These stories are dedicated to Corpsman Chester Fontenot. Kia on May 17, 1968 crawling to a wounded Marine.

Going to Vietnam in 1968 was a time of mixed emotions. I had not been following the war on television, I didn't watch the 6 O'clock news showing combat every night or the student protests, so I landed with great expectations of the right and might of America.  It must be right if America is helping. Growing up on World War II movies and relative's war stories, being a member of a military career family living in the 50's and 60's had shaped my young mind into the fact that we were helping a backward nation, and it was good like World War II. When I received my orders for Vietnam, I was ordered to take a 30 day leave, it was a fun time for me being home after a years absences. Dated my girlfriend at night and worked with my father during the day, just like old times. Fifteen days into my leave I received a telegram from the Government stating "You Have emergency orders to report to duty as soon as possible", if nothing else it made me feel important, the Vietnam war couldn't wait for me to arrive any longer. Dad didn't say a thing when we parted, he just shook my hand, with W.W.II, Korea and two tours off Vietnam on the Aircraft Carrier Oriskany under his belt, he knew words could not change the out come of my destiny, to live or die in a combat zone.

Thirty, twenty and even ten years, I could not have written about Vietnam, I didn't know anything about it as a whole, I only knew what I had seen and felt, Vietnam was a war of many small stories, some not pieced together until thirty years later and others never to be told. We were small units, mostly platoons, of 30 or so men, under strength by half as there was a shortage of Marines. The platoons were usually out in the bush by themselves, yet in contact as to aid each other in times of trouble, which seemed to take days, if it was by foot. We usually did not know what was happening to other units, except by scuttlebutt (rumor), which could get pretty wild and distorted by the time we would hear it. Even today I learn more about the war, from Secret documents being declassified and other military information being released. It was a person-to-person war, with few large unit maneuvering, just you and me and some NVA playing cat and mouse, us with supersonic techniques and them with a bicycle and a bowl of rice. I learned to respect them, they were tough and determined to win at any price, and their ancestors had fought a 1000-year war with China. French and Americans were new bullies on  the block who needed to be kicked out. In retrospect, I do believe the South Vietnamese people knew what would happen to them, so they didn't try as hard as they could have. The Press had a negative force on the American public support of the war; this war was taking to long for America. The North Vietnamese people were very motivated people. 30 odd years later I heard a high ranking NVA Officer state "That the North Vietnamese people were fighting for NATIONALISM and the American people were fighting AGAINST COMMUNISM". The South Vietnamese were not motivated enough to keep South Vietnam a Democracy.

April 1968, springtime for the Western Hemisphere, Tet of 68 was over, Khe Sanh had been relieved from the Siege, and Alex, Joe, and I, Hospital Corpsman, were flying into Da Nang after processing in Okinawa, we traveled East from the states with larger group of fellow corpsmen. From Travis Air Force Base, Calif., the civilian aircraft was full of military people young and old, one group of sergeants headed for the rear of the plane breaking out bottles of booze to soften the time in the air. When I heard that they would be refueling in Alaska, I started worrying about the plane sliding off the airstrip on ice when we landed, I could worry about anything! Japan was another refueling point and then on to Okinawa. The Marines we saw rotating back from Nam in Okinawa were different from stateside Marines more intense a different side showing. Their faces were hard and lean compared to our stateside boyish looks. I didn't know the horrors in our future that they had found for themselves. I had faith in war movies, didn't the good guys always win and everyone went home after the movie was over? And any way, not only were we going to war, it was with the United States Marines to boot. The things that worried me was, would I be accepted by combat Marines, could I keep up with them, would I be brave (I knew inside I really wasn't all that brave) would I go home too?

