5

“BUILD IT AND THEY WILL COME”

The revised fire-base strategy was paying off—if, indeed, making the NVA nervous, angry, and aggressive was considered a good payoff. General Casey was keeping his brigades on the move, and 1st Brigade’s 2/8 battalion, under Colonel Conrad’s leadership, was hitting the NVA particularly hard; the enemy’s casualties were ratcheting upward.

On March 17, the 2/8 abandoned FSB Drum and moved even closer to the Cambodian border in order to establish another fire base right on top of where the intel guys believed the NVA had a robust trail system leading south. As noted above, Conrad dubbed the new FSB Illingworth in honor of PFC (posthumously promoted to corporal) Jack Illingworth.

Another 1st Brigade battalion, the 2/7, commanded by Lt. Col. Robert Hannas, was also moving up. The next day, March 18, they set up shop on a spot about 6 miles away from Illingworth, occupying a former fire support base named Jay. This post had been opened and then closed by the ARVN some weeks prior (chapter 7 has a more complete discussion of FSB Jay). Over the next two weeks, FSBs Jay and Illingworth would operate in concert against the NVA forces infiltrating the area. They would also become entwined in some of the most savage fighting of 1970.

*   *   *

The construction of a fire support base was usually quite a circus, and Illingworth was no exception. First, Division intel picked the geographic coordinates that were most likely to catch the NVA’s immediate attention. The FSB would be placed as close as possible to where the NVA were believed to be running men and supplies through the local brush. With the basic coordinates in hand, Colonel Conrad would plant a center stake, the physical spot where the construction process would commence. The outpost would be out in the open so that it could be free of cumbersome obstructions. This would also make the base an inviting target, and as odd as it might seem to some, that was part of the plan.

With the physical spot designated and marked, the engineers would be flown in, followed immediately by a Chinook helicopter dangling a small bulldozer from a sling beneath its belly. The dozer would start from wherever the senior engineer in charge directed, and immediately begin shoving piles of earth outward, forming a huge circle roughly 300 yards across. (Theoretically: By the time the engineers were done at Illingworth, the outer boundary resembled an egg more than a perfect circle.) The dirt berm was to be about 3 feet high.

The next activity was to build out the tactical operations center. The same bulldozer dug a big hole near the center of the base. Large timbers were flown in to span the hole. Sheets of PSP (pierced steel planking), the same kind used to construct makeshift runways and tarmacs, were brought in to lie across the top of the timbers. Finally, several layers of sandbags were filled and thrown on top of the steel planking. A Chinook also flew in a large CONEX box (an empty shipping container), which was plopped down next to the TOC and smothered in sandbags. This would be the battalion aid station.

The icing on the cake was a single, virtually useless, strand of concertina wire that was strung all around the top of the berm. Barbed wire was not very effective at slowing down the enemy unless it was staked down (it wasn’t at Illingworth) and complemented with what was called “tanglefoot.” A tanglefoot installation placed multiple lines of barbed wire or razor wire somewhere between knee and ankle height across a wide space, typically 8 to 10 feet across. These patches were usually placed near strategic spots, such as the .50 cal bunkers or the TOC. The patchwork quilt of wire was difficult to cross or crawl under without getting all entangled (thus the countrified nomenclature of “tanglefoot”). Installing these types of elaborate wire snares required a lot of time and personnel, neither of which Colonel Conrad had. It also took a great deal of aerial support to fly in tons of bales of barbed wire. Division flight time was then at a premium and therefore unavailable to use for this purpose.

The single strand of wire that was deployed would not be an obstacle of any consequence to troops determined to storm the base, but the wire barrier was visible to a charging enemy. They could not know how extensive (or insubstantial) the wire was, especially in the dark, until they were on top of it. The fear of a substantial wire barrier could cause a moment’s hesitation, and that half second might make the difference to a defender. At least that was the theory.

Once these rudimentary preparations had been made, the infantry could dig in. At Illingworth, Conrad carefully placed his infantry assets (fewer than ninety men, by the best available contemporary records) at posts on the perimeter closest to what he figured would be the likeliest points of attack. The infantry officers would then detail their platoons and squads to construct firing positions. Some of the squads were lucky enough to procure corrugated metal culverts—sort of mini-Quonset huts—but most were relegated to piling up whatever sandbags, boxes, used ammo cans, spare timbers, and wire they could scrounge.

