Prelude to a Medal of Honor
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
The Kham Duc Special Forces Camp (Quang Tin Province, on the extreme western section of the I Corps Tactical Zone, map coordinates ZC005084) occupied an absolutely beautiful piece of real estate. It was a remote outpost located on the Laotian border, deep in the highlands and surrounded by virgin triple canopy jungle. It was far from the heat and humidity of the coastal low- lands, with the surrounding peaks rising to several thousand feet on all sides. There were few, if any, inhabitants except for the military dependents living in Kham Duc village. The camp was 35 miles north of the II Corps SF camp at Dak To on Route 14, which paralleled the Dak Se River. Route 14 was the only “road” through that part of Vietnam, and was capable of foot traffic only.
The camp was originally opened at the village of Kham Duc in 1963 as an addition to the ARVN outpost there. Its covert mission was to conduct surveillance over a portion of the Laotian border area. A 6,200’ runway had been constructed to accommodate the presidential aircraft of South Vietnamese president Ngo Dinh Diem, in the event of a coup d’etat. Prior to his deposition, Bao Dai, the last Vietnamese emperor, had hunted tigers and other trophy game from his hunting lodge on a hillside at Kham Duc.
In May of 1968, the camp’s overt mission was to provide border security, and basic training for Vietnamese Civilian Irregular Defense Group (CIDG) recruits. It also served as a covert launch site for long-range reconnaissance and commando missions. These missions, first code-named “Shining Brass” and later “Prairie Fire”, were conducted by the Studies and Observations Group (SOG), using specially trained volunteers from the 5th Special Forces Group. The thirteen Green Berets of Detachment A-105 of “C” company, 5th Special Forces Group in the overt portion of the camp were commanded by Captain Christopher J. Silva. Also billeted in the main camp was a Vietnamese Special Forces Team and 250 of their CIDG troops. In a third camp a few meters south of the main camp, some 100 CIDG trainees were temporarily billeted. The officer in charge of the covert SOG launch site in the fenced-off eastern portion of the main camp was First Lieutenant James McLeroy.
In response to reports of NVA road-building activity across the border in Laos, the 11th Mobile Strike Force Company (referred to as the “MIKE Force”) company of the 5th Special Forces Group manned a temporary outpost about five miles south of Kham Duc on Route 14 called Ngok Tavak. At Ngok Tavak were 122 Nungs (Vietnamese ethnic minorities of Chinese descent), two Australian warrant officers, three Green Beret NCOs, and three Vietnamese interpreters, commanded by Captain John White, an Australian. In early May the outpost was reinforced with a platoon of 44 artillerymen from Battery B, 2nd Battalion, 13th Marines in DaNang. They brought with them two 105 mm howitzers, three machine guns, a 3⁄4-ton truck and a basic load of ammo.
It seemed to take forever to cover the 75 miles from my TAC Pat Tam Ky to Kham Duc in my trusty O-1, and it still took too long after I transitioned to the (slightly) faster Cessna Suck-’n- Blow O-2. While the extra speed was nice, it was the second engine that I valued, given the virtually uninhabited badlands of mountainous terrain I had to fly over to get there. I was familiar with the SF camp, and dropped in to the 04/22, 6,200’ strip on a regular basis, often taking the CO of the U.S. Special Forces team or one of his men on a VR mission over the immediate area. In return, I was regularly offered a steak and a beer, compliments of their mess.
I became aware of the dual mission of the camp when, on one occasion after enjoying a particularly good steak, a slender “white-sidewalled” gent in khakis and a white T-shirt approached me and said, “Hey FAC, how about a ride?” I told him I wasn’t in the tourist business, but then noticed the camp commander on the other side of the room slowly shaking his head. Taking his rather obvious hint, I agreed to go for a short hop and we were soon airborne. My guest wasn’t much for conversation, but had brought an extensive collection of maps and gave me specific headings to fly. It was good that he had maps, because mine all stopped at the Laotian border. Shortly after the gear and flaps were up, we were in “Indian country”.
After droning west for quite some time, my passenger requested a couple of circles while he intently studied the featureless jungle landscape. As there were few landmarks or terrain features to navigate by, I was glad that at least one of us thought he knew where we were. After several 360’s, I was told I could return to the camp. Bursting with curiosity, I returned to Kham Duc and after landing blurted, “Just what in hell was that all about?” My guest casually replied that the next day he was going to again visit the coordinates he had just checked out and wanted to see what that part of the world looked like in the daylight. I told him he could have that mission as it seemed a bit sporty for my blood. I never saw him again.
