CHAPTER 8
An Cuong 2 was heavily wooded and fortified. Among its twenty-five to thirty huts were bunkers, trenchlines, and pillboxes. Most were covered over with logs and then with banana leaves to camouflage them.
As the India Company, 3/3, Marines moved toward the village the firing picked up again. A machine-gun team moved across a paddy and ran into a buzz saw of automatic weapons fire, probably a machine gun. Private First Class Howard Miller was the only survivor of his four-man team, from which Pfc Gilbert Nickerson, Pfc Walter Smith, and Pfc James White were all killed. As the junior man in the team, Miller carried his rifle and two hundred rounds of M60 machine-gun ammunition in a metal box. After his team members were lost, he slung his rifle over his back, carried the ammo box in one hand and the machine-gun in the other.
Miller looked for cover and spotted what seemed to be an artillery crater. When he leaped into the hole he accidentally smacked another Marine hard in the helmet with the ammunition box. The Marine interrupted Miller’s apology with a command to stop worrying and keep digging. “We got to get deeper!”
Many Marines moved forward alongside rice paddies and an overgrown drainage ditch just outside of An Cuong 2. Several 60mm mortar rounds dropped among the attackers, but amid all the noise and confusion some of the Marines didn’t believe they were really mortars.
Mortars are fearsome because they don’t make much noise in flight. If you do not know they have been fired, they suddenly intrude on your world with explosions that hurtle dozens of hot, razor-sharp, life- and limb-taking fragments. Under the right conditions of range and relative noise level it might be possible to hear them leaving the tube. From that point it is usually a matter of wait and see. They are an indirect-fire weapon; the projectile travels in a high arc and, inasmuch they make little noise in flight, those on the ground have no indication where the rounds are going to impact. If they are heard leaving the tube, someone will usually yell, “Incoming!” and everyone will hit the deck, hopefully in a hole or behind something, and try to make themselves as small as possible. There is no real way to hide from a mortar. Their high angle of fire may bring them on your side of an obstacle rather than the enemy’s side. Even being in a hole is no guarantee for survival as the rounds can, and have, found their way to the inside of deep holes and trenches. Knowing that mortar rounds are in the air in your general vicinity inspires a wide variety of fears, hopes, and “let’s make a deal” with your God. For those untouched by an incoming barrage there is a great sense of “anybody but me” relief to hear the rounds impact and then know that you have bought another tenuous hold on life.
In this case, the action around them prevented the India Company, 3/3, Marines from hearing the mortars being fired. When Sgt Pat Finton pointed out a dud that landed nearby with the fins sticking up out of a rice paddy, everyone became a believer, said one version or another of “Oh, shit!” and jumped into the overgrown drainage ditch.
Engineers Pfc Glenn Johnson and Staff Sergeant Wilson, decided to take their chances in the open because of their experiences with finding booby traps in ditches. “FO up!” came a call from the front of the unit, where an artillery forward observer was needed. Wilson fell back to guide the FO forward. Mortars burst among them again with renewed intensity and this time the engineers thought that maybe getting into the trench wasn’t such a bad idea after all. All around them Marines were digging in and hugging the ground.
After the Marines had dug for about twenty minutes and put some fire out to their front, enemy activity trailed off. The India Company Marines got up to resume the attack.
The intensity of the fighting rose and fell for no discernible reasons. Sometimes it seemed to be going on all sides at once. At other moments, there was very little gunfire at all.
The Marines quickly learned a practical lesson that all warriors have known since ancient times. Theoretically, one is supposed to line up in an assault or other planned formation and fight that way. But once battle is joined the formation rapidly degenerates into a series of isolated small actions. In Starlite, as in most battles, it seemed that the fights generally meant that four or five men on one side would be heavily engaged with a similar number on the opposite side. Each combatant became so preoccupied with taking care of his situation that he often had little knowledge of and didn’t really care what was going on a few yards away. Throw in the sounds, the smells, and the fear and you have the notorious “fog of war” that explains why such widely differing accounts describe the same battle.
Amidst this chaos and mayhem, Capt Bruce Webb seemed to be everywhere. The popular skipper repeatedly exposed himself to urge his men forward, give orders, and call for supporting arms.
