by Morris Ray
The slender pilot shook his head. “They say, ‘too foggy.’ No fly when too foggy.” He pushed his western hat back, grinning widely, “Pussies.”
Pool had to agree. If he had to go up in this pea soup, he’d rather have one of his own pilots than some stranger.
Getting into the Area of Operation (AO) was a dangerous proposition; the weather didn’t improve as the day wore on, and hugging the treetops was a good way to get shot down. Eventually landing a short distance from the besieged camp, they were ambushed and pinned down immediately. But they had expected it and didn’t take any initial casualties, despite being unable to advance. Hunkered down in partially open terrain with only a few scattered trees to the front and right, and rice paddies on their left, Pool and Robertson took cover in a deeply rutted dirt road ditch, straining to determine the direction of the firing. Pool raised his head slightly to find someone to fire at, but with his visibility limited, he leaped up and moved toward the crest of a small hill to their right front. He never made it. Shot high in the upper shoulder, the bullet lodged against his shoulder blade.
The M-16 rifle has three settings: Safe, Fire and Automatic. “Fire” is semi-automatic—pulling the trigger each time to fire a round. “Automatic” allows a shooter to hold the trigger down until the magazine is empty, or to simply waste ammunition. A sharp-witted SF man dubbed these settings, “Slow, Fast and Awful Fast.” Pool had his setting on “Awful Fast,” so when the shot drove him backwards he instinctively gripped the closest thing handy, in this case his trigger, holding tightly as he fell backwards, spraying the area. One of his wayward rounds hit Robertson in the big toe, barely nipping the tip, but tearing the toe off his boot. Robertson dropped his rifle, leaped up in the middle of the firefight, grabbed his distressed foot and hopped around on the other— cursing at Pool for all he was worth. Despite his own injury, Pool felt badly about it, but since he didn’t know how Robertson might retaliate, he dropped into a shallow rut and quickly yelled apologies until Robertson had quieted down a bit. Before Robertson could become a target—of the enemy this time—he sought cover and closely inspected his foot, which appeared allright; he ignored a small group of Rangers huddled nearby, laughing and pointing at him. They apparently had gotten quite a kick out of the whole event.
Robertson, grateful he hadn’t lost any toes, realized the Rangers were already in the attack and doing pretty well against their ambushers. Then he saw one of their best officers, who had motivated their forward movement, struck in the forehead by a .50-caliber round. This infuriated the Rangers. They attacked in a frenzy; screaming, firing and running straight at the machinegun nest. They found the dead VC gunner inside—handcuffed to his machinegun. While politicians back home might be playing political games with the war, the Viet Cong, known respectfully as either the VC, Victor Charlie or Mister Charles, were playing for keeps. They wanted to win.
* * * * * *
When Charging Charlie Beckwith went on an operation, he nearly always ordered either Terry “Rolex” Morrone or Don Valentine to be his radio operator. When Valentine’s tour was up, Beckwith sent for him.
“Sergeant Valentine, you’re a good man. Why don’t you extend your tour and stay with me?”
“No, Sir,” Valentine told him. “You’re going to get this outfit wiped out, and I don’t want to be here when it happens.” Beckwith laughed as Valentine headed out the door for Fort Bragg, NC.
It was October 1965 when Beckwith volunteered to insert Project Delta B-52 teams a mile outside the surrounded Special Forces camp at Plei Me. Their infiltration was to help stiffen the resistance against enemy buildup around the encampment. Pleiku Province had become the most hotly disputed area in the war-torn country. The Special Forces camp near the small town of Plei Me had been battered day and night by several NVA regiments. By circling the encampment with Chinese 12.7mm anti-aircraft guns, they’d already shot down two Air Force fighter-bombers and a Huey helicopter. Before Beckwith’s deployment of his Delta force, the camp was defended by 400 Montagnard tribesmen and their families, a twelve-man U.S. Special Forces A-Team and a Vietnamese Special Forces A-Team.
