3-11 SEPTEMBER 1968
Quang Nam Province - South Vietnam

Letter written by Mike McFerrin, 3rd Plt. M Co. 3/5 to fellow Marine, Elvin Bruce Jones, "BJ"
November 2003

BJ,

I was there 11 Sept. '68, the day that you got hit. I am not too sure how many that are online with us were there that day. There is at least two that were with the company at that time, but I have to check with them to see. They were both medevacs during that time period so I am not sure if they were in the hospital or the bush. But of all, I seem to have the best memory of those long ago events. I can sort of "time travel" back. It takes me a while to do it but I can get there and see all of the detail. The down side of it is that I also "feel" it. The gut wrenching fear and the horror. I only do it in short runs every couple of months or so.

I present the following to you as my recollection of the days 3-10 September, leading up to 11 September 1968, that awful day itself, and the aftermath. It will come in two parts. I am positive that my time frames are within 24 hours of being correct and even more positive that the events are accurate from my angle of view at the time. I am sure that some of this you will remember and some I will be filling you in on.

For all who gave so much that day, we, your fellow Marines of that battle, do remember and honor the courage and sacrifice. It is a story that America should know. The many acts of selflessness and bravery are the very spirit of the Marine Corps and America.

Mike Out

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Letter to Mike McFerrin from Elvin Bruce Jones, "BJ"
January 2004

I was not with 3/5 very long before I was hit 11 September 1968. I was with 3/27 before I came to 3/5, the things I remember are the HEAT & the RAIN, and that little walk we took. One thing I can still smell and taste some times, or I think I can, is a cup of JAVA we made the next morning, after that long, wet walk we took in the rain. We used a piece of C-4 to heat it in a canteen cup on top a c-rat can we had put holes in for ventilation, C-4 burns fast and HOT. I think that was the best cup of Java I have ever had!!

For 35 years I have not had any contact with anyone. Did not know who, or if anyone made it that terrible day. I really do appreciate very, very much all of you, and the work you have and are doing to make sure this story never is forgotten, not for me, but for all the guys that did not make it home!!

God Bless S/F BJ

PRIOR DAYS: 3 SEPTEMBER 1968
Mike McFerrin, 3rd Plt. M Co. 3/5

I had arrived in the bush by helicopter late in the afternoon the day before as one of twenty one badly needed replacements for the infantry companies of 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment. We were choppered to Go Noi Island where we were distributed to the various companies who were already involved in a search and destroy operation. Seven of us went to Mike Company. Go Noi Island was flat as a pancake with knee high to over head high elephant grass every where except for a few islands of trees and shrubs that dotted the landscape of the interior and followed the river banks. It was not really an island but was a large tract of land that lay between two rivers that ran all the way to the ocean some 20 to 30 miles away.

The night had been filled with fear of an attack. At least I had been. Nothing had happened during the hours of darkness that night.

On the morning of September 3, one of the squads from one of the other platoons had gone on a short patrol shortly after dawn. They had found and chased some 10 or 12 gooks into a treeline not too far away. The company commander did not allow them to continue the pursuit. As the squad returned to the company, we were given orders to saddle up. The whole company would enter the treeline to go after the enemy soldiers.

Before 7:30 AM, we moved out in column. The column was maneuvered along the edge of a bushline some 300 meters away and parallel to the target treeline. We made a left face and were now facing the target in a row. The target was an "island" of trees in the middle of a huge area of grass ranging from six inches to knee high. To the right and left of the island were long tree lines about 200 meters away from each side. As we looked at the target it seemed to be about 100 meters wide and perhaps the same deep. It also appeared to contain some hootches somewhere in its interior. We couldn’t actually see any but there seemed to be an order about the trees, bushlines, and paths that we could see that indicated man had been there for a while.

The Captain decided that we would approach the island in a "wedge" formation and enter the treeline at a path that was almost at the midpoint of the island. My platoon got picked for the front of the wedge. My squad was picked for the front of the platoon. And sure as shit, my fireteam was picked for the very point. My fireteam leader decided to take the very point himself and I was a few steps back and to the left of him. We were to wait until we were about 100 meters from the target and begin "reconning" by fire as we approached. It all sounded just like the training formations at Camp Pendleton. Easy stuff.

We moved into the open area and started towards the target. At about 150 meters, our simple maneuver started falling apart. Out of the treeline to the left came one of the other companies in 3/5. We kept moving but it didn’t take a mental giant to see that their column and our wedge would collide at a point about 75 meters out from our target. We were finally halted while the eminent tacticians decided what to do. Their decision caused somewhat of a stir in the ranks because I could hear some mumblings about the stupidity of it. Neither the decision nor the mumblings made much of an impression on me that day as I was on my first field maneuvers in a war and was concentrating on all the things I was supposed to do such as distance and direction between myself and the other men, watching for enemy movement in the trees, etc.

The decision had been to have Mike Company stop its wedge formation assault on the treeline and allow the other company to cross in column between it and the target. I now see how ridiculous that decision was and why everybody groaned and mumbled. We were approaching this treeline as if there were a large number of enemy troops in there ready to fight us. But for a few moments we would pretend there was nobody in there and another Marine company would walk right across in front of this treeline as if they were just walking by minding their own business. This probably looked good on paper and surely the gooks, if they were in there, would honor this little time-out we called. I mean it would certainly be unsportsmanlike for them to wait for the column to get spread out directly in front of them with the wedge formation directly on the other side of that column then open up with Marines two deep in front of them.

Of course, that was exactly what happened. Due to the heat the Marines of Mike Company had sat down to wait for the other company to move across. I was a new guy so I had a helmet. Not all of the non-new guys wore helmets. Some wore bush hats of various types. I sat on my helmet wiping the sweat from my brow. All of a sudden, the air burst into whizzes and whines of bullets. The cracks of dozens of AK’s firing at once followed the bullets across the grassland. And behind that the screams of the wounded and dying.

I rolled off my helmet instantly and flattened on the ground. There was no cover anywhere. And none of us in Mike Company could return fire anyway since the other company was in front of us. Bullets were striking everywhere around me. I tried to crawl underneath my helmet. My terror was increasing as the realization that there was nowhere to go came over me.

Then I heard a yell from behind me to my left. They didn’t know my name yet so they called me "New Guy." Three Marines had found a small rise that offered some cover and on the other side of them one Marine had found a small shell hole that had room for another person. I raised my head just enough to see them as they told me to come over there. It was probably no more than ten to fifteen meters but the bullets were thick enough to walk on so it looked like a click or more to me. I said no to the requests that I come to their cover. No way.

Then as I turned my head back to the front and began lowering it back into the earth I saw an automatic burst of fire parting grass and striking dirt about fifteen meters in front of me and tracking directly to me. I paused only a second and rolled my left shoulder, leg and head to the right. Right where my head had been and right in front of where my face now was a bullet struck. Dirt was kicked into my right eye from the impact. One more round hit about where my kidney would have been. The burst ended with that round. I yelled over and asked if they still had room for me. They did but again I found it difficult to move. This seemed more impossible than dodging raindrops in the monsoon. I was trying to figure my odds of getting hit staying there versus moving to cover. There’s one for Einstein to figure.

As they coaxed me to come and I vacillated, a blood curdling scream and cries for help came from behind me to my right. I could not see who got hit but the sound was very close. In an instant I low crawled, no, I slithered, dragging my face in the dirt to the cover of the shell hole. The cries for help over to my right began to slow down. Then there was nothing.

To the front, the fast and furious cracking of AK fire began to slow. The screaming and yelling of the Marines seemed to get louder. I looked up and could only see two Marines out there and they were running back toward the treeline from where they had come. Then I could see some more Marines back in the treeline who had apparently made it to safety. But there were still people yelling for help down there. I quickly raised up a little higher for a quick glance. I could see five or six bodies lying in the grass in front of the island. The AK fire slowed to a burst every ten or twelve seconds. After about a minute of this, it seemed to stop completely. I was thinking the gooks must be dead or ran off.

The screams for help were really loud now. My fireteam leader jumped up, turned and looked at us and said to drop our gear and follow him. My first order to follow in combat. I dropped my pack and jumped up to follow my fireteam leader. The other Marine in the shell hole with me yelled at me to not go and said something about me being sorry for doing that. It wasn’t registering because I was so scared and new that I was focused on what I had to do.

The fireteam leader said to follow him and I did. He began running out to the wounded Marines in front of the island. We had gotten about halfway there when my fireteam leader yells at me to zig zag. I said, "What? They’re all dead aren’t they?" He yelled, "NO!!!" I glanced behind me and saw that not a single other Marine had come with us. UH OH!!!! I almost shit my pants. This guy is a nut or a hero and I am the only one stupid enough to follow him out here. By now, we are almost three quarters of the way there and I want to stop my forward motion and run back. As I slow though, I get scared that I am starting to offer myself as an easier target and simultaneously I see four other Marines from the other company come running out of their treeline towards the wounded. Then there was a short burst of AK fire. Both my fireteam leader and I dove to the ground right where all the wounded Marines were.

My fireteam leader crawled up to a Marine who had been shot in the butt and/or thigh and yelled at me to come and help. The Marine was ashen faced and trembling severely. It was hard to tell if it was from the wound or the experience of being abandoned to die for the last five minutes or both. My fireteam leader pulled the guy’s poncho off his pack and told me to spread it out next to him while he took the guy’s battle dressing from his helmet and applied to the wounded area. We then rolled the guy onto the poncho and began to drag him towards the treeline. By this time other Marines from his company began to come out to help and two of them took over the front part of the poncho while my fireteam leader and I picked up the back end and we carried him all the way to safety. The wounded Marine was thanking us and promising us a bottle of booze each for saving him.

