US RESCUE MISSION DISASTER

Otres Beach outside Sihanoukville, with islands beyond

I’m standing on an empty beach. One of the cool things about Cambodia, is that unlike Thailand, there are still many quiet, natural, romantic beaches that are relatively untouched. This one east of Sihanoukville, is known as Otres Beach.

Gentle waves lap at the sands. Palm trees sway in the wind. Cumulus clouds look like white mountains on the horizon. A few small, tropical islands rise from the waters offshore in the distance.

One of the islands far to the south of me is Koh Tang. This island isn't well known to Americans, but it should be. On that remote island off the coast, occurred the very last battle of the Vietnam War.

On May 12th, 1975, after Saigon and Phnom Penh had already fallen to the communists officially ending their wars, the Khmer Rouge took the conflict a step further. Using US made swift boats captured from the Cambodian Navy, they turned pirate. Heading far out to sea in international waters, they captured the SS Mayaguez, a passing American container ship headed for Thailand.

Caught unawares, the US military quickly planned a rescue. The Khmer Rouge had anchored the Mayaguez off of Koh Tang Island, so the main assault focused there. Four days after the ship's capture, the Americans launched a raid to rescue the captured sailors.

Mayaguez after capture, with Khmer Rouge gunboats alongside (photo:USAF)

What they didn't know, was that the 39 crew members weren't even on Koh Tang. In fact, they had been sent to Sihanoukville, and had already been released by boat just before the mission started. The team also lacked the right intelligence on Koh Tang. What they didn’t know, was that the Khmer Rouge based there were already well armed and ready for fighting. They weren't expecting a raid from the Americans though. They were paranoid about a seaborne attack from the Vietnamese, whom the Khmer Rouge also hated.

As the attack began, navy jets from the USS Coral Sea struck targets around Sihanoukville. These included the port's warehouses, a nearby airfield, train yard, refinery, and a small nearby naval base.

At Koh Tang Island, US Marines and the US Navy swooped in. When they boarded the Mayaguez, they found an empty ship! In the air the US helicopters faced unexpectedly fierce ground fire from the Khmer Rouge. It's unknown how many Khmer Rouge died in the battle, but 40 American soldiers lost their lives. In the chaotic aftermath, two live US Marines were left behind on Koh Tang. What happened to them is unknown. Their bodies were never found, and they are still listed as missing in action (MIA). As the captured sailors from the Mayaguez had already been released, the rescue operation had been a disaster. They had retrieved the captured ship, but at a great cost in human lives. 

Since this was America’s last battle of the Vietnam War era, I would like to go out to Koh Tang myself to see the island, but it’s not to be. Otres beach is as close as I’m going to get to Koh Tang.

“The weather this time of year isn’t good. Too windy out there, the waves are heavy,” said Sarah, a divemaster in Sihanoukville. Originally from England, she operates a dive company here with a friend. “The problem is, with the weather this time of year, if you go out there, you might not make it back. You could be stuck there for weeks, maybe months.”

Two downed helicopters on beach, with destroyed Khmer Rouge swift boat at right (photo:USMC)

Recently, an American search team did manage to identify some bones that were found on Koh Tang. After lengthy DNA testing, the remains were identified as Private James Jacques, one of the missing Marines who died aboard a helicopter that had crashed into the sea. He was buried in 2013, in Colorado. Another American casualty of the Vietnam War was finally laid to rest.

That isn't the end of the searches though, as there are still 53 US soldiers missing in action in Cambodia. 

Another Australian diver I met in Sihanoukville, actually worked with an American MIA search team. “I think they’re still looking for one helicopter,” she told me, referring to a chopper shot down over Koh Tang. The search team wanted to go to the island again, but they had faced the same weather problems that I do now.  

As I spoke with the Aussie, I learned that Koh Tang isn't the only place where the US is diving to look for the remains of missing soldiers in Cambodia. The Aussie says that she had been hired by a US team for an underwater search in a river towards the Vietnamese border, where another helicopter had crashed earlier in the war. 

She explained how the river had low visibility. Most of the fuselage was gone, but she did find metal plates, and other pieces that the search team said were helicopter parts. As we chatted more, I asked if she had found any bones, and she clammed up.

Apparently there are still some secrets to be kept here, even though America's war in Southeast Asia has been over for decades.

HIKING THE HO CHI MINH TRAIL

Laotian homes on stilts in the border town of Densavan

As I approach the Laotian border village of Densavan on foot, I'm getting my first views of this mysterious country. Ahead are the rolling mountains of Southeast Laos, and I quickly notice the difference between here and Lao Bao, the border town on the Vietnamese side. Vietnam is far more developed and affluent, since the Vietnamese economy has been booming for years. But crossing a bridge into Densavan, I find the opposite. Local children play and splash about, in muddy water below the bridge. Some village houses here are basically shacks, with rooftops of corrugated metal. Other homes are even less durable, with thatched rooftops.

Laos is one of the world’s poorest countries. Today the total population is only 6 million. Although  double what it was back during the Vietnam War, it still has the lowest population density in all of Southeast Asia. The low numbers mean Laos continues to have mountain ranges and jungles that remain largely uninhabited, giving it some of Asia’s most beautiful scenery. Lack of development means that Laos retains a simple Asian

Laotian children play in a muddy river

charm that its neighbors have long since lost. It remains quiet, conservative, and laid back.

The highway running through town is Densavan’s main street, and the only paved road. A long pile of brown dirt lines one side of the roadway, where a dozen Laotian Army soldiers in camouflage fatigues are digging a ditch. They lack heavy equipment, using only shovels and hand tools. Apparently in Laos they don’t mind using their military for public works.

I reach the business strip of Densavan, which compared to the poor outskirts, is relatively developed. The village’s center has a newer feel to it, since every building I see was built after the Vietnam War ended. A sign posted on a nearby business reads, “Hero Trading Import-Export Ltd”. As befits a border town, the local economy is driven by trading.

I find a small café, have a seat, and down a bottle of green tea. After locking up my baggage, I entrust the café proprietor to keep an eye on it for me. Then I head out of the village on foot. Trekking out of Densavan, the dirt road I’m on becomes a narrow path, and continues out into the jungle. I’m mindful that elephants and tigers still roam southern Laos, but they mainly inhabit remote areas, few live close to villages. Still, I won’t wander too far from town. I don’t want to become tiger bait. 

