessively slow; however, I soon realized this was the proper pace so as not to make any noise. The point man, Lance Corporal (LCpl.) Bart Russell, set the pace. He would often stop to take out his K-bar knife so he could slowly and noiselessly cut vines and small branches that impeded our way or might make a loud noise if someone caused them to spring back after passing. Every 20 minutes the patrol would stop and sit down with each man in the patrol facing outboard in staggered fashion so all 360 degrees around the patrol were covered. No one spoke; all communication between the patrol members was done using hand and arm signals. During these stops, we listened to ascertain if we were being followed. After each ten-minute rest period, Sgt. McDonald would signal us to continue. We struggled to rise under the weight of our packs, which made us walk in a stooped fashion and often caused us to stop and hitch our packs up on our backs to gain some comfort from the weight.
Within minutes, I was perspiring profusely, and the heat and humidity seemed to sap my strength. It was the heat of the day when we inserted, and after two hours of struggling uphill through the tangled undergrowth beneath the thick jungle canopy, I was near exhaustion. However, I was determined not to let the other members of the patrol see my discomfort or to ask them to stop and allow me to rest. Nervous tension and my concern about how the other members of the patrol would view me made me push on without complaint, secretly anticipating the next ten-minute respite the patrol would be taking as a security break.
As light began to fade, we stopped and formed a circle with each man facing outboard. Sgt. McDonald came over to me and took out his map. I took out my map also and he showed me where we were and told me to watch him as he wrote a Situation Report (SITREP) that would be sent via radio back to base informing them that we were stopped for the day and would soon be occupying a night harbor site. Sgt. McDonald showed me the SITREP, which he had written on yellow message paper, and whispered to me that the harbor site location was approximately 100 meters from our present location and that we would move to it as soon as it became dark. In this way, if the enemy had spotted us and wanted to attack us after dark, they would hit our present location and not the real harbor site 100 yards distant. We would have a distinct advantage using this technique. While the radio man whispered the SITREP over the radio, Sgt. McDonald signaled to us to eat. We carefully and noiselessly took a can of C rations from our packs and then quietly and slowly used our P-38 (John Wayne) can openers to open the cans. Sgt. McDonald did not allow his men to cook their meals since the smell of cooking food traveled far in the jungle and it could give our position away. He also did not allow anyone to smoke while on patrol, which resulted in most of the men chewing tobacco.
I opened a C ration can of beans and franks and slowly consumed it. Despite being cold, it tasted very good. In the days ahead this meal would always be my favorite one among the culinary offerings of C rations. When I was finished, we collected the empty cans, and one of the patrol members took the one entrenching tool the patrol carried, dug a shallow hole, and deposited the empty cans and any other trash we had in the hole before filling it in and covering it with leaves to hide it. After our meal, Sgt. McDonald told us to make our last “head call” since he did not want anyone to venture outside the harbor site during the night to relieve themselves. After this, we stood up and moved to our night harbor site, a very thick stand of brush on a finger overlooking our insertion LZ. I was surprised to note that we had moved less than 500 meters from our insertion LZ, but this was far from unusual for a recon patrol. The very careful and slow pace over rough terrain with frequent stops every 20 minutes greatly reduced the distance the patrol would cover. It was not uncommon for a patrol to travel less than 1,000 meters in a full day of patrolling in the jungle. While the slow pace restricted the amount of territory covered by a patrol, there were several distinct advantages to conducting a patrol at a slow, deliberate pace. First, rapid movement in the jungle was loud and could easily alert the enemy if they were nearby. Second, any loud movement prevented the patrol from hearing the telltale noises that indicated the enemy’s presence. Sound, especially man-made sound, traveled far in the jungle. Third, a slow pace did not tire the patrol members and make them careless. Finally, a slow pace allowed the patrol to take note of all of its surroundings so that later, during the patrol’s debriefing at Camp Reasoner, the area covered could be accurately described. Such information as trails, streams, ambush sites, enemy bunkers, and the like, could be described in detail so future patrols or infantry units would have a good idea of the terrain and enemy activities in the area covered by the patrol.
My first night in the field in Vietnam passed quietly. Our harbor site, which we crawled into on our hands and knees because it was so thick with tangled foliage, was ideal, since anyone trying to get close to us during the night would make an awful racket fighting their way through the thick brush, thus giving us advance warning of their approach. We slept in a tight circle with our feet facing inboard and our heads and weapons facing outboard next to us so we could quietly retrieve them in the darkness if needed. The patrol’s two radios were placed in the center of our circle so anyone of us could use them during the night. Sgt. McDonald assigned each member of the patrol a one-hour radio watch, and these assignments went in a clockwise direction around the circle of men so it would be easy for the man on watch to quietly wake up the man next to him and pass him the radio handset. Sgt. McDonald probably sensed that I was dog tired, so he gave me the last watch before dawn so I would get eight hours of unbroken sleep before taking over the radio watch. I was grateful for this consideration, but made a mental note never to allow myself this luxury when I was a patrol leader. In future, I would take the mid-watches, those watches around midnight, and give the early and late watches to my point men who needed to be fully rested to do their dangerous work.
As I curled up in my poncho on the moist jungle floor, I soon found myself the target of a host of noisy and very aggressive mosquitoes. I knew I would be unable to sleep if the mosquitoes continued to bite my face and hands, so as quietly as possible I retrieved a pair of aviator’s gloves and an insect head net from my pack and put them on. I was grateful to Mike Henry for his gift of the pilot’s gloves which were light and flexible and for the mosquito head net my mother had given me prior to leaving the States. These two items would spare me a lot of discomfort in the months ahead. Without them, I would have been devoured by mosquitoes and other insect predators on my numerous sojourns into the fields and jungles of South Vietnam.
The next day, an hour before daylight, Sgt. McDonald woke all of us, and we “stood to” facing outboard with our weapons at the ready. Reconnaissance men knew that the most likely time for the enemy to attack a recon patrol was at dawn or at last light, so the patrol often was on full alert, or “standing to” as it was referred to, listening for the enemy approaching and ready to fight back without delay. Straining our ears for any sign of the enemy, we waited until an hour after daylight to resume our patrol route up the hill.
Around noon we came upon a trail running east and west in the direction that the patrol wanted to take. Normally, recon patrols avoid walking on trails for the simple reason that it is along trails that the enemy travels, and we wanted to remain undetected. However, Sgt. McDonald assessed that this trail had not been used recently, and it was safe for the patrol to travel on it for a short distance. We walked west along the trail for approximately 100 meters until we came upon an abandoned hut and several old trench lines that the enemy had built. There was also a dilapidated “lean-to” made of bamboo with broken glass and pottery shards strewn about it. Nearby, we found what appeared to be a handmade 60 mm mortar tube the enemy had fashioned from steel tubing. More ominously, we found a very well-prepared ambush site the enemy had built just off the trail and camouflaged so effectively it was impossible for someone walking on the trail to see it. If we had not been moving slowly and carefully, observing all of our surroundings, we would have missed this ambush site with its ground-level fighting holes running parallel to the trail and facing downhill. I looked at these fighting holes and came away with a respect for the people who made them. They were completely flush with the ground, about four feet deep, and the sides had been reinforced with woven twigs and branches to keep the dirt from caving in. One of the fighting positions had a parapet in it so a machine gun could be placed on it with the barrel only an inch or two above ground level. I felt very grateful that the enemy was not occupying this ambush site.
Farther on, we found a handrail made of bamboo and steps cut into the trail near the top of the ridgeline running north-south. This was clear evidence that this trail was used by the enemy in the recent past, and we took this warning seriously, especially in view of the previous day’s experience in the false LZ. We decided to leave the trail and establish an observation post (OP) just south of the trail on a small finger overlooking the valley to the south, a valley that was called “Mortar Valley” because the VC often launched mortar and rocket attacks from it.
When we came to a spot on the finger that afforded good observation of the terrain to our south, Sgt. McDonald divided the patrol into three elements. One element was the observation element, and it consisted of Sgt. McDonald, me and the radio operator; the other two elements, consisting of three men each, were security elements with the mission of watching the trail to our north and any approaches into the OP from that direction. We maintained the OP for the remainder of the second day of the patrol and into the third, but we saw no enemy activity on either the trail or in Mortar Valley.