The Special Forces primary mission at Kham Duc was augmented by a number of CIDG soldiers that were probably either Montagnard or Nung, I don’t know which – maybe both. One of the CIDG troops always guarded the gate to the flight line, and a pleasant “hello” or a wave never got anything but a grudging acknowledgement of my existence and a scowl – until I one day gave him a candy bar. That broke the ice and on subsequent visits I inevitably traded candy for a grin and a salute. In addition to helping the Department of Defense kill VC and NVA, I was now into helping the State Department, and making great strides. (If you first capture their stomachs, their hearts and minds will certainly follow?). I wasn’t so sure about that.
As the only remaining border camp in western I Corps, Kham Duc was well positioned to detect the movement of personnel, ammo, and other supplies into I Corps from the Ho Chi Minh Trail. For quite some time the Jake FACs of the 20th TASS Tactical Air Control Party at Tam Ky had detected and monitored the construction of an obviously well-used road south of the camp, and just across the border in Laos. We monitored the progress of the road construction that, during good weather, approached one klick a day – which was pretty rapid construction, given the rugged terrain. Eastbound progress of the road was provided to I DASC intel on a daily basis, and they even provided us with Pentax cameras to document what was there. The question was: would the road turn north at Route 14 to support an effort against DaNang, or would it turn south at that intersection to support operations against targets in II Corps? I DASC evidently didn’t care, nor did anyone else, as no strikes were ever sent against the road, despite its development into what passed for a superhighway in those days. The answer came in early May 1968, when the road turned north and it was clear that the SF camp there posed an obvious thorn in the side of the NVA. Kham Duc and Ngok Tavak were in danger of being overrun by regimental-sized units of the North Vietnamese Army.
At about 0250 hours on 10 May, between 3,000 and 5,000 NVA soldiers from two regiments of the 2nd NVA Division attacked Kham Duc and Ngok Tavak. At Kham Duc the attack consisted of mortars and probing actions against the seven outlying observation positions and rocket attacks on the main camp, but Ngok Tavak was attacked by a reinforced NVA battalion and nearly over- run. The situation there quickly became critical and then grew worse. Two CH-46 helicopters were lost, and the two 105 mm howitzers were destroyed before they fell into enemy hands. The reinforcements promised them by their higher HQ never arrived, and the survivors had to E&E out of the camp the next afternoon. Following an impenetrable wall of air strikes, they escaped eastward and hacked out a small landing zone, where they were picked up by Marine helicopters and taken to Kham Duc. Captain C. J. Silva, Detachment A-105 commander was seriously wounded at Ngok Tavak and was evacuated to DaNang. A previous commander, Captain Robert Henderson III, who returned to the camp on 10 May, then assumed command of A Detachment.
With the loss of Ngok Tavak and with Kham Duc now under heavy mortar, automatic weapons, and recoilless rifle fire, the commander of the 5th Special Forces group in Nha Trang urgently requested the Marine commander of I Corps to send heavy reinforcements from the 23rd (Americal) Division at Chu Lai.
On the afternoon of 10 May a series of eleven C-130 sorties brought the 2nd battalion, 1st Infantry, 196th Light Infantry Brigade (LIB), reinforced by A Company, 1st Battalion, 46th Infantry, 198th LIB, and Battery A, 3rd Battalion, 82nd Artillery of the Americal Division to Kham Duc. The A Company, 1st Battalion, 70th Engineer Company, already at Kham Duc to repair the airstrip, was also attached to 2/1/196, resulting in nearly 1,500 troops to defend the camp and repel the NVA attack. C-124 aircraft brought in two heavy bulldozers too large for C-130s, which rounded out a total of some 400 tons of cargo that had been brought into the camp in the four weeks prior to May 8.
I was assigned in support of the 2nd Army of Vietnam (ARVN) Division working in the Tam Ky area. As our little landing strip there became less than secure at night and the threat of mines on the road between our MACV compound and the airstrip became a reality, we were moved to the larger coastal base at Chu Lai, home of Marine Aircraft Groups 12 and 13. There, we moved in with the Helix FACs of the 23rd Infantry (Americal) Division.