Reaching the tree line, I come across a group of army tents, and bright blue tarps built into makeshift shelters. This isn’t exactly a campground, I’ve found a migrant camp for seasonal laborers. A few of their wheelbarrows were left behind, along with a few of their wives and children. I get curious looks as I walk through, and I continue past them into the jungle. 

Walking down a narrow path, I find an old bomb crater. Grass and weeds grow in it, along with a tree. When this crater was first created, it was far deeper than it is now, but erosion has filled in the depression to some degree. But a deep, perfectly round hole remains. It’s definitely a bomb crater from the war years.

Continuing down the path I find another bomb crater, followed by many more. There must have been a heavy bombing attack that hit this area back during the war. I take care not to leave the path, in case there are any old unexploded bombs still around. Strangely, one of the bomb craters I come across is being put to use. It appears that the camp migrants have turned it into a garbage dump!

The path eventually dead ends into the brown waters of the Se Pon River, where a couple canoes are pulled up on the riverbank. This river flows westward towards the mountains. Just down river is the land I’ve just left: Vietnam. Now I know why the bomb craters are here. The roads and trails that I’ve walked on today, were once part of The Ho Chi Minh Trail.

A tree grows in the center of a bomb crater from the war years

An ever changing network of roads, paths, and even rivers, the Ho Chi Minh Trail was the lifeline and supply route for the North Vietnamese Army and Viet Cong in South Vietnam. Back then southeastern Laos was even less populated now, and the border was mostly unguarded. This allowed the communists to bring troops and supplies from North Vietnam across the border into Laos, and then south through these jungles. They were then able to infiltrate South Vietnam at many different crossing points, bypassing US bases. This was far less dangerous for the NVA, than if they tried to slip directly across the heavily fortified Demilitarized Zone. Still, it wasn’t easy. Besides enduring constant bombings, much of the Ho Chi Minh Trail was on steep dirt jungle paths through mountainous terrain, where trucks couldn’t be used. The Vietnamese soldiers had a simple solution to this logistical problem: bicycles.

Back in Vietnam, I recall seing a xe dap tho, or pack bike, in a museum. This was a standard bicycle, packed up with ammunition, or weapons, or rice. It had a bamboo pole lashed to the handlebars, making it easier for a foot soldier to push and steer with all the extra weight. Then loaded with 300 pounds of supplies, they sent it down the Ho Chi Minh Trail. These bikes were pushed along narrow mountain trails covered by jungle canopy, remaining totally unseen from the air. It was slower than trucks, and took a lot more sweat, but it kept the pipeline open. No matter how much the US military bombed the Ho Chi Minh trail, they couldn’t hit all the convoys and routes, and war material continued heading south.

During the war years it took as long as two months for an NVA soldier to ride and walk from Hanoi, all the way down the Ho Chi Minh Trail, through Laos and Cambodia, before he finally crossed back into Vietnam near the Saigon region. When I hopped on a jet from Hanoi to Saigon, the same trip only took me two hours!

Laotian soldiers dig a ditch in Densavan

The presence of all those NVA soldiers on Laotian soil back then was never supposed to happen. In 1963, an agreement signed in Geneva by Vietnam and the USA attempted to guarantee Laotian neutrality, prohibiting foreign troops on Laos. The North Vietnamese quickly disregarded this agreement, sending the NVA into Laos to build the Ho Chi Minh Trail. They also sent troops to fight alongside the Pathet Lao, a smaller communist force aiming to overthrow the Laotian government.

The US military was not so brazenly disregarding the Geneva Agreement, so the American ground troops fighting in Laos were never large in number. In these parts they were usually special forces soldiers, small groups of tough commando types that did secret raids to attack or disrupt the Ho Chi Minh Trail. There were Green Beret teams, who fought alongside their Montagnards allies. There were also LRRP units, like my buddy Kenny, the former Marine. Although Kenny’s missions were secret at the time, he did most of his fighting in this remote region of southeast Laos. They called in air strikes on NVA convoys and spied on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. When detected, they fought their way out.

Since Kenny had returned to live in Southeast Asia years ago, I once asked him if he had ever returned to Laos. He hadn’t, and wouldn’t give me a straight answer as to why. I suppose he still has too many bad memories from the war in Laos, for him to ever come back.

Despite constant military operations here in Laos by both Vietnamese and Americans, due to the Geneva agreement, neither side admitted their involvement of ground troops publicly. Since the US government was already facing anti-war protests for their involvement in Vietnam, they sought to downplay, and even hide, their role in Laos. So fighting in Laos became known as a ‘secret war’.

The Se Pon River, once used to infiltrate weapons and troops into South Vietnam

Besides using jungle trails, the North Vietnamese also used rivers for smuggling weapons, including the Se Pon River before me. Just downriver from where I’m standing, the Se Pon becomes the border with Vietnam. Back then they took canoes like those on the river bank, filled them full of weapons, and floated them across the river to their waiting comrades under cover of night.

Hoping to keep NVA troops and supplies from entering Vietnam, the main use of US military might in Laos would be for the air war. 'Victory through air power', meant massive aerial bombing on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. That was how all these deep bomb craters ended up here, scattered all around me. Since the USA had the world’s best jets and bombers, it sounded like a great idea. But this strategy only delayed the communists, and did not bring about victory.

After the war, the US military made public their data kept on how much explosive tonnage they had dropped on Laos from aircraft. This little country had been bombed by American aircraft flown from South Vietnam, from Thailand, and from Navy aircraft flown in from the South China Sea. Laos was even hit by B-52 bombers that had flown here all the way from Guam. With the war lasting longer than anyone anticipated, the amount of bombs dropped onto Laos was devastating. The tonnage of bombs the US dropped on Laos, was greater than the total tonnage dropped on all of Europe during World War II!

The total amount of bombs dropped from 1965 – 1973 was astounding: 1.36 million metric tons of explosives dropped on Laos. That made for a half metric ton of explosives, for every single person living in Laos at the time. Laos holds the unfortunate record, of being the most heavily bombed country in world history.

Since I have much more to see of Laos, I turn from the craters and the river and head back towards town. Crossing back through the encampment, a group of village children stare at me as I walk by. “Sabadee!” (Hello!) they call out to me.