However, the time I spent with the observation element was beneficial since I was able to learn from Sgt. McDonald the best way to observe for enemy activity using a team approach. Sgt. McDonald told me to take out the 7 × 50 binoculars he had given me to take on the patrol while he took out a 30-power spotter’s scope with a small tripod attached. He told me to take the binoculars and to slowly scan back and forth over an arc of approximately 90 degrees. He told me to look for movement since that was the best indicator of the enemy and to concentrate on any trails or terrain features that the enemy might use, such as stream crossings, hilltops, or open spaces. One piece of information he gave me was invaluable: Unlike Marine units, who always tried to set up their defensive positions on the high ground, NVA units usually bivouacked in the low ground along streams. Because of this, it was never a good idea to move parallel to a stream, and it was necessary to avoid spending much time in any low ground that had a stream running through it.
Sgt. McDonald instructed me to let him know as soon as I spotted something that looked suspicious so he could use the spotting scope’s greater, but more restricted, power to try to identify what I had picked up with my broad sweeps. The radio operator stayed close to his radio so he could rapidly send in a request for artillery or air support in the event we actually spotted the enemy. We laid out a map on the ground between us so we could quickly assign a grid coordinate for our sighting, and both Sgt. McDonald and I had compasses ready to get an azimuth to any potential target. This three-man observation team was organized in such a way that we could rapidly observe any enemy target in our line of sight, identify its location on a map, obtain a range and azimuth to it, and report it quickly so artillery or air support could be used to destroy it. I had never been taught this technique during my previous training, but I saw that it was infinitely superior to having just one individual do all the tasks involved. I made a mental note to make sure I used this same system on every future patrol I took out where we would establish an OP.
At the end of our third day of patrolling, we began moving to our extraction LZ 1,000 meters uphill and to our north. Using a compass heading of zero degrees, we carefully covered the distance in three hours. Along the way, we found an unoccupied enemy company-sized harbor site with a dozen bunkers made of logs. When we reached our extraction LZ, Sgt. McDonald instructed the patrol to search the area around it to make sure there were no booby traps or enemy fighting positions. It was a larger LZ than our insertion LZ, capable of easily accommodating two CH-46 helicopters. We kept watch on the zone until it was nearly dark, and then we moved 100 meters into some thick secondary growth and established our night harbor site.
During the night I was awoken by Sgt. McDonald and PFC J. D. Glor. Sgt. McDonald put his hand over my mouth and whispered, “VC lights,” and then he pointed to PFC Glor who was staring up Charlie Ridge through the jungle canopy. I moved to Glor’s location and observed 50 lights in a row winding their way down Charlie Ridge parallel to us and approximately 500 meters away. Charlie was on the move. Later at 0600, we saw the same lights moving west away from us. We reported both sightings, but Sgt. McDonald decided not to call in an artillery fire mission on the lights since it was very difficult to observe the area where they were last seen, and he did not like to fire artillery “blind,” as he put it.
After first light, the patrol moved to the extraction LZ, set up security, and waited for the extract helicopters to arrive. We sat and waited until late in the afternoon for our extraction and suffered because of it. We had filled our canteens in a small stream on the second day of our patrol, but now we were out of water, and the heat and humidity gave all of us a powerful thirst. We dreaded the thought that we might be extended another day since we would have to find water, and that meant we would have to travel downhill at least 1,000 meters to find a stream.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finally received a radio message telling us the extraction “package” of two CH-46 helicopters and two Huey gunship helicopters was on the way and would arrive at our position in less than 30 minutes. The gunships arrived first and contacted us via radio. They asked us to use a smoke grenade to mark our position and give them an indication of the wind direction. Sgt. McDonald took a yellow smoke grenade and tossed it into the center of the LZ. The gunship pilot then asked us what color smoke we were using. We never told helicopters or fixed wing aircraft what color smoke we would be using before we actually used it because the enemy often listened to our radio transmissions, and they would attempt to lure our helicopters into an ambush at another nearby LZ using smoke grenades they had captured from U.S. or ARVN units. When the gunship spotted our smoke and we had confirmed the color as yellow, they called in the extraction helicopter while the “chase bird,” a CH-46, circled in the near distance ready to come in and rescue us and the helicopter crew if it was shot down. The sounds of the friendly helicopter rotor blades had a very soothing effect on all of us since that distinctive sound meant we would be safe soon and on our way back home at Camp Reasoner. To this day, the sound of helicopter rotor blades beating the air makes me feel calm and content.
Our extraction helicopter descended rapidly into the LZ, and we scrambled aboard, happy to be safely out of harm’s way. We returned to LZ Finch at 1600 where we were quickly sent to the S-2 shop for a debriefing by Lt. St. Claire. For the next hour Lt. St. Claire debriefed the patrol asking questions about the names of the patrol members, the times of insertion and extraction, the route the patrol took, the terrain encountered, and any enemy sightings (Team Brisbane Patrol Report, 11 Feb. 1967). He told us he would type the patrol report that evening and deliver it to the Division G-2 on Hill 327 as soon as it was completed. I asked him if I could have a copy of the patrol report, and he said he would have one for me in the morning.
After the debriefing, we immediately went to the mess hall and ate dinner. Our faces were still covered with camouflage paint, and our jungle utility uniforms were wet and dirty, but that did not deter us in the slightest as we wolfed down the first hot meal we had had in four days. After dinner, I returned to my hootch and took a cold shower beneath the porch and shaved in a tub of cold water on the back porch. Lt. Lenny Torres noted that I was having trouble getting all of the camouflage face paint off using cold water and soap, so he volunteered another great piece of good advice—use insect repellent to wash the paint off. It worked like a charm and made it infinitely easier to shave off the four days of beard I had on my face.
During the next few days, I prepared for my second “snap in” patrol as an observer. This time I was to go on patrol with another 1st Force Reconnaissance Company team called Countersign. Mike Henry, the company’s communications officer, was to take this patrol out because the company was short a platoon leader, and he often volunteered to take out patrols whenever a backup team leader was needed. I went through much of the same procedure that I went through with my first patrol with an overflight with Mike of the intended NFZ, the issuance of Mike’s patrol order to the team, the test-firing of my weapons, and the packing of my gear into my rucksack.
There was a shortage of personal field equipment, such as rucksacks and 782 gear, a situation that forced many Marines to use captured enemy equipment or items bought from the ARVN. I had been given a captured NVA rucksack for my first patrol, and I found it difficult and uncomfortable to use. I spoke to Mike Henry about this, and he recommended I go to the small shop down the road from the Division CP and buy an ARVN rucksack since these were actually the best field packs for recon work. I took Mike’s advice, and for the sum of $3.00 I purchased a new ARVN rucksack from this store. It occurred to me that this item of equipment had previously been issued to an ARVN soldier who found it expedient or profitable to sell it to the Vietnamese entrepreneur turning it over to me. I wondered if this sort of transaction was carried out between our allies and the NVA, but thought it better to forget about it. The nice thing about the ARVN rucksack was it was just the right size to hold the equipment, ammunition and rations needed for a normal four-day patrol.
After I had brought the ARVN rucksack back to the hootch, I began to reflect on the equipment I was taking to the field and how it seemed to demonstrate a lack of supply preparedness by the Marine Corps. I was wearing a camouflage jungle uniform from the U.S. Air Force along with an Air Force AR-15 rifle, and my rucksack was standard ARVN issue, as were my field suspenders. I carried an East German 8 × 30 set of binoculars that had been captured from a North Vietnamese soldier and given to me by Lt. Eric Barnes. Some of my equipment, like my mosquito net and rain suit, was obtained through commercial U.S. sources. All of this did not reflect well on the Marine Corps supply system, since most of my colleagues in the reconnaissance business were similarly outfitted with disparate items that the Marine Corps was unable to provide. We did not let this prevent us from doing our job, but we were all aware that the Marine Corps’ penchant for tightening its belt in peacetime had a price in wartime. We had been fighting in South Vietnam for two years when I arrived in country, and still the supply system seemed to be woefully short of the basic items needed to equip our Marines properly.
Lt. Mike Henry at Camp Reasoner.
