Ping, ping, ping, ping above the noise of the motors and the wind rushing
through the CH-47 broken out windows we could hear bullets piercing the
floor of the chopper as the Battalion headed for the Ben Ha river which
divided the DMZ into north south portions, we were flying low and fast,
our first reaction was to hit the deck, then realizing our error settled
back into our web seats. The pilot was shot through the knee, our only
casualty. The chopper turned back to Con Thien, a close by combat base,
helicopters were exchanged and back to the rest of the Company waiting
for us. The Air Force had arc lighted our portion of the D in the previous
hours, dropping a maximum load 54,000 pounds of bombs per plane with 3
planes in a pod, which was 162,000 pounds of high explosive dropping in
the same area, the enemy called it whispering death as their first warning
was the sound of the bombs dropping through the air, then it was good-bye
cruel world. How many pods on that mission was unknown, Say three pods
for total of 486,000 pounds of bombs, the area was a mess with bomb craters
and dirt thrown out of each crater by the high explosives. These craters
were great for cover during contact, the bad things about them was the
pulverized dirt was like sand, once you started sliding down it was hard
to stop and the fact that a hand grenade, mortar, artillery or rocket landing
in that hole could wipe out every one there, still it was a fast fighting
hole to jump in. They were huge, sometimes 30 to 40 feet wide and 30 or
so deep. Joining up with the Company on the second try things were quiet
around us, being where we were the quiet didn't add up, this was the NVA's
killing ground and not a peep from artillery or mortars across the river.
Due south of us was Con Thien, which was under artillery fire all the time,
it was too quiet. Forming up into a column, with a Company as point, Battalion
Command group in the middle and a Company bringing up the rear, the Ben
Ha River was our northern flank with 2 companies a click apart as southern
flanks, and at the DMZ southern border 26 tanks were waiting for any NVA
to be flushed out, the men moved out.
The men were used to the hot weather at Cau Viet 10 clicks southeast,
the fact that no flak jackets and helmets were worn in the past month and
the huge amount of ammo carried turned us into walking heat causalities,
slowing us down as medevac's were called in. Still quiet around us as the
column reached our checkpoints, the 2 companies would change from point
to rear guard, the other Companies had their own check points as they screened
for us, I'm sure they were in the same trouble as us with the heat baking
them also, as I have said in the past, if it doesn't happen in front of
your face, you might as well be on the moon. About 2 or 3 in the afternoon
a pick up point was selected for a chopper ride home.
A security perimeter was setup over looking the new landing zone,
since we were to be the last lifted out, I settled in to watch the others
leave. Chip and two others decided to go get Ben Ha River water in their
canteens. Ka-boom, two huge explosions shook us and where the choppers
were extracting men I saw one blown out of the sky in a ball of flames,
broken in half with the two parts flying 100's of meters apart. Another
chopper in this flight was on the ground, blown over on it's side, they
were so lucky that the men had not loaded the one on the ground, an eye
witness on the last chopper to load and leave, fought back tears as he
watched the massive ball of flames burst from that chopper behind him in
the air, not knowing it was empty except for the crew, years later I learned
the crew jumped out and righted the one on the ground, started up the engines
and flew out, I thought the side was blown out during the happening, but
it was just the dust cloud the rotors threw up hitting the ground. Ka-boom,
another huge explosion behind me shook us. The show was over, everyone
jumping into bomb craters for cover. The explosion behind us vaporized
our M-79 blooper man, Theotis Collins; no call for Corpsman up, the poor
guy was gone. All that was found intact was the M-79, not a scratch on
it. The NVA were shooting choppers out of the sky with artillery and a
short round had hit Theotis Collins, everyone called him "rap", Chip and
I found out his real name some 30 years later, nicknames and medevac numbers
was the standard. Medavac numbers were the initials and 4 numbers of their
serial numbers, as an example mine was MAP4747. "Chip" Ragsdale was HCR0600
The word was passed to pull back, to head south, my fear factor
was high, and our future was unknown. Moving south in disorganized groups;
we headed for the LZ area, rounding a tall stand of bushes, the chopper's
nose sat on the ground, looking undamaged, except for the missing back
2/3's. It had broken off aft of the machine gunners positions. The crew
chief had gone down with the burning back. The two pilots were missing,
and machine gunners were dead or dying. The sun was going down fast and
we had to set up night security on a near by hilltop. Carrying the two
dead crewmen the going was slow; no chopper would come in to pick up this
dead load. I was going out of my mind with anxiety, knowing every NVA in
the world knew our exact position and they owned the night. In the dark
c-rations were eaten cold with water scarce also. There was no moon and
the darkness you could cut with a knife. Dawn found us ready to move the
night had passed without any attacks, except on our nerves, at least mine.
