Chapter One
Black Sunday
With a deafening roar, an “extraordinary lashing of thunder and lightning unexpectedly poured down” on the Khe Sanh Combat Base at exactly 5:15 AM on January 21, 1968. Hundreds of mortar rounds and rockets slammed into the U.S. Marine base situated on a red plateau seven miles east of the Laotian border in the northwest corner of South Vietnam. A direct hit on the main ammo dump ignited 1,500 tons of ammunition, illuminating the predawn sky for miles. A thick column of black smoke billowed into the air, as grungy soot fused with dense fog.
Lethal fragments of twisted metal whistled through space like chunks of red-hot lava, critically wounding many soldiers. Shrapnel riddled trucks, destroyed several choppers, leveled a mess hall, and demolished living quarters. Ignited barrels of powdered CS tear gas singed eyes and flesh on contact. Out of control flames “cooked off” ammo supplies and saturated the air with the stench of burnt cordite. Bru Montagnard and Vietnamese residents of the Xom Cham Plateau thought the world was blowing up. The battle for Khe Sanh had begun.
Over two miles away, in the village of Khe Sanh, the blast alerted U.S. Advisors at the Military Assistance Command Vietnam (MACV) Huong Hoa District Headquarters. Darkness and haze had provided adequate cover for the camouflaged enemy to belly crawl within fifty-feet of the perimeter. American, South Vietnamese, and Bru soldiers fired everything they had at the attackers. Relentless, the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) continued to charge in human waves. Hundreds of dead and wounded enemy soldiers gruesomely draped the concertina wire that encircled the compound.
Ensnared in a well-planned trap, part of Hanoi’s Highway 9-Khe Sanh Offensive, fewer than two-hundred allied defenders abruptly found themselves running dangerously low on ammo while nursing wounded who needed immediate evacuation. Terrified, the brave men inside the compound fought desperately to survive. Outside the gates, 10,000 well-armed NVA 304th Division enemy soldiers prepared for siege warfare.
Khe Sanh Combat Base, October 1967. Photo by Larry Larsen.
Black Sunday, January 21, 1968, marked the beginning of seventy-seven days of misery and bloodshed over a strategic scrap of ground U.S. troops refused to surrender. According to NVA General Nguyen Duc Huy, nearly 100,000 NVA soldiers had moved south along the Ho Chi Minh Trail from North Vietnam to the Khe Sanh Area Front to fight in this critical theater of battle. Familiar with the topography, North Vietnamese military planners had observed the Americans at Khe Sanh closely in order to develop detailed battle procedures. Hanoi’s key tactic was to draw U.S. and Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) relief forces from locations east of Khe Sanh. Adept at subterfuge, well-armed NVA soldiers assigned to specific infiltration positions would attack reinforcements when they attempted to enter the confrontation. Within hours, Khe Sanh would become worldwide headline news and prompt General William C. Westmoreland to initiate a secret MACV study to evaluate the possible use of nuclear or chemical weapons in defense of the combat base.
Through the Hickory Hill radio relay located on Hill 950, Army Captain (CPT) Bruce Clarke, MACV Senior District Advisor, advised the Quang Tri Province Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) Senior Advisor, Robert Brewer, he needed reinforcements and supplies; his men in the compound could hold out for another day if they had additional ammo. Unsure help would arrive in time, CPT Clarke and ARVN counterpart CPT Tinh-A-Nhi resolved along with their men that there would be no surrender; they grimly prepared for a fight to the death.
Seventy miles from the battle, a single chopper from the Hue [Way] section of the 282nd Assault Helicopter Company (AHCC) Black Cats responded to the call for resupply of the MACV. Chief Warrant Officer (CWO) Tom Pullen and WO (Warrant Officer) Richard Gilmore flew their crew six miles southwest of Quang Tri to La Vang Airfield to pick up ammunition, medical supplies, water, and two South Vietnamese soldiers. Quang Tri MACV Deputy Province Senior Advisor, Lieutenant Colonel (LTC) Joseph Seymoe, also joined the mission to observe the situation in Khe Sanh.
Sent to analyze communications security, Tino “Chui” Banuelos, a member of the 101st Radio Research Company (Army Security Agency [ASA] cover) had briefed LTC Seymoe earlier that morning about breeches in the unit’s radio transmission security. Seymoe, a P-51 fighter pilot who earned the Distinguished Flying Cross in Korea, but couldn’t transition to jets due to an inner ear problem, believed speed during a mission tended to exceed security in importance.
