Khe Sanh Veterans Association Inc.

Red Clay
Newsletter of the Veterans who served at Khe Sanh Combat Base,
Hill 950, Hill 881, Hill 861, Hill 861-A, Hill 558
Lang-Vei and Surrounding Area

Issue 48     Winter  2001

Short Rounds

Home
In This Issue
Notes from Editor and Board   Incoming   Memoirs   In Memoriam  
  Email   A Sprinkling of your Poetry
Reunion 2001 Chicago

Articles in this Section
The Red Clay of Khe Sanh   Marines are Different   Tu Is Sick   Time to Remember
 From Joseph Olszewski   Reunion Memories   By James I. Marino   My Heart's Content
Marine/Army Artillery   A Walk in the Clouds   The Khe Sanh Combat Base

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    When I first arrived in Vietnam, I was assigned to A Company 3RD Shore Party. Prior to this assignment I had no idea what function this unit provided to the Marine Corps. A Co was a small unit responsible for airlifting supplies to outposts on the surrounding hills--water, small arms and artillery ammunition, including combat vehicles. At Khe Sanh, A Co was located on the base at the point of the runway where aircraft made the turn to take off after dumping their cargo. It was a very hazardous area where the NVA had zeroed in their heavy 122mm rockets, knowing how vulnerable the aircraft were at this point. The NVA hit this area with rocket and mortar fire each time an aircraft attempted to take off from the airstrip.

One day the NVA made a direct hit on one of the C-12Ys attempting to take off from the runway. Both pilots were wounded and I assisted in removing them from the wrecked aircraft. The wreckage was dragged off the airstrip and pushed into a large crater that had been previously made, when a 122mm rocket hit a pallet of land mines. This area was very close to our base camp and made us a little nervous, putting that large target right next to our position. One day a Major walked by the position and upon observing the aircraft sitting in this huge hole asked what the hell made that? I jokingly replied" the new 300mm Artillery piece the enemy was now using."

We also had HST teams assigned to units throughout the Khe Sanh area. They were stationed on the outlying hills and other defensive perimeters. An HST team was comprised of two men--one a radio operator and the other called a "Teme." Their main function was to set up areas where supply helicopters could land and re-supply the troops, no matter where they were located. Their duties also required the HST teams to bring in Medivac helicopters for wounded Marines. These duties often required the HST teams to be out in the open subjecting them to constant mortar attacks from the NVA attempting to knock out the supply helicopters.

Drop Zones

   After the C-123 was hit, aircraft did not land on the airstrip. Supplies were loaded onto metal skids and pushed off the aircraft as they flew a few feet off the runway. This worked, until a few of the skids overshot the runway and went right through some Marine tents. They then started airdropping supplies into a drop zone, which they created. I had to work the "drop zone" a few times and it too had its drawbacks. The term "heads up" had a true meaning. Due to the fog which was a constant nemesis, you could hear the planes but could not see them. All of a sudden there were hundreds of skids falling all around, and you had to constantly dodge them to avoid being crushed by a pallet of C-rations. When the B-52 strikes started, it slowed down the NVA shelling and took a lot of the stress off of us. I was then able to spend some flee time raiding the C-Rations for the coveted meat balls and beans.

A lot has been said of Khe Sanh, and the soil resembling red clay, which comprised most of the area surrounding it. Due to the environment and constant shelling from NVA forces, it took a certain breed to stay sane. The dirt would get into everything, even letters sent home. There were many times, no one would dare use the shower or outdoor heads the Navy had constructed. Those were two places you did not want to get caught in during the constant shelling. We had a E-5 Sergeant who almost got blown up during a barrage while using the head and he swore that one of us had flagged him. He actually had us line up in formation attempting to find out what happened, not believing that we had received incoming. That in itself was a dumb move, lining us up in an area under constant shelling. No one ever found out what really happened.

The base chaplain was an interesting guy. I was relaxing in the outhouse and a 122mm artillery round came in and hit directly behind it, next to 3rd Engineers positions. Out the front door I went, pants down around my ankles. I crawled over to the makeshift Navy shower and there he was, sitting inside of it, with this uncanny smile on his face. After I got my pants back up, I mentioned to him that the place he was sitting was not the safest place to be. As I crawled to a bunker, he did not move a muscle, just sat there with a grin on his face.

The Life Of Close Calls

While at Dong Ha, waiting to leave Charlie LSA for a trip back to Khe Sanh, I was bumped off a resupply helicopter. As fate had it, that same helicopter was shot down approximately 10 miles from the combat base. Getting pinned down while unloading supplies was a constant occurrence. One day while attaching a load of supplies destined for Hill 881S, a large gust of wind and smoke hit me. When I looked down I observed a large round had hit inside of the revetment. I waved off the helicopter pilot and dove into a small bunker next to the revetment, as a second round landed. That second round left a hole approximately 2 feet deep next to the small bunker I was in. My luck finally ran out on March 18, 1968. While loading skids of airlift parachutes for transportation back to Danang, a mortar barrage wounded myself and two others from A Co 3rd Shore Party. I received a wound to my left thigh and one of my best buddies from boot camp, Ron Kiger, was wounded in the calf. The other young Marine later died of a head wound. I spent a month at D Med in Dong Ha and returned to duty at the KSCB.

I want to show my appreciation for the efforts of Sergeant English, who taught me what I had to know to survive at Khe Sanh. I was saddened to hear that after we left Khe Sanh, he developed a problem and was sent back to the states to a mental hospital. Some did crack up from all the incoming, and had to be sent to Danang. I was sent to FLC (Red Beach) to ration supply company and spent my last days in Vietnam working in the refer banks, handing out food for the mess halls. It seemed that no matter where you went the NVA followed with his 122mm rockets. At FLC, we had a radio station whose antennas had lights that blinked off and on, the NVA utilized them as aiming stakes.

Jerome B. Howell
US Marines, 1966/1970
3rd Shore Party Battalion, 3rd Mar Div "A" Co.
In country:
November 27th 1967 to December 18th 1968.

Top Side

Michael W. Rodriguez
Copyright 1995-1999

What follows is a response to a message sent by a member of an Internet discussion list on the elite status of combat units.

Yes, all combat units did well in Vietnam; some better than others. We all suffered our people being hurt; we all felt the loss of our people KIA. No one would deny the heartfelt agony of losing a brother.

The United States Marine Corps was in the wrong war, in the wrong place, for all the right reasons, driven by the wrong damn rationale. Somewhere in the world a war was happening and the Marines were being left out; not good, someone decided. So, in March 1965, the Marines landed at Danang to begin a six-year-long adventure.

If the recent traffic on an Internet discussion list shows anything, it demonstrates that Marines are perceived as different from the rest of the combat arms of the United States armed forces. Detractors (none on the list in question) said that Marines are different only because they think they are. I say, the effect is the same. I take from no man the performance of individual rifle companies during the war in Vietnam. I do question, however, the dedication of the "higher-higher" to their people in that same war. But I digress...

The 1st and 3rd Marine Divisions were tasked in I Corps, from 1965 to 1968, with blocking the movement of NVA division's intent on driving to the south. Two undermanned Marine divisions, spread from Chu Lai and An Hoa in the south, and up to Con Thien and Khe Sanh in the north, were all that stood between these people and the rest of South Vietnam. We were not allowed to employ the tactics learned, at great expense, in Haiti and Nicaragua in the 1930s, nor were we allowed the freedom of movement into the North (except for a few minor excursions.)

"Elite" is a term often thrown about, carelessly, and with little thought to its ultimate application. The term implies specialized training, esprit de corps, and the constant motivation that we are different. The United States Army builds huge divisions of men, then creates Special Forces, Airborne divisions, Ranger companies, LRRP companies, and Cavalry divisions and labels them all as elite. What then happens is that the regular divisions are seen as less than elite, at the same time that they send their people to perform their duties, who, of course, now see themselves as Grunts, less than noteworthy, less than spectacular, less than elite. The ultimate effect could have been, and in some cases was, ruinous.

Every Marine is a Rifleman, says the Corps, but a cook is a cook in the Army. The Army of the United States is not less; the United States Marine Corps is simply...different. Too often during the war in Vietnam, we were out-shot, out-gunned, outmanned; we were ambushed and lost people; we were often hungry and in tattered uniforms; we were always short of the three B's: bullets, beans, and band-aids. But no Marine I ever knew, volunteer or draftee, having to serve in Vietnam, would have served as anything else. Two divisions of United States Marines...

Someone on that Internet discussion list once remarked that there is no glory in dying, that one is simply dead. I submit that Glory is in the living. As William Crawford once said, "My pride in having served in the Marine Corps is obvious..." Semper Fi.

We have all heard the haunting song "TAPS." It's the song that gives us that lump in our throats and usually creates tears in our eyes, But do you know the story behind the song? If not, I think you will be pleased to find out about its humble beginnings.

Reportedly, it all began in 1862 during the Civil War, when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison's Landing in Virginia. The Confederate Army was on the other side of the narrow strip of land. During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans of a soldier who lay severely wounded on the field. Not knowing if it was a Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain decided to risk his life and bring the stricken man back for medical attention.

Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, the Captain reached the stricken soldier and began pulling him toward his encampment. When the Captain finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but the soldier was dead. The Captain lit a lantern and suddenly caught his breath and went numb with shock. In the dim light, he saw the face of the soldier. It was his own son. The boy had been studying music in the South when the war broke out. Without telling his father, the boy enlisted in the Confederate Army.

The following morning, heartbroken, the father asked permission of his superiors to give his son a full military burial despite his enemy status. His request was only partially granted. The Captain had asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for his son at the funeral. The request was turned down since the soldier was a Confederate. But, out of respect for the father, they did say they could give him only one musician.

The Captain chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of the dead youth's uniform. This wish was granted. The haunting melody, we now know as "Taps" used at military funerals was born.