My patrol with Mike Henry and team Countersign was uneventful. Our team spent 76 hours on the ground inside an NFZ west of the combat base of An Hoa in the foothills of the Ong Thu Slope, a rugged escarpment that was used as a shield for the 2nd NVA Division, who had their base camps hugging the western slope of this large massif. Artillery could not fire effectively on the steep western slope of this escarpment, making it ideal for the NVA to establish their base camps there. These widely dispersed NVA base camps west of the Ong Thu Slope occupied an area the enemy called Base Area 112, and it covered nearly 25 square miles of dense jungle-clad mountains and deep, narrow valleys.
Team Countersign spent most of its 76 hours on the ground moving from one OP site to another in the hope of finding a spot that would allow us to see enemy movement in the villages below us. On one such movement, we found an old trail that led from the foothills down into the Arizona Territory, but it was evident that it had not been used recently. On the day before our extraction, we got a scare when we heard voices near us. We froze and waited to see if the voices came closer, but after a few minutes the voices moved away and we did not see who was doing this talking. Mike suspected they were probably not NVA but woodcutters who often went into the hills to cut firewood to sell back in the lowland villages. In any event, we did not see any enemy, and there was no indication that the enemy was active in the area of our patrol. In the parlance of the time, this patrol was “a walk in the sun.” Although the patrol was uneventful, I learned a great deal by watching Mike Henry and his men, especially the way Mike planned artillery concentrations around our harbor sites at night. This precaution allowed Mike and the radio operator to quickly call in these pre-fired artillery concentrations if the enemy attacked us (Team Countersign Patrol Report, 17 Feb. 1967).
My final “snap in” patrol was with team Coventry from Company C, 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, led by one of the best patrol leaders in that battalion, Lt. Lance Woodburn. I was very impressed by the methodical way Lt. Woodburn went about preparing himself and his team for the patrol. He not only rehearsed all of us in the procedures to be executed if we made contact with the enemy, but he also had us lay out all of the equipment we intended to take with us so he could inspect each item to make sure the equipment was in good working order. His patrol order was very detailed, and he even used aerial photos of the patrol area and a sand table to familiarize us with the terrain. One thing I noticed immediately about team Coventry was its size; it was much larger than the two patrols from 1st Force Reconnaissance Company I had gone on. Team Coventry consisted of 13 men, and they would be taking a lot more gear and ammunition with them than the lighter and smaller patrols from my force reconnaissance company. In addition, the team was also taking a scout dog named Rip and his Marine handler with them. As I stated earlier, the difference in patrol size between the battalion patrols and the force reconnaissance patrols was due to the size of their respective platoons. 1st Force Reconnaissance Company had platoons of 15 men, while 1st Reconnaissance Battalion platoons had 26 men. Since each platoon was required to field two teams, this meant the Force Reconnaissance Company normally sent out patrols with only seven or eight men, while the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion sent out patrols with 12 or 13 men.
The Arizona Territory looking north with the Ong Thu Slope on the left and Charlie Ridge in the background.
Team Coventry was inserted late in the day on 21 February into a good, two helicopter LZ on the southern slopes of Charlie Ridge with the mission of climbing up the mountain to its peak. Lt. Woodburn told us no patrol had ever succeeded in reaching the summit of Charlie Ridge because the “VC owned the top of the mountain,” and they did not want any Marine units there. This was understandable since Charlie Ridge was an excellent position from which to observe the area around the Da Nang TAOR and the airfield south of the city. It was also only one day’s march from the mountain to locations just west of the city where mortar and rocket attacks against Marine positions and the airfield could be mounted. Our intelligence briefings also identified Charlie Ridge as the terminus of a spoke of the Ho Chi Minh Trail that ran east from Laos, as well as a base for one of the 2nd NVA Division’s regiments. In this sense, Charlie Ridge was key terrain for the enemy, and they would fight to keep Marine units from occupying it. Lt. Woodburn expected contact with the enemy somewhere during our ascent, so he instructed us to take extra ammunition for the M-60 machine gun and the M-79 grenade launcher the patrol carried. He also had the patrol carry four Claymore mines and six anti-personnel mines which he thought might be needed if we were forced to defend a position on the mountain. Needless to say, my rucksack was filled with more weight than I would normally take on a patrol. When it was fully packed, I estimated its weight at nearly 80 pounds.
After our insertion, the patrol quickly moved off the LZ and headed west toward a trail we knew existed from reading the report made by another patrol that had passed through this area several months previously. The distance we traveled was only 2,000 meters, but it was cross compartment, meaning we were going up and down steep ridges between deep ravines, a very slow and difficult way to move. All of us struggled under the weight of our packs, but the scout dog had the most difficult time. It was obvious that the dog was not used to the heat and the steep jungle terrain, and several times we had to stop to give the dog a rest and allow it to drink water.
In the ravines, we found numerous leeches which managed to find their way into our clothing and onto our skin. On one stop I looked down and saw that my crotch area was soaked in blood. A leech had affixed itself to my penis, gorged itself on blood and then dropped down the leg of my trousers and was caught in my blousing garters. Needless to say, I found this not to my liking. The corpsman in the patrol came over to me and gave me a stick of coagulant to stop the bleeding. Later I found the blood-filled leech in my trousers and dispatched it with a fingertip of insect repellent, the common way of killing these nuisances. I had seen leeches during my training in Panama, but the leeches in South Vietnam were bigger and far more aggressive, a fact that always made me look down while on patrol to see if they were lurking along the trails or streams I passed. I was told later that the best way to prevent leeches from getting inside your clothing was to soak your clothes and jungle boots with insect repellent before going on patrol. This technique seemed to work quite well for me in the ensuing months.
Patrolling on the slope of Charlie Ridge.
After struggling through the torrid jungle for two days, we came upon the well-used trail system that we were to take north to the summit of Charlie Ridge. Since it was evident this trail was heavily traveled, Lt. Woodburn decided it was too dangerous for the patrol to use it. Instead, he told us it would be wiser to establish an ambush along the trail and then find some alternate route to the mountain’s summit. We slowly walked along the trail for 20 minutes, looking for a good ambush site, until we came upon a small stream where the trail took a sharp bend that offered a good killing zone for our ambush. We were just setting in our ambush when I looked up the trail and saw two North Vietnamese soldiers wearing khaki uniforms and carrying rifles. They were walking down the trail only 50 yards away and obviously oblivious of our presence. I quietly signaled to the Marine behind me, who was moving into a position where he could fire on the trail, that I had seen the enemy. He froze immediately, but I saw that he had silently taken the safety on his rifle off. I then turned and raised my rifle to my shoulder, ready to fire as soon as the enemy came into our killing zone. Only five Marines had taken up their positions in the ambush because Lt. Woodburn wanted to use some of the patrol as a security element. Despite this, we had more than enough firepower to take care of these two soldiers, if they were the only ones coming down the trail.
A few tense seconds passed as we waited for Lt. Woodburn to initiate the ambush by firing his rifle. Just as he was about to open fire, the NVA soldiers stopped and started to look down at their feet. They were now only a dozen yards from us. I had the lead NVA soldier in my sights, and my heart was pounding so hard I could see the front site of my rifle jumping up and down with each heartbeat.
All of a sudden I heard the scout dog, Rip, bark. Immediately, the two NVA soldiers bolted back up the trail before we could fire a shot. After berating the dog handler for allowing his dog to bark instead of giving the normal silent alert, Lt. Woodburn ordered us to abandon the ambush site and move back in the direction we had come toward an LZ we had passed the previous day. There we set up security waiting to see if the NVA soldiers would bring their friends to look for us. After passing a quiet night in a good harbor site, we moved to the extraction LZ and waited for the helicopters to extract us.
At noon on the 24th of February, we were told the helicopters were on the way to pick us up. Our LZ was large enough for one CH-46 to land in, but it had a steep slope and tall trees surrounding it, so landing would be difficult. As the first helicopter came in to land, we noticed it was having some difficulty maintaining its position in the LZ and began to drift downhill as we approached it to climb aboard via the rear ramp. For some reason, the helicopter suddenly lurched downhill, and its rear rotor blades hit several tall trees. The helicopter crashed, and one member of the patrol was seriously injured with a broken leg from parts of the flying rotor blades. I was doused in pink hydraulic fluid which for a moment led me to believe I was soaked in the blood of one of my fellow Marines. We ran over to the downed helicopter and were relieved to find that no one inside of it was hurt. A second helicopter came in and rescued the helicopter crew and the wounded recon Marine, but the remainder of our patrol was instructed to stay with the helicopter and provide security for it until it could be either destroyed or recovered. A platoon of infantry was flown into the LZ a few hours later to relieve us, and we were then allowed to depart for Camp Reasoner on the same helicopters that brought in the infantry (Team Coventry Patrol Report, 24 Feb. 1967).
