A Shau Valor

by Thomas R. Yarborough

  In one of the strange quirks of history, this was not the first time U.S. Marines had landed at Da Nang. One hundred twenty years earlier, in May 1845, a detachment of Marines from the USS Constitution stormed ashore near Monkey Mountain to rescue a French priest being held prisoner and condemned to death by the Vietnamese. Following 16 days of scuffles, several broadsides from “Old Ironsides,” and a series of unsuccessful negotiations, Captain John Percival of the Constitution, known throughout the Navy as “Mad Jack,” sailed away leaving the situation much as he had found it. Of the incident, one of the Constitution’s officers, Lieutenant John B. Dale, wrote in his journal: “… it seems, I must say, to have shown a sad want of ‘sound discretion,’ in commencing an affair of this kind, without carrying it through to a successful conclusion.”5 Whether that entry portended coincidence or providence, Lieutenant Dale could not have known then how eerily prophetic his words would resonate over a century later.

  Throughout the remainder of 1965, the principal American focal point remained the introduction and deployment of U.S. combat ground forces in Vietnam, especially in the Central Highlands of II Corps. There General Westmoreland deployed the 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile) in the first “big unit battle” against NVA regulars: the battle of Ia Drang Valley. Only two months after that historic November fight, the spotlight shifted north. The battle of Camp A Shau was about to begin.

  Nineteen sixty-six ushered in the Year of the Horse, a period Chinese astrologers had predicted would be characterized by volatility and impulsiveness. What the astrologers could not predict was that the volatility would take the form of a fight to the death in the A Shau. In early January, in a foreshadowing of what was to come, a 50-man CIDG patrol ventured about 3 kilometers northeast of Camp A Shau before setting up a night defensive position in the foothills along the eastern wall of the valley. In spite of posted sentries and a protective line of claymore mines, security was apparently lax, because at 5:30 a.m. a company of NVA regulars, supported by Viet Cong guerrillas, ripped into the CIDG patrol, killing 6 of the irregulars, capturing 8, and wounding 12 more. Both of the Special Forces advisors were also wounded. The exchange killed 4 of the enemy.6

  That attack proved to be typical of the NVA/VC probes in and around Camp A Shau during the winter of 1965–1966. With the ever-increasing enemy activity, Captain John D. Blair IV, commander of Detachment A-102, and his LLDB counterpart, Captain Chung Uy Dung, decided to close the untenable FOBs at A Luoi and Ta Bat in order to consolidate forces for defense against large enemy units. The A Shau fort, triangular in shape, consisted of walls approximately 200 meters long with barbed wire perimeter defenses. A series of strong points defended by machine gun positions anchored each corner and the center section on each wall. Each was connected by fighting trenches and protected by numerous electrically detonated claymore mines. The center of the camp housed the operations hut, communications bunker, medical bunker, team house, and ammunition bunker. The inner perimeter also contained an assortment of 81mm and 60mm mortar pits protected by sandbag parapets. A 2,300-foot airstrip of pierced steel planking ran just outside the eastern perimeter.

  Well outside the range of friendly artillery support, the camp required resupply by air and relied on close air support and interdiction to keep the enemy at bay. Blair suspected that the NVA 325B Division had infiltrated through Laos and into Thua Thien Province where it was to spearhead the elimination of Camp A Shau, strategically located on top of a major line of communication and infiltration route into the region. To the North Vietnamese the camp had to go, and to accomplish its destruction, the 325B Division moved several infantry regiments into the area and reinforced them with reconnaissance and engineer battalions. The division also deployed a full artillery regiment consisting of one mixed battalion of 120mm and 82mm mortars, with one battalion of 12.7mm anti-aircraft machineguns, and one battalion of 75mm recoilless rifles.7

  When weather permitted during January and February, the forward air controllers (FAC) and helicopter pilots flying around the valley always spotted enemy forces on the move. For example, on February 17 a FAC observed an entire company of khaki-clad NVA soldiers wearing their ubiquitous pith helmets just a few kilometers southwest of the camp. Upon being observed, they disappeared into the tall elephant grass.

