All the training that seemed normal to us yet still a bit excessive began to fall into place when we learned about what we were going to become. Our training had trained us to be a “Killer Team”, a group of five grunts and a sniper and his assistant, to go undetected by the enemy on our own out in their mists. We had the authority to call in fire missions and air strikes as well as to kill upon the opportunity any VC or NVA troops that were operating in small bands such as we were, without having to call in first to Battalion for clearance. We were finally going to take the VC war to him on his own terms in his own backyard, he being totally unaware of what was killing him and why.

First Platoon had been chosen for the “Killer Team” groups, which were four of us to begin with. Needles to say we who were picked to be a part of the groups were excited about having the opportunity to finally fight fire with fire. I began in the team as a point man to start off with but ended up the radio man before our team was finally ordered to come in after two nights and a third day in the bush, but a lot had taken place during that short period of time which you’ll discover as you read on.

Stealth, was the entire object of the teams, which were working with together apart from the platoons, yet for and with them as their hidden eyes, also working out in the same approximate areas, we were also working in. At night we moved to different hiding places where we would be hidden for the entire day observing the movements of any NVA or VC in the areas. Basically how it began was that Delta Team, our team name was sent out in the early evening with 3rd platoon South and to the West of Cam Sa II a village, South West of the Battalion Area. When we’d traveled a good distance, 3rd platoon would halt for a rest where we’d peal off from them into the jungle and remain hidden there well after they continued on their patrol. Here we’d sit in silence and wait until we knew we were in the clear to move to a new spot where we’d set in for the entire next day staying out of sight of villages, people, kids and any other patrols out in our area as well.
 

It was a dark and quiet night with the sounds of mosquitoes buzzing in your ears as if it was their dinnertime and you were the main course. I could smell the incense burning from the huts from the village that they burnt for memorial to their dead 24 hours a day, but at night it even was stronger smelling then the cooking fires they used to cook their evening meals. Jay used hand singles and would come up to whisper where I was to lead off to and I would set the pace with my probing stick looking for booby traps and any trip wires that I might hit in the dark. It is bad enough during the day to move about the country side with all the booby traps let alone pitch black night time when we were suppose to be moving totally in silence. I was sweating like someone poured water all over me I was drenched in my own perspiration. I was also nervous too, yet a bit excited because we were finally going to be doing what we had trained for, for so long and that accelerated me and my feelings towards actually being out there doing what had only been talked about for months.

It was nearing 11:30 hours as Lt. Emonds; third platoons platoon commander was in charge of the deployment of a first time on the job training force called "Killer Teams". This is a force of seven men, actually boys who were forced to become men long before their time, two were snipers assigned to a infantry unit of five men who acted as point men, team leader, radio man, and what we called “rear end charley”. Rear end charley implies that the last man walking in a column makes sure Charlie, better known as Victor Charlie, Charles, or V.C. for Viet Cong, doesn't have the opportunity to let us pass him by and suddenly attack us from our rear where we would least expect it. This means that the tail end man spends more time walking backwards while trying to keep in the footsteps of those in front of him so he won't trip a mine or booby trap. It can be a nerve racking job especially at night with no moon to illuminate the surroundings, and still keep his eyes on the man in front of him so he suddenly doesn't find that he's all alone with no where to go. If that happens the team will double back for him and you can bet they'll never be a second time. Personally, I can't remember it ever happening as Marines have a tendency to look after their own weather alive, wounded or dead, all who go out come in or are choppered in wounded or dead, but no one gets lost or left behind, contrary to Hollywood's versions of how the Viet Nam war was fought.

     So you don't get the wrong impression, these teams were picked out of a seasoned, combat veteran platoon who had been in Khe Sanh, for the most part and were use to running up against seasoned hard core North Vietnamese soldiers, or NVA. Others had been with the platoon since Qua Viet, an area outside Dong Ha; it's rear area in Phu Bai, names that should sound a little familiar if you have any history knowledge of the Viet Nam "Conflict" 1965-1975. In which we won every major battle or confrontation with the VC, NVA, and some especially tall individuals that wore Chinese insignias on their uniforms, yet some how lost the War. 

     Battles or fire fights as we called them, were nothing new to these individuals assigned to the Killer Teams, what was new was for once we were going to be the aggressors, meet him, VC and NVA, on his own grounds using his own tactics against him with a far greater impact than he was ever to accomplish against us.