Surrounded by tall trees on three sides, the single helicopter landing zone (LZ) bordered the MACV compound perimeter on the west. Fifty feet from touchdown, concentrated enemy fire blocked Pullen’s efforts to land. A bullet struck Sergeant (SGT) Maurice Seghetti, in the foot, resulting in severe blood loss. Dodging green machinegun tracers, Pullen and Gilmore took evasive flight action while Seymoe administered first aid to Seghetti. At Seymoe’s order, Pullen radioed his Section Leader, Lieutenant (LT) Bob Ford, to request additional helicopters for a combat assault (CA).
Back on the ground at La Vang Airfield, Pullen took care of Seghetti and attempted to locate another door gunner. No problem, the Marines were always looking for a fight, especially this day. Private First Class (PFC) Rick Brittingham, a Marine with the 3rd Military Police Battalion, was operating an M-60 machinegun on an Armed Personnel Carrier (APC). Pullen asked if he’d like to be a door gunner on an assault. After clearing it with his gunnery sergeant, Brittingham volunteered.
Lieutenant Ford decided to attempt the resupply. On entry into the compound, a radio voice exclaimed in Ford’s earpiece, “Black Cat 21, you cannot believe what’s coming at you!” Greeted with a barrage of muzzle flashes, Ford acknowledged with two clicks on the radio transmit trigger as his crew tossed ammo crates out of cargo doors and loaded fresh cans of rounds into the M-60s. Twenty seconds later, he pulled in full power, low-leveled to the east, dove into a steep ravine, and climbed until distance took them out-of-range.
Crew chief Joe Sumner’s helicopter was on call in Da Nang when word came to meet LT Ford in Dong Ha to help carry provisions to Khe Sanh. Sumner’s assigned pilot was unavailable. Although not expected to fly with only nineteen days left in country, WO2 Gerald McKinsey, Jr. (Mac to his friends) volunteered to take the pilot’s place. Sumner didn’t think he should take the mission, but McKinsey had flown the area around Khe Sanh on a daily basis and knew the countryside well.
WO2 Gerald McKinsey, Jr. Photo courtesy Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund (VVMF)
Lieutenant Colonel Seymoe, determined to get relief to the troops on the ground, waited with Ford and his crew in Dong Ha. Due to McKinsey’s familiarity with the Area of Operation (AO ), Seymoe changed aircraft and the ammo was loaded onto McKinsey’s chopper for a third endeavor to resupply the men trapped in the compound. With Ford flying cover, McKinsey made three courageous attempts to land at the compound, but the ground fire was too heavy. Sumner, ten months in country, believed Khe Sanh village the hottest LZ he had ever seen.
At the Combat Operations Center (C0C) in Quang Tri, LTC Seymoe reported to Brewer on the life and death situation in Khe Sanh, and requested ARVN troops in support of a combat relief mission. With 1st ARVN General Ngo Quang Truong’s approval, Brewer called a Council-Of-War. Among those present was LTC Nguyen Am, Commander of the Quang Tri Province ARVN 1st Infantry Division; Major (MAJ) John Oliver, Jr., Chief Regional Forces/Popular Forces (RF/PF) Advisor; CPT Warren Milberg, USAF, Intel Advisor; James R. Bullington, Department of State; and John M. Uhler, USAID.
Captain Clarke communicated with Brewer via intermittent and scratchy transmissions on a single sideband radio. The NVA had the compound surrounded and continued to attack at full strength. Unsure how long they could hold out, Clarke was apprehensive he and his men would become “expendable warriors.” The Council reviewed the dire situation. Brewer turned to LTC Am and requested he send the 258th Regional Forces, “a first rate company,” on a rescue expedition flown by the 282nd AHC. Seymoe volunteered to lead the operation.
Over a hundred miles to the
south, the Da Nang Section of the Black Cats gathered in a flight hangar at Marble Mountain Airfield to present CPT Tommy Stiner with a surprise cake for his thirtieth birthday. F**king New Guy (FNG) Jerry Elliott also celebrated; after eleven days as a door gunner for the 282nd he was promoted to PFC. Their party interrupted by a call for volunteers to conduct an emergency Combat Assault (CA), the Black Cats scrambled for the chopper revetments.
Specialist 5 David Howington (left) and SGT Hill (right) at Marble Mountain Airfield in Da Nang prepare to crew the ill-fated Black Cat #027 prior to leaving for Khe Sanh on 21 Jan 68. Photo courtesy Black Cat Assn.
