Attack on Hill 881 North
By Carl E. King

     When I first heard that we were going to conduct a daylight raid on Hill 881, I was more that a little apprehensive.  Hill 881 had been in the news before; Marines had already fought and died for this particular piece of real estate.
     Our part of the plan was simple enough.  Helicopter right to the hill, off-load and take up defensive positions, set up for the night and conduct patrol operations in the area around the hill and then helicopter back to Khe Sanh.
     Simple plans don’t always stay simple, especially in Vietnam.
     Charlie either knew we were coming or was lucky enough to have a couple of mortar crews within range of the hill, because when we got to the LZ, it was hot.  Charlie was dropping mortar rounds into the LZ at a furious pace.
     Jumping out of a helicopter that’s hovering 10 to 15 feet above the ground into a hot LZ is fairly exciting.  Unless you have experienced it, you can’t truly appreciate how confusing and scary it can be.  Lots and lots of noise, and confusion. Helicopter-generated noise, wind and dust, mortar rounds exploding, everyone yelling, and people falling over each other coming out of the helicopter.  It’s so loud you can’t think or communicate; all you can do is what you’ve been trained to do.  You go on automatic:  No need to think, just do the drill; run away from the chopper; keep your head down (so it won’t get cut off by the chopper blades); form a 180 degree perimeter when you hit the ground; catch your breath and wait for what’s next.
     The training paid off.  We got everyone off of the choppers and in position fairly quickly, only now we had to get the hell out of the LZ.  Charlie was still pumping rounds in on top of us, and the thing to do was to move out of the LZ to the southern reverse slope of the hill where we would join up with other Hotel units already on the ground.  Easier said than done.  It meant standing up and moving through exploding mortar rounds.
     We got the troops up and started them toward the southern side of the hill.  Rounds were exploding all around us, but so far everyone was okay.  The a round hit a tree over our heads and exploded in the air, sending a shower of metal to the ground which hit people directly in front and behind me.  We kept moving through the killing zone until we reached the reverse slope and its relative safety from the NVA gunners.  I put everyone in positions and did a quick head count.  Half of the platoon was missing.  Someone must have stayed down when we took off and everyone behind him was still in the LZ.  God, I hated to go back and get them but someone had to, and it was my job.
     Running back to the LZ, I tripped over a boot with part of a leg still in it, apparently was a Marine’s foot from a previous fight for old 881.  I can’t say that it didn’t affect me.  I really didn’t want to expose myself to more enemy fire.  I don’t know what takes over in times like this—training, duty, honor, and love of Corps?  But something does; on I went, anyway.  What I found at the LZ was not good news.  Seems like someone had jumped into a bomb crater for cover and everyone had followed him into it.  Nice deep hole, but not a good place to be in a mortar attack.
     A round had landed in the hole with them, killing and wounding most of the rest.  Fifteen men out of action in the first five minutes of the fight, that’s a hot area to be in.
     We got the shelling stopped, the dead and wounded medevaced, and what was left of the platoon in position with the rest of Hotel.
     The night was long and uneventful except for harassing and interdiction (H&I) fires from Charlie.  Rounds shot at you on a random basis to keep you up and nervous all night.  (It works!)
     At early light I requested and received permission to take my radio operator (Jim Hayden was our Platoon Radio Operator.  He was completely dependable no matter what was going on) back to the area of the LZ in an effort to spot the mortar crews that had raised so much hell with us.  We moved to the forward slope of the hill that was facing the valley where the mortar tubes had to be.  There was an early morning fog that lay over the floor of the valley like a white comforter.  We could not see below it, but we could hear the tubes when they fired—so I moved to different locations on the hill, taking compass readings on the sound and drawing intersecting lines on my map.  After about an hour of this, I was pretty sure I had their location nailed.  All I had to do now was wait for the fog to lift, spot the trail—the white smoke that comes out of the tube when it fires—check my data, and call in the artillery.
     We didn’t have to wait too long before the fog started to lift and good old Charlie fired off a few rounds for me to confirm his location.  We had him nailed.  I called in one spotter round to be sure that the rounds would land where I wanted them to.  It landed right on target.  I immediately called for a fire-for-effect and sat back and watched as Charlie got a very big dose of what he had given to us.  We got secondary explosions which meant we had h it their ammunition storage.  I love it!  As I watched the explosions going off all around Charlie’s position, I couldn’t help but think payback is hell!
Later that day, we got the word that we would be walking back to Khe Sanh.  Reason being was that it was too dangerous to bring the choppers in.  Right, walk back god knows how many clicks (a click is a thousand yards) through Indian country.  We sure do want to take the safe way. 
     We started our little walk late afternoon and walked all night arriving at Khe Sanh just after dawn the next day. Tired, you bet! Remember the 15 men we lost in the first five minutes? We got them out but not their gear so we had to carry it with us. I think it is safe to say that one has not really lived until he gets to do an all night walk through Indian Country. A true test of the nerves!  As the saying goes, “A good time was had by all”.

This story originally appeared in We Remember. A book of stories written by the men who served in the 2nd Bn 1st Marines, 1st Marine Division during Vietnam.  It was compiled and edited by David and Marian Novak who took the stories anyway they could get them (hand written, typed, taped or by telephone) and put them in a logical order. This is a book well worth having.
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