     In a way, we were a bit excited to get things kicked off and for once are the hunter in the enemy's back yard. I was walking point for our team. The two snipers, actually a scout sniper and his assistant, who you'll learn always, stick together regardless of circumstances. These two were new to us, Jay, a tall thin and lanky guy, little on words in the bush, taught us all to respond to hand signals, which we knew in our sleep if he was signaling us for anything. Jay was our team leader and had a reputation in Battalion of not letting anyone screw with his team or squad.

     Jay also was the chief supplier for our entire weapon needs, utilities, latest in gear and anything else someone thought they needed. We use to take a side trip for a day to visit his friends in the Army who were Rangers and Green Berets. Jay knew them as Jay had Recon training, had jumped with a few in the past and even had gone on missions with the Korean Rock Marines, an over night detail that got him decorated by some Korean Colonel for his bravery and a Purple Heart for getting wounded. The wound he was able to keep, but as far as the Purple Heart and medal for valor, our Battalion had a bad habit of not recording wounds that didn't require being sent back to the States or land you on a Hospital ship or in Japan until you recovered enough to return to your outfit. As far as recording goes, all of us who were able to get home one way or another, mostly by medical evacuation, had very few operations, awards, and any significant operations listed in our records. If we compared all our records to each other for the same period of time, all would have appeared to be in different outfits, as none would be recorded accurately. One guy got hit with five hand grenades, was presented the Purple Heart in the hospital by a general, medically evacuated home to a Naval Hospital due to the seriousness of his wounds, and even today his Purple Heart is not recorded in his permanent service record or DD 214 form as it is known.

     Somewhat of a personal tangent I know, but it will give you some pretty good insight as we go along as to the times and conditions in which we all fought, and hopefully explain in some degree, a profound bound that the Marine Corps and Viet Nam together, established in us, that exist today 30 years later... Semper Fidelis is more than just a casual phrase spoken amongst Marines; it's our way of life that has been indelibly etched in our souls for each other forever. Born at Parris Island and San Diego Recruit Training Depots and will resurrect with us together for our final review in the here after. It never dies or fades away; it springs to life each time the word Marine is mentioned.

    Jay also had a reputation as a "Bush Master" someone who knew how to get his men out of tight situations under fire while inflicting maximum damage on the enemy. One particular way he managed this was to always know his position, and make sure all of the men with him did as well. You could say he was some what of a fanatic about it, as he would at anytime day or night on patrol stop us as if we'd made contact and indiscriminately ask someone to tell him where we were, radio frequencies for artillery or medical evacuations, and what call signs were necessary to be used to accomplish this. God help you if you were wrong, he'd let you know about it in a way you'd remember the next time, even in your sleep, where you were. It had a habit of sustaining our lives and inflicting heavy casualties on Charley, a key to getting us all home to the rear and the World as we called the "States".

     Jay was older than the rest of us, had received a letter from his Uncle Sam, as he was getting ready to attend law school in Connecticut. He came from a family that had traveled all over the world, as his father was a career Army Officer. Jay spoke Spanish and French fluently, as he lived in the Canal Zone in Central America for quit a few years. It was an area that probably got him his roots in becoming "Bush Smart" as he use to play war games in the jungles of that area, and as a kid particularly liked sneaking up on special forces troops in training and not become detected. Army was in his blood and war was in his heart at a very young age. I too came from a military background, the Marine Corps. I grew up moving from one military reservation to another until I finally quit college in 1967 to make the Marine Corps an official part of my life, not that it  hadn't been, but I raised my hand voluntarily as Jay did earlier as war was in my blood as well.