My fireteam leader and I went partially back out once more to help finish carrying one more. Then we went along the treeline until we were parallel to where our company was and dashed across the open to them. This time I dove behind the little rise with the three Marines behind it. I was amazed that we had pulled it off. I was sure that my fireteam leader at least would get a medal for this. I don’t think anybody would’ve gone out there if he hadn’t gone first.

We heard the order being yelled to pull back. All the way back past the bush line where we had started and into the trees. My fireteam leader and I were the first to respond since we had already been running all over the place. I only went a few steps back when I saw the dead Marine. It was my platoon sergeant. I yelled to my fireteam leader who recruited a couple of others to help pull his body back with us.

As we dropped his body at the makeshift LZ, my fireteam leader looked to me and told me I had first shot at anything I wanted from the platoon sergeant. I didn’t know what he meant. Then some of the other Marines began swarming around. One noticed that there was a K-Bar (knife) and told me that if I didn’t want it, he did. Now I understood. We were going to go through the dead platoon sergeant’s gear and take what we wanted. This seemed somehow unholy. I hesitated. I was told that K-Bars were non-issue gear and were prized possessions because of their usefulness in the bush. I might not ever get one if I didn’t take this one. I passed on participating in what seemed at that time to be a ghoulish practice. And yes, before 3 days had gone by, I couldn’t believe that I had been that much of a boot.

The Captain came over by my platoon and in a very gruff voice asked who that was that had run out to help the wounded from the other company. The other members of the platoon pointed us out before we could say anything. The Captain approached us and started yelling at us. Nobody had ordered us to go out there and who the hell did we think we were running off from our company to help another company, etc. I was dumbfounded. I guess I wasn’t just a dumb new guy following a hero but a dumb new guy following a fuck-up. Later I learned that the Captain had basically frozen during the incident as much from the shock of realizing that the entire situation had been caused by the stupidity of the maneuver he had ordered as from fear. I think he was compensating by striking out at us trying to make us look like idiots to everybody.

Medevacs were called in. Later I learned that there was an attempt to call in air support but that the delay in getting it was unacceptable since it would stall the operational plans. We would pick up where we left off. We would assault the treeline with our wedge formation. No guessing this time. They were in there. Oh, shit!

After the Medevacs left we reassembled into the wedge and were told to walk fast towards the treeline and to begin recon by fire immediately. I tried to put a wall of lead in front of me more in hopes of stopping any bullets headed at me than killing any enemy soldiers. There was no return fire yet. At about the halfway point, I had to change magazines. I think two bullets fired out of the new magazine and it jammed. Whoops! Here I am walking at almost full speed towards the enemy and I don’t have a weapon.

I slowed then came to a full stop as I tried to unjam my weapon. This messed up the wedge so my squad leader ran up and gave me his M-16 while he cleared mine. I caught up to my place and began firing and this one jammed too. Shit! Still no return fire yet though. My squad leader ran up again with my now cleared M-16 and grabbed his to clear it.

We were now down to the last 100 meters and I think everybody started slowing down a bit expecting the worst. About 25 meters out from the edge of the island was a bamboo thicket with about a 3 meter radius and well over head high. This was in front of me so I began to sort of use it for cover as we approached. This was the only cover available if the shit hit the fan. As I neared it, I realized that I would have to step to one side or the other to get around it and I would no longer have it available for cover after I passed it. I walked right up to within two arm lengths of it not having made my mind up yet which way to go around it. I sort of hesitated and looked around to my left to make sure the rest of the wedge was with me.

As I swung my eyes, I saw something and quickly looked back at the bamboo thicket in front of me. Resting in between two of the large pieces of bamboo at about four inches above ground level was the end of a barrel. I squinted my eyes to peer through the slit and followed the barrel to the other end. Our eyes met and locked. My rifle was pointed off to the right of the bamboo thicket. His was pointed directly at my chest. I know I gasped. I’m sure I paled. But the locking of our eyes apparently scared him, too, because I saw his eyes get real big and he ducked his head way down into the hole he had dug in the middle of the bamboo thicket. At the same time he opened up with what I now believe was an RPD machine gun. When he ducked, the barrel dropped and two or three bullets went between my legs before he started swinging it to the left to get the other Marines that he could see.

All hell broke loose. All the gooks back in the trees and vegetation of the island opened up. They tore up the advancing wedge. As the machine gun barrel swung away from me I fell flat to the earth directly in front of the machine gun. I was trying to swing my M-16 back forward when the barrel swung back towards me. I cringed expecting the top of my head to be split open. It passed right on over me and killed several people on my right. He must think I’m dead. He did duck when he fired. As I listened to what was happening around me, I knew we were getting our ass kicked.

I rolled my eyes up to try and see in front of me. The grass was some eight to ten inches high and I could not see the slit in the bamboo where the gun was. And my rifle was still not pointed in that direction. I now know he probably couldn’t see me either because of the grass but it did not occur to me at that moment. My predicament began to sink in and terror began to grip me. Just then the corpsman ran up and knelt down next to a guy off to my right. I tried to yell but could only squeak, "Doc, he’s dead!," just as the machine gun opened up and put a couple of bursts into his chest. As he fell over the dead Marine he had come to help, I began to cry and my head spun as I prepared to die.

My first thought was of a Marine officer telling my parents that I had been killed. My second was that I had been killed in my first 24 hours in the bush which certainly didn’t speak well of me paying attention in my Marine training and might even be embarrassing to my parents. It certainly was to me. Then my life began playing itself to me as vividly as any 3-D movie I’ve ever seen. I was crying but not making any sound. Nor was I moving. I would rather live frozen stiff like this than die. Ants began to crawl on my head and face. Whenever they got close to my mouth I would try to bite them. I could see my home as I seemed to be floating at about mid-tree level around it. I saw my family and friends. And it just kept going.

The Marines began to pull back. They would call out the names of everybody who wasn’t moving back with them to see if there were any wounded who needed help. They were calling six names out that didn’t answer even after repeated efforts. The five dead on either side of me and mine. I wasn’t about to answer this roll call. Then they left. And I was alone with the dead Marines and live gooks.

They pulled all the way back past where they had been before. Almost 400 meters and totally out of sight. As far as I knew they had gone to An Hoa. Or Danang. Or even back to the World. It didn’t matter. Even if they knew I was alive, I was right in front of the machine gun that they still might not know is there. Even if they did, what could they do? I would be killed in the crossfire. I cried for my death at such a young age. What a harsh world. I began to pray. And I mean for real. I began to see the things I was allowed to see. Life was a natural event. Death was also. I began to feel as if I had been here before, dying on a battlefield. All of a sudden with a shock that convulsed my body, I understood. My tears stopped. My sorrow and self-pity evaporated in an instant. Whether it was here or in a hospital at 100 years old, I would experience Death. And it was not bad. I fully accepted my own mortality. The only measurement that would apply was how I had lived. I had been in front of that machine gun for over 45 minutes crying. I thanked God for letting me live long enough to arrive at this point.

I still believed that there was no feasible way for me to get out of this situation. I only knew that I would not lay there and die crying for myself. I decided that I could help my fellow Marines out if I could take this machine gun out. Then they at least stood a chance of recovering our bodies without another death. I remembered that I had been issued a little grenade pouch that holds three grenades and it was on my web belt on my right side. If I could get a grenade out and the pin pulled before he killed me then maybe the grenade blast would be enough to penetrate the bamboo and kill him too. I very slowly began moving my right arm back alongside my body. It must’ve taken two or three minutes. Finally I could feel the pouch and I unsnapped one of the pockets and the grenade rolled out next to me. I felt for it, grabbed it, and spent another two minutes moving it up to the top of my head. Now I needed my other hand to pull the pin. Finally the deed was done. The grenade was ready and I wasn’t dead yet. I decided it stood a better chance of getting him if it was right next to the bamboo.

With my arms extended over my head, my hand was only an arm’s length from the bamboo. I simply opened my hand and gave the grenade a little nudge. I fully expected it to kill both of us. I didn’t even cringe. I was ready to die. The blast was incredible. It took my helmet off and felt like it split the skin on my forehead open. I couldn’t hear but hadn’t seemed to die right off in the initial blast. I couldn’t feel any pain except the skin of my forehead. I wondered if the gook was dead yet. I was so stunned from the concussion I couldn’t be sure how bad I was wounded.

Mike Company was calling in choppers for the wounded and dead that they had gotten out and were also attempting to get two "stacks" of air (4 Phantom jets) to do the island in. I was so new that I did not know that this was pretty standard in these types of situations. I had no idea that they were going to drop napalm and high explosives on the place then strafe anything that was left. I am really glad that I did not know. Fortunately for me, there was a great deal of action somewhere else in I Corps that day and they were unable to get the standard rapid response.

But people in Mike Company heard my grenade go off and knew that somebody was still alive up there. A squad came back and attempted to move up. The machine gunner in the bamboo thicket opened up on them. I almost shit my pants since he was firing directly over my head. Shit! Not only did I not kill myself with the grenade, I didn’t even incapacitate the machine gunner. The thought crossed my mind that I was not very good at this. But I also decided that maybe I should try to get this asshole without killing myself. Again I reached back for a grenade from my pouch. I moved a little bit more confidently this time. I realized the grass must be hiding most of my movements. But when I began to move, a sniper up in a tree back on the island saw me and began firing. The bullets were single shot and began hitting three to six meters from me. This did not slow me down whatsoever by this point. I was right in front of a gun that could split my skull open. The sniper fired five rounds at me and I realized that the "plunging" fire angle that he had must be difficult and/or this son-of-a-bitch needed glasses. This time when I got the pin pulled I stretched my right arm out as far as I could and threw the grenade around the side of the bamboo thicket so that it provided some cover for me.