By the time all the infantry emplacements were done, there were twenty of them. Each could contain, if fully manned (they were not), between six and nine grunts. Where there were culverts, the men stacked sandbags on top of them three to four bags deep. Men who were left to fend for themselves on the line dug foxholes into the berm. For some reason, there was a scarcity of claymore mines, and until more could be flown in, only a few were placed in front of each section of the perimeter. The total number of claymores, in the collected memories of those who survived the onslaught, was pegged at “a couple dozen.” This was hardly enough to deflect or defeat a determined formation of enemy combatants, but certainly enough to catch a few enemies in the first wave.

The fire base had machine guns, but not a large number; the veterans of the battle indicated that there may have been ten to twelve of all calibers. A few M-60s were brought up and placed along the berm, probably no more than six. Recollections count “several” .50 calibers on the line, which included one that had been “appropriated” from one of the inoperable Sheridan tanks languishing over on the northwest corner of the base. There was a quad .50 mount, consisting of four synchronized .50 cals (more on that below), stationed near the 8-inch howitzers.

After the engineers left, the artillery arrived. The same faithful “Shit-hooks” would sling in and disgorge several of the big guns that had been assigned to Illingworth, and others would rumble up in convoy. Eventually, FSB Illingworth would have the following artillery units and field pieces on hand: six 105 mm howitzers from Battery B, 1st Battalion, 77th Field Artillery; three 155 mm howitzers from A Battery, 1st Battalion, 30th Field Artillery; and two 8-inch SP howitzers from A Battery, 2nd Battalion, 32nd Field Artillery. The “redlegs”1 also flew in a portable FDC (fire direction center) housed within another CONEX container. B Battery, 5th Battalion, 2nd Field Artillery, sent up a quad .50 gun truck, and I Battery of the 29th Field Artillery provided a xenon searchlight jeep. (These two resources were primarily to support and protect the 8-inch howitzers.) There were also three 81 mm mortars in Echo 2/8’s mortar platoon.

The 105 mm howitzer had been around since the early days of World War II in what was called the M-101 version. In 1966 the newer, lighter M-102 model began to be deployed to Vietnam, and it became the ubiquitous and primary workhorse artillery piece for the duration of the war. The M-102 could be towed by just about any truck with a three-quarter-ton capacity or higher. It could also be parachuted into LZs or slung below any medium- to heavy-lift helicopter.

Direct fire (pointing and shooting directly at the enemy) was not the 105s primary purpose, although it could be—and was—used in that capacity when things got dicey. Its main advantage was the ability to fire a lot of shells quickly. The M-102 could fire as many as ten rounds per minute for three frantic minutes, then a sustained rate of three rounds per minute. The 105 fired a 33-pound projectile out to 7 miles but was more normally used in Vietnam for closer-in work. A standard crew was eight men per gun, but there were seldom that many gunners available during 105 evolutions with the 1st Cav. A crew of four to six was more the norm.

The 155 mm howitzers were another step up in firepower. There were three 155s at Illingworth, and they were the M-114 versions. These 6-ton guns could fire a variety of shells including high explosive, illumination, smoke, or chemical rounds. Their range was out to 16,000 yards (9.1 miles), and they could fire up to forty rounds an hour in combat conditions. The M-114 was a towed howitzer but could also be airlifted into place. The gun called for a crew of ten or eleven men, but was hardly ever served, in Vietnam, by that many redlegs. Five or six men, pulling double duties, were more in keeping with actual practice.

The 8-inch SP howitzers were the “big boys.” So big, in fact, that they had a crew of up to thirteen and were followed around by separate self-propelled ammunition carriers. They could fire powerful 200-pound projectiles over 25,000 meters, (15.5 miles) allowing them to provide long-range cover for infantry units that were over 15 miles away. They were virtually useless for indirect fire; in fact, the two 8-inch guns that were sent to Illingworth did not fire a shot during the battle of April 1, 1970, but there’s more to that story, and it will be told in later chapters.

Once the artillery was in place (the 8-inch guns didn’t arrive until March 21), FSB Illingworth was a fairly formidable installation, from an artillery standpoint. The 105s and 155s could provide very effective fire support; for example, when Charlie 2/8 was surrounded and nearly wiped out on March 26, the guns at Illingworth did all they could to hold off the NVA until the cavalry could arrive.

Once the guns were placed within the perimeter (except for the later-arriving 8-inchers), the artillerymen began setting up firing solutions for predetermined sites all around the outside of the base. Colonel Conrad had some pretty good ideas concerning where the NVA might establish rocket-firing positions or mortar emplacements, and he gave those coordinates to the artillery. The guns at FSB Jay, FSB St. Barbara, and the other nearby bases were also given the coordinates so they, too, could put the enemy in their crosshairs.

