SMALL UNIT ACTION IN VIETNAM SUMMER 1966
By Captain Francis J. West, Jr., USMCR
HISTORY AND MUSEUMS DIVISION HEADQUARTERS,
U. S. MARINE CORPS WASHINGTON, D. C.

MINES AND MEN

Preface: The author spent two weeks with the 9th Marines, most of the time with Delta Company. He participated in the patrol described as an extra infantryman, swapping his tape recorder for an automatic rifle when the platoon was hit. Throughout most of the fight, he did not see the patrol leader, but later was able to piece together the entire action by interviews and by listening to his recorder, which was running throughout the engagement.

In late spring and early summer of 1966, the most notorious area in I Corps was the flat rice paddy-and-hedgerow complex around Hill 55, seven miles southwest of Da Nang. In the Indochina War, two battalions of the French forces were wiped out on Hill 55; in the Vietnam War, a Marine lieutenant colonel was killed on the same hill. The 9th Marines had the responsibility for clearing the area and no one envied the regimental commander, Colonel Edwin Simmons, and his men their job. The enemy they hated, the enemy they feared the most, the enemy they found hardest to combat, was not the VC; it was mines.

One company of the regiment--Delta--lost 10 KIA and 58 WIA in five weeks. Two men were hit by small arms fire, one by a grenade. Mines inflicted all the other casualties. Only four of the wounded returned to duty. From a peak strength of 175, Delta Company dropped to 120 effectives. Among those evacuated or killed were a high percentage of the company's leaders: five platoon commanders; three platoon sergeants; nine squad leaders; and six fire team leaders.On 8 May, the 1st Platoon of Delta Company was 52 men strong, commanded by a first lieutenant and honchoed* by a staff sergeant. For a month they patrolled. At division level, the operations section could see a pattern which indicated the patrols were slowly and surely rooting the VC infrastructure out of the area. But for the individual rifleman, it was ugly, unrewarding work. The VC in previous encounters had learned the futility of determined engagements against the Marines. So they sniped and ran and left behind the mines.

* honcho - Marine slang, derived from Japanese, for a boss.

On 8 June, the 1st Platoon prepared to go out on another patrol. By then, they numbered 32 men and were commanded by a sergeant. During patrols on the previous day there had been no casualties. Far from feeling encouraged, the troops were pessimistic, believing it inevitable that today another of their group would step on a mine.
Captain John Hart had commanded Delta Company for nine months, and another company in Vietnam before that. A shrewd tactician with a natural ease and understanding of his men, the red-headed company commander had decided to send two amtracs* with the platoon to set off the mines before the troops reached them. Sergeant William Cunningham believed the amtracs would solve his problem. They would cruise through the flat lowlands, smashing mined fences and tearing Up known minefields. The platoon would walk in the tracks of the 35-ton amtracs, unless forced by fire to disperse or ordered to do otherwise. A 60mm mortar would deal with the snipers, who were more bothersome than dangerous. The plan seemed sound.

The patrol moved out in two columns in the wake of an amtrac. The platoon members knew the area well. They hated it. The paddies and fields stretched for miles in checker-board fashion, separated by thick tree lines and numerous hamlets. The mud of the rice paddies clung like glue to boots. The numerous tree lines could be penetrated only by using machetes and axes. The scattered hamlets contained from I to 10 houses and each house was surrounded by thorn fences harder to break than barbed wire. The level ground prevented a man from seeing beyond the next hedgerow. And everywhere the mines. There seemed to be no pattern to their emplacement. They had been scattered at trail junctions, at the intersection of rice dikes, along fences, under gates. Having watched the movements of Marine patrols in this area, the enemy buried their mines where they anticipated the Marines would walk. Often they scouted the direction and path a patrol was taking and planted the mines ahead. If the patrol passed that point safely, the VC would scurry out of his hiding place, dig up his mine, and keep it for another day.
Sergeant Cunningham was aware of this fact. By the same route he had used the day before, he was returning to the same hamlet complex so that the amtracs could set off the mines. The enemy's supply of mines was not inexhaustible.