“Sabadee!” I say back to them, and they smile. Once I’m back on the dirt road, they follow behind me, but from a distance. When I turn towards them, they all run away laughing. I continue walking, and soon they are following behind me again. They must be wondering why this giant white foreigner came walking through their remote little village. I give them a final wave, and head back to Densavan.

BRIDGE OF TEARS FOR DIVIDED FAMILIES

Hien Luong Bridge divided North and South Vietnam in the former DeMilitarized Zone (DMZ)

I’m walking across a quiet, one lane bridge, and a light rain is falling. This bridge is different than others I’ve crossed in Vietnam, it’s more rustic. Of an older design, the surface I’m walking on is made of wood. This is unique, since most of Vietnam’s old colonial bridges were blown up or replaced long ago.

I’m the sole person crossing, and during the war years, very few people crossed this bridge at all. This span straddles the Ben Hai River, at the very center of the former Demilitarized Zone. During the war, this was the dividing line that marked the border between North and South Vietnam. Called the Hien Luong, this bridge in the DMZ was also known by another ironic name: ‘The Peace Bridge’.

This bridge on Highway 1 was never meant to be a border at all, and this is what all the fuss was about that led to war. As the French colonials departed Vietnam back in 1954, the United Nations brokered an agreement in Geneva to smoothen the transition. Vietnam would be temporarily divided into two zones of

Memorial to Vietnamese families separated by the war

control until national elections could be held in 1956, then the country would be unified again. In the north, Ho Chi Minh and his communists were in charge. In the south, the strongman Diem had the power. As the date approached, Diem the dictator knew that he would never beat the popular Ho in a fair election, so he canceled it.

This only set the stage for more conflict. Diem and the US government wished for this border to remain permanent. This would leave Vietnam divided, much as North and South Korea remain divided today. The North Vietnamese government wanted this border erased, and the country reunified. The war was back on.
On the south side of the river, stands a rather poignant memorial. In front of a group of feather shaped stone towers, is a tall statue of a Vietnamese woman standing with her child. They both look longingly across the bridge to the north, where the man of the house has gone.

As Vietnam was dividing into communist and anti-communist zones of control,

Plaster border police figures recall the days of division

many Viet Minh soldiers and political cadres left the south, leaving behind their wives and children. They crossed to refuge in the communist north on this bridge. At the time, they all hoped that the separation of the country, and of their families, would be relatively brief. But it was not to be. With the elections nixed, these men returned to fighting. Their separation from their families, and the war itself, would drag on for two more decades. 

It’s fitting that it’s raining today, because many tears were shed here at this very place where families were separated. For once, I’m looking at a memorial not dedicated to soldiers or politicians, but to Vietnam’s families. These statues stand in memory of those families torn apart by the country’s division. Many of those men who left their families behind on the south side of this bridge, would never see their families again.

After negotiations broke down, the only people who crossed this bridge were UN monitors, along with the border police of both sides. Located at about the 17th Parallel, the Ben Hai River became the de facto border. Land reaching about three miles on each side of the river was declared a ‘Demilitarized Zone’, meaning it would remain free of troops and their weapons. As the conflict heated up, this agreement was ignored by both sides, and the DMZ became filled with landmines, booby traps, barbed wire, and unexploded ordinance (UXO). Some US Marines ghoulishly remarked that the DMZ stood for, ‘Dead Marine Zone’. It’s still a very dangerous place today, loaded with literally tons of UXO and landmines.

Old propaganda flagpole on north side of river

A massive amount of heavy artillery was fired back and forth, high overhead of this dividing river. As the war raged across the rest of the DMZ, the war on this small bridge took on a different form. It became a silly war of propaganda. 

Not far from the bridge on the river’s north bank, stands a very tall flagpole flying the current flag of Vietnam. Back then this pole and its massive flag, were an attempt to assert their presence, and intimidate anyone viewing it from the southern side. Not to be outdone, the South Vietnamese government put up an even taller flagpole, with an even larger flag. But that one is gone now, only the north side flagpole remains.

As I walk by an old French bunker, I find a weapon I wasn’t expecting to see here: loudspeakers. Another part of the war of propaganda, was the war of words. In those days these large outdoor loudspeakers were mounted on both sides of the riverbank, and a continual war of rhetoric was broadcast through them. Some days it wasn’t only propaganda that was aimed at the opposing sides. When I examine one of the old loudspeakers sitting on the north side, I see that it has several bullet holes. Snipers firing from the south had tried to silence them.

With so much turmoil around the DMZ, this small bridge has had multiple incarnations. The original French colonial bridge was destroyed by a typhoon in 1963, then it was wrecked again by American bombing in 1967. As the Americans departed in the 1970’s, the North Vietnamese Army built a one lane floating bridge as they pushed southwards. Later a modern two lane bridge was built just upriver, improving the heavy flow of traffic on Highway 1. Finally, to preserve history, a bridge resembling the original colonial structure was rebuilt in 2001, in the original location.

An old yellow arch stands over the north side of the bridge, and written across the top it says, “Long Live President Ho”, though he’s long gone. On a nearby monument, Ho is quoted as saying, “This border is only temporary. Vietnam is one country.” Ho’s words about the border here were prophetic, however, he wouldn’t live to see the day when his country was once again reunified.

1961 view of bridge looking south, when Vietnam was divided (Photo: Museum)

Bullet riddled loudspeaker, with old police post beyond

UNEXPLODED BOMBS ON FIREBASE GIO LINH

'War and Peace' on a Vietnamese dashboard

I’m on Vietnam's Highway 1, and this time I’m headed directly north, towards the former DeMilitarized Zone (DMZ). This route was so dangerous during the war, that you would have only wanted to ride this route from the inside of a tank. As Vietnam is now at peace, we settle for a tiny van.

On the dashboard of our van, I notice a small statuette of Buddha. Mounted right next to it, is a plastic helicopter, glued to the top of an air vent. The air flow is spinning the tiny Huey’s rotor blades as we drive. 'War and Peace', together on the dashboard. What a contrast...

It’s overcast today, and I’m hoping the weather will hold. We pass by a group of walking schoolchildren in blue and white uniforms, and soon we pull over by an embankment.

