Special Ops: Four Accounts of the Military's Elite Forces

by Orr Kelly

  We reacted mostly to the reports of the PBR forces. All the sections of the river were given names—Juliet, Foxtrot, that kind of thing. If they received heavy fire or saw a lot of activity, that was a pretty good indicator something was going on down there. We’d go down and try to interdict some of that kind of stuff.

  That thing with Larry Bailey, when we were coming up off that op [after picking up Marcinko’s squad], it was just dumb luck. There was a Vietnamese outpost just being overrun. We just happened to be going by. With the .50 calibers, you could just fire right across this field. It was beautiful. You couldn’t ask for a better field of fire. We illuminated the area. You could see this outpost was trying to defend itself. You could see all these little guys running toward the outpost. You could see who were the good guys and the bad guys.

  I got on one of the .50 calibers. The STAB is right alongside. We were just steaming up the river and the boat was tied alongside.

  Someone said, “Get that STAB out of there.”

  So I think Gallagher and a couple of guys jumped down into the boat and were going to move it. I can remember Jim Watson bitching. I was right over that STAB. And there were a couple of VC up on the bank firing down at them and I was firing at these guys up on the bank.

  These guys in the boat were bitching: “Goddamn it, you stop fooling with that gun …” because all this hot brass was falling down on their head. But they didn’t realize what was going on. These guys were shooting at them.

  We were able to eliminate a lot of the aggressors. If I recall, Larry Bailey was later presented a VC flag for the support we gave that outpost. But it was just dumb luck.

  That whole situation really upsets me—the implication of SEALs not supporting each other because that’s just not true. I’ll tell any one of them to their face: We were there to support you.

  Marcinko served time in prison and he has made these controversial statements in his book. Do SEALs still accept him?

  Oh, absolutely, I would follow Dick Marcinko anywhere. The entire enlisted community backs him, which tells you he was a good commanding officer and took care of his people. It is only a small contingent of the officer community that may have reservations about Marcinko.

  One thing I can tell you about Marcinko. He always did his job. He always communicated with his enlisted people. He’d listen to them. And he made his own decisions based on their recommendations. He was very good about that. He always took care of his people. I don’t recall Marcinko ever leaving any of his people out on a limb.

  Do people feel he disgraced the SEALs?

  If anything upsets the people, it’s the fact that SEALs were put in that limelight. All of a sudden there are stories in the Navy Times about the SEALs. I think that’s what they resent. It’s not Dick Marcinko. It got into the public eye. That’s what hurt. He’s writing books now. Good luck to him. But I don’t want to see any slanderous things said about the teams. There was just too much togetherness to see us torn apart.

  What was your reaction when you read what Marcinko said about that operation on March 13?

  I was shocked when I read it. I told Marcinko, “That’s not the way it happened.” He says, “Well, that’s the way I remember it.” I said, “Nah, nah, nah.” I hate to see it hurt two good friends.

  In another statement prepared at Bailey’s request, Braly, then a lieutenant in charge of the Mike boat, says that when automatic weapons fire from the ambush broke out, he was in radio contact with Bailey in the STAB and attempted to contact Bravo Squad. He continues:

  By the time the LCM was under way Lt. Bailey had closed virtually to the extraction point. I proceeded there also at best speed (eight knots). Enroute, I gave Lt. Bailey a few corrective radar vectors, and when he beached the STAB, I stopped the LCM to avoid congestion in the extraction area. We were roughly 1/2 mile away.

  There was no visible weapons activity on [the island], nor had there been since the initial flurry. I was concerned, and apprehensive, about Lt. Bailey’s decision to approach the ambush site on foot, and with absolutely no information regarding conditions at that site. I suppose I rationalized that he had the required knowledge, training, and skills. Today, in retrospect, I think he must have been either completely insane, or possessed by an absolutely irresistible death wish.