The irony, of course, was that the NVA was doing the same thing. Illingworth was too tempting a target to ignore, and it was certainly no secret where the big guns were being placed and where the infantry had set up their firing positions. The enemy could see every “hardened” position with a good set of binoculars. They had the entire base mapped out, as Charlie 2/8 discovered on March 25. (Recall that papers recovered on the body of a dead NVA warrant officer Charlie had killed in an ambush clearly showed every gun position, every rifle pit, the TOC, everything.)

One more important factor needs to be detailed about the artillery at Illingworth and its ability to participate in the base’s defense. This concerns the manning of the guns. The 155s and the 8-inch guns were designed as stand-off weapons. As such, the crews that served the guns worked from upright positions or from perches on the guns themselves. There was virtually no way that the 155 and 8-inch gun crews could aim and fire their guns without being fully exposed. They could have been slaughtered quickly.

In regard to the 105s, however, the situation was completely different. These guns could be loaded and fired even if the crewmen were literally lying on the ground behind the guns. The trails of the guns themselves also provided a modicum of fire protection for their crews. The postures required of the various gun crews would become an important factor in the coming battle.

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The cavalry had a presence at FSB Illingworth, although not really by choice. Alpha Troop, 1st Squadron of the 11th ACR, had gotten roughed up on March 26, going up against the 272nd Regiment. They had pulled off an amazing rescue but ended up fighting a two-hour, all-guns-blazing, muzzle-to-muzzle pitched battle before hauling Charlie 2/8 out of the jungle. They were forced to leave one ACAV behind when it got inextricably impaled on a tree stump. Sheridan A-19 had blown its power pack and was no longer capable of movement. Sheridan A-18 had overheated badly going into the fight and then several more times during the main engagement; at one point, its electrical system had caught on fire. Amazingly, even after the tank crew doused the wires with gallons of water and put out the flames, the electronics kept working. By the end of the day, however, it was readily evident that the “old gal” needed some major work. Still, A-18 was able to tow A-19 out of the forest. By the time she got herself and her tow to FSB Illingworth, it was time for the mechanics to work some miracles. The crews of both tanks were told to stand down and await repairs. Several of them were granted R&R and flew off to exotic locations like Sydney, Australia.

Also languishing at Illingworth was Sheridan A-37. It was operable, but no one wanted to drive it. The tank commander of A-37, SFC Robert Foreman, had been the only KIA that Alpha Troop had sustained during the battle of March 26. As Foreman stood in the cupola atop the tank, firing his .50 cal and directing his gunner and driver, an RPG blew through the thin aluminum shield surrounding his machine gun and struck Foreman squarely in the chest, all but cutting him in half. He was a total professional and well liked. His death had hit the troop hard. Several of his companions had removed his body—or most of it—as soon as the Sheridan returned to the troop’s NDP that evening. The main gun worked, but the .50 cal and tank commander’s perch were smashed badly, so this track was sent to Illingworth for repairs along with the other two Sheridans. On top of the damage, the tank just plain reeked after five days baking in the tropical heat. There were still small pieces of the unlucky sergeant, unrecovered, in the cracks and crevices of the tank’s hull. Adding it all up, the crew was “spooked” about getting back in the tank. It possessed “bad juju.”

Alpha Troop’s M-557 was at Illingworth, too. This track was a modified M-113 ACAV that served as the unit’s command and control vehicle. A canvas extension at the rear allowed a couple of men to stand inside, typically the CO and the troop’s senior radio operator. The CO (Captain Poindexter) was in the rear getting his wounded arm patched up. The acting CO (1st Lieutenant Baerman) was out in the field with the remainder of the troop. Baerman had no desire to drag this unarmed track around with him, so the M-557 had little to do—except process radio traffic, which it did quite well. The unit’s steady and capable senior radio operator, Sgt. Greg Steege, twenty-two, from Denver, Iowa, was in charge of the track in the CO’s absence.

An M-113 ACAV from Alpha Troop’s 2nd Platoon was at Illingworth as well. Its rear door had gotten stuck in the open position, and in that configuration it was useless for combat, so it, too, was waiting for the mechanics. In the meantime, its guns had been stripped from it and reassigned to the line.

