Loon

by Jack McLean

  They had been in Cuba less than twenty hours.

  Days later, after leading his small squad through escape and evasion maneuvers across the island, Negron was able to find a small boat, get away from shore, and finally make contact with an American ship. Several hours later, they were returned to Florida.

  Two months later, Bill Negron was back in Oxford, Ohio, completing the second semester of his senior year at Miami University. Upon graduation, he was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps—one of the Corps’ first Hispanic officers. His “semester off” was in the past and remained so for many years.

  Participation in President Kennedy’s disastrous invasion of Cuba at the Bay of Pigs was not considered a career-advancing experience for a junior officer in the United States Marine Corps.

  The denuded red earth that Bill Negron first saw as he and his driver passed through the Washout on their way to Con Thien that mid-May day in 1968 stretched from the North Vietnamese border in the near north to Gio Linh and the South China Sea in the east, and Khe Sanh and Laos in the west. There were free and open fields of fire in all directions. The tactical terrain was apparent. Each commander had added to, improved, or simply changed his predecessor’s plan of defense.

  Begun as a squad-size observation post, Con Thien was now the command center of a reinforced infantry battalion, which included a 105 mm artillery battery section, an 82 mm mortar section, tanks, a water purification unit, various logistics sections from the 3rd Marine Division, and a sprinkling of South Vietnamese Army units who didn’t appear to have anyone in charge. The rotting sandbags were an indication of how long the outpost had existed.

  Prior to the siege of Khe Sanh, this little piece of real estate, a quarter the size of Khe Sanh, had been the target of North Vietnamese gunners for four months. More incoming had fallen there than on Khe Sanh during its entire siege. Con Thien had been the original northern outpost. Its purpose was to interdict southbound North Vietnamese men and supplies. The marine grunts stationed there felt that its only purpose was to provide target practice for the North Vietnamese gunners to the north and west. Each day squad-, platoon-, and occasionally company-size patrols departed the perimeter to go north, east, and west into the no-man’s-land we called the Trace. It was, in fact, the so-called demilitarized zone that separated the North from the South.

  During the day, the marines would make contact with the enemy. During the evening they would return to defend Con Thien. The lieutenant colonels who had commanded Con Thien had all been company-grade officers, lieutenants, and captains during the Korean Conflict fifteen years prior. They seemed comfortable with the defensive posture in which they found themselves.

  They were good at following orders.

  All this was about to change.

  As Negron was arriving back in country, the 3rd Marine Division was celebrating a new commanding general who would be based in Dong Ha. His name was Raymond Davis, and he, like Negron, was appalled by what he saw. Offensive marines were in defensive positions throughout the region. The North Vietnamese skirted around them at will as the NVA headed to the more lucrative urban targets to the south.

  Davis was determined to change all of that and knew that the only way to do it was to abandon the bases like Con Thien and Khe Sanh. He needed his marines back on the offensive. His simply stated strategy was to break the armed enclaves, put marines in the hills, in the jungle, and in the attack. He would emphasize mobility and movable flrebases to counter the enemy buildup.

  We were marines.

  We were not trained to defend.

  We were trained to attack.

  We grunts were thrilled. Real leadership had arrived at last.

  Raymond G. Davis was already a Marine Corps legend when he arrived in Dong Ha. A native of Fitzgerald, Georgia, he was commissioned as a second lieutenant upon graduation from Georgia Tech in 1938. During the Second World War, Davis earned the Navy Cross for extraordinary heroism while fighting on Guadalcanal and Peleliu. In Korea, several years later, he received the Congressional Medal of Honor for superb leadership, outstanding courage, and brilliant tactical ability in the face of overwhelming and insurmountable odds.

  By his own description, General Davis saw himself as a man of action. “I never sit around and think about what others are doing. I am aware that, as a holder of the Medal of Honor, I belong to this nation forever, because of a combat situation where literally thousands of men’s lives depended on the actions that I took when someone had to take action.”