  Once the extraction had been effected, I vectored the STAB to the LCM and everyone boarded. There was a brief and confusing “reunion,” with everyone wanting to tell his story and congratulate everyone else. Spirits among Bravo Squad were very high. To my knowledge, there was no confrontation between Ens. Marcinko and Lt. Bailey, certainly not in the vicinity of the pilot house. Had a confrontation such as is described on page 87 of Rogue Warrior occurred elsewhere on the boat, my crew would certainly have informed me.

  Henry J. “Jake” Rhinebolt, who retired as a lieutenant commander and now lives in Maine, recalled his investigation of the incident in a letter to Bailey:

  As a result of my informal investigation, I concluded that, since this was Ensign Marcinko’s first land combat operation, he became excited and confused, which somehow led him to try to fault Lieutenant Bailey. It was also my conclusion that Lieutenant Bailey acted properly in all he undertook that night.

  Having read Mr. Marcinko’s book, Rogue Warrior, I am distressed that he would bring up the same false charges he made in 1967 and even elaborate on them. Regarding his account of his assault on Lieutenant Bailey on the LCM-8, I unequivocally state that such an event never took place. If it had, I would have heard about it officially and unofficially the next day, as an event of that nature would not have gone unreported to me. That an ensign would, before witnesses, assault an officer two pay grades higher than he is, would be a very uncommon occurrence.

  In a letter to Bailey, Robert A. Gormly, who led another squad nearby as part of the 13 March operation, recalled a confrontation between Bailey and Marcinko the following day. Now a retired captain living in Chula Vista, California, Gormly wrote:

  You, Dick, Jake Rhinebolt (not absolutely sure he was present), Jess Tollison, and I were sitting in one of our rooms at the PBR base in Binh Thuy when you and Dick got into a heated discussion concerning your nonsupport of him on a recently conducted operation. I believe he called you a coward or words to that effect, for not being quick enough to extract him after his squad had gotten involved in a firelight. I recall you challenging him to step outside to fight and him declining the invitation.

  It seems to me the entire incident was over in a matter of minutes and at the time we all sort of laughed it off, since there was some disagreement as to whether Dick’s squad had ever taken hostile fire. It was early in our deployment and none of us were “combat hardened”—some were seeing VC behind every mangrove tree.

  That is as best as I remember the incident. It was a long time ago and only a small vignette compared to what was to come.

  CHAPTER

  16

  The Bullfrog

  Commander James Eugene “Gene” Wardrobe, the product of a broken home with a tough childhood in Sacramento and Dallas, joined the navy when he was eighteen years old, with only a ninth grade education. He became a frogman two years later and almost immediately was sent to Vietnam to chart the coastline.

  Years later, having advanced through the enlisted ranks, received an education from the navy, and earned a commission, Wardrobe was surprised one day to find himself the Bullfrog—the longest-serving SEAL on active duty.

  During his service as a SEAL in Vietnam, Wardrobe became deeply concerned about a subject many SEALs are reluctant to discuss openly: indiscriminate killing.

  In two lengthy interviews at the Naval Special Warfare Command headquarters in Coronado, Wardrobe openly talked about this sensitive subject, his attempt to change things—and the surprising outcome of his efforts.

  Wardrobe is of stocky build with a shock of sandy hair and blue eyes. His round face is evidence of a tendency toward overweight. He speaks slowly, deliberately, dredgin
g up some painful memories, beginning with his first Vietnam tour with SEAL Team ONE, Mike Platoon, operating out of Nha Be in the Rung Sat Special Zone in 1968:

  My commanding officer was stupid. He was also brave beyond belief. He would go anywhere, completely without any intelligence. But he never planned his ops carefully. As a result, it caused us to have a number of problems, and a lot of casualties. Frankly we didn’t have a whole lot of understanding about what he or higher authorities wanted us to do. We had been trained to conduct static ambushes in the Rung Sat, but after one month we were transferred to another area to do ops in entirely different terrain—rice paddies and tree-line areas.

  So this [officer] took us on an op one night. I asked him where we were going.