Black Cats arriving at La Vang Airfield. Photo by David A. Sciacchitano.
Rather than rely on alphanumeric identification, it was common to position, or chalk, temporary numbers on the sides of helicopters involved in an operation. Larry Elliott, NOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge) of the 212th Combat Aviation Brigade (CAB ) S-3 (administrative section) made ready to door gun for Chalk #2 when Jerry boarded the chopper. Private First Class Elliott informed the NCO there was a mistake; he was to fly the mission. Surprised, SGT Elliott responded he was prepared to go. Jerry insisted he was “supposed to go.” He climbed into the gunners seat, snapped the monkey strap into place, and smiled.
Captain Stiner took four slicks (helicopters with little armament), along with three Alley Cat gunships, and flew from Marble Mountain to the La Vang Airfield where Ford, McKinsey, and Pullen waited with their crews. At La Vang, the Black Cats picked up supplies and approximately seventy troopers from the Quang Tri 258th Regional Forces.
According to pilot WO Ronald McBride, the Alley Cats were “fully armed with rockets, machine guns, and grenades, plus our personal weapons which consisted of a variety of .45 cal pistols and M-16 rifles.”
ARVN Regional Forces board Chalk #2. Photo by David Sciacchitano.
Ford and Pullen attempted to persuade LTC Seymoe to delay the combat assault until artillery and Air Force F-4 fighter jets prepped an alternate LZ close to the compound. Visibly upset, Ford ignored Seymoe’s impatient stance to insist conditions were more than the gunships could handle. A large flight of Huey’s would never be able to land without terrible consequences. He had made it in and out as a single ship only because of accelerated approach and full power take-off, impossible to achieve with a formation of several choppers. Lieutenant Colonel Seymoe emphatically told LT Ford he was out of line, end of discussion.
While they waited for the Black Cats from Da Nang to arrive, Sumner thought about the heavy fire they had encountered in Khe Sanh. He knew they were crazy to consider returning. When the Black Cats from Da Nang landed at La Vang Airfield, Sumner sought out his friend from back home, Specialist (SP) 5 David Howington, and told him, “I don’t think we’re all going to make it back.”
Anxious to deliver relief to the stranded soldiers, Seymoe quickly briefed the Black Cat pilots, keeping details to a minimum. Much of the information about the tactical situation from a pilot’s perspective came from McKinsey. He volunteered to pilot the lead aircraft and changed seats with MAJ Ronald C. Rex, which resulted in McKinsey and Stiner flying the lead helicopter, or Chalk #1. Seymoe moved into the lead chopper to command the assault. Pullen, nervous about returning to Khe Sanh, told McKinsey, “If we go back, somebody is going to get hurt.”
The combat force, composed of seven UH-1D Black Cat helicopters escorted by three Alley Cat gunships, was en route to Khe Sanh by 4 PM. The Black Cats would attempt to make a minimum of two troop airlifts into the LZ before sunset. The flight west over mountaintops and jungle from La Vang to Khe Sanh was without incident. Problems began to surface, according to Brewer, when four flights of heavily armed USAF fighterbombers went into orbit high above Khe Sanh. His requested air support to level the coffee orchard south of the MACV’s compound perimeter waited eagerly in the sky for orders to lay down fire. The jets, running low on fuel, flew in formation as 20th TASS Air Force Forward Air Controller (FAC) CPT Leigh Cooper, over bad radio communication, attempted to contact FAC CPT Ward Britt. He needed to inform Britt to vacate the area for the proposed bombing assault. At the same time Cooper tried to notify Seymoe to delay the mission, “...the planned air strike couldn’t be pulled off, yet.”
Unaware he was in the high-range bombers path, Britt continued to pilot his O-1 Bird Dog over the Khe Sanh air space at low altitude in order to locate and mark targets while he directed five separate flights of Marine fighter aircraft; his Cessna a small, but unexpected hazard to jets on a bombing run.
Planning on the run en route to an LZ wasn’t out of place; the 282nd pilots did it often, and did it well. Accustomed to fighting the Viet Cong (VC) in small, relatively unorganized groups, their radios buzzed with discussion about the slicks landing at the Poilane coffee orchard one at a time. Considered unfeasible without adequate bombing preparation, ultimately the organizers scratched the proposal. Diverted from the orchard to a new LZ, the Black Cats intended to fly approximately a mile east of the compound. The plan was to approach the flat hilltop known as the Old French Fort in a tight, stagger trail left formation. The slicks would hover a few feet off the ground in order to offload troops and supplies as swiftly as possible.