  Davis became our division commander on May 21, 1968, and was quick to observe the futility of the existing strategy.

  Within days, he had the Marine Corps mobile again, beginning with Charlie Company.

  Negron and his driver eventually arrived in Con Thien after the long dusty ride up from Dong Ha. He dismounted, grabbed his gear from the back, bade farewell to his driver, and snaked his way through a trench line to the location of the battalion command post.

  The underground room he entered had a curtain on one wall—apparently the entrance to the command post itself. Pushing his way to the other side, he saw a busy operations section apparently dealing with some current emergency. No one noticed his arrival. A company-size patrol on the north side of the Trace was heavily engaged. A short man was on the phone trying to get tank support. He turned and handed the phone to another man.

  “Mike, you get Bravo Company ready to go. A heavy section of tanks will lead us out. I’ll take the air officer and my radio operators with me. Be ready to go in five minutes. Move it.” With that, he turned and reached down to put his combat harness on. As he was leaving, the officer looked Negron straight in the eyes and said, “Welcome aboard, Captain. I’ll be back in a while.”

  And so was Captain William Negron introduced to his new superior officer, Lieutenant Colonel James H. MacLean.

  Several days later, Negron received the news that Charlie Company, the ragged band of squatters that he had first seen from the jeep on his way north, was his. Having had several days to prepare himself mentally, he attacked his new assignment with enthusiasm and vigor. It was quickly apparent to all of us that a new day had come to Charlie Company. Although we were uncertain at first, we soon felt as though we were back in the Marine Corps and that Negron would get us back in the war.

  It was a heady feeling and brought all of our dormant training and combat skills back to the forefront.

  He began to spend time with every marine in the company—not just “Hi. How are you doing? Do you need anything?” time, but real time, over a can of C rations, or over a can of warm beer. He wanted to know about us and our families, our hopes, fears, and dreams. Quietly and carefully, throughout the process, he was taking inventory. Whom could he count on? Who had leadership talent? Whom would he want nearby when the shit hit the fan? He didn’t have much time, but it was not a process that he felt he could rush. So he got to know a hundred eighty boys—one by one.

  He was eager to check our morale and inventory our skills and experience so that he could bring us up to combat readiness as quickly as possible. He knew that he had only a few weeks to get us prepared for the 3rd Division’s change in direction, because it had been decided that we would be the first to execute General Davis’s new strategy.

  On his fourth day, Negron took the entire company on a three-day patrol a mile out and around the entire exterior of the perimeter. Delta Company stood our lines while we were gone. He spent the time observing and, where appropriate, teaching.

  How good were his officers?

  Sergeants?

  Squad leaders?

  How skilled were the mortar men?

  Who knew how to call in artillery?

  Air strikes?

  Naval bombardment?

  Helicopter gunship support?

  Hell—who could still read a map and a compass?

  The following week, Bill Negron accompanied each platoon leader on his daily patrols. He saw that mos
t of the men were proficient in the basic skills. They knew how to deploy the 60 mm mortars and machine guns and could call for air, artillery, and medevacs. And they did know how to read a map and a compass. They were weak, however, in preregistering and adjusting supporting fire on their patrol routes. These were necessary skills, critical to effectively reacting to emergencies that required artillery support.

  Initially, the lieutenant platoon leaders quietly groused about Negron’s presence on their patrols. They were the ones in charge of their smaller units. It was almost unheard of for a company commander like Negron to venture out on something smaller than a company-size patrol. Soon, however, they realized that he was not usurping their authority.

  Then Negron began going on squad-size patrols.

  Officers commanded platoons, but the squads within the platoons were run by enlisted sergeants. Egos were quietly deflated as all began to see that the Skipper, as he was known, wanted only to make us a solid unit. The early investment that he’d made in each of us on the enlisted side paid off weeks later in gold.

  Pure gold.

