Khe Sanh was located on the Laotian border, just
a notch South of the DMZ, it was a high mountain area, hard to supply.
The one road, running east west into Laos from the Vietnamese coast was
mostly dirt and narrow, jungle growing up to and over the road, were it
was ground back by truck traffic. Route 9 followed the river valleys into
the black depths of the mountains, climbing and clinging to the mountainsides,
switchbacks and river crossings slowed the convoys down. Steep cliffs offered
protection on the down side and delivered NVA satchel charges and hand
grenades from above. It was a dangerous road; the roughrider supply convoys
only friend was speed to blast through any trouble spots. I remember well
the convoy run where I almost got left behind. It was our turn to be security
for the supply convoy’s called roughriders. Al and Tim were next to me
on the last truck in line, we were seated by the tailgate. The convoy was
going like a bat out of hell, we were bouncing and swaying, and the dust
was painting us red. B-52 bombers had bombed and rebombed the area, our
roadside cratered with bomb craters, one of which the back of the 6x happened
to be sliding into. All I could think of was jumping clear of the truck
and stood up to jump, Al grabbed my flax jacket and pulled me back in as
the driver spun tires and clawed out of the crumbling crater rim. Al was
yelling at me never to do that again because the drivers have orders not
to stop for anything. I shook at the thought of being stranded alone on
that jungle road, a road easily cut by the enemy. Khe Sanh was at the end
of the line of combat bases strung from the coast to the Laos border, the
end of civilization.
Alex, Joe (Chester) and I spent the day gathering medical
gear, listening to the Chief Hanes give us last minute instructions about
staying alive, the weekly Malaria pills we passed out, it was a court marshal
offense if you got Malaria and had no preventive malaria medication in
your system, and just before we broke up for our units we were given some
tooth pumice to clean our teeth. Strange yes, years later I read that was
standard Navy procedure. Earlier, while eating a lunch of c-rations, watching
Joe heat up a can of Sapggitti and meatballs, he had just punctured alternating
holes in the can’s lid, not cutting the lid and folding it back for a handle,
watching his can heat up with the red tomato sauce oozing out of the holes
like blood, I was hit with a intuitive insight that Joe was going to die.
That had never happened to me before, I shook off the thought and did not
say a thing, and I was not going to say, “Joe, you’re going to die.”
We said our goodbyes and split up, following short timer
corpsmen to our companies. Being led to my new outfit a NVA sniper fired
a shot at us, I heard for the first time a bullet flying by my head, dropping
to the ground, the Corpsmen I’m to replace, called 7-up, anxiously asks
if I’m okay. 7-up introduced me to all the Marines in the Platoon, showing
where I would bunk, what squad I would stick with. The base was mostly
underground, dug down deep when the NVA hauled cannon by hand over the
mountains. The line Company’s were living on the perimeter’s edge, looking
out into the killing fields. A no-mans land, tangle foot barbed wire crisscrossed
the ground, with tripwire flares to warn of enemy movement at night. Buried
in the ground was 55 gallon barrels full of c-4 plastic explosives, diesel
fuel and old dirty ammo, connected to detonating devices in our fighting
positions. Mines were buried and claymores were in position in front of
us. The bunkers were stockpiled with ammo and hand grenades, the bunkers
were both home and fighting areas. The trench had emplacements built with
sandbags and timber; you could almost walk around the whole base in that
trench unexposed and was it muddy when it rained. The base was heavily
damaged, blown up bunkers left gapping holes, both ammo dumps had blown
in the past, casting explosive rounds about. Most of the sandbags around
the bunkers were torn and tattered fluttering in the breeze, making it
look shabby. The marines were pretty rough looking with ripped,
dirty clothes, unshaven, smelly, but friendly.
Bonding with the marines was easy I found, you’re
there to keep them alive and the grunts want to keep you alive so you can
keep them alive. That’s one thing I do miss, we had nothing but ourselves,
and so we took care of each other. The marines were very helpful telling
me what gear I would need and asking if I wanted a rubber lady, with me
replying “ thanks but no, I’m engaged back home”. They laughingly replied
it was an “air matterss”, not a girl.
The days there started melting in a blur, killer teams,
Platoon and Company size patrols and one Battalion size sweep of the area
North of Hill 881N. The word was spread to load up with three days worth
of c-rations and all the ammo you could carry; we were going to Hill 881north.
Early the next morning we were lined up in squads along the airstrip of
metal. The sun was just coming up; helicopters in the distance could be
heard. Next, the sand blasting us as the rotors picked up dust and grit
and hammered it into our skin. Settling into the web seats, we flew to
our LZ. The ride took minutes and flared into a hot landing, running off
into a firestorm of NVA artillery and mortar fire, we waved good-bye to
the chopper pilot. We ran for our lives, I just picked out a familiar face
and keep one step behind Chip, running and running, out of breath and finally
diving for cover. I was so scared, I only wanted to pee, kneeling in this
crater and peeing and peeing. Collecting the wounded and dead the platoon
moved to a safer area. A chopper was called back to pick them up, another
barrage of mortars, all the good landing zones were zeroed in by the NVA.