While preparing for the attack on the village itself, Captain Webb had radioed for close air support. The Marines could not get radio contact with the direct air support center (DASC) in Chulai, so the two forward air controllers (FACs), Captain Dalby and Lieutenant Schwend, spoke to the pilots directly, calling them in by their plane numbers. They could tell what ordnance loads the aircraft were carrying by looking at them. The F4 Phantoms and A4 Skyhawks circling the area were loaded with fragmentation bombs and napalm, and they were directed against targets as needed by the men on the ground. Although the by-the-book members of the DASC were horrified at the procedure, the result was an impressive bit of innovative close air support coordination between the pilots and the ground troops. The forward air controllers also managed to coordinate with the artillery people and notify pilots when the ordinate of artillery was going to exceed 2,000 feet in the area through which Marine aircraft were going to fly.
Marine FACs are Marine aviators. The Corps had learned in World War II that the best air support coordination was between a pilot on the ground and a pilot in the air.
The turn-around time for A4s and F4s was very short. Danang, where the F4s were based, was only about fifty miles away; and the A4s were based right there, at Chulai. Their target area during Starlite was practically in the traffic pattern for the airstrip. The limiting factor for the A4s was how fast they could land, rearm, and take off again. Seventy-eight fixed-wing sorties were flown in support of the operation, most of them on the first day. The Phantoms and Skyhawks expended 65 tons of bombs, 4 tons of napalm, 533 2.75-inch rockets, and 6,000 rounds of 20mm ammo. In excess of 500 helicopter sorties were flown, and 3 KC-130 transport aircraft from Marine Transport Squadron 152 were engaged in evacuating the dead and wounded from Chulai to Danang.
As the Marine aircraft came in on An Cuong 2, the VC darted out of their positions and shot at the planes, and the Marines on the ground opened fire on the VC. When the planes left, the VC scurried back into their hiding places, and the ground Marines were left without clear targets. This happened several times, and inasmuch as the firing was wild—no one seemed to take aim—the effectiveness of the small arms on either side was doubtful.
During one of the strikes a number of Marines moved to the backside of the hill for a cigarette break. Bomb fragments whistled by and forced these Marines to seek cover in a wooded area where the hot, sharp missiles thunked into the trees. The bombs wounded several India Company Marines, among them Corporals Walker and Thomas, who both refused evacuation.
Most Marines hugged the ground, but one thought that he would like a piece of bomb fragment for a souvenir. He grasped a shard about 6 inches long to pull it from a tree but quickly dropped it when he discovered that fragments from newly exploded ordnance are blistering hot.
Colonel Muir’s insistence that his people master supporting arms fire paid off in spades. The Marines knew that naval gunfire was a flat-trajectory weapon. This meant that the high arc associated with land-based artillery was absent and thus reduced the time between when they could call naval gunfire and air support. This permitted them to keep continuous pressure on the enemy force, which sustained enormous casualties.
As Pfc Chuck Fink passed through a field he felt that there was something strange about it. His squad stopped moving and he noticed there was a rise in the ground, maybe five or six feet high, twenty to thirty feet wide, and maybe several hundred meters long. He spotted a perfectly round hole in the side of this mound. When he went over and looked, he saw the tail fin of a mortar round sticking out of it. He didn’t know whether to push the round in or pull it out. It dawned on him that this might be a ventilation shaft for a bunker complex.
Fink called over Sgt George Emerick to tell him what he had found. At this point in the battle many of the enemy seemed to have disappeared and Fink thought that they have gone to ground in this bunker. He wanted to call in an air strike on it, but before he could get word of his find up to the company commander his squad was ordered forward. They no sooner passed over the area than the VC poured heavy fire on them from the rear.
When Fink’s squad was sent back to suppress the enemy activity he found himself walking point with Pfc John Jemison, an M79 grenadier. The two of them hit the deck and rolled out from behind a paddy dike to take a look. Fink spotted a machine gun about fifty yards away that was chewing up the company. The VC had not yet seen the two Marines even though they were firing over their heads. The machine-gun position was very well camouflaged, and even though Fink could see it, Jemison couldn’t make it out inside the foliage. Fink told Jemison that he would fire a rifle round right beneath the machine gun to mark the target so Jemison could take them out with his grenade launcher.
