13

REPERCUSSIONS AND REVERBERATIONS

April 1, 1970, across South Vietnam

It was not as spectacular as the Tet Offensive of two years prior, but the April 1, 1970, attack on FSB Illingworth was only one of a number of engagements that the NVA initiated that day, all across South Vietnam. In something called “the April High Point,” the COSVN (Central Office for South Vietnam) planned and carried out one hundred engagements on April 1—a real April Fool’s Day for the Americans and their allies. The thrust at FSB Illingworth turned out to be the nastiest and most brutal battle of the day; indeed, it made the front pages of many domestic newspapers and was a highlight on the six o’clock news.

This was, after all, supposed to be a time when America was withdrawing its forces from South Vietnam—not engaging in more pitched battles and producing more significant casualties. For one brief moment, FSB Illingworth held an unwanted spotlight, and it didn’t help that 60 percent of the casualties suffered during the April High Point occurred there.

April 2, 1970, MACV Headquarters, Saigon

On April 2, 1970, the Office of Information at the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV), issued a morning news release, number 92-70, that read as follows:

At approximately 0230 yesterday morning (1 April), an element of the 1st Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile), at a fire support base 34 km (22 miles) north-northwest of Tay Ninh City and five miles from the Cambodian border, received about 200 mixed 120 mm mortar and 82 mm mortar rounds, 15 mixed 107 mm and 122 mm rockets and a ground attack by an estimated two enemy companies. The enemy employed small arms, automatic weapons and rocket-grenade fire. The troopers returned fire with organic weapons supported by helicopter gunships and artillery. As action continued, an element of the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment, in tanks and armored personnel carriers moved to the area and reinforced the troops in contact. Fighting continued until about 0430 when the remaining enemy withdrew. No enemy were reported to have penetrated the perimeter. In a search of the battle area, the bodies of 54 enemy soldiers were found. In addition, 28 individual weapons were captured. U.S. casualties were 24 killed [actually 25] and 54 wounded. Materiel damage was light to moderate. (The name of the fire support base was FSB Illingworth.)

With these few words, the army made its official public disclosure on the battle at FSB Illingworth. Many at MACV hoped this would be the sum total record of the dust-up. The report failed to mention, of course, that the two hundred or so Americans at FSB Illingworth were nearly overwhelmed by an enemy force better than twice their numbers.1 Extolling the actions of the 11th Armored was gallant, but, in fact, though the cavalrymen tried very hard, they arrived after the battle was already decided and took no part in its outcome. The missive also failed to do the math: the Army sustained better than 10 percent KIA, a total casualty rate of almost 40 percent, and the all-important ratio of enemy dead to Americans killed was only slightly better than 2-to-1. In a command structure obsessed with “body counts” and “kill ratios” where 10-to-1 or better was the minimally accepted goal, the firefight at Illingworth was a bit of an embarrassment. Worse, it came on the heels of the attack on FSB Jay, five days earlier, where equally distressing casualty figures were experienced.

The two engagements did not escape the attention of the commanding general in Vietnam at the time, Gen. Creighton Abrams. They also received critical scrutiny at the Pentagon and ended up in the daily war briefings conducted for President Nixon. Nixon was very upset, and Abrams was furious. Someone was going to need to explain what had happened.

April 5, 1970, 1 Cavalry HQ, War Zone C

The hot potato landed right back in General Roberts’s lap. On April 5, General Roberts issued a six-page report on the events at Jay and Illingworth (see here for a complete copy of the report). In the missive he cited, right up front, the strategy he (and General Casey) had put in place that purposefully put the two fire support bases in the path of the NVA. The strategy of drawing out the enemy, Roberts believed, had been highly successful. He made no apologies for using his forces as tantalizing targets. This was, after all, war.