  He said, “We’re going to this village.” He pointed on the map to a village two klicks in from the river.

  He said, “I’ve heard reports they’re in that area. Don’t worry, we’ll find some VC in there and we’ll ambush them.”

  The PBRs took us to the insertion point and we patrolled to this village. Shortly after we arrived, this young couple walked out in the moonlight, got into a little sampan, and were about to go somewhere when he shot ’em. The whole platoon opened up, too. I didn’t fire. I was the grenadier.

  At his order, we took off at a run to go back to the river. On the way, we received fire from VC that were running parallel, firing at us from the tree lines. That’s when I started putting out rounds from my grenade launcher.

  Later, when we got back to the base, [the officer] wanted to know why I hadn’t fired. And I told him. I asked him, “How do you know those people were VC? They weren’t armed.”

  He said they were violating curfew, but that was not the point: I should have fired to ensure platoon discipline.

  I told him I didn’t come over here to murder people. I wasn’t going to fire at unarmed people.

  That’s the kind of leadership I was stuck with on this trip. I was a newly promoted first class petty officer. There were four of us who were first class petty officers in this platoon.

  The next disaster after that op was the death of our senior leading petty officer, BM1 Walter Pope. We were in an armored LCPL [landing craft, personnel, light]. Pope always cleaned his weapon immaculately.

  But what happened, there was a pin in his Stoner [light machine gun] that held the sear down in the weapon. He had cleaned his weapon so many times that the little detent wire had fallen out and he had not noticed it missing.

  As the boat proceeded to our insertion point, Pope’s squad was up inside the forward compartment. My squad was back aft on the stern.

  The vibration from the boat caused Pope’s Stoner to vibrate. The pin fell out of the cocked weapon and it started firing rounds into the ceiling. Bullets were ricocheting, wounding Frank Toms and others in his squad.

  Pope stood up and pulled the muzzle of the machine gun into his stomach to protect his buddies. He took a total of forty-three rounds. It was the most heroic thing I ever saw. This [officer] nominated him for a Bronze Star medal—posthumous. I couldn’t believe it. Somehow I thought the navy could have said more, done more to recognize his sacrifice.

  About two weeks later [the officer] had another idea. While we were in Nha Be, two SEALs had come up with an idea called underway insertion. We would ride the patrol boats up the rivers close to the bank. The boats don’t break their engine RPM. You get off and the VC don’t know you got off because the boats never slow or stop their engines.

  On this op, we were going to snatch an alleged high-ranking VCI [Viet Cong infrastructure, a person in the Viet Cong organization]. Well, this [officer] kept the boat in the middle of the river instead of in the shadows and the shallower sides of the river. A sentry saw us out there and fired warning shots. Lights went on in hootches along the bank.

  [The officer] gave the order, “Get in the water!”

  I said, “Didn’t you hear the warning shots?” His reply was to shove me off the boat with his boot. Everybody got in trouble on the swim in to the bank because we were so heavily loaded and we didn’t have enough flotation and we hadn’t rehearsed this procedure well. It was a good three-hundred-yard swim. We were really exposed.

  The correct concept was, you would step off the back of the PBR and, at best, you would be in waist-deep water.

  This just proved once more, this officer was stupid. He had made us get off the boat in the middle of the river. This was supposed to be a clandestine maneuver, but there were warning shots and other indications we had been detected. They knew we were there.

  I’ve always been a strong swimmer. I saw a man go under and heard a cry for help from our radioman, who said Skinner Devine [SFP2 David E. Devine] had just gone under. I dumped my gear and swam to the radioman. I dove down to try to rescue Devine and thought I had him. But guess who I rescued? It was the officer. I found him at about twenty feet down. I learned later that he was trying to rescue Devine and in the process had gotten himself in trouble. Devine drowned and his body was recovered the next day.