We’ve stopped by an overgrown field, and I notice a big and brown hulk of steel over above the brush. It’s a stripped M-41 tank. In this one, the empty engine compartment is totally open to the sky. Strangely, it has brush

Old US made M-41 tank next to Highway 1, flowers grow where the engine used to be

and flowers growing up out of it. It looks like a bizarre giant metal planter.

Walking up the embankment, a path takes us through high brush into a vast open field. My guide walks us toward two concrete bunker near the field’s center, where a cow on a tether stands watch. Bushes everywhere bear red, yellow, purple and white flowers. A butterfly flits away. We step atop one of the empty bunkers for a view of our surroundings. This is one of the highest points on what used to be a former US Marine base, and from here I see the coast only a few miles away. More importantly I can see all the way north, into what used to be North Vietnam.

This was Gio Linh Firebase.
 
The Marines battle at Khe Sanh is well known, but few know there was also a two month artillery battle here in 1967. Since Gio Linh was so close to the DMZ, it was a favorite target of artillery gunners of the North Vietnamese Army (NVA), and it was one of the first US bases fired on from North Vietnamese territory. In those long days of bombardment, two Marines were killed, and 76 were wounded. Although those casualties sound light compared to other battles in Vietnam, there were only 120 men based in Gio Linh at a time, including both Marines and US Army soldiers. 

A sign near the highway gives the Vietnamese name for this base: “Doc Mieu Firebase Relic”. Also on the sign is a misspelled name that anyone familiar with the Vietnam War will remember, “MAC_NA_MARA”.

Military bunker, built after US forces departed

Gio Linh was part of a project nicknamed, ‘McNamara’s Wall’. Named after Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, the original idea of it was to establish a line of fortified bases just south of the DMZ that stretched from the coast all the way to the Laotian border. This would enable the US to watch the DMZ closely, and to block NVA troops from crossing into South Vietnam. That was the idea anyway. Since heavy Soviet made artillery guns hidden in North Vietnam could strike far past the DMZ, bases like Gio Linh were vulnerable. Even if the plan had worked, the NVA still had another route. They simply walked around the DMZ through the jungles of Laos, sending their troops south down the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

The concrete bunker I’m standing on looks fairly new, and it turns out that it’s not left over from the Marines. My guide of the day says that these two newer bunkers were built in 1994, long after the US had gone. The Vietnamese weren’t looking north anymore, they were looking east to watch the South China Sea. Tensions rose again with China, over the Spratly and Paracel Islands off of Vietnam's coast. Like the Americans before them, the Vietnamese wanted this spot as a lookout.
 
I wonder about the scattered holes I see around these newer bunkers, and my guide shows me a large hole, with some brush growing in it. He points inside, and says matter of factly, “There, bomb.”

An unexploded artillery shell lies in a hole on the former US base

Beneath some branches, is the unmistakeable outline of a rusty artillery shell. Lying in their like a giant bullet, it hasn’t been disarmed yet. A couple of feet away, lies a second one. Since Gio Linh had withstood so many NVA artillery attacks, some unexploded shells are still left buried in the dirt where they ended their deadly trajectory. These accumulated over the years until the base fell to the north in 1972, and everything else above ground was looted. These two potentially deadly shells remained buried for years, until a scrap metal hunter found them while he was looking for shrapnel. Since these two hadn’t yet exploded, he left them in this open hole. The scrap hunter was very lucky he wasn’t blown to pieces when he first dug them up.

My old guide Nguyen isn’t along today, but I recall what he told me about unexploded bombs and the post-war economy around here. “After war, people have nothing to do, (no jobs) so collect metal, from bomb,” he said. “Unscrew the tail, take out gunpowder. Sell gunpowder. Sell metal. Very dangerous. Many people die.”

I’ve heard that after the war, former ARVN soldiers were forced by the communists to clear out unexploded bombs and minefields around the DMZ. Forced into this deadly work, they had little training, and little safety equipment. Many were killed or maimed. If Nguyen was forced to do this dangerous work, he wasn’t about to tell me. He still fears the communist government.

As Vietnam’s population grows, population pressure is forcing people to clear farmland and build new homes on old battlefields, bringing them closer to old munitions. There are even a few family homes built on the former Gio Linh Base, though the land around them is still a dangerous place for their children to play. As I leave, I'm careful to stay on the well worn paths. I don't want to step on anything dangerous.

Since the Vietnam War ended, more than 10,000 Vietnamese civilians have been killed by unexploded ordinance (UXO) and landmines, and more than 12,000 have been injured. A third of those killed were scrap metal hunters.

Decades after the war ended, Vietnam’s people are still dying from the remnants that the war left behind.

BATTLE OF KHE SANH: THEN AND NOW

Old runway of Khe Sanh Base today, once held by US Marines

A long abandoned runway stretches across the rugged landscape before me. This airstrip isn’t black or grey, like any runway you would find at any normal airport.

This one is red.

The bare earth of this old rutted runway is the color of the reddish clay that makes up the surrounding hills. This runway once had a lighter colored surface when it was in use, but red is a more fitting color. The blood of thousands was spilled in the fight to control this runway, and the hills that surround it.

A nearby sign in Vietnamese calls this place: “Ta Con Airfield Relic”. Ta Con was the North Vietnamese Army's (NVA) name for this remote place. The American name for this base was taken from a village just south of here on Highway 9. It’s name: “Khe Sanh”.

Sitting in the farthest northwestern corner of the what was South Vietnam, this base was the scene of the bloodiest siege of the entire Vietnam War. Begun as a small Special Forces outpost, Khe Sanh expanded as the war heated up to become a major base. As the number of US Marines here grew, this dusty red runway was built to enable access by plane.

When fighting escalated in January 1968, massive numbers of NVA regulars infiltrated the surrounding hills. They cut access by road on Highway 9, the route I took to travel here. Totally surrounded, the Marines were left under siege, and this dusty runway became their only hope for resupply and reinforcements. At the peak of the battle, there were 6,000 US Marines in this small place, surrounded by 20,000 - 30,000 NVA troops.