This was actually a good move for two reasons. First, while the American troops worked AOs coincident with those of the ARVN forces I supported, there was absolutely no coordination or cooperation with regard to who did what, and where. It was as if two separate wars were being fought within the same chunk of real estate, with each force having very disparate objectives and methods of achieving them. In fact, I had been soundly chewed out by the senior Americal ALO for sharpening my target-marking skills by shooting white phosphorous rockets into water-filled bomb craters at the end of an uneventful VR mission. He rumbled rhetorically, “Was I trying to kill those Americal folks down there?” I politely suggested that if there was any coordination between our Army counterparts, I might then know where friendly forces were and not do my target practice in the vicinity of their hip pockets. He was not satisfied with my ignorance. Nothing changed, and I continued to come home with empty tubes. After all, with only four rockets, each one had to count by being on target the first time. Second passes wasted valuable time and increased one’s vulnerability.
Likewise irritating was to have a Helix FAC control an airstrike in what I considered “my” AO – and vice versa. We decided that if the Army couldn’t talk to each other, the Air Force could – and an informal but effective coordination came about so that the Helix and Jake FACs could both get their jobs done without interfering with each other – but none of us ever knew exactly where each other’s ground forces were on any given day. Strange way to run a war.
The second benefit of living at Chu Lai was our proximity to MAG 12 and 13. Our troops in contact requests for CAS quite often resulted in support coming from the F-4s and A-4s of those units. Their work was more than satisfactory, especially compared to that of an unnamed Air Force F-4 outfit at a quite large base up the road to the north. Due to their proximity, response time was wonderful. For them the sequence was often gear up, flaps up, contact us for the target briefing, and then wait until their gross weight and CG were such that they could go to work. It was always fun to go to their O-club by the South China Sea, have a steak, and wander around until I found someone from the flight(s) that had supported me that day. We came to know each other’s voices on the radio, and those seaside “debriefs” resulted in detailed discussions of tactics and closer coordination between us FAC folks and the Marines that regularly worked the alert pad. (The distancing of FACs from their fighter counterparts has done considerable harm to the Air Force’s ability to provide high quality close support to ground forces.)
After spending several days at DaNang while one of our aircraft underwent maintenance, I returned to my TACP at Tam Ky on 10 May. As soon as I landed, I was advised that Major Melvin Schleef, the Tam Ky ALO who was at the Special Forces camp at Kham Duc, had directed that I relieve him immediately. Planning on what I hoped would be a short vacation while getting some experience as an ALO, this young lieutenant packed a full B-4 bag with toothbrush, clean clothes, magazines for leisure time, and many other items which I never used or saw again, with the exception of my tape recorder. Had I known that the only things I would leave the camp with were my CAR-15 and my Ruger Single Six .357 Magnum, I might have packed differently.
I landed at Kham Duc. Before I could even shut down the good major jumped in, wished me well, and took off in my airplane. I immediately understood why, as the camp was quite obviously under attack. It remained that way until I left. As we had long suspected, the NVA had decided the camp was a problem and they were in the process of doing something about it.
A dramatic change had taken place since I had last been to the camp. People and pallets of equipment and ammo of every variety were strewn everywhere, along with the sounds of small arms and automatic weapons fire, and mortars. Confusion reigned supreme.
I had been sending periodic sitreps to I DASC in DaNang on the HF radio in the camp commo bunker. At some point on the morning of 12 May I was asked if I could help with a problem there. On arrival, I found the comm folks struggling with a message they could not decode. Having had some experience with SAC and NATO emergency action messages, I found the format familiar and used the authenticators and other materials at hand to unshackle the message.
I later learned that after considering the situation, the I Corps Commander, Lieutenant General Robert E. Cushman, had recommended to the commander of MACV Forward, General Creighton Abrams, that Kham Duc be evacuated. The General concurred and passed the recommendation on to General Westmoreland. While waiting for General Westmoreland’s decision on whether to reinforce or evacuate the camp, General Cushman had ordered the Americal Division Commander, Major General Samuel Koster, to immediately send a reinforced battalion to Kham Duc to keep it from being overrun. I translated the evacuation message, but got only the short version from General Koster, the gist of which was that an emergency airlift to evacuate the camp was under way with C-130s inbound at that very moment. I took the message, complete with sweat stains and misspellings to the 196th commander and suggested that he might find it interesting. He certainly did.