Right after the explosion, the Mike Company people again tried to move up and again he opened up on them. But now they knew that I was somewhere in front of the thicket and that I was targeting the thicket as the source of enemy fire. I heard a yell in the distance from the Marines who were trying to get back up to the area, "Hey! Keep your head down!" I wondered what idiot thought he had to holler that to me from a couple of hundred meters away. All of a sudden there was a whoosh and a short sound of sucking air and then a horrific explosion as a LAAW rocket fired from that distance made a direct hit on the thicket. The blast and the shrapnel all moved forward into the thicket but the pure concussion that reached back for me was incredibly strong. My entire body, in the prone position was lifted above the top of the grass and dropped back to the earth banging my chin very smartly. It was a hell of shot somebody had made. Since the Marines had actually witnessed my body come up above the grass they now knew that I was not just somewhere in front of the thicket, but was literally right in front of it. I heard the same voice yell, "Hey! Don’t worry! We won’t fire another one."

To show them that he was still there, the enemy gunner immediately fired a short burst towards the Marines. Christ!!! I had no idea how he was not being affected. Boot as I was, I was not aware of all the weird holes and side holes they dug inside of large rooted plants and trees that gave them such good protection. But the other Marines knew. Somewhere with one of the other companies on Go Noi was a tank and an amtrac. This was the one and only time that I ever saw either with the bush companies in the bush. The tank was sent up to get me.

I did not know there were tanks out with us. Until I began to hear and feel the rumble. The tank approached the island straight ahead about one hundred meters to my right. I heard the yelling of the Marines to tell me that they were sending a tank to get me out. I suddenly returned to the normal world. I was no longer alone waiting to die. I was elated momentarily. Then slowly the elation began to die down as I tried to figure out how this tank was going to "get me out." I couldn’t see any reasonable way. The elation dissipated but not the newfound hope.

When the tank got to the same distance from the island that I was, it made a 90 degree left and came straight at me as if to drive between me and the bamboo thicket. Once it had made this turn, one of the crewman reached up and grabbed the 50 caliber machine gun mounted on top of the tank and began firing it as he swung it in a wide arc spraying the island from the top of the trees to the bushes on the ground. And the tank continued to come at me. I realized that the driver probably couldn’t even see me lying in the grass and the guy up on the 50 wasn’t looking at anything but the island. I was watching 52 tons of steel come at me and it wasn’t slowing down or turning.

From some two to three hundred meters back, I could hear Marines yelling, "Run! Run!" It was becoming clear that my options were limited. I watched as the tank rolled up on me. I was waiting for the last second to get as much tank cover as possible from the snipers back in the trees and hopefully the closer it got the more likely the gook in the thicket would have his head down. Just then the Marine up on the tank firing the 50 cal turned and looked at me and yelled at me to run behind the tank. In the blink of an eye, I did just that. The tank stopped right in front of the bamboo thicket as I got behind it.

From behind the tank, I yelled up to the Marine telling him that the gook was in the bamboo. He yelled back at me to run straight back to the company keeping the tank between the island and me. He turned the 50 cal almost straight down and fired into the thicket. I began to run. As I moved away from the tank I knew that I was presenting a target to the snipers in the trees and so did my feet because they moved like they never had before. The last grenade in my pouch flew out somewhere in the grass as well as several other unidentified items in my pockets. It didn’t matter what it was, I was not slowing or stopping for anything.

As I made my mad dash, I could see the heads of a couple of Marines as they yelled for me to come to where they were. When I got close enough, I dove for them. As I slithered around in the dirt to bring my head up with the other Marines, I realized I was in the same shell hole that I had sought cover in early in the morning. But now it seemed like it was years ago. One of the Marines looked at me and asked if I was okay. I said that I was but asked, "Is it like this in Vietnam every day?" He responded with, "Nah. It only gets this bad two or three times a week." I lay there thinking of what had happened to me in front of that machine gun. I had been irrevocably changed. I had accepted my own mortality and was no longer afraid of it. And it was a good thing because it did not look like surviving 13 months of this at two to three times a week was a good bet.

The tank withdrew some 20 meters, swiveled its cannon around and blew the entire thicket away. Then it retreated to the CP area some 100 meters behind us in some trees. Shortly thereafter, the air support arrived. Four Phantom jets. First they dropped napalm on the island. This was my first view of an air strike. I was astounded. The flames rolled through and totally engulfed the island. Nothing could live through that and yet they did it again. And again. Four times they hit the island with napalm. Then four times they hit it with HE (high explosive) bombs that shook the earth and toppled the trees. Then, to my amazement, they began making passes to strafe the island. I asked one of the Marines what they were shooting at since I didn’t think anything could have even survived the napalm, much less the HE. He said, "Ol’ Mista Charles ain’t dead. He’s just sitting in one of his tunnels waiting for the jets to leave."

While the strafing runs were still going on, the Captain yelled to my Platoon Commander to get the platoon ready to go get the bodies. He yelled to another platoon to set up a base of fire to cover us. As the last strafing run was made, we were told to move out running zigzag and get the dead Marines. I was still of the mind that there were probably no live gooks though. The other platoon laid down a very heavy volume of fire as we moved up. They kept shifting the fire as we moved into its range. We did not receive any fire from the island.

I helped get the body of the corpsman who had been killed next to me. Four of us struggled to run with this body some 300 meters. It was an ass kicker. He had a large pack on and one of the squad leaders said to carry him back with it on because it contained medical supplies that we might need. We put the dead next to a clear area that was to be used for an LZ. I could not take my eyes off the corpsman. This was my first in several ways. The first that I watched as he was killed. The first person that I knew, even if only for a few hours, that I had seen killed. The first dead body that I had clearly seen. I studied his face. The bullet holes in his chest. I thought of him as a person. His family. I had a sick feeling in my stomach.

The choppers finally came and took the dead and wounded. It was 1530 hours. We had been at it for about 8 hours now. I had been extremely exposed to death twice so far. I had undergone a psychic and emotional upheaval of the greatest magnitude in front of the machine gun. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything since about 6 that morning. And it was over 100 degrees. I was totally wasted. My stomach was in such knots that I couldn’t put any food in it. But I began to drink water ferociously. The Platoon Commander came over to me and warned me to stop drinking like that. He also seemed aware of what I had been through because he asked me if I thought I was going to make it through the rest of the day. I assured him that I was capable of continuing. But when I said that, neither one of us knew what the end of the day was going to be. If I had known, I might have changed my response.

After about a half an hour of cooling off, the Captain passed the word that we were going to "take the island." This did not seem to be much since it had been napalmed, exploded, and strafed and we had been able to get the dead without being fired upon. They were dead or had made their didi out the back. This time even the veterans believed that. To be safe, we got on line as a company and moved towards the island firing as we went. There was absolutely no return fire as we moved all the way up to where the point of the wedge had been earlier at about 25 to 50 meters out from the tree and bush line that marked the edge of the island. As we moved into this last space, the elephant grass began to get taller. By the time we were 10 meters out it was over head high and so thick that you could only see just past your nose and so stifling that you had to struggle for a breath.

And the shit hit the fan. Again. The AK’s seemed like they were right next to us. We were blind in the grass. There were no targets visible. But we were not visible either. Everybody hit the deck where they were and began pumping out the fire. There was 3 or 4 minutes of sustained fire from both sides as each sought to put out a wall of lead to kill their invisible enemy. Then the fire slowed to an occasional pop or two from each side as each tried to assess the effect that their initial, long volley had. The Captain and Platoon Commanders were behind us and couldn’t actually see us anymore. They yelled a couple of times about charging through the grass. No one responded to that. It did not take a Field Marshal to figure out that the gooks were sitting back away from where the grass ended at the edge of the island. As soon as a Marine poked his head out, every gook would be firing at him before he could even take in the view to see what was there. And even if he ducked back in the grass, there was no cover and they would concentrate their fire on the spot until he was riddled. There were some wounded Marines but they were able to back out of the tall grass and get to cover.

For the rest of us, the order to charge was modified by us to mean to keep crawling forward until we could see the edge of the island. Then maybe we could spot targets and assess what to do. But this was not easy or simple because the volume of fire became sporadically heavy as we tried to suppress their fire so that each of us could crawl up a meter or two then be sure the rest of the line had moved up as close as possible to parallel with us. This basically had to be done by voice since most of us could not see each other either. To get off line now could be disastrous. Without sight, we had to be able to assume that a 180 degree arc in front of us was the enemy and the other 180 degrees behind us were friendlies.

Then the first call from one of the Marines that was a signal of incredible significance. He called for somebody to throw him some ammo. It was then that I, and everybody else I’m sure, looked at their own ammo supply. Shit! Out of the two bandoleers of ten magazines each, I had four left. At the rate that I was firing, they’d be gone in a couple of minutes. The squad leaders began calling to their squad members to get a count. The story was pretty much the same for all of third platoon at least. This meant that we would not be able to continue advancing the way we had. They ordered the squads to stop firing and hold their place where they were. If the enemy decided to assault us in the grass, we needed a straight line and ammo to be able to repulse them.

We couldn’t be more than 5 or 6 meters from the edge of the island. We tried to move up one by one another meter but every time the enemy heard the rustle of grass they poured out huge volumes of fire. And we were unable to respond and put their heads down. We tried several times to have many M-16’s firing single shots but it couldn’t even be heard over the din of the AK’s and RPD’s. This went on until darkness began to arrive. It was decided to hold the ground gained for the night. To do this, the squad leaders had us inch sideways into groups of two or three that were close enough to touch each other even if we couldn’t see each other. These groups were our positions for the night. As the sun set, it became incredibly dark in the sea of grass that we lay in the bottom of. All firing from either side stopped and dead quiet set in.

The word was passed that more ammo would be choppered out in the morning and to redistribute remaining ammo between Marines in each position to insure all had some. I had a little over one magazine left and a magazine and a half after redistribution. As it cooled down my hunger grew. I began opening cans in the dark not being able to see what I was getting and not caring. I ate 4 cans of whatever before I started guzzling water. My body was thankful.