Day is done
Gone the Sun
From the Lakes
From the hills
From the sky.
All is well,
Safely rest.
God is nigh.
Fading light
Dims the sight
And a star Gems the sky,
Gleaming bright From afar,
Drawing nigh,
Falls the night.
Thanks and praise,
For our days,
Neath the sun,
Neath the stars,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.

I too, have felt the chills while listening to "Taps" but I have never seen all the words to the song until now. I didn't even know there was more than one verse I also never knew the story behind the song and I didn't know if you had either so I thought I'd pass it along. I now have an even deeper respect for the song than I did before.

Top Side

Bob Donoghue
FOB-3

Tu is a Bru montagnard tribesman currently living in Huong Hoa district (Khe Sanh), Quang Tri province Vietnam. In 1968, Tu was my interpreter on recon team Tiger. The majority of our Bru at FOB-3 knew, at the most, only a few words of English.

One night during the height of the Siege, an incident happened that, while at the time was extremely serious, has now taken on a more humorous flavor. At approximately 10pm, Tu was on guard duty watching over our teams sector of the perimeter. Safely inside our sandbagged bunker, several members of the team and I were enjoying some quiet time. Another Bru team member, Rai, went out into the trench line to relieve Tu of his guard duties. A minute or two later, Rai returned rather excited and said that Tu was sick, and immediately left. We didn't think too much about it and continued our conversation. A minute or two later Rai returned, again repeated his previous message of "Ha si Bob, Tu sick," then left. Shortly there after, another Bru entered the bunker and said, "Ha si Bob, Tu very sick." I grabbed my weapon and decided to see what the problem was. About 20 feet down the trench line lay Tu in a pool of blood. A sniper had shot him in the thigh and he was lying there waiting for me to get him medical attention. Fortunately the round had gone cleanly through without hitting any bone. After being med-evac to Quang Tri, Tu returned to duty several weeks later without any lasting effects.

Thirty years later and about 8 miles from the old Combat Base, I sat with my friend Tu in his simple little house on stilts and we reflected back on those dark days of the Siege and how I didn't think that being "sick" was too important.

Top Side

Billy Roble

It has been two years since I spent a Fourth of July holiday in the USA. The last was at a beautiful ceremony the men of Echo Company, 2nd Marine Division, 26th Marine Regiment bestowed to my brother Joe's memory on July 3rd, 1998 during the Khe Sanh Veterans Reunion, in Washington, D.C.

This year, since I am living and working in Korea, I had little time to think about the Fourth of July and of those past events. I called my mother, Anna Roble, a few days after the Fourth, realizing she had just participated in the Fourth of July celebration in our home town of Latrobe, Pennsylvania.

She had been selected as a Gold Star Mother representative, and was asked to ride in the local parade this year. The weather wasn't as kind as it was in 1998, and my poor mother was stuck in a car in the middle of a rainy parade. She was soaked, but nevertheless, fulfilled her duty. She told me how comical she looked running through the streets holding up her long dress so it wouldn't get wet. She will be 77 this year and she still never ceases to amaze me with her youthful spirit. People here ask if I miss her, and I think it is the most ridiculous question. Of course, I do!

During our conversation and following the usual updates, the topic eventually turned to the reunion and the ceremony at which Joe was awarded the Bronze Star. I asked her how she felt about all that took place.

Initially she was surprised, as we all were, that 30 years after the fact, Joe was now being honored. She decided from the start that she wanted the men who served with Joe, and those who were responsible for getting 'him the award to be there and to participate, which is how the decision was made to conduct the ceremony during the reunion, if possible. Though I made contacts and helped, the decisions were hers. While the Marine Corps had informed us of the award earlier, it was the Khe Sanh Veterans Organization that was responsible for arranging to hold the presentation ceremony at Arlington, and putting together a ceremony that not only met but exceeded Mom's wishes.

Everyone was so kind we didn't know how to thank them. Our entire family was overwhelmed, especially my mother, with everything that took place that day and during that reunion. The stories Joe's buddies shared were so full of emotion and respect that my mother felt sorrow and pride simultaneously. She was very glad to know that even during the hell of war, there were happy moments and that Joe was able to lift the spirits of his buddies. She especially remembers and felt pride when former Captains John Cregan and Earle Breeding said words to the effect of, "Having so many men, you can't remember all the names, but I do remember one--Joe Roble!"

Our discussion cleared my head and helped me to remember many events of that day. One in particular was that I had asked that they not play Taps during the ceremony. I did this mainly out of respect for my sister Toni who requested such, as well as for my mother and others who attended Joe's funeral in '68. I had no idea they would do it at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and when they did, I immediately looked at Toni, eyes streaming with tears and said, "I'm sorry!" She knew it wasn't my fault and hugged me.

When the ceremony began, I was amazed at how many people were in attendance. There was much to see at Arlington, but everyone stayed for the ceremony. As Joe's buddies spoke their heartfelt words, I saw the same men I was laughing and joking with the day before, suddenly choking back sobs, but resilient in showing their love and remembrance of, and completing their duty to, my brother. I was proud, sad and just about every emotion possible, as was the rest of my family during the hour or more the ceremony lasted.

There were even a few things that some people might call mistakes in the ceremony. Earle Breeding trying to speak, but being interrupted when the clock struck ten, and also when he tried to end the ceremony before the award was presented! We could not have had a better emcee for the event, and we could not have had a better audience. These events that some would view as mistakes or foul-ups, my family viewed as true perfections; these were the people-the most sincere people--who knew and served with Joe, and these little human glitches embodied the humor and life that were my brother Joe.

The biggest surprise for me personally that day was when my sister Toni brought my ten-year-old nephew Danny to me. She was crying and brought him to me begging me to take him. That morning I had explained to him the history of Arlington and all the veterans that were buried there. As I looked at him and saw his tears, I realized the ceremony and all he had seen and heard for the past two days had deeply affected him. I hugged him, and he said he wished he could have known Joe. I told him I wish I could have known him too, as I was only four years old in 1968. I was happy to see that he understood, but sad to see him cry, and sorry that he had to at such a tender age.

Though we were among "strangers," none of us felt that, and truly, we were not. Everyone there had felt the same loss, be it a buddy or a loved one. The ceremony was for everyone. The veterans there represented all veterans; we represented every family of loved ones; and Joe represented every lost warrior. I know he must have been proud, and our family, and again, especially my Mother, still is. We truly hope that it touched the hearts of all those in attendance as it did our family--and hope it is not too late to say thanks.

Semper Fidelis!
Billy Roble July 2000
Vietnam Editor,

Top Side

I attended the Father Brett Dedication ceremony this past Tuesday at Newport, Rhode Island.

Newport is beautiful, and the Navy base is the best one I've seen in a long time. Besides the Chaplains School, they also have a War College there and a JAG school. The base also has a new hospital and there are two old carriers and a battleship (we thought is was the Iowa) as part of a mothball fleet.

Besides Father Brett's nephew, Ed Rouse, there were about a dozen Brett relatives in attendance. Ed's two daughters, his brother and his family, Ed's parents (who celebrated their 47th Wedding Anniversary on the day of the Ceremony), at least two of Father Brett's brothers and even Father Brett's mother.

From the KSV organization, Dennis Mannion attended after having just returned from a trip to Khe Sanh about three weeks ago. Eric Smith, a Golf 2/26 veteran, was there from Boston as were four other KSVs from the East Coast whose names I cannot remember.

Having arrived in Newport the day before the ceremony, Ed Rouse took me and one of his uncles (who is a Catholic priest in Philadelphia) to Brett Hall for an early tour.

I had no previous idea that Brett Hall was so large. It's three stories tall and has a basement conference room, which is named after Lance Corporal Alexander Chin who was Father Brett's assistant and who was also killed on February 22, 1968, in a trench alongside a runway at the Khe Sanh Combat Base. The building is filled with training rooms, a computer training room, chapels for four separate faiths, a library, offices for all the Chaplains School staff, "leadership laboratories" and a lunch/break room. I never knew the Navy had such a large staff and a facility this expansive just to train Chaplains.

Some of the displays on the walls or located in cabinets were impressive. There are portraits of each Chaplain who was killed in action (KIA.) Pictures of six Navy ships named after select KIA Chaplains, autobiographies, a portrait of LCPL Alexander Chin wearing his helmet and flack jacket. Also assorted bells and compasses from Navy ships. One display table just outside the Catholic Chapel holds all the medals and assorted personal belongings of Father Brett, including his binder with all his orders or other military documents.

Most impressive to me was a framed pennant. It's the Chaplains pennant that flew on whatever aircraft carrier picked up the crew of Apollo 11 after the first moon landing. The pennant has four autographs on it--President Richard Nixon, Nell Armstrong, "Buzz" Aldrin and Michael Collins.

The ceremony on August .8th was well organized, but the weather was very hot. Of the 500 plus attendees, most began by sitting in the available chairs but within a half-hour many were seeking shade under the few trees that were available. The Navy coordinated the Dedication with a Chaplains School class graduation of 47 graduates. Among the guest speakers were Rear Admiral Barry Black, the Chief of Chaplains; Captain Patricia Drislane, Commanding Officer of the Naval Education and Training Center; General Charles E. Wilhelm, USMC, Commander of. US Southern Command; and, lastly, Father Frank ú Brett (Father Brett's Brother), who gave the Invocation.

General Wilhelm gave the best speech. He opened his speech by talking directly to the graduates and saying "I know all of you prayed yesterday for good weather today." (It had rained heavily in Newport on Monday morning.) "But, this is what happens when you pray too hard." I met with him briefly after the ceremony at a reception that was held in Brett Hall. My hand still hurts from his handshake.

Besides Brett and Chin family members, the attendees included the families of the graduates, a few Khe Sanh veterans, other staff members of the Chaplains school and a large number of VFW veterans, all adorned in those brown covers. An article had appeared in The Providence Journal on Monday in a special Veterans Journal section of the newspaper, so many local veterans were aware of the Ceremony and no doubt attended. The Navy had a ten-piece band, there were several Marines in Dress Blues and a group of Marines were even walking a Bulldog around during the ceremony.