  For the airmen supporting the camp, the sky proved to be a dangerous place. Virtually every aircraft landing or taking off at Camp A Shau drew numerous rounds of sniper fire; more than a few were hit. Additionally, the Air Force C-123K “Ranch Hand” defoliant aircraft repeatedly came under fire as they sprayed the valley and surrounding ridges with herbicides, more commonly known as Agent Orange. The antiaircraft fire became so bad that heavily armed A-1 Skyraiders began escorting the Ranch Hand flights on their runs over the valley. Yet in spite of the added protection, the C-123s seldom returned from a mission without bullet holes, largely because the defoliant spray had to be applied from a height of 150 feet at a speed of 130 knots. At that altitude they were sitting ducks, fair game for any bad guy with a gun or a slingshot. Perhaps the most famous Ranch Hand C-123, Patches, got its nickname the hard way. During the course of its service, Patches received almost 600 hits from enemy gunners in Vietnam.8

  Operating under the call-sign “Hades,” the Ranch Hand unit’s motto would have shocked ecologists: “Only you can prevent a forest.” Unfortunately, the herbicides were ineffective against the elephant grass, and the defoliation efforts on the ridgelines east and west of the camp were only partially successful—only the leaves on the higher canopy of trees were removed by the Agent Orange sprayings. And because of the climate and rainfall in the valley, the trees and plants grew back rapidly, necessitating frequent follow-up sprayings.9

  By February, VC ambushes had become so frequent that Camp A Shau was forced to resort to new tactics. As part of its patrol scheme, Detachment A-102 introduced the use of ARVN scout dogs and handlers. Interestingly, the scout dogs proved useful in the prevention of VC ambushes along the valley floor, but on the rugged, jungle-covered ridges it was a different story. The dogs were ineffective because they were not physically capable of navigating the steep terrain. On two patrols the handlers had to break out poncho liners to carry the exhausted scout dogs back to camp.10

  The evidence pointing to a major attack kept mounting. On February 18 a combat patrol operating about five kilometers north of the camp stumbled into a pair of ambushes sprung by a squad of VC trail watchers. Neither side sustained any casualties, but shortly after noon the CIDG patrol surprised a solitary NVA soldier, trousers around his ankles, in the act of defecating. The startled soldier ditched his khaki uniform trousers and scampered away amid a hail of bullets from the equally surprised CIDG irregulars. In the hastily abandoned trousers they found a detailed written reconnaissance report of what he had observed while scouting Camp A Shau. Later that night, a CIDG squad on a local security patrol ambushed a squad of NVA soldiers about 200 meters east of the airstrip. One CIDG irregular was killed. The enemy withdrew with undetermined casualties, although an inspection of the site the following morning revealed two blood trails and two blood-spattered magazines for an AK-47 assault rifle.

  Then on the 25th, a patrol surprised approximately a dozen NVA soldiers in the valley about two kilometers northwest of camp. In the brief skirmish that followed, two NVA soldiers were killed and one CIDG irregular was wounded. The real significance of the action surfaced when a Green Beret advisor with the patrol found a diary on one of the bodies. Translated, the diary revealed that Camp A Shau was being meticulously reconnoitered in preparation for some sort of attack. According to Capt Blair, this spate of close-in enemy probes made the A-102 team members feel alarmed and worried, although the CIDG irregulars appeared somewhat complacent. They responded to the nightly sniping and probes around the camp perimeter by opening fire with all their automatic weapons and by firing dozens of mortar illumination flares in the air. By doing so the CIDG companies disclosed the exact locations and field
s of fire of their automatic weapons and mortar positions, and once they started firing, it was difficult to get them to stop. They wasted an enormous amount of ammunition, a precious commodity which could only be replaced via airlift.11

  All signs lent themselves to one inescapable conclusion. The reconnaissance report captured on February 18, the diary recovered on February 25, the numerous sniping incidents at aircraft, and the firefights between local security patrols and enemy probes convinced Capt Blair that his position was not only going to be attacked, but that the NVA were determined to overrun and wipe out the little CIDG-Special Forces camp brazenly sitting on the valley floor.