  Thanks to that, some of us are still alive.

  After several weeks, Negron could feel the company coming together. He was earning the admiration of his lieutenants and, as a former enlisted man, was increasingly respected by the troops. But the actions that had earned the respect of his men were causing concern higher up in the chain of command.

  One day, early on, he was called up to Con Thien to meet with Lieutenant Colonel MacLean, his first such meeting since taking over the command of Charlie Company.

  “Captain,” began MacLean, “you are not a platoon leader. You are a company commander. You will, therefore, not go out on platoon-size patrols. Do I make myself clear, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied a bewildered Negron, who followed with a respectful explanation of his behavior in the field. He didn’t feel it was the time to mention the even smaller squad-size patrols that he had also been on.

  “This, Captain, is a combat zone, in case you hadn’t noticed, and not basic school. If your lieutenants can’t handle a platoon-size patrol, they shouldn’t be lieutenants or platoon commanders. I’ve lost enough experienced captains. I can’t afford to lose any more. Your job is to stay inside the wire with the bulk of your forces. Do I make myself clear again, Captain?”

  What an asshole.

  Negron stood, came to attention, and said, “Is that all, sir?”

  The colonel nodded, and Negron was dismissed. He beat a hasty retreat south to Charlie Company. The two thousand yards may well have been two thousand miles.

  MacLean never once came down to see our encampment.

  Despite the pesky interference from above, Negron continued building Charlie Company into a formidable fighting force, while earning the gratitude of his men. He obeyed the order to avoid going on smaller patrols, but otherwise continued to thumb his nose at orthodoxy.

  United States Marines in all wars have been notoriously ill-equipped. Vietnam was no exception. Our rifles, packs, boots, flak jackets, jeeps, tanks, and artillery were customarily outdated compared to those of our army counterparts.

  We were at the bottom of the military supply chain.

  Negron was extremely concerned about the prospect of taking us into battle with the gear that we had. Of particular concern was our load-carrying equipment, particularly the web gear and backpacks. The newer men still carried the old two-piece World War II packs that were designed for a midget and required a genius to assemble. Several of the veterans wore captured NVA rucksacks that were well suited for life on the move in the jungle. I had been most fortunate to inherit one a month earlier from a sergeant who was rotating back to the States.

  Negron had been in the Marine Corps long enough to know that somewhere north of Dong Ha there had to be a warehouse full of packs and web gear. He also knew that there was no chance it would be a marine warehouse, given our historic supply problems. He called a meeting of the platoon commanders and unit leaders. He asked that we inventory all of our gear and come up with what would be required to go into battle.

  Three days later, a jeep dragging an overfilled trailer pulled up next to the Charlie Company command post at the Washout. Emerging from his tent with some curiosity, Negron saw Corporal Dwayne Slate and Sergeant Smiley jump out of the jeep, pull the tarp off the back of the trailer, and throw all manner of equipment to the ground. By the time they were done, the two had off-loaded eighty-seven new nylon backpacks, two cases of load-carrying web harnesses, and piles of other vital paraphernalia.

  “Where do I sign?” asked an overwhelmed Negron.

  “Nowhere, I hope,” replied a nervous Slate. “Take it easy, Skipper. Gotta go.”

  With that, the two marines leapt back into the jeep, made a quick turn, and sped back down the road toward Dong Ha. Negron shook his head as he marveled at the bounty. At that point, he noticed that the web gear boxes had United States Army stencils on them. He thanked God for Smiley and Slate, and for the United States Army.

  Negron’s hard work was beginning to pay dividends.

  While he was lambasted and harassed by his higher-ups, increasingly his newly energized troops would go to any end to garner his favor. The new gear was but one example. Almost from the start, we adored him.