The only other former 2/26 officer besides myself who attended was retired Lt. Colonel Gerald Kurth. He and his son, Chris, attended the ceremony and the reception. During the Siege, Gerald Kurth was a Major and the 2/26 Operations Officer (S-3).

In addition to the speeches and the awarding of diplomas to each of the graduates, the ceremony consisted of reading the names of all the 16 KIA Chaplains including the date and location of their deaths. I can recall two who died in WWII POW camps. After each name was read, a bell from a Navy ship that is located on the veranda leading into the Brett Hall, was rung twice.

Another touching moment of the ceremony was the unveiling of the "Brett bas-relief," which is a bronzed plaque of Father Brett including his autobiography. It is located on the veranda entrance to Brett Hall in between the two sets of doorways.

After the ceremony there was a reception inside of Brett Hall and an outdoor tent with refreshments. I approached and talked to many of the speakers, some of the graduates and met some of the KSVs who attended. One of the attendees, who I met during the reception, was a former Navy Pilot who had been in the same Hanoi POW camp with John McCain for five years.

It was a great day for the Navy and for the eternal memory of Father Robert Brett and LCPL Alexander Chin. I remember them both.

Joseph Olszewski
Alamo, California

Top Side

I had the good fortune to attend the Khe Sanh Veteran' Association Reunion the weekend before our FAC Reunion 2000. I was one of two USAF guys there, the vast majority being Marines, with some Army troops there as well. It was an entirely different occasion. These vets were wrapped into their Khe Sanh wartime experiences in a way that few of us can fathom. The intense camaraderie was there, but some vets even searched for people with whom they had a bone to pick over life and death tactical field decisions made long ago.

A large part of the Saturday was dedicated to a special session on "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder PTSD." (Federal Program Reps were there to help.) The testimonials would rip your heart out. Picture a fellow vet standing in front of about 50-60 comrades unable to continue describing the demons that had welled up from within him during the past year, over 30 years after the fact. Then there were a dozen standing around him to comfort and support.

Just visualize that, then try to convince me that there is no place for the serious, spiritual aspects of the experiences we had in that same war, and for some, in those same spaces and circumstances. I am proud as I can be about the 'job we all did as FACs.

Frankly, I include our "brethren" to be among what the founder of the Khe Sanh Veterans (KSV) Association refers to when he says: "never before or since have I encountered a group so consistently and universally of such great human stature."

To say that it is inappropriate for us FACs to share the more serious side of our experiences in the wartime, life-defining events we were part of is beyond my comprehension. I enjoy talking about the color of tracers, aircraft tail numbers, who was there and when. What happened that I didn't know or was mistaken about, but to talk only about those things makes it a pretty limited, shallow "hobby shop." I truly hope it doesn't become limited to just that. I think we should seek, perhaps just allow, more from ourselves. We'll see?

Ya know? This is hard, kinda like running around naked in public?

NOTE: One recurrent theme from my discussions with the KSV Reunion troops was, "How can we get more FACs, B-52 supports, Airlifters and others who supported us to join our group?" For those interested, let me offer the following KSV website address: http://www.geocities.com/pentagon/4867/index.html

A most sincere "Aloha!" to you all!
Toby Rushforth
Covey 152/252/Trail 67
1967-68

Top Side

Excerpts from an article By James I. Marino:

Khe Sanh was a deadly pas de deux in which General William C. Westmoreland called the tune
and General Vo Nguyen Giap paid the piper.
Excerpts from an article By James I. Marino:

From January to April 1968, the battle at Khe Sanh, perhaps the most controversial of the Vietnam War, raged for 77 days. The two opposing commanders, Generals William C. Westmoreland and Vo Nguyen Giap, used the Khe Sanh combat base and surrounding area for their own purposes. For Westmoreland, Khe Sanh evolved from a reconnaissance platform to a potential invasion launch point, to a strongpoint and, finally, to a killing ground. For Giap, the base was a testing ground and then a staging ground for an option play. Each general knew the other had plans for the area and at times, each thought he was manipulating the other. In the end, Khe Sanh became the point at which two strategies of two generals converged.

The prospects Westmoreland saw for Khe Sanh changed through the course of the war. Intelligence had been the primary reason for being at Khe Sanh in 1964 in the early stages of the war. In fact, recon forces from the base were the first to confirm that Main Force NVA units were operating inside South Vietnam. By 1966, Westmoreland had begun to consider Khe Sanh as part of a larger strategy. "I still hoped some day to get approval for a major drive into Laos to cut the Ho Chi Minh Trail," he said, "in which case I would need Khe Sanh as the base for the operation." In a meeting with Lt. Gen. Lewis Walt, commander of III Marine Amphibious Force (MAF), Westmoreland said that he placed great strategic importance on Khe Sanh. He believed it was absolutely essential to hold the base, which explains why he then ordered Marines there. In September 1966 MACV began detailed planning for an invasion into Laos, and an airfield was built at Khe Sanh in October.

Lieutenant General Robert Cushman, the new commander of III MAF, saw Khe Sanh as part of a shield below the DMZ for pacification in Quang Tri province. So while Westmoreland still hoped to use Khe Sanh in an offensive capacity, it was fit into a defensive scheme for I Corps. Hanoi's attacks into I Corps in 1966 and 1967, as perceived by Westmoreland, gave an added defensive dimension to Khe Sanh. The base and its adjacent outposts commanded the main avenue of approach into eastern Quang Tri and, as Westmoreland saw it, formed a solid block to an enemy invasion or motorized supply from the west. Westmoreland feared that the two northern provinces of I Corps would be the target of an invasion.

In February 1966, still leery of enemy intent, Westmoreland said to President Johnson at the Honolulu conference, "If I were Giap, I would take Hue." When the A Shau Valley Special Forces camp was captured in March, it appeared that perhaps his prediction would come true. Westmoreland believed that the capture of the Special Forces camp was a clue to the enemy's future plans. The general always viewed enemy actions in light of how they aided the Communist goal of seizing the northern provinces. To forestall an invasion, MACV launched Operation Hastings south of the DMZ in July 1966. By the end of 1966, the Communists had increased their maneuver battalions (infantry, armor and artillery) in I Corps from 26 to 45, most of which were NVA units. To defend I Corps, Westmoreland shifted more units into the area. By mid-1967, the allied forces outnumbered the NVA/VC units 86 to 54. But only two of these maneuver battalions were stationed at Khe Sanh, since it was just one of the strong points south of the DMZ.

While Westmoreland was pondering the invasion of Laos in early 1966, the Hanoi leadership determined that its strategy of protracted warfare using mostly irregular units had been stalemated on the battlefield. This led to a fundamental strategy change. As Don Oberdorfer says in "Tel! The Turning Point in the Vietnam War," during the First Indochina War, the Lao Dong Party had brilliantly coordinated military and diplomatic strategy to convince the French it would be madness to continue their struggle. The North Vietnamese leaders in 1966 believed it was necessary to move into a similar phase of simultaneous negotiating and fighting.

General Giap believed that an attack northward was Wesrmoreland's only logical next step. He also thought the United States planned to invade Laos to cur the Ho Chi Minh Trail, either in conjunction with an invasion of the North or as an entirely separate campaign. In an article published in September 1967, Giap wrote that his major concern was that the United States would expand the conflict beyond South Vietnam's borders, and that an American landing in North Vietnam might have disastrous consequences for the North Vietnamese regime. Because he had originally opposed it, Giap had not been given command of the offensive, but with the death of General Nguyen Chi Thanh, Giap became its architect and commander.

Nonetheless, Giap insisted that the defense of North Vietnam held top priority, regardless of any other actions by the Communist forces. Robert Pisor, in "The End Of The Line: A Narrative History of the Siege of Khe Sanh" describes Giap's preparations for an allied invasion of North Vietnam: "He prepared his people and his armed forces for invasion. Nearly 300,000 soldiers of the People's Army were at home, arrayed in depth to receive the Americans. Every hamlet and village had many bunkers, trenches, and fighting positions. Even schoolgirls took bayonet drill."

The North Vietnamese forces were ready, but Giap and Hanoi still had to determine what the Americans planned to do. Hanoi needed to know how the United States would respond to a Communist buildup and offensive. If Communist movements triggered a U.S. counterattack into North Vietnam or Laos, then the NVA must be ready to respond, and Giap would be able to terminate the General Offensive/General Uprising at that moment and revert to a defensive posture. He needed to test Westmoreland's as well as Washington's response. He decided to launch attacks near the DMZ. The U.S. response to this tactical phase would help Giap formulate and develop the offensive he was to command.

The battles along the DMZ near Cam Lo, Khe Sanh, Con Thien, Camp Carroll, Quang Tri city, the Rockpile and Route 9, from March to August 1967, served as the test. During this time, Giap placed five NVA divisions and three NVA regiments near or in Quang Tri. Westmoreland responded to the assaults with more units and firepower in I Corps. The NVA soldiers incurred heavy losses, but when Westmoreland did not send U.S. troops into either North Vietnam or Laos, Hanoi believed the United States would continue to react only defensively.

After the border battles of October and November 1967, Giap returned his attention to the area along the DMZ, and the two northern provinces were placed under Giap's command. Because it was the closest base to Laos and North Vietnam, Khe Sanh became the location in Giap's opinion. The January 21 assault gave Giap the flexibility to use his forces for the most beneficial outcome. After the attack, Westmoreland still believed the primary target to be I Corps. In a cable to Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman General Earl Wheeler dated January 22, Westmoreland said that the enemy might launch a multi-battalion attack against Hue and Quang Tri, the capitals of the two northern provinces.

Even though the first contact between the Marines and the NVA divisions occurred on December 21, 1967, on December 27 Westmoreland ordered the Marines at Khe Sanh to scout assault routes into Laos, and he cabled Washington with a detailed proposal for a strike across the border. As late as December, Westmoreland had two objectives: enter Laos and defend I Corps. He did not seem to believe that the appearance of NVA forces around Khe Sanh was a diversion by Giap. In an article he wrote for the February 1993 issue of Vietnam, Westmoreland explained, "The most logical course for the enemy, it seemed to me, was to make a strong effort to overrun the two northern provinces while at the same time launching lesser attacks throughout the country." Intelligence information and MACV staff agreed with Westmoreland's perception.

