In May, 2002 I took a trip back east with two of my children: my daughter, Kristy, and my son, Travis. On that trip we spent two days in Washington DC. While in DC, I took my kids to visit our India Company Brothers at The Wall. Before I left home I had a copy made of the picture we had taken of our Company in Okinawa. I had written on it “You are not forgotten!” My idea was to place it at the foot of the monument.

On our arrival at The Wall, we went to the panel where our brothers’ names appear. I laid the picture at the foot of the monument, stepped back and saluted our Brothers. As I did, I noticed a group of girls watching me. They came over to where I was, looked at the picture, and started asking questions about it. They got me talking about you guys in the picture.

I told them about us. Those who did come home: our sacrifice, leaving our families, the horrors of combat and how we were treated when we came home. I told them about the Webers, the Callahans, the Denmans, and the Lt. Careys. I told them about the Olsens, the Dodsons, the Simplers and the Houghtons. I told them about Michael Bednar and his great courage. But mostly I told them about the guys that didn’t come home: the ones who made the ultimate sacrifice – the ones whose names are on the wall.

I would touch a name on The Wall then show them that guy in the picture. I told them a little about each guy that I knew. I told them about Rodney Westcott and how he died trying to help those dying men in the streambed. I told them about Johnny Smith (Pappy), the oldest Sergeant I have ever known, yet, when he died he was right in front with his men. I told them about Lt Kopfler and the inspiring leader he was and the lady waiting for him back home. I told them about Lawrence Denny and Steve Kettle and how young they were. I told them about the next morning, our feelings on the hill as we loaded our dead Marine Brothers on the helicopter. I wish I would have had time and the knowledge to tell them about each one on The Wall but, of course, I did not.

I told them how young most of these men were who died. How they never had a chance to marry and feel a woman’s love. How they never had the chance to be a father or a grandfather. How those who were married and those who had children never had a chance to see their children grow up or to see their grandchildren. I told them, how blessed I felt, yet somehow guilty when I look at my children and grandchildren. I have so many. They never had that blessing.

As I talked, more people stopped and the crowd grew. When I looked at the young girls, tears were streaming down their faces. They were crying. When I stopped talking and tried to leave, some applauded me. I said, “don’t applaud me, applaud those on The Wall. They are the real heroes.”

One of the teachers who was chaperoning the girls, came up to me and said, “Mr. Campbell, I need to hug you. You don’t know what a blessing you are to us. We have been trying to make these young girls understand the sacrifices others have made for them. We had not been able to do that until now. You are an answer to our prayers! Thank you!”

I was so touched to see that others cared, touched to see that they had some of the same emotions for our Brothers as I did. It was a very emotional experience. It touched me deeply. It was my privilege for about 30 short minutes to tell that group of people about you guys. I love you guys and as long as I am around, you will not be forgotten, especially the guys on The Wall.

Author/Gary Campbell

This roughrider took place in March 1967. India Company was security for a convoy going down Highway I from Chu Lai to Da Nang.

Why they needed to send convoys down that highway I’ll never know! Sitting on those trucks, going down that road, you are sitting ducks for ambush or any sniper who wants to take a shot at you. Anything going from Chu Lai to Da Nang could very easily go by air or by ship down the coast. When I asked why use a truck convoy, I was told it was a show of force.

I was particularly nervous about going because my 13 months were up. I figured if I was going to get hit, it would be on this convoy because I should have been home by then.

Somewhere between Chu Lai and Da Nang we were ambushed. The lead truck was blown up and we could not get around it because the road dropped off into rice paddies on both sides. We were taking fire from a village across from the rice paddies. The order was given to bail out of the trucks. We dived into the rice paddies and returned fire. I clearly remember as I lay there in that paddy, looking up and seeing Jerry Richardson kneeling and firing his rocket launcher. I remember yelling at him to get down before he got hit. He ignored me, stayed up and calmly fired his launcher until he was out of rocket rounds. As I lay there face down in the rice paddy sucking up that filthy water, I remember thinking he was either an idiot of very courageous. I’m sure it was the latter.

Once they pushed the destroyed truck off the road, the order was given to mount up so we could get the hell out of there. I believe that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, to climb out of the relative safety of the paddy and back into those very exposed trucks. I think the only casualties we had were the men in that lead truck. After arriving in Da Nang, we were happy when they decided to fly us back to Chu Lai.

Author/Gary Campbell

In November 1966, 3rd Platoon was assigned to an outpost in front of the main lines of Chu Lai. We called it The Tree Line. I remember we were there for Christmas so I know we were there for a few months.

It was kind of a little island of brush and trees in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by sand. Our bunkers were set up in a 360-degree circle, surrounded by constatina wire with claymore mines set in the wire.

At the time I was the platoon guide of 3rd platoon. I stayed in a bunker in the middle of the compound, with the squad leaders.