* Amtrac - Marine slang for Amphibious Landing Vehicle, Tracked (LVT).

An LVT of the 3d Amphibian Tractor battalion, similar to those that supported Sergeant Cunningham's platoon, moves out through a column of infantry men especially since most were M16 "Bouncing Betties"*, captured from the ARVNs**. This was one way of destroying them. Before the platoon left the patrol base, the sergeant repeatedly warned his men to stay in the tracks of the LVTs.

The Marines wore helmets and flak jackets***. Each rifleman carried 150 rounds of ammunition and 2 or more hand grenades. The men of the two machine gun crews were draped with belts of linked cartridges totaling 1,200 rounds. The two 3.5-inch rocket launcher teams carried five high explosive (HE) and five white phosphorus (WP) rockets. Four grenadiers carried 28 40mm shells apiece for their stubby M79s. Sergeant Cunningham had given six LAWs**** to some riflemen to provide additional area target capability. Artillery and mortars were on call. The 2d Platoon would range within 1,000 yards of Sergeant Cunningham's men at all times. Although Cunningham believed the platoon would draw only harassing fire. Captain Hart never allowed his men to patrol without ensuring heavy firepower. Similarly, the battalion commander. Lieutenant Colonel Richard E. Jones, liked his company commanders to arrange for their patrols to have on-call artillery concentrations whenever possible.

The platoon moved out at 1100. There was no breeze and no shade. The temperature was 102 degrees. Within five minutes, every Marine was soaked in sweat. The column plodded south, strung out over a quarter of a mile. There was no flank section, such was the fear of mines and the confidence in quick support, if needed. One arntrac was in the lead; the second stayed back 200 yards in the middle of the column.

After marching for half of an hour. Sergeant Cunningham halted the column. Directly in front of the lead amtrac a thorn and bamboo fence ran at right angles to the line of march. Two hundred meters to the right front lay a thick tree line in which the thatch rooftops of four houses could be seen. To the left a dirt field stretched for 400 meters, stopping at another tree line. Other tree lines lay at farther distances to the front and rear. Sergeant Cunningham had seen his radioman and one of his squad leaders trip a mine attached to that fence and die. Yesterday he had cautiously led his platoon across the fence and had been fired at. Today, with obvious satisfaction and relief, he yelled to the lead tractor: "Rip that thing apart. Really tear it up."

*Bouncing Betty - Marine slang for antipersonnel mine which explodes in midair.
**ARVNs - Marine slang for soldiers of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam
***flak jacket - Marine slang for individual body armor.
****LAW - Marine slang for portable antitank weapon.

The driver turned left so that the amtrac could hit the fence head-on. It lumbered forward, crushing 30 feet of fence before its left track slipped into a drainage ditch. The LVT churned to a halt. The second amtrac eased forward, attached a tow rope to the front of the stranded vehicle, and pulled it out.
Sergeant Cunningham decided to continue south to the minefields and tear other holes in the fence on the return trip that afternoon. "Move out," he shouted, "We'll come back to that bear later on. It'll still be here." One amtrac roared ahead while the second idled by the fence, waiting to turn into position near the center of the column.The hard dirt around the fence had been churned into jagged clods by the treads of the two amtracs. The point Marines, including Sergeant Cunningham, carefully picked their way across the fence, stepping only in the tracks, and fell in trace again behind the lead LVT. The rest of the column followed.

Cunningham had walked fifty meters away from the fence when he heard the explosion. Even before he turned his head he knew what he would see. A thick black cloud hung in the air beside the fence line. Three Marines were sprawled on the ground. Before the shower of loose dirt and shrapnel had stopped falling, the platoon's senior corpsman, Hospital-man 3d Class Robert E. Perkins, had reached the side of the most seriously wounded Marine.

Corporal Raymond Lewis, leading the point squad, burst out: "Hey, why the hell don't they follow the goddamn tracks?" Sergeant Cunningham raced back, yelling in anger and frustration and hurt, "I told you to follow me through here, here--we came through here." A pause, then, in a resigned voice: "O.K. Who got it?"