By the beginning of January 1968, Westmoreland had completed a complex shift of American and South Korean units, code-named "Checkers," from around Saigon and out of the Highlands into I Corps. The day after the first assault on Khe Sanh, he moved the 1st Cavalry and 101st divisions into I Corps. The two divisions were placed 10 miles northwest of Hue--not near Khe Sanh. In his 1993 article, Westmoreland wrote that reconnaissance revealed the enemy was building a road in the A Shau Valley in the direction of Hue. The placement of the U.S. divisions provided Westmoreland with several options. He could move them to plug a breakthrough anywhere along the DMZ, counterattack any city captured by the VC, block a surprise flanking attack out of the A Shau Valley, relieve a surrounded base or lead the long-hoped-for assault into Laos. MACV viewed I Corps as the crucial zone in Vietnam that could determine the course of the war for the next several years. And Westmoreland thought Khe Sanh was the most crucial battlefield in the zone. But in January, Westmoreland received another rejection for the Laotian incursion. Then, on January 2, five high-ranking NVA officers were killed outside the Khe Sanh combat base. Westmoreland now anticipated an attack on Khe Sanh. He again changed the base's purpose--this time it would be made into a killing zone.

"If the North Vietnamese wanted to belly up to American defenses the way they had at Dak To and Loc Ninh and, although a threat to the Marines," General Pearson said, "it was an undeniable opportunity to direct concentrated air strikes against a known enemy position on a sustained basis." Westmoreland agreed. The year before he had crushed one division at Con Thien, where he learned that massed firepower is sometimes in itself sufficient to force a besieging enemy to desist. As Neil Sheehan wrote in "A Bright Shining Lie," Hanoi's ambition was Westmoreland's opportunity to bury Hanoi's divisions under a cascade of bombs.

Many Americans overreacted, thinking Khe Sanh would be another Dien Bien Phu. But the Khe Sanh siege was different. According to Peter Braestrup in his book "The Big Story," published in the 1980s, "The major differences between Khe Sanh and Dien Bien Phu [that] were observable in Vietnam during the siege concerned logistics, material, distance to friendly forces, besiegers' efforts to take ground, and the relative firepower of both sides." The main reasons Khe Sanh never became another Dien Bien Phu were firepower, air supply and Giap's option play.

During the Battle of Dien Bien Phu, the French had mustered 100 aircraft, while at Khe Sanh the Americans had more than 2,000 bombers and 3,000 helicopters on call. The French had launched an average of 189 sorties a day, dropping 175 tons of bombs, whereas U.S. air power averaged 320 sorties delivering 1,282 tons. The B-52s of Westmoreland's Operation Niagara unleashed 59,542 tons of ordnance. In 10 weeks the Air Force, Navy and Marines dropped 103,500 tons in a five-square-mile area around Khe Sanh. Westmoreland called it "one of the heaviest and most concentrated displays of firepower in the history of war."

Because of air supply by the Military Airlift Command, Khe Sanh could be considered not a siege like Dien Bien Phu but a battle in which the Marines were at the most forward salient in the front lines. In 1982, Khe Sanh veteran Captain William Dabney said: "In my understanding of the term, we were certainly not cut off from the outside world. We could reinforce, we could withdraw, we could resupply and we could support. We were in a position where land reinforcements would have been quite difficult but, in all senses, we were not besieged as such." The French dropped only 100 tons of supplies on average each day, but the Americans dropped 1,200 tons a day at the height of battle throughout all of February.

War, as Karl Von Clausewitz pointed out in 1832, is waged "against an animate object that reacts." A war is not a perfect series of cause-and-effect events. Nor is an offensive or battle a perfectly followed script. Opposing commanders are constantly changing, developing and reacting to each other. This state of flux makes the course of a war, an offensive or a battle dynamic and unpredictable. This happened in the Vietnam War between Giap and Westmoreland. Khe Sanh became the crossroads of the two generals. In a 1988 interview, Laura Palmer asked Westmoreland if he could sit down with any of the NVA commanders, who would it be and what would he ask him. The general replied, "Giap" and said he wanted to ask him why he launched the Tet Offensive, and how he knew that the Americans were not going to cross the Laotian or Cambodian borders. But those questions now have been answered.

A Hopatcong, N.J., high school history teacher, James I. Marino researched the Khe Sanh campaign as part of his graduate studies. Suggestions for further reading: "Vietnam at War," by Lt. Gen. Philip Davidson (Presidio); and "Window of Opportunity," by Captain Ronnie E. Ford, in the February 1995 issue of Vietnam; and the "Perspectives" article in the February 1993 issue, by General William C. Westmoreland.

Submitted by
 T. Arndt

Top Side

Thirty years of one man's truth
are up for reconsideration.

The true things always ambush me on the road and take me by surprise when I am drifting down the light of placid days, careless about flanks and rearguard actions. I was not looking for a true thing to come upon me in the state of New Jersey. Nothing has ever happened to me in New Jersey. But come it did and, it came to stay.

In the past four years I have been interviewing my teammates on the 1966-67 basketball team at the Citadel for a book I'm writing. For the most part this has been like buying back a part of my past that I had mislaid or shut out of my life. At first I thought I was writing about being young and frisky and able to run up and down a court all day long, but lately I realized I came to this book because I needed to come to grips with being middle-aged and having ripened into a gray-haired man you could not trust to handle the ball on a fast break.

When I visited my old teammate Al Kroboth's house in New Jersey, I spent the first hours quizzing him about his memories of games and practices and the screams of coaches that had echoed in fieldhouses more than 30 years before. Al had been a splendid forward-center for the Citadel; at 6 feet 5 inches and carrying 220 pounds, he played with indefatigable energy and enthusiasm. For most of his senior year he led the nation in field-goal percentage, with UCLA center Lew Alcindor hot on his trail. A1 was a battler and a brawler and a scrapper from the day he first stepped in as a Green Weenie as a sophomore to the day he graduated. After we talked basketball, we came to a subject I dreaded to bring up with Al, but which lay between us and would not lie still.

"Al, you know I was a draft dodger and antiwar demonstrator.""That's what I heard, Conroy," Al said. "I have nothing against what you did, but I did what I thought was right." "Tell me about Vietnam, big A. Tell me what happened to you," I said.

On his seventh mission as a navigator in an A-6 for Major Leonard Robertson, Al was getting ready to deliver their payload when the fighter-bomber was hit by enemy fire. Though Al has no memory of it, he punched out somewhere in the middle of the illfated dive and lost consciousness. He doesn't know if he was unconscious for six hours or six days, nor does he know what happened to Major Robertson (whose name is engraved on the Wall in Washington and on the MIA bracelet Al wears). When A1 awoke he couldn't move. A Viet Cong soldier held an AK47 to his head. His back and his neck were broken and he had shattered his left scapula in the fall. When he was well enough to get to his feet (he still can't recall how much time had passed), two armed Viet Cong led Al from the jungles of South Vietnam to a prison in Hanoi. The journey took three months. Al Kroboth walked barefooted through the most impassable terrain in Vietnam and he did it sometimes in the dead of night. He bathed when it rained, and he slept in bomb craters with his two Viet Cong captors. As they moved farther north, infections began to erupt on his body, and his legs were covered with leeches picked up while crossing the rice paddies.

At the very time of Al's walk, I had a small role in organizing the only antiwar demonstration ever held in Beaufort, South Carolina, home of Parris Island and the Marine Corps Air Station. In a Marine Corps town at that time, it was difficult to come up with a quorum of people who had even minor disagreements about the Vietnam War. But my small group managed to attract a crowd of about 150 to Beaufort's waterfront. With my mother and my wife on either side of me, we listened to the featured speaker, Dr. Howard Levy, suggest to the very few young enlisted Marines present that if they get sent to Vietnam, here's how they can help end this war:

Roll a grenade under your officer's bunk when he's asleep in his tent. It's called fragging and is becoming more and more popular with the ground troops who know this war is bullshit. I was enraged by the suggestion. At that very moment, my father, a Marine officer, was asleep in Vietnam. But in 1972, at the age of 27, I thought I was serving America's interests by pointing out what massive flaws and miscalculations and corruptions had led her to conduct a ground war in Southeast Asia.

In the meantime, Al and his captors had finally arrived in the North, and the Viet Cong traded him to North Vietnamese soldiers for the final leg of the trip to Hanoi. Many times when they stopped to rest for the night, the local villagers tried to kill him. His captors wired his hands behind his back at night, so he trained himself to sleep in the center of huts when the villagers began sticking knives and bayonets into the thin walls. Following the U.S. air raids, old women would come into the huts to excrete on him and yank out hunks of his hair. After the nightmare journey of his walk north, Al was relieved when his guards finally delivered him to the POW camp in Hanoi where the cell door locked behind him.

It was at the camp that Al began to die. He threw up every meal he ate and before long was misidentified as the oldest American soldier in the prison because his appearance was so gaunt and skeletal. But the extraordinary camaraderie among fellow prisoners that sprang up in all the POW camps caught fire in Al, in time to save his life.

When I was demonstrating in America against Nixon and the Christmas bombings in Hanoi, Al and his fellow prisoners were holding hands under the full fury of those bombings, singing "God Bless America." It was those bombs that convinced Hanoi that they would do well to release the American POWs including my college teammate. When he told me about the C-141 landing in Hanoi to pick up the prisoners, Al said he felt no emotion. None at all, until he saw the giant American flag painted on the plane's tail. I stopped writing as Al wept over the memory of that flag on that plane, on that morning, during that time in the life of America.