The companies were spread out by now, with their platoons
in traveling formation, point, command, rear and flanks. The Battalion
started their sweep to the south, to search and destroy enemy bunker complexes
and supply dumps. It was just jungle and steep mountain trails, walking
was hard with roots and vines tangling my boots at every step. The triple
canopy vegetation made for gloomy vision at noon. The bunker complex was
well hidden, we stumbled on to it as we swept over the mountainside, we
were lucky, the NVA had run. They only liked to fight on their terms, not
the marine’s terms. The marines had their bases in the open for all to
see, the NVA bases were unseen. Set up 122mm rockets, ammo and rice was
found, blowing up the rockets and ammo, then pissing on the slashed sacks
of rice was little payback to us.
These were steep mountain jungles and our walk back to
base was against the grain of the jungle, the Battalion didn’t follow the
natural valleys and trails, we hacked our own trail, this lasted 3 days
and nights. It was a hard hump, a forced march, no sleep, just walk and
walk, day and night, 5 minutes catnap on the trail every hour, lean back
on the ground, use your helmet as a pillow and hope you don’t get left
behind. As we neared the base, a narrow canyon peppered with dry tear gas
had us scrambling for our gas masks. The men were beat and I was fading
fast, the base was in sight and little did I know it would be a dash for
life. Between the toe of the hill and base was a long flat open area and
the enemy gunners were waiting for us to cross. Run, run for your life,
a bunker, a trench, and any thing out of sight. Later at our lines, Chip
and I cooked some c-rations and lay there for two days recovering. The
men were not soft; lack of good food was partly to blame. Some had been
eating C-rations for months and as I would find out, you don’t gain weight
on them. A glass of milk was a thought beyond reality; a hamburger, get
out of here, you want to get punched? Ham and eggs, canned; pork slices,
beef and potatoes, ham and lima beans, chicken and noodle, spaggitti and
meatballs and other meals for a choice of 12.
The act of taking a shower was a life or death event there.
First it was 100 feet from the trench in a small depression, out of line
of fire from snipers, yet open to motors, rockets and artillery fire. The
water point was another 100 feet away. To carry the water and take a shower
was next to impossible, why die to be clean. Spit baths out of the helmet,
was about the only daily hygiene. The out house was there too, rumors of
marines being killed using it floated about. Just think, to die using a
toilet or shower. Civilization had taken a hard right turn the minute we
left Dong Ha. We were alone, in the middle of nowhere.
May 17, 1968, I had no time to mourn my friend’s death, when
word was passed down to me that Joe (Chester) was dead, machine gunned
while going to the aid of a wounded marine. We had only been there 20 days;
I had been 99% scared to death more times then I
Would ever hope for in the past 20 days and Joe was dead. I was sorry.
The pain would have to wait, you can’t dwell on death at times like these,
it would draw you down. Be scared, but don’t think about death. Never.
May 1968, a month of dying, it has been called “Bloody
May” for good reason. More marines were killed during that month then during
the February TET offense. 723 marines, 330 Army men and 37 sailors were
killed in III MAF that month. The time is now called the ”May Mini Tet”.
The NVA 304th Division was operating in our area, testing us for weak points
in the lines, ambushing Platoon and Company sized patrols, ambushing the
supply convoys on Rt. 9. One 2/1 platoon, hit while on convoy security,
had NVA throwing explosive charges off the sheer rock cliffs that lined
the road onto the truck beds, the marines were hit hard. Another platoon
on road sweep security prematurely set off a NVA ambush that turned into
a battle.
The Battalion S-3 combat records (declassified) state:
“Mine sweep team accompanied by reinforced platoon “F” and two tanks
triggered enemy ambush at initial range of approximately 25 meters. Contact
subsequently revealed reinforced NVA Company and prepared bunkers. Road
sweep element immediately reinforced by remainder of company, Company assaulted
enemy position and later repulsed counter attack. Company “G” was dispatched
to reinforce Company “F” and killed 3 NVA at rear of Company “F” while
linking up. Company “E” 2/3 with two tanks dispatched from bridge 3 to
reinforce “G” and “F”. “E” 2/3 swept through enemy position killing
16 NVA, for a total of 65 NVA killed.”. 2/1 lost 18 KIA, 44 WIA,
and two tanks destroyed.
My friend, Corpsmen friend Jon Peters was creased on the
forehead running through a blast of automatic fire, during that action
his medical bag took the brunt of it, I was amazed counting the bullet
holes in it the next day. Just another day in Hell and no way to escape
back to civilization, except in a body bag.
Next: June and July 1968