  When it became apparent that people were in trouble, I sort of took charge of the op. I told the radioman to pop an emergency extraction flare to get the boats back. We weren’t going on any snatch that night. The next day, I wrote a report of the incident to the detachment officer in charge. I wanted [the officer] brought up on charges. The detachment officer in charge told me there wasn’t much we could do. He handed the report back to me. I still have it in my scrap-book.

  I got into a big argument with this [officer] about how bad his ops were becoming. I told him we had to rehearse, that we had to have better intel. We really got into a terrible argument. He sent me up to where SEAL Team TWO SEALs were operating out of My Tho. He said, “Go up there, take a day off, cool off.”

  He was planning another op. I begged him to slow down. Both Pope and Devine were first class petty officers. There were only two first class E-6 petty officers left, myself and another guy named Donny Patrick. I went to My Tho for the day. I was supposed to come back that night on the PBR. But the boat broke down and didn’t make the run so I spent the night on the PBR.

  I was lying there on the PBR and I turned the boat’s radios to the frequencies I knew. And this [officer] went out on that op anyway without me. The next day I learned the following story.

  They were going up the river to the insertion point, again out in the middle of the river, and again there were some warning shots.

  The officer had missed the designated insertion point. He ordered the boat turned around and went back despite the fact they heard warning shots. They inserted against a bank at low tide and the VC were waiting there. One of the VC had an M79 grenade launcher. When the boat hit the bank, he fired the grenade, which blew Donny Patrick in half and wounded everybody else on the boat. From the description I heard, it was a massacre. [Both platoon officers] were medevaced and subsequently medically discharged from the navy with 100 percent disabilities.

  Everybody else in the boat was wounded, the whole platoon. I had heard it all on the radio. Heard them screaming for help, for gunfire support. That really traumatized me. Of late, I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD—post traumatic stress disorder. This tragic comedy of errors bothers me a lot. I still have nightmares.

  When I got back to the detachment the next morning, I got a call from CTF-116, our ultimate boss. He wanted to know the status of the platoon.

  I said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m the only one standing up. The only one that can walk.” So SEAL Team ONE sent us two new officers and some replacements. And when everybody healed, the new officers tried to improve morale and to get us to go out and do some more ops. These officers were better. They were certainly better planners.

  There was a real dilemma in the teams at this time. We knew the VC traveled either the left or right side of a river. They always had their weapons pointed in the direction of the closest bank. In some cases, they even had pins pulled on grenades and they would
toss them toward the bank if they heard a noise, at the same time rolling themselves and their sampans over into the water. If they heard anything or if you lai day-ed them, you were going to get a grenade tossed into your ambush site. But the rules of engagement said that you had to lai day them. You had to give them a chance. Or you had to be fired at before you could fire. The one exception was in the free-fire zones. If they were out there, we were told, we could shoot ’em.

  Knowing all this, a lot of SEAL officers and petty officers said: If they’re out there, that’s their tough luck. They shouldn’t be there. I’m going to shoot ’em.

  Halfway through the platoon’s tour in Vietnam, it was moved from the mangrove swamps of the Rung Sat Special Zone to an area of open rice paddies near the Ham Long River, in the delta. SEALs in another platoon took them on several break-in patrols in the new area.

  We would patrol in, sit there all night. We were coming from the rivers as far as two thousand yards inland. We really felt vulnerable because we had not trained for this environment of tree lines and rice paddies and we had no intelligence.

  One night the officer and an automatic weapons guy from the other platoon gave us a break-in patrol. We patrolled in to a suspected VC area and set an ambush. An old woman came walking down the path. [This automatic weapons guy] just killed her for no reason. Just shot her full of holes. I remember stopping and looking at her and we started to run and then the whole world came after us. I said, “What happened?” This guy said it was a mistake. And the officer defended him. We had heard about this guy. And he was a psychopathic killer.

  That [killing of the old woman] added to my commitment, if you will. Here’s my first break-in op and here’s this lunatic, this psychopath. We asked him later, “You guys are supposed to break us in. We could see that was a woman. You’re supposed to be a seasoned gun.” This guy killed for love of killing.