It was that same long night, after listening to Al's story, that I began to make judgments about how I had conducted myself during the Vietnam War. In the darkness of the sleeping Kroboth household, lying in the third-floor guest bedroom, I began to assess my role as a citizen in the '60s, when my country called my name, and I shot her the bird. Unlike the stupid boys who wrapped themselves in Viet Cong flags and burned the American one, I knew how to demonstrate against the war without flirting with treason or astonishingly bad taste. I had come directly from the warrior culture of this country, and I knew how to act.

But in the 25 years that have passed since South Vietnam fell, I have immersed myself in the study of totalitarianism during the unspeakable century we just left behind. I have questioned survivors of Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, talked to Italians who told me tales of the Nazi occupation, French partisans who had counted German tanks in the forests of Normandy, and officers who survived the Bataan Death March. I quiz journalists returning from wars in Bosnia, the Sudan, the Congo, Angola, Indonesia, Guatemala, San Salvador, Chile, Northern Ireland, Algeria.

As I lay sleepless, I realized I'd done all this research to better understand my country. I now revere words like democracy, freedom, the right to vote, and the grandeur of the extraordinary vision of the founding fathers. Do I see America's flaws? Of course. But, I now can honor her basic incorruptible virtues, the ones that let me walk the streets screaming my ass off that my country had no idea what it was doing in South Vietnam.

My country let me scream to my heart's content, the same country that produced both Al Kroboth and me.

Now, at this moment in New Jersey, I come to a conclusion about my actions as a young man when Vietnam was a dirty word to me. I wish I'd led a platoon of Marines in Vietnam. I would like to think I would have trained my troops well and that the Viet Cong would have had their hands full if they entered a firefight with us. From the day of my birth, I was programmed to enter the Marine Corps. I was the son of a Marine fighter pilot, and I had grown up on Marine bases where I had watched the men of the Corps perform simulated war games in the forests of my childhood. That a novelist and poet bloomed darkly in the house of Santini strikes me as a remarkable irony. My mother and father had raised me to be an Al Kroboth, and during the Vietnam era they watched in horror as I metamorphosed into another breed of fanatic entirely.

I understand now that I should have protested the war after my return from Vietnam, after I had done my duty for my country. I have come to a conclusion about my country that I knew then in my bones but lacked the courage to act on: America is good enough to die for even when she is wrong.

I looked for some conclusion, a summation of this trip to my teammate's house. I wanted to come to the single right thing, a true thing that I may not like but that I could live with. After hearing Al Kroboth's story of his walk across Vietnam and his brutal imprisonment in the North, I found myself passing harrowing, remorseless judgment on myself. I had not turned out to be the man I had once envisioned myself to be. I thought I would be the kind of man that America could point to and say, "There. That's the guy. That's the one who got it right, the whole package. The one I can depend on." It had never once occurred to me that I would find myself in the position I did on that night in Al Kroboth's house in Rosele, New Jersey: an American coward spending the night with an American hero.

"The Prince of Tides,"
"The Great Santini,"
"The Lords of Discipline,"
 and "Beach Music."
He lives on Fripp Island, South Carolina.
This essay is from his forthcoming book, "My Losing Season."

Top Side

Excerpts from the Vietnam Studies
Field Artillery 1954 to 1953

Written by
Major General David Ewing Ott

Khe Sanh

The 66-day battle of Khe Sanh, which began in January 1968 became a classic defensive operation for US Forces. It tested American concepts of defense and demonstrated that good fire support could effectively neutralize a superior force.

Khe Sanh sits atop a plateau in the shadow of the Dang Tri Mountains and overlooks a tributary of the Quang Tri River. Surrounding it on all sides are hills from which the North Vietnamese could shell the base. If controlled by the Marines, however, the hills would form a ring of protection for the base and afford good vantage points for detecting enemy movement. American involvement at Khe Sanh had begun in 1962, when Special Forces elements established a Civilian Irregular Defense Group camp at the site that was later known as the Khe Sanh Combat Base. Its purpose was to counter enemy infiltration through the area and provide a base for surveillance and intelligence-gathering operations in the western part of Northern I Corps. Marine units occupied the base in late 1966 and the Special Forces moved southwest to the village of Lang Vei.

Between late 1966 and late 1967, activity around the base fluctuated from heavy contact to none at all. Then in December 1967 a surge of enemy activity began. Reconnaissance teams reported large groups of North Vietnamese moving into the area.

Excerpts from the Hill Battles from the
Khe Sanh Veterans Web site

NVA presence in the Khe Sanh area increased; Khe Sanh was the nest from which the hornets stung them in Laos. (Gen. Giap was always interested in the area. He had been imprisoned at the prison at the D'Ai Lao, known as Lao Bao, 19301932 along with his brother Nho--a prison so harsh that prisoners rarely returned from it).

Contacts became more frequent. On 18 Jan '67, Cpl. Michael John Scanlon of the 3d Force Recon Co Det became the first USMC KIA at Khe Sanh. As a result of a contact 26-27 Jan, 4 USMC helicopters were lost. BN 1/9 arrived at Khe Sanh on 6 Feb '67 and made contact 25 Feb just 1500 meters west of the airstrip. Force Recon patrols reported significant NVA presence. On 16 Mar, the newly arrived E/2/9 made contact in which 18 Marines were KIA.

USAF pilots of TIGERHOUND reported: "an alarming buildup of fortifications and NVA activity on the hills overlooking the base."

Yet, the base commander was convinced there was little or no NVA presence or activity.

One of the SOG team leaders training indigenous for patrols into Laos conducted training patrols for his indigenous at Khe Sanh, including Hills 881North and South and 861. During a brief of the Khe Sanh commander, he reported numerous bunkers, lots of enemy, and recommended the hills be subject to "many, many hours of prepping with air strikes." Then I would form my artillery and I would lay a barrage and walk my troops up with a barrage of artillery in front of us. This Base Commander looked around and said, "Bullshit!" And the Captain looked at me and said, "Well, Sergeant, our briefing is completed." We turned around and walked out of there. And it was about a week, the Marines sent a Company up on that hill."

Casualties for 24 Apr were: 14 USMC KIA, 18 WIA, and 2 MIA, 5 NVA KIA (confirmed) and 100 KIA (probable). Support for 24 Apr: 660 rounds of 105mm and 8-fixed wing Sorties dropping 6500 pounds of ordnance.

The movement in itself was not irregular, but now the forces were staying, not passing through. The enemy was building up men and equipment in preparation for a siege. The enemy initiated major offensive action around Khe Sanh early in January 1968, when he shifted his emphasis from reconnaissance and harassment to actual probes of friendly positions.

On the night of 2 January, an outpost at the western end of the base reported six unidentified figures walking around outside the wire. When challenged, they made no reply and were taken under fire. Five of the six were killed. Later investigations disclosed that the dead included a North Vietnamese regimental commander and his operations and communications officers. The commitment of these key men to such a dangerous reconnaissance mission was a clear indication that something big was going to happen.

In the predawn hours of 21 January, the enemy began his anticipated move against Khe Sanh. Just after midnight, rockets and artillery shells began impacting on Hill 861 to he northwest of the city. A full scale ground attack followed, only to be repulsed after several hours of fighting.

(NOTE: The 175s of the 2/94th on Camp Carroll along with the tenacity of the Marines on the hill repulsed two attacking battalion's of NVA Regulars.)

At 0530, another intense barrage of 82ram shells and 122mm rockets hit Khe Sanh. Damage was substantial: a major ammunition dump and fuel storage area was destroyed.

When the news of the attack reached the United States, many questioned the feasibility of defending Khe Sanh. The base was isolated and with Route 9 interdicted, would have to be re supplied by air. Fearing Khe Sanh would become an American Dien Bien Phu, critics favored a pullout.

The problem, therefore, was not merely how to defend the base but whether the base should be defended at all. General Westmoreland and General Cushman, commander of the III Marine Amphibious Force, decided to defend Khe Sanh. The base and adjacent outposts commanded the plateau and the main avenue of approach into eastern Quang Tri Province. Although these installations did not stop infiltration, they blocked motorized supply from the west. Another advantage of holding the base was the possibility of engaging and destroying a heretoforeelusive foe. At Khe Sanh, the enemy showed no desire to hit and run but rather chose to stand and fight. The Marines could fix him in position around the base while air and artillery barrages closed in. Finally, one reinforced Marine regiment tied down two crack North Vietnamese divisions, which might have participated in attacks in other areas of South Vietnam. The decision made, all that remained was to complete the buildup of men and material required to hold the base.

Air power and artillery played an important role at Khe Sanh and were given the highest priority. The Khe Sanh defenders had three batteries of 105mm howitzers, one battery of 4.2 mortars, and one battery of 155mm howitzers: all five batteries were Marine artillery. In addition, they were supported by four batteries of Army's 2nd Battalion 94th Artillery 175mm guns, one at the Rockpile north of the base, and three at Camp Carroll to the east.

Ninety-millimeter tank guns, 106 recoilless rifles and tactical air support supplemented these artillery pieces--46 in all. The fire support coordination center, the 1st Battalion, 13th Marine Artillery located at Khe Sanh, controlled all supporting arms fire. Once the fighting began, the battalion commander, Lt.Col Lownds, said that the side which keeps its artillery intact would win the battle. Only three American artillery pieces were destroyed during the entire siege.

Since the enemy maneuvered mainly under the cover of darkness, the Marine and Army batteries were most active during these hours. Pre-planned artillery fires included combined time-on-target fires from nine batteries, separate battalion time-on-target missions, battery multiple-volley individual missions, and battery harassment and interdiction missions. Fire support coordination progresses to the point that artillery was seldom check fired while tactile aircraft were operating in the area. Throughout the battle, 158,981 rounds of various caliber of artillery were directed against enemy locations around the base.

During the siege, air-delivered fire support reached unprecedented levels. A daily average of 45 B-52 sorties and 300 tactical air sorties struck targets near the base. Eighteen hundred tons of ordnance a day laid waste wide swaths of jungle terrain and caused hundreds of secondary explosions. In seventy days of air operations, 96,000 tons of bombs, nearly twice what the Army Air Corps delivered in the Pacific during 1942 and 1943, pulverized the battle area.