I didn't ask anyone how they had felt during the night, talking was at
a minimum; we focused on the long walk home. The bodies were hard to carrying
in the heat of the day. Around 2 or 3 in the afternoon that day, choppers
were called in to take us all out, being in a good safe landing zone, for
the DMZ. Dropped off at Con Thien, I kissed the ground, thankful the operation
was over. Thirty years later I met the missing crew chief's brother looking
for information on the crash, the one who went down in the burning half,
his bones laid there for twenty years till a Jeweler from Dong Ha boating
up the Ben Ha and looking for metal found the crash site and brought the
bones back to his jewelry shop which sat in a vase for years. To be returned
to the U.S. when there were American teams looking for MIA's in Nam. I
also met the missing Pilot. He and his copilot had run into the jungle
to hide after the crash and were located by a recon team inserted during
the night. I think we took choppers back to Camp Big John that next evening.
And Da Nang sounded like Paradise Lost to the guys. One day we loaded
up on LST's and then 6x's for Quang Tri airport, as usual it was hurry
up and wait. Sitting in the dirt along side the airstrip, watching 50 or
so military field ambulances hurry up to a C-130 for a medevac to Da Nang
or Japan. Finally after sitting in the sun all day, playing cards, sleeping
or just being bored, the word was passed to saddle up and walk to a C-130
for boarding.
I think a whole company boarded a plane, walking up the ramp we
crowded into the plane, on command the group turned towards the rear, watched
the ramp close and was told to sit. Since we were standing with no room
to move sitting was like stuffing a sleeping bag in small tin can, we could
have flown upside down with out falling from the floor. Next stop Da Nang,
a place to dream about. 6x6 trucks drove the last miles to our new camp;
called Camp 413, the name I learned 30 years also. The camp was located
in a sea of sand close to the coast, south of Da Nang, China Beach and
Marble Mountain, which was solid marble, or we thought, the NVA/VC had
a secret hospital carved in the bowls of the mountain, which was brought
to our attention 20 or 30 years later. I didn't like to hump the sand as
walking was hard in soft sand, mines and booby traps were hard to detect
except by probing with a rile cleaning rod, no metal detectors, I do have
a metal detector now and still hate the sand.
The platoon headed for an area called the Riviera, an extension
of China Beach, beautiful and very deadly, with a 27th Marine Lt., who
was to show the area and teach new fighting tactics, the villagers here
hated marines, the NVA and civilians were at war with us.
NOTES AND RAMBLING: I have left so much out of our tour with the 3rd
Marine Division, operating with the 3rd Marine Regiment, reading about
them I always thought they were in a bad assed area, thinking I'm glad
we were not in that area, only to realize one day that, hey we walked in
their foot steps and they walked in ours. I didn't go into detail on the
wounds of the men, just watch a Chop and Dice horror movie and you'll get
the idea, you won't get the smell of blood or the smell of cut up intestines
or brains leaking out of heads. There are 133 species of snakes in Viet
Nam, 131 are deadly, the "two step" Krait (after being bitten, two steps
and then death), Cobra and the Bamboo Viper were most poisonous, killing
a little viper one day made a person think about the nights we curled up
in the thick vegetation for cover from the rain. Being caught in the open
on patrol by a NVA Forward Artillery Observer calling in "fire for effect"
with three or four cannons throwing everything they had at us. Soviet AK-47
and SKS bullets, along with the M-16, being designed to tumble after hitting
someone, the bullet might hit you in the lower leg and exit out your neck.
Up North we were eating Korea era c-rations, so old and stale. The artillery
air bursts, shells timed to explode overhead, increasing the killing zone.
Knowing the U.S. would spend a million dollars to rescue a downed Pilot,
and us being expendable. Knowing that Platoon Leaders, Radio Men and Corpsman
were prime targets, I tried to blend in carrying a demolition bag (plastic
explosive) for medical supplies and ammo bandoliers full of Battle dressings
with tourniquets at the ready for lost arms and legs.
Knowing that to be a NVA prisoner of war was slow death, ready to kill
myself if that happened. The men carrying a pound of C-4 (plastic explosive)
for heating cans of rations with small amounts, heat tabs were scarce,
it burned like white lightening, with new guys being warned not to stomp
on it while it was burning, it could blow a foot off, by putting a blasting
cap in it, enemy bunkers could be blown up too. I appolize to the men for
not being as macho or brave as them, I could follow them knowing they loved
a good fight and they were almost fearless. I was proud to be with them,
they were the BEST.
Next:
By Michael Pipkin
|
