Loon - Jack McLean [67]
A week later, the North began an unprecedented artillery barrage on Khe Sanh. It was the beginning of a siege that was to last seventy-seven days. An early round set off an explosion in the Americans’ main ammunition dump. Enormous numbers of artillery and mortar rounds stored in the dump were thrown into the air and detonated on impact within the base. Another enemy rocket scored a direct hit on a cache of CS tear gas that saturated the entire base.
During that period, North Vietnamese gunners landed more than a thousand rounds a day on Khe Sanh. American gunners returned fire with an estimated 160,000 rounds of artillery during the siege. The U.S. bomb tonnage directed around Khe Sanh was staggering. Air force jets had flown 9,691 tactical sorties and dropped 14,223 tons. Marine Corps pilots flew 7,098 missions and released 17,015 tons. Carrier-based navy jets, some redirected from missions over North Vietnam, flew 5,337 sorties and dropped 7,941 tons. Air force B-52S flew 2,548 sorties and released an additional 59,542 tons. The total tonnage dropped around Khe Sanh was the equivalent of a 1.3-kiloton nuclear device every day of the siege. With the enemy strength estimated at about thirty thousand, we expended more than five tons of artillery and aerial munitions for every NVA soldier who surrounded Khe Sanh.
Not even this amount of unleashed firepower was enough to calm the anxiety of American leaders in Washington. On February 1, 1968, General Earle G. Wheeler, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, raised the issue with Westmoreland of “whether tactical nuclear weapons should be used if the situation at Khe Sanh should become that desperate.” Westmoreland replied that their use would probably not be required. However, he added that if the situation did change dramatically, “I visualize that either tactical nuclear weapons or chemical agents would be active candidates for employment.”
Nukes?
Good God.
The battle proved little. We abandoned the base after one hundred twenty days, and the North Vietnamese immediately directed their efforts elsewhere. Elsewhere, this particular day, was to be the area around LZ Loon into which we were now headed. As quickly as it had come into view, Khe Sanh was behind us. Our chopper banked hard to the port side and rose to meet the looming foothills to the southwest.
“Thirty seconds, gentlemen. Thirty seconds.”
The voice of the pilot snapped us back to our reality.
We were lowering fast and banking hard. We began to hear the ground fire directed at us, each a small explosion or a metallic ding. As the ramp began to lower, we again heard the voice of the pilot.
“This is a hot landing, marines. A hot landing. Wish I could stick around and have a few laughs with you, but I’m getting the fuck out of here. We will not be landing. Do you understand me? The wheels will not hit the ground, but each of you will. I’m leaving in fifteen seconds whether you are off or not. Semper Fi, brothers. Go now. Go. Go. Go.”
Go?
Go where?
Still above the treetops, we unharnessed and moved swiftly to the rear, waiting for one brave soul to make the decision that we were low enough to jump without breaking a leg.
The ramp lowered still farther.
We were each weighted down with fifty to seventy-five pounds of gear and uncertain about what a safe jumping height might be. But the first marine did jump, and the rest of us followed—landing hard, rolling—often onto one another. Loose mortar base plates fell around us, a .50 caliber machine gun tripod bounced across our packs, and cans of .223 caliber rifle ammo simply fell like rain. All had been kicked out rather than carried.
But for the sporadic rifle fire aimed in our direction, we were on our own. The rifle fire was, in fact, good news, because at least it gave us some indication as to where the NVA were. Otherwise, we were momentarily lost. We were on the slope of a steep