As the food and water worked its way through me, I lay face down in the dirt and pondered the new world I had entered. Sometime late in the afternoon, I had passed the twenty four hour mark in the bush and was now in the second day. My first firefight had lasted since before 8 that morning to almost 9 that night and was, in fact, still not over but just in a timeout due to darkness. I was just a teenager yesterday. Now I felt like an old man. People had been killed and wounded all around me for hours now. I had escaped a sure death situation. But the words of the Marine earlier in the day about this happening like this 2 or 3 times a week rang in my head. How could I, or anybody for that matter, survive thirteen months of this? It didn’t seem like a very good bet. I became pretty well convinced that night that I would not finish my tour before becoming WIA or KIA. I wondered how the war could have been going on for three years now at this level and I had not heard how bad it really was.

I did not sleep much even though I was totally exhausted. There were 3 Marines in my position so we had it relatively good. A potential of 4 hours of sleep. But the fear of the enemy crawling through the grass and the visions of the dead Marines that kept floating through my head made that impossible for me at least. In reality, the night was uneventful but in my head everything that twitched from the ants to the sleeping Marines was a full frontal assault on my position that was about to take place. I was still determined to die fighting.

PRIOR DAYS: 4 SEPTEMBER 1968
Mike McFerrin, 3rd Plt. M Co. 3/5

At first light in the morning, the company CP group moved back to the area where the choppers could safely land and got a load of ammo that was sent in. They moved off to the right side of the island and approached the edge of the very tall elephant grass on their bellies from there. They began throwing boxes of M-16 rounds into the grass and adjusting their throws based on voice commands from those of us in the grass. There had not been a single shot fired yet by anybody but all the blood stained ground and grass was there to remind one of what would happen when it did begin. Once everybody had reloaded, we waited for the word to move forward.

It didn’t come right away and we could hear the officers talking behind us somewhere. It seems that the Captain had used his binoculars when they were back getting the ammo and had spotted what appeared to be a bunker just inside of the trees of the island. After conferring with the Platoon Commanders, the decision was made to focus on this one bunker rather than a company wide assault. If the one bunker could be taken then the company would be able to get into the trees on the island and inside the enemy perimeter. I guess that sounds pretty good tactically speaking. But then the orders to implement this were passed down and I almost shit my pants. The bunker was situated in dense vegetation that would only allow for a few men to assault it at once. The seven men closest to the area would be designated a "new" squad since the squads were pretty well decimated anyway and they would assault this bunker. Sure as shit, I was one of them. I couldn’t believe it. I was the only one of the seven who had been in front all of yesterday. What the hell?

We were told to inch our way sideways for about 10 meters. Then we were to inch our way forwards to the edge of the grass. No one was to open up unless the enemy did. I guess the idea was to not announce our intentions. This whole process started out very, very slow but speeded up a bit with the lack of fire. In about 20 minutes, I was able to see through the last blades of grass and spot the bunker. As it turned out, the available lane of approach was even narrower than thought so two of the seven were to stay back and fill in when somebody fell. Of course, I was not one of the two. It seemed that the Marine Corps was arranging this entire thing just to get me killed. Every time I escaped with my life, they came up with another reason to put me out front.

I heard some voices behind me and the Platoon Commander called to the squad leader to hold. They were bringing up the tank that had saved my life yesterday. I was told to keep moving to my right. I had one person on my right who had to move with me. The other 3 moved to the left. The tank pulled up between us. The Platoon Commander yelled to us that the tank was going to fire its cannon at the bunker and that he would give us the order to charge. This felt like a reprieve for sure. The tank lowered its cannon and fired. It was a deafening roar and explosion but it only scratched a little dirt on the bunker. The tank was ordered to fire 2 more times. It shook the shit out of the bunker but again there was no visible damage.

The tank backed up and we got on line and were told to charge. Oh God! Here I go again. Immediately the Marine on my right fell to the ground. I looked at him and his eyes were as big as plates. He said that his rifle was jammed and he’d catch up later. I knew that he had just chickened out and nobody was moving up to take his place. All I could think was the son-of-a-bitch was deserting me under fire since he was part of my cover fire as I was for him and the other guy next to me. There were now 4 of us assaulting the bunker. We only had about 25 meters to go. We yelled and screamed and laid down automatic bursts as we ran forward. Since I was a boot though, I wasn’t familiar with the enemy bunkers yet and had no idea that there were multiple entrances. I kept my fire focused on the only doorway that I could see and the gun slot in the front. I fired back and forth. We kept bullets pouring in and no one fired back. As we got right up to it one of the Marines leaped forward and threw a grenade in the slot and yelled at us to get down as he dove to the far side of the bunker.

He let out a scream simultaneous with the explosion. This scared the shit out of the other three of us since we thought that we were being assaulted from the other side of the bunker. We leaped on top of the bunker facing to the rear of it forming a hasty arc of defense to repel the assault. Off to the side we saw the Marine who had thrown the grenade rolling around on the ground. There were no gooks assaulting us. The Marine who had thrown the grenade had leaped in front of one of the exits to the bunker for cover and had caught a piece of shrapnel from his own grenade in the shoulder. As the situation became clear, we threw a couple of more grenades into the bunker and called to the rest of the company. They then flooded into the area moving some 50 meters or so beyond the bunker to set up a defensive line as we entered the bunker to clear it. Things were beginning to go in my favor as I did not have to enter the bunker first. There were 4 dead gooks and one severely wounded in there.

We spent some four more hours on the island securing and searching it. We took no more fire and found no more live gooks. Some 29 hours after my first firefight had begun it was over. The quiet and lack of "electricity" in the air was disconcerting. Everyone kept looking and waiting for something to happen but it didn’t. We then were ordered into a column to move out the backside of the island. No destination was given. Just follow the man in front of you. As we left the island, I was overwhelmed with awe at what was happening. After over 24 hours of combat and all of the spilled blood to take the island, we were all just walking away from it. I groped for comprehension of what this was about. I turned to fellow Marines and asked why we were just walking away from this. Why weren’t we leaving Marines behind to hold it?

"That’s the way it is in Nam. We don’t hold nothing here, man. We just roam around out here waiting to find Charles or waiting for him to find us. We kill some of him and he kills some of us then we go do it somewhere else."

I was totally stunned as I thought of all the horror that had transpired and the near sacrifice of my life. It boiled down to this. The only prize to be won was my own life. And it was the same for all of us Marines. At least the other side had the illusion (or maybe not so much of an illusion) of us as an invading army to motivate them. We didn’t even have that. If there had been any traces of the illusion of fighting for Freedom, Truth, Justice, the American Way, or any of that other John Wayne movie bullshit in me, it was completely erased as the island faded into the background behind the column.

The near death experience in front of the machine gun had transformed me emotionally and psychically. The realization of what was happening here did the same for my wisdom and political maturity. I was not who I had been nor could I ever be again.

Later in the day, Mike Company rendezvoused with a tank and an amtrac and we set up a perimeter in a stand of trees. The night was uneventful.

PRIOR DAYS: 5 SEPTEMBER 1968
Mike McFerrin, 3rd Plt. M Co. 3/5

Early that morning, we woke up to soft rain and a light breeze. This was “cold” in Vietnam. There was bad weather heading our way. There was some kind of high level powwow and at least two companies from the battalion were being sent back to the base camp at An Hoa. Mike Company and the other company that had been mauled in the ambush yesterday.

Shortly after nine that morning, the soft rain became a drizzle. By nine thirty, it was raining. By ten, it was pouring and there was a breeze. Mike Company got in a column and moved out. The amtrac and tank were with us. By ten thirty, it was a wind and its speed was still increasing.

At this time we were getting ready to move out. The storm was about half developed and I got the "runs." I wasn't sure how to deal with this. If I faced into the wind and left enough of my butt behind me to clear my legs and heels then my balance was so bad I got blown over backwards into my own mess. If I faced away from the wind then the rain felt like needles in my butt cheeks and my "pile" got blown all over me. I was about to try sideways when, after watching me deal with my dilemma, one of the squad leaders came up and gave me advice that only a bush Marine of much experience could possibly know.

"What are you trying to do? Forget all of that. Just go in your pants." He could tell by the look that I was giving him that I thought he was kidding.

He said, "Look at yourself. Look at everybody else. Everybody has 2 or 3 gallons per minute running down them between their waists and the ground. You'll just feel warm for a second or two then it'll be drenched right out."

Well, he was certainly right about the amount of water pouring over us. It did seem to be the answer. But as a graduate of one of the toughest Potty Training Schools in America run by my own dear Master Sergeant Mom, I suddenly found my "runs" seizing up as if on command when I tried to accomplish the squad leader's suggestion. Finally, the forming up of the column to move out helped me overcome my fears. The fear of the embarrassment of leaving a "brown breadcrumb kind of trail" for the Marine behind me to follow coaxed me over the "hill" and I stepped behind some trees as I delivered the "warmth" down the backside of my fully panted legs.

By 11 that morning, Mike Company got in a column and moved out. The amtrac and tank were with us. We were trying to get to the river crossing before the water was too high and/or fast to cross. Across the river it was about an 8 mile walk to our base camp at An Hoa. Most of it was on a built up road that should be passable even in a storm. We were ordered to move quickly but by this time the wind speed was driving the rain sideways and we were marching into the wind.

The march was a physical ordeal of the highest order. We had to lean forward into the wind just to keep from being blown over. The wind driven raindrops felt like tacks being pounded into any exposed skin. Ponchos were being used with hoods up and pulled over the face. This limited the view to the ground directly in front of us and maybe the heels of the man ahead of us. Except within a half hour or so there was no "ground." Just water everywhere.