Smoke rises from artillery attack during 1968 Khe Sanh siege. (Photo: USMC, Public Domain)

I look around at hills surrounding this former base, and they look green and peaceful now. Some of these nearby hills, such as Hill 861 and Hill 881 S, saw the worst of the fighting. Today it’s overcast, and here in the highlands, fog is common. Low visibility from the fog gave cover to the NVA who watched from the hills. Their guns placed there often stopped the desperately needed cargo planes from landing here on the base’s airstrip.

Not far from the runway today, sit two intact American made helicopters, a Huey and a Chinook. Although most resupply flights here that saved the Marines were from cargo planes, there were also countless flights here by helicopter. My veteran buddy Jay once had had a close call here during the siege, while piloting a Huey.

Chinook helicopter on display in Khe Sanh today

"We were coming in, and my Warrant Officer yells, ‘Dammit!’. He’d been shot in the toe,” Jay told me. A bullet fired from a Kalashnikov had pierced the plexiglass of the helicopter’s nose, and went right through his co-pilot’s boot!

Normally, Jay sat on that side of the chopper, so it should have been him that got hit. But for some reason, he had switched sides that morning. He later found the bullet in the chopper. “It went through his boot, hit the ceiling, went between us and landed in the back,” he said. “I found it sitting back there.”

By chance, Jay ran into that same pilot months later, after he had returned from surgery in the US. Jay approached him and said, “I’ve got something for you.” He had had the bullet mounted on a keychain, and gave it to him. “That’s the bullet with your name on it,” Jay told him, “you’ll never get shot again.”

The Chinook and Huey helicopter displayed here were brought back only in recent years. Unlike other old US bases I’ve seen, Khe Sanh is one of the few former bases that they’ve turned into a

Helicopter and plane wreckage in Khe Sanh

proper looking memorial. Nearby is a pile of plane wreckage, along with a helicopter's tail section. The caption reads, “Some fragmentations of the wreckage of some planes were used by the US at Highway No. 9 – Khe Sanh area.” So this wreckage was brought here from elsewhere. Although several US aircraft were destroyed on Khe Sanh’s runway, that wreckage is long gone.

As I walk around the old base, I hear the buzz of insects. A monkey screeches nearby. It’s good to hear the sounds of nature here, in a place where so many unnatural things happened. Scattered about are old bomb craters left behind from NVA artillery. In some of them the grass still isn’t growing, revealing dark red soil underneath. There is a small quonset hut, a cylindrical shaped shelter that Marines used to sleep and shelter in. A rusty M – 41 tank sits vacant nearby, gutted and stripped for scrap.

I follow a trench, leading to the entrance of a bunker. I step down into the dark enclosure; it feels like a basement. The bunker is mostly made of sandbags, with a flat roof. Metal grates known as pierced steel planking line the walls. A few old artillery shell casings lie on the floor. The Marines spent most of their time hunkered down in deep bunkers like this, due to constant artillery attacks. Khe Sanh is only six miles from the Laotian border, which put them well within the range of heavy Soviet made artillery hidden beyond the frontier. On some occasions more than 1,000 artillery shells a day were fired onto this base. On those days the Marines hardly left their bunkers at all.

Bunker and trench in Khe Sanh today

Due to the siege, Marines had to sleep in these cramped bunkers for more than two months, and conditions were extreme. In addition to the near constant shelling, they endured filthy living conditions, rats, sleep deprivation, scant food, and the constant fear of attack. A plaque on a memorial describes Khe Sanh base during the siege as ‘hell on earth’, words that the survivors would agree on.

Surrounding the Marines from the hills, the NVA generals were hoping to attack and overwhelm Khe Sanh’s outnumbered defenders, much as they had done to the French 14 years earlier at Dien Bien Phu. But the massive ordnance dropped onto the NVA from Air Force B-52 bombers foiled that attack from ever materializing. As difficult as it was for the Marines here, it was even more dangerous for the NVA troops in the hills. Besides the harsh conditions, they were on the receiving end of devastating air attacks.

The bunker and the trench I've walked through look impressive, but the fact is, they aren’t authentic. The reason I know this, is because the canvas on some of the sandbags has worn away, revealing their contents. They are filled not with sand or dirt, but concrete!

US made helmets and flak jackets in the museum

After the heaviest fighting in Khe Sanh subsided in 1968, the US military decided to abandon Khe Sanh, and moved the Marines out to more easily defended bases away from the border. It was the only time during the Vietnam War that the US military abandoned a major base due to enemy pressure. Before leaving, they dismantled, removed or destroyed everything that could be used by the enemy. They even dynamited the heavy bunkers. Khe Sanh was reopened briefly in 1971 to support an ARVN campaign in Laos, but then it was abandoned again.

The bunker and quonset hut here now weren’t the work of the Marines. These were rebuilt when the government recently turned Khe Sanh into a memorial. This is one of the few sections of the old base where all the landmines and unexploded ordinance have been removed, creating a safe refuge for visitors. In this enclosure by the runway the grass is neatly mowed, and sidewalks are bordered by manicured bushes. There's even a small museum.

Preparing myself for more propaganda, I enter. Inside is a selection of US made helmets, boots, and weapons. It’s impossible to tell if these were captured from ARVN troops, or from US Marines who were missing

Old artillery shell casings in Khe Sanh bunker today

in action in Khe Sanh. Like other museums, most photos are from western sources but some are blatantly mislabeled. One photo's caption reads, “The American troops are in their panic at Ta Con base.” In the photo, seven Marines are calmly digging with shovels, putting out a small fire. How did they interpret ‘panic’ from this?

Propaganda is another weapon of war, and there was a great deal of it on both sides regarding Khe Sanh's body count. The US military claimed only 230 Americans were killed or missing from the battle, but a more accurate count would be around 500. They also claimed as many as 15,000 NVA were killed around Khe Sanh. For the communists, after the war they admitted to having lost 5,550 NVA soldiers in the battle, but their numbers were also higher. Both sides lost more men here than they will admit.

Who really won at Khe Sanh is still disputed today. The US military based their victories in Vietnam by body counts. As more NVA were killed in Khe Sanh than Americans, they claimed victory. The NVA on the other hand, raised their flag over Khe Sanh the day after the Marines abandoned it. Since they had possession of the base they also claimed victory, even though they were unable to capture the Marines that had stubbornly opposed them.