In addition to volume, reaction time was a key factor. Relatively easy clearance procedures meant immediate response--unless friendly aircraft were in the target area--regardless of the weather. Artillery rounds were usually on the target area within forty seconds after the call for fire. This instant artillery response impaired enemy movements within the tactical area of responsibility and helped to break up numerous attacks.

Excerpts from the 2/94th History

Account from a Marine that was part of the Marine contingent on Carroll during TET: I was with E Company 2nd Battalion 9th Marines.

"You guys on the guns were always Johnny-on-the-spot when it came to fire support. Thank you very much. I recall a day when my squad escorted a FAO out northwest of Cam Lo. He called in an air strike up in the DMZ, and then we just cooled our heels awhile. His radioman carried 2 PRC-25s (wow!) so he could hear both sides of a conversation. Somebody who was awfully excited called in a fire mission. He really rattled it off fast. The FAO said his call sign put him in Khe Sanh. He had to say it all over again because he spoke too fast to get it all. He was asked what his target was and he said, 'I got a battalion o' gooks in the open and running.' When asked how far away they were, he said, 'Fifty meters and closing!' It seemed like only a second before we heard guns open up and the FDC announced, 'They're on their way!' Now that's service!"

"We were always in a rush when we had a fire mission for Khe Sanh. We knew that they were in a very bad spot when they called for us to help them out. That was our job, and we knew that if we were in their place that we would want the most help possible as quick as we could get it, so we always pushed ourselves to see just how fast we could get the rounds out and on the way."

Protective fires were carefully planned in advance. The fires from the artillery batteries planned by the fire support coordination center prevented the enemy assault forces from reaching the perimeter wire. Because the North Vietnamese usually attacked with their battalions in column, the center also planned fires to isolate the assault elements form the reserves. When the enemy launched his attack, the center placed a three-sided artillery box around the lead enemy battalion. Three batteries of the 1st Battalion, 13th Marines executed this mission. The fourth battery then closed the remaining side, which faced the friendly positions, with a barrage that rolled from one end of the box to the other much like a piston within a cylinder. The enemy force in the box could neither escape nor avoid the rolling barrage. Those Vietnamese who spilled out into the open end of the box came under the final protective fires of the Marines along the perimeter. At the same time, the fire support center placed a secondary box around the North Vietnamese backup units. The four 175mm batteries of the 2/94th were responsible for the two sides, which were 500 meters outside the primary box. On order, the gunners rolled their barrage in toward the sides of the primary box and back out again. The third side was sealed by continuous flights of aircraft under the control of the radar. Whenever B-52's were available or could be diverted in time, arc lights saturated the approach routes to the battle area.

With the 1st of the 13th Artillery cutting the middle of the formation and two sides. The 2/94th outside 13th sides would roll towards the sides of the 105mm and 155mm fire lines closest to the Marine lines. Then, in behind were the formation had been cut by the 13th the 2/94th would then roll all the way across ensuring that any reserve units for a secondary attack were also neutralized. In behind the 175mm fires the air support would have cut off any means of retreating along the same line of March originally initiated.

Pegasus

On 31 March, the 1st Cavalry Division took control of the 26th Marine Regiment, signaling the start of Pegasus, a fifteen-day air assault operation that ended the battle of Khe Sanh. The 1st Cavalry Division, along with the 1st Marine Regiment and South Vietnamese 3rd Airborne Task Force, began a push from Ca Lu located east of Khe Sanh, to reopen Route 9 and relieve the pressure on Khe Sanh. The siege, in effect, was over.

The base plan of Operation Pegasus called for the 1st Marine Regiment with two battalions to attack west toward Khe Sanh while the 1st Cavalry Division air assaulted onto the high ground on either side of Route 9 and moved constantly west toward the base. On D plus 1 and D plus 2, all elements would continue to attack west toward Khe Sanh. Then, on the following day, the 2d Brigade of the 1st Cavalry Division would land three battalions S/E of Khe Sanh and attack northwest. The 26th Marine Regiment, holding Khe Sanh, would attack south to secure Hill 471. The linkup was planned for the end of the seventh day.

Fire support involved a multitude of units, requiring detailed planning and coordination for the two phases of the operation--reconnaissance and attack. The objective of the reconnaissance phase was the destruction of the enemy antiaircraft resources between Ca Lu and Khe Sanh and the selection of the landing zones for use by the advancing airmobile assault forces. The 1st squadron, 9th Air Cavalry assumed this mission and was supported by an abundance and artillery. Additional artillery was moved onto the area during the reconnaissance phase and automatically came under the control of a forward division artillery fire direction center located at Landing Zone Stud and manned by personnel of the 1st Battalion, 30th Artillery. The additional artillery included one Marine 4.2-inch mortar battery at Ca Lu and two 105mm batteries (one Marine and one Army) at the Rockpile. On 25 March, an 8-inch battery and a 105 battery moved from Quang Tri to Ca Lu and Stud respectively. This move brought the total to 15 firing batteries available to support the 1st Squadron, 9th Air Cavalry, in its reconnaissance. All batteries in the area began answering calls for fire from the 1st Squadron, 9th Cavalry on D minus 6

and commenced attacking planned targets that night. Prior coordination between the 3rd Marine Division (the 108th Artillery Group [including the 2/94th at Carroll and the Rockpile] and the 1st Battalion, 13th Marines [Artillery]) insured that all available target information would be in the hands of the forward fire direction center, and lateral communication would be established. Throughout this phase, air and artillery fire destroyed enemy automatic weapon, mortars, and troop positions.

The attack phase consisted of the preparation of landing zones, suppression for enemy fires, and oncall support of committed ground forces. For the attack phase ten 105mm howitzer batteries, four 155mm howitzer batteries on 8-inch howitzer battery, and on 4.2-inch mortar battery joined the already overwhelming artillery force. Each cavalry brigade had reinforcing fire from a medium battery, and the 1st Marine Regiment could count on support from two 105mm batteries, one 155mm battery, and one 4.2-inch battery. The additional heavy battery with the mission of general support of the 1st Air Cavalry Division moved from Camp Evans to LZ Stud. Thirty-one firing batteries supported the relief of Khe Sanh--the largest array of artillery ever to support a single operation in Vietnam to that time.

Counter battery fire contributed significantly to the success of Operation Pegasus. For some time, North Vietnamese forces has been able to shell Khe Sanh at will with 152mm and 130mm artillery plus rockets and mortars positioned to he southwest and northwest of the base. When the 1st Cavalry Division Artillery came within range of the enemy guns, rapid and massive counter battery fire achieved superiority. From that point, enemy artillery ceased to be a serious deterrent to maneuver.

On 6 April at 1350, six days after Operation Pegasus had begun, the initial relief of Khe Sanh took place. A lead company of the South Vietnamese 3rd Airborne Task Force airlifted into Khe Sanh and linked up with the South Vietnamese 37th Rangers. Two days later the 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry, had completed its sweep along Route 9, and the official relief took place. The command post of the 3 Brigade, 1st Cavalry airlifted to the base at 0800 and became its new landlord. By the evening of 8 April, all elements of the task force were in position on the Khe Sanh plateau. The North Vietnamese 304th Division faced entrapment and destruction as a great vise closed about the enemy daily. American and South Vietnamese units soon uncovered grisly evidence of how badly the North Vietnamese had been beaten. They found hundreds of North Vietnamese bodies in shallow graves and hundreds more that lay where they had fallen. The allies destroyed of captured 557 individual weapons, 207 crew-served weapons and antiaircraft pieces. In addition, they confiscated 17 vehicles ranging from PT76 tanks to motor scooters, tons of ammunition and food, and numerous radios and items of individual equipment. The mountain of abandoned enemy stores indicated either that Pegasus had caught the enemy fiat-looted or that the remnants of the enemy divisions had been unable to cart off their equipment and supplies.

On the morning of 14 April, Pegasus officially ended. The operation was successful, Route 9 opened, the enemy routed, and the base itself relieved. The North Vietnamese lost 1,304 killed and 21 captured. The battle of Khe Sanh established that, with sufficient firepower, an encircled position could be successfully held and the enemy devastated.

U.S. & Allied Casualties
730 Americans Killed in Action
2,642 Americans Wounded in Action
7 Americans Missing in Action

229 South Vietnamese ARVN Killed in Action
436 South Vietnamese ARVN Wounded in Action

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The following is from David Kniess, a 31-year-old photojournalist who works as an editor for Fox Sports Network. He has spent over $6000 of his own money to make this Documentary about returning to Vietnam and, more specifically, Khe Sanh.

Currently seeking funding for the above project...the documented return of four Marines, back to the hills of Khe Sanh. I have eleven hours of footage, shot entirely in Vietnam, and more importantly, Khe Sanh. I journeyed half way around the world with my former high school English teacher (I'm Class of 1988), and three of his Marine buddies, who I've now come to know as my very close friends. It was an emotional journey for all involved, but there were humorous times as well...those will be in the outtakes of course.

My intentions are clear--to produce and direct this documentary for video release and/or a PBS-type broadcast. I serve no purpose in gaining any financial success from this project. I'm a filmmaker who wishes to produce something worthwhile and meaningful. I currently reside in Los Angeles, California, where I work as an editor for Fox Sports News. I was born and raised in Wallingford, Connecticut. The following sentences are bits and pieces from my journal, and random thoughts I still have in my mind.

