A Marine Artillery Officer's Letters from Vietnam
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Pháo Binh – A Marine Artillery Officer’s Letters from Vietnam - 1966-67 by Mark Wakeman Howe Dedication To the grunts. I hope grunts realize how deeply and sincerely an artilleryman wants to support his grunts. When you are bottled up in your FDC or behind your guns or humping ammo, all of your being is with them. You want so badly to be of help to your grunts. If the grunts are happy you're happy. When the grunts get into trouble you feel it deep in your soul. And when you are prevented from helping your grunts through some command or bureaucratic problem, your sense of frustration is great. Displayed online at the http://swcenter.fortlewis.edu/ website of the Center of Southwest Studies, Fort Lewis College (Durango, Colorado), February, 2008, by permission of the author, Mark W. Howe. Accession 2008:008. For a related collection at the Center, the papers of Jim Dyer (who was Howe’s Commanding Officer for a time in Vietnam), see http://swcenter.fortlewis.edu/inventory/DyerColl.htm 2 The War in Vietnam? [Written sometime during the summer of 1966] This isn't a war where one side is right and the other side is wrong. It is a war where two very dissimilar races are going through the painful process of learning to live together in a world that is getting frighteningly smaller every day. A couple of nights ago an artillery battalion a few hundred meters away from here was attacked by a sizable VC force. The following morning the bodies were still stacked up around the perimeter wire where they had been dropped by the deadly fire of a highly industrialized and sophisticated society. Many of the VC were so young their naked bodies showed only the first indications of puberty. When they were looked over by the intelligence section, it was determined that many of them were local people from the surrounding villages. These are the people we deal with daily and who should know what we are here for if anyone should. Why then would they make a suicidal assault on those who have left homes far across the sea for no other reason than to protect them against terrorism and violence? There is obviously a very unfortunate lack of understanding somewhere. It is too much for me to fathom what goes on in the minds of these people who seem so friendly during the daylight. It is clear that the lives of the villagers are improved by the presence of Americans. When I arrived here last May the highway north of Chu Lai ran through relatively uncultivated land. Now the countryside in the vicinity of the occupied areas is all paddies and gardens. New houses built when we moved into the area are now surrounded with banana trees and shrubs. This is very important to a Vietnamese. As soon as his house is built and his floor of sand and clay is packed firm, he starts his landscape gardening. In less than a year the only indication of a dwelling is a clump of trees with a little thatch roof showing through. Thus it is protected from the wind and rain in winter and the hot sun in summer. The straggling line of hootches along highway #1 is becoming a rural and agricultural area. Some verbal doodling: [Probably written during a long boring night watch] As the great solar ball of fire slumps its weary form into the reaching arms of the Annamite Mountains. The night is black, there is a pale yellow glow far down in the valley where somewhere a kerosene lamp burns in a grass roofed bamboo frame house. There is worry on the face of the mother as she hears the ripping crash of a shell landing not far away. But this has been for so long, she forgets. The baby sucks at her breast. The child has infected sores on his legs. During the day the flies keep these clean. Another shell lands farther away. A rice bowl shifts position in its basket with a soft tink. And outside the village, along a sandy bottomed draw, a small group of Marines lie in ambush for any VC that should happen to pass this way tonight. And on the other side of the village two boys, alert and careful, leave the house of their parents and swiftly melt away into the night. They fight Marines; they are VC and they have risked the hazards of the night to visit their home for a little while-for a bite of food, the warmth of family love. Then away again to the mountains. And around the nearby fortified hilltop, ARVN soldiers sit in their bunkers behind multiple rings of barbed wire. They believe the VC won't come tonight, but if the Sergeant catches them asleep, they'll spend some time in the barbed wire cage in the sun. Outside the wire several forms move slowly toward the bunker. The night is black and they move slowly but steadily uphill. The mother pulls the baby from her breast. She puts him in his small crib and blows out the kerosene light. There is a faint crackle, like the popping of corn, far in the distance. Small red glowing tracers ricochet gracefully and arc away into the sky. 3 Prologue In war, a lot of what happens between the combatants and the indigenous population is of a missionary nature. In Vietnam the most important part of our job was a mission to win the hearts and minds of the people. We were very much like missionaries. Our success in this may have been far greater than we realized at the time. When the Marines went into Vietnam in 1965 there was instantly a relationship that developed between Marines and Vietnamese. In the boondocks, the "boonies" as Marines say, it was the rural and agrarian peasant. In the cities and towns it was the military leaders, merchants and other urban dwellers. When I arrived in country in 1966 these relationships had formed somewhat but were still developing. The Marine Corps counterinsurgency doctrine, which had been evolving for many years, involved coming together with the people and helping them defeat the VC aggressors from within the local village organization. The Army methodology as put forward by General Westmoreland was to strike against VC forces from secure bases and return to those bases after the battle. They called it search and destroy. From the Army point of view the end result would be the same; the VC would be defeated and the villagers would be able to return to their normal lives. But without the close personal contact, Vietnamese could be convinced by the VC that America was an invading power like the French and the cause of their misery. The Marine commander, General Walt, did what he could with the limited resources available to him to get his Marines out into close contact with the villages in the territories he was responsible for securing. This was called the Tactical Area of Responsibility or TAOR. Where his thin resources were adequate, the numbers of friendly villages increased, but in more remote areas he had problems. I was able to see and be involved in this effort, and my letters show how the American military force as a mission to the people can be a powerful tool in an occupied country where everything is perception. I have no doubt, I got a lot of the missionary spirit from my mother. Dorothea Kingsley Wakeman was a China Hand. Raised and schooled in Southern California, she received a degree in English literature at UCLA. She then followed a family calling and went to Hankow, China in 1933, as an English teacher for the American Episcopal Church. She got out of China, just ahead of the Imperial Japanese invasion, in 1937. My father Robert's army artillery battery went from training in the California desert for the North African campaign to landing with the 7th Division on Eniwetok, Kwajalein, Kiska in the Aleutians and eventually the Philippines and Okinawa. I suppose that would have been the Big SLF (Special Landing Force) the Division Landing Team. I can recall many times making comparisons to Vietnam, thinking we could hardly call Vietnam a war by comparison. The Marine's role historically was aboard a Navy ship. The concept of "send in the Marines" was always from an American ship in harbor -- the Boxer Rebellion and the Dey of Tripoli come to mind. During the evolution of modern warfare this amphibious role became very important. So important apparently that the Army 7th division became amphibious, usurping the Marine Corps role. My father would disparage the Marine Corps -- "The Marines would go charging through and take the top of the hill, take all the glory, and leave the Army to do all the dirty work cleaning up the mess they left behind." They called that mopping up. I enrolled in the Stanford University NROTC program in 1960. I had always been an ocean type person; that was how I got the idea of Navy instead of Army. (I had actually applied to both Annapolis and West Point). We were a generation too late to have been called for Korea, but we knew many who were. We were faced with an uncertain future as the cold war Western world prepared for blocking reactions against the great Communist threat to our existence. We studied seapower in our classes with the idea that control of the oceans would be the key to our survival.