  Late in the third week of May, Negron went up to Con Thien for a staff briefing with Lieutenant Colonel MacLean and his three other 1st Battalion company commander counterparts. He detected a new attitude as soon as he entered the perimeter. Marines were bustling about with purpose, weapons were being cleaned, and new equipment was being issued. Enthusiasm permeated the air. The operations officer called the meeting to order, and all stood as Lieutenant Colonel MacLean entered.

  He looked tired.

  “At ease, men. Here’s the scoop. We’re getting out of here. Division is abandoning all of these enclaves and going after the NVA where they are. Gentlemen, we’re going to start fighting like United States Marines.”

  The four company commanders and others gathered in the bunker gave a loud cheer and began patting one another on the back.

  Like the men they commanded, they were eager to fight.

  MacLean continued, “The entire battalion has to be ready to move out in three days. Ordnance teams will be coming up escorted by tanks. They will level the bases as we depart. Starting tomorrow morning, the air force will begin extensive B-52 bombing along the Trace to the north. This is the real deal.”

  After receiving his orders, Negron headed back down the road to the Washout. He was excited, but also concerned.

  Had his three weeks with Charlie Company been enough?

  How would they do under fire?

  The few who had been fired at with live ammo hadn’t seen any real action since the sixth of December. We were excited. We were nervous. I took a moment to write my last letter home from the Washout.

  Vietnam

  May 24, 1968

  It’s now evening and the heat has become unbearable. It is difficult to write since my hand is soaking wet and drops of sweat are falling from my face onto the paper.

  Captain Negron has proved to be superb. He doesn’t get kicks from harassing the troops, as a result, most of our time is our own to do as we wish. We are all on fifteen-minute standby, however, just in case.

  I’ve just returned from a Platoon leader’s meeting. We are moving in a week to Camp Carroll over near Khe Sanh. The Washout and Con Thien will be abandoned. Camp Carroll is an artillery base providing support for the Con Thien and Khe Sanh areas. The count now is 64 days left in the field. The month of June should be a long and very hot one, but I am optimistic that everything will be all right.

  Two days later, May 26, 1968, was my twenty-first birthday.

  Packages and letters poured in from all quarters.

  I got enough goodies to feed the entire company, and so I did. Three days later, we saddled up to head south to Camp Carroll, which was located along Route 9, the main ea
st-west corridor.

  As we waited to depart the Washout, we watched our sister companies convoy down from Con Thien. Charlie Company would be the last to leave. The air was immediately rilled with the sights and sounds of massive explosions to the north. We silently marveled as the smoke rose over what had once been Con Thien. One by one, the bunkers, trenches, motor pool, and old ammo dumps were blown by United States Army ordnance engineers. Three hours later, there was no Con Thien.

  As we watched the trucks disappear to the south, we realized that, for this brief period of time, the one hundred eighty boys of Charlie Company were all that stood between North and South Vietnam.

  Later in the day, we finally boarded our trucks and headed south. Departing the Washout, Bill Negron was again headed into combat.

  Our first assignment, after arriving at Camp Carroll, was to handle road security along Route 9. The road was a scratch of a two-lane dirt road that would barely have made it to a map back home. The rolling hills that surrounded it were deep shades of green and yellow that changed to a greenish gray as the elevation increased. Despite its seeming inconsequence, this was the road that had been the subject of Bernard Fall’s book Street Without Joy, the main thoroughfare between Quang Tri and Khe Sanh. Scattered along both sides were the skeletons of trucks, jeeps, even helicopters—the detritus of past battles.

  We were late arriving, and dusk was upon us. We were to relieve elements of the 1st Battalion, 9th Marines who were stretched out over six key terrain features that overlooked the road. Negron met briefly with his 9th Marine counterpart, Captain Mike Fuller. They briefed each other, studied maps, located artillery emplacements, and made detailed plans for Charlie Company’s relief of the six emplacements. As they parted, Negron asked which of Fuller’s companies was being replaced. Fuller’s response presented Negron with the one challenge that he could not possibly have anticipated.

  “Charlie Company,” Fuller responded.