TEN

NO MATTER HOW badly October ended, it certainly began innocently enough. You might even say it began auspiciously.

In the middle of the month I was asked to go to a place called Phu Cat, which is up above Qui Nhon in Northern II Corps. DELTA was to run a recon operation in order to find out how many bad guys there were in the area. This was a very important mission, because we’d just gotten permission to take along two Vietnamese Ranger companies.

In October the weather was bad in Northern II Corps: fog that hovers in the hot air, then lots of rain and low-hanging clouds. All this makes it tougher to get a recon team out if it runs into trouble. Then Lt. Col. John Bennett, who was the group deputy, came up to see us. As the road was normally closed from Qui Nhon to Phu Cat I recommended that he parachute into our location. I did that really hoping he wouldn’t, but the bloody man did. He looked over our operation and wasn’t at all impressed. He felt we were wasting a lot of time for the little we had discovered. John Bennett wasn’t really interested in recon operations. What John Bennett was interested in was body counts. He couldn’t see any advantage in just going out and looking at the VC without shooting them. I wasn’t interested in running out, getting into a firefight, then returning to a big “attaboy” for ten VC killed. I never was one for trying to kill more than anyone else. My mission was to find the enemy and report that to the big boys, but I understood Bennett’s point of view.

The next morning, Tuesday, October 19th, a helicopter came in and picked up Colonel Bennett. Later in that same day, toward dusk, I got a call on the radio informing me that the Special Forces camp at Plei Me was under heavy attack and that I should get my force to Pleiku as quickly as possible.

Plei Me, in October 1965, was defended by 400 Montagnard tribesmen with their families. Also, there was an “A” Detachment of twelve Green Berets, and an equal number of Vietnamese. The compound, perched precariously along National Route 6C, twenty-five miles southwest of Pleiku, was one of several civilian camps that kept tabs on enemy movement in the western highlands. There were about ninety similar camps spread throughout the country. The concept was a good one. The camps gave protection to the villagers in the area, prevented the VC from recruiting them, and helped to establish an American presence in the region.

Attacking just before last light on the 19th, the enemy surrounded Plei Me, and it appeared that rather than hitting and running they were there to slug it out toe to toe with whatever the South Vietnamese and Americans could throw at them.

On the morning of the 20th—after the fog had burned off, Project DELTA’s four recon teams on the ground were extracted from the Phu Cat area. I selected fifteen Americans who had not been deployed earlier to go with me, and they, along with the two South Vietnamese Ranger companies, were shuttled back to Qui Nhon. On the airfield tarmac there were parked a C-130 and a C-123. The two planes were already heavily loaded with equipment, and I was worried about getting our 175 men on board. I pointed out that at Fort Bragg we felt we could only load so many men on an aircraft before it got dangerous. The Air Force types reassured me they could handle anything. We were not to worry. I did. We loaded up; people were packed in and standing on top of each other. The two aircraft somehow got airborne and in about thirty minutes arrived at Pleiku.

I was met by Colonel Bennett and Bill Patch, a lieutenant colonel who commanded the American Special Forces advisors in the II Corps area. The two men quickly explained the situation—that Plei Me had been attacked by an unusually large Communist force and was now under siege, that heavy casualties had been sustained by both sides, and that it was important for me to get my force into the camp and give the defenders some help.

Colonel Bennett thought the best way for us to get on with it was to parachute into Plei Me right before last light—that evening! John was the sort of fellow who pushed you along. Hey, man, I said to myself, this ain’t the way to go. I couldn’t see hanging from a parachute and being shot at by the Communists as I floated into that little old camp. I thought other courses of action were open to us.

Bennett kept saying, “It’s going to be all right. Charlie, we’ve thought about this.” I said, “Yeah, but I haven’t.” I was very happy, therefore, when the senior American military advisor in the region, Col. Ted Mataxis, who was listening to our conversation, turned to Bennett and said, “There’ll be no parachute operation this evening. In fact, there won’t be one at all.”