"July 6th 2000: The journey began for all of us. Boarding a Korean Airlines 747 in Los Angeles, traveling to Seoul, and finally Saigon. North to Hue City and finally Khe Sanh Village. At times there seemed 7.o be many stories happening at once, the most interesting and emotional being our hump up hill 861. It was the kind of day where the rain drizzled with thick cloud cover, thick moving clouds. And sometimes it was clear, the sun just peaking out for a moment, clearing the valley below us, giving us a glimpse of hill 558, and a lush green valley that surprised the Marines. It was a place they remembered as being thick with smoke, stripped of vegetation, and littered with craters. But life had returned to this valley. There were farms, a factory, people raising Families, and a slow moving river brown with silt. And as we pushed on, looking up as far as we could see, the top of hill 861 was covered with thick clouds, almost a fog. Reaching the top of the hill, the clouds would recede, and then all at once they would blow in again. It was as if we were walking in the clouds. And you could feel the presence in your bones, and see the history before your eyes--a mortar round here, an M73 grenade there, and the sole of a combat boot, lying in the mud, on what used to be the LZ. It was all very visible, the trench lines, the bunkers, and the craters. All covered in elephant grass, but still there to see--to see and wonder what these men endured--what they were thinking. Tears were shed, but it was good. It was real. It was goodbye. And for a day, a few short hours, they could reflect. They could stare out at what was their youth and remember their friends.

The Bru were humble, giving many thanks for the supplies we handed out. So much we all take for granted is jarred, when you see a small child thankful for a mere pencil and pad of paper. And one man stood out...a Bru chief named Bruayana, who served as a scout during the siege. I have a recorded message from him to all of you. And alas, the arrest at Dong Ha--two days of questioning and a fine for being on the hill. Some would say it was money well spent. It was an experience I will hold onto for the rest of my life, humping the hill, the leeches, the mud (red clay), the elephant grass, the quiet, the beauty, and the smiling children who seemed to come out of nowhere just to say hello."

If you would like to learn more about this project, feel flee to contact me at the provided email, snail mail, and/or phone number. There is much work ahead, and I feel that it is something that everyone can benefit from... Khe Sanh veterans, students, family members, and persons with a historical interest in the Vietnam War.

Sincerely,

David C. Kniess Jr.
"A kid with a vision"
8032 Blackburn Ave.
Los Angeles, California 90048 323-935-5007
[email protected]

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Gary W. Foster
November 2000

In late 1999, I was informed of a business opportunity that involved the re-construction of Highway 9 in Quang Tri Province. I was required to visit the highway prior to preparation of the proposal. The site visit entailed flying from the United States to Hanoi, driving south to Dong. Ha on Highway 1, and then along Highway 9 to Laos at Lao Bao. I remembered from reading Ronald Spector's Book "After Tet" a few years ago that Highway 9 passed near the Khe Sanh Combat Base. I retrieved Spector's book and re-read it prior to my leaving the USA so as to refresh my brief understanding about the siege and the battles around and for Hills 861,950, 881N, 881S, and others. I reviewed several maps of the area .and I found the general location of the combat base and saw it was located not to far north of Highway 9. On one map, with reference to Khe Sanh, I read "airstrip unusable."

Although I am not an ex-USMC or a veteran of the Vietnam War, I do recall in 1968 the reporting of the intense battles in and around Khe Sanh. A friend who flew CH-53s into Khe Sanh from either Danang or Marble Mountain (I can't remember which) told me many stories of his combat flying experience., So, I was aware of Khe Sanh at that time but not of any of its geographic particulars. I did not know much about the hill battles and I had only a vague understanding of the significance of Highway 9, the location and purpose of Camp Carroll and the Rock Pile, the fierce fighting west of Cam Lo, and the various LZs that were established later.

Looking back, if there was any engagement or characteristic of the war that evokes Vietnam, akin to Gettysburg relative to the Civil War, in my mind, it is Khe Sanh. Being somewhat interested in military history, I looked forward to visiting the highway. If time permitted, I could possibly visit the site of the Khe Sanh Combat Base. I knew nothing about the physical geography of the base and I had no idea of what to expect or what I might see once there. I had little time to prepare for my first visit to Khe Sanh so I went there not knowing many of the details except what I had read in Spector's book, which I took along with me for reference.

On March 31, 2000, I left Dong Ha at 6:00am and drove west towards Laos on Highway 9 through patches of dense fog. I passed many concrete road markers painted in. red and white giving destinations to various towns, and it seemed ironic that the distance remaining to Khe Sanh was specifically mentioned on many of the markers. I did not know there was a village called Khe Sanh. I thought it was just the name of the base.

I stopped many times to review the road and bridges and finally, at 9:30am, I arrived at Khe Sanh village. I inquired as to the location of the combat base and was escorted to the base by a Vietnamese on a motorbike, arriving there at about 10:00am. I parked the vehicle next to the building posing as a museum. I was struck by the eerie silence and emptiness, lack of vegetation on the adjacent vacant area that I surmised was the runway, and the amount of heavy erosion around the relatively denuded area. Regardless of how empty and deserted the area was I knew I was standing at a place fixed in history and in United States Marine Corps lore. The silence enhanced my curiosity and beckoned me to explore. The weather was sultry and still. There was no breeze. The morning fog was lifting but a haze persisted over the area masking the features of the surrounding hills. The sky was opaque. I examined the four monuments there: a twisted propeller, a howitzer full of the effects of shrapnel, the carcass of a tank, and a concrete spire covered with Vietnamese writing.

Walking along the runway in what I thought was a northerly direction (later confirmed to be westerly), I spotted a half-buried hand grenade and wondered how many more were around. Souvenir hawkers followed me everywhere (subject of another future writing). I continued to the western end of the runway pondering the red soil, a clay technically termed "laterite,'' which I knew would be dusty when dry and very slippery when wet. It was dusty that day.

Using Spector's book, I spotted what I believed, and later confirmed to be, Hills 950 and 1015 but due to the heavy haze, I could not see details of the hillsides. I never did see Hills 861 or 881 North or South on that initial visit. I remained at the base for about 2 hours trying to imagine what it must have been like to experience the siege and incoming NVA rockets and artillery, but I knew full well my imagination would fall short of the actuality. It was outside my margin of comprehension.

When the souvenir hawkers finally left me alone, I sat down on the ground probably near some bunker evidenced by remnants of plastic sandbag material. I reflected on where I was and I became emotionally moved. I left the base having only signed my name in the guest book in the museum. I did not know what message I could leave behind that would be salient to my being there, or pertinent to the memory of the Marines who fought there, or to the historical perspective of the location.

My interest in the base was now piqued. I wanted to learn more about the combat base and the history there. I never knew whether I would return to Khe Sanh or Vietnam. As I began to reflect on what I had seen, I became intrigued by the realization that while I had been physically on the base area, I did not know where exactly I was. When I returned to the States, I researched the events of Khe Sanh on the Internet and found the Khe Sanh Veterans website. I have left a few messages. Through the website I came across the names of Ray Stubbe, who I contacted, and Dennis Mannion (Kilo 3/26) who contacted me as a result of a message I left in the website's guest book. I have developed friendships with both individuals.

Through my conversations with Dennis Mannion, who last summer returned to Vietnam, Khe Sanh, and Hill 861 for the first time since 1968, and with Ray Stubbe, I began to question what I had seen. What I found troubling and what began to gnaw at me were aspects of the geography and other characteristics of the base that I came to suspect were not quite right, at least not as far as they would have been represented by known landmark references that have vanished long ago.

I began to collect information as to the general layout of the base to solve some riddles that were developing in my mind. I tried to figure out where exactly the little museum building was located relative to known locations on the base. Was it located north, south, in the middle, near the end., on the left or right of the base? Where was it exactly? Another question I had was what happened to all the debris? What became of the US Air Force C-130 that crashed or the USMC C-130 that burned? There is absolutely no debris present that would indicate a C130 had ever been there. There is no wreckage debris of any kind at all, anywhere. Were the three military pieces that are positioned on concrete platforms originally from the base or were they,, imported? While I believe now that the howitzer and tank hull were imported, I think the twisted propeller probably came from one of the C- 130s that crashed or were destroyed at the base. Interesting points.

But there were two questions that increasingly bothered me and which cast a shadow over my understanding of the geography of the combat base: 1) How was it that the runway had become so eroded when, discovering from a chronology of events at Khe Sanh, the runway had been shut down for major repairs for several months and resurfaced with crushed rock and stone? And where was the rock anyway? I mean, was the entire runway picked over for crushed rock? Didn't seem likely. Who would take it and why? There is a quarry not far away which would have yielded the same quantity of rock and much more easily. 2) Why was the (western) end of the runway or turn-around area cut and notched into the side of a hill? The runway at this point is about 30 to 40 feet below the surrounding small hill, which descends steeply and directly to the longitudinal edge of the runway. This didn't make sense either. Photographs I have seen of Khe Sanh and discussions I came to have with Ray Stubbe and Dennis Mannion did not indicate the runway was notched into the hillside.

I read Ray Stubbe and John Prado's book "Valley of Decision: The Siege of Khe Sanh," and Robert Pisor's book "The End of The Line: The Siege of Khe Sanh." Both of these books provided excellent information. The accounts, history, and details in each book were riveting. Michael Ewing's book "Khe Sanh" and "Semper Fi Vietnam" by Edward Murphy. I re-read Michael Herr's book "Dispatches," which I had forgotten contained a long chapter and narrative about Khe Sanh and a USMC nicknamed "Day Tripper." I visited the library and read the Newsweek report entitled "The Agony of Khe Sank" I was not able to find specific information on the runway. From the magazine photographs I had seen, I could not discern any geographic relief (major changes in elevation) around the runway area. Although some maps show the orientation of the runway differently, most of the information I collected, which appeared reliable, showed the general direction of the runway basically to be east/west.

Ray Stubbe sent me an aerial photograph of the base taken in January 1967 and I had it enlarged. Still I could not determine exactly where I was and whether the western end of the runway was cut into the hillside.

In late August 2000, I learned I was returning to Vietnam. I was determined to visit the base again and this time I would be armed with maps, the aerial photograph provided by Ray Stubbe, and some observations made by Dennis Mannion as a result of his pilgrimage last summer.