Tired, feeling secure because there were many tracks near the fence and nine Marines had walked safely past, the tenth Marine had wandered off the path of the treads. For 20 feet he had been following the dry trail of old tank treads. The VC had placed a mine on the old trail resting against the torn fence. The Marine had tripped a Bouncing Betty mine, which flew knee-high before it exploded, felling him and two Marines behind him. The column had halted, well spread out but near no cover or concealment. The platoon's leaders were clustered at the fence checking the wounded. Then the sniping started. The first four to eight rounds were ignored by the entire column. The Marines received fire every day. When asked one hour earlier if he expected fire on the patrol. Sergeant Cunningham had flatly stated that he did. The Marines were not going to divert attention from their wounded because they received some random incoming rounds.Ten seconds later, the situation changed abruptly. The sniping became steady fire and the targets were the wounded, the platoon leaders, and the platoon radioman. The enemy had found the range and the wounded could hear the whine and snap of close misses.

Disregarding the firing. Sergeant Cunningham and the platoon guide, Sergeant Peter Hastings, continued to discuss the technical details necessary as they called for an immediate helicopter evacuation of the wounded. The platoon radioman, Private First Class Bias Falcon, stood with them taking notes. Perkins worked swiftly to prevent the most seriously wounded Marine from bleeding to death. He did not even look up from his probing of the man's legs when the bullets started passing close by. He had been with the company for nine days and had tended exactly nine Marines wounded by mines.
Most of the fire was coming from a hamlet on the west flank of the platoon, not more than 200 meters to the right of the point squad. Some was coming from the distant tree line to the left. Among the enemy weapons, the Marines could distinguish the flat, low reports of several carbines from the sharp sound of an MI. A light machine gun began shooting short bursts. Harassment had become engagement.
The VC had carefully planned the trap. The mine had stopped the column in the open less than 200 meters from there firing position. To confuse and spread the Marines, they had posted snipers on the other flank. They knew the leaders would cluster around the wounded. They had their weapons sighted in on the fence line. No more than 20 seconds had passed since the VC had opened fire. They had much better positions and had gained fire superiority from the start.

The volume of enemy fire increased so rapidly Cunningham never had a chance to contact his three squad leaders and issue any comprehensive order. The initial response was a matter of individual initiative, as Marines flopped down and began returning fire without waiting for orders. But their fire was ragged and scattered, lacking direction and purpose.

Corporal Lewis directed the first determined, collective effort to destroy the enemy. Having moved out in front of the column, the 1st Squad was 100 meters ahead of the main body. Lewis' five men were heavily armed and he used all the weapons he had at his command. Over the din of the increasing volume of incoming fire, he could not hear Sergeant Cunningham. But he did not need to be told what to do. Lewis had been fighting in Vietnam for eight months and had participated in dozens of fire fights. Flattened out along the side of the trail, his squad was not under fire but was nearest to the hamlet. To his left front he could hear the crack of sniper rifles coming from a tree line. Quickly, he directed his machine gunner to set up and rake the far tree line, keeping his fire low and continuous. The squad grenadier, Private First Class Michael Stay, was pumping 40mm shells into the hamlet as fast as he could fire and reload. Lewis decided to add more punch.

He turned his bazooka team toward the hamlet. The team leader, Corporal John Martin, had anticipated his squad leader. His rocket launcher was set and ready to fire. The men agreed on the targets: the houses. Both had seen men firing from raised flaps on the roofs. Martin placed the long tube on his shoulder, sighted swiftly, and fired from a kneeling position. A house shuddered and pitched at an angle. He placed another white phosphorous rocket in the launcher and fired. A second house burst into flames. He reloaded and fired again. The third house exploded. The enemy machine gun stopped. Another rocket and a LAAW were fired into the tree line. Lewis, Martin, and Lance Corporal Dennis Sullivan lay prone and began firing their M14 rifles at the hedgerows bordering the huts. The fire fight was less than 2 minutes old.

The 60mm mortar crew took up where Martin left off. Sergeant James Gibbs and his two crewmembers had been riding on the second LVT. When the enemy machine gun fired, they jumped off the tractor and yelled to Cunningham, "Should we try for the gun?" "Go ahead," Cunningham yelled back, "but watch it when the choppers get here."