That Wednesday evening things really got going. Colonel McKean flew in.

The obvious way to get into Plei Me was to conduct an airmobile operation. In other words, we should be put down by helicopter as close to the camp as possible, then fight our way in. The problem was that an operation was planned elsewhere in II Corps and the helicopters we needed had already been committed. McKean and Mataxis really went around the axle on that one and had one hell of an argument. Colonel McKean said, “What if the weather is bad, Ted, and these choppers can’t get to the other operation’s staging area?” Mataxis said. “Then, Bill, the helicopters would be made available to you.” “Then, goddamn it,” McKean said, “the weather’s bad!”

The other operation was finally canceled when Plei Me became the region’s number one priority, and the helicopters were made available to us.

I worked all night, studying maps, looking for LZs, determining routes. My bones told me this was not going to be any piece of cake. I talked to the Air Force forward air controllers who had been flying over the camp. There was a lot of our enemy down there. This was going to be an operation where a lot of our people would get hurt.

Bill McKean and I, the next morning, flew near the camp trying to find an LZ. The trick was finding one not so close to the camp that it gave our position away to the enemy, and not so far away that we would wear ourselves out working our way to the camp. As we were flying around looking at the proposed LZ the Hog (helicopter gunship) that was escorting us threw one of its rotor blades, crashed, and exploded in the jungle. A bad omen.

The two Vietnamese Ranger companies and fifteen American Green Berets from Project DELTA climbed into the helicopters at Camp Holloway and took off, flying south toward Plei Me. After the LZ had been prepped with two air strikes flown by bombers and gunships, we landed about 0900 of the 21st. The day was another hot one. Major Tut, who commanded the Ranger companies, and I agreed we’d go along very slowly, carefully. I didn’t think we should sacrifice speed for security. The elephant grass we were moving through was shoulder high. In some areas, where the foliage was particularly heavy, we had to crawl on our hands and knees.

Around noon we crept up to a small Vietnamese village. We learned it was deserted, but that villagers had been there no more than eight to ten hours before. The cooking fires were still smouldering. Somebody had come through there and taken these people with them. This bothered the Vietnamese. I didn’t give it much thought since it was only a matter of time before we hit something. About then Colonel Bennett, who was flying in a Bird Dog (0-1), one of those small forward control aircraft, came up on the radio. He first asked me to mark my position with smoke. I refused. Then he tied into me. “Major, you’re moving too slow. You won’t get there in a week the way you’re going.” I answered him respectfully, but thought, That’s nice, but why don’t you go to your room, boy, and let me get on with this operation. You’re not on the ground, and you have no idea what we’re trying to negotiate.

We continued to move through the jungle in single file. The column stretched out. Toward the middle of the afternoon I heard two shots up ahead of me. I ran forward and found one of my guys had shot an enemy soldier wearing a pith helmet and a khaki uniform. He’d been carrying a box of 75mm recoilless rifle ammunition. Another enemy soldier with him had managed to escape in the dense undergrowth. Major Tut came up and went through the dead guy’s uniform looking for papers. Tut was getting nervous. He told me that this man was not a VC, but rather from a regular North Vietnamese unit. Our people had suspected the NVA had regular units in the south at this time, but this was the first time anyone had actual proof of it. The next time one of the communications planes flew over I got on the air and passed the news along.

Major Tut then came over and informed me he and the Ranger companies were going to turn back. This was as far as they were going to go. I told him my mission was to get into Plei Me, and I intended to do so with or without him. I preferred to do it with him, but I didn’t really give a shit one way or another. I intended to reinforce the camp. Tut said that when we shot the NVA soldier it had become a new ball game. I didn’t have enough sense to be frightened. Probably, I should have. It was getting late now so I didn’t argue with him very long.

I called together the fifteen Americans and told them what had happened, and that I intended to push on. I told Major Thompson and my two sergeant majors we would lead the relief force.