Fifteen American Special Forces and two Ranger companies of approximately 100 men took off from Camp Holloway, heading south to relieve the encircled camp. The LZ Beckwith had earlier chosen on an over-flight, was prepped by two air strikes by bombers and gun ships. On 21 October 1965, at 0900, the small force of Rangers and American Special Forces of Project Delta landed by helicopter about a mile from the besieged camp and began moving overland to enjoin the fight. A young officer and Ranger company advisor, CPT Thomas Pusser, was among the Americans deployed with them. Beckwith personally led the air-assault.
Successful in maneuvering around NVA positions, but concerned that they might be mistaken for the enemy in the darkness, Beckwith decided to enter the camp the following morning. Under cover of darkness just before dawn, they stealthily approached the camp and broke for the main gate, taking the enemy by surprise. Still, a Ranger lieutenant and an American news photographer were killed, and several others wounded. Almost immediately after arriving inside the camp, Beckwith received orders to send his unit outside the wire to locate and destroy the enemy’s anti-aircraft and artillery firing positions.
“Major, I want you to get outside the camp... clear the enemy out of there,” COL Bill McKean told him.
“Sir, that’s not a good idea,” Beckwith replied.
“I don’t care, Major,” was McKean’s reply. “I’m ordering you.”
Beckwith knew his officers well and, with serious misgivings about the operation, sent his best officer, CPT Thomas Pusser, along with the stronger of the two Ranger elements. Pusser had expressed a desire to command the weaker company—he’d been worried about it and had wanted to “keep it moving.” On his second Vietnam tour, Pusser once was questioned by a friend as to why he wanted to go back. Pusser had replied, “It was hard before, and this time will be harder. But, I might as well do it as anybody else. I have no wife or children, and those are wonderful people over there. At first they don’t trust you, but once you’ve won their trust, they’ll give their lives for you.”
Plei Me Special Forces Camp, 1965. L to R: CPT Tom Pusser (KIA); LT Julie Klebaum, 8th Army Field Hospital, Dong Ba; “Thin” (the monkey); CPT Leonard “Greek” Boulas
Beckwith comments in his book, Delta Force, “In the afternoon, we mounted up both Ranger companies. Captain Thomas Pusser, a West Pointer I thought a lot of, was the adviser to the Vietnamese Rangers.”
Beckwith’s strategy was to first clear the northern slope; most of the firing was coming from there. The NVA waited patiently until both companies reached points outside the encampment and then popped up from well-dug holes, hitting the Ranger elements with the full force of automatic fire and mortars. Fourteen were killed, including Thomas Pusser, who was gunned down while leading an assault against an enemy machinegun nest. Pusser had been directing the action, encouraging his Vietnamese Rangers to maintain fire discipline. The enemy had his troops pinned down; they were in danger of total annihilation when he led his charge. Many others had been wounded, so Beckwith pulled his battered force back inside the camp and hunkered down for a long difficult siege.
During his radio messages, Beckwith estimated the camp was under attack by “2,000 to 3,000 enemy troops...two to three NVA regiments.” News of the fierce prolonged attacks came to the attention of President Lyndon Johnson, and on 23 October, he sent a message to the defenders: “We’re thinking about you. Hold out as long as you can. God bless you all.”
On 24 October, with the siege in full swing and Beckwith laboring to strengthen the camp’s fortifications, the American element of the task force decided to run a dangerous operation to recover Pusser’s body from where it had fallen outside the defensive wire. The senior Vietnamese Ranger Commander, Major Tut, had been adamant that he and his troops would be the ones to recover the body of his young American friend. Tut was insistent. “No. We
will go. The Vietnamese soldiers will recover Captain Pusser. He was our advisor and died on the field of battle with honor and courage, fighting for us and with us. He is ours. We will do it.”