Now that I had completed my three “snap in” patrols as an observer, I was eager to take my first patrol out as a patrol leader and to assume my first command as a Marine officer. I had learned a lot from each patrol leader, and I was grateful for the opportunity to observe the various patrol techniques they employed on my three “snap in” patrols. From these three patrols, I was able to choose what I considered to be the best techniques and procedures from them. I knew that I was far from a seasoned recon Marine. I still had a lot to learn, but I felt confident that I could take out a patrol as a patrol leader and do a credible job. Evidently Maj. Lowrey felt the same way because after the patrol debriefing at Camp Reasoner that evening, he took me aside and told me he was giving me command of the 5th Platoon and wanted me to take out team Killer Kane on my next patrol. He also told me that while the three “snap in” patrols had helped me learn my trade, none of these patrols had afforded me much of an opportunity to call in and adjust supporting arms, one of the most important skills a patrol leader needed. To remedy this he said he was sending Killer Kane to the reconnaissance OP and radio relay site on Hill 452 south of An Hoa for a week so I could practice this vital skill. The team was scheduled to leave on 3 March.
During the days prior to taking my first patrol out as a team leader, I took command of the 5th Platoon. I assembled the entire platoon after the morning formation, told them I was honored to be their platoon commander, and described how I intended to lead the platoon. I reminded them that I was open to any suggestion they might have on how to improve the functioning of the platoon since I knew that collectively the members of the platoon possessed literally years of patrolling experience. I interviewed each Marine individually so they would get to know me and I would get to know them. I kept a platoon commander’s log with a page devoted to each Marine’s personal data. It contained basic information on them, such as their home address, their date of birth, identification number, blood type, parent’s names, rifle serial number, religion, and other items of information that might prove useful to know. Some of them I knew from the first patrol, but others were completely new to me. I knew I had to find out about them quickly since that knowledge would determine how they would be used on patrol.
In the course of my interviews with the men of my platoon, I found each of them to be exceptional in some way. The most common characteristics were their devotion to each other and their ability to think clearly and act quickly under conditions of extreme stress. For instance, Sgt. McDonald told me that LCpl. Bart Russell, a native of Ocean City, New Jersey, was a good example of the type of Marine in our platoon. He related to me an incident involving LCpl. Russell that was illustrative. Russell had been released from the hospital a few months before my arrival after receiving treatment for a severe infection which would not heal properly. He was in a very weakened condition when he returned to the company. Despite his need for rest, however, Russell insisted on going on a morning run while he waited for his team to return from patrol. During the run, he fell and cut his knee badly and passed out for a moment due to his weakened condition. An unfeeling officer, who was leading the run and did not know Russell, berated him and told him that if he did not complete the run, he would recommend Russell be dropped from the reconnaissance company. At the time, Russell was nearly a mile from the gate of Camp Reasoner and barely able to stand, but he refused to give up and literally crawled the last 400 yards to the gate. Standing at attention with blood running down his leg and with a fever over 100 degrees, Russell addressed the officer who had left him on the road. He said, “Sir, I completed the run.” Bart Russell was tough and determined, the kind of man who would never give up, even if sick or injured. I felt honored and privileged that I would be in the company of Marines like Bart Russell and I knew any success we might enjoy would come from the bravery and talents of men like him in Killer Kane.
Bart Russell, whose bravery and skill saved Killer Kane on several patrols.
In many respects, a reconnaissance team is very much like an athletic team. Each member of the recon team possessed certain traits and abilities that were appropriate for his job within the team. For instance, a point man had to have keen eyesight and hearing, patience, stamina, and lightning fast reflexes. A radio man had to be able to carry the extra weight of the PRC-25 radio along with all of his other equipment, and he had to be able to call in and adjust supporting arms under any conditions since the patrol leader might not have the time to do so or might be a casualty and unable to perform this duty. The team’s machine gunner had to be able to carry the extra weight of the machine gun and its ammunition, but he also had to be thoroughly competent in its use, especially in a meeting engagement with the enemy at close range since the firepower of the machine gun was often the only way the patrol could break contact quickly or establish fire superiority. Every job required special skills, so I had to know which man could best fill each position in order to maximize the aggregate efficiency of the patrol.
A few days before my first patrol to Hill 452, I went with Lt. Lenny Torres and Lt. Mike Henry to the Freedom Hill PX to buy a few luxury items I needed to make my hootch accommodations even more comfortable than they were. I was always amazed at both the size of the Freedom Hill PX and the variety of items they had on sale, some of which seemed out place for both a war zone and a hot climate. For instance, every imaginable electronics and photographic product made anywhere in the world seemed available for sale at this huge PX. There were men’s and women’s fur coats on sale also, which seemed bizarre given we were living in a country that often was only a few degrees colder than hell. Exotic and expensive perfumes and lingerie were also on sale, ostensibly so the military personnel could purchase these items and send them home to their loved ones. It was pretty obvious, however, that a lot of the items on sale were there to help fuel the extensive and pervasive black market in such goods. Some servicemen in the rear often bought these luxury items and immediately resold them to Vietnamese who then sold them on the black market in Da Nang. This went on for years, and it always seemed strange to me that nothing was ever done about it even though it contributed to rampant corruption and inflation in the country. On this trip to the PX, I purchased a set of new sheets and pillowcases for my hospital bed to replace the mildewed and rather odiferous ones given to me by Lt. King. I also bought film for a small Canon 35 mm camera I had purchased from a Marine in my platoon who was going home and did not want it any longer. Finally, I bought a case of Coke to put in the refrigerator in our hootch and some small cans of apple juice and deviled ham that I intended to take with me on patrol to supplement my C rations.
The night of 27 February, I was awakened by the sound of what I thought was artillery landing near the Da Nang Airbase. At first I ignored the noise since I had already been exposed to loud noises at night, and I considered these noises a “normal” part of living in a combat zone. However, I heard another officer outside on the porch yell, “Hey, take a look at this shit; they’re hitting the airfield.” I got up, dressed only in my skivvies, and went out on the back porch where I found the other lieutenants staring off into the night in the direction of the Da Nang Airbase. From our vantage point, it appeared that there were several fires burning inside the airbase’s perimeter. I could see the bright flashes as the enemy 140 mm rockets impacted, followed a few seconds later by the distinctive “carumph” sound of the explosion. Flares hung over the scene, giving everything a ghostly appearance.
This VC attack set off a barrage of return fire from artillery batteries in the surrounding area and caused skittish Marines manning bunkers at the various installations near the airfield to fire their weapons at imaginary targets. Every few seconds we could see red tracer rounds arcing gracefully into the night sky. We watched for several minutes, and then when it was over we went back to our cots. The next day, we were told that eleven U.S. military men had been killed and 18 aircraft destroyed in the first enemy 140 mm rocket attack of the war.
I did not know it at the time, but the enemy’s use of 140 mm rockets posed a new and potentially lethal threat to the Da Nang Airbase, causing the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion to increase their patrols along the “Rocket Belt” surrounding the Da Nang Airbase. With the addition of the 140 mm rocket in the enemy’s inventory of weapons, the “Rocket Belt” was extended several more miles to the west into the eastern slopes of the Annamite Mountains, and this placed new demands on the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion to screen this expanded area. For months to come, the battalion would send out numerous patrols searching for the source of these rocket attacks.
Since my first patrol as a team leader was going to be a “milk run” on a static OP, there was no need for an overflight. The day before the patrol set off, I had the eight Marines going with me to the OP assemble for my first patrol order. I wanted to make a good impression with this order, even if it was not the type of order that I would normally give for a long-range patrol. I carefully went over every paragraph of the order, stressing the latest intelligence I had on the area we would be observing and the names and call signs of the other recon teams we would be providing radio relay services for. I inspected the equipment we would be taking with us, including a week’s worth of food and water. One item on my equipment list would prove to be very helpful on the patrol: an artillery spotting scope that had a 30-power lens. This powerful scope could reach out and identify targets miles away. Since we would be on the top of a mountain 452 meters above sea level, we would have an unrestricted view of the surrounding terrain for several miles, allowing us easily to spot any enemy moving along the many trails below our vantage point.