On December 4, 1966 our platoon commander and our platoon sergeant were called into company headquarters for the day.

Just before dark I got a call on the radio saying they would not be back until the next morning. As the platoon guide, I was now in charge. It made me a little nervous knowing I was in charge of the platoon, but I convinced myself that it was no big deal. The platoon had been there for over a month and never had fired a shot. Well, all that changed that night. We were hit. When we came under fire I remember running from the bunker along with the squad leaders to check the lines. As we ran from position to position checking on the troops, grenades were going off around us. I don’t remember being scared, but I do remember worrying about doing the right thing and not getting anyone killed. We had a hard time getting the 60mm mortars up and firing, but once they were, we did OK.

I had nothing to worry about; all the Marines performed exceptionally well. Although over 40 grenades were thrown into the compound, no one was hurt and they never penetrated our wire.

One other interesting note…Some weeks later when we moved from the tree line and took down our bunkers, we found a python snake that had been living under the pallets in our bunker. No wonder we had no mice or rats while we were there!

Author/Gary Campbell

We all pretty well know what took place in India Company before and during operation Hastings, because we were all still together. Many of you left India company after Hastings, or shortly thereafter because of wounds of transfers. A few of us remained with I Company our whole tour in Vietnam. I believe there were only eight of us originals left when I left Vietnam in April 1967. I can’t remember everyone’s name but I do remember that in my platoon there was: Cpl. Houghton, Cpl. Dodson, Cpl. Richardson and myself. I’m sorry I can’t remember whom else.

I would like to know where the rest of you went and what you did after leaving India Company. Tell us about the experiences you had during your remaining time in Vietnam or after you were evacuated. To get things started I’d like to tell you some of our experiences after you left India company.

Operation Napa

Operation Napa took place in September 1966,not too far from the village of Tam Ky, just off Highway 1. I had a little experience on that operation that I will never forget.

As I remember it, we had been sweeping an area for most of the day. At dusk we set in for the night on a small hill in the middle of a valley. Edward Leonard and I were placed in a position to cover the trail as it came up the hill. We started to dig our fox hole but after only a few feet, hit solid rock and could not dig any deeper. We were tired so instead of moving our position to where we could dig a deeper hole, we convinced ourselves it was deep enough, a decision we would later regret.

At about that same time, they found some Vietcong hiding in the brush within our perimeter. It caused quite a stir. By the time the excitement had died down it was getting dark. Because of the delays we had not cleared a proper field of fire in front of our foxhole. There was brush and bushes within grenade range of our position. Because of the darkness we ignored that little detail, another decision we would later regret.

Leonard took first watch. He woke me up around midnight then curled up in the bottom of our hole. After Leonard fell asleep, I remember looking at my new Seiko watch and the time was 0020 (12:20am_. I remember the time so well because even though my new watch did not have an illuminated dial, the moon was so bright I could see the time. It amazed me how bright the night was. A few seconds later, I heard a noise to my front. As I listened I could hear whispering.

It confused me because it sounded like English yet I had not been told of any listening posts or patrols that might be out there. As I listened I realized it was not English but Vietnamese. As I reached over to wake Leonard, I saw two faces in the brush to my front. The moon was so bright it shone off their faces. It scared the hell out of me! I could see them so clearly. As I opened fire I was wishing we had cleared a better field of fire and had taken the time to dig a deeper hole. As I fired, I believe they did the same. I’m really not sure. Everything happened so fast and it has been so long ago. For the rest of the night I could hear noises to my front.

I did not know it at the time, but I had hit 2 Vietcong. One in the head and the other, in the side of the stomach I believe. The one hit in the head lay dead in the brush where I had first seen him. He had grenades strapped to his body and a 9mm automatic rifle in his hand. The second one who was hit ran down the trail where he died. The Vietcong were trying to retrieve the body and the weapons, of the one hit in the head, most of the night. As you all know, they hate to lose a weapon, especially an automatic one.

At first light it got very quite so I stood up and told Leonard I was going to see if anything was out there. As I stood up my heart skipped a beat and I became weak in the knees. In front of me just a foot from the edge of our hole was a grenade that had been thrown during the firefight. If it had gone off, it would have killed us both. I remember saying a little silent prayer as I stood there thanking my Father in Heaven for his protection. Back home I had a wife, and a new baby daughter who was born after I had left the states that I had not yet seen.

I never went down the trail to see the dead Vietcong. The one in the brush close to my hole was enough for me. I only saw him from a distance. He looked so young. Knowing I had ended his life was not easy for me. I’m sure he had a family waiting for him as well. I still have problems today with that thought.

Author/Gary Campbell

Every grunt  takes care of his buddies, his weapon and his feet. That’s the proper order.  The team leaders and squad leaders ensure that a Marine does the first two. The platoon’s Navy Corpsman makes sure that a Marine takes care of the third.

