"My Marine Corps" Viet Nam Experience

 

                                “My Marine Corps” 

                                         Viet Nam Experience

 I have always regarded my 1966-67 Viet Nam combat tour in the Marine Corps as a remarkable, youthful, adventure, experiencing similar circumstances my WW2 veteran Father and Uncles had told me about when I was a kid. Watching war movies then, I often wondered what I would do if involved in similar combat situations, now I know those answers.

 I remember that the Battalion CO, in his address to all the Marines before we left Long Beach, had said that through-out the history of the battalion back to WWI, a third of us would not be returning, and that prophesy proved to be correct. On a somewhat lighter note, I remembered, in the unique wisdom of the Corps, we had been sent for cold weather, training at the base of Mount Fuji, Japan, before heading to one of the hottest climates in the world. Thinking about it now, I am sure it was to give more than a thousand Marines, who were chomping at the bit to engage with the enemy, something to do until we were scheduled to enter the combat zone.

 Initially our battalion (Third Battalion Fifth Marines-3/5) was stationed off the Viet Nam coast as a “Special Landing Force” doing multiple amphibious helicopter landings from aboard the USS Princeton LPH-5.

 I had an 81mm mortar 0341 MOS from the Infantry Training Regiment at Camp Geiger. I joined the Battalion Landing Team at Camp Pendleton in December 1965 (the Battalion Landing Team left Long Beach, CA, March 1, 1966, for the start of our tour.) Being an extra man in the mortar platoon, I became one of the platoon’s mule/jeep drivers. We were attached to Lima Co. and on our numerous combat operations (when there was nothing to drive) I was the rear guard and/or accompanied the platoon Lieutenant when need be. When we were stationary, I was, usually, an outpost guard.

 Being well trained, (and after that first initial contact with combat,) any fearful expectations were gone and replaced with an instant, automatic, sixth sense of caution I defined as “an edge” that remained with me the entire tour. Those countless adrenalin surges that took place during the action we saw on our search and destroy operations were addictive. Add to that the number of times you were aware that you had defied death, and this makes for a lifelong, unfading experience. One thing I took away from our battalions’ combat operations was an affirmation of the statement which is on the Marine Corps War Memorial “Uncommon Valor Was a Common Virtue.”

 With our battalion having multiple search and destroy operations, the preliminary basics at the start of our combat actions were routine; eating a steak and egg breakfast, boarding the UH-34D Sikorsky helicopter on the deck of our converted aircraft carrier, flying over rice paddies and jungle to a clearing that would become our Landing Zone, and beginning the search and destroy operation. Once landed, we were continually on the move for ten, twenty, or thirty days at a time with intermittent resupplies of water, c-rations, and ammunition from similar copters, before returning to the ship.

 The detailed objectives while on these combat operations differed with varied rules of engagement. On most of our operations the rule was caution there could be friendlies in the area. Occasionally we would enter a “free fire zone” where anyone observed was the enemy and to be eliminated.

 Following several operations, we would float east from the Viet Nam coast, across the South China Sea, back to Subic Bay, Philippines for either a few days of training or an occasional “Cinderella Liberty” in Olongapo City. The latter always proved to be a boisterous “eat, drink and be merry . . .” affair for us before returning to the combat zone. 

 A few of our operations were with the Army of the Republic of Viet Nam. On one of these operations an ARVN Officer, who spoke French and did not speak English, wanted to interact with some of the enlisted Marines. One of those enlisted Marines turned out to be me, since I still remembered enough high school French to be conversant with him. We talked and had chow together by combining our c-rations with his rations and placing them together in a center circle sharing the meal.

 We disembarked from the Princeton after approximately three months and became land based in-country, near Chu Lai, carrying out the same search and destroy operations. In December of 1966, I was transferred to the 1^st MP Battalion at Da Nang Airbase until I rotated back to “the world” in April 1967.

 Returning combat veterans from all past conflicts have faced reentrance into a civilian world. A world in which we have had previous experience with and now try to recapture with our expanded perspective on reality. These learned priorities based on combat experiences are unique only to a military minority in the total population. To this day I just attempt decorum when encountering the dramatic day to day priorities of the civilian majority which usually seem mundane and insignificant to me.

 Following the combat tour, everything associated with stateside duty seemed to be disciplined tedium. Completing my Marine Corps enlistment at the end of the “60’s” I was not in any immediate hurry to join the workforce and jump into the civilian “establishment.” I decided to do a roving “beach bum” thing in Florida for several months to acclimate myself to the civilian world from which I had been estranged. Amid the distractions in what appeared a paradoxical existence to me, I determined my “American Dream” would be to achieve and maintain a consistent personal comfort zone in this civilian environment.

Andrew Syor

Landing Zone Levity (Humor in Uniform)

now the time was then

and as history repeats

then the time was now*

(*From my “A Sentimental Journey” mixed haiku/senryu blogged here in 2017)

Landing Zone Levity (Humor in Uniform)

If it wasn’t for flashbacks, I’d have no memory at all.

The message being passed down the line was that this part of our search and destroy operation was considered finished and we were going to join up with the rest of the battalion at a different location for another operation already in progress.