Roberts then went on to state the obvious at several junctures. (1) The way that the bases were placed had undoubtedly allowed the NVA to zero in on specific targets within their perimeters. Roberts felt that could not be helped; it made the scenario more believable to the enemy. (2) Roberts also defended the tactic of not hardening the bases better than they had. Doing so would probably not, in his view, have done much to prevent the casualties. He wanted to maintain mobility, which meant sacrificing substance. Interestingly, he did not give any reasons, in writing, for not moving Illingworth sooner, as had been urged by both Conrad and Casey. (3) Roberts made mention that in future, all artillery ammunition should be sufficiently dug in, properly covered, and adequately dispersed so that there would not be too much in one spot. This, of course, should have been blazingly obvious from the get-go but was entirely overlooked—and even ignored after Conrad protested the situation he faced on the afternoon of March 31. Roberts did not place blame for this glaring failure on anyone.

*   *   *

In 1973, Lt. Gen. John H. Hay Jr. wrote an in-depth study for the Department of the Army in regard to FSBs in Vietnam.2 General Hay’s treatise, Tactical and Materiel Innovations, carefully points out some of the strategies and lessons learned in regard to FSBs and their uses by highlighting two engagements that occurred at FSB Crook in June 1969 and FSB Floyd in August 1970. These clashes are bookends to the April 1, 1970, fight at FSB Illingworth, but unlike Illingworth they stand out as shining examples, as far as the army is concerned, of what could go right if the fire support base concept were used according to doctrine as it existed at the time. It is worth examining the differences between these encounters to get a better perspective on FSB Illingworth. Contrasting the battles at FSB Crook and FSB Illingworth is particularly instructive.

A reading of General Hay’s description of the action that took place at FSB Crook, as well as the Operational Reports of the 25th Infantry Division for the same time period, presents an eerily similar scenario to FSB Illingworth. The NVA soldiers who attacked FSB Crook were even from the same 272nd Regiment that would attack FSB Illingworth nine months later. Like Illingworth, Crook was placed across a prime enemy infiltration route, planned so as to agitate the NVA into taking action, situated on a flat area near forested triple-canopy jungle, set up with interlocking fields of artillery fire from nearby FSBs, ringed by concentric aiming circles and the area around it was dotted with patches of potential concealment set up as traps for NVA recon parties and observers.

FSB Crook was manned by B Company, 3rd Battalion, 22nd Infantry, as well as elements of the medical, communications, and mortar platoons of the same battalion. There were six 105 mm howitzers, just as at Illingworth, but there were no 155 mm or 8-inch guns on-site. The firebase was protected from on high by the same types of gunships, aerial rocket artillery, and TACAIR that would be available to the defenders at Illingworth.

Late at night on the evening of June 5, 1969, the seismic sensors picked up signs of activity in the tree line; the commanding officer at Crook initiated the pre-planned artillery firing program; the fire base was placed on 100 percent alert; mad-minutes were conducted. At 0255, the NVA commenced a bombardment of the base and shortly thereafter conducted a battalion-sized attack at the southwestern part of the berm, exactly as at Illingworth.

Where the two stories start to diverge is in the ultimate defense of the base and the casualties. The NVA did get inside the perimeter of FSB Crook, notably with Bangalore torpedoes, something they apparently did not use at Illingworth, opting for satchel charges instead. Considering the flimsy nature of the berm at FSB Illingworth, Bangalore’s were unnecessary in terms of penetrating the perimeter. Satchel charges, which could be delivered more easily and in greater quantity, might be able to do more damage faster, and they apparently did so. The enemy was quickly overcome at Crook and the attacks blunted by a spirited and aggressive defense. Meanwhile, as the NVA were charging, artillery units off-site, including 8-inch guns stationed at other fire bases to the rear, were hammering the areas immediately around FSB Crook and the NVA positions in the tree lines. The artillery used a lethal combination of killer junior and killer senior in defending FSB Crook.

By 0400 the next morning, the NVA were pulling back, having suffered very heavy casualties. Seventy-six bodies were discovered. Only one American was killed and only one wounded.