As soon as Fink got a round off, Jemison shouted happily that he had the target, and he quickly fired his M79. The very first round Jemison fired in combat appeared to hit the enemy gunner right in the middle of the helmet and take out part of the VC gun crew. But Jemison’s fire gave his position away to the surviving VC. Jemison rolled over to reload, and as he did a VC jumped on the gun and loosed a burst in his direction. Jemsion was hit in the head and died instantly. Fink shot the second VC gunner, at which point the other three members of the machine-gun squad jumped up to run away. Chuck Fink shot all of them dead.
From somewhere to Fink’s left a VC grenadier launched an RPG at him. The missile spent most of its destructive power on the paddy dike to Fink’s front, and much of the rest on his rifle stock, which shattered and sent some fragments into Fink’s face and forearm. The blast turned Fink over on his back, which he thought was almost comical. Here he was, lying on his back with his helmet blown around backwards and his eyeglasses cocked up on his head. After a few seconds he sobered up enough to straighten his glasses and helmet, and to try to stop the bleeding in his arm.
Fink’s squad leader, Corporal Jones, came over and asked, “Are you okay?” Fink replied that he was dinged a little but added, “I think John Jemison is dead.” Jones replied that Jemison was very dead as he started to put a battle dressing on Fink’s arm. Jones was kneeling to work on Fink when suddenly he flinched and calmly said, “I think I just got shot in the shoulder.” This struck Fink as very strange. He wondered if a man wouldn’t know for sure that he was shot. He looked at Jones, and sure enough the squad leader had been shot in the shoulder. There was no exit wound; the round was still in him. Fink took Jones’s battle dressing and made a sling out of it for him. By this time Fink’s own hand was beginning to stiffen and had become difficult to use.
As Pfc Howard Miller moved forward again and prepared to jump a trench a VC heaved a Chicom grenade at him. Miller was untouched by the grenade fragments, but the blast blew him back against the side of the trench and knocked the wind out of him. After a moment he decided he wasn’t hurt, struggled to his feet, and jumped over the trench again to resume his charge.
Bruce Webb was everywhere throughout the action, leading the assault of his company. He impressed all with his calm demeanor and courage.
The India Company 3/3 assault elements seized and occupied the village. More than forty of the enemy died in the taking of An Cuong 2.
WITH O’MALLEY. 1100
The tanks with Cpl Robert O’Malley’s squad were targeted by anti-armor fire and one of the vehicles was hit. The other tanks directed their fire toward the enemy position and either hit the enemy weapon or discouraged the VC crew from using it further. As soon as O’Malley’s Marines got the wounded loaded on the tanks they resumed their advance. They were moving well when, for some reason, the tanks stopped. In an instant the enemy was on them again with small arms and crew-served weapons. Putting the wounded Marines on the tanks had not been a great idea. The VC saw them more easily, and many were hit again.
The tanks bunched up in an effort to protect the damaged tank they had with them. Corporal O’Malley jumped into the bushes and pointed out targets to the tank crews, but small-arms fire from the right flank forced the Marines back into the trenchline. When several mortar rounds landed among the tanks the vehicles started to back up. The Marines in the trench knew that as the tanks retreated they were going to draw the enemy mortars into the trench with them.
Lance Corporal Chris Buchs looked at O’Malley and said, “We’d better move out of here!” O’Malley agreed, but it was nearly too late. As the two exited the trench a barrage of mortar rounds hit a few yards away and blew them both back to the bottom. O’Malley came up from the trench with a second wound, a mortar fragment lodged in his forearm. He began to move his troops back.
In the confusion, Buchs lost track of O’Malley and asked Pfc Robert Rimpson where he was. Rimpson reported that he had last seen O’Malley return to the trench. Buchs and Rimpson ran forward once more and found O’Malley, who ignored both of his own wounds to pick up another wounded Marine. The young corporal ordered Buchs and Rimpson to pick up yet another wounded man, and they all continued to move back.
INDIA SIX DOWN. 1000.
At this time Lt Richard Purnell, the India Company executive officer, got a report that O’Malley’s squad, now several hundred meters down the trenchline, had some casualties. He moved a small group to where the tanks were and began the process of getting the wounded people evacuated. At the time, there was no more fire near the trenchline, but the Marines saw several VC take off into a village to the north.
