Battle Ready

His mood was not much improved when he started feeling a little better. “Well, let’s see what I can do,” he said to himself and tried some push-ups near his bed. He collapsed after three.

The biggest blow came a few days after that. “You’re going to be evacuated to the Naval Hospital on Guam,” the doctor told him, “and then back to the States.” That was when he realized that return to the Marine Advisory Unit was not in the cards.

An Air Force evacuation plane carried Zinni and a number of other evacuees to Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines, where they spent Christmas Day. Another plane carried him to Guam, where he spent several weeks regaining enough strength for his return to the United States.

The stay at Guam was even more difficult than at Qui Nhon. Though the staff was caring and supportive, Zinni felt isolated — the only patient on an officers’ ward. His morale plummeted further as the Tet Offensive unfolded in all its gut-wrenching fury. The VC and NVA were mounting coordinated attacks against the major cities of Vietnam. And all Zinni could do was lie in his bed and impotently watch the TV.

The Vietnamese Marines, always at the heart of the action, were fighting in Cholon, the Chinese section of Saigon.

On one occasion, Zinni watched his Marines bring a captured VC before the Saigon police chief, where he was summarily executed. Zinni had accompanied one of the Marines he saw there, a platoon commander from the 4th Battalion, on many operations.

Other Marines went on to fight in the desperate battle for Hue City, distinguishing themselves in the hard fighting to take the city and its citadel.

Eventually, he was brought home to a hospital near Philadelphia, and was soon well enough to be made an outpatient — meaning that he only had to report in every day; otherwise, he could stay at home with his parents (where Debbie, his wife, joined him).

It took a while to decompress. On the drive home, on his first night out of the hospital, he gave his brother a scare. “Why are we going down a road at night unarmed and with no security?” he asked him.

In February 1968, he received orders to Quantico as an instructor at the Basic School, where the Marine Corps trains its new officers. He spent the next two years teaching scouting, patrolling, and counterinsurgency tactics at the Basic School, then attended the career-level school for captains, graduating in the summer of 1970. During that time, he also worked hard (running, lifting weights) to recover the strength he had lost. By 1970, he had fully recovered, and was ready to return to Vietnam.

He received orders for the 1st Marine Division based in Danang, and once again prepared to go to war, assigned to the 1st Battalion, 5th Marines, known as “the Pacifiers.”

THE PACIFIERS

During the process of Vietnamization, it was expected that the NVA would try to press the withdrawing American forces and cause serious harm. To counter that threat, the division wanted a quick reaction force — a powerful unit that could act as a “fire brigade,” troubleshooter (something like the Vietnamese Marines, but with a far more localized area of operations), and rescue unit (that could bail out anybody who needed rescuing).

That job went to “the Pacifiers” (the code name for their special mission). The Pacifiers, as their official description put it, provided “a swift striking, highly mobile heliborne task force which is able to react to any situation on short notice.”

The battalion was under direct control of the 1st Marine Division and had a dedicated air package that consisted of command and control helos, troop transports, helo gunships, observer aircraft, and attack aircraft. Its four companies rotated through four levels of alert. The highest was Pacifier 1—requiring a company to be ready to lift out on ten minutes’ notice. The second level was one hour, the third twelve hours, and the fourth twenty-four hours.

A company usually stayed on Pacifier 1 for a couple of weeks, and it was tough. Pacifier 2 was tough, too. Pacifier 3 was a little easier, and you provided security for the division headquarters. And if you were on Pacifier 4, you provided security for the base camp.

The battalion’s rifle companies were very large and specially organized. Unlike most other units, they were kept at Table of Organization strength, with the full complement of officers and NCOs — over 260 Marines and sailors. This was probably two to three times the size of other rifle companies during the Vietnam War.

In addition, they had extra machine-gun and mortar squads, as well as some experimental weapons, such as an automatic grenade launcher (the XM-174, called “the Super-Blooper” by the troops) and a flamethrower (the XM-202).[20] And each company had its own engineer unit, scouts, Kit Carson Scouts,[21] and scout dog units.

Pacifier units were only committed on hot intelligence of enemy contact, or to rescue crews from downed aircraft, with the mobility of the helos being the key to their movements. They did not pursue the enemy on foot unless in direct contact. And in order to facilitate identification from the air, each platoon had their own color patches sewn on their helmets.

Tony Zinni continues:

The battalion’s commanding officer was Lieutenant Colonel Bernard E. “Mick” Trainor (later a lieutenant general and noted journalist), one of the smartest officers the Corps has ever produced. Trainor would demonstrate his tactical skill and genius many times while I was with the battalion.

When we met, he jumped on the fact that I had been to school and had a previous tour as an adviser. He wanted me to be his assistant operations officer. I begged and pleaded for a company; I did not want a staff job. I wanted to be out in the field doing real work. He agreed to think about it.

After I went through the check-in procedure, I moved into the captains’ tent where the battalion staff officers lived — a great bunch who quickly brought me up to speed; the battalion operations officer, a big, smart, calm major named W. M. Anderson, really knew his stuff. We quickly hit it off.

When I blurted out how badly I wanted a company, he told me not to worry about it. “I’ll see what I can do. Relax for a couple days and get your feet on the ground. I think you’ll be more valuable to the battalion in a company. And I’m sure I can convince the CO of this.”

I loved the guy.

After two days of anxious waiting, I was called to Lieutenant Colonel Trainor’s hut, where I was informed I would be the commanding officer of Company A, 1st battalion, 5th Marines.

I was ecstatic.

When I took command, the company was on Pacifier 3 on Division Ridge, providing security for the division base area. If we were alerted and moved, other non-Pacifier units took over its security mission. The mission was relatively easy and allowed the troops to get a break after their stretches on the more demanding Pacifiers 1 and 2.

Danang is on the seacoast, with a massive mountainous ridge area just to its west. Since the division headquarters was on the eastern side of the ridge, protecting that — as well as the division rear, the logistics area, and the air base — meant occupying Division Ridge.

That job was given to the Pacifiers on lowest levels of alert, and it was pretty good duty. During the day, we only had to keep a platoon up there, which allowed us to get our troops down into some of the base areas for rest and cleanup — impossible to do when they were out in the field.

The change of command took place on the ridgeline on September 8 (we remained on Pacifier 3 status until the twenty-first). It was a bright sunny day, and my first act after walking through the ranks to shake hands with every Marine and sailor was to meritoriously promote several deserving Marines.

“What a day!” I thought.

I spent the two weeks we had left on the security mission getting the company in good shape. Because there’d been no enemy contact for months at that position, the permanent support units and the South