In the darkness and morning fog of 12 May the NVA tightened the noose around Kham Duc. Well before 0500 the camp and each of the observation posts (OPs) came under heavy fire.
The battle for the OPs and the Kham Duc perimeter steadily intensified and was now very obviously serious business. I acted as a coordinator of air support, helping sort out target priorities between the FACs and fighters overhead, and the Army commanders. On several occasions I was able to position myself on the wire and verbally “mark” targets for the airborne FACs. They would then smoke the targets to mark them for the steady flow of fighters. By about 0930, all but one of the seven OPs had fallen, with some of the personnel able to escape back within the Americal perimeter around the airstrip; others were not quite so fortunate.
Throughout the period I was in the camp, I periodically talked into my tape recorder, describing the ongoing activities and capturing the sounds of incoming as well as outgoing rounds, aircraft overhead, bomb explosions, and strafing.
The high point of 11 May was when I was at the CP monitoring the air net and heard Helix 41, Captain Skip Smothermon, check in on his second mission of the day. Shortly thereafter I heard him state that he had taken a hit and, while he had a degree of control, he elected to put the bird on the ground at Kham Duc, rather than risking the long flight back to Chu Lai. (The survivors of one of the overrun OPs described to debriefers what was probably a 37 mm AAA gun, and Skip may have taken a round from it. At any rate, he had lost some three feet from his wingtip but still had limited control. I will never forget the nameless SF NCO standing nearby who said, “I’ll bet that SOB is thirsty.” With that, he went to the (still operational) cooler, grabbed an ice cold beer, and then jumped into a jeep and delivered it to Skip as he exited his recently-modified Cessna O-2. He then delivered him to the CP – with incoming all around. What an up close and personal welcome to a part of the war that was not progressing very well at that point!
During the morning and afternoon of 12 May, a steady stream of C-130s, C-123s, and helicopters, both Army and Marine, cycled in and out of the single runway to take out the mass of troops only recently inserted. Obviously, the Saigon brass determined that the military significance of the camp less than justified the cost of its defense, and they were unwilling to risk another Dien Bien Phu or Khe Sanh.
The situation rapidly grew worse. Incoming of several types was impacting on all sides of the perimeter, and though a steady stream of fighters, controlled by the Helix FACs, fought the attack on the perimeter, the ground fire was effective. One C-130 Hercules was shot down shortly after takeoff, fully loaded with 150-200 Vietnamese women, children, and elderly people from the nearby village. Lt. Col. James Swain, Spad 01, bailed out of his stricken A-1H before our very eyes. (He was reached by two UH-1D gunships and a Huey “slick” and picked up almost immediately). Another C-130 took fire and crashed on landing, coming to rest at about the mid point of the strip, effectively reducing it to some 2,200’. A CH-47 took fire and crashed and burned just off the runway. Also downed was C-130 #55-013, which took damage to both sides of the aircraft and suffered a blown main landing gear tire on takeoff roll while loaded with approximately 200 U.S. soldiers, along with some CIDG troops and their families who had stormed the aircraft after landing. The takeoff was aborted and the aircraft shut down.
The severity of the situation had attracted considerable command attention, both in Army and Air Force channels, as well as at MACV Headquarters. A steady stream of tactical aircraft was diverted from their original targets, and was funneled into the tiny bit of airspace around the camp. All manner of ordnance was used, including slick and high-drag GP bombs, napalm, rockets, cluster bombs, 20 mm cannon, and anything else that had been loaded for other targets that morning. Hillsboro, an ABCCC ship, coordinated the inbound fighters, handing them off to Lieutenant Colonel Richard P. Schumann, the Americal Division’s senior air liaison officer, who coordinated their further handoff to the airborne Helix and Jake FACs working the perimeter and camp environs. This group included Majors Robert J. Smith, 2nd ARVN Division ALO; James Gibbler, a Helix FAC; and several others. At times there were three simultaneous air strikes in progress – one on each side of the runway in close proximity to the camp with yet another on a nearby target; truly an astounding feat of forward air controlling, especially considering the severe limitations of both weather and terrain. This writer coordinated some of those sorties from within the camp proper, and was quite pleased with the results, especially since I am now able to write about them. Kham Duc was on the receiving end of more air than western I Corps would see for some time. The radios were very busy, and it seemed everyone wanted to talk all the time.