Less than 300 meters from the hamlet, the crew set up their small tube. Gibbs aimed in by line of sight while Lance Corporal Joe Dykes estimated the range and Private First Class Peter Vidaurie hauled ammunition from the amtrac. "Can we fire now?" yelled Gibbs. "Sure, any time you want, " replied Cunningham. For the next two minutes, the 60mm crew walked rounds back and forth along the 200-meter length of the tree line. Under cover of this shooting, Sergeant Cunningham directed his 2d Squad into position to secure a landing zone for the helicopters. He wanted to get his wounded out before the enemy machine gun resumed firing. Falcon was busy on the radio explaining to company headquarters what was happening and obtaining administrative data from the wounded. "John," he asked, "what's your service number?" "2197620." "Come on, John, give it to me slow." "Two, won, niner --- zero, got that?" "No, give it to me once again." "Oh for god's sake, do you want my rifle number too? One one nine seven --." The other wounded men laughed. The spirits of the wounded were high. A tracer bullet chipped a rock near them and whined away. "Boy," said one, "that was the most beautiful tracer I ever saw." "Yeah," replied his companion, "that's the craziest angle I ever saw a ricochet take."
The fire fight was four minutes old. Most of the small arms fire had died away. Steadily two grenade launchers crunched at the wood line. The three houses were blazing and their bamboo sides were expanding and popping with a sound like hundreds of .22 rifles being fired.

A Marine directed the second amtrac which had been idling near the fence toward the tree line. The LVT lumbered forward for several meters and stopped before a three-foot embankment 75 meters from the hamlet. Its three man crew and two demolition engineers lay on top of the tractor and fired at the burning village. The amtrac commander, Staff Sergeant Howard G. Plummer, feared the fire in the village. His vehicle was carrying explosives and 500 gallons of fuel. He had no intention of risking a cook-off in the intense heat.

The Marine directing Plummer's vehicle saw on the right a squad walking slowly forward with the disinterest of tired riflemen who expected nothing to happen. The Marine at the tractor signaled them to double time and they broke into a reluctant shuffle.

The lull in the fight broke at the same time. On the left, the enemy light machine gun chattered, on the right an automatic carbine and several rifles opened up. The enemy were hard-core guerrillas who had lived in the area for years and their tactics against the Marines were to set mines and snipe from great distances, employing ambushes at close range only when they had overwhelming numerical superiority. They had not expected the Marines to recover from the mine explosion so quickly. They did not believe the Marines would assault after stepping on one mine. But now the members of the squad were running like Olympic sprinters for the nearer amtrac. The VC concentrated all their fire on stopping them.
The crew of the amtrac which had preceded Lewis' squad at point had been confused by the fighting. They wanted to help but no one had told them what to do. So they had contented themselves by firing their rifles in a casual fashion at the hamlet, since that was what the infantrymen were doing. But now, seeing the infantry rushing to the attack. Private First Class Billy Adams, a maintenance mechanic on board the point amtrac, excitedly urged his crew to push ahead in their vehicle. His enthusiasm was contagious. Without orders, without flankers, without supporting fires, the amtrac started forward. Corporal Lewis saw the amtrac move alone into the attack. He ordered his riflemen to throw out protecting fires on its flanks and his grenadier to fire over the vehicle itself into the tree line beyond.
Adams fired five rifle grenades as the LVT rolled in, then turned his gas cylinder plug and fired his rifle semi-automatically. The amtrac reached the edge of the tree line and the driver hesitated, looking for a route through the hedgerows. The fire at the amtrac became intense. The bullets striking the hull sounded like people were beating on it with hammers. Adams yelled: "It's about time to button up!"
He was pulling down the steel cover of his hatch when he saw his first enemy. The Viet Cong was firing at the infantry troops seeking shelter behind the second amtrac. He had raised a section of the thatched roof of a house which had not burned and this gave him an excellent field of fire. He and Adams saw each other at the same time. He lowered the flap just as Adams flipped his weapon to automatic and stitched the roof, igniting it. The turret machine gunner on Plummer's amtrac began firing,
spraying the village. Bullets were bouncing off the left side of his amtrac. To the right side of the vehicle, a Marine rifleman engaged a VC who was lying on the roof of a house. The rifleman was firing long bursts from an M14; the VC was returning fire with an automatic carbine. Both had abandoned cover, so intent were they in their private duel. Standing in the off-hand position, the Marine finally remembered to sight in and squeeze off a few aimed rounds instead of spraying the house. The VC fell lengthwise off the roof.