The final helicopter was dropping down through the jungle and into our LZ’s small clearing. The vegetation around the landing zone was dense in every direction, and soon as the copter touched the ground all the remaining Marines started to scramble toward it. I was to be the last one onboard, and was walking backwards, toward the copter, from the perimeter, while exchanging fire with a group of hidden Viet Cong who had decided they were going to have the final word before we departed. Incoming automatic rounds had produced a straight line of bullet holes near the hatch running up toward the Door Gunner, who with his M-60, was also firing at the VC. Suddenly and simultaneously, the UH-34D was ascending, I was being pulled up and inside by my pack and the back of my utility belt, and a pair of hands were wrestling my M-14 away from me to make sure the safety was put on. Instinctively grabbing for my rifle, I saw that the hands belonged to my stern-faced lieutenant, who then handed it back to me.

No one spoke a word as we continued to climb up through the bush and finally leveled off.

To break the silence, I said, “Reminds me of the fig-owl-we Indians.” There wasn’t any response, but several quizzical faces looked in my direction. Continuing I said “You know, that group of Indians who were wandering the desert and finally climbed the highest mesa, looked around and said ‘Where the fig owl we?’” There were some guffaws from the others, and a slight grin from the lieutenant, as he shook his head, so I figured I was still in his ‘good books’ . . . for the moment anyway. . .

Andy Syor

Remembering an extended USMC Operation in I Corps with 3rd Battalion 5th Marines in 1966

Nothing future holds

could ever compare to this

exhilaration *

(*From my “We’re a Lot Like You Were” mixed haiku/senryu blogged here in 2019)

                                   

I sheathed my ka-bar after winning a territorial battle with a scorpion for a foxhole that was surrounded by sandbags. Returning to heating my C-ration coffee, it felt good to be stationary for a while after climbing so many mountainous hills. The days had turned into weeks and I had lost track of how many weeks, or even which ongoing operation we were now part of. All I knew is we were at a very high elevation and had been butting heads with some North Vietnamese Army regulars for some time now.

Like the majority of my peers, one constant on my mind was anticipating becoming a “short timer” and returning to “the world.” I figured it must be early fall and two thirds of my combat tour should soon be finished with only the one third remaining. The Rolling Stones song "The Last Time" had been my mantra over the past eight or nine months and was keeping me centered. I had found, in the repetitiveness of combat, even the rounds whistling past your ears became routine. I guess that was due to the sixth sense of awareness you acquire, a “combat edge" I called it, in these somewhat difficult situations. Personally, I'd always thought life was as complex as you make it and tried to remain as good natured as possible.

Being rested and available for guard duty, several of us drew straws for perimeter guard duty and I got one of the outposts. Then me, myself, and my M-14 left to check out our new digs.

    

The outpost was situated at the crest of a steep hill set back about one hundred yards from a barbed wire outer perimeter further down the incline. I was just settling in as a familiar Force Recon team, I knew casually from several of the past operations, walked up to my bunker. I joined them as they headed out toward the perimeter saying "So, where are you all off to?" as I opened the break in the barbed wire to let them out. "We’re going to grab one them NVA’s and bring him back for the interrogators, should only take an hour or two, so keep an eye out for us returning" was their reply. "Sure," I said, while securing the barbed wire behind them, "Hey, see if you can pick me up some of them French postcards that are going around while you're out there." They got a good chuckle at that as they were leaving and I walked back up the hill to the outpost to await their return. In a relatively short amount of time my adrenaline kicked in when I caught a glimpse of them storming back up the hill toward the gate with a blindfolded NVA. There was a hornet's nest of enemies behind them and soon the complete side of the hill was under heavy fire. I immediately headed toward the barbed wire, ending up crawling on my belly, and got to the gate just before they did to let them in. "What about my French postcards?" I shouted. "Get the hell out of here!" was their laughing response, just as our perimeter defense opened up, eliminating everything that was approaching outside the barbed wire.

With that ending well, I went back to contemplating on the next four or so months before I was to return to the "world" . . .

We're a Lot Like You Were (mixed Haiku/Senryu)

                                         (USMC WW 2 Okinawa)

We’re a Lot Like You Were

Chopper blades turning

first real moment has arrived

training now instinct

copter touches down

leaping out through turbulence

vigilant alert

 

expectation gone

we are at calm in this storm

ready for the next

all moving as one

ultimate esprit de corps

flowing through our veins

duels on battlefield

are definitely answered

making us stronger

nothing future holds

could ever compare to this 

exhilaration

life after combat

spent slowing down to catch up

this our enigma

Andy Syor

In late summer 1966 SLF BLT 3/5 goes ashore in Viet Nam to a permanent base

Civilians at ease

water buffalo, tiger

and cobra observe *

(*From my “USMC Combat Tour mixed Haiku Trilogy” blogged here in

2015)                                       

In late summer 1966, as the helicopters were picking us up at the end of an operation, we knew our Special Landing Force designation was over and we would not be returning to the converted WW2 aircraft carrier USS Princeton that had been our cramped home for the past few months. Before we deployed, we had staged our sea bags to be sent to some squad sized tents that had been set up on shore. The time of our floating days as Battalion Landing Team 3/5 had ended and we were moving to a land base camp somewhere in the suburbs of Chu Lai. 3^rd Battalion 5^th Marines would embark on all future search and destroy operations from there.