Helix 42, my FAC friend and Chu Lai hootch- mate, Captain Herbert J. Spier, Jr., launched into the inkwell over I Corps well before dawn on 12 May. He had never flown the western part of I Corps, but he had no difficulty finding the camp due to the small arms muzzle flashes and tracers, not to mention the firing and impact signatures of the mortar and artillery rounds. He later wrote that it “would have made a beautiful Fourth of July display, except for the gravity of the situation.” Herb first worked with a C-47 “Spooky” gun ship and laid down 16,000 rounds of ammo, effectively suppressing the small arms and mortars on the south side of the perimeter – for a period. As the light of day had not yet made its way into the camp, Spooky was followed by a C-130 flare ship that provided just enough illumination for a flight of F-100s to start the day’s tactical air support at 0535 hours. In writing about the encounter, Captain Spier stated that this first flight “went against the most intense ground fire I have ever witnessed.” He also said that as the day broke, the ground fire was less apparent and while its intensity obviously did not decrease, it was some small measure of false comfort to not see nearly as much of it!
Spier worked five sets of fighters on his first sortie of the day. To complicate matters, as the sun rose, fog formed and low clouds scudded through the valleys, and became a real challenge to target identification, marking, and ordnance adjustment. Herb maintained situational awareness by the relative position of terrain features rising from the clouds and glimpses of the ground through occasional holes. Given the eventual 90% overcast, and the urgency of the situation, a bit of creativity resulted in unconventional tactics. Herb’s debrief of the action notes that some sorties delivered ordnance from level flight on altitudes, headings, and release points assigned by him. I couldn’t see him, the aircraft, or the ordnance, but could provide adjustments after observing the impacts from the camp. We used this technique to within about 600 meters of the wire. Rather sporty.
By the afternoon of 12 May, the majority of the troops had been evacuated, but the survivability of the remaining U.S. personnel in the camp was coming under serious question. I continued to record events as they unfolded into my little tape recorder, but I now wondered if anyone would ever listen to my words, much less my wife of some ten months, for whom they were intended. I distinctly remember not being told at the Air-Ground Operations School that I might end up on the wire of an SF camp with a very hot CAR-15 and a radio in my hands, wishing I had more loaded clips because the individual facial features of the folks coming up the hill toward me were quite distinct. And there were lots of them. At this point the NVA had methodically overrun each of the seven OPs and were now making a concerted effort to overrun the camp.
Upon being advised that the camp was being overrun and that an “E&E party” was forming to escape through the jungle, the crew of the damaged C-130A (tail number #55-013) determined that their aircraft could be saved if the damaged tire could be cut away and if it were not heavily loaded. The crew (Lieutenant Colonel Daryl D. Cole, AC; Major Walter B. Farrar, Pilot; First Lieutenant Edward Forys, Navigator; Staff Sergeant Kenneth C. Wheeler, Flight Engineer; and Airman First Class Robert L. Pollock, Loadmaster; of the 35th Tactical Airlift Squadron) returned to their bird. After inspecting the aircraft the crew agreed that it might be possible to get the bird airborne despite the damage and the fuel streaming from five holes in her left wing – if the cargo could be offloaded and if the blown tire could be cut away from the rim.
The tire proved to be a problem with the limited tools at hand – bayonets and hammers, despite the well-motivated efforts of the crew, assisted by two Army civil engineer troops who provided cutting torches. By this time the NVA mortar crews began to close in on the aircraft. Before leaving the CP for the aircraft, the AC asked if any of us Air Force types want to chance it with the crew.
Major John W. Gallagher, a 773rd TAS C-130 pilot and the airlift mission commander (not a Combat Controller), accepted. Reports vary regarding the willingness of the two combat controllers, Technical Sergeant Morton Freedman and Staff Sergeant James Lundie, to depart; nevertheless they both accompanied the major. Never intending to meet the qualifications for award of the CIB (Combat Infantryman’s Badge), I also quickly accepted the offer, taking with me my CAR-15, steel pot, and the tape from my recorder. While the engines were starting and other preparations accomplished, there was further work to be done.