This time they were ready for the enemy’s resistance, and braving intense fire, were successful in their endeavor without further loss of life. The following day, the weather cleared enough for the Air Force to send in fighter bombers—these broke the enemy’s back. On 25 October 1965, the siege of Plei Me came to an end. Captain Tom Pusser, soft-spoken southern gentleman, exemplary West Point cadet and pride of Chesterfield, SC, proved to be a dedicated leader and heroic Army officer. Along with others who lost their lives during that operation, he remains on the Project Delta rolls as KIA, forever etched into the memories of his brothers. A Delta warrior, he epitomized those who unselfishly died for a cause they believed in, even if that cause had not been supported by others in the United States. For his heroism, Captain Thomas Pusser was awarded the Silver Star. Buried in the Pusser family plot in the Chesterfield Cemetery, the words on his stone are powerful in their simplicity: “Rest in Peace, Tom. Well Done.”
Staff Sergeant Jimmie L. McBynum was another among those killed conducting operations against hostile forces on the Plei Me operation, which continued intermittently into early 1966 with even more losses. Beckwith, was so severely wounded he was sent back to the U.S. for treatment. Seven other Silver Stars were awarded from those tenacious battles: MAJ Charles Beckwith, MAJ Charles H. Thompson, CPT A. J. “Bo” Baker, SFC Marion C. Hollaway, SFC Robert J Wren, SSG Larry R. Dickinson, SGT Terrence SSG “Rolex” Morrone and SGT Ronald L. Robertson.
Beckwith lost so many men during that siege and subsequent operations in the surrounding hills that Project Delta had to temporarily suspend business for several months before suitable replacements could be found. Fortunately, the ranks of Special Forces are filled with men such as these; those who can be counted on to give their best in a dire situation.
* * * * * *
In 1965, the epic battle in the hills of Pleiku and throughout the Ia Drang Valley involved LTC Hal Moore’s famed battalion. This battle was recorded by war correspondent Joe Galloway, who co-authored a best-selling book about these events; it became the basis for the screenplay and movie “We Were Soldiers Once...and Young.”
The battle for Plei Me had been as costly for the much smaller Special Forces team and Project Delta units as the Ia Drang would prove to be for LTC Moore’s 1st Cav Battalion. The reason was clear. Subsequent intelligence reports reported both LTC Moore’s Battalion and the Special Forces troops at Plei Me faceD the same crack NVA units. Joe Galloway, who would write of Moore’s brave exploits, also documented the earlier conflict at the Plei Me camp. Hearing about the Special Forces camp under siege, he talked his way into the area despite his awareness that another news photographer had been killed attempting to infiltrate with Beckwith and his small Delta group.
Galloway had barely missed out on finagling himself into that action, but he knew a lot of people and was respected by the combat community. So, he went looking for favors. Stomping in frustration, Galloway caught the eye of CPT Ray Burns, 119th Aviation Company.
“Why so pissed, Joe?”
Galloway played poker and had been known to drink Jim Beam with the 119th guys, so he knew most of them pretty well.
Major Charlie Beckwith (left), Commander of B-52 Project Delta, and war correspondent Joe Galloway, during the siege of Plei Me Camp, October 1965. (Photo courtesy of Joe Galloway)
“I’ve been trying to get to Plei Me, a Special Forces camp near the border that’s been catching hell. Looks like it’ll all be over before I can get there.”
Burns had him wait while he checked the clipboard at Flight Ops. He returned, only to tell Galloway what he already knew—the airspace around Plei Me was closed to traffic. Then Burns grinned. “I’d kinda like to see the place myself, so if you want to ride along....”
Galloway was on his way.
At Plei Me, to avoid machinegun fire from the enemy positions ringing the camp, Burns literally dropped his chopper as if he’d run out of gas. Galloway bailed out as it touched down, simultaneously with the arrival of some camp defenders placing their wounded aboard. Through the Plexiglas cockpit window, Ray Burns grinned, flipping him the bird as he shot away. A young sergeant ran toward him, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted over the racket of Burn’s departing chopper, “I don’t know who you are, Sir, but Beckwith wants to see you. Now!”
“Who’s Beckwith?”
The sergeant grinned, motioning with his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s the big guy over there, jumping up and down on his hat.”
No novice, Galloway had been around, so he wasn’t too concerned that he’d be reporting to the legendary Charging Charlie Beckwith. He decided he’d be respectful...just in case.