Unlike at Illingworth, the NVA came at the base again the next evening and received an even worse pounding for their efforts. This time, the NVA attacked the northeast corner of the base but were immediately decimated by a furious barrage of killer junior as well as air assets. They did not even get close to penetrating the lines at FSB Crook during this attack. Three Americans were wounded, none killed. The next morning 323 enemy bodies were discovered.

This is a vastly different outcome from the battle at FSB Illingworth. Why?

The Operational Reports/Lessons Learned documents from the 25th Infantry Division for June 1969 were published and distributed soon after the events at FSB Crook. Copies were sent to the 1st Cavalry Division. They would have been read by the intel staff, at least, and probably by every senior officer in the division, so the facts and lessons learned would have been available. Whether the particulars were absorbed and included in future action plans within the 1st Cav would be, at this late date, only conjecture, but the historical record of General Casey would lead us to believe that this avid reader and excellent strategic thinker would have at least seen the material at some point.

We also know that FSB Crook had been in place for almost two months before it was attacked and that it was “hardened” to an extent that FSB Illingworth was not. For one thing, it had a more robust concertina wire barrier than Illingworth. FSB Crook was not designed to be a permanent installation at all, but it was constructed to parameters that were more robust than the flying forward base, “hit ’em and run” concept that General Casey was demanding of the FSBs like Illingworth.

FSB Crook received a barrage of NVA rockets and artillery prior to the ground assault, just like Illingworth, but at Crook very few of the rounds did any appreciable damage. That was not the situation at Illingworth, where the compound suffered extensively from the fusillade and several men were killed or wounded. The accuracy and effectiveness of the NVA bombardment at Illingworth has been attributed to the extensive time the NVA had to take the measure of the base prior to the attack. FSB Crook, however, was also in place for an extended period, so it’s hard to explain the difference in the results of the two opening salvos. What we do know is that the first few minutes of the engagement made the defense of Illingworth much more problematic.

Illingworth’s infantry defense was conducted by the remnants of one company—Charlie—that had been reduced to thirty-nine effectives augmented by twenty-two men from the battalion recon platoon and 30 or so newbies. Crook’s infantry component was the full-strength and rested Bravo Company of the 3/22 Infantry. That had to have made a difference, and it says absolutely nothing about the innate bravery of the men of Charlie 2/8; it was just a question of numbers and the relative physical health of the two outfits. Bravo 3/22 was also backed up by elements of their own battalion for mortar, communications, and medical support and had had more time and experience in working together and coordinating with one another than the patchwork of units at Illingworth.

The mortar pits at Illingworth were removed from the fight soon after the battle commenced. The mortars at Crook were in place and operating throughout their two engagements. There was no cavalry component at Crook, but the cavalry units at Illingworth were there by accident and not design. They contributed little to the defense of Illingworth, but in fairness to the reputations of those men, they couldn’t have due to the condition of their equipment. They did, however, provide an unintended but effective intimidation factor in the minds of the enemy.

The artillery units at Illingworth fought bravely and effectively—especially the 1/77 105 mm battery, whose six howitzers certainly made a big contribution. The 155 mm and 8-inch guns could hardly have been very effective, as organic artillery; it just wasn’t their kind of fight. When you factor in the contributions of their crews, fighting along the berm, sometimes hand to hand, and the contributions of the men from the quad .50 and the searchlight unit, it certainly made a positive difference in the outcome.

The artillery assets at FSB Crook also figured heavily in the successful outcome of that action, but for different reasons. The artillery created the majority of the casualties and did so before the NVA could even get close to the perimeter of the base. The combination of killer junior from the fire base and killer senior from off-site compounds decimated the enemy before they could get near enough to execute their favorite “danger close” tactic.

In hindsight, placing the two big 8-inch guns from the 2/32 aboard Illingworth was certainly a useless and wasteful tactic insofar as their potential use in defending the base was concerned. That was not the main reason the guns were there, of course; they were intended to fire on other, longer-range targets, but they never did. It was also a miscalculation to think that the big guns could be well defended—or even defend themselves—in the confines of a lightly constructed and intentionally impermanent enclosure like FSB Illingworth.