Having suppressed the enemy fire in and around An Cuong 2, India Company was able to move across the streambed cross the trenchline, and come up onto a flat spot. Staff Sergeant Jean Pinquet was going through the area, putting bullets into the heads of the VC on the ground with his .45 pistol, to make sure they were dead. Word had it that Pinquet was either a former French Foreign Legionnaire or had been in the French Resistance in World War II. Whatever his past, he was regarded as being a very tough Marine. Captain Webb ordered him to stop shooting the VC, saying it was inhumane.
Private First Class Glenn Johnson was a few feet from Captain Webb, who was talking on the radio, when he saw a flash of light. Johnson yelled, “Grenade!” swung his arm out, and hit Pfc Freddy Link, who was right behind him; he swept himself and Link backward into a trench. When the two got back up they found that the captain and his radio operator were both down.
One of the VC who was thought to be dead had rolled over and thrown a grenade at the India Company command group. The Marines quickly killed the enemy soldier, but Webb and other Marines were nonetheless casualties.
Directly to the left was a brick chimney-like structure that was about three and a half feet high and two and a half feet square. As Johnson walked up, two young Vietnamese men popped up out of the brick structure. Johnson was going to shoot them when someone hollered, “Don’t shoot, take them as prisoners.” The Vietnamese men had no visible arms and were in civilian clothing, so the Marines hauled them out and tied them up. When they turned back to the CP group, people were working on Webb and the other Marine casualties.
First Sergeant Petty, who beelined to see what was going on, ran into Gunnery Sergeant Martin, who had been wounded by the grenade blast. Martin told the first sergeant that the skipper was lying next to a small tree and that he knew the captain was dead, but he had nonetheless told the troops that Webb was still alive but wounded. Petty went to look at his CO. All he could see of Webb’s chest was bathed in blood.
About this time the medevac chopper was trying to land in a very small clearing on the southeast corner of An Cuong 2. No one was helping, so Petty ran over and directed him in with arm signals.
As Maj Al Bloom brought his aircraft in for the medevac he was amazed to see a Marine standing upright amid the fire, guiding him in with hand and arm signals. Bloom screamed, uselessly, for the Marine to get down. It didn’t occur to him at the time that his helicopter was a far more lucrative target for the VC than a lone Marine. At about twelve feet of altitude, Bloom looked down and was shocked to see that he was about to set down on the chest of one of the casualties. Fueled by adrenaline, Bloom pulled the bird over and landed to the left of the wounded Marine.
The medevac, originally called for the earlier casualties, had landed and another had been called for as soon as the grenade went off. Private First Class Johnson joined in to pick up Captain Webb’s stretcher to take him to the chopper. Webb was on his back, and was carried head-first toward the chopper. Johnson, who was on the captain’s left, saw that Webb’s right arm lay across his stomach. The young Marine thought the captain was dead because he had a big slash across his right arm that was not bleeding.
The courageous, well-liked, and energetic skipper, who had so fearlessly led his men this day, had been ashore less than four hours. He was to be posthumously awarded the Navy Cross Medal for his actions.
Johnson looked up and saw first sergeant’s stripes on one of the other stretcher-bearers. It was 1stSgt Art Petty. Johnson thought “What is the first sergeant doing out here?” Some first sergeants, figuring that they had paid their dues, did not get that close to a fight; they took care of administrative matters in the rear. But Petty, an experienced World War II combat veteran with three major landings against the Japanese under his belt, could be counted on to be near the action.
Bruce Webb was the first dead Marine Johnson ever saw. Like most Marines, Johnson was too busy to let it keep him from his job, so the reality didn’t sink in until later. He liked Webb, whom he thought always got the job done but took no unnecessary risks with his men. A superb Marine officer, Webb had carried himself well, respected all the people around him, and took good care of his Marines. Private First Class Gary Hammet lamented, “We lost our captain, we lost a radio operator, and we lost a private. If it hadn’t been for the captain telling the staff sergeant to quit what he was doing, Captain Webb might be alive today. Captain Webb was a good man who wouldn’t tell you to do what he wouldn’t do. So that was the end of Captain Webb.”
Not all the India Company Marines wanted to believe that Webb had been killed. After he was hit and before he was evacuated a Marine took the captain’s .45 pistol and said, “This is my company commander’s, and I am keeping it for him.”