And the Captain was not letting the column stop. We had to keep going. And the wetter it got the harder it became to pick up the foot that had just been placed down. The muck and mud grabbed the feet and with each step tightened its grip. After a couple of hours of this, the men were praying for the NVA to shoot at us. That would give us some rest.

Soon a man dropped and couldn't get back up. Then another. The Captain ordered them to be put on the tank or amtrac that were with us. When this was seen there was suddenly a rush of men who suddenly could "go no further." More than could be held on both vehicles. The Captain realized his mistake in allowing the first two to be put on there. He ordered the platoon commanders and platoon sergeants to reverse the order and "kick ass." This worked on all but four of the would-be riders. These four endured all of the verbal abuse and insisted on being unable to walk any further. They finally were allowed on a vehicle.

Then the really scary part started. By this time there was nothing in sight but what appeared to be level field of muddy water that came up almost to the ankle. The problem was that Go Noi Island, flat as it may seem, was full of years' worth of war scars. Fighting holes, grenade holes, mortar holes, artillery holes, and all sorts of large bomb holes. All of these had disappeared from sight as they filled with water and made the water appear to be sitting on level ground. Totally exhausted men with 70 or 80 pounds of gear on their back were stepping into the smaller holes and taking foot, leg, and back injuries as they fell. This was a guaranteed "ride" on the tank or amtrac if it happened.

But then the worst case happened. Somebody fell into a bomb crater. Straight to the bottom of the 10 to 12 foot pool of water and into the mud. Three fast acting Marines dropped their gear and just barely saved the man from drowning. This incident combined with the complete exhaustion of the troops and the still raging fury of the monsoon storm was a crux point. Not to stop the movement of course. We were Marines. We just took a 5 minute break and moved out again. But this time there was nobody yelling or screaming at us to move fast. The column started to become a bit ragged as each individual struggled with the mud and his own body to make it move forward at all.

I found myself in the single greatest physical effort of my life. This far surpassed anything I had ever encountered. Carrying fifty pound rocks on the 10 mile doubletime forced march in boot camp was easy compared to this. It took every shred of will power that I had and then some more to keep moving. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, and an hour became forever.

Finally, it was mid-afternoon when the tank sank far enough in mud to become stuck "for good" and we stopped for a while. A new prioritization had to take place to assess who would be riding on the remaining vehicle since the amtrac was not big enough for both loads. It wasn't going to matter much and everybody knew it. The amtrac had also been temporarily stuck several times and was probably going to wind up the same. The tank's ammunition load was transferred to the amtrac. There was talk of whether we were going to blow the tank up to deny it to the NVA. Common sense finally returned and the officers realized that the NVA were not going to drive off in the tank. It was left intact for recovery after the storm.

It was fairly clear to all that the river crossing was not going to be viable with all that had come down in the last hours but without a report saying so the Captain felt compelled to keep us moving towards it. Everything was in slow motion. It was taking 10 to 20 seconds to take a single step.

Right after the sun set, the amtrac became stuck for the last time. We must have spent an hour or more trying to get it out before declaring it KIA. Then there was at least a half hour of decision making regarding blowing this vehicle up. There was no way to get the ammo out to anywhere. Nobody could carry any more than they had and no choppers could fly. The thought that I heard was that the amtrac would simply be blown as the "container" of all of the ammo. This decision was finally abandoned and replaced with the brilliant idea to "hide" all of the ammo in the mud.

In the darkness all of the Marines got in line to the open door of the amtrac. Each was handed hands and arms full of ammo ranging from the tube cartons of 90mm tank cannon rounds to manageable sections of 50 caliber belts for the machine gun on top of the tank that were broken out of their boxes due to the weight. Then the first Marine walked away from the amtrac for about 10 meters and stopped. The Marine behind him went about 10 meters past him and stopped. And so forth until all ammo was out of the amtrac. Then the line of ammo bearer Marines was zigzagged by having every other Marine walk 5 to 10 meters out from the line to his left. It was then that, for the first and only time in the Marine Corps, I heard the order, "Bury Ammo, HOOH!"

The exhausted troops just sort of looked around trying to see the Marine closest to them in the dark and hoping he would know what the hell that order meant. Some dropped to their knees in the mud and water and began trying to dig with their hands. Some dropped their packs and got their e-tools out. Some just kicked at the mud with their boots. Regardless of the method used, the results were the same. No matter what went into the mud and water to scoop out the mud and water instantly became as trapped as our feet. A monumental effort was required to get it back out with anything on it and, even if you did manage to scoop some mud out, it was replaced with at least an equal amount of the same simultaneously as you removed it.

From the line of unseen Marines in the darkness came multiple complaints that it was impossible to bury anything in the muck. The command came rolling back through the night, "Stomp your stuff into the mud. Get it down below the surface a few inches. Make sure it is completely covered."

This was a bit better but also near impossible to accomplish with the varying shapes and sizes which first had to go through 4 or 5 inches of muddy water, then a few inches into the mud, and then, in near total darkness, be sure that all parts of the object were below ground and out of sight. After 5 or 10 minutes of stomping and cussing, everybody was told to move out again.

The entire incident had lasted long enough to give everybody a much needed rest. Fatigue was still like an iron suit on everybody but the rest had rejuvenated enough energy to feed the push on the willpower it took to continue to walk through the storm. The word was that it was not much farther to the river. This only served to create scary visions of being whisked away by a raging river in darkness. It wasn't as bad as it could be since it was only a little worse than what we were now doing as we stumbled, got stuck, and stumbled again in the unseen muck and holes.

After what seemed to be a couple of hours, the column was halted as the front arrived at the river. Where I was at in the column was very difficult to judge in the darkness. Even when orders were given for each platoon or squad to move out back at the amtrac, I could only hear what was being said when my squad leader yelled directly to me. I had no idea who was in front or behind me. There didn't seem to be anybody left in the column that was either hoping for or afraid of the NVA showing up. We were all convinced that Charlie was much smarter than we were. He was holed somewhere. Dry, warm, and eating a hot meal. He knew better than to waste his time and energy fighting the storm.

I knew that I was close to the river because there was a slight upward rise in the terrain and the beginning of an area with low bushes and no grass. As the ground sloped up it rose out of the standing water. It was obvious that the bushes would lead into trees along a river. I strained to listen but the ambient noise of the rain and wind blocked out any sounds of a river.

Upon the command that halted the column, I and at least the others right around me promptly turned around and faced downhill, plopped on the sloped ground, and dropped our packs for the first time in several hours. As the darkness fell the wind and rain had begun to subside. There was still a steady soft rain falling with a twenty to thirty mile an hour wind driving it. But the relief was that we could lay down on the slope in just plain mud without any water standing on it and could relax with just a hat or helmet over our face to keep direct raindrops from striking there. At that moment, leaning against my pack with my bush hat over my face and my muscles starting to loosen up, I felt very good and within a few seconds was on my way to blissful unconsciousness.

Before it could completely envelop me, words were being yelled from somewhere up front and relayed back through the column. "Pick up the body on the side of the trail and get ready to move out again." As my mind struggled with coming back to awake, I was not sure what the words that I was hearing meant. I could not connect them to anything that I thought I had just been going through. Body? We hadn't been in contact with the enemy for more than 15 hours and we had only taken one wounded who was medevaced some 2 hours before the storm started. Or had I just slept through something? Move out? Last I remember we had been marching through solid sheets of rain for over 10 hours and maybe even over 12 hours to get to a river crossing that couldn't possibly be low enough to cross. I was doing a lot of "What?" But I looked around and everybody else around me was just sitting there and mumbling the same as I. And we just sat there since whatever was going on didn't seem to be connected to us and wasn't even comprehended by us.

After some 15 or 20 minutes of movement and noise in the column in front of us, the platoon commander moved back in the column far enough to see that we and everybody behind us were just sitting there. He yelled at us and asked why we weren't looking for the body. My squad leader told him that we were all present and accounted for and nobody was KIA back this far in the column. In fact, we hadn't been able to hear anything over the storm and didn't even know that we had contact and had taken a KIA.

The lieutenant explained that we were looking for a KIA from India or Lima Company. They had come through here earlier in the day and had taken a KIA. The company had crossed the river but couldn't easily do so with the body so they left the dead Marine by the side of the trail for Mike Company to pick up and put on the amtrac. While the lieutenant was there, the squad leader asked him about how we were going to get across the river now since it had to be deeper and swifter as well as pitch black night. The word was that some amtracs from Liberty Bridge would come down river, cross over, and take a load at a time to the far bank. We would then hump over to the road and straight down to An Hoa.

There was only silence as everybody tried to visualize the possibility that even a Marine unit, after a full day's march against wind and rain and sinking in muck up to their shins, could continue on with a least a full night's march to go some 10 more miles under only slightly better conditions. The lieutenant knew what everybody was thinking since he too was suffering the same exhaustion. He chose not to address the unspoken thoughts of the troops and ordered us to spread out and look for the body off to the side of the trail. He didn't even know which side we should be looking on.

"Looking" for the body was not exactly what we were doing. The darkness was now almost total. If there were any moon or stars that night, the overcast blocked all light from them. In addition, the density of the knee high bushes in the area left little visible ground. After about 5 minutes of sort of stumbling around off to the sides of the trail, my squad leader who was directly in front of me, thought that he had found something. Everybody stopped for a second but then he said, "Never mind. I thought it was a body."

After another 5 minutes or so of fruitless searching, somebody got on the radio to get a more precise location. Another 10 minutes or so was spent in the darkness to locate the area of the trail that had been given. It turned out that my squad was at that designated point of the trail where the body was left off to the right side some 10 meters. We had thoroughly walked over the entire area without success. My squad leader said that he had thought that he had found it once but it was not a body. We were told to check it again.

