"Who's That at the Door?"

Seems like we barely got our packs off, when supply choppers started bringing in stacks of empty sandbags to fill, and rolls & rolls of more barbed concertina wire than was already there. Within a week or so, we'd put up so much barbed wire, the whole hill was starting to look like a state prison! We laced the perimeter with staked-out "tangle-foot" wire, we planted anti-personnel claymore mines (both foot-tripwired) and hardcord remote-buttoned. There was a series of trip-flares along the lower "skirt" of the barbed field, and there were 3 or 4 small "gateways" to allow our own patrols to exit & re-enter the perimeter as needed.

They flew in more steel reinforcing rails to stiffen the bunkers, more c-rations, water, and crateload after crateload of rifle ammunition, machinegun ammo, rocket rounds, mortar rounds, grenades. There was enough ordinance on 861, to start our own war. Slightly to the north of us, 881 South & 881 North was being re-supplied and refortified as well.

What was there already, wasn't enough. We reinforced, and we dug. (The Khe Sanh Association I'm a member of today, has the slogan, "Home is where you dig it.") And it sure WAS!

There was a definite sense of urgency to get this all done. What very few of us knew, was that North Vietnam (just over the border from us) were getting ready to launch on all-out massive attack on South Vietnam during the TET (Vietnamese Lunar New Year). Part of that huge operation was to overrun Khe Sanh, all three of the Hills and the camp at Lang Veigh. One big sweep. NVA General Giap, who had led the north to victory over the French in 1954, had the same basic plan in mind for US.

Our Battalion, a part of the 3rd Marine Division, working with several other Marine outfits, numbered about 6,000 throughout the entire Khe Sanh Valley. General Giap's "DMZ" Army numbered close to 40,000. About a 7 to 1 advantage in manpower. TET '68 was called "The year of the Monkey", by the Vietnamese.............and there were a LOT of "monkees" out there, believe me!

I should tell you though, that the "7 to 1" ratio, really isn't as lopsided as it might seem. On the hills, WE held the high ground and were dug-in behind bunker and trenchline sandbagged barriers. THEY would have to climb UP the hill to us, with little to no cover once they GOT there, and encounter all that booby-trapped wire to boot. There were 155mm Howitzer batteries at the main base, 175's at Camp Carroll, and Marine F-4 Phantoms in DaNang were only a radio call away...........if they attacked in the daytime........

Throughout the first couple of weeks in January, patrols from all 3 hills started encountering enemy troops and activities, enough to see the huge situation that was coming. So we braced and waited. Not for long.

Just a few hours before dawn on the morning of the 21st, an RPG rocket round came screaming in from the south side of the hill, about halfway from our trenchline to the top. A couple more followed, then a barrage of mortar rounds started landing all over the hill (as I recall it). I doubt that anybody was counting the rounds and taking notes.

Everybody was taking cover, manning their weapons and looking for a direction and a target to shoot at. I'd been sleeping in my hole at the time, as my buddy John Snowder was taking HIS turn on watch (we slept in staggerred 4 hour shifts, all up and down the trenchline.)

"KA-WHAM!!" The whole hill was starting to rumble, big flashes and booms, dirt falling in your face from the roof of your personal mini-cave or bunker, guys yelling out "INCOMING-----INCOMING"..........(a phrase that would become part of the language from then on.)

I grabbed my rifle and scurried out of my hole into the nearest bunker with a couple of other guys. One of the mortar teams on the hill popped a couple of flare rounds, and as they lit up the night sky, we could see them coming up the slopes with their AK-47's, trying to get through the barbed wire, and we opened fire, trying to tag as many as we could. But there weren't all that many coming up that south slope of ours. Very shortly, the NORTH side of the hill REALLY started catching it, and platoon sergeants gathered about half of us on the southside----to go around the trenchline and beef up the other side, and the OTHER half STAY PUT.

(As we would figure out later, a small force had worked its way around to the south and attacked OUR side, trying to make us think that's where the attack was coming from, in hopes of drawing the NORTHSIDE guys over to help defend US while the MAIN force would attack the NORTH trenchline.)

But it didn't work out that way. The "southern attack" started to fizzle out, and we left just enough men over there to pick off the "stragglers." I was once again one of those "you, you and you" guys that got sent over to help the other side of the hill against the main invasion force.

There was an "empty space" just to the left of Doug Webber (a 2nd Platoon Bazookaman friend of mine), so I just leaned up against the trench and fired over the sandbags whenever a flare would illuminate a "target."

The "heavy stuff" had pretty much ceased by now, as the NVA troops were almost in our laps, and their OWN mortarmen weren't about to lob the big rounds in on their own people. They were paying a fearful price trying to get through all the wire out there. I think some of them probably had cutters, but whenever they'd trip-off a flare and be seen, they'd get shot. Sometimes, the enemy would fall dead on the wire, and the guy BEHIND him would just use the dead body as a "stepping stone" to get to the next barrier.

It was pretty wild. Hey.....anybody who's "never been scared in combat" is either a liar or a fool.