I had with me the Group’s sergant major, Bill McKean’s right arm, John Pioletti. Sergeant Major Pioletti had convinced McKean to let him go. I had mixed feelings about this. I knew if anything happened to John, McKean would string me up alive; but I also knew that if I needed support McKean would not leave me and his sergeant major dangling out there. On top of it, Sergeant Pioletti was a first-class guy. I trusted my life with my own sergeant major, Bill DeSoto. I was glad he was along for the ride.

I also had with me a new operations officer. Tommy Thompson was to go home in two weeks, and Major A. J. Baker had just arrived in country. He was a great big boy we called Bo who had played football at the University of Arkansas. He had arrived in Nha Trang on the 19th and on the 21st he was with us in the jungle outside of Plei Me. What a way to get his whistle wet! I asked him to bring up the rear of our small column. We moved out.

At approximately 2000 hours we were close enough to the camp to hear the shooting. I got the camp on the radio and they came in clearly. Someone said to me, “Come on in and join the party.” That made me angry. I knew people were dead and more were dying, and I didn’t perceive this to be a goddamn party. I had also decided not to go into the camp that night. My sixth sense told me if I attempted to enter the camp, those inside might take us for the enemy; and if anyone on the perimeter was trigger-happy, it would end badly. I radioed back to Pleiku and informed Bill McKean that I would enter the camp at dawn. Bill DeSoto and I did a quick recon of the unimproved single-lane dirt road we’d been moving parallel to, which ran into the camp. When we returned to the column, Bo Baker ran up and said, “Major, Tut’s back.” I followed him—there were the two Ranger companies. Tut said words to the effect that he would have lost face if he’d left me.

We went on half-alert that night, that’s half the force awake and half asleep. I slept for three hours and was awakened on the 22nd before the sun came up. After Bill DeSoto got the column up we eased on about 300 yards to our left flank and began to slowly go down the side of the road. We hit a ridge above the camp, maybe 800 yards out, and from there I could look down into the NVA positions. I noticed a position the Communists had set up to ambush any relief columns that tried to enter the camp. For some reason it was unoccupied. I was damn glad. I told my guys and Major Tut it would take us too long to reach the camp continuing through the jungle. “My plan is to veer off to the east, hit the road just as it goes over the hill, then run like hell to the camp gates.”

We evidently caught the enemy by surprise. Once on the road we dashed for the camp and took some light fire. A Vietnamese lieutenant was killed. So, too, was a newspaper photographer who, without permission, had gotten on one of the choppers back in Pleiku and had come with us. He had long blond hair. The bullet took him through the side of the face. Four or five others received minor wounds. Within a half hour everyone was in the camp. The first thing I noticed on going through the gate was the Montagnard tribesmen who had been killed while defending the camp; they were still lying in the wire. I mean everywhere. Dead people. Oh, shit, I thought, there’s going to be a lack of discipline in here. If they can’t pick up that kind of thing then, man, there’s some problems in here. I was right. There were about sixty other dead Montagnard soldiers stuffed into body bags and stacked up like cordwood. The smell was terrible.

The Special Forces captain in charge of the camp was Harold Moore. I let him know quickly that I was the new mayor of Plei Me. Shaped like an equilateral triangle, the camp sat in a slight bowl and was surrounded by barbed wire. There was a trench system that ran throughout the inside of the camp. About ten wooden buildings with corrugated metal roofs made up the interior. The outside of the camp was usually occupied by the Montagnard soldiers’ families. Needless to say, under siege the families were now all inside. The camp was crowded and it was dirty. A thick red dust covered everything. It was in turmoil. The Vietnamese camp commander, Captain Moore’s counterpart, stayed in his deep bunker. I never saw him once the whole time I was there. Outside the barbed wire there were a hell of a lot of Communists.

I called Pleiku and explained to them that we should fortify the camp first, to make sure we could hold it, and then find out how many of the enemy we were facing. We shouldn’t do anything until we knew for sure. Bill McKean did not agree with me. He said, “I want you to get outside the camp, rummage around, clear the enemy out of there. Then, obviously, if you do that you can hold the camp.”