The dead and wounded, dressed in blood-soaked bandages, were carried on stretchers or ponchos to the makeshift LZ, where the corpsmen and their comrades worked on them. Art Petty supervised the loading of the chopper with the badly wounded. He tried to get one of the India Company NCOs, Corporal Reed, who was full of holes, on one of the birds, but the pilot waved him off, saying he was already overloaded. Reed laid there and gamely reassured Petty, “Don’t worry, Top, I’ll catch the next one.” He did get out on the next helicopter and survived.
While Petty was busy with medevacs, gunfire erupted to his left. He looked over and saw a bunch of Viet Cong trying to get into a hole in an embankment at the same time. Marines about twenty feet to their rear were shooting them in the back.
Lieutenant Richard Purnell, who was still tending to casualties down the trenchline, expected a medevac helicopter any minute. Fifteen or twenty minutes later a helicopter did land back in the vicinity of An Cuong 2, took off, and left. The lieutenant couldn’t quite understand what the problem was. A few minutes later another helicopter flew into the area to pick up his casualties.
A wounded Marine on the chopper brought the unwelcome news that the company commander had been hit and evacuated. Also, the Marine said, the company gunny, the artillery forward observer, and two of the radio operators had been killed or wounded. Lieutenant Purnell was new to India Company, 3/3, and did not know the platoon or squad leaders that well; he had not seen that much action, was on the first major operation of the war, and his captain had just gotten killed. More was to come. It was a tremendous burden for a relatively inexperienced officer; he was now in command of the company, and the company was not in an enviable spot. But Purnell was up to the challenge; he was awarded the Silver Star Medal for his actions this day.
Following the medevacs, India Company moved out to outskirts of An Cuong 2, where it encountered sporadic fire as it turned a bit to the right and went down a trail.
Lieutenant Purnell notified the battalion commander that his skipper had been killed, that he was in charge, and what the situation was. They had run into quite a bit of enemy activity but that seemed to be tapering off, and the company was receiving hardly any fire at all at present. Lieutenant Colonel Muir ordered Purnell to turn his India Company back to the north and join up with the rest of the battalion.
NAM YEN 3. 1130
After it had secured Hill 43, 1stLt Mike Jenkins’s Hotel Company, 2/4, renewed its drive toward Nam Yen 3. Automatic weapons fire from a house near Hill 43 started to pester the Marines. An M48 tank moved over to get a shot at the house, but an anti-armor weapon hit the tank. A second tank moved over to shoot at the house. It was also hit, but it destroyed the house and put an end to the small-arms fire emanating from that sector. Neither tank was damaged severely and they both were back in action within minutes.
Next, a heavy volume of Viet Cong fire tore into the Marines from a hedgerow southeast of Hill 43. A flame tank rumbled over to the position, discharged its flamethrower on the hedgerow, and burned it up.
The 1st Platoon and two tanks threw in a coordinated tank-infantry attack to relieve pressure on the 2d Platoon, which was pinned by automatic and small arms fire as well as 82mm and 60mm mortar fire.
Corporal Dick Tonucci worked his way over, climbed onto the back of one of the tanks, and grabbed the tank-infantry phone on the back of the vehicle. He talked the tank in the direction from which the heaviest .51-caliber machine-gun fire was coming. A large-caliber round slammed into the tank, badly damaged it, and propelled Tonucci through the air into a water-filled paddy. The tank’s fuel cells were ruptured and began burning. When the tank was inspected the next day it was found that the engine compartment was completely gutted; the right track was burned off; the air cleaners, stowage boxes, and fenders were fused together; and the radio was melted in a solid mass. Although the 90mm ammunition had not cooked off, the bases of the shell cases were swollen over the ends of the rack hold-downs. The M48 was not repairable, so engineers destroyed it in place. It remains there to this day.
Tonucci left the flaming vehicle and took off down a trench to the right to try and get to the enemy gun. He left LCpl Corporal J. C. Paul to protect wounded Marines. Paul was wounded himself, and had actually been aboard a medevac chopper, but when he saw help was needed he had jumped off the helicopter and gone back to the fight.
Now a group of VC was trying to get to the casualties lying on the ground to finish them off. Tonucci had his hands full with the enemy machine gun, but he thought that if he could neutralize it, Hotel Company could move to its objective. He yelled at Paul to protect the wounded Marines while he concentrated his own efforts on the gun.
