Loon - Jack McLean [64]
The plan was to have us dropped onto a hill, have us secure it on the first day, bring in artillery on the second day, blow the shit out of the area for several more days, and then abandon the position and move on to another hill to repeat the process. The objective was to frustrate the enemy, keep them on the move, and kill as many of them as we possibly could.
It was dubbed Operation Robin.
The first phase had us running road security along Route 9. We now were staged, with the rest of the 4th Marine Regiment, to begin the second phase in which General Davis’s planned airmobile operations would be conducted south of Route 9 to destroy the enemy road. There was no question that we would be dropped into very hostile territory. The NVA had moved freely about this corner of South Vietnam for months and had built up significant troop strength and supplies.
Our reconnaissance had showed that they were everywhere above and, presumably, below the ground as well.
“After this operation, we’re all going to be heroes and this fucking war is going to be over,” crowed company radioman Terry Tillery.
The boast was aimed at Skipper Bill Negron, who was kneeling nearby in silent prayer. Terry Tillery was a nineteen-year-old lance corporal from Canfield, Ohio—a small farming community near Youngstown. He had signed up for a four-year enlistment in the United States Marine Corps exactly a year earlier. After five months of training, he was sent directly to Vietnam. He and I reported to Charlie Company on the same day in November 1967 and were both assigned to the 2nd Platoon. Tillery was a marine’s marine—well trained, disciplined, and eager to take on any task that was thrown his way. He was quick to obey orders, but he also possessed the unique ability to think creatively and provide tactical solutions where others saw none.
Shortly after Negron’s arrival in country, Benny Lerma, the company radio operator, rotated back to the States with his thirteen-month tour completed. Lerma suggested that Tillery succeed him. Negron agreed. Tillery turned out to be an outstanding choice.
This day marked only his fourth as Negron’s right arm.
“Heroes, man, heroes,” Tillery continued. “There’s going to be a parade down Broad Street in Canfield. Me? I’m going to be in the lead Cadillac, and all the girls are gonna be screamin’ and grabbin’ at me. It’s gonna be the biggest party ever. Mrs. Tillery’s little boy will be set for life.”
Even Negron, now engaged, was smiling.
“Oh, yeah,” Tillery went on, noting the Skipper’s attention, “the Skipper is going to be in the second Cadillac. After all, he is our leader. They’ll probably make him a general and give him the Navy Cross. But—don’t forget—the party’s for me, and I get all the girls.”
D-Day was June 4, 1968.
Our waiting at Camp Carroll was filled with the cockiness and bravado of a hundred eighty mostly teenage boys.
We were in good spirits, joking, nervous, and apprehensive.
“As bad as the shit’s gonna be up there, the only cross we’re gonna get is a big white one at Arlington,” our artillery forward observer said. He was a realist. Still, we laughed, prayed, cried, were scared to death—every one of us—but kept up the bravado.
We believed in the cause and knew we would win.
We’d all come to fight.
None of us had come to die.
I was numb, feeling once again that circumstances were outstripping my ability to process them.
Arriving at Parris Island nearly two years earlier had been frightening, but I’d gotten through it.
Arriving in Vietnam eight months ago had been surreal, but it had evolved into an edgy, but relatively safe, reality.
Now combat.
Real combat for the first time.
Like my fellow