There were certainly no huge piles of unprotected or unbunkered ammunition aboard FSB Crook as there were at Illingworth. As it turned out, the explosion of the 8-inch ammo at Illingworth was both a blessing and a curse, but mostly a blessing. All things considered, that ammo should not have been there in such quantities and in such an exposed condition. It was only dumb luck that the catastrophe didn’t kill far more of the American defenders or blow away the base completely.

*   *   *

General Roberts’s report on the actions at FSB Jay and FSB Illingworth seems to have been accepted without further comment. The focus on Jay and Illingworth swiftly receded into the background. This might seem unfortunate but was probably totally logical because all eyes, ears, and efforts were turning swiftly to a new dynamic: the planning for the invasion of Cambodia.

Cambodia had an urgency that was both political and practical. The governing regime in Phnom Penh was changing dramatically, and into one that was finally fed up with the constant interference within its borders by the government in Hanoi. It was also approaching the end of the dry season, and if a major push was not initiated before the end of May, there was a strong possibility that the tanks, tracks, and trucks needed for the drive into Cambodia would be mired in mud up to their axles, or worse.

In truth, many of those with responsibilities for Jay and Illingworth were just as happy to see affairs quickly swept under the carpet. As mentioned, the casualty ratios between the Americans and the NVA were embarrassingly poor—that is, decidedly in favor of the NVA, at least in regard to the “norm.” Then again, since no one really knows how many NVA perished, it may be better than the record indicates.

There was a positive side, though. The 1st Cav unquestionably hurt the NVA—badly. The casualties suffered by the enemy were steep and devastating. At least two proud, experienced, frontline NVA regiments were wrecked during March and early April 1970. Several major supply bases were captured and destroyed. Important trails and interdiction routes were disrupted and uprooted. The actions of the entire 1st Cav in War Zone C during this period rocked the NVA back on their heels and unquestionably helped set the stage for an easier invasion of Cambodia.

*   *   *

Life is a constant series of choices. Thankfully, most of our options are not life threatening. Vanilla or chocolate? iPad or PC? There is, of course, that occasional decision with potentially life-changing consequences. Marry or stay single? Medical school or law school? For those in authority in combat, decisions are constantly demanded, and almost every choice affects a life—or ends one. It is a heavy burden.

The colonels and generals directing the American efforts in Vietnam in 1970 had a particularly difficult time of it. This was the first American war where technology allowed the Defense Department, the Pentagon, and the White House to look directly over the shoulders of the leaders prosecuting the conflict. Former Defense Secretary Robert McNamara (1961–1968) was always meddling in the process of the conduct of the war. Melvin Laird, who was Defense Secretary at the time of the battle at FSB Illingworth, even had a Vietnam Task Force that met nearly every morning when he was at the Pentagon.

Vietnam was also the first American conflict that had more political considerations than strategic ones. As a result, the senior officers on the front lines had to worry often about being second-guessed. They had to employ tactics based not on what might be strategically sound but on what might look politically correct on the six o’clock news. For a professional war fighter, especially the senior officers, many of whom were still steeped in their World War II combat experiences, it was a difficult, frustrating, and especially inept war to navigate.

Gen. Elvy Roberts was surely in this category. On the one hand, his orders were to clean out the nest of snakes in War Zone C represented by the PAVN and their infiltration activities. On the other hand, he was told he had to do it with caution while not incurring any unnecessary casualties. He was also tasked with doing it “economically,” not spending any more money than absolutely necessary. His division even had its flight hours cut back in the middle of March 1970 in an effort to save on the budget.

Roberts also knew that his command tour was winding down. He faced leaving the greatest position of combat authority he would ever hold in his long career, and it was happening just as the big push into Cambodia was about to begin. The old warrior would not be around to drive his men into the most important, most controversial engagement of the war.