My squad leader, another Marine, and myself moved back off the trail to the right. We scoured the area where he thought that he had found something by dragging our feet in sweeping movements around bushes off to either side of ourselves. Finally, the object was found again. Once again it seemed not to be a body. The squad leader had a Marine on the trail get a flashlight out of his pack and bring it to us. Using our bodies, hats, and hands we blocked the area off as he turned the light on low to the ground. There was a small section of an olive drab utility shirt with a web belt around it. A closer look revealed that it was an intact human midriff from about the top of the hips to just below the bottom of the rib cage. The web belt appeared to be undamaged.

The shock of this sight was followed by instant visions attempting to conjure up what could have done this. Initially, the thought that a wild animal had eaten the rest of the body occurred to more than one of us. But the edges were relatively smooth and even. We let the front of the column know that we had found "part" of the body and spread out again looking for more.

After a few minutes we were informed that the "part" we found was all there was. The battalion people had somehow just "forgot" to tell us that it was not a body we were looking for but a piece of a body. The best guess of what had happened here was that a very large box mine had been placed at the river crossing and was probably set with a pressure device meant to get a tank or amtrac since the amount of explosives was so much more than needed to maim or kill a human. After all of the rain turned everything into mud, the weight on the device had been increased enough so that a man stepping on it could set it off. It was obvious that this was probably the quickest, least painful way to die of all that any of us had seen in the war but that picture of instant and total destruction of the human body is one that does not leave the mind's eye very quickly.....if ever.

Then the news came that the amtracs from Liberty Bridge would not be coming. We would not be crossing the river that night. We would be setting in there along the river. I am not sure that I can describe the relief and joy that rippled through the entire company with that word being passed. The best Christmas and the best birthday combined with the best bowel movement, etc. The best of everything all rolled into one super gust of mental elation and physical relief. And this burst soon ate up all of the remaining energy in everybody.

The column turned to the right and moved parallel to the river for about 100 meters or so. There was a large node of high ground with some trees there and orders were very quickly given to assign perimeter portions to platoons and then to squads. There were only token words spoken that implied that the orders were being carried out and a proper perimeter was being established. My squad was sent "over there about 20 meters" to establish 2 positions. These two positions just wound up being the two trees closest together that had the right branches at the right height to string a poncho over to keep the rain off of the position occupants.

PRIOR DAYS: 6 SEPTEMBER 1968
Mike McFerrin, 3rd Plt. M Co. 3/5

It was just past midnight and everything went quiet immediately. There was no check by the NCO's or officers to insure the perimeter was set and each position knew where the neighboring ones were. I don't even remember being told which way was "the front" much less a watch schedule being set up. I cannot state positively but I believe that the entire company fell victim to the total darkness and total exhaustion by all going to sleep or rather, into unconsciousness.

I awoke at first light along with a few others. There was still a very light rain in the air but there was no wind. As the light came through the trees, it revealed a scenario that showed the company's near complete breakdown of attention to its own security the night before when it set in. It turns out that we had set in both in and around an actual village. Nobody was aware of that until first light. Not only that but we were not in anything even resembling a perimeter. I was 90 degrees off on what I thought was my front. My squad's two positions were no more than 5 meters apart. To the right was a position about 20 meters away and behind a tree. To the left, it was about 40 meters to the closest position that may have actually thought that the direction to us was their front. No other positions were visible from where I was that could be considered part of anything resembling a "perimeter" form. Not a word of recrimination was spoken regarding the situation that we awoke to. I believe that ALL Marines, both officers and men, were completely shocked by what they saw and each knew that they had succumbed to fatigue before completing their jobs the night before. It was an unspoken knowledge that we had "lucked out" and escaped the worst case scenario that could have resulted from our negligence.

Within a few minutes of my rising, a rooster in the village began to crow. The rest of the Marines began to stir and rise to the same scene and the same shocking awareness of where we were and what conditions we had set in under. And how lucky we were to be waking up at all. As the squad leaders and platoon commanders woke up and realized what had happened, they individually overcame their own guilt and, without need for orders from above, initiated a search of the village. Fortunately, the occupants had temporarily abandoned the village. Fear of the rising waters of the river could be why. Fear of the Marine response to the mine incident right next to their village might be another. Fear of an NVA ambush that might have been set for the Marines at the river crossing before the storm struck might be another. Or any combination of these. Who knew? I think everybody just secretly thanked God that nobody in black pajamas had showed up amongst us in the darkness during the night for it surely would have been total chaos.

The wakeup and limited exercise of checking out the village caused another demand of physical need to suddenly claim everybody's attention. Hunger. Ravenous hunger. Most of us had not eaten for at least 24 hours. Only a few had managed to gulp something down while moving in the storm the day before. The villagers’ temporary absence was defined by the fact that they left their animals behind. It wasn't long before the Marines had confiscated a pig, chickens and eggs to make a massive home cooked meal. I, as many others, could not wait the length of time it took to prepare that meal. Several cans of C-rats were consumed as appetizers before the first pork, chicken and eggs were ready. But it was still one of those few glorious meals that one remembers for a lifetime.

By the time we finished breakfast the rain had completely stopped and the sun came out. Everybody was excited. We had slept off our exhaustion and fed our hunger with hot, homecooked food. And now the sun was beginning to dry our clothes. This was just about as good as it could get for a grunt. We began to move around in our now much better formed perimeter.

From the other side of the perimeter, we heard busied voices and could now see troops congregating just out of the perimeter. I went over there to see what was up. They were at the edge of the treeline looking out back towards where we had come from the day before. I moved up to where I could see what everybody was looking at.

When I saw what it was I was stunned. Out on the grass plain probably not more than five or six hundred meters was the amtrac that we had left stuck in the mud the night before.

The first thing that struck me was how long it had taken us to get from there to the riverbank the night before. It was over 2 hours I was sure. And I could hear confirmation of this from those who actually had watches. The second thing was the large number of various types of ammo sticking up out of the mud everywhere in front of the amtrac. It was all over the place. Though the rain had stopped and the sun came out, the water level out on the plain was still a couple of inches and the mud was still just as deep or deeper than last night. This was confirmed by the Company Commander since it was obvious that he was thinking about sending people back out there to police up the ammo. Though we were now rested it would still take about two hours to get back out there on foot with the mud that deep. I went back to my position and told the others about what I had seen. Everybody went to take a look.

Almost everybody who had dry socks in their pack was now putting them on. The old socks were being washed out in any pool of water around and hung on trees to dry. The dry socks only worked a little bit since our boots were still soaked but it felt good. The skin on our feet was all wrinkled and pale from being in water for a day.

We stayed in perimeter for more than two hours as the Captain consulted over the radio with whoever captains consult with at times like this. Finally, at around 8:30 it was passed that we would be choppered back to An Hoa. Nothing was said about the amtrac, the ammo in the mud, or the tank. Somebody else must be taking care of that.

By 9:00 we saddled up and moved to an area just outside of the treeline where the ground was flat and covered only with grass. This was to be the landing zone for the choppers that would ferry us to An Hoa. The company was arranged in chopper loads and these groups were staggered to spread them out all the way back into the trees. CH-46's were to be used for the transport and 14 fully loaded Marines per chopper was the designated load.

The choppers did not arrive at 9:00. Nor by 9:10. The Company Commander moved the first two groups that were in the open back into the treeline to avoid presenting a tempting target to any NVA in the area. I was in the second group. Just as we got back into the treeline the order was reversed. The choppers were on the way. Move back out towards the LZ.

The first chopper came spiraling down. The pilot was warned about the mud but apparently wasn't too concerned. Until he set the chopper down. All wheels sank immediately to at least halfway. As the first group started towards the chopper, they were stopped. The pilot had felt the sinking and wanted to pull up to a hover before loading. He powered up and tried to lift the chopper out of the mud. It did not work.Oh, no! There goes our ride to An Hoa. Even a helicopter cannot pull its own feet out of this mud.

The pilot was not ready to give up though. He began doing with the helicopter what we did with our feet to get them out of the mud with each step. It was near impossible to pull your foot straight out of the mud. First, you had to sort of rock it back and forth and side to side until you could feel the air pocket underneath it give a little bit as air rushed in from above. Then you would have to quickly begin to pull your foot up in the same direction as the pull that had allowed air in until you felt it start to grab again. Then you changed to a straight up direction as quickly as possible while still pulling your foot. If you had gotten your foot far enough up in the first pull, you would have enough strength to break the second seal formed around your leg or ankle. If not, you had to repeat the process. Using this process, the chopper was able to break free within 3 or 4 minutes.

He then set the chopper into a hover some 1 or 2 feet above the mud and the first group of Marines went to load. This went instantly awry also. The Marines had no better luck getting through the mud and into the chopper. It took 5 or 6 minutes to load the chopper. As the second chopper circled above, the captain had some Marines walk around the area to find a better LZ. The LZ was shifted some 20 meters where the mud was only ankle deep instead of shin deep. I promptly soaked my clean dry socks as I boarded.

An Hoa looked pretty good. The red mud was everywhere but was not as deep as that on Go Noi. Hot showers, hot food, and mail. We were told to enjoy ourselves but make sure that we clean our gear and be ready to go back out the following day. They didn't say where and I didn't hear anybody ask. It was sort of a given in the Company at that time that we would be going into something very severe from the viewpoint of the grunt. There had not been any "easy" stuff assigned to the company for several months. The word was that things had been pretty bad on a nonstop basis since May of 1968. This word was sort of supported by the fact that there were less than 10 people in the company who had arrived before that time.

The rush to get us back out to the bush by the next morning hit a snag by that afternoon. The corpsmen were all reporting multiple "trenchfoot" problems in the company. The soaked and wrinkled skin on peoples' feet was tearing open. Feet were swelling. The Battalion Surgeon ordered a 3 day medical standdown. The troops were issued lots of foot powder and ordered to keep their feet dry and open to the air. "Wear thongs not boots." Thongs? There were some at the PX. Three pair or something like that. Bush Marines did not routinely carry thongs in their packs. Nor Panama hats, shorts, or even tap dancing shoes. But the three days was greatly appreciated anyway.