After the war, Khe Sanh was left to the growing weeds. Some local farm houses dot the landscape, since most of the former base is now agricultural land used for coffee farming. Much of the land surrounding the base is too dangerous to farm, still littered with landmines and unexploded shells. Strangely, grass has still not grown back onto the old red runway.

In the end, the US military had come to a remote, faraway place and established a presence. They fought bravely, held their ground, and killed far more of the enemy than they lost. When it was decided that the cost of remaining there was too high, they left, and the North Vietnamese Army later took over.

In a way, the story of Khe Sanh is a metaphor for the entire Vietnam War. 

US Marines position at hill battle during Khe Sanh siege (Public Domain)

DONG HA AND CAMP CARROLL'S BETRAYAL

Ngoc, my fixer, travel agent & waitress

Dong Ha today, in central Vietnam. This was a strategic crossroads town during the war.

After you’ve been in Asia for a while, you get to learn that through western eyes, most of the people that you meet here are actually older than they appear. Ngoc, my local fixer in Dong Ha, is a good example. This young lady looks fresh out of high school, appearing to be all of 18 years old.

“I am 25,” she tells me. Maybe it’s her petite size that throws me off; she’s barely five feet tall. I’m glad to hear she’s older than she looks, since I need to consult someone with experience. Ngoc is my travel agent for the old De-Militarized Zone (DMZ), the infamous Highway9, and everything else I’m doing in this part of Vietnam.

“I work here two year,” she tells me, in between taking and making phone calls in Dong Ha. Ngoc is a busy woman. In addition to arranging my route and driver, she also takes my lunch order. In this junction town, she works in a combination restaurant and travel office, making her both waitress and travel agent. Speaking passable English, Ngoc has found me good deals, arranging reliable guides during my stay. She’s one of those rare people you find while traveling. A little ball of energy, she has the ability to multi-task. Bright, friendly and energetic, she has enough smarts to get ahead in any corporation, but she’s stuck here in Dong Ha. Still, for this town, she has a well paying job.

I come into the restaurant/office at early and late hours, and she’s almost always there. “I work 12 hour every day,” she tells me. As if that isn’t enough, she only gets one or two days off a month. I’m reminded that despite communism’s promise of helping the workers, in today’s Vietnam there is little done to give laborers sufficient days off, or overtime pay.

“My grandfather VC. He die from Americans,” Ngoc told me. She never knew her grandfather; he was killed before she was born. She says she doesn't have any problem with Americans today; Ngoc has arranged many trips around the DMZ for returning American war veterans. Soon after, Ngoc hands me a plate of chicken fried rice at my table. I wolf it down, just as my driver arrives.

“You go with him,” she tells me, pointing out the door. I look at my vehicle for the day, and groan. There are few taxis in Dong Ha, so I’m stuck hanging onto the back seat of a motorbike, and today it looks like rain. My new guide is Nguyen. His English isn't fluent, but he’s able to get his point across. Nguyen is a former ARVN soldier; he was drafted near the war's end.
 
“I work(ed) in office," he tells me, "I work maps." Rather than a frontline soldier, his job was at a base in Quang Tri. Nguyen was luckier than most. Working inside a base, he was relatively safe from the fighting. “(When) I have 18 year, war finish,” he says. His unit surrendered to the NVA when Quang Tri fell. Like the soldier Duc I knew in Saigon, Nguyen was sent to a ‘reeducation’ camp. But since he had only been a soldier and low ranking private for six months, he was released in less than a year.

Bizarre sight: Vietnamese home built right next to old US built hangar on former Dong Ha Air Base

Nguyen hands me a helmet, and off we drive into Dong Ha’s streets. Located near the coast, Dong Ha is just 12 miles south of the old De-Militarized Zone that formerly divided North and South Vietnam. Trucks barrel through town on Highway 1, the main roadway along the coast. This throughway intersects with the westward reaching Highway 9, and from here the Laotian border is only 33 miles away as the crow flies. During the war, that proximity to the borders of North Vietnam and Laos made Dong Ha a very strategic place.

Nguyen winds the scooter through Dong Ha streets, before stopping in a residential neighborhood. I hop off, and I’m puzzled by what I see. I’m right next to one of those old half-cylinder shaped, US built concrete military hangars. These are the exact same kind still in use at Ton Son Nhat airport, but this one is different. It isn’t intact. A large hole has been blown into the side of it, almost big enough to walk through. The concrete on these protective hangars is very thick and strong, this hole must have been created by a massive explosion. 

Vietnamese memorial by ex-Dong Ha Air Base hangar

This was the site of Dong Ha Airfield, once a forward US Marine base. Since Dong Ha was so close to the DMZ, it was well within range of North Vietnamese artillery and it was attacked many times. During one heavy shelling in 1968, the base’s ammunition dump was hit, and the flames and explosions here continued for hours. Most of the aircraft parked here, and much of the base, were destroyed.

I walk around to have a look inside the old hangar. Not surprisingly, there are no traces of aircraft left. Inside I see a couple of workmen doing carpentry in the hangar’s dim light. They don’t even look up, they’re so engrossed in their work. Piles of building materials and other junk are stacked up inside.  Since the damage to the hangar wall wasn’t repaired, that hole in the wall probably occured during the 1972 spring offensive, after the US Marines had already turned the base over to the ARVN. During fighting that year, much of Dong Ha town was destroyed by the advancing North Vietnamese Army (NVA). 

Dong Ha Air Base  was not surrendered back to nature like other bases. Strangely, it was turned into a residential neighborhood. It’s a bizarre sight to see this old military airport hangar closely surrounded by small family homes. One house was built so closely, that it nearly touches the hangar itself. Dong Ha Airfield exists no more, but the town has been rebuilt into a transportation hub. All this areas imports and exports going to and from Laos pass through here, as well as all of Vietnam’s north – south road traffic. There’s a memorial next to the damaged hangar, and at its base, I find a small ceramic bowl, filled with the remains of incense sticks from Buddhists praying here. This used to be an American base. I wonder, who were they praying for?

Decaying memorial on former Camp Carroll

There’s much more to see outside Dong Ha, so we climb onto Nguyen’s scooter, and head out of town. I lean forward as Nguyen tells me about the rural roadways back then. “In the wartime, it was bare. No trees, no houses,” he tells me. The NVA laid mines along the roads, hoping to disable American tanks or trucks. These were sometimes detonated by civilian vehicles. “We had buses, but we afraid of the mine,” Nguyen continues. “Sometimes bus hit the mine, and people die.”