A group of Viet Cong started down the trench toward Tonucci. Chasing them was the flame tank, which spat a stream of napalm at the enemy. A bunch of small burning men jumped out of the trench and was shot down by Marines in the vicinity.
The flame tank was also coming straight at Tonucci, preceded by its tongue of fiery death. Tonucci shot out of the trench like a scalded cat, barely avoiding the intense flames, and continued after the enemy machine gun. As he closed on the gun position he heard something snap behind him. He turned, ready to fire. Luckily he didn’t, because it was Pfc Ronny Centers, who had come up to support him. The two of them took out a grenade launcher in a bunker, the machine-gun bunker, and another bunker beside it. When a back-up crew for the machine gun popped out of the ground and manned the weapon, Tonucci and Centers killed them, too. Before they were through, the two Marines had killed fourteen of the VC. The tank crew recommended them both for Silver Star Medals for conspicuous gallantry, which they later received.
In the meantime, Lance Corporal Paul’s attempt to protect the wounded was coming under heavy pressure. On top of the fire from mortars, recoilless rifles, and small arms, the Viet Cong added a barrage of white phosphorous. (WP)rifle grenades. WP burns with an intense heat and will continue to burn, even under water, until it consumes itself. It easily burns through human flesh. Paul raced across the paddy, placed himself in an exposed position between the casualties and the enemy, and poured out a torrent of automatic rifle fire in order to divert the enemy long enough to permit the casualties to be evacuated. Tenaciously protecting the casualties in the face of certain death, he was hit several times but refused to quit until the wounded were pulled to safety. After the other casualties were safe, Tonucci picked up Paul and put him on a medevac chopper. He hoped that Paul would live, but the fearless Marine didn’t make it. Joe Calvin Paul, the quiet kid from Kentucky, was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, and the U.S. Navy later named a frigate, the USS Paul (FF 1080) in his honor.
The tank-infantry attack caused the VC to break contact and fall back to the west. Mike Jenkins called in an air strike to hit the fleeing enemy and, having finally secured the hill, led his company back toward Nam Yen 3. In addition to killing a lot of Viet Cong, Lieutenant Jenkins’s Marines captured a prisoner and collected more than forty weapons from the carefully camouflaged bunkers in the hedgerows.
O’MALLEY. 1130
As Cpl Robert O’Malley and the survivors of his squad made their way to rejoin India Company they saw other Marines from the company come in to break up a circle the VC were trying to form around them. There were Marine casualties in the open, so O’Malley once again put himself in harm’s way. He led his men out into the rice paddies where they were subjected to another mortar barrage. This time O’Malley caught a fragment in the chest, which punctured a lung. Lance Corporal Chris Buchs could see that O’Malley was hurt, but the squad leader kept moving; he got the dead Marines loaded onto the tanks. Sometime during the action Pfc Robert Rimpson caught a piece of shell fragment near his eye, which was popped out of its socket. He pushed it back into his head, but Rimpson thereafter had a hard time with his vision.
By the time O’Malley’s squad got inside the India Company perimeter, the company had set up a solid position. Buchs got O’Malley and Rimpson to sit down and tried to treat their wounds. The company’s wounded received some rudimentary medical attention they moved to an LZ for pickup.
Medevac birds from two Marine squadrons were inbound, but they couldn’t land because of enemy fire. There appeared to be a .30-caliber machine gun on a nearby hill that was keeping the helicopters at bay. HMM-361’s Lt Dick Hooton decided to go in. He radioed, “This is Tarbrush [his radio callsign] aircraft rolling in, rolling in.” Another HMM-361 aircraft followed Hooton into the LZ. Lieutenant Hooton was not even supposed to be there. He was assigned that day as the squadron maintenance test officer, but because his fellow aviators Ramsey Myatt, Bud Sanders, and Stu Kendall had been wounded he had joined the fight.
As Hooton’s helicopter touched down, O’Malley’s Marines were still going after a .30-caliber machine gun that had tried to prevent the helicopters from landing. Rimpson attempted to get it with his M79, but he couldn’t focus with his damaged eye, so the rounds went over the target. After a few misses, Buchs took Rimpson’s weapon and got the machine gun on his second shot. Corporal O’Malley, despite his three wounds, fired at the hill the whole time.