Corporal Jerry Payne brought his squad up behind Plummer's amtrac. "Move it out. Let's roll!" Plummer hesitated, looking for a way in not blocked by flames. "Come on, the hell with waiting for this thing, " an angry Marine yelled, gesturing at the amtrac, "let's go get them!" Payne grabbed him by the shoulder as he started around the tractor's side. "No, you don't. That whole field is mined. They're just trying to sucker you in. Stay behind the trac!"

One hundred meters to the left, Adams' amtrac had already reached the hedgerow and was smashing its way into the hamlet. That decided Plummer. His tractor crawled up the embankment and pitched down into the level field and rumbled toward the village. A Marine followed right behind. Payne yelled, "We're going in." The five Marines clustered around him nodded nervously and said nothing. They were more than a little apprehensive. They would follow but they wanted somebody to lead. Payne scrambled up the embankment into a burst of machine gun fire. His helmet spun off and he pitched forward head first. The squad froze. Payne was their leader, the most experienced man, the one who knew what to do. They thought he was dead. Payne got up, unhurt but shaken, "Come on," he muttered. They dogtrotted across the field after the amtrac.

By that time Adams' amtrac had entered the tree line. Lewis ordered his squad to cease fire. The amtrac passed the house where Adams had fired at the sniper hiding in the roof. Private First Class Larry Blume, a demolition engineer riding in the LVT, saw two men run from the house to the left. But he couldn't get a shot at them. Adams was watching out the observer's window, placed to the right of the driver's seat. He saw a VC, trying to dodge across the path of the tractor, stumble and fall. The amtrac crushed him. Plummer's LVT had reached the tree line and the thorn fence surrounding the village. The sergeant turned his vehicle right to avoid the flames. The Marines peeled off left and ran along the fence line looking for an opening. They went in at the center of the village. The point Marine hesitated, then turned to the right.
Payne knew that the machine gun lay to their left but he too turned right, thinking that, since the point man was ignoring the machine gun, he must be attacking another target. But the point did not know of the machine gun. His sudden appearance behind the amtrac at the start of the assault had caught the enemy machine gunner by surprise. Payne was the first target the machine gunner had fired at.
So while the assault force rushed to the right, the VC slipped out to the left. Adams saw six of them moving toward his amtrac, four dragging two bodies. He couldn't fire the .30 caliber machine gun for fear of hitting the Marine squad sweeping in the other direction. Nor could he pursue them through the burning village. The tractor broke out of the tree line on the far side of the hamlet, pivoted right, and raced along a cane field to turn the assault troops. The VC slipped away toward the left flank. While the assault was going in, the wounded Marines were lying where they had fallen, joking with Hastings and Falcon. Helicopters had been called and they knew they would soon be under expert care. At all times helicopters sat on the Da Nang airstrip, 16 miles to the rear, ready to evacuate the wounded, like ambulances at city hospitals--only faster. Eight minutes had elapsed since the wounded had fallen, and
circling overhead, looking for the green smoke grenade which signaled a secure landing zone, were two Hueys*.

Hastings threw the grenade and down clattered one chopper. The other circled aloft, ready to pounce on any enemy firing position. That capability was not needed. The landing zone was very secure. The 3d Squad was pushing the enemy out of the hamlet. Cunningham had settled the fire teams of the 2d Squad in the outskirts of the surrounding tree lines, ready to stifle by fire any enemy who tried to down the Huey. Still, a fight was raging and one of the wounded became concerned that the helicopter might choose not to land. "Give me a rifle," he said, "I'll secure this damn landing zone myself, if it means I get out of here afterwards."