My military career began twice on Parris Island, once as a child not yet old enough for school, but could put up a shelter half pup tent, and sir was the last and first thing out of my mouth. I'd wake up with more energy than six kids, make my own breakfast and be out hunting the enemy before my brother or sister had left for school. I was going to be a Marine than and now I always will be. I learned to shoot a 22 cal. rifle at the age of six on Parris Island in an indoor firing range out by the rifle range. When I wasn't going to the range to shoot my 22, I was crawling through the swamps and woods with a bow and arrow, shooting at targets that were the enemy. I won a turkey when I was seven or eight for the best marksman with a bow and arrow, and also with a 22 cal. rifle. As a teen-age kid I spent many years in the South in North and South Carolina and Florida hunting in the swamps with my friends, a weapon was a part of me, but until Viet Nam, never had shot one at a human being before. I was always better firing at something moving than something stationary although I could hit either. I loved the smell of the rifle right after you fired it and you get a powder and cleaning oil smell that is as distinctive as your moms cooking of your favorite meal as you come in from playing and don't even have to ask what's for dinner. You learned the smells of the woods, swamps, water, the out doors as well as how to move or sneak up on someone and they'd never no you were there. I love to hide in areas where I could watch everyone look for me but never realize how many times they stood right next to me or a few feet away. Springing out at them catching them by surprise as you ran to home base as they were temporarily stunned to have you come out on them where they had just looked for you. That was more fun than not getting caught, surprising them. It got to the point when I'd hide everyone would want to hide with me, something that really wouldn't surprise anyone when there were six people in the same spot.

     I guess you could say I prepared myself for becoming a Marine my whole life. Jay was the same way, and Fred in our team, although his family wasn't military, he had been since he was old enough to hold a stick and say bang. Fred and I were very close, he mostly walked point, and I'd walk backup. Backup watches for ambushes and signs in the distance of enemy presence. Point plots our patrol, knows every foot of where we'd been and how far we'd come. He'd carry a M-16 usually on fully automatic, the only one in the squad designated to have their rifle on fully automatic as usually they hit the enemy first, and gaining fire superiority can make or break an ambush and mean life or death to you, and the squad. He also carries a probing stick, a thin well sought after branch about chest high and thin and sturdy at the tip to feel the slightest impression of a trip wire or cover of a foot trap that could take out the first few men in a column. It was also the points job not to take the easy routes as Charley knew soft Americans like nice dry paths so that's where you'll find the booby traps not knee high in rice paddy water or the middle of a hedge row or terrain a wild animal couldn't traverse. It may have been more frustrating way of movement, but Fred never lost a single man on any patrol he walked point to booby trap. He found a lot, so did I, but time wasn't an issue as much as survival was. We might run slower than most patrols, but we brought everybody back in that went out with us. Survival was the key element foremost in everyone's mind. 

     Viet Nam wasn't like World War II or Korea, both my father and others could tell you were no picnic, but at least for the most part they had secure rear areas, in Viet Nam no area was secure regardless where it was located as half the time you were associating with the enemy, and not knowing it, or couldn't do anything about it, during the day, and at night firing at muzzle flashes in the distance or holding your own from being over run. The NVA, and Charley (VC) never made a full assault on you if they didn't think they had you vastly outnumbered and knew your area or CP., Command Post, better than you did. He’d send sappers, usually young kids not even teen ages yet with a 20lbs. of C-4, plastic explosive strapped to his back, with the detonator tied to his arm so he could explode it with himself in the middle of the CP. or ordinance bunker. It was a favorite way to kick off the assault, as the kids during the day would be hanging out with you, bumming cigarettes, giving you a back massages, or just bull shitting with you. Yet all the while they had your forward area down to the smallest foot step of what they would attack at night and give up their lives for. To them this is an honor to die for your people and it's their way of life. Their moral values aren't as our own. Here in the U.S.A. it's ME first than the family, friends and sometimes country. There me is unimportant to the whole. They are all intricate pieces to a large puzzle that will in their lifetime or their grand children's lifetime will finally fit together. Dyeing to become a permanent part of that puzzle upon its completion, even if it takes a thousand years, is a great honor and significance to their families and relatives. They work and function for the whole not the individual, individuals will always be born and always die, but the way of life and it's autonomy must always survive and move forward to ensure the existence of future generations. Viet Nam is no stranger to war ever since they claimed their autonomy from China thousands of years ago. There is almost no country they haven't repelled over the centuries, and even today as you read this they are dyeing on the borders of Cambodia and Northern most Viet Nam in order to remain a nation unto itself. 

Stay tuned to more Killer Team stories, there should be three at least. A lot happened out there and it is difficult to remember the difficult parts where some of our Marines were killed by the enemy to save the lives of other Marines, others died killing the enemy the best way they knew how, but died honorably just the same.

Written by: Bobby Hingston