Your ears are ringing from the explosions, the smell of spent cordite is a smell you'll never forget. The EXTREMELY distinct "muzzle chatter" of an AK-47, is a SOUND you'll never forget either! Guys screaming out (on both sides) as they're being hit......it ain't like you see it in the movies. And you SMELL death. You really can.

I'm still there with Webber, when an RPG round comes whistling over the top of the wire and hits something pretty hard, further down the trench. Hard to see what it was, still pretty dark before sunrise. Shortly, the word comes down that the RPG round had knocked out a machinegun position, and a few "Lukes" had gotten through and were now INSIDE our perimeter, running around loose on the crest of the hill somewhere! And it's still fairly dark, except for an occasional flare. They sent 4 or 5 of us down the trench to "close the gap" I was the 2nd or 3rd guy in line as we made our way down the trench. Jim Maynard was right behind me. We were almost there when the crack of an AK whizzed right past ME and hit Maynard.

Nearly 43 years ago, but I can remember THIS one like it was yesterday. Jim yelled out "OH GOD!", and I heard him fall behind me. There was just enough light, that I saw I was very close to a small sandbagged cut-out. I quickly jumped behind it and peeped around the corner to see if I could find out where the shot came from. Where was this particular little "Luke?"

In the backlight of a flare from the southside, I caught the sillouette of an NVA, about halfway between this trench and the top of our hill. He appeared to be sitting, rocking back & forth, peering down toward the trenchline, hoping to get a glimpse of one of us. With guys all over the hill, you don't just want to fire at anything that moves, but even in the subdued lighting, there was no mistake about THIS dude. I could see enough of his sillouette, to clearly see the outline of that little "Jungle Jim" type helmet they all wore. THIS is the guy who just hit Maynard, and from my "peeking around the sandbag" position, I was SURE he hadn't seen ME yet..........

Because of my position, I had to shoot up the hill, left-handed, to keep from exposing my whole body to him. The backlight of that flare was almost gone, so I aimed my rifle in the general direction, intending to fire a burst, thinking ONE of the rounds would hit him.

And then it happened.

I got off ONE round and the bolt STOPPED. Never even ejected the empty case. I'd probably fired at least 2 magazines through it so far with no problems, and it picks NOW to jam!

"Luke" STILL didn't quite see me, but he sure as heck saw the muzzle flash, and while I was desperately trying to "un-stick" this thing, a small hail of AK-47 slugs tore into the dirt about a foot from the left side of my face, in full auto mode-----"KLACK-KLACK-KLACK-KLACK!" I was scared stiff, and not too proud to admit that, even as I write this.

I was a sitting duck. Gun jammed, and if I waited there TOO long, it would get light enough for him to move around enough to where he WOULD see me and get a clear shot. I was 19 years old, didn't have the experience to think like a veteran, but I knew if I didn't get out of there SOMEHOW, I'd get chopped to pieces by that AK.

I'd always carried two M-26 grenades

in a side pouch. Operating on fear & instinct, and nothing else, I eased one of them out of the pouch, pulled the pin, and lobbed it up the hill, hopefully high enough in the air to where that 3-5 second delay would elapse before it landed, and he wouldn't have time enough to toss it back down at me. When it went off, even if I didn't get him with it, it would surely create enough havoc to at LEAST make HIM duck for cover while I got the heck out of there. This was a shear act of desperation, nothing more.

"BLAM!!"...........immediately followed by a scream. With the smoke, dirt and dust flying everywhere, I bolted out, and crawled back down the trench like a scolded dog. I thought for sure I'd be crawling over Maynard, but he wasn't anywhere in the trench. (Unknown to me, HE'd been hit through his right shoulder and he crawled back and was dragged off to a Corpsman for treatment. A couple of other guys went by me in the direction I'd just came from, to "plug the gaps."

I had left my Jammed M-16 where it was, got back to Webber, who's rifle was still working. He'd also been issued a 45 automatic, and he gave it to me, so I'd at least have SOMETHING, but it only had the one magazine in it, and soon IT was empty. On a "high note", I DID drop one who was tangled up in some barbed wire, with that 45. One shot and he dropped like a sack of potatoes! Why that pistol has been replaced with the wimpy little 9mm today, remains a mystery to ME.

I moved a little further along, and ducked into a bunker with a guy from 2nd Platoon----------the ONLY guy in "K" Company who still had an M-14! He'd been firing all morning, and when I told him I had nothing to help him with, he told me to just keep magazines loaded for him, which I did until daylight came and all the shooting had finally stopped.

As soon as we got the word it was clear enough, we'd come out of our positions to assess the damage.

The first night in boot camp, was no longer the most terrifying thing I'd lived through. Funny thing, though. After it was OVER, I was feeling MORE spooked than I was when it was GOING ON! I guess it's true, that when the bullets are flying, you're too busy to think about it. Then, when it settles down, you actually DO realize "who that was at the door."

.......and the question from long ago, rings yet again..............."Oh CRAP........WHAT have I DONE!! Yeah------just sign right here and you too can "kill a commie for mommy!"

But after the sun came up, and we started counting the dead, it wasn't just the commies we wanted to kill.