The first hootch I lived in the Marine Air Wing was filled with old guys, former enlisted men who had become Lieutenants and Captains late in their careers. These "old" guys were in their late 30's and early 40's and married with kids. They were more careful than the younger men. Each time we heard the rocket alarm or the explosion of a rocket we would run for the bunker at the end of our hootch and wait out the attack with our helmets and flak jackets on over our underwear. At every other place I was at the younger men and officers ignored the rocket warnings unless the explosions were close.
I then moved to MASS-3 on Hill 327. I asked the First Sergeant how to get to Hill 327. He took me outside the building, and pointed up to the same Hill I saw when I arrived in Vietnam.
The first night I arrived in Vietnam was Christmas Eve, 1969. It was gently raining. Hill 327 loomed inland over the airport looking beautiful swathed in bright perimeter lights like a halo in the mist. There was a great deal of firing and flares from the hill and some of the new guys thought we were under attack.
We ran into a large building and one Marine shouted, "They're really getting hit up there. Take cover!" I subsequently found out that there had been no attack, but simply a "lighting it up" impromptu firex to celebrate Christmas. Of course no one would openly admit that. You could fire at noises or sounds, so the troops were firing on Christmas eve at numerous noises and sounds.
Hill 327 was also known as Freedom Hill. It was called Freedom Hill because it was the last thing you saw from the airstrip as you left Vietnam. The Freedom Hill PX, a large military store, was located at the base of the Hill. The Hill was considered the rear by infantry troops, but a dangerous place by the REMF's (Rear Echelon MF's, "in the rear with the gear".)
The name Hill 327 referred to the height of the hill, 327 meters, or about 1,000 feet. It took a considerable time to drive up the hill, with numerous switchbacks on the narrow gravel road.
Working with MASS-3 was a great job. I visited our four remote facilities frequently, flying all over northern Vietnam on Hueys, CH-46 and CH-53 helicopters. I took convoys up north and got shot at occasionally by rifle fire and rockets. I fired grenade launchers and rifles at noises at night on the perimeter. Hill 327 was encircled by concertina wire, cleared approaches (cleared with bulldozers and defoliants, including Agent Orange), and bright perimeter lights. The Hill had been attacked before I got there, but never while I served there. We found a few old HAWK missiles that had been exploded by a sapper attack, and flung down off the top of the hill.
We provided air support. If a unit needed helicopters, bombing raids, medevacs, resupply, etc, they came through us. Our units guided the aircraft to their missions by radio and radar.
We provided the personnel and equipment for the Danang DASC (Direct Air Support Center). The DASC was located with the Marine Division Command Post about two miles away from our Hill in a large bunker as part of the 1st Marine Division headquarters. It coordinated all air in our area of operations. The DASC operated with about ten radios, all on loud speakers. When you walked into the DASC you would become completely confused by all the noise. After listening for a while, however, you learned how to listen to the important circuits, and mentally tune out the others. The DASC was a difficult place to operate and our people did it very well. They had to ensure that the infantry received their needed medevacs, air strikes, resupply runs, emergency extractions, and reconnaissance flights. They had to ensure that our aircraft were not hit by Naval Gunfire or artillery.
They also made sure that we did not bomb civilian populations. This is one of the great lies put forward by people who knew nothing of the war. Our people were trying to protect the people of South Vietnam, not kill them. We were trying to "win their hearts and minds." Our pilots, controllers, and most of our Marines made great efforts not to bomb or shoot at our own forces or civilian population.
Now I am not saying it did not happen. We made mistakes and our own forces were killed by these tragic mistakes. But they were mistakes. Friendly fire was always a concern.
A-4 Bombing Run west of Hill 327. We observed a number of air strikes and helo attacks on NC and NVA. Of course most air support was at night, and hard to see, either then loud and bright explosions. Puff the Magic Dragon was the most impressive at night - a constant stream of tracer rounds from the airplane down to the ground. Had to feel sorry for the troops who were under that fire.
I recently met a Marine who had served in Vietnam as a Naval Gunfire spotter. He was and is a nice guy and we developed a close relationship. He asked me if I knew a certain artillery officer and did I know how to get in contact with him. I did know the officer and promised him I would try to locate him.
The next time I saw the Marine spotter I apologized for not being able to locate the officer. He then told me that he actually wanted to kill the officer. The officer had approved a fire mission that had killed some of his friends. The spotter also thought that the officer had not been properly sorry for the friendly fire kill. The officer's response had been that the Marines should not have been where they were and it was not his fault that they were killed.
I told the spotter that there are a many ways that a tragic accident could happen. A mistake could be made in reading a map in the dark. A radio operator could transpose a number. A plotter could mislocate the artillery fire location or the force location.
