by Larry Connor
Former Platoon Leader, 3rd
Platoon
Company A, 1/35th
Infantry Regiment
3rd Brigade Task
Force, 25th Infantry Division
Let’s see…..I’m a 21-year old infantry
2LT stationed at Ft. Ord, CA running a basic trainee company, bored out
of my mind. After a year of Carmel and several dull training cycles, I
broke down one afternoon and called some major at the Pentagon in charge
of junior officer assignments. I begged him to send me to Vietnam before
the war ended. He was happy to accommodate me.
After a very unpleasant three-week course in
Panama at their Jungle Warfare School, I arrived in-country on 3 May
1966 and took over command of the 3rd Platoon from 1LT Pat
Lenz. Pat had been wounded and was now Company A’s XO. The "Third
Herd" was an incredible group of men. The NCOs were seasoned and
solid, and the men all experienced. Great squad leaders who led great
soldiers. God, they were good!
So, on the 26th day of my life as
a platoon leader, Company A got a call to make a late afternoon
reinforcement of Company B 2/35 they said had (mistakenly) dropped into
an unsuspecting NVA regimental headquarters around LZ 10-Alfa.
As our slicks came into the LZ late on the
afternoon of 28 May 1966, we could see several abandoned 12.7 mm AA guns
around the LZ. Our platoon was assigned to the NE third of the LZ and
dark came. There was lots of commo wire around—a sure sign to us that
we were in the middle of a large enemy force. We put out an LP roughly
50-75 meters to our center front, manned by SGT Noble Hyde and a couple
of guys. I think all of us expected to be hit that night, and everyone
got as prepared as they could.
Around 0100, SGT Hyde called me from the LP
and whispered that they could hear lots of movement to their immediate
front. I told him to make his way back to our line quietly, when the NVA
opened up. All but one of my men made it back to our perimeter. I
remember running out with someone (SGT Hyde?), we found our wounded,
missing guy and helped him back to our platoon. Somehow, we all made it.
Right then, at least a company-sized force attacked our platoon front.
We had decent cover, kept low, and fined non-stop artillery and mortars
up and down our front.
This went on for a while, then they withdrew
for a while, then you could hear whistles blowing and them shouting, and
they’d rush us again. Several times they got as close as 10-15 meters
from us, but we drove them back every time. We fired hundreds of
artillery rounds right in front of us, and thousands of M-16 rounds.
They got close enough to throw grenades in on us, but we did the same
and ours worked better.
I remember crawling up and down our line
with Russ Crawford (the absolute, hands-down, best damn RTO in the
Central Highlands), and we came across a rifleman who had lost his
helmet in the dark. I gave him mine to wear without thinking a whit
about it. Sometime that night, I recall sitting (surely not?) next to
one of our M-60s, watching the NVA come up the slope toward us through a
clunky Starlight scope. I put that heavy glove on that came with the 60’s
spare barrel and walked the muzzle back and forth into the green shapes
coming up the slope toward us.
After a couple of hours of this, maybe 0400
or so, they stopped attacking and it became quiet until dawn. I think
one of our guys got hit in the elbow and died from shock later before
dawn. Right after dawn we were ordered to pick up our line and sweep our
front, collecting weapons and counting bodies. We stood up and
cautiously moved down a slight, wooded slope, all in line. The slope in
front of us was absolutely strewn with NVA bodies, weapons, and pieces
of bodies from the artillery. We moved about 150-200 meters (not sure
today) down this slope to a dry creek bed, where we found scores more
bodies where our shells had caught them moving up to attack us.
At this point, for some reason, my memory
begins to skip around. It’s like there are blank, erased portions,
interspersed with very vivid snapshots. So, I’ll just write down what
my remaining "pictures" look like:
- At the creek bed we found a barely alive
NVA soldier who had been horribly wounded by our artillery. I asked
our medic if he would make it back to our lines, and he just shook
his head no.
- We turned around and began making our way
back to our line. Each of us were carrying AK-47s and SKSs slung
over our shoulders. As we approached where our line had been (maybe
50-75 meters away), a burst of machine gun fire tore into us from
our front and on each side. At first, we thought our own guys were
firing on us as we approached the perimeter. Within a few moments,
however, it became clear that after we had moved down to the creek
bed, the NVA crept behind us and our line.
- My platoon sergeant, SFC George
Williams(?) was shot in the neck right in front of me, and something
hit me in the head and knocked me head over heels. To this day I can
remember exactly what it felt like—getting hit square in the head
with a baseball bat. I landed on my back and couldn’t see out of
my left eye because my scalp was hanging down over it bleeding. I
found out later we’d been hit with one of their heavy MGs that
they pulled around on two wheels. A round had hit the left side of
my head and creased my skull.
- I remember crawling over to SGT Williams
and laying on top of him, trying to give him some cover. The enemy
machine gun that hit us was directly in front of me, maybe 15, 20
meters, in some kind of bunker that had been empty just a short time
ago. They were so close I could hear them talking while they fed
another belt into the gun.
- I shot my 16 and Williams’ bone dry at
that bunker. I fired the 8 rounds from my .45, and then had nothing
left. At some point I was laying there with three empty guns
watching bursts walk up and down our sides, thinking that I was
getting paid something like $3.80 an hour for this as an O-1 (second
lieutenant) with over four years service. (Not bad, huh? Hey, it’s
what I asked for.)
- At some point, I could hear a heavy
volume of fire coming in our my right side. It was LT Kelsey and his
platoon. They flanked the NVA and broke