PRIOR DAYS: 7-8 SEPTEMBER 1968
Mike McFerrin, 3rd Plt. M Co. 3/5

Three days at An Hoa. What a treat! Mike Company was a happy crew. We didn’t know that yesterday was counted as one of those three. The days were spent powdering feet, cleaning rifles and magazines, doing laundry, making supply and PX runs to replace worn or lost or used up material, etc.

An Hoa has just become the new home for the 5th Marines. In fact, for most of the Marines of Mike Company this was their first visit to An Hoa. The company had not seen its rear area at Truoi Bridge, just south of Hue, much since the Tet Offensive beginning at the end of January. And during mid-August while Mike Company was involved in the battle of Hill 310, the whole regiment had begun its move to An Hoa. This was Mike Company's first appearance as a unit at the new base camp.

An Hoa had been used as a base before. There was not much there but you could see the area had been occupied by varying sizes of U.S. forces based on the different places where one could see that positions had been dug in at one time. There was an airstrip there. I don't know how long it had been there when I first saw it in August, 1968.

There was a lot of "construction" going on to enlarge the base to accommodate a regimental base camp. Reinforced bunkers were being put on the side where a large attack was most likely to come from with trenches being dug as a below surface trail between them. At least one bunker per company in the troop area for the company office. Two or three other bunkers per company in the open tent area. Tents being raised on the dirt with cots in them.

On the 7th, we had a company formation right outside the Mike Company bunker. Medals were awarded for actions over the last couple of months. Most were for the period when Mike Company was involved in a battle on Hill 310 with some other 3/5 companies.

That night, Special Services set up a movie projector and a white sheet as a screen in a depression by some tents. But the screen was still visible to a small section of the village, Duc Duc, just west of the perimeter. They showed some very old movie. And apparently the projector was also very old because it quit about halfway through.

Somebody yelled at the guy to get it fixed quick. After about 5 minutes or so, it still was not fixed. The guy yelled again and told him to hurry. He said that he had seen this happen before. The Viet Cong had been watching the movie from the ville and they would get mad if it didn't come back on soon. There was a lot of laughter and "Yeah, Sure."

After another 2 minutes or so there was the unmistakable sound of a mortar shot followed by the whistling and whoosh and screams of incoming as a mortar round landed some 20 meters behind the screen. Close enough to send everybody scrambling for cover but just far enough away in the right direction that nobody got hit. The same voice yelled, "I told you. Get the damn thing fixed. That was his warning shot." Whether this was coincidence or as the voice proclaimed, I will probably never know. The Special Service guy got it fixed and we and whoever else watched the rest of the movie without interruption. No rounds ever again fell in that section of the perimeter I heard. With one exception......another projector breakdown after which the Special Service guy got a new one sent down from Danang.

A little PX had been set up at An Hoa where you could get all sorts of things. This would seem a great way to quickly resupply oneself with cigarettes, candy and other such items. But there were problems with that. Number one was that the NVA knew that it was a PX and that Marines were congregating there so they had it on a Priority One list to drop mortars and rockets on. The little shack and where the line formed were zeroed in. Casualties were being taken at the PX on a regular basis. The hours of operation were changed and shortened. But that did not change the number of troops who wanted to secure items from the PX which led to problem number two. The line was always very long. It was even possible to wait for two hours then, just as it was your turn, have the door locked in your face as the hours of operation ended. For the bush Marine, the line to the PX was not a place to spend the few hours that you had in the base camp. Most of my platoon had their families sending them packages from home to stay supplied with those things that they could have bought for one-tenth of the price in the PX.

Enterprising truck drivers who made the supply run convoys to Danang were the main source of the evening entertainment. Bottles of the best alcohol refreshments were available for a price. And no price seemed to be too high for a bush Marine who was on a layover at the base camp.

The early evenings were filled with drinking parties that would slowly turn into various forms of bush Marines' relief outlets. There might be a guitar pulled out in one tent for some happy singing. In another, the mood might descend into the crying and screaming laments for all of the friends who had died in the last few days. Within an hour or two after the sunset, most of these gatherings had ceased as the night lights and noise were reduced to almost nothing. There was always a couple of guys here and there who hung on by themselves crying or singing or both for a couple of more hours.

September 8th was our last night. We would be off on another operation in the morning. Everybody was trying to figure if we REALLY got 3 days off. It seemed that we would actually come out a few hours short. Maybe somebody should point that out to the Battalion Surgeon who had ordered the standdown. Nobody volunteered.

We may or may not ever come back to An Hoa. Most of the time the company would just go from one operation to another without a stop at the combat base. There wasn't a sense of "leaving home." But there was a sense of leaving this world and going to a world where time and reality were severely altered. Tomorrow, we would once again fall into the "rabbit hole" that only some of us would find our way out of. And even some of those that found their way out may not recognizable as the ones who went in. Even to themselves.

PRIOR DAYS: 9 SEPTEMBER 1968
Mike McFerrin, 3rd Plt. M Co. 3/5

The morning was very busy. Many things had been put off to the last minute. We got our C-ration and ammo distribution. Canteens were filled. We had known since yesterday that we were going into the Arizona Territory. But we still didn't know where in the Arizona or how we were going.

We were hustled out to the airstrip for formation. From there we assumed column formation and headed towards the southwestern edge of the perimeter. As we left the perimeter, the word was passed that we were moving to the river in Duc Duc.

The eastern edge of the village of Duc Duc was some 700 meters from the first wire of the western edge of the An Hoa perimeter. It was the largest village in the entire An Hoa basin and was the district headquarters for the Duc Duc district which was similar in size and scope to a county in the States. It had a large market area, government administrative offices, and perhaps a population of several hundred but less than a thousand.

Duc Duc sat along the eastern side of a river that formed one of the boundaries of what the Marines called the "Arizona Territory." The entire Arizona was an approximate triangle formed by a mountain range and two rivers that left the mountain area about five miles apart and then joined together some 7 miles downstream as they headed for the South China Sea. The lowland area was very fertile and almost completely covered with rice paddies except along the edges of the rivers. Dotted about were small pieces of high ground that were large enough for three to 10 families to have a home and a garden. This very large "ricebowl" area situated far out in the countryside being bordered by two rivers and a mountain area made it a key economic and transportation hub that touched the life of Vietnamese for many miles around.

The enemy, in the form of the Viet Cong, drew its manpower strength from the local population. The enemy, both Viet Cong and NVA, drew major quantities of sustenance from the area. The South Vietnamese government sought to deny the yield of this prime agricultural area from going to the enemy military machine. This battle had not been decisively won by either since the beginning of the war. Even with American troops becoming involved, the commitment seemed only enough to keep the other side from completely taking over. There was always an operation going on in the Arizona. They were designed to find and destroy the enemy troops. But there was no occupation force of any kind to insure it stayed that way. And the enemy forces in the area were intent on holding on to what they did have there. They operated mostly during the hours of darkness and were successful in securing most of what they needed. They owned the night. The Marines looked for them during the day and if they found them were almost always able to destroy many but only in very fierce fights.

The quality of the NVA troops encountered there was part of the basis for the name given to it by the Marines. As I heard it, one of the first operations run in the area a couple of years before was called Operation Arizona. The Marines became aware very quickly that they were up against veteran NVA troops who were a notch or two better than the average and dedicated as well. The operation was called Arizona and the NVA were so good that they were compared to the gunslingers that occupied and made the original Arizona Territory so dangerous. The Arizona Territory in Vietnam was so named and thereafter never failed to live up to its reputation of almost daily contacts with a ferocious NVA unit of one kind or another.

We went right into Duc Duc in column and found our way down to the river. The column was spread out along the riverbank as the word was passed that we would be crossing the river in sampans. This almost sounded like fun. A Disneyland ride or something. But we were bush Marines and other things crossed our minds as we surveyed the scene.

First, this was a RIVER. Not a stream or a brook. At least six or seven hundred meters wide. And it looked deep. And fast.

Second, what's a sampan? I had seen a lot of things pointed to and called a sampan since I arrived in Vietnam. Mostly in Danang harbor. All I saw here along the beach were the little canoes that I also had heard called sampans. These looked like dugouts. Basically, a canoe fashioned out of a single large log. Room at either end for a paddler and a bit of room in between for a small amount of cargo. These did not look like they could cross a fast moving river. Maybe go down river easily and maybe, with an extreme effort by the oarsmen, go up river. But they did not appear to be able to remain upright with the current hitting directly broadside.

Third, the other side of the river was the Arizona Territory. It wasn't like we would be riding up to Omaha Beach on D-Day in thousands of motorized, steel fronted landing craft to perform a massive assault. Ten or twelve rowboats coming at the far side of the river seemed more likely to produce bellowing laughter from the enemy before he riddled them with AK fire sending all the Marines to the bottom as they drowned trying to disengage themselves from the seventy pound anchors on their backs.

As it turned out, we had lots of time to sit around and conjure up all sorts of these horrible pictures. Apparently, this troop movement had not been properly negotiated for. The entire operation was on hold as the Captain had to radio back to An Hoa. I suspect that a sudden, unknown tax was applied to a payment already received by the chief of the village. The Marines would not be boarding any sampans until that tax payment was received. The South Vietnamese governmental infrastructure was a fine tuned machine when it came to prosecuting the war with such a rich ally. The day was extremely hot and getting hotter. While the Marines languished along the river, the humidity rose with the temperature. The villagers were already stirring en masse to take further advantage of such an opportunity........some 130 bored, thirsty, and rich Marines right in their ville. It wasn't long before they were being descended upon by South Vietnamese National Sales Force with the staples of war.......booze, pot, sex, candy, and cold sodas. The ones selling booze, sex or drugs were chased off by the platoon sergeants leaving only the candy and cold Cokes sales people.