I said, “Sir, that’s not a good idea.”

He said, “Well, Major, I’m ordering you.”

In the afternoon we mounted up both Ranger companies. Captain Thomas Pusser, a West Pointer I thought a lot of, was the advisor to the Vietnamese Rangers. I got him and the other American advisors who were going out on the sweep operation together. “I want you all to be very careful out there. Don’t take any chances you don’t have to take.” Then Pusser and I discussed the two Vietnamese companies. The leadership of one of them was stronger than the other. I suggested to Tom he go with the stronger unit. He felt because he could kick ass and get it moving he should go with the weaker one. I finally agreed with him. He went out with the weak company. I shouldn’t have let him do that.

The plan was to begin to clear the northern slope area from which most of the heaviest fire was coming. The NVA waited for both companies to get outside the gate. Then they came out of their holes and hit us with everything they had. About fourteen men were killed, including Tom Pusser. Many more were wounded. I felt fortunate to get any of those Rangers back inside the camp. They had been very badly mauled. I immediately got on the radio, and got Bulldog to agree that we should fortify the camp. I then asked for an air drop of a couple hundred 5-gallon water cans, since we were running out of water, and a basic load of ammunition. I didn’t know how much we had, but I wanted to make damn sure we had enough. I also asked for a couple of boxes of cigars, some cigarettes, and a case of whiskey. “I don’t care what it is, anything assorted.” This got McKean a little bent out of shape. Then I asked to have a chopper come in and get our dead. I felt that many dead were bad on morale. Reportedly, McKean asked for volunteers in Pleiku to fly in to us, but no American chopper pilot stepped forward.

The first Air Force resupply drop, in order to avoid the enemy .51-caliber machine guns that ringed the camp, flew too high and dumped most of its ammunition outside the wire. The second drop landed in the camp. It was all ammo. The third drop contained water, cigars, and the other things I’d ordered. It, too, landed on top of us.

Late in the afternoon of this first day, after the Ranger companies got back and we licked our wounds and took our resupply drops, I got together with Tommy Thompson, Bo Baker, Bill DeSoto, and John Pioletti. We were all beginning to realize that we would be damn fortunate to get out of this camp alive. We were receiving a lot of 81mm mortar and 75mm recoilless rifle fire. I was very concerned that we hold that first night. I had our people go out to all the crews manning the machine guns to make sure they knew what their instructions were. I didn’t want them picking up and running away scared. That night I thought we were going to get hit. We took heavy mortar and recoilless rifle fire all night long, but were not probed.

The next day we began to strengthen the camp’s fortifications. The mortar and recoilless rifle fire fell in spurts. Occasionally a lone enemy soldier would jump out of a hole and rush the wire throwing hand grenades. Around 1030 hours Bill DeSoto got hit. One of those heavy machine gun slugs nearly tore his arm off.

From the intensity of the fire Plei Me was absorbing, I made an estimate of the enemy force besieging us. When I reported I thought there were at least two, maybe three, large forces of regimental size surrounding the camp, I got some people in Pleiku really shook up. After that I got priority on all air strikes. I don’t deserve credit for the damage those strikes did to the enemy. My deputy, Major Thompson, organized and directed the strikes. Air Force fighters and naval aircraft flying from the carriers off Yankee Station pounded the jungle around us. They hit the enemy with napalm and 250- and 500-pounders all day long. We learned later we were surrounded by two regular North Vietnamese infantry regiments, the 32nd and 33rd.

That night I received a telegram by radio from President Johnson. It said something like, “We’re thinking about you. Hold out there as long as you can. God bless you all.”

The nights were worse, far worse, than the days. Ropes of green and orange tracers flew into and out of the camp. Overhead, circling C-46 Flareships kept the area illuminated. Multicolored parachutes, which had been used to resupply us, were strewn here and there and gave the camp a raffish appearance. The pounding intensified. Mortars and recoilless rifles fired relentlessly. Amazingly, during these terrible nighttime hours the camp rats, oblivious to the havoc they were a part of, continued to come out and run over the ruins just as if everyone was asleep.