  A bizarre event occurred at mid-afternoon on March 5 when two khaki-clad NVA soldiers stepped out of the tall elephant grass and walked with raised arms onto the A Shau airstrip in front of a jeep being driven by a Vietnamese mechanic. The startled mechanic, who was unarmed, took the defectors into custody and escorted them into the camp. They claimed to be members of the 6th Battalion, 95B Regiment, 325B Division, and that their unit was alerted to participate in an attack on March 11. They had decided to give up after hearing about the chieu hoi open arms amnesty program, a 1963 initiative by the South Vietnamese to encourage defection by the Viet Cong and their supporters to the side of the Government. The two defectors, both “city boys,” indicated that among their motives for switching sides were fear of being killed in the forthcoming battle and their demoralization resulting from hunger, illness, and hardship while living in the jungle. The defectors said many members of their battalion felt the same way. They even taped an appeal urging other NVA soldiers to participate in the chieu hoi program. On March 7, in an attempt to capitalize on the situation, an Air Force psychological warfare U-10 Helio Courier dropped thousands of leaflets on suspected enemy positions in the area and broadcast the taped defection appeal via loudspeaker. The results of that effort were nil; no more NVA or VC soldiers switched sides.12

  Armed with the intelligence from the NVA defectors, the Detachment A-102 commander sent an urgent message to Lieutenant Colonel Kenneth B. Facey, Detachment C-1 commander in Da Nang requesting immediate reinforcement of the camp. Specifically, the message asked for two infantry companies and a battery of 105mm howitzers, along with immediate delivery of an emergency resupply of ammunition and medical supplies. For unknown reasons the ARVN commander of I Corps, Lieutenant General Nguyen Chanh Thi, rejected Facey’s request for reinforcements. General Thi, a flamboyant, ambitious man and born agitator, was popular with his men but believed to be politically aligned with the strong Buddhist movement around Hue. According to Time magazine, Thi ran I Corps “like a warlord of yore, obeying those edicts of the central government that suited him and blithely disregarding the rest.” Not surprisingly, the support from the Buddhists, his troops, and regional alliances gave Thi a dictator’s strong power base and made it difficult for Saigon and the Americans to oppose him. On a particularly tense occasion in February 1966 when Premier Nguyen Cao Ky, himself a flamboyant general, arrived in I Corps to reproach the maverick commander, Thi openly insulted the premier by turning to address his staff and mockingly asked, “Should we pay attention to this funny little man from Saigon or should we ignore him?”13

  The outspoken Thi also had a reputation as the general most likely to question and speak out against U.S. policy, so he most definitely was not a favorite at MACV. Whether the I Corps commander’s denial of reinforcements to Camp A Shau represented an intentional slap at Americans in his tactical zone will probably never be known, but on the last day of the A Shau battle, the ruling junta in Saigon—led by Ky—fired Thi. This provoked major unrest in I Corps, where some units joined with Buddhist activists supportive of Thi and hostile to Ky in defying his junta’s rule. Three months of large-scale demonstrations and riots paralyzed parts of the country, and after much maneuvering and some military skirmishes, Ky’s forces finally put down the uprising and Thi was exiled from the country.

  With General Thi’s refusal of more troops, a frustrated 5th Special Forces Group at Nha Trang decided to reinforce with a company from its own Mike Force, a country-wide quick reaction unit. Late on the afternoon of March 7, one Mike Force company from Nha Trang consisting of 143 Nungs, 6 interpreters, and 7 Americans from Detachment A-503, arrived at Camp A Shau to shore up the threatened outpost. The company was under the overall command of Captain Tennis H. Carter, known to most by his nickname, “Sam.” That same afternoon Caribous and C-123 Providers delivered the emergency resupply of ammunition. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.

  During the night and early morning hours of March 8–9, Camp A Shau remained on full alert, its defenders, including CIDG companies 131, 141, and 154, totaled 180 men. Augmenting this force were the 143 Mike Force Nungs, 30 Combat Reconnaissance Platoon Vietnamese, 6 LLDB, 8 interpreters, 51 civilians, and 17 Americans. The Green Berets armed themselves with M-16s; those CIDG and Mike Force personnel not armed with BARs or light machine guns used .30 caliber M-1 carbines. Backing up these individual weapons, the camp deployed 14 mortars, 29 Browning .30 caliber machine guns, and one 57mm recoilless rifle. As a further precaution, at dusk Capt Chung Uy Dung sent three security patrols of approximately 10 men each to outpost positions about 200 meters from the camp, with the mission of warning of the approach of enemy forces. After the defenders settled in, they heard digging noises at 11 p.m. near the camp’s south wall and at 1:30 a.m. the sounds of concertina wire being cut along the southern perimeter.14

