Souvenirs of War Read online

  1 Souvenirs of War Where have all the young men gone? Long time passing

  Where have all the young men gone? Long time ago

  Where have all the young men gone? Gone for soldiers every one When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn? Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time passing

  Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time ago

  Where have all the soldiers gone? Gone to graveyards every one When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?1

  1©Fall River Music Inc., 1961. Lyrics by Pete Seeger.

  California Dreaming

  Boot Camp was all that I had been warned it would be. From the moment we arrived on the olive

  green bus at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego to the day we finally graduated — it was a world unlike any other. The Corps’ method of breaking down the self-serving individual and re-forming that person into a loyal hard fighting team member isn’t easy to take, but it is certainly effective. There are very few things in life for which I wouldn’t take a million dollars for the experience, but that I also wouldn’t do again for twice that amount. Boot camp and infantry training certainly fall in that category. It was tough and I disliked every minute of it, but I also knew it was the gateway into the Corps and that entry into this elite group of fine men should not be easy. As unlikely as it might seem a person can accept verbal derision and physical abuse if one know it’s for a cause and an end goal that they support — and they know there is an end to it at some point. I don’t know if boot camp in peacetime would be less severe, but I do know that in the fall of 1967 MCRD was a very intense place. I gained almost twenty pounds in boot camp, and not an ounce of it was fat.

  While I was in boot camp and subsequent training assignments soldiers and Marines in Vietnam were fighting some of the fiercest battles yet in that long war.

  Casualties were heavy and replacements were badly needed. We were those r e p l a c e m e n t s and we knew it. And to make sure we didn’t forget our drill instructors reminded us of that fact every day in the strongest means possible. They emphasized their point by singling out those that they publicly declared would be dead in six months because of their ineptitude, stupidity, or arrogance. And in the back of my mind I kept thinking ‘and I volunteered for this’?!

  In the last few days of Boot Camp each recruit learned what their Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) was. Fate had declared that I was an 0311 — Rifleman — those select few that in Vietnam would earn the honorable title of Grunt. I wasn’t surprised, obviously more recruits were assigned this specialty than any other given the basic mission of the Corps, but it was a heightened level of concern that I carried from that moment forward.

  I had an unexpected and very fundamental decision to make during boot camp that could have changed my future dramatically. Based on the results of a series of aptitude tests we had taken early in boot camp, myself and one other recruit were called into the command hut of the chief Drill Instructor one day. We had no idea what we had done wrong, but we knew we were in deep trouble. There was no other reason why anyone was ordered into the staff sergeant’s hut. He informed us that — obviously based on subterfuge and cheating on our part — that us two lowly worms had scored high on the tests and had qualified for acceptance in Officer Candidate School. We had to decide right then and there whether we would accept this opportunity. After not many seconds of thought I declined (very respectfully, as I recall). I never heard the end of it! The DI tore into me for turning down the Corps after they extended such an incredible opportunity to an unworthy low life such as me. What an ungrateful no good bastard I was, he yelled.

  With the successful completion of boot camp came the point we all worked so hard for — the day we graduated and could be called Marines. We were no longer recruits; we (with a couple of exceptions, as I recall, of men who had been transferred into the fat squad or corrective custody platoon) had made the grade and officially earned the title of Marine.

  Throughout the summer and fall of 1967, and into January of 1968 the news was of nothing but escalating battlefield deaths as a result of confronting this fanatically motivated enemy. We saw Marines at Camp Pendleton just returned from Vietnam, and in fact many were involved in training new Marines. They were deadly serious and though they might have been still under 25 years of age, they acted and spoke as someone much older. They were no longer speaking theoretically — they trained from real-life events and we listened attentively. Military commanders in Vietnam had put out an urgent call for replacements and President Johnson increased the number of troops on the ground. What this meant to those in the military’s training system is that schedules were tightened and hours spent training lengthened. We were hustled almost frantically through the process with little time to rest or reflect.

  Training got more specific as to the task Marines were to carry out. Infantry training was grueling and the reality of this nasty business slowly sank in. Fundamentally, we were trained on how to kill the enemy and avoid being killed ourselves. Sometimes it was on a large scale and we practiced frontal assaults, flanking moves and large unit ambushes. Other times it was one on one with bayonets, a garrote, or our bare hands.

  After a leave over Christmas, where we could play the hero with the home crowd, it was back to work with a stronger focus than ever. Everyone in our training battalion knew exactly where we were heading. The final training was called Staging. This specialized form of combat training was oriented to conditions and practices we were going to encounter in Vietnam. It was all deadly serious, though some things seemed ridiculously simple at the time. A sergeant during a training session involving hand grenades cautioned us to not throw a grenade inside typical Vietnamese ‘hooches’ prior to entry because these dwellings were made of grass and twigs, and we would be killed right along with the enemy. He also reminded us that such dwellings provided some concealment but absolutely no cover. I recall thinking how silly it was for him to think he needed to tell us something so obvious. Youthful arrogance is a difficult trait to overcome even when the stakes are so high.