This simple scene was actually one of the many wonders of the Vietnam War. That is, it really made everybody wonder. Here we were some 35 miles from the nearest town of any size. Thirty-five miles from the nearest electrical grid. On the very edge of ancient jungle. We were beginning to succumb to horrendous thirst as the moisture was sucked from our bodies and these kids show up with literally thousands of ice cold Cokes. ??????

How did all of these Cokes get ice cold in this heat with no electricity? Some thought that there was a generator hooked up to an ice house or refrigeration unit. But there was no engine running anywhere. Others thought that a couple canoes of ice had been brought down river. It didn't seem practical or economical. And it would have taken a lot more than a couple of canoes worth to arrive with enough to make this many Cokes cold. Jungle ice was a mystery.

And how did all of these Cokes get in the possession of the villagers in the first place? These were cans of Coke from the U.S., not bottles of Coke from a licensed foreign bottler. And they had enough that every man could buy as many as he wanted. This amounted to well over a thousand. At least 50 cases. Even an American would be hard pressed to be able to purchase that many at once at even the large PX in Danang. Supply volume was an issue especially during the hotter times of the year. Obviously, somebody in this little rural village was well connected.

As the hordes of kids descended upon the Marines in column on the riverbank, the economics of the blackmarket became clear. They wanted $1 per can. This would be $7.50 per Coke in present value. An absurd price. A price so high that it made everybody squeal and turn their back on the sales force in disgust. Except for one or two Marines who paid it. The kids looked dejected but refused to lower the price.

After another half hour in the heat, the kids returned and a few more Marines bought some and even some of the first buyers bought another round. But even Marines who still did not want to pay the price were calling the kids over because they wanted to at least feel the ice cold cans. A couple of seconds of gripping the can was usually enough to break down any remaining resistance and a sale was made. Before the kids had finished the round, the word was passed down that it was going to be one to two hours before we crossed. That did it. Everybody began whipping out their dollars.

Somewhere around noon we were lining up to board the sampans. The initial idea was three Marines to a sampan. One Marine would sit at the back directly in front of the Vietnamese rower and facing the front. One Marine would sit at the front directly behind the oarsman and facing the rear. The third Marine would sit somewhere in between the other two Marines facing either way. Upon attempting execution of this maneuver though it was discovered that after a very careful balancing act to get two fully loaded Marines properly set in the sampan, the third fully loaded Marine's attempt to board and get situated would cause the boat to tip over. Two at a time would be the load.

It was broad daylight and the far side of the river was relatively flat and sparsely vegetated so a continuous reconnaissance of the far side for an hour or so before the movement and a small base of fire set up on the near side were considered adequate security for the first set of sampans. The first arrivals then set up a security zone for the others. The wobbly canoes seemed to do better with weight in them but the waterline was uncomfortably high. Within three or four inches of splashing in on the up river side of the boat. It was not a fast trip nor a straight one. Sampans were landing far more spread out than the formation they started in. But within a couple of hours the entire company and all of the gear it carried were safely in the Arizona.

Mike Company assembled on the western side of the river and began moving out in column in a northerly direction. The route of march began to take us away from the river which ran in a northeasterly direction. We moved across open rice paddies on the checkerboard of dikes that crisscrossed them to "islands" of high ground that had bushes, trees, and sometimes a small ville. Tactical security was used in the movement. Bases of fire were set up to cover open areas that were crossed in small units. Flanks were put out when moving through the high ground. This was slow, but safe.

We had a late start because of the delayed crossing and there seemed to be some concern about trying to get to a certain point before setting in. After about 4PM, I heard the Captain issue the order to move back closer to the river and avoid the high grounds so that we could keep moving. We set in on some uninhabited high ground that was three to four hundred meters from the river.

This was our first day and night in the Arizona. No contact with the enemy at all. This is not completely true. We had no contact with the NVA or VC is more accurate. But that night we had a great deal of contact with another Vietnamese enemy. The incredible swarms of large, ferocious "vampires" that scour the area at night for dinner. B-52 sized mosquitoes. I could not cover my body with anything thick enough or tough enough that they could not pierce. It was almost possible to fall asleep while under attack from these swarms. They were particularly hungry that night.

PRIOR DAYS: 10 SEPTEMBER 1968
Mike McFerrin, 3rd Plt. M Co. 3/5

BJ,

Still not enough room to finish the story yet, but it is close. One more should do it. It has been hard to stay "tuned into" that day for very long. It was definitely a bad day. I know that you have not walked since that day. I can only imagine the full effect of that day on you. But that day was one that burned itself into the souls of every man in the Company.

I was in Nam for two straight years and saw lots of combat but this day was one that has never slipped into the background of memory and experience. Even those of us who were not hit that day were profoundly impacted by the experience. I have involuntarily been revisited by the sounds of that day both in my sleep and in full consciousness. It stands with a couple of other days as the most relived of my life.

From the description of when and how you received your wound, I have put a couple of paragraphs that most likely included your effort that day. I did not know you at the time since you were not in my platoon. But I did see the efforts taking place. Those men were hurting very badly and we all felt it. Your heroism in trying to reach them spurred everybody to greater effort to do what they could to help from wherever they were at.

Mike Out

We were up early. Scratching, eating, and checking gear. It was obviously going to be another very hot day. We were not being hurried to move out. It seemed that there was a lot of radio communication at the Company CP. I had the impression that this operation was less than exact. Sort of specific but also reacting to current events and/or incoming intelligence.

It was late in the morning when we started out. The route of march was to be the same as we ended with the day before. Stay in the uninhabited corridor between the river on the east of us and the first ville areas to the west of the river. This was an area that was seven hundred to a thousand meters wide. Move north with safety and speed.

Third platoon, my unit, was assigned as the point platoon that morning. Before we moved out our Lieutenant gave the platoon its order of march and briefing. My squad was in last position for the platoon and I had tail-end Charlie for the squad. Directly behind me would be the Company CP group. For the benefit of the newer guys like myself who had not been in the Arizona Territory yet, the issues of safety in such a "hot" area were quickly mentioned. Then mentioned again by the squad leaders.

The area was well known for lots of booby traps, snipers, and company to battalion sized enemy troop masses. "Staying well spread out" was on the top of the list of "to-dos." Fifteen to twenty five meter gaps between Marines. Reduces the overall number of casualties if somebody hits a mine or booby trap. Reduces the chances that more than one Marine will be a surprised target of a sniper. Reduces the number of Marines that will be in the kill zone of an ambush at any given time.

We were moving from high ground to high ground but none were inhabited. And luckily none were occupied by transient NVA troops. Again it seemed as if we were in a hurry to get somewhere. From the brief looks that I had gotten at the squad leader's map I knew that we were in the northern section of the Arizona and would probably reach the northern edge where the rivers came together before the end of the day.

As the first small units moved across the open paddy to the next high ground there were moments of anxiety and fear as the men dashed from rice paddy dike to rice paddy dike. The closer they got to the far side the more tense it got. Everybody knew, including the ones that were out there making the first crossing, that if the enemy was there they would wait until the last second then try to kill or seriously maim all of these guys that were in the paddy.

The size of this initial unit was kept to a minimum. A fireteam was desirable. Most fireteams at the time were only two to four men. During periods of heavy combat, the Company was at less than full strength. This "period of heavy combat" was ALL of the time though so it seemed normal to be understrengthed. But the size had to be enough to cover the situation also. That is, the entire exercise was not done just to sacrifice a few to find out that the NVA was there but to both find out that they were there and where they were as well as to at least establish a toehold to get the rest of the troops across and destroy the enemy presence. So this may require more than a fireteam. Perhaps a squad, which was 3 fireteams with a squad leader and radioman. Or a reinforced squad that would also have a machine gun team with it. That day both the lead fireteam and the lead squad of third platoon made that fearful trip across the paddies several times.

Upon arriving in the high ground on the far side of the paddy, a "beachhead" would be established and widened as the rest of the company moved across the paddy. Sometimes they would continue moving across in small groups or en masse depending on the terrain and potential exposure. Now this "island" had to be searched. The method used would depend on the size of the ground, the density of vegetation, and whether it was inhabited or not.

The decision on this day to avoid high ground that was lived on was based on the amount of additional time and danger encountered in searching these areas. Every hut had a bunker and every living area had multiple terrain areas modified by the inhabitants for living use. All of this had to be searched. Camouflaged stashes and booby traps were common. Just as common were frightened villagers or NVA posing as villagers who would leap for a hidden gun or explosive device as the searching Marines came close to finding the stash. They could do a lot of damage to the Marines before they were brought down.

The uninhabited islands also had to be searched but were somewhat easier. Movement and use of the high ground was noted. How worn were the trails and why? Was this piece of high ground on a route that was normally used in the daily life of the area and/or was it a significant militarily strategic piece? Were there signs of military use and how old were they? Fighting holes, tree positions, trenchlines, camouflaged or hidden "spider holes" where snipers popped up from, etc. And, of course, were there any NVA or VC there at the moment? Were they hidden and trying to remain so or were they prepared to fight?

Or, as very often happened, did we just quietly walk right up on them literally surprising the crap out of them and us? These face-to-face encounters generally occurred between the first one or two Marines in a column of a platoon or company sized movement that had moved quickly and quietly into an inhabited island from the "blind"-to-the-inhabitants' side. As the first Marines rounded the corner into the view of the ville they would suddenly find themselves in close quarters with equally surprised NVA troops.

As a Marine who has been in that position as well as witnessed several others in front of me in the same position, I am confident that I can accurately describe the circumstances. Those first one to five seconds of that meeting go into a time warp. Those seconds are slowed down to the point that they may last an hour or longer for the individuals involved. About the first third of the elapsed time is spent while the vision brought in by your