We buzz along Highway 9, and I look at the skies, which have been gloomy all day. They finally open up. Nguyen pulls over, and pops open the seat compartment. I’m relieved to see that he has raingear for both of us. We don ponchos before we get too drenched; soon we’re back on the road. 

He turns south off highway, and his scooter struggles to carry us both up a long hill. Then he pulls to a stop next to some kind of strange, artsy concrete sculpture that appears to be  under construction. I think this is a strange place for a sculpture, out in the middle of nowhere. Then I look at it closer. What this really is, is a war memorial that is falling apart. In recent years, local people came and carted away parts of this memorial to sell for scrap. Most of the surrounding fence is gone, and they’ve cut away all the metal pieces that they that could get. I had already seen this done to old buildings and bunkers on old bases, but this is the first time I’d seen a memorial made by the post-war communists defaced for scrap.

One of the informational plaques has been torn away, but the other is still there, and Nguyen translates it for me as follows, “This Hill 241, had very strong American artillery army base along Highway 9.”

Aerial view of Camp Carroll during the war. (Photo: USACMH)

Hill 241 was the NVA’s name for this post; American troops remember it as Camp Carroll, a heavy artillery base inhabited by US Marine and Army troops. Like many American bases in Vietnam, it was named after an American soldier killed near the base. In this case, it’s named after Marine Corps Captain James Joseph Carroll. During NVA attack, he was mistakenly killed when fired on by an American tank. This type of combat casualty was known as ‘friendly fire’, a really self-contradictory military euphemism. 

Walking around the former base, I see sections of sandbags lying in the dirt, like those I found in the highlands. We encounter one concrete foundation, which is the former foundation for the base mess hall. This strategic base once had 16 heavy cannons, including the feared 175mm artillery guns. These massive cannons could fire 174 pound projectiles as far as 20 miles away. As American troop numbers were reduced towards the war’s end, Camp Carroll was turned over to South Vietnam’s military (ARVN) in 1970. Later, the ARVN colonel in command surrendered the entire base to the NVA, without firing a shot. That same colonel now owns a hotel in Hue today... At the top of the memorial here, the stone lists the year of his surrender, 1972.

Camp Carroll today. It's been reduced to farmland.

On one of the dismantled concrete friezes lying flat on the ground, I can make out the frightened face of an ARVN soldier, with his hands in the air as he surrenders. More than 400 ARVN soldiers were taken prisoner here. After Camp Carroll was taken, Dong Ha, the town I was in earlier, fell soon afterwards.

Nguyen tells me that in the post-war years, the only visitors that bother to come all the way up here were American war veterans that served in Camp Carroll. That explains the dilapidated state of the memorial. The government had no interest in preserving the old base, it is more useful now as a farm. Rubber trees, pepper plants, and cassava grow on a hill that used to be covered with bunkers, tents and artillery. On this gloomy day there aren’t even any farmers present, only a water buffalo chewing on grass.

I ponder the difference that I saw between Dong Ha, and here. Dong Ha is at a major crossroads, so it has been rebuilt. But since Vietnam is now reunited, Camp Carroll’s location is no longer strategic. With the heavy guns long ago captured and carted away, this former military base is now nothing more than a quiet, unimportant hilltop in central Vietnam.

RUINS OF THE BATTLE FOR HUE

A hole was blown into this Citadel wall during the 1968 Tet Offensive

It’s another day in the former imperial city of Hue, and I make another visit to the massive Citadel, where the kings lived. This time I’m in the southwest of the complex, walking along the inside wall of the old fortress. Several feet thick in places, it's made of stone blocks and brick. It's also heavily scarred in many places. Back during the war, communist troops took over the entire Citadel in the 1968 Tet Offensive. This part of the Citadel was among the last of the holdouts for the communist side, and they they put up a fierce battle against US forces here.

Shrapnel holes still scar the Citadel's walls

Many war damaged buildings are still in ruins

Walking along the wall, some marks peppered here and there are from individual bullet rounds. They are dwarfed by much larger holes and damage from heavier American military might. Since the stubborn North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and Viet Cong (VC) were so well entrenched behind the thick walls of the Citadel, American forces had to rain down everything short of B-52 strikes, in order to take the Citadel back. Some of the explosions have blown holes through the thick brick walls large enough for a man to crawl through. There’s still a lot of shrapnel and spent bullets lodged deep inside the old walls as well.

In the fighting for Hue and the Citadel, communist troops were well supplied, well armed, and well entrenched. In the first days of the fierce battle, the ARVN and small number of US Army troops that faced them were unable to win back the city on their own. So what was the solution for the American generals? Send in the Marines.

Brought in from their base just south of the city in Phu Bai, the US Marines had mainly been fighting in Vietnam’s countryside. To retake Hue, they would face their first urban battle in Vietnam. As they battled through the city, the Marines had to fight their way from house to house, and block to block. Progress was slow, and fighting was heavy. They first battled to retake the south side of the city, and after a rare amphibious crossing of the Perfume River, they moved to attack the heavily fortified Citadel where I am now.

Reconstruction is underway for this royal walkway

The queen mother's tile floor is now exposed to the elements

Although the French had attacked the Citadel in decades past, the fighting that took place here between the Marines, and the communist troops was the heaviest fighting the Citadel had ever seen. The scarred walls and ruins still here remain as silent witnesses to the destruction. When the battle for the Citadel was finally over and the city of Hue was declared secure, the total number of casualties was high. The ARVN had 380 dead, and 1,800 wounded. For the Marines, about 150 were killed, and more than 800 injured. This was an extremely high rate of casualties, and amounted to almost half of the Marines in Hue.

Facing massive firepower, the number of NVA and VC casualties was even higher, with an estimated 5,000 dead. Trapped in the citadel in the final days, many had fought to the end. In what had been one of Vietnam’s most beautiful cities, more than half of Hue had been destroyed.

Meandering through the other walled in enclosures, I enter Ta Tra royal hall, an old royal waiting room for the queen mother. On the floor is gorgeous, intricate royal tilework, but above it, there is open sky. Only the building’s frame remains standing, it’s a skeleton of a building now. An engraved sign states, “TA TRA BUILDING WAS SERIOUSLY DAMAGED BY WAR IN 1968 AND BY A TYPHOON IN 1985.”