The helicopter settled in. Hastings was extremely careful to bring the Huey down right on the tracks of the amtracs so it would not detonate another mine. The wounded were placed on board, and the helicopter took off, headed for "Charlie Med"** receiving hospital. Thirteen minutes after the mine had exploded, the wounded were being tended by doctors and receiving transfusions. All would live.
The assault force was running again. Adams had told them they were going the wrong way. They had stopped, gasped for breath, and stumbled out the back of the village in trace of the amtrac. A trench line ran from the village to another tree line and hamlet 400 meters in the rear of the burned village. Beside this trench the eight Marines trotted. They had no more sweat to drop. Most had burns where their hands or arms had accidentally brushed the heated rifle barrels. Their flak jackets and helmets weighted them down. They didn't ease up.

*Huey - Marine slang for UHIE helicopter.
**Charlie Med - Marine slang for Company C of a medical battalion.

Two hundred meters from the tree line, Payne croaked to his machine gun team to drop off and cover their advance. The LVT stopped at the tree line and readied its machine gun. The Marines swept into the village by pairs, covering the advance of each other. The village was empty. The trench line was empty. The numerous fighting holes were empty. Punji traps and bamboo stakes were everywhere. It was a typical VC village.

The Marines turned back, withdrawing cautiously, thoroughly exhausted.
Cunningham joined them near the machine gun emplacement, bringing the two squads and the other tractor with him. Adams and Blume told the sergeant where they had seen the VC and the bodies. Cunningham was puzzled. He said he had passed that area five minutes after the amtracs and had seen only women, children, and old men fleeing to the left flank. He had seen no VC and no bodies. In that short time lapse either the VCs, or the villagers (probably relatives)--or both--had policed the battlefield.
Cunningham consolidated his position and sent engineers into the village to blow the bunkers and trench lines. The entire action lasted less than 40 minutes. Within six minutes the assault had been launched. Not one Marine was wounded in the attack. It was sudden and fierce and took the VC by surprise. The Marines were surprised themselves. In seven months in Vietnam, Payne had never before charged the enemy. Nor had his men.

The action was sharp, brief, and inconclusive. The assault force, assuming the VC would pull directly back, had been badly fooled by the enemy's flank escape, probably by use of tunnels or trenches. Carelessness and inattention caused the mine casualties, as they had caused many before and would continue to do so. The middle men of a patrol on the march under a hot sun had tended to relax and shuffle along. On the other hand, the platoon responded to fire like veterans (which they were, most having over four months of combat patrolling). In some cases (Corporal Lewis and Private First Class Adams stand out) initial initiative was impressive. The number of Marines returning fire was almost total. Thirty-nine men were engaged in the action; 33 fired their weapons, either individual or team. Those not firing were the platoon commander, the platoon corpsman, the platoon radio man, and the three wounded. The area fire weapons--the 3.55, the LAAWs, and the M79s--were particularly effective in reducing the volume of enemy fire.

The platoon commander and the squad leaders moved swiftly but not rashly. They covered their flanks and did not commit the entire platoon at one time in one bunched movement, thus minimizing the chance of a successful ambush. Lewis covered the amtracs and then Payne's squad when they rushed the village. Cunningham had one more squad backing Lewis. Payne covered his pursuit objective with his machine gun team and the amtrac. Cunningham had on call at all times 81mm mortars and artillery; Gibbs' 60mm mortar was well supplied with ammunition.

The physical conditioning of the entire platoon was superior. They ran, fought, and thought in intense heat, no mean accomplishment. The Marines had cleared the field by firepower and aggressive maneuver. They had hurt the VC but did not know how badly. The mine had severely wounded one Marine and put two more out of action. During the remainder of the day no sniper fired at the platoon. That was unusual. The next day, the company suffered no casualties and received very light incoming fire?that too was unusual. The following day, a Marine from the 3d Platoon in the middle of a column tripped a mine and five Marines were evacuated. The harassing fire that day was moderately heavy, inaccurate, and delivered at long range. That was usual.