But, when a Marine hasn’t been able to take his boots off for three or four days and he’s been walking in water and mud through rice paddies during the rainy season, or down asphalt, rocky or dirt roads during the 120 degree dry season, well, an Infantryman’s feet take the worst of it.

That’s the way it’s been since Valley Forge. Viet Nam was no different. Operation Nathan Hale was winding down. 3rd Battalion was moving down   Highway 1 in parallel columns. India Company was smack-dab in the middle of Highway 1. At the end of the day, around 1600, we were scheduled to board Mike and Papa boats and return to the USS Pickaway.  It was 125 degrees in the shade; the asphalt was melting on the highway and sticking to our boots.

The Company was moving south in a long column formation, with Marines on each side of the road.  Lieutenant Kopfler, the Executive Officer, was wearing me out running up and down the column trying to keep it “tight”, taking care of the requests of the Marines while still planning our rendezvous with the Pickaway’s landing boats. As we moved forward, the two of us came between a Marine on each side. From the flank, or side, it was an opportunity for one enemy to kill four Marines.  It’s called “enfilade” fire, hitting a bunch of guys lined up in a row with one bullet.

A message came over the net for the Lieutenant. I went to hand him the handset. That’s when the gook opened up.  The only thing we had going for us is that this dirtball wasn’t much of a gunner. Highway 1 was being pock-marked by exploding asphalt in front of us as the ambusher started to “walk” his aim toward the four of us, all lined up like ducks in a shooting gallery.

The Marines on each side of the road hit the deck and found cover in the road side ditch.  Lieutenant Kopfler took a dive to my right and found cover. There I stood like a statue holding my arm out with the hand-set in my hand while the world was exploding in front of me!  Well, hell, with discretion being the better part of valor, I took off running. I was looking over my left shoulder and, maybe, that gook didn’t like my looks. Rounds were popping off the asphalt and getting closer. This clown wasn’t much of a shot, but he sure could make pot holes.

Considering I ran down Highway 1 past the 1st Platoon and well into the 3rd, I must have run over a hundred yards with this asshole trying to snuff my sorry ass. I saw a big bush off to my left, took a dive and found cover. That’s when I saw Corporal Joe Dodson fire a 3.5 Willy Peter into this guy’s position. The next thing I saw, I think, was a pair of black pajamas on top of a beautiful white cloud. That was the first time Corporal Dodson saved my life.

Things were running late. We had to meet those boats on the beach so that we could get back to the Pickaway for some rest and to regroup. Pressing on at a fast pace took a toll on the Marines, especially in that heat. I had to call in a couple of “Dust-Offs”, helicopter evacuations, for guys who suffered from heat exhaustion. We had to stop a few times for Marines whose feet were severely blistered from walking on the super hot asphalt.

Then, my turn came. Jesus Christ and I have one thing in common. We both walked on water. But, Jesus was God and did it on a lake. I was merely human and did it on my own feet. I had blisters on both feet from my toes to my heels. I couldn’t walk anymore.

That’s when Doc Fresquez and his miracle cure, provided by our Navy, came into play.  I was wrestled to the ground by four masochistic gorillas, one on my chest, one on my butt, and one on each leg. The good Doc removed my boots and socks,  then made incisions in my blisters.  (I know, this is gross!)

After my wounds were dry, it was time for the “flip side”.  I got turned over on my back, the Marines assumed new positions in reverse, and then that’s when Doc added the final insult. Ever been to a horror movie where each actor tries to out scream the other?  Well, get some “Tuff Skin” and you won’t need a prop or any coaching. The pain endured is more than any mere mortal should be subjected to. I don’t know what a Banshee screams like, but I would have probably embarrassed one. Doc had a gleeful look on his face, mainly because I had previously given him a ton of shit. So, I think there was some “get even tism” with his application of this naval cure-all for blisters.

About fifteen minutes later, I was able to move on with the Company. We met the boats on the beach, boarded them and had two San Marcos beers each, courtesy of the Skipper of the Pickaway.

We were finally going to get some R&R.  It was well deserved. I wouldn’t wish anybody, even my worst enemy, the misery we suffered going through that heat. The Corpsmen did their best, and the welfare of  “their” Marines was the most important thing to them.  

Would I do it over?  Could I be “Tuff-Skinned” again?

Damned straight, I would.  I’d do anything a Corpsman would tell me to do.

Author/Ski II
     
     
 &n

While interviewing an anonymous Marine scout sniper on his sniper skills a Reuters News agent asked him what he felt when shooting members of Al Qaeda in Afghanistan.

The Marine shrugged and replied, "Recoil."

Author/Email

A sea-rat fed

Boondock operated

Killing machine,

That lives in holes

and thrives on chicken shit.

Author/Bill