Bombers came over again on October 24th and began to eat up the NVA. I’d say our side flew seventy-five to one hundred sorties a day. We just walked these air strikes all around the outside of the camp. We used a lot of air, and we broke the enemy’s back with it. Many of the strikes were so close to the wire we took shrapnel in the camp. One particular string of bombs hit very close. Major Thompson, who was calling in the strikes, kept hollering, “I like it! I like it!” Captain Moore had wanted to take a photograph of one of these strikes. I tried to warn him to keep his head down. A piece of shrapnel from one of the hard bombs ripped half his shoulder off.

During the daytime, between the air strikes. I tried to sleep. Besides the newspaper photographer who was killed during our run for the camp, I had two other unauthorized newspaper people with me in the camp. We taught them how to shoot a .30-caliber machine gun and gave them one to man in the south corner of the perimeter. They did a first-class job for us.

The situation on the third day: We were putting in a lot of air strikes and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. We learned by radio that a South Vietnamese armored column trying to reach us had been pinned down and stopped cold by an enemy ambush.

Sometime, I’m not sure when, Khoi, the Vietnamese helicopter pilot I thought so much of, flew into the camp. I told him he was crazy, and he should fly his ass out of there. “You know, Boss,” he spoke perfect English, “your problem is you worry too much.” He loaded up a lot of dead. We had problems keeping the Montagnards off. They wanted to get out, too. Khoi made two flights in and out. He took fire the first time but not the second. His luck held that day. Sometime later, though, he was killed in Military Region I when his chopper crashed into a mountain in bad weather.

With the napalm and bombs doing their work, the NVA began to relax their hold on us. The mortar barrages fell off, so did the small arms and machine-gun fire. It got so that even a couple of Huey slicks (small troop-carrying helicopters) flew in. We were then able to get a lot of the kids and women out. We also began flying out our dead. Some of the dead had been lying in the jungle heat for six days. They were ripe. I know that John Pioletti, while loading one of the choppers, was throwing up over the body bags.

There was another problem that worried me. The first day in Plei Me, Captain Pusser had been killed with the Ranger companies outside the wire; in the melee that followed, they hadn’t brought his body back. I knew I had to recover his body. We mounted an operation. It was on either day four or five. I asked for volunteers. “The Vietnamese,” Major Tut told me, “will get his body for you. We want to do this.” Some Vietnamese went out and brought Captain Pusser’s body back. He could only be identified by his dog tag. The heat had distorted his body terribly. It was a damn shame.

We received word by radio on Monday, the 25th, that the relief force of tanks, armored personnel carriers, and troops was on the move again. A slick arrived and left a forward observer in the camp who would help direct artillery fire down the road, walking it just in front of the slow, chugging armored column. As the sun went down the first tanks finally clanked into view and took up a defensive position around the camp’s perimeter.

The following morning the 2nd Battalion, 1st Brigade, from the 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile) was helicoptered into Plei Me. I was asked by their liaison officer where I would recommend he put his unit. I selected an appropriate area for the Cav to land in. Around and beyond the north slope there were a lot of dead enemy soldiers and the stench was terrible. Landing there would be an instructive introduction for the 1st Cav, which had only arrived in country a short time before. No better way to let them know war is hell. After the battalion landed, because his people were throwing up all over themselves, their CO asked if they could move somewhere else.

Before I left I walked around the outside perimeter of Plei Me. The ground was pitted by bomb craters and blackened as far as I could see by napalm. There were also a lot of dead out there. In one case I noticed two enemy soldiers who were actually chained to their machine guns. It was later estimated there were 800 or 900 dead North Vietnamese regulars in front of the camp. I don’t know the exact number and I didn’t run around counting them. Eventually a bulldozer came in and just covered everything up.