There were about fifteen casualties to be evacuated when Hooton and the other helicopter landed. The second helicopter to land was the first one loaded, and O’Malley once again refused evacuation until all the others were aboard.
Seven Marines went out on the first load as O’Malley and the rest of India Company kept fire on the VC-held hill. After the other helicopter took off O’Malley and the rest of his squad boarded Lieutenant Hooton’s bird.
About the time it took off and the Marines aboard relaxed a bit, LCpl Chris Buchs felt that something was wrong with his chest. He looked down and was astonished to see that he had been wounded.
The helicopter took a hit and lost some of its hydraulic power. The airplane went for the USS Iwo Jima, but the helicopter carrier tried to wave Hooten off because of the damage. Lieutenant Hooton responded that he had nowhere else to go, declared a Mayday situation, and put down with all hands safely delivered.
The wounded were taken to sickbay for immediate treatment. As soon as O’Malley’s men were patched up they went to find out what had happened to him. They found the doctor who had treated his wounds, and he said O’Malley would be okay. Sixteen months later, in Austin, Texas, President Lyndon Johnson presented to Robert Emmett O’Malley with the first Medal of Honor to be awarded to a Marine in the Vietnam War.
Later in the day Lt Dick Hooten’s H-34 was again badly shot up, but he made it back to Chulai with an A4 attack aircraft as escort. Hooton’s co-pilot, Lt Ken Slowey, was slightly wounded in the arm, and his crew chief, Corporal Ely, lost a toe. Even so, Hooton got another aircraft and went back to work. He received the Distinguished Flying Cross for his heroism that day.
Many helicopters were hit by enemy fire this day. Of the eighteen in HMM-361 that were available for duty at the beginning of the day, fourteen were hit. More than half of these sustained damage that normally would have grounded them, but somehow they struggled back to base, where repair crews cannibalized those that had been hit worst to keep the others flying. As regular crewmen became casualties, volunteers jumped in to fill their places.
OPERATION STARLITE PHOTO GALLERY
A CH-46 unloads marines in the initial airlift. NA
U.S. Navy Seabees construct the new Chulai airstrip in blistering heat. USMC
Brigadier General Keith McCutcheon greets Col. John Noble, the CO of Marine Aircraft Group 12 after the latter landed the first aircraft at the new Chulai base. USMC
A patrol from 2/4 fords a deep stream in the area around Chulai. USMC
Duong Hong Minh, left, set off the explosive charge on Green Beach as India Company 3/3 came ashore. Then he and Phan Tan Huan, right, fought a delaying action to keep the Marines away from their regimental CP. Author
Dinh The Pham, vice commander of 40th Battalion, 1st VC Regiment. A veteran of Dien Bien Phu, his service began in 1944 with the Viet Minh. Author
Tranh Ngoc Trung’s 60th VC Battalion was the main opposition on LZ Blue. Author
Nguyen Van Ngoc, head of the Da Nang veterans’ group. Author
Tran Nhu Tiep, of the 60th Battalion, 1st VC Regiment, that bedeviled Hotel Company 2/4 at LZ Blue. Author
Major Andy Comer XO of 3/3. Photo courtesy of Comer
Marines from 2/4 sweep past a hamlet in Operation Starlite. USMC
An Ontos patrols the beach past some Vietnamese fishing boats on Operation Starlite. USMC
Echo Company, 2/4 moves out from IZ White immediately after landing in Operation Starlite. USMC
A MAG-16 helicopter (below) evacuates casualties while a Marine M–48 tank stands guard during Operation Starlite. The marine on the left is carrying an M–79 grenade launcher. USMC
A Marine helicopter from HMM-361 brings ammunition to a howtar position during Operation Starlite. The howtar is a 107mm. mortar tube mounted on a pack howitzer chassis (hence the name). USMC
General Lew Walt, left, congratulates Colonel Oscar Peatross and Lieutenant Colonel Charles Bodleyon the success of Starlite. USMC
Vietnamese cemetery near the Starlite battlefield. Like most of these cemeteries through out Vietnam, the graves are empty or are arranged around a mass grave. They are meant to be memorials of certain battles. Author
Sergeant Ernie Wallace receives the Navy Cross Medal from Lieutenant General James Masters. USMC
The cupola of the tank destroyed during Operation Starlite. The Vietnamese have constructed a war memorial around it. Author
Hill 43 as it looks today. Author