Hill 452 was one of two radio relay sites in Quang Nam Province that the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion had established to improve communications with its far flung recon teams. Hill 452, actually a small mountain, was located a few miles south of the Marine combat base at An Hoa, and its height and location made it a perfect site for the relay of line of sight FM radio signals. Its summit consisted of a narrow ridge line that ran for only 100 feet, and on three sides of the summit were incredibly steep 100-foot cliffs. The northern side of the summit had a more gradual slope, but it was still quite steep. Because the terrain near the summit was so steep, no helicopters could safely land on it. However, on a saddle just below the peak, there was a man-made, wooden landing platform that had been recently constructed by Marine engineers. This structure looked very much like the deck one would see behind a suburban U.S. home. It was only 30 feet by 30 feet, so this meant a CH-46 helicopter could not fully land on it, only place its back wheels down, lower its ramp, and allow Marines to exit the helicopter onto the few feet of LZ left after this dangerous maneuver had been accomplished. From the air this man-made LZ looked like a postage stamp. Once Marines had landed safely and unloaded their gear, the recon team they were replacing would board the helicopter carrying their empty water cans and bags of trash with them as they departed. The team going in for its week-long stay on the summit would then haul their heavy water cans and boxes of C rations up the extremely narrow and steep trail 100 meters to the summit. It was arduous going and took nearly an hour to accomplish.
At the top of Hill 452, there was a defensive position with four bunkers made out of six-inch by six-inch timber and sandbags with firing ports facing along the most likely avenues of approach to the summit. The largest bunker was on the exact summit, and the relay team and radios were stationed there. A 30-foot-tall RC-292 radio antenna was attached to the side of the radio relay bunker and secured with wires and engineer stakes since the winds at the summit sometimes were quite strong. Surrounding the entire summit was barbed wire. All of the vegetation had been removed for 100 yards, so the Marines had unobstructed fields of fire for their weapons. The bunkers could accommodate a maximum of 12 Marines.
A precarious insertion on the summit of Hill 452.
Our insertion on Hill 452 on 3 March was normal insofar as it scared me as much as if we were going into a hot zone. The CH-46 carrying us and our gear had to make two approaches because the first one was aborted just a few feet from touchdown. We could tell that landing on the small, man-made landing platform was no easy task even for a good pilot. On the first attempt to land, the helicopter shuddered as it fought to maintain altitude while slowing enough to land on the platform. It missed the platform and dropped over the steep side of the mountain, nearly stalling as it rapidly lost altitude and hurtled toward the valley below.
For an instant I thought we were going to crash, but the pilot regained altitude and circled for another attempt. Over the headphone, he joked with me about the failed attempt, saying, “That first landing was just a drill, now we are going to do it for real.” I was trying to keep the contents of my stomach in place, so I did not bother to reply. On the second attempt, another “white knuckle” landing for us, the rear wheels of the chopper established themselves on the platform while the front of the helicopter hovered over the deep drop on the south side of the mountain. None of us wanted to stay in the helicopter in this precarious position, so we quickly exited the helicopter as soon as the rear ramp was lowered. We formed a human chain and began unloading the water cans and C ration boxes from the helicopter, while the team that had been on the OP waited in column to board. They carried their empty water cans with them, but their load was considerably lighter than ours, so they were aboard the chopper and in the air quickly. As the helicopters flew away in the direction of Da Nang, we began the arduous task of moving our packs, water cans, and C rations to the summit. It was only 0800 in the morning, but already the fierce heat of Vietnam was stifling, making our journey to the summit a slow, hot, and difficult one.
Once on top of Hill 452, we occupied our bunkers and began the routine that would last for the next seven days. This routine consisted of observing the vast panorama of rice paddies, villages and trails that stretched out before us for several miles. Based upon the intelligence we had received prior to our departure from Camp Reasoner, we placed special emphasis on the approaches to the An Hoa Combat Base to our north, the trail networks to the south that led to the Que Son Mountains, and the Song Thu Bon River to the west which ran below us like a dark serpent winding its way south to the dark, mist-shrouded mountains that formed the western half of Quang Nam Province. To our east, just a blue sliver on the horizon, we could see the South China Sea. I marveled at how much of Quang Nam Province we could see from the summit of Hill 452 and quickly came to appreciate how important this OP was.
We used the team approach to observation. I set up a two-man watch team sitting on top of the radio relay bunker. Several metal engineering stakes were attached to the sides of this bunker which allowed us to attach ponchos to shade the observers from the intense sunlight. Two PRC-25 radios were placed between the men so one of them could quickly call in a SALUTE report on any sightings of the enemy and the other could be used to contact the closest artillery battery and call for an artillery fire mission on the enemy. The observer team also had a pair of 7 × 50 binoculars and the 30-power artillery spotting scope. In addition to observing for enemy activity, the observer team was responsible for relaying any recon team radio transmissions 24 hours a day back to Camp Reasoner. Since the terrain in the province had many “dead spaces” that prevented the recon teams from sending their radio messages directly back to Camp Reasoner, the OP on Hill 452 was often the only way these teams could communicate with recon’s headquarters. Since Marine recon teams carried the PRC-25 radio and it was an FM radio that needed “line of sight” to function properly, any team operating in the mountains often found itself in areas where it was impossible to maintain communications with Camp Reasoner. For those teams, the radio relay stations were the only means of maintaining continuous communications. Even with the relay stations, recon teams often found themselves in areas where their radios were incapable of communicating with friendly units. If a radio relay team lost radio contact with a recon team for more than a few hours, the relay team would report this to Camp Reasoner, and the S-3 would request the 1st Marine Air Wing, located at Marble Mountain, to send an observation plane to the last known location of the patrol and attempt to make radio contact with it. A recon team without communications was in great danger, so the relay sites were crucial to the survival of these teams.
The Song Thu Bon River.
The view from the summit of Hill 452 was breathtakingly beautiful. In the early morning hours, as the sun came up in the east out of the South China Sea and began to hover over the Que Son Mountains, the valleys below us were filled with a thick, snow-white fog called “cracin.” This white fog was so thick it blanketed the entire area around the summit and made it appear as if we could walk off the summit on a floor of clouds. Temple bells rang out in the valleys below and the voices of children playing and adults talking could be heard clearly below the clouds. Around 1000 in the morning the “cracin” would burn off, or rise like a white, billowy blanket above the mountains, revealing the rich, verdant valleys below with their dark tree lines, emerald-colored rice paddy fields, and brown, thatch-roofed houses grouped together in tight clusters that hugged streams or tree lines. Here and there, we could see village schools, Buddhist temples, and village defense forts. On the Song Thu Bon River we observed the V-shaped fish traps and small sampans used by local fishermen. The sight was deceptively tranquil and serene. The view was so beautiful at times it seemed to me that heaven might look like what I was gazing upon. I wanted my parents to see this beauty, so I took several photos of the morning “cracin” and the peaks of distant mountains wreathed in mist. On the back of these photos I wrote, “A view from Hill 452—What Heaven might look like.”
Despite the beauty of the scene we saw each morning from Hill 452, we were keenly aware that the land below us was decidedly not heaven, and we had a deadly business to conduct from our lofty perch. We could be distracted at times by the beauty of our surroundings, but we knew our only reason for being on this hill was to find the enemy and kill him, so we fought off the urge to lose ourselves in the beauty and to concentrate instead on the task at hand. For hours on end we manned our OPs, scanning the terrain below us looking for the VC.
We did not have long to wait. Around 2200 in the evening of our first day on the OP, we observed 30 to 50 VC sitting around campfires a mile south of our OP. We called in artillery fire on the campfires, but we were unable to observe the results due to the darkness. The next day at 2000 in the evening, we saw 50 flashlights and torches moving into the village of Ninh Dinh (4), which was located a mile due south of our OP. Since we could not see well enough to identify these lights as belonging to VC, we did not call in a fire mission. Using lights after dark was forbidden by law unless approved in advance by local authorities, so any large grouping of lights like this was certainly the result of VC moving about. Despite this knowledge, the rules of engagement did not allow us to fire on these lights unless we were certain they were VC. Even so, any fire mission we called in had to be cleared with the GVN district first before any rounds were fired. Later on that evening, a unit of Fox Company, 2/5, operating near the Nong Son coal mine, reported that a Combined Action Platoon (CAP) had moved into the village of Ninh Dinh (4) the night before. We watched the lights for nearly an hour before they went out, and the area around the village of Ninh Dinh 4 was again wrapped in total darkness. We never found out who had been using these lights that night, and the CAP never reported seeing them, despite their close proximity to the CAP fort.
