SEPTEMBER 11, 1968
Go Noi Island - Quang Nam Province - South Vietnam

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

PRIOR DAYS: SEPTEMBER 4, 1968

We had spent almost all of September 4 in a forced march from the interior of Go Noi southwest to the river that was on the northern edge of the An Hoa basin. There was a monsoon storm coming from the south into our faces. Large amount of rain and some 100 mile per hour winds. We were trying to get to the river crossing before the water was too high and/or fast to cross.

At the time that we were getting ready to move out the storm was about half developed and I got the "runs" and 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.

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 rain drops 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 hand and arm fulls 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 us. 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 rain drops 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.

(To Be Continued)

PRIOR DAYS: SEPTEMBER 3, 1968
PRIOR DAYS: SEPTEMBER 4, 1968
PRIOR DAYS: SEPTEMBER 5, 1968
PRIOR DAYS: SEPTEMBER 6, 7, 8, 1968
PRIOR DAYS: SEPTEMBER 9, 1968
PRIOR DAYS: SEPTEMBER 10, 1968
PRIOR DAYS: SEPTEMBER 11, 1968
AFTERMATH

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