Last but not least, the cavalry had a deuce-and-a-half on hand (a 2½-ton standard truck). It was used for hauling mechanics and spare parts, as well as running errands for anyone on the base who needed a truck.

There were no commissioned officers from Alpha Troop present, so the cavalry contingent’s command fell into the lap of S. Sgt. J. C. Hughes, twenty, from Delray Beach, Florida. J. C. was a “shake ’n bake,” or “instant E-5,” having been sent through accelerated NCO school at Fort Knox. He had missed the “festivities” in the jungle on March 26, having been on an R&R in Sydney. He arrived back just in time to be shuttled out to Illingworth on March 31.

“My timing was impeccable,” he would later say with a laugh.

*   *   *

Alpha 2/8 was already back out on patrol, somewhere in the nearby jungle. After their adventures with Alpha Troop on March 26, they were detailed to go back and police up the battle site, which they did on March 28. Immediately after that, Capt. Ray Armer and his men were detached from duty with Alpha Troop and put back into the regular rotation with their battalion. Given the devastation that had occurred to Charlie Company, Alpha Company was the only infantry unit on hand capable of normal operations. So off they went, even though they were short several men.

Charlie 2/8, reduced from company strength to the size of a platoon, received about thirty newbies on March 30, but these numbers would still be insufficient to man the perimeter of Illingworth. To augment his paltry infantry ranks, Lt. Col. Mike Conrad pulled his battalion’s reconnaissance platoon, E-Recon, commanded by 1st Lt. Gregory J. Peters, into FSB Illingworth. They had been out on an extended jungle patrol and were due back in soon anyway. The moment they arrived, Conrad assigned them to man the berm and bolster the decimated ranks of Charlie Company. He put them under the temporary command of Capt. George Hobson, CO of Charlie Company and now the base’s security chief.

Although E-Recon consisted of only twenty-two men, they were twenty-two of the very best soldiers in the battalion, if not the whole brigade. They would not only be a tipping point in the crucial hours of the coming battle, they would be the bulk of the shield that blunted the NVA attack. The heroics of these twenty-two men would generate one Medal of Honor (SP4 Peter Lemon), two Distinguished Service Crosses (SP4 Casey Waller and SP4 Brent Street), two Silver Stars (Lieutenant Peters and S. Sgt. James Taylor), a Bronze Star with “V” (PFC Ken Vall de Juli), and sixteen Purple Hearts. What would have been the outcome had not these men been at the very section of the berm that sustained the major thrust of the NVA attack?

The actual head count of infantry at FSB Illingworth in the days before April 1, 1970, hovers in the range of eighty-five to ninety. No one is sure of the exact number.

*   *   *

The artillerymen numbered around eighty; the cavalrymen mustered sixteen. With additional men manning the FDC, the TOC, the radios, the mortar platoon, the quad .50, the ground radar, and the searchlight jeep, the total numbers, including the infantry, were close to 215 effectives. This number also accounted for Colonel Conrad and his S-3, Maj. Michael Moore; Capt. John Ahearn, the battalion artillery liaison; 1st Lt. Mike Russell, the Echo 2/8 mortar platoon commander; Maj. Thomas H. Magness, S-3, 2nd Battalion, 32nd Field Artillery, commander of the 8-inch guns; Captain Arnold Laidig, CO of the 1/77 Artillery battery; 1st Lt. Cleaveland Bridgman, the officer in charge of the 1/77 FDC; and a scattering of other artillery officers and noncoms.

So that was it: a decimated line company about half its normal size, augmented by a platoon of recon guys, all thrown together with a few cavalrymen with busted tanks and mixed up with the batteries of several artillery battalions. None of these units had effectively worked with each other before, and certainly not in any sort of cohesive or coordinated manner. Most of the men did not know more than a handful of the others, and there were at least a couple dozen men, including some officers, who had yet to be in a serious firefight.

Outside the berm, staring back at the Americans from the surrounding jungle, was the 272nd NVA regiment. These were tough, experienced front-line troops. Each squad was formed from three-man cells who had trained together since their induction into the North Vietnamese Army. Each three-cell squad was led by a veteran sergeant. These soldiers were in it for life; they would only go home if they sustained crippling wounds or ended up in a bag full of cremated ashes, or when the war ended, whichever happened first. They were skilled, hard as nails, and silent, deadly killers. They were also angry. Their regiment had taken a pounding from the 11th Cav five days before and had tangled with both the 2/8 and the 11th ACR all through February and March. They wanted retribution. They were determined to take FSB Illingworth and kill or capture everyone within it.