The loadmaster quickly slid off the two pallets of cargo while others of us moved boxes and crates of mortar and small arms ammo which had been strewn all over the ramp and taxiway in front of the C-130. All of it had to be moved by hand. It was tough work, what with the NVA folks taking pot shots at us and getting more and more accurate with their mortars, but we were all quite well motivated and the job was soon done. With three engines running and ready for taxi, Major Farrar stood outside and directed the AC’s taxi path, such that a large crate that could not be moved passed (barely) between the #3 and #4 prop arcs. Major Farrar later noted that it was ironic that the damaged tire could not be replaced, as the cargo in the bay included spare tires, jacks, and other necessary equipment for that task; however there was no time to do so.
The takeoff was difficult, as the crew had only one right main tire and a 4,000 pound fuel imbalance, resulting in a pronounced list. Takeoff was initiated on three engines, and the #1 engine was not started until late in the takeoff roll due to the danger of fire from the continued fuel leak in the left wing. At some point prior to rotation, mortar rounds impacted near the nose, shattering two windows on the pilot’s side of the cockpit, but at 1245 hours we were airborne.
The raggedy band aboard Boxcar 812 consisted of the original crew, the combat controllers, two Army engineer personnel who had assisted in attempting to remove the tire, and myself. The three-engine takeoff was “interesting” due to the above-mentioned damaged gear, fuel imbalance, and the battle damage, but we were safely airborne. Hilda, the C-130 Goddess, directed that we head for Cam Ranh Bay, where we could land on a foamed runway. Even after the air conditioner cooled the cabin and we all resumed breathing, I found that my adrenaline level was still quite high and I worried about what was happening back in the camp.
My fearless Herky crew planted that big bird down at exactly the right spot, light as a feather (with fuel still streaming from the left wing), and we rode through the 3,000’ of foam and stopped straight ahead, without incident. The ground crew would later count 86 hits from enemy fire of various types. For their airmanship, the crew was awarded the McKay Trophy, an annual award presented for the most meritorious flight of the year by an Air Force aircraft. But it was only after the aircraft stopped that the real fireworks started.
I was the fourth to exit the aircraft, and followed the Combat Control Team. Running abruptly into the third man, I realized that all three were at attention and listening closely to a clearly irate O-6 who advised them that they had “not done their job”, that they had “left Kham Duc too early” and that they were to “get their a**es on the C-130 in the next spot (which was already starting engines) and go back to Kham Duc and finish the job”. He presented this tirade despite the previously voiced advice (and strenuous objections) of the aircrew who had intimate knowledge of the conditions in the camp some 45 minutes prior. It was painfully obvious later that listening to the colonel’s tirade was not the high point of their day, but was close to it.
Screwing up my courage, I told the colonel that I had valuable intel about the progress of the attack on the camp that needed to get to DaNang as quickly as possible. He told me that I could go with the CCT, as the bird was going to recover at DaNang. Not having a lot of sense at that point, I did so. It was a quiet flight back to Kham Duc.
I briefed the new C-130 crew (Major Jay Van Cleef and First Lieutenant Rollin Broughton) on what to expect upon landing. After touchdown, the AC stopped the aircraft where the remaining troops were expected to be. I positioned myself at the ramp with the loadmaster, Technical Sergeant Green, intending to help the grunts, wounded, and any remaining refugees aboard. When the aircraft stopped, the Combat Control Team exited the side door and took cover in the ditch adjacent to the runway.
As the ramp came down, it was immediately obvious that evacuation of the SF and Americal troops had been completed at some point prior to our arrival. There was no one in sight, but the sound of multiple small arms and automatic weapon rounds impacting the aircraft, and the sight of mortar rounds being adjusted in our direction got our immediate and undivided attention. Some reports have the aircraft on the ground for as long as two minutes, however it is my distinct recollection that Sergeant Green said a few choice words to Major Van Cleef over the intercom and seconds later we were rolling (and airborne well before the ramp was completely closed). To my great relief we actually did get airborne – my second departure of the day from Kham Duc. As I made a silent prayer of thanks after takeoff, the hard part came when the crew overheard someone on UHF say that the evacuation was complete and that it was now OK to put ordnance directly into the compound. When Van Cleef interrupted to advise otherwise, the frequency grew instantly quiet as the implications of that transmission became clear to all.