The Da Nang Airport from the air had all these craters around it, it was strange looking out the little window, man this was the war zone. I was not scared stepping off the plane, things seemed to be in control, we lined up and boarded buses with heavy duty screens on the windows (the screens were to stop grenades and rockets from entering the bus) to III MAC to be checked in and routed to different divisions and regiments. Our group of Corpsman was bused to 1st. Medical Battalion, 1st Marine Division, in the rear near "Freedom Hill". We had come over as a group from San Diego Naval Hospital Balboa, when you are trained for war and have orders for war and are ready for war and we were in that frame of mind, lets get it done, we were young and had not seen the evil face of pain and death and yes, fear. Fear has many faces from a little "boo" to a mind boggling terror-fear when exposed to constant and close death. Pain was there from humping so much gear, from heat, sharp elephant grass cutting like a razor, steep mountain jungle trails with mud and hellish hot humid days and freezing cold rain at night. Pain was humping the bush all day and having a 2 men hole which meant having 4 hour sleep and 4 hours of peering into the darkness trying to keep your eyes focused and alert when every bush or high spot appears to be a moving enemy soldier coming to kill you, while your eyes fight you to shut and you fight back to keep them open so you'll be alive. The pain of wounds and the pain of your buddy's death, wondering why he died and you lived. Death's face would be well known too, stripped away, everyday items were gone, ammo, sleep, food, shelter were the focal points along with praying silently to your God to live for another day. We would learn death, pain and fear well.

Joe from Louisiana, was quiet like me, Alex loved to talk about his M-16 and helicopters, how he was going to build a one man helicopter for himself when he returned stateside and he was always field stripping his M-16 while we were waiting transit to our front line units. I didn't like the M-16, growing up with .30 cal. hunting rifles, these were .22 cal. rifles, squirrel guns and plastic too... I was trained with my M-14's and liked them, though they were heavy as hell. In the field I was issued a .45 cal. Pistol, knowing that I could not hit a barn door with it from past experience. I often just carried hand grenades for myself protection, figuring I could use wounded Marines M-16 if my "first aid station" was over run, my job was to stay down, not be shooting or fighting, except prevent bodily damage to others or myself. When I joined the Navy, I never expected to be in a war zone with a bunch of Marines, the Navy was ships, not mud and pain, I was a bookworm, a warm room person. I didn't belong outside, I had to sleep in a bed. I would change, as all of us would, to an animal-like state, eat, sleep, fight, and try to stay alive. 

We would work our way from Division, to Battalion, to Company, and then to Platoon. The group left Da Nang for Phu Bai, a forward operating base, by a C-130, a workhorse airplane of the larger airstrips. It groaned and moaned, with scary sounds as hydraulic motors moved the flaps and landing gear, it was a short flight. We landed at this civilain/military airport, actually it was just a big red dirt airfield to me, very third world, very poor. From the forward area, we would be transported by helicopter to a base camp closer to our new Company. Picking up information and gear along the way, there was no logic to anything we saw, all our gear was used and dirty, my flak jacket had bullet holes and was torn, you just got your gear from these piles of gear. Packs, helmets, cartridge belts, canteens, and gas mask, entrenching tool the uniform of the day was flak jackets and helmets and anything else you could find or carry. The heat and the humidity was unbelievable. Every thing was new and strange, everyone carried a weapons, it was not your usual spit and polish USMC. The further North we worked, the more primitive bases became. New names were heard, Dong Ha, Quang Tri, Cua Viet, Cal Lu, Rockpile, Con Thien and Khe Sanh. Everyone stateside knew of Khe Sanh, it was the big ticket siege by the NVA and was in the press daily.

I-Corps was the Northern fighting zone, "the Marine zone" as the Army "doggies" called it. Due to buildup of Northern zone prior to "Tet 68" in Operation Checkers, with individual Infantry Battalions, as"Checkers", Gen. Westmoreland had 73 Maneuver Battalions (Marine and Army) in that zone. It was crowed around the bigger cities/viles, trucks, tanks, jeeps, and mules (a primitive 4` wheeler) choked the dirt roads, dust, diesel fumes and odd smells assaulted your nasal cavity and nose, the airstrips busy with C-130's, Hueys slicks, Cobra gun ships, and attack aircraft. Hugh fuel dumps with rubber bladder storage systems; pallets of supplies, beer and soda lined the roads behind woven wire fences. Vietnamese women and children trotting up the roadside going to or from market, slowed traffic, few young men were ever seen in these groups, 16 year old men were needed for the military, fighting for the North, or fighting for the South. Even though there were close to 250,000 military men in I-Corps, it was very easy to get into trouble with the NVA. Their style of fighting was either human wave attacks, or well planned and executed ambushes and both were usually hit and run unless the fog kept the air power back. Air power, that was the winning force, if you could get the bombs, rockets, napalm, miniguns, on target your chances of survival increased greatly. The NVA could and would surround a base or group and put the squeeze on them; usually only airpower could prevent them for over running it. The cities were filled with refuges, many had been moved by Allied forces to form "Free Fire Zones" in the contested mountains/jungles/farm areas, meaning if it moved, you could open up and fire at it.