During the next three days, we did not see any enemy activity, but all of that changed on our last day on Hill 452. On 8 March, a CAP unit reported that 300 enemy troops had been sighted in the hills near the village of Tu Phu several miles southwest of our OP and just east of the Song Thu Bon River. Cpl. Mike Borecky and Sgt. Dave Pugh scanned the area with the binoculars and the spotting scope trying to find these 300 enemy troops. After a few minutes, around noon, they located and identified a large group of armed, uniformed enemy troops moving along a trail near the village. I took the binoculars and confirmed the sighting and immediately worked up a fire mission. I had pre-registered several artillery concentrations near the location of the enemy, so I was able to contact the artillery battery and ask them to adjust from the concentrations I had already established the first day on the OP. Within minutes, we could hear the artillery firing behind us from the An Hoa Combat Base. It made a “whishing” sound as it passed over our heads on its way toward the enemy. In the distance, we could see the flash of the artillery shells impacting, and then several seconds later we could hear the loud “carumpf” sound of the explosion. We fired several artillery missions while Cpl. Borecky and Sgt. Pugh relayed adjustments to me so I could radio the artillery battery to shift the fires to get better coverage of the target. After the artillery had fired their missions, an Aerial Observer (AO) arrived on the scene in his single engine Cessna airplane and began to direct Marine and Air Force fixed-wing aircraft onto the impact area of our artillery fires. The planes dropped napalm canisters and 500-pound bombs on the enemy, after which the AO flew over the target and reported seeing fifteen enemy bodies strewn on the ground.
Mike Borecky calling in an air strike from OP Hill 452.
Later in the afternoon, we observed two enemy soldiers emplacing two .50-caliber heavy machine guns near the village of Ninh Khanh (2). We called in air strikes on these two weapons, and an AO reported that both weapons were destroyed and three enemy soldiers had been killed.
As our last day came to a close, we tallied up the artillery missions and fixed-wing sorties we had used during our stay at the OP. We found that we had called in eight artillery missions and three air strikes using two F-8s, two A-4s, and eight F-4s to deliver napalm and bombs on the enemy. In addition, I had the opportunity to practice requesting and adjusting both artillery fire and air strikes. This practice would pay off in the coming months.
On 9 March, Killer Kane left Hill 452 and returned to Camp Reasoner (Team Killer Kane Patrol Report, 9 March 1967). On the 10th of March, we watched Armed Forces Television and saw the air strikes we had called in on the enemy the previous day and an interview with one of the AOs who controlled the air strikes. On this same day, the other recon team from our platoon, Team Brisbane, led by Sgt. Barry “Rabbit” Preston, made contact with the enemy and suffered two wounded Marines. Both Marines had been shot in the legs so they were unable to move. Sgt. Preston organized a quick defense so the remaining members of his patrol, including four South Vietnamese PRU soldiers who were accompanying the patrol as part of their Reconnaissance Indoctrination Program (RIP) training, were able to fight off the enemy long enough for a UH-34 helicopter to fly in and hoist the wounded Marines to safety. Sgt. Preston and his patrol killed four of the enemy in this firefight and later used artillery fire to break contact and move to an extraction LZ. I was very impressed with the courage and ability of Sgt. Preston and another Marine on this patrol so I thought it appropriate to recommend both of these brave Marines for a Bronze Star medal. This was my first attempt to obtain awards for my Marines, and it would serve to sour me on the Marine Corps awards system.
When I broached this subject with Maj. Lowrey, he told me that 1st Force Reconnaissance Marines were not put in for individual awards; instead, their actions would be recorded and then used to determine whether they received a Bronze Star or a Navy Commendation as an “end of tour” award. I had never heard of an “end of tour” award, and I did not like Maj. Lowrey’s rationale for the policy. After spending the better part of a day writing up the Bronze Star award recommendations, I was not very happy with this situation, and I let Maj. Lowrey know it. I learned, both at the Naval Academy and at the Marine Corps Basic School, that it was my responsibility as an officer to make sure deserving Marines received promotions and brave Marines received awards for superior performance in combat. I felt this policy of giving an award to everyone in our company at the end of their tour of duty was not conducive to good morale or proper leadership. I decided to save the award recommendations I had written and wait for a time when either Maj. Lowrey was transferred or the policy changed.
While waiting in camp before my next patrol, I helped Lt. Mike Henry, who was our battalion’s civic action officer, to go on a Medcap to the village of Phuoc Ly, population 402. Our little group included a Navy medical doctor, an interpreter, and a few Marines and Navy corpsmen. Just about every week one of these Medcaps would be conducted in Phuoc Ly village. They proved very popular with the locals, who did not have ready access to the kind of medical care our Navy medical personnel could provide. These visits often involved providing free inoculations for the children, medical screening for anyone needing it, routine dental work, lectures on water treatment and disease prevention, the treatment of injuries and minor illnesses, and the dispensing of antibiotics, vitamins, and soap.
Whenever we went to Phuoc Ly, we met with the village chief, and he arranged for his people to be treated by organizing them in the priority of treatment. He also made sure that the soap we provided was distributed fairly and evenly. We often sat down with the village elders and drank warm tea, but most of the time we spent with the corpsmen asking the villagers what they thought the most pressing medical needs in their village were. This led to special projects, such as the drilling of two concrete wells for fresh, clean water and the construction of a shower area that gave the women of the village a place to shower in private when they came in from the fields. Another project was the construction of a new three-room school house for the children of primary school age. These projects were small, but welcome.
I probably made a dozen Medcap visits to Phuoc Ly during my year in South Vietnam. With each visit, I learned more about village life. Life was not easy in a Vietnamese village, even in peacetime, but war made it far more difficult. Talking to the village chief, I found that the Marine presence near his village caused many problems for the locals. Waste water flowing from the Marine encampments on Hill 327 had damaged the rice crops of Phuoc Ly; artillery H and I fires frightened the animals and made it impossible to sleep outside of a family bunker at night; Marine trucks often sped through the village’s main road, causing accidents and fear among the inhabitants. While the village chief told us that most villagers were grateful for the work on the Marine bases and for the Medcaps, they still would have preferred a more normal life and one not subject to the presence of so many foreigners and the dangers of war.
My fifth patrol was one of the strangest. On this patrol, Killer Kane took along Lt. John Danko as an observer, giving us a total of two officers and seven enlisted Marines. We were inserted by CH-46 into Elephant Valley on a grassy ridgeline overlooking the Song Cu De River early in the morning of 13 March. The LZ consisted of waist-high elephant grass and was rather exposed, so I had the patrol move quickly into some dense undergrowth where we waited and listened until we were confident no enemy troops were nearby. I took out my map and compass to make sure I knew where I was, and then I had the patrol move off in a northerly direction toward a spot where I hoped we could establish a good OP.
It was unusually hot and humid, taking a toll on all of us, but especially on LCpl. Gaston, who fainted and took several minutes to recover from his heat exhaustion. I was about to call an emergency medical evacuation (medevac) for him, but some water and shade brought him around, and he insisted he was able to continue on the patrol. I decided to take it easy and not stress the men on the patrol since I knew fatigue often led to serious lapses in security with deadly consequences.
We moved slowly downhill toward Elephant Valley, which stretched several miles toward the west and was uninhabited. Due to the heat and the condition of LCpl. Gaston, I decided to find an OP on the south side of the valley where some high trees afforded adequate shade from the sun. We found a good site for an OP on a small ledge outcropping, one that allowed us to see clearly into the valley below us. I established rear and flank security for the OP and began to search the valley for any signs of the enemy. It was obvious that at one time the valley had been used extensively for agriculture but was now abandoned. There was a stream running through the valley, and we could see the outlines of old paddy fields and overgrown irrigation canals from our position about 500 meters away.