While the bulk of the evacuation had been carried out by C-130 aircraft, several C-123’s were also in the area. Lieutenant Colonel Alfred Jeanotte made an approach and landed in Bookie 750, but the Combat Controllers were not seen until after takeoff when the flight engineer spotted the three men hiding in a culvert. Jeanotte called bingo fuel and departed the scene. A second crew, Lieutenant Colonel Joe M. Jackson and Major Jesse W. Campbell then approached in their Fairchild C-123 #542, having been diverted from a routine mission and checkride. Once on the ground, Flight Engineer Technical Sergeant Edward Trejo and Loadmaster Staff Sergeant Manson Grubbs opened a rear door and helped the Combat Controllers into the aircraft. At Sergeant Grubbs’ call on intercom, “All aboard, clear to go”, the C-123 lumbered off the ground in a hail of enemy fire, narrowly avoiding the mortar barrage that dead-centered the spot where the Combat Controllers had boarded the aircraft. At 1730 hours that day, C-130 #542 landed safely at DaNang, thus ending a very long day for all concerned.
Arriving at DaNang after my second departing Kham Duc, I was immediately taken to Corps HQ and ushered to the rather impressive digs of the Marine general with responsibility for Military Region I, Lieutenant General Robert E. Cushman. After his aide (complete with white napkin on the forearm) took my (still loaded) CAR-15, I got to explain my version of how the Army and the Air Force managed to lose an entire SF camp, four Air Force aircraft, several helicopters, seven 105 mm howitzers, two bulldozers and miscellaneous other equipment. I debriefed him while sitting (very) straight on a (very) soft sofa in my (still very) sweaty goatskin while swilling a (very) large and well-made gin & tonic. After I satisfied the general’s questions and prepared to leave, he casually noted that my Ruger Single Six .357 Magnum was not exactly an issue item as he thanked me for my contribution to life in western I Corps. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and this lieutenant didn’t mind the mild rebuke. It had been a very long day.
Aside from the questionable decision to send the Combat Control Team back into the camp without full knowledge of the situation, the Air Force acquitted itself well at Kham Duc. First Lieutenant Wesley R. Marks, HMM 265, MAG 16, stated, “During the approach in and out, we had air cover by F-100s. It was probably the finest air support that I have ever seen. They did a wonderful job of suppressing the enemy.” In documenting his participation in the action, the OIC of the SOG detachment, First Lieutenant James McLeroy, called napalm onto his final defensive wire from the camp’s eastern perimeter trench, trying to stop the largest NVA ground assault of the battle, stating that “close air support was the only thing keeping us alive.”
One tally of the air support covering the evacuation of Kham Duc included over 250 aircraft, including the following aircraft types: O-1, O-2, F-4, F-5, F-100, F-105, A-1, A-4, C-123, C-130, AC-47, and AC-130. Equipment losses included two C-130 cargo aircraft, one O-2A FAC Aircraft, one A-1H Fighter, two CH-46 helicopters, two CH-47 helicopters, two UH-1C helicopters, seven 105 mm howitzers, one gun direction computer, 15 81 mm mortars, one 106 mm recoilless rifle, 15 trucks, two bulldozers, two front-end loaders, one fork lift, one road grader, one cement mixer, 40 telephones, 28 radios, and a number of protective masks, body armor, and assorted other personal and organizational equipment items.
The Army, Air Force, and Marines lost too many personnel, as did the Vietnamese. Sadly, the battle at Ngok Tavoc resulted in a number of personnel listed yet as MIA.
The defeat and evacuation at Kham Duc was full of the sort of events that cause nightmares for some time. Some of these memories run together and it is increasingly difficult to remember clearly who, when, where, and why after the intervening years; still others are both quite clear and vividly painful. Others are difficult to forget – like the weeping Vietnamese woman who, with her children, brought the body of her soldier husband to the steps of the command bunker. She was overflowing with both grief and rage, and railed at the Americans who had caused his death, as if we could return the breath to his lips and him to her.
And now you know how Lieutenant Colonel Joe Jackson and Major Jesse Campbell came to interrupt a checkride and routine cargo delivery to drop into Kham Duc and rescue three stranded airlifters.
As a postscript: My wife eventually got to listen to the tape. Every once in a while when I think my life is getting too complicated, I listen to it, and reorder my priorities.
Works great.