Then, just prior to my departure, Ray informed me that a second runway had been built after the USMC vacated the site and that the base had also eventually served the NVA, very probably with placement of SAM missiles. This piece of information influenced my thinking and as a result I developed the theory that the red clay runway near where the museum is standing is not the original Khe Sanh USMC runway. Although this discovery would not be such a revelation and could be easily confirmed by hovering in a helicopter several thousand feet over the site, for the unsuspecting visitor or Vet who would not have access to a helicopter, this fact isn't so immediately or easily deduced from the ground. It would be a shame for anyone, especially a Vet, to travel all the way to Khe Sanh from the USA and be led, misled, into thinking that the red clay runway was the original USMC runway. After almost 32 years and changes in the vegetation and geography, it is easy for one to be confused or disoriented about geographic points on the combat base as may be recollected and as they now exist, and where, at any given moment, an observer may be standing. When Dennis Mannion returned to Khe Sanh and Hill 861, he exclaimed, "everything has changed." To many non veterans such as myself, reaching the wrong conclusion would be easy because we would have no frame of reference. During this second visit, I would set out to prove my theory but at $1,000 per hour to rent a helicopter, my efforts would be conducted on foot.

Later in early October, I returned to Khe Sanh. Aside from flying, the site can only be reached by driving west on Highway 9 (or QL 9 in the Vietnamese designation) from Dong Ha. Leaving Dong Ha, the traffic lessens and one passes very quickly through Cam Lo, through quiet countryside, and across a unique twisting bridge called Cau (for bridge) Dau Mau. While Camp Carroll is obscured, The Rock Pile is clearly visible. At about Kilometer 50, one passes the intersection of Highway 14 with Highway 9, which is marked most notably by an impressive, and recently constructed, cable stayed bridge over the Rao Quan River. Then, further along Highway 9 at a switchback bend, one crosses a bridge also over the Rao Quan River. This area posed a major bottleneck and serious threat for any vehicular traffic in 67/68. At about kilometer 58, one enters Hoang Hoa or Khe Sanh Village. Just inside the town, one turns right onto a very rocky road that proceeds generally north and west. There are signs that point the way to the "Vestiges of the Tacon Base" but they aren't very noticeable. About 4 kilometers or so along this rocky road there is a sign that points to the right along another, this time, dirt road. The dirt road (really more of a path) is narrow and twists through the foliage. Not too far along the dirt road, one catches the first glimpse of the base through the trees and coffee plants: a small building painted a dirty yellow that is the museum and guest center, and the hull of a tank with its turret and barrel still attached. Almost immediately after that first sighting, driving a bit further, one sees clearly the other monuments: the concrete column attesting to the heroics of the NVA, the propeller, and the 155mm howitzer which the Vietnamese at the museum claim to be a 175. Immediately behind the museum, one can clearly see the profile of Hills 950 and 1015, which are the tallest hills in the area.

The museum area is located in a flat, relatively sparsely vegetated area. Just behind the museum are the remains of the previously discussed red clay runway that points west in one direction and to the east more or less towards Highway 9 in the other. The area around the museum and the runway itself are heavily eroded. The juxtaposition of the museum and the runway could lead someone who was there years ago to believe that he or she is standing on the apron area of the USMC runway where C-130s and other aircraft parked.

The weather during this visit was balmy with clear blue skies and a soft wind that abated the high humidity. There was no fog this trip but during the early morning the vegetation was heavy with dew. It had rained in the area but on the base itself, it was quite dry and very dusty. The plateau, valleys, and hills were serene. The base was as quiet as I had remembered it to be several months earlier. The sun was brilliant and the surrounding hills stood out in dramatic detail seemingly close enough to touch. The air was so clear that the swaying of the palm trees in the breeze on the distant hills could be clearly seen. The countryside was at least ten shades of deep green. Hills 950 and 1015, in striking contrast to the cerulean sky, seemed bathed in emerald, so verdant was the landscape.

Aside from the people tending coffee plants, the entire area is virtually uninhabited. I saw only two huts with a small family in each. Knowing there is nothing conspicuously visible that would lead a person to know exactly where he or she is relative to what was established there in the sixties, I was still uncertain of my location during this second trip. Based on my research, I thought there was possibly one feature, if located, from which other reference points could be identified: the remains of the destroyed ammunition dump. That had to be one landmark that should have withstood time and very possibly erosion. Surely I could find that. Taking the maps and the enlarged aerial photograph of the base with me, I walked southeasterly along the red clay runway looking for the ammunition dump or remnants thereof. It had to be to my right if the maps were to be believed--and there was nothing to suggest the maps were incorrect. I found nothing where the ammunition dump would have been if the red clay runway was assumed to be the USMC runway and correctly positioned. I was puzzled but I continued walking to the end of the runway.

I crossed fence lines, and I walked through rows of coffee plants to where I thought the aircraft turnaround area was located. There is an area where a turnaround could have been established, but I could not find any evidence of a turnaround area, much less the ammunition dump. I did notice an area to my left as I faced further southeast that seemed a more likely place for the turnaround. From this location, as I looked back towards the museum, now hidden from view by vegetation, I could see perfectly for the first time Hill 861, and I reflected on Dennis Mannion's visit to the hill last summer and his experiences on that same hill 30 years earlier. When Dennis arrived in Vietnam in 67/68 he had already heard about Hill 861 and then ironically within a few days after his arrival, he climbed Hill 861 and spent several months there during the siege. As it happened, one day within 20 minutes after being notified "to pack my shit," he was airlifted off Hill 861 never to return there again until last summer.

I began to walk back towards the museum on the opposite side of the red clay runway disconsolate that I could not verify any geographic point. After some distance I noticed a fully exposed artillery shell lying on the ground. I kneeled beside it and examined it without touching it. It was rusted and I noticed the nose was blunted so I surmised the firing pin was missing, that the shell had never been armed. Further on I noticed two more shells separated by about 18 inches lying fully exposed in the clay. They were the same size as the one I had previously spotted and I thought they were 105s. I wondered whether these could be from the exploded ammunition dump. I looked around, knowing now exactly what to look for, and I began spotting unexploded 105 and, I thought, because of their larger diameter and size, 155mm shells. Then, ahead and to my right, I spotted a large depression and around the rim were various artillery and mortar shells and something that I supposed was some sort of special hand grenade. I walked into the depression, which is about 10 to 15 feet deep, and I found about 25 more unexploded artillery shells. I looked around from the crater and I spotted shells everywhere leading me to believe I was standing in the crater of the ammunition dump that incurred a direct hit during the siege. I was at the historical core of the combat base. The crater is about 100 feet in diameter.

With this landmark confirmed in my mind, I quickly realized that the red clay runway I originally thought was the USMC runway was an imposter, because the ammunition dump was on the wrong side of the red clay runway. This must have been the second runway to which Ray Stubbe had referred. Facing west, the USMC runway had to be to my right (north) because the maps showed the ammunition dump to be on the left (south) side of the runway. I took a bearing on the longitudinal axis of the imposter runway and turned 90 degrees toward Hills 950 and 1015 (more or less north) and walked in that direction through elephant grass and high foliage. Within 100 meters, walking through the thick vegetation, I emerged into a large rectangular clearing and instead of the ground being covered in red clay soil it was covered with crushed and compacted gray stone. There was evidence of a tar covering which would act as a bonding agent for the aggregate. With this evidence and the correct orientation of the ammunition dump relative to this newly discovered runway, I knew I had found and was now standing on the centerline of the original USMC runway. I paced each way transversely to locate the lateral edges of the runway, which would be denoted by lack of crushed rock. Then relocating the centerline of the runway I walked to the turn-around area at the east end, which earlier I had spotted. It is now covered with coffee plants. Then I retraced my steps and I walked towards the western end but ran into thick overgrowth and could not see any more of the runway. I turned left 90 degrees and after walking about 100 meters re-intersected the red clay runway at a point southeast of the museum.

I walked back to the USMC runway and, looking at the aerial photograph, I was able to locate the path to the water point and a road or path that crosses the runway from one side of the base to the other. They are still there and clearly visible. The path to the water point is still very much in use. The helicopter revetment area is overgrown with eucalyptus trees and coffee plants and there is no evidence of its existence. I began to notice that the eucalyptus trees seemed to grow in a line that borders the runway and I surmise the outline of the runway can be discerned by these tree lines. I found the outside

USMC perimeter and defensive trenches on the side of the base nearest the Rao Quan River. I returned to the museum elated that I now had my bearings.

Inside the museum, I drank some tea that was offered to me and I looked at the weaponry piled on the floor and the photographs on the walls. I spotted the guest register and sat at the table in the middle of the room and searched through the pages first for my signature of March 31st and then that of Dennis Mannion's, which I found easily. Dennis had written: "Let me get the facts straight. We, the Marines, left because we were through kicking ass in this area. I have much respect for the 15,000 plus NVA soldiers who died here. They were terrific, brave men--but they lost! Sorry, but that's the way it was."

Hitching a ride on a motorbike at the museum, I went back to the notched end of the red clay runway Walking back to my right at about a 45-degree angle again toward Hills 950 and 1015, I located the western turnaround area of the USMC runway at the opposite end from the ammunition dump. Then, I walked back to the red clay runway through the vegetation and found myself face to face with the museum. Therefore, I think the museum is located on a line perpendicular to the longitudinal axis of the USMC runway extending generally in a southerly direction from the western turnaround area. And, of course, the obvious conclusion: the eroded red clay runway that is adjacent to and clearly visible from the museum is not the USMC runway. I had proved my theory. The red clay runway is parallel to the USMC runway but not as long. The end of the new red clay runway (the notched end) is about 200, maybe 300 meters further west from the turnaround area of the USMC runway. The notched end of the red clay runway is cut into the area, which, I think was termed "The Ponderosa." The museum is actually at the western end of the combat base and south of the USMC runway.

For those Vets returning to Khe Sanh after over thirty years who are not convinced of their orientation when visiting Khe Sanh, and for first-time visitors who know nothing about the combat base, don't be fooled into thinking that the red clay runway is the USMC runway. If you are interested, when you arrive at the museum building from the road, proceed towards Hills 950 and 1015 (generally north) straight across the eroded red clay runway immediately behind the museum, continue through the trees and coffee plants, and you will find the original USMC runway. From there, other geographic locations on the base as may be remembered by the Vets will fall into place.

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