  The attack began at 3:50 a.m. on March 9 when devastating mortar fire crashed into the camp—the heavy barrage continued without letup until 6:30 a.m. The exploding mortar and recoilless rifle rounds blasted the compound with deadly shrapnel: huge chunks of red dirt, barbed wire, and debris from shattered buildings ripped through the night sky. The explosions appeared to zero in on the American part of the compound and destroyed many of the camp’s structures and temporarily disabled all radios. When the attack started, the senior medic, Staff Sergeant Billie A. Hall, grabbed his weapon and aid kit and ran from his quarters. Seeing many wounded, he ran through heavy enemy fire to assist in dragging the injured to safety and treating them. Spotting two Americans lying on a road in the center of the camp, SSgt Hall dashed to their aid. With enemy mortar rounds bursting all around him, he reached Sergeant First Class Raymond Allen and Sergeant John W. Bradford, dragged them into a ditch, and gave them medical aid. Raymond Allen was among the first in the camp to die when the Rossville, GA native took a direct hit from a mortar round. The same explosion also blew both of Hall’s legs off. Several American team members carried him to the dispensary, and although in extreme pain and weak from blood loss, SSgt Hall, through an interpreter, directed indigenous medics in caring for the wounded. Billie Hall continued to give instructions for treating the other wounded until he lapsed into a coma and died. For his extraordinary heroism, he was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.15

  As the heavy shelling continued, at approximately 4:30 a.m. two companies of the NVA 95B Regiment began probing the south wall. What appeared to be an all-out assault was actually an onslaught by sapper squads using Bangalore torpedoes to blow gaps in the concertina wire. They accomplished their mission. Unfortunately, the bad breaks for Camp A Shau kept right on coming. A few minutes later, at dawn, the three CIDG security patrols came slinking back into the besieged camp. Not only had each patrol spotted the enemy forces before the mortar shelling began, but they had not fired on the NVA troops or otherwise given an alarm for fear they would be discovered and attacked.

  Early on during the barrage, a series of explosions knocked out all camp radios, preventing any communication or emergency requests for help. At dawn when the shelling ended, Detachment A-102 radio operators inspected the damage to the communications bunker and assumed that the radios had been jarred out of commission by exploding mortar rounds. Instead, what they discovered infuriated them. The underground antenna wire had been cut with a knife. This was the
first overt indication of subversion among the Vietnamese irregulars, although it had been suspected that the CIDG units at the camp, particularly Company 141, might have been infiltrated by Viet Cong agents. By 9 a.m. the communications supervisor repaired the sabotaged antenna and re-established contact with Detachment C-1 at Da Nang, although communication was initially only possible via Morse code since the generators powering the single side band radio had been destroyed in the mortar attack.16

  At around 11 a.m., as the camp survivors dug out and regrouped during a morning lull after the attack, two Army Bird Dogs dropped below a 400-foot ceiling and made a hazardous approach and landing on the airstrip. Capt Sam Carter and Sergeant First Class Bennie G. Adkins, both wounded from the mortar shelling, braved sporadic sniper fire to carry critically wounded Master Sergeant Robert L. Gibson to the runway. As they unceremoniously stuffed Gibson into the O-1 for evacuation, they received a heavy volume of small arms fire from the southeast corner of the camp. Thinking that the enemy had infiltrated between the airstrip and the east wall, Carter and Adkins moved a 2-1/2 ton truck in front of the O-1 for protection, but at that point Sergeant First Class Victor C. Underwood watched in disbelief from inside the camp as some of the CIDG Company 141 troops emptied their weapons at the Bird Dogs and the personnel on the airstrip. He and several other A-503 team members instantly interceded. According to Underwood’s matter-of-fact explanation, “the firing stopped when several of the Vietnamese were killed.” He then stationed a Nung platoon behind Company 141 to prevent a recurrence. Once the firing died down, both O-1s gunned their engines and took off.17