From Dong Ha staging area I flew to Khe Sanh by CH-47's, a two-rotor helicopter with large loading ramp /door on the back. It was noisy and windy as all the windows were gone. I just tried not to show fear as we flew over dense jungle, it was cold as we climbed higher into the jungle mountains, fog was in some of the valleys. Every once in awhile you would see large scars on the hillsides from bombs. Nearing the base the jungle was showing sign of heavy damage. Craters, large, small, multiple craters, and the acres of land that was just churned red dirt. I could see patches of elephant grass burning where the triple jungle canopy didn't grow, it was a scene from hell, and Khe Sanh was the center of it. A trip to Hell. Combat, I had seen pictures of Gettysburg, films of W.W.II, they were horrible and exciting, and I was in the middle of that horror and excitement.

Khe Sanh, a mountain village area that had become a USMC legend, I had not idea what was in store for me.  2/1 had been around Da Nang in the past and had moved to the I Corps in Operation Checkers in September 67.  2/1 spent many weeks at Con Thien during Tet 68 and were on Route 9 opening the road to the mountain crossroad combat base on Operation Pegasus in mid-April.  The base was for one purpose, to stop the flow of NVA men and supplies from North Viet Nam and Laos's natural road and trail system, funneling into the large population areas on the coast.  Viet Nam is only 20 miles wide in this area but the topography changed rapidly i that short distance.  From flat sand dunes at the oceans edge, which were bad to patrol, to rice patties full of water or dry, which are also bad to patrol, then the land starts to roll and then build to steep sided mountains of triple canopy jungle, with rushing stream, high cliffs and open rolling areas of elephant grass like golf greens on the surrounding mountain sides, the gash of bomb craters it's hazards.  It's the kind of grass you see hunters in India, riding on elephants hunting Tigers.  An elephant can move through it with grace, man just get cut up, overheated and dehydrated.  It is the most horrible stuff to walk through, it holds the heat and dust.  Tigers love the stuff, they can sneak around, never to be seen till too late.  An old French coffee plantation widow in the 50's and 60's is reported to have shot 20+ tigers around the coffee trees over the years protecting the villagers at Khe Sanh.  One fellow from 3rd Force Recon was drug away from his sleeping position by a Tiger before a team member shot and killed it one night.  Speaking of coffee trees, the weather is perfect for coffee tree growing there, the temperatures, rainfall and the fogs that come in.  I have always fantasized of retiring there and growing coffee.  The reality of unexploded ordinance, the question of Agent Orange poisoning the soil and fear of bandits swopping from from Laos tame that itch.

Going into a forward combat base from a stateside Naval Hospital has a steep and sometimes deadly learning curve.  I had been at a Naval Hospital the past year, about as civilized as you can get.  The victimize cities and larger bases on the coast were somewhat safe, you could hear rockets and mortars come in but not close.  It was cool.  We flew into the combat base, stepping out on the airstrip from the chopper with dust and grit, paper and junk flying all around, people yelling to move it, seeing everyone run for a bunker and following.  Shells screaming down and landing at the spot you and the helicopter had just vacated.  It was scary, being new and no where to go, we began learning to hear artillery shoot at us so we could take evasive action like jumping into the bunker on time.  The NVA had drug 130 mm cannons into the cliff and hillsides of Laos 6 miles away, and had complete control of movement outside the bunkers and we had to learn the sounds of death.  It started as a faint pop, you had time to dive into a bunker, trench or just eat dirt in the open, about 2 seconds, then the shells would start screaming as they arched down to earth.  Fear, fear runs through your body, it's such a helpless feeling to lie there waiting to die.  Marines say you won't hear the one that gets you; just the sound of them was enough to die from.  Hey guys, I'm a non-combatant I have a Geneva Convention card here.