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"Ours is but to do or die" by Lt. Bailey
On March 20th, 1969, I had been assigned to take a combat patrol, comprised of twelve men from two of my best recon teams, to land and clear a proposed LZ on a hill near Fire Support Base Argonne. Once cleared, the lead elements of the 4th Marines were to land and begin the Marine involvement in a major combined Army and Marine assault into the Ashau Valley.
The sun hadn't risen yet when we landed by helicopter at Fire Support Base Argonne and were briefed by the Colonel and his staff deep down in the cool and dark bunker that was the command center. The "plan" was for our combined team to be inserted by two Huey's (five men each);and, once on the ground, clear the LZ of any enemy troops, mines or other dangers. Once we gave the signal, the 4th Marines would land and we would be extracted. As the Colonel droned on about how the area had been saturated with artillery fire over the past four days in preparation for our mission, I couldn't help but stare at the enemy unit markers that inundated the map area. I knew from personal and other team patrols into the area that no amount of "preparation" would be good enough to provide a safe insert: Charlie owned the Ashau Valley, and, he wouldn't be open to our "dropping in uninvited".
It was difficult to put on my best poker-face when I briefed my teams. I could see on their faces the same fear that had begun to turn my stomach into a churning cauldron. When I was done, no one said anything. There were no questions. There were no objections. That is, no objections until I made the helicopter assignments.
I had decided that I would take the lead Chopper with the Primary Radio Man, Point (with M-79) and shotgun, Assistant Team Leader, the Kit Carson Scout and two of the other team members. The Corpsman, Senior Team Leader and the others would be on the 2nd helicopter. The first to object was the Corpsman who demanded that he should be with the first team in case of problems and the Team Leader who argued that he should be with his men. It was not open for discussion as I had already decided that "short-timer's" and non-expendable personnel were excluded from the 1st landing. They were'nt happy.
I had the first team turn all non-essential equipment (excess food, water and claymores) over to the 2nd Team as we gathered up all the additional grenades and full magazines that we could carry. After one more argument with the Corpsman, it was time to go and we boarded the Huey's, lifting off into the cool morning sky and leaving the well-manicured and flowered command post below. I couldn't shake the picture of watching a Colonel and his Major try to give a briefing on a mission that they knew couldn't succeed. Their eyes gave it away as neither one of them could look at me as they went through the motions.
Within minutes, we were passing to the North of the now abandoned remains of Khe Sanh with our feet dangling over the sides of the Huey. I could hear the chatter between the Pilot and the 2nd chopper over the headset they had given me so we could communicate. "Ten minutes, Lieutenant," the Co-Pilot announced as the Huey made a hard right turn and headed North to the Ashau Valley and the awaiting LZ. The Pilots took the Huey's down under the blue-grey cloud-cover to skim over the thick triple-canopy of the hills below. "Five minutes," he announced. "We should see the LZ in just a moment." I took the headset off and my team silently scooted closer to the edge of the armored floor preparing to jump at the signal from the Crew-chief. Bits and pieces of the "Charge of the Light Brigade" kept popping into my mind,"Our's is but to do or die....". Strange what comes to mind under those circumstances.
Suddenly, there it was. The only hill completely nude of vegetation, shaped like a dirt banana , high hills just across the valley to the north. I looked for signs of recent artillery rounds. There was no smoke, no fire..... nothing. "Incompetent Son's 'o Bitches," I shouted! This was bad! I knew Charlie was waiting for us and I made a final search of the area as the Huey dropped down toward the LZ.
It was no surprise as the nose of the chopper suddenly lifted and the Huey tilted to the left. We'd been hit just as we were about to jump, our momentum carrying us out over the skids to the hard dirt below. Somehow the helicopter just settled softly among us, the rotors still spinning, as we reactively setup a Hasty Perimeter around the wounded helicopter and began firing wildly into the surrounding area. It took only a minute or two (but seemed like an hour) and we had made a damage assessment. The Pilot was dead and the Co-Pilot seriously wounded. Someone had already pulled the crew off the Huey, and the Crew-Chief was begging for someone to help his buddies. With the team in a good defensive posture and firing at everything that moved, I turned to the Co-Pilot laying in an old crater. I couldn't find any blood or apparent wounds but could tell that he was in shock. Somehow, as I looked into his eyes, he died holding my hand.
"Lieutenant," shouted one of the team members! I rushed toward the voice and looked down to where they were pointing. There were approximately ten tan-uniformed NVA snaking up the north-side of the hill. Two M-79 rounds blew half of them away leaving the others to take cover back in the thick brush below. At the same time, they were trying to come up the south-side but had been kept a bay by the marksmanship and grenades of the team. So far, we had counted 12 confirmed kills but were going to get low on ammo if this continued much longer. We needed to either get help or get the "hell out of there"! Incoming rounds spit at the dirt around us as I moved toward the Radioman who had propped himself up against a tree on the other side of the helicopter. Somehow he had held the radio together maintaining communications with "Whisky-Relay" after two rounds had smashed into it, and was yelling our Sit-Rep into the handset. "We're on our own, Lieutenant", he shouted.
It was then that we discovered that our Kit Carson Scout was nowhere to be seen. I looked down across the almost one hundred meter length of the LZ and saw him waving his arms wildly at us and pointing down toward the East. Asking for cover from the team, I reloaded a full magazine and ran half-crouched toward the far tip of the LZ. Coming up the south-side was a group of NVA already in the open. The Scout and I threw and rolled all of my grenades down the slope, killing several before they withdrew into the brush. Still not trusting the Scout, I motioned him back up the hill and followed him back up toward the team. Just as we were getting close to the others, one of the team members shouted that he'd spotted one of the enemy behind a wooden barrier at the top of the hill, ready to throw a Chi-Com grenade at the team. The closest man's M-16 had jammed and no one had a shot at him from their postitions. I ran forward and as he raised to throw the grenade into the middle of the team, I fired hitting him several times. The Chi-Com flew up in the air and tumbled over and over as it came back down harmlessly, spinning slowly like the ship in "2001".
By now, we were almost out of ammo and fog had started to move in. We were'nt going to get any relief by the 4th Marines since the LZ was too hot. In fact, we probably weren't going to get an extract either with us surrounded and the fog getting thicker by the minute. I was ready to "give it up" and call in "danger close" when the sound of a helicopter broke through the gunfire and the rear gate suddenly appeared in the mist. Quickly making sure the Crew-Chief and the bodies were on board, I followed the team into the chopper. The helicopter was empty but for a lone Marine Pilot at the controls as he took us off of the LZ and down at tree-level to the South and then back to Argonne. It was over as quickly as it had begun.
Patrol Note: Once back at Argonne, we were met by newsmen who wanted an account of what had happened and our confirmed kill numbers (over 30). I blew it and let my anger and frustration out, blasting them with names like "buzzards and vultures". In fact, my team had to get me out of the bunker and outside as I tried to "go after" the "incompetent" Artillery Controller and the Colonel for their "stupidity" and other choice comments. Neither the Colonel nor the Major came to talk with us. Years later, I found out that our mission might have been only a diversion and that the Colonel had been killed a few weeks later in a mortar attack. I wish I had known. I'm deeply sorry Colonel. I'm also deeply sorry that I was never able to find out who that pilot was. He had come in to save his fellow Marines alone and unprotected having dumped his crew off before he came to get us. We all would have died that day if it wasn't for his bravery and unselfish act.
(A Silver Star and a Bronze Star were awarded to members of this team for this action. Mention of this patrol, from another team member's point of view, is made in the book, "Never Without Heroes".)