An elephant roaming the Citadel? It's tied down. Or is it?

Between the wars, typhoons and aging, it’s a wonder that any of the royal complex survived at all. Some of the compounds in the Imperial City are nearly vacant. The long green grass of nature has replaced luxurious buildings, and only a few broken walls and old foundations remain. 

Leaving the battle scarred section, I stroll over to the Citadel's restored side.  Here one part of the royal complex has been transformed into an art university. As I walk past it appears that school is out, since I don’t see any students. The only resident I see inside now, is an elephant! He seemed to be staring right at me, waving his great ears back and forth as I walked past. With tall grass around his feet, I couldn’t tell if he was tethered to anything, or not. I wasn’t about to approach him to find out. 

He must have been secured somehow; I can’t imagine an elephant being allowed to roam loose inside the Citadel.

CHINA BEACH

Traditional Vietnamese fishing boats on 'China Beach'

I’m walking along a quiet, lonely beach, and a sprinkle of rain is falling. Peering down the coast, I see few other beachgoers this afternoon. A small group of Vietnamese men play barefoot soccer on the sand. A few off duty Vietnamese soldiers clown around nearby, taking photos of each other. Besides me, there are no foreigners at all.

This is My Khe beach, which basically translates as, “American Beach”. Since this beach is closest to central Vietnam’s largest city, Danang, this is where many American G.I.'s came to relax back during the war years. The soldiers who spent their off time here gave this seashore their own nickname: “China Beach". A 1980's American TV show of the same name, was based on fictional Hollywood war stories from this place. But I'm standing on the real deal.

The wind picks up, and I head past the new beach walkway towards beached boats. With the rain and cooler weather, this is the off season for Danang’s coast. But the more turbulent weather brings

'Monkey Mountain' overlooks the beaches

heaving waves, which are churning up sand, giving the coastline a brownish tinge. This is prime weather for that very American sport: surfing.

A few nights ago I ran into Ian, an English teacher I know from Saigon. Like some of the soldiers back in the 60’s, Ian is a surfer, and he comes here every year over Christmas. 

“How’s the surfing?” I asked him.

“The best it’s ever been,” he replied. The stormy weather made for excellent waves, good surfing. American surfers who have to wait their turn on overcrowded beaches of California would absolutely drool at the sight of China Beach's empty breakers. Often, there isn’t a soul out there to take advantage of the awesome surf, since few Vietnamese enjoy the sport. It may be only a matter of time before surfers find their way back to Danang, to ride some of the best waves in Asia. Until then, the lucky few like Ian will have these fabulous waves all to themselves.

Fishing boats lie at anchor off of China Beach

It was at another of Danang’s nearby beaches where the United States Marines first landed in Vietnam back in 1965. Landing craft carrying marines pulled up to Red Beach just north of here, marking the entrance of the first US ground combat unit to join the war. This was no dangerous landing like Iwo Jima. On wading ashore, the marines were met not by gunfire, but by journalists, and Danang’s mayor. A group of young Vietnamese women handed them flowered leis. 
 
As I stroll past beached fishing boats, I see vendors are renting out hammocks. Crowded near them are traditional Vietnamese beach shelters and beach side eateries. I opt for a seafood restaurant across the road, and that’s where I meet a China Beach fixture named Maryann.

Maryann, on China Beach since 1960's

“Americans number one,” Maryann tells me with a smile. She’s wearing oversized rings with oversized stones, and a big necklace with oversized pearls.




Her eatery is, “Maryann’s Restaurant”, and she’s been in this beach business since the early 1960’s. Maryann had countless American soldiers as her customers, and she remembers those days well.

“Many American love me,” she tells me reminiscing. “Many American want to take me to America. I don’t want (to go.)” I wonder just exactly what she meant, when she said, “Many American love me.”

Back in those years, with all the free spending American soldiers, business on the beach was even better. Maryann remembers few problems, and can’t remember ever seeing a single fight on the beach. The soldiers she encountered here on leave were already seeing plenty of fighting in the countryside.

Chatting away, Maryann recalls her conversations with homesick soldiers, “Americans say, ‘I want go home. I want go see (my) mother (and) father’. They go fight in the mountains, many die, (their) friend die, they tired. They want go home America.”

In Maryann’s case, she remained in Vietnam. She married a Vietnamese man, had eight children, and now has grandchildren. She still operates this restaurant with her family. Her restaurant used to be right on the beachside, but due to government  redevelopment she had to close it four years ago and relocate it. In recent years, she’s had American tourists as customers again, even staff from the US Embassy have come to enjoy her fresh seafood by the beach. 

Buddhist bodhisattva overlooks Danang's fishing fleet

 Back in the day, China Beach referred to a very long stretch of Danang’s coastline, but with that name officially off the map, the shore now bears the names of several different beaches. The beach itself has also changed. One section has a modern brick walkway, with transplanted palm trees, and there are the usual changing rooms and public showers.

During wartime, there used to be seedy bars down here, but since then, most of them have been torn down. The government has been totally redeveloping My Khe, whether the current landowners have agreed to it, or not. I've seen that some of the land by the coast developed into small, new hotels. Other houses have been bulldozed and now lie vacant, awaiting redevelopment. 

I look northeast of the beach, and I can see far off Monkey Mountain, so named by the G.I.’s for it’s noisy residents higher up. The Vietnamese call it Son Tra, which means Tree Mountain. It’s well named, since it’s a protected park and covered with green forest.

A new feature stands out from the mountainside; the tallest Buddhist statue I’ve ever seen! Even though I’m miles away, I can easily make out the massive outline of the Bodhisattva Kwan Yin. Located next to a new pagoda, the huge female statue is under construction, and surrounded by bamboo scaffolding. Big as the Statue of Liberty, she looks out over the bay, watching over the fleet of Vietnamese fishing boats anchored off the beach.

To Buddhists, a bodhisattva is much like an angel, an enlightened being who has given up nirvana out of compassion, in order to save others. In this case, the bodhisattva is here to save and protect Danang’s Buddhist fishermen. When the ships set out for the open sea, this is who the sailors and their families pray to, for their safe return to their loved ones.