But none of this was by intent. Tragic mistakes did happen.
The shot is a Helo flying over an explosion.
Don't know who the Marine is in the photo.
China Beach. Nice place. Got there twice.
The Bay in Danang, I think.
My Hootch. They just don't build them like they used to.
Rice Paddies
Good Looking Water Buffalo, Motor bike, and Tuk Tuk
Each junior officer in MASS-3 was officer of the day on Hill 327 every 20 days or so. This meant that you stayed up all night and served as the commander of the perimeter guard. The perimeter was very large, encompassing more than a mile and secured by about 30 men who manned two man bunkers. One man slept while the other kept watch. Most of the men were part of our security platoon, but several of the bunkers were part of other units, including Radio Battalion. The grade differential between the low and high parts of the hill must have been about 300 feet.The officer of the day was the man to lead the response to any attack and make the decisions on how to respond to noises, shots, etc. You were also supposed to check each post four times each night.
Most of officers checked posts by riding around in a jeep. Having been an enlisted man I knew that the Corporal of the Guard would call ahead and make sure each sentry was alert when I went to check posts. I also knew how hard it was to stay awake and alert each night when no attacks came month after month, especially if the troop was doing drugs or drinking. I was more interested in keeping everyone on their toes, so I made my checks by walking the Hill in a random manner and at random times. My nickname from the grunts was "Ghost" or "Walker", since I wandered up to their posts quietly on foot. They also called me the "Chicago Blade" since I was from the south side of Chicago and therefore must be a knife fighter.
Occasionally walking the perimeter would get me in trouble. I was always careful to be above the earth covered bunker when I called out to the sentry to make sure he did shoot me if he startled awake. I called softly to the one sentry who did not respond. Again he ignored my next call. When I spoke loudly he finally woke up and then was belligerent, insubordinate and threatening. I chewed him out from the top of the bunker, but he was still surly. I contemplated going into the bunker to reason with him, but decided that was a bad idea. So I just had the Sergeant of the Guard deal with him.
I have always preferred having the officers and Staff NCO's deal with minor infractions verbally or physically, without ruining the man with court marital. This guy was a jerk, but the tender ministrations of a tough Marine Sergeant were more likely to get him performing well than a formal office hours. One of our Sergeants "disciplined" one of our troops who fell asleep in a watch tower by throwing him out of the tower. He woke up on the way down and hurt his arm. I am sure the lesson was effective for both him and the rest of the platoon.
The Korean Marines were tougher - their officers would shoot a man who fell asleep. I lived with one Korean Marines Lieutenant in Basis School, and became friends with the other four Korean Lieutenants. They were very tough guys. Two had Black Belts in Karate. Lt Hwang Young Nam was my roommate in the Basic School, and I saw him several times in Vietnam. Lt Kim and Lt Song were both killed in Vietnam.
The Korean Marines were tougher - their officers would shoot a man who fell asleep. I lived with one Korean Marines Lieutenant in Basis School, and became friends with the other four Korean Lieutenants. They were very tough guys. Two had Black Belts in Karate. Lt Hwang Young Nam was my roommate in the Basic School, and I saw him several times in Vietnam. Lt Kim and Lt Song were both killed in Vietnam.
Other nights the Sergeant of the Guard and I would be called by a nervous sentry who "heard movement". We would quietly ease up to the bunker and spend some time listening for sounds. It was of course impossible to know for sure if what the sentry heard was a probe, the prelude for an attack, or just a nervous sentry. We would normally shoot 3 to 6 grenades in front of the bunker and then listen for screams or shouts. I never heard any response.
Most of the perimeter of Danang was the responsibility of the 1st Marine Division. Our Hill 327, however, belonged to the 1st Marine Air Wing, which was a coequal unit with the Marine Infantry Division. Units on the Marine Division perimeter had to normally ask the Division Command for permission to fire. We just fired when we thought appropriate. Which was every time we heard something. Which we thought would tend to discourage attacks. Which probably did discourage attacks.
Part of the effort of the Officer of the day was to make sure the troops stayed alert so that the gaps between the bunkers would not become larger. One time we lost power and hill became quiet and dark. I was worried that this could be the prelude to an attack. We got the lights on in about one hour. I knew our sentries were not very alert when I asked them how long the lights had been out and they responded that the lights had not gone out.
One night a Marine called me and asked for permission to shoot some kind of a wildcat near the perimeter wire. I told him I could not give him permission to shoot the cat, but he could shoot if he saw movement and thought it was the enemy. A few minutes later shots rang out. He missed the cat.
I went on a few short patrols. They were uneventful, just checking out the security of the Hill.