Given all this, we might be able to guess at Roberts’s mindset as he received the call from General Casey requesting that Conrad be allowed to move out of Illingworth. Roberts’s chances of affecting the outcome in War Zone C were dwindling; he only had a few weeks. He was a tough, brave combat paratrooper who had gone “balls to the wall” to beat the Germans in World War II. He career was writing its final chapters; the “young guns” (like Casey and Conrad) were taking over. Did he really care much about where his future was headed in the army? Or did he care more about charging up that one last hill? A more timid, more political general might have thought more about the media impact of a decision to pull out of FSB Illingworth. An old warrior sick and tired of the politics might have recognized that the enemy he had been chasing all over the region was, finally, right there in front of him. All he had to do was leave those men in place and tease the NVA out of hiding and smash them once and for all—one last hurrah before riding off into the sunset and the cushy job of heading a Reserve Army Corps in San Francisco, sporting a third star. The burdens of command are awesome, indeed, and always subject to second-guessing, no matter what the outcome might be.

*   *   *

There still exists much bitterness, even to this day, among the men who fought and survived the firestorms at FSB Illingworth. Too many good friends and comrades were lost. Their valor, however, cannot be denied, and although they may still feel as if they were pawns in a poorly understood war, aren’t all soldiers ultimately pawns?

The game of chess, which contains more pawns than any other type of piece, was most likely invented in Persia sometime around the sixth century. It was a game to mimic war—and to train its players in the art of war. Pawns are routinely sacrificed to try to take out the opponent’s major pieces and ultimately corner or capture the opposing king. The sacrifice of one’s pawns is always made better by victory. In the grand game of chess that the War in Vietnam ultimately became, we lost too many pawns, and there was no clear-cut sense of victory, only a feeling of defeat.

Illingworth was one battle of a hundred battles that occurred in a single day of a war that lasted more than seven thousand days. It was not the most significant engagement of the war, but neither was it the least significant. Illingworth had its place and its purpose, and it became a perfect microcosm of what the Vietnam War was becoming in the early days of Vietnamization. This book has been an attempt to see this portion of that war through this small window: what it was like under those conditions for those who fought the war during that time frame. What were those men thinking, feeing, doing? How were they reacting to and perceiving that war? It is also intended as a testimonial to all Vietnam veterans.

The War in Vietnam was not lost in engagements like FSB Illingworth. Ultimately, it was not lost at all. In a recent speech, retired U.S. Marine Corps Gen. Anthony Zinni spoke eloquently about this. In his talk he made note of the laudatory comments being heaped upon the “Greatest Generation,” the men and women who fought in World War II. General Zinni certainly agreed wholeheartedly with those sentiments but also wondered why the “Vietnam Generation” is not now praised similarly. He pointed out that in all the long history of the Vietnam War, no American force ever lost a stand-up fight. He also wondered, if the Vietnam War is such a scar on our honor, why are there so many men today pretending to have fought in that war? He noted, with a touch of humor, that “I sure don’t see too many out there pretending to have gone to Woodstock.”

General Zinni is very adamant that the war was not “lost” on the battlefields of Southeast Asia. He contends it was ceded to the enemy in Washington and Paris by those who had more pressing political concerns than backbone. The contest at FSB Illingworth, albeit just one stark data point, would certainly bear out General Zinni’s hypothesis.

Unfortunately, those who fought at FSB Illingworth have tended to subscribe to the concept that what they did there was unworthy of the same valorous accolades as those given to those who fought on other, more “honorable” battlegrounds. They should not feel that way in the least, but it is understandable given the overall general queasiness many Americans feel, to his day, relative to any topic that includes Vietnam. It is time to change that mindset. It is time to recognize how wrong we have been and to honor those who answered their country’s call, like those brave men who endured, survived, and triumphed at FSB Illingworth. Welcome home, brave warriors.