On the second day of the patrol, the 14th of March, we heard 27 rounds of 81 mm mortar fire landing approximately 500 meters away from our position. The sound of the mortar fire indicated the mortar tubes were farther to the north on a magnetic azimuth of 70 degrees. We also heard a .50-caliber machine gun firing as two USMC helicopters passed over the valley. We called in an artillery fire mission on the suspected mortar position. We were unable to observe the impact area, and so we could not determine if the artillery fire had any effect.
On the 15th of March, I had the patrol move 200 yards northwest to a new OP site on the side of the hill. This new OP was an improvement over the previous one since it afforded good observation of the valley and had some trees that provided welcome shade. We spent the entire day looking for the enemy who had fired the mortars and the .50-caliber machine gun, but the day passed with no sign of the enemy, although we heard the distant trumpet of elephants late in the day just before sunset. As I sat up against a tree under a poncho and stared out over the dark valley below me, I realized this was the first time in my life I had ever heard an elephant outside of a zoo. As I drifted off to sleep under a star-filled sky, the only sound I heard was the hum of mosquitoes vainly trying to get at me through my head net.
The next day, the 16th, I decided to maintain our OP for another 24 hours, something recon patrols rarely did because it was our policy never to stay in one position longer than 24 hours. This policy of moving every 24 hours was a good one, based upon some very hard lessons learned. Moving every 24 hours made it very difficult for the enemy to organize an attack against a recon team’s OP or harbor site. But in this case, I decided the OP was in a secure location, and we had not seen any indication the enemy had observed us. It was a risk I was willing to take this time.
Around noon, Cpl. Bill Ellison and I were using the two 7 × 50 binoculars we had brought with us to scan Elephant Valley when he leaned over and whispered, “Lieutenant, VC, 300 meters at 11 o’clock on the trail.” I took my binoculars and looked in the direction he indicated. Immediately, I saw three VC moving east on the trail parallel to the stream. They were wearing black pajamas and coolie hats, and two of the VC appeared to be injured. One had a khaki bandage on his arm and a rifle slung on his back, while the other was unarmed but limping on his left leg.
I put down the binoculars, took a quick compass heading, located the position of the VC on my map, and then called in a fire mission 200 yards ahead of them in their direction of travel. I hoped that the fire mission would be cleared and fired just as they entered the impact area. The VC were moving slowly, but after five minutes, they were approaching the impact area for our artillery mission. There was no radio transmission to us indicating the artillery mission was close to being fired. I radioed the artillery battery and asked them to expedite the fire mission, or I would have to amend it and shift the fires another 100 meters east. While I was talking to the artillery battery, the first spotting round, a smoke round, impacted far to the west, causing the VC to seek cover in the high elephant grass near the stream. I asked the battery why they had not given me a “Shot out” or a “Splash” warning for the artillery round, but they did not answer. I asked them to shift their fires 500 meters east from their spotting round and to “fire for effect” using High Explosive (HE) rounds since I did not want the VC to have another chance at escaping. The fire mission involved a battery firing powerful 8-inch rounds, but coverage of the target was poor, and we were unable to observe whether or not they had hit any of the VC. I felt frustrated with this fire mission and learned a valuable lesson from it. That lesson was never to use smoke rounds as spotting rounds, since they told the enemy they had been observed and someone was adjusting fire on them. From that moment on, I would only use HE rounds to spot targets since the enemy often thought single HE rounds were unobserved “H and I” fires and, therefore, they usually did not take evasive action.
Three hours later, we again observed VC in the valley. This time we saw four VC moving northeast along a trail that passed through the long abandoned village of Hoi An Thuong. They were in a column spaced approximately 20 meters apart and heading toward us. I had Sgt. Ellison call a fire mission, but I knew we would probably not have the mission cleared and fired in time. I decided we should engage these four VC when they came closest to us in an open area near a stream 300 meters directly in front of our OP. I instructed Cpl. Borecky, who was carrying our M-79 grenade launcher, to prepare to take the enemy under fire when they reached the open space next to the stream. Lt. Danko and I positioned ourselves so we could fire our rifles on the approaching VC. I took up a standard sitting position, while he placed his rifle in the crook of a tree for better stability.
We waited and waited for the artillery to fire but nothing happened. After ten minutes, we saw the VC approaching the ambush killing zone, but no artillery had been fired. Since it was apparent we would be using small arms fire instead of artillery on the VC, I took a few seconds to take some extra magazines of ammunition from my web belt. As I was doing this, Sgt. Pugh, who had taken over observing the VC with the binoculars, whispered, “Hey, one of these bastards looks like a white guy.” I took the binoculars from him and asked him which one he was talking about. He replied that it was the third one in the column, “the tall guy in the khaki uniform.” Since this individual was now only about 300 meters in front of us and 100 feet below us, I got a very good look at him. His appearance clearly set him apart from his traveling companions. He was taller than the other VC by about a foot. He was dressed in a khaki uniform with the sleeves rolled up, and he had a short-brimmed, light-green bush hat on his head. He was carrying a large khaki rucksack and a rifle that looked a lot like a Belgium FLN. In addition to his appearance, he acted differently than his colleagues; he did not look at the ground but scanned the sky and the hills around him in an almost arrogant manner. As he came closer, I could see he had distinctive web gear; it was made of what appeared to be black leather, something I had never seen before on a VC or NVA soldier. I saw his face clearly as he turned to look up in our direction and it was obvious that his facial features were European and not Asian. I remembered I had my camera in my pack and asked LCpl. Dave Powell to get it quickly and take some pictures of this Caucasian-looking VC. As Powell was aiming my camera at the odd-looking VC, Lt. Danko said he had a good bead on the lead VC, and he requested to fire. I gave my permission, and almost in unison Lt. Danko, Cpl. Borecky, and I opened fire. The first two VC dropped in the grass and appeared to be crawling away while the other two began to run into some high elephant grass. Lt. Danko and I fired several magazines of M-16 rounds at the fleeing VC, and Cpl. Borecky fired his M-79 multiple times, getting very good coverage of the area where we last saw the VC. Both Lt. Danko and I felt we had hit the two lead VC, but we could not see any bodies due to the high grass and brush. Cpl. Borecky continued to fire his M-79 grenade launcher into the area below while I took over the radio and adjusted an artillery fire mission back and forth over the area where we last saw the VC. I asked LCpl. Powell if he had gotten any good pictures of the Caucasian-looking VC, and he said he had taken 4 or 5 pictures of him before we opened fire.
I debated whether or not to go down the hill and into the valley to search for the VC but decided against it since searching for the enemy in elephant grass was very dangerous, and I knew it would take us at least an hour to reach the ambush site safely. My decision to remain in our OP became moot when I received a radio message from Camp Reasoner that a Marine infantry reaction force from F Company, 1st Battalion, 26th Marines was on its way to search the valley for the Caucasian-looking VC. They gave me the call sign and frequency of the infantry unit, and we waited for the helicopters with the reaction force to arrive. Within an hour, the reaction force landed 200 meters west of the ambush site and began to sweep the valley along both sides of the trail. I spoke with the reaction force commander and gave him directions, but he found it difficult to maneuver his Marines quickly to the ambush site.
Finally, after about 30 minutes, a squad of Marines entered the open area we had used for our ambush, and they began to conduct a search. They found blood trails, some bandages, and a Chinese hand grenade, but no bodies. After 45 minutes on the ground, the reaction force left via helicopter. Since we had given our OP position away, I moved the patrol down the hill into the southern edge of the valley. We set up a harbor site in some thick bamboo and spent a quiet night there.
Early the next morning, as we prepared to be extracted, we observed two VC in black pajamas moving in a tree line northeast of our position. They were carrying large packs which were camouflaged with foliage to make them look like moving bushes. While we were observing them, two Marine helicopters flew over the valley, and the VC froze in place, leaned over, and held that position until the helicopters had flown by. I am sure no one could have seen them from the air given the excellent camouflage job they had done on their packs. It was even difficult for us to make them out when they did this, and we were relatively close to them. The thought struck me that my patrol could probably pass right by such well-camouflaged enemy troops and pay a heavy price for it.