For me, the shipboard life had combat seasoned myself and our Battalion, and was part of an "eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die" adventure I'd read and thought about as a child. I enlisted in the Marine Corps mainly because they knew what they were doing from the jungle combat results of the Pacific theater in WW2. 

Our base camp was relatively peaceful, having only the occasional whistling of an incoming mortar round. We were in and out quite frequently on operations and it was nice place to come back to where you could feel better connected to those inhabitants of Viet Nam we were fighting for.

Most of the residents spoke Vietnamese, French, and/or broken English. The only Vietnamese I knew were the swear words, but I did have two years of high school French, and I was as fluent as the two years of paying extra attention to my attractive blond French teacher could have made me.

                       

Our assistant cook, who was Vietnamese and employed by the base, took a liking to me as we got to know each other. Having perimeter guard duty while at the base, I usually ate in the mess hall at different times from the rest of the battalion and had the time to chat with him. One day he invited me to his home for dinner with his family and I said "of course," but first I needed to clear it with the "powers that be," who said okay.

His family was very warm to me and filled me in on their local history. I thoroughly enjoyed the home cooking menu they had prepared which was ox and noodles, barracuda and rice, with local vegetables, both delicious and exotic and much better than the regular mess hall chow.

When the evening of socializing and dinner came to an end, I left their home and walked back to base thinking to myself "what a shame it was the 'state side' reporters never wanted to hear any of the good stories that were available."

Transferred to MP's at Danang Airbase for the final third of my 13 month combat tour.

Out of the jungle

transferred to urban combat

adjust momentum *

(*From my "USMC Combat Tour Trilogy" (mixed Haiku/Senryu blogged here in 2015)

Third Battalion Fifth Marines was the last battalion of the First Marine Division to land in Viet Nam and would stay in-country for five years (1966-1971.) The tour of duty per Marine was to be thirteen months, so transfers had to be made in country to keep the battalion at full capacity and not have all the original Marines leave at one time.  My transfer came in late 1966, after two thirds of my tour, to the 1st MP's Battalion at the Danang Airbase, which was pleasantly different from the previous fifteen to thirty days jungle and rice paddy multiple search and destroy operations I had become used to with 3/5.

Having a Government driver’s license, I was the CO's driver and occasionally the Captain would tell me to get a jeep to do a convoy routes security check in and out of the base. We were on a first name basis and it always felt to me he was the sheriff and I was his deputy. Whenever we ran into a skirmish, or some other problem, he would go one way with his priorities and I would go another way after mine. When I returned, if the jeep was still there, I waited for the Captain, and if the jeep was gone, I found my own way back to base usually by hitching a ride with a passing convoy going in that direction.

Another interesting duty I did with the MP’s was to a walk along the jet fuel pipeline that ran into the base from the tankers in the harbor. This was a dusk-to-dawn mile or so long patrol where you would walk back and forth to the beach from the base, making sure everything remained secured.  During the daylight there was a lot of work being done along this pipeline, but after dark there was a curfew and everyone, including the local police, knew this was a “free fire zone” no-man’s land and you could be shot on sight.

This reminds me of the time a Force Recon team I knew from several operations in my 3/5 days, made known they were walking toward me on the pipeline one night. I said “Man, can't I hide from you guys anywhere?" We all laughed, and then they explained they were not interested in checking in and wanted me to get them a case of 45 caliber rounds for their grease guns. I told them I would stop by the ammo dump before my duty began the next evening and bring them a case. I didn't mention their presence to anyone and the following night I brought them their rounds and they were on their way. 

There was, also, a duty patrol that was an "on call" type of roaming around the base, sort of like walking a beat. On this patrol I once was sent to quell a disturbance at the EM club between some Marine convoy drivers and some Seabees. There was a brawl going on when I arrived and I was not able to get anyone’s attention, so I fired a round in the ceiling. Seeing me standing in the center of the room with the MP band on one arm and a raised 45 in the other was all that was needed to let them know it was time to move on. I quickly got on my radio with the results, "disturbance handled, all secure" and moved on myself, before anyone at my dispatch heard about the discharging of a pistol on base. Not being one for excessive paperwork and reports, I tried to use the "all secure" response as much as possible. Similarly, there was an occasion where I'd found one of the UN "Observers" snooping around near a restricted area. I told him where he was and to “get the hell out of there.” I then personally mentioned that incident to my CO.

Having a lot of freedom between duties, if I heard someone from my old battalion was on the hospital ship in the harbor, I would make arrangements to visit them.

For my last week in 'Nam, the only duty I had was to man one of the sandbagged bunkers on the base perimeter. I would have much rather done a foot patrol somewhere, but that's the way it was when you were “next” to return to “the world.” On my last night, there was an incoming mortar barrage, and I spent the night listening to the whistling of the rounds, wandering where they would hit.

As for my total Viet Nam tour, a line from a Led Zeppelin song says it all for this grunt everyman, “Good times, bad times, you know I had my share."