Loon - Jack McLean [35]
General William C. Westmoreland, the American commander, called Con Thien “a Dien Bien Phu in reverse.” He went on to say that Con Thien represented a U.S. victory, that the marines had taken the best that the Communists could throw at them, had held their own, and had fought back valiantly and effectively. It was, of course, an early instance of what became the American strategy in Vietnam: Declare victory and move on.
In retrospect, Con Thien turned out to be one of our first major blunders of the war. Had we learned nothing from the French? The Battle of Dien Bien Phu, fought in the spring of 1954, was the climactic battle of the First Indochina War between the French and Vietnam’s Communist revolutionary Viet Minh. The battle ended in a massive French defeat that effectively ended the war.
During the battle, the French infantry had garrisoned themselves in the seemingly impregnable valley in northwestern Vietnam. It never occurred to them that the diminutive Vietnamese soldiers might be capable of hauling not only themselves but major artillery pieces to the top of the surrounding ridges.
Lesson one: Never underestimate the Vietnamese.
Lesson two? See lesson one.
A third lesson derived from the disasters at both Dien Bien Phu and Con Thien should have been to never again garrison large numbers of troops in a single position where they could become sitting ducks for enemy forces. This lesson, like the first two, had yet to be learned by the American commanders.
With the end of the siege of Con Thien, incredibly—almost incomprehensibly—the United States began the buildup of a small base in the foothills to the west. Khe Sanh lay strategically at an outlet of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the North’s major supply route. Alas, Khe Sanh also lay within easy range of the big North Vietnamese guns at Co Roc, Laos. The stage was being set for another major attack by the North Vietnamese on a stationary American target. It would come in the winter and spring of 1968 with a siege that would last 177 days.
Elements of the history outlined in the propaganda film Why Vietnam were familiar to me. In 1957, my parents had traveled to Vietnam on business and had been fascinated by the country and its people. I sat through hours of home movies of the Tet celebrations in Saigon, the endless rice paddies in the countryside, and the enormous rubber plantations controlled by wealthy (mostly foreign) landholders. Our home had numerous Vietnamese artifacts. The fact was, however, that to a United States Marine on his way to Vietnam in 1967, the history meant little. We were marines. They were gooks. We were good. They were evil. We had God on our side; they worshipped something weird.
We were trained to kill.
They were trained to kill.
This we had in common.
Late in October, we were informed that our flight would leave from San Bernardino early on the morning of November fifth. On the evening of November fourth, I found an available pay phone and made my last telephone call home. My parents tried to be positive. I tried to be positive. Neither side was convincing. I recall no genuine words of spirit or encouragement from my father, although he certainly must have tried. My mother showed no audible sign of the horror that she must have felt.
In my presence, my parents remained stoic.
My sister Barby was now fourteen—old enough to know what was going on and young enough to be really scared. She told me years later that she, Mom, and Dad just hunkered down for the year. A National Geographic map of Vietnam was hung in the front hall bathroom after I left. Week by week, a growing number of pins marked the movements of Charlie Company across the wide southern expanse of the demilitarized zone that separated the two Vietnams. Late evenings and early mornings would often find my mother or father walking sleeplessly through the drafty corridors of the grand old house.
I had bidden farewell to my parents many times over the years during my back and forths to Andover. I had, however, never said good-bye over the telephone.