“Who the hell are you?” Beckwith growled as approached.
“A reporter, Sir.”
No one could beat Beckwith’s disgusted look, and the big guy definitely was disgusted. “I need just about everything in this goddamned world: I need reinforcements, I need medical supplies and evacuation helicopters, I need ammunition, I need food, I would dearly love a bottle of Jim Beam whiskey and some good cigars. And what has the Army in its infinite wisdom sent me? A reporter. A goddamned reporter! Well, I’ll tell you what, son. I have no vacancies for a reporter, but I do have one for a machinegunner. And I’ve got some more really bad news for you. You’re it!
“Uh...me?”
“Follow me.” Beckwith headed off without looking back.
He led Galloway to a sandbagged corner of the trench-line and gave him a short lesson in the care, loading and firing of the M-1919A6, .30-caliber, air-cooled light-machinegun. All Galloway really knew was that it was dark, ugly and menacing. Beckwith explained how to un-jam it, just in case, and how to arm it with new belts of ammo stacked nearby. His directions, simple and direct: “You can shoot the little brown men outside the wire; they are the enemy. You may not shoot the little brown men inside the wire; they are mine.”
Galloway spent the next three days hunkered in the muddy trench beside his dark, ugly, menacing weapon, with the enemy unrelenting in their efforts to kill the camp’s defenders. On 23 October 1965, the Air Force found a break in the ceiling, dropped supplies inside the camp, and followed up with massive bombing runs. Later in the day, a South Vietnamese armored column arrived. The NVA had endured enough and left, leaving behind the never-to-be-forgotten smell of human flesh rotting and baking in the hot tropical sun. The following morning, the sky blanketed with U.S. Army helicopters, the 1st Air Cav arrived to sweep the surrounding hills of any remaining enemy. Eager to join the hunt, Galloway went to tell Beckwith goodbye.
“You done a good job,” Beckwith told him simply. “Where’s your weapon?”
“I’m a reporter,” Galloway answered. “I don’t carry a weapon. I’m what they call a non-combatant.”
Beckwith smirked, and then spotted one of his NCOs. “Sergeant, bring me an M-16 and some loaded magazines.”
He handed the weapon and several magazines to Galloway. “In these mountains there ain’t no such thing as a non-combatant, Son. Take the rifle.”
Galloway took the rifle and slung it over his shoulder, hurrying to catch up with Hal Moore’s battalion of the 1st Cav Division. It was now their time to make military history.25
* * * * * *
Joseph L. Galloway resides in Arlington, Virginia and works in Washington, D.C.; he frequently travels for speaking engagements. Soon to retire, he has a retreat planned near Copano Bay on the Texas coast. “I have a lifetime deficit to catch up on,” Joe says, “...fishing and bird hunting.” Joe Galloway is the only civilian decorated by the military for bravery in the Vietnam War. The United States Army awarded him the Bronze Star Medal for valor. Joe managed to come closer to the fighting than any other reporter, and he reported the truth. He’ll forever remain a part of the Army family.
25 Joseph L. Galloway. A Combat Reporter Remembers the Siege at Plei Me, http://www.projectdelta.net/plei_mei.htm
SEVEN
Stay Out of the An Loa Valley
ON 29 DECEMBER 1965, B-52 PROJECT DELTA was alerted to support the 1st U.S. Infantry Division near Bien Hoa on Operation Crimp. Aware the area was hotly contested, Delta began celebrating New Years Eve as if they had just been given a few days off. On 30 Dec 1965, Detachment B-52 departed Nha Trang with three recon teams, each composed of three Americans and two Nungs. Upon arrival at the 1st Infantry Division FOB, the division staff generally decided their capabilities would be better served if they supported the much larger Operation Mallet. It had been programmed into five separate phases; its ultimate objective the clearing of Highway 15 of VC and NVA, from Bein Hoa to Vung Tau. Due to the operation’s extended time span and the extensive area covered, even more recon teams would be utilized, if available. On 4 January 1966, three additional Delta teams arrived at Di An.