Ever since we had moved off the high ground and on to the valley floor, our radios did not work well. This communication problem made it impossible for us to call in a fire mission on these VC. We could only watch as they moved away out of our sight to the east. Later in the day, we moved to the trail near the stream and placed several psychological warfare leaflets on trees and brush nearby. These Vietnamese language leaflets had a large eye printed on them and warned the enemy that “Marines are watching you—rally or die.” We often took these propaganda leaflets with us on patrol, but we made sure we placed them on the last day of any patrol, so the enemy would only find them long after we were gone.
In the late afternoon, we were extracted from Elephant Valley by helicopter and returned to Camp Reasoner. Lt. St. Claire immediately debriefed us, and told us there was a great deal of interest in the Caucasian-looking VC the patrol had encountered (Team Killer Kane Patrol Report, 17 March 1967). He asked me to write a special report describing this strange-looking VC, so he could make it an attachment to the normal patrol report sent to the Division G-2. Sgt. Ellison, LCpl. Powell, Lt. Danko and I were each interviewed separately to see if there were any discrepancies in our observations, but all of us reported the identical characteristics. Lt. St. Claire took the film we had taken of this strange VC and sent it to the Division G-2 for processing. It was highly unusual for our film to be confiscated. In fact, this was the only occasion when this unusual step was taken. However, given the intense interest in our report of a tall, fair-skinned VC, it seemed like the logical thing to do. We never heard anything about the photos, and we did not receive any of the other photos taken on the role of film. Lt. St. Claire told us later that the film had been flown to Camp Smith, Hawaii, for processing and analysis.
March 1967 was a transformative month for me and for my team, Killer Kane. Two tragic events that deeply affected me took place that month and caused me to adopt a radically different approach to the business of conducting reconnaissance patrols. The first of these occurred on 1 March when my good friend, 2nd Lt. Thomas Dowd, was killed leading his Marines. Tom had been assigned to Company E, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, when he arrived with me in South Vietnam, and he quickly made a favorable impression on his CO and the men of his platoon. He was aggressive, yet not foolhardy, a trait his company commander noted with satisfaction. He was also a quick learner who listened to and learned from the experienced men in his platoon and from his fellow platoon commanders. Despite his natural leadership and careful approach to his job, luck ran out for Tom on an operation southwest of Da Nang when he was killed by a hand grenade thrown by a VC he was chasing. When I saw Tom’s name on a list of those killed, I was sitting on the back porch of my hootch cleaning my equipment from my last patrol. At first, I thought there might be some mistake, but when I went to the company office and asked the personnel NCO to check the casualty lists at Division headquarters, the sad news was confirmed. I felt sick at Tom’s passing. He was the first person I knew who had been killed in the war. Tom was such a vibrant, witty, and charismatic young man it did not seem possible that he was dead. I felt physically ill at hearing the news, but then I began to feel a rage well up inside of me, a rage that grew with every moment I thought of Tom and his grieving family. I wanted to strike out against the enemy that had deprived me of my friend.
Thomas Dowd.
Then on 25 March tragedy struck again, even closer to home. Team Countersign, led by Capt. Eric Barnes, was patrolling in an area southeast of the An Hoa Combat Base when someone in the patrol stepped on a land mine. The blast killed both Eric and Sgt. Godfred Blankenship, the assistant patrol leader. What was particularly tragic about Eric’s death was he did not have to be on this patrol. He had recently been promoted to captain, and captains did not take out patrols. He had volunteered to take the patrol out because there was a shortage of experienced patrol leaders. Afterward, he would take over duties as the operations officer for the company. He had just returned from R and R in Hawaii, where he met his wife and two young children. While he was on R and R, Eric had told his wife that he would not be taking out any more patrols since his promotion meant he would be assigned to a staff position for the few remaining months he was to be in Vietnam.
I had been out on my seventh patrol when Eric was killed. Our insertion mode for this patrol was unusual. We were inserted by truck because bad weather and mechanical problems for the CH-46 helicopter fleet had grounded these helicopters. Our patrol was inserted on 23 March on Highway 1 north of Da Nang on the north side of the Song Cu De River. The insertion location was a bad one, since it was close to the bridge across the river and there were many villages in the vicinity. I had the patrol move rapidly west into the hills and began climbing the slopes of the Ti Tau Mountain. The purpose of our patrol was to locate where the VC we had spotted during our previous patrol might have been heading. We spent 78 hours hiking in dense and steep jungle terrain, but we only made one sighting of four VC with packs and AK-47 rifles in Elephant Valley not far from where we had spotted the Caucasian VC.
After sighting the four VC, we attempted to follow them in the hope of killing or capturing them. However, they moved away from us quickly, and we were unable to pick up their trail. As we chased after the VC, we found several platoon-sized enemy harbor sites but no indication these sites had been used recently. We covered a lot of ground on this patrol, much of it along a rocky stream bed, making our movement slow, tedious, and difficult. During one of our stops along the patrol route, we saw the face of an entire cliff covered with beautiful orchids set against black stone. Most of the orchids were white or purple but a few were a blend of several colors. The area of this beautiful scene was close to the Garden of Eden, so I began to understand why my recon colleagues had chosen such an apt name for the area. As I stared at the beauty of the scene, I wondered why God had placed such beauty in a place where only a patrol of Marines or some wandering VC would ever see it (Team Killer Kane Patrol Report, 26 March 1967).
Eric Barnes.
As soon as the patrol returned, we were greeted by Maj. Bill Lowrey and several others who informed us of Eric’s and Sgt. Blankenship’s deaths. We were stunned. Without waiting for our debriefing or washing up, I joined Maj. Lowrey, GySgt. Gabbert, and Lt. Mike Henry and went to Company C, 1st Medical Battalion, a short jeep drive from Camp Reasoner on the road to Dogpatch Village. There we viewed the bodies of both of our fallen comrades at Graves Registration.
I was sickened by the deaths of Tom Dowd and Eric Barnes, both of whom I knew and respected. Since Eric lived in the same hootch with me, slept directly opposite me, and was the officer I most admired in our company, I was overcome with grief. I thought about how sad his wife and young children would feel when the news reached them back in New England. It all seemed so unfair that Eric and Sgt. Blankenship, two of the very best men in our company, should die. That evening as I lay in my bed, sweltering in the heat, I vowed that I would make the enemy pay for what they had done to Tom, Eric and Sgt. Blankenship. For hours that night I thought about how I could take revenge on the enemy. The answer would come the next morning.
National Highway 1 north of Da Nang.
After breakfast in the mess hall, I was sitting on the back porch cleaning my rifle and other gear when I heard a voice with a thick Irish accent coming from the front door of our hootch. The Irish voice asked Lt. Lenny Torres, “Is Andy here? I need to speak to him.” While I was not the strictest officer, I was not used to an enlisted Marine referring to me by my first name, and I was a bit put off by what I considered a lack of respect on the part of this “voice.” Lt. Torres brought the “voice” to the back porch where I immediately saw that the “voice” belonged to Cpl. Roy L. Watson, a member of Team Countersign.
Instead of saluting, as any normal Marine would do, he simply walked up and said, “Ah, there you are, Andy.” I stood up and asked him what he wanted, and he said, “Andy, can we talk in private? I mean I don’t want anyone but you to hear what I have to say.” I was beginning to get really annoyed by his lack of military courtesy and the continued use of my first name, so I told him if he wanted to talk to me, I would be glad to do so but only if he used “Sir” or “Lieutenant” when addressing me. Undeterred by my show of annoyance, Cpl. Watson simply assumed a feigned attitude of contrition that was far from convincing. I knew something of his background, which was unique: He was an Irish citizen, but had volunteered to serve in the U.S. Marine Corps after serving for eight years as a British Royal Marine fighting in Kenya and Yemen. I also knew he had a reputation in the company for eccentric behavior. With a hurt look on his face more theatrical than sincere, he said, “Sorry, Andy, but in the Royal Marines, we use our officers’ first names in the field.”
Roy Watson at Camp Reasoner.
I told him we were not in the field, and we were not Royal Marines. He got my point and standing at attention with eyes fixed ahead, he formally asked again if we could talk in confidence “about a small matter that needs to be taken care of.” Since he belatedly used “sir” at the end of his question, I said I would be glad to talk to him. Then in a very conspiratorial manner, he whispered that he and the men of Team Countersign wanted to propose something to me. What he told me and what we carried out as a result of that conversation would change the way Killer Kane would operate against the enemy from that moment on with dramatic results.