  Training in stealth was a high priority in Staging. The focus was on small groups being able to move quietly through the jungle to surprise and quickly overwhelm the enemy, not on traditional large force battles. We were told to forget everything we heard about conventional combat methods — there would be nothing conventional about combat in Vietnam. At this point there was no question about our future — we were going to South Vietnam to fight local insurgents and hundreds of thousands of crack, well-equipped North Vietnamese regulars.

  In late January 1968, just before the end of my training assignments at Camp Pendleton, the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army carried out the countrywide “Tet Offensive” in South Vietnam. This offensive was in flagrant violation of a cease fire that had been agreed upon to mark the Lunar New Year (also known as Tet), an important Asian holiday, and it caught American and South Vietnamese forces with their guard down. Over 100,000 NVA troops, freshly moved into South Vietnam down the Ho Chi Minh Trail and supported by thousands of local Viet Cong guerillas, attacked every provincial capital in the country. I remember thinking sardonically about my wonderful luck — just as I’m about to head to Vietnam the worst battles of the war erupt. As it turned out I had good reason to be pessimistic. The year 1968 alone saw almost as many deaths as the total for the war up to that point. January 1968 through mid-1969 was the bloodiest period of the war.

  Though the Communists were soundly defeated in their several weeks long offensive, the fact that they could even carry it off in the first place was a major psychological victory for them. It was a psychological defeat for the American public who had been told for years that there was a light at the end of this long tunnel. In the minds of many the Tet Offensive extinguished that light.

  In the midst of Tet a Marine Regiment was thrown together at Camp Pendleton for immediate deployment to Vietnam to help counter the offensive. This was the 27th Mari
ne Regiment — a unit that fought proudly in the South Pacific in World War II but that had been largely decommissioned for many years. It was reformed in the early days of this war, but was a stateside unit whose structure was used only in training activities. On February 12, 1968, after approval from President Johnson, the Marine Corps reactivated the 27th regiment for immediate duty in Vietnam. Hundreds of both new and experienced Marines were gathered together from many different units and training specialties. The 3rd Battalion of the 27th regiment ended up receiving more non-infantry specialists than it had riflemen in its ranks. Many of the combat Marines, myself included, were fresh out of training. The Marine Corps has a motto that Every Marine is a Rifleman, and even cooks had basic infantry training and could be thrown into the fight if required. This claim was soon to be put to the ultimate test.

   Souvenirs of War California Dreaming

  Of course given the speed with which the Regiment was formed there was no time to train together or to coalesce as a unit prior to shipping to Vietnam and being thrown into some of the worst combat of the entire war. Unlike similarly formed units during World War II there would

  be no slow voyage across the Pacific on ships during which men could get to know one another, and there would be no stopovers in Hawaii for training. Once we departed we would be in the war zone within 24 hours. I was a proud new member of Kilo Company, 3/27.

  Incredibly, just five days later the Third Battalion was gathered together for the first time in a large hangar at El Toro Marine Air Station, near Los Angeles. We were being sent to South Vietnam in very much of a hurry-up manner due to heavy casualties suffered not only in the Tet Offensive, but also in major Marine Corps operations preceding Tet in late 1967 in the northern part of South Vietnam.

  The northern-most part of the country was called “I Corps”, pronounced “eye corps” in military jargon. South Vietnam had been divided into four military operational regions by the U.S. command; designated by Roman numerals I — IV. The Marines had major responsibility for combat operations in I-Corps, which included the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), Khe Sanh, The A Shau Valley, Con Thien, Quang Tri, The Rockpile, Hue, and countless hilltops, small villages and enemyheld territory that earned names such as The Street Without Joy.

  Well, Come On All Of You, Big Strong Men, Uncle Sam Needs Your Help Again. He’s Got Himself In A Terrible Jam

  Way Down Yonder In Vietnam So Put Down Your Books And Pick Up A Gun, We’re Gonna Have A Whole Lotta Fun.2

  2©Country Joe and the Fish, 1965. Lyrics by Joe McDonald.  Souvenirs of War

  ‘Nam a Go Go

  On February 17, 1968 President Lyndon Johnson came through the hangar and shook each of our hands just prior to our loading onto a C-141 military cargo plane. The heavy look of profound sadness on the President’s face as he stood in front of me shaking my hand and wishing me the best spoke volumes. He knew that he was sending many of us to our deaths, and it obviously was an almost unbearable weight for him to carry. In fact it wasn’t much more than a month later that he announced that he would not run, nor accept the nomination for the presidency in the 1968 elections.

  Johnson gave a speech about the war, about keeping the South Vietnamese free, about stopping communist aggression, and the importance of our being there. All-in-all it was a very somber event. Suddenly this was very real — we were heading off to war! I know we all looked at one another and had the same thoughts: which ones of us would be dead in a few weeks, or who would be seriously injured and never the same again. Suddenly it was very hard to breathe and my heart was in my throat.

  Well over 200 of us loaded onto the giant plane in full packs, rifles, and sea bags of belongings. We weren’t allowed to contact anyone to let them know we were shipping out. Once on the plane many of us wrote letters that would be mailed home from Da Nang. The news would come as a significant shock to families across the country. We all knew we’d be sent to Vietnam, but we and our families assumed it would be on a more routine basis with some advance notice. In the plane we sat on the floor in long rows, packs on, and rifles at our sides. We stopped I believe at Hawaii and Wake Island to refuel, but we were not allowed to get off the plane at these stops. We sat on the metal floor for many very hot and uncomfortable hours.

  We landed in Da Nang at the large U.S. military air base. Even southern California is cool in February, and the mountains in Camp Pendleton, where we spent countless days and nights on training and battle simulation maneuvers, are downright cold at night. The temperature and humidity difference was immediately obvious when we de-planed in Da Nang. Warm muggy air laden with a strange and heavy alien presence hit us as soon as the ramp at the rear of the plane was lowered. I recall that many of us stood motionless as we stared out into the strange scene that presented itself. Walls of sandbags and steel pilings protected planes and helicopters from enemy rocket and artillery attack. Military trucks scurried about as if being chased by an unseen enemy. The air was thick and heavy and foreboding. There was a weighty silence in the plane.

  Because the air strip had received incoming rocket fire not long before we landed, we were unceremoniously hustled off the plane. After we were all off the plane the first thing we did, in perfect military logic, was to stand at attention in company formation on the tarmac near the plane. I recall thinking that this was a very stupid thing to do if incoming fire was expected. But soon a convoy of deuce-and-a-half trucks arrived and we were loaded into them and taken down dusty roads to a small forward base southwest of Da Nang at a place called Cau Ha in Quang Nam Province. The journey took us from the narrow and crowded streets of Da Nang, through squalid outlying villages, and finally down a deserted dirt road that one could tell without being told was someplace you didn’t want to go without a sizeable military force.

  Once beyond the influence of Da Nang there was nothing in the way of infrastructure. We were truly in the boondocks. Given the look of the villages we drove through, and the appearance of the local residents, it may as well have been 1868 instead of 1968. Riding in

  open trucks through those narrow streets and squalid villages was an eye-opening experience. Suddenly we saw what this war was all about. This wasn’t like going to other foreign countries and seeing masses of reasonably happy middle class citizenry who exhibited an unspoken confidence in the future. We were viewing the other side of life — South Vietnamese peasants that looked very small, poor, and hungry. And utterly noncommittal. We had no way of knowing if pure hatred or suppressed happiness was under the blank faces that stared back at us. Kids, like kids everywhere, were much more animated. Most smiled in what seemed like a friendly manner and shouted Joe Number One, while holding their hands out for food. If they didn’t get what they wanted their yells changed to Joe Number Ten! (Number one being good, number ten meaning that the person or thing is very bad).

  Our rear base was just beyond what was called the rocket belt — the point at which the enemy had to be in order for their rockets to reach Da Nang and the various military institutions there — especially the giant air base. Beyond the base the countryside was sparsely settled and gave no pretenses of civilization, comfort, or safety. The military provided the only ‘law enforcement’, and it was largely a free-fire zone in that the North Vietnamese Army and local Viet Cong roamed quite freely, with the locals caught in the middle. Much of the area was depopulated due to the war. When we did see somebody it always raised concerns. Was that person a friend or enemy? Or was he neither — was he someone who simply wanted to live his life while stuck in this horrible setting?

  Normally there was nothing in their eyes or stoic facial expressions that would expose their true intentions and thoughts. Sometimes, however, we could read faces and when we saw a face filled with hatred on what appeared to be a civilian we had little doubt as to that person’s activities come nightfall.

  It’s the unwritten duty of every member of the military to complain loud and long of conditions, assignments and equipment. This certainly ex
tended to the weaponry we were issued. Due to a shortage of M-16 rifles we had been issued the older and heavier M-14

  0 Souvenirs of War ‘Nam a Go Go 1 prior to leaving California. We used them for the first

  3 or 4 weeks in country, at which point we received M

  16s. We were very familiar with the M-14 rifle because that was the rifle we used in boot camp, and which we used to qualify on the firing range during that part of our training. The M-14 is the rifle that I associate with spit and polish. It’s the rifle used in close order drills and in precision marching units. It’s a fine weapon but just not designed with thick jungle conditions in mind. Once we moved into advanced infantry training we used and qualified with the M-16. There were strong feelings about the rifles we were issued in Vietnam — after all; your life depended on your rife never letting you down. The M-14 had many strong supporters in my unit. It was a rifle you could count on — it was real — made of wood and steel, not plastic. It could take abuse and keep working. We referred to M-16s as The Mattel Toy. Its plastic stock and light weight made it look and feel cheap and undependable.

  The version of the M-16 that the Marine Corps used was an older one. The Army had a newer model that had been improved to correct some deficiencies that showed up when first exposed to the reality of Vietnam-style combat. Jamming due to mud in the action was a major complaint.