Dusk and low fuel had forced CPT Britt to land at the Combat Base between sporadic mortar attacks. On approach to Khe Sanh, Pullen spotted the O-1 Bird Dog departing the Area of Operations (AO) for Quang Tri. He radioed the pilot for a situation report. After withstanding more than three hours of intense fire that afternoon, Britt issued Pullen a blunt warning, “Turn around and go back, or you will die.”
Chapter Two
Jerry
Jerry William Elliott was born in Clarksdale, Mississippi, on July 14, 1948. He came into the world in respiratory distress, a “blue baby.” The country doctor gave him up for dead and left the clinic delivery room, but the birthing nurse wouldn’t let the little boy go without a desperate effort to get him breathing. Mama thought she might lose her firstborn, but to everyone’s surprise the scrappy infant fought to live and gasped his first breath. From that moment on, Jerry was distinctively special to Mama, and she called her newborn son “a little miracle.”
A two-year-old toddler when Daddy moved the family to his hometown of Greenville, Mississippi, he reluctantly shared the limelight when I came along a year later. My earliest memories of my big brother center around our old neighborhood on Daniels Street. Home was a modest two-bedroom house with polished hardwood floors. A Formica kitchen table with overstuffed handleback chairs was usually the center of activity, when we weren’t outside playing on the swing set in our large, fenced-in backyard. Uninteresting, except for the young pecan tree planted one Arbor Day, the front yard was mainly our getaway path to exciting places we weren’t supposed to go unsupervised.
When I was about three years old, I followed Jerry and our cousin, Charlie, to such a place not far from the house. It was an old tin building with straw on the floor, probably used as a holding area for livestock at one time. Long boards randomly nailed to posts created narrow chutes to prevent the cattle from bunching up. There was barely enough room to crawl under the bottom planks. The boys must have played there often because they seemed to know their way around. To a little girl it was a confusing maze.
The owner kept a horse there that didn’t like kids. The boys played a dangerous game of hide n’ seek with the testy animal. Each time the gelding figured out how to reach them, they scooted under the fence to slip out of reach at the last minute. Infuriated, he snorted, reared, and pawed at the air with his two front legs, eyes wide and wild. I watched in horrified fascination, until unexpectedly the horse turned his attention in my direction. The massive brute charged towards me as I stood there, petrified with fear. All at once, my feet went out from under me as two hands wrapped around my ankles, and yanked me under the railing to safety.
Donna and Jerry, 1951.
The loco horse had almost trampled me. I wanted to run home to Mama, crawl up in her l
ap, and whimper. Familiar with the trouble my tattling could create for him; Jerry talked me out of telling. The only payback requested for saving my hide was silence. As he wiped away my tears, my brother convinced me I should keep this incident to myself, or he and Charlie would never let me play with them again. I kept that promise. I never told anyone, until now.
In May 1960, our sister Cindy Ann was born. Jerry was almost twelve, and I’d recently turned nine, just old enough to be excited about being the big sister for a change. Eager to meet the new baby, I didn’t attend school that morning. Jerry wanted nothing to do with “just another girl.” He went to class disappointed and disgusted. Shortly after our parents came home from the hospital, the nurse’s office called. Jerry had a toothache and needed Daddy to pick him up from school.
Elliott Family, 1957. Left to right: Grandma Rosie, Jerry, Mary, Donna, and Bill.
Moaning and holding his jaw, the patient came into the house. Our folks were furious; they had recently spent a lot of money for our dental care. Daddy was about to call the dentist and “raise cane” when Jerry asked Mama if he could hold the baby. Mama carefully placed the newborn in his gangly arms and showed him how to support her fuzzy little head. Once settled, Cindy Ann opened her big brown eyes, and grabbed one of Jerry’s fingers with her tiny hand. Miraculously, his toothache disappeared forever.
In junior high, Jerry started to notice girls. They were certainly attracted to him. Girls would call the house for him everyday. They rang the phone so much Jerry often told me to say he wasn’t home. Rather than hang up when they couldn’t talk to him, some of the girls insisted on telling me how much they loved my brother. I always tried to listen sympathetically, even though I thought they were being foolish. I must admit, however, when I ran into one of his admirers at the local soda fountain, a free cherry cola was always a welcome treat.
Keeping the Promise: The Story of MIA Jerry Elliott, a Family Shattered by His Disappearance, and a Sister's 40-Year Search for the Truth Page 2