The Vietnamese were always angered by the carelessness of U.S. forces. Abandoned U.S. bases or night positions normally had claymore mines still in place and discarded or forgotten equipment strewn about.
Though enemy contact on jungle patrols was rare, it was not never:
On one patrol our base was hit for several nights in a row by indirect fire. Fortunately, the heavy canopy and ground cover kept us from suffering casualties, but we knew it was only a matter of time before our luck ran out.
Since it was small-caliber fire and always right on us, somebody nearby had to be calling it in. That meant somebody was following us. We decided to set in a stay behind ambush the next day to try to nail them.
The plan was to find a clearing (an ideal killing zone) and set up the ambush with our lead elements on the far side, as the rest of the patrol crossed it (we always crossed clearings carefully, as danger areas). Once they had passed through the ambush area, they’d set up as a reinforcing element behind it.
The plan worked. A four-man VC team came into the killing zone a few minutes after our patrol had supposedly left. The Marines killed three of them, and wounded and captured the other. Though the prisoner was in bad shape and not in the best of health to start with, we were able to learn from him that the four VC were a forward observer team who tracked and called in fires on units patrolling the jungle.
Since enemy prisoners in this region were hard to come by, III Corps headquarters wanted this guy right away. We were ordered to secure a landing zone and I was told to bring him and the equipment the VC had with them back to a rear location.
When the U.S. helo came in, I loaded him and the equipment aboard and we took off for wherever they wanted him. We landed on an LZ near some buildings, where a group of officers and troops in starched uniforms and spit-shined boots were standing around. When the helo touched down, I picked up the VC with the equipment, carried him to where the group was standing, and dumped the load at their feet. I was sure this was the closest they would ever get to the enemy. I looked at their startled faces and walked back to the helo and asked the pilot to get me back to my unit right away. On the flight back, I wondered how many of them would get combat decorations for their rear echelon jobs. I was glad I was not one of them.
My twenty-fourth birthday came in September, during one of my times in the jungle. It wasn’t exactly a lead item on my mind. But during the day a helo dropped off resupplies and some welcome mail that I knew would have to be quickly read and destroyed.
In the mail packet was an envelope with my name on it and nothing else. Inside was Miss September, the Playboy Playmate of the Month, naked and lying in a hammock. Written in the margins of the foldout were birthday greetings from the advisers back at the task force headquarters and a list entitled, “9 Things Wrong With This Tactical Picture”:
1. No Overhead Cover
2. Flanks Exposed
3. No One on High Ground
4. No Probing Patrols
5. Not Tied In with Friendlies
6. No One on Duty
7. Not Expecting Immediate Attack
8. Reserve Committed
9. Susceptible to Penetration
I shared the centerfold with the delighted Vietnamese Marines as we set up our hammocks in the patrol base that evening. I still have it to remind me of the little things we did to pump each other up.
THE BATTLE OF THE BONG SON PLAIN
The battle that became known as the Battle of the Bong Son Plain in II CTZ is regarded by some as the first battle of the Tet Offensive. Although it was fought a month before the January attacks of Tet, it signaled a change in the enemy’s strategy.
Tony Zinni continues:
It began in a strange way. By the later months of 1967, things had become very quiet, and fighting seemed to be limited to the border areas of South Vietnam in places like Khe Sanh and the Ia Drang Valley. Many of us thought the VC and NVA were now incapable of large-scale attacks outside of areas along the Cambodian and Laotian borders near their bases and supply routes.
We were, of course, mistaken. The series of attacks that became famous as the Tet Offensive was forming up. The targets of Tet were the cities of South Vietnam. The North Vietnamese command under General Giap believed that if the attacks battered the allies enough to make them seem to lose control, the people would rise up and the war would end, as it did with the French decades before.
One of the target cities was Qui Nhon, a coastal city in II CTZ.
One morning an aerial observer on a routine flight over the area north of the city spotted what looked like a field expedient radio antenna. A local ARVN division dispatched a patrol to check it out. The patrol was never heard from again. A company sent to the area ran into a large VC force and was wiped out.
These events launched a major U.S.-South Vietnamese military operation. The ensuing fighting was fierce, with the friendly units taking severe casualties. Our two-battalion task force of Vietnamese Marines was alerted and designated the II CTZ reserve for the battle that was raging.
At this time I was again with the 4th Battalion. The old battalion commander, Major Tri, had gone to the U.S. to attend a military course, and the executive officer, Major Voung, was now the commander. Captain Kinh, a colorful and much revered old warrior (he had many wounds and many wives), was now the executive officer. Bob Hamilton was now the senior adviser, and I was filling the junior adviser position. As the battle raged, we did what we could to monitor it, but had no way of knowing how serious the fighting had become until a call came that we (the reserve) would be committed.
As the battalion got ready to go, the task force advisers and some officers from the Corps headquarters showed up at our position to brief us. “The situation’s bad,” they told us. “The ARVN division is in desperate shape and the U.S. unit from the 1st Cav has also taken serious casualties. It’s urgent that you reinforce these units as soon as possible.”
The plan was for our battalion to conduct a helicopter lift in two waves directly onto the ARVN position. I would go with Captain Kinh and two companies as the lead. Then the helos would lift the remainder of the battalion to join us. The other battalion and our task force headquarters would move by trucks up Highway 1 to join our battalion. The task force was put under the operational control of the 22nd ARVN Division, the unit fighting the battle.
What we were to do once we landed was unclear, which left all of us uneasy. The fighting was heavy and our mission was hazy. Because no one seemed to have a good handle on what was happening, it was left to us to make contact with the units on the ground and work out the scheme.
From the briefing and the maps, I could tell the VC held a group of villages, while the ARVN and U.S. forces were on high ground overlooking them. The battle had gone on for days with lots of air and artillery fire and several unsuccessful ground attacks launched by the forces we were to join.
I knew the villages well from previous operations — beautiful places with postcard scenes of thatched houses, palm trees, and rice paddies… and prosperous (they made rice wine); so life was good. I’d enjoyed my times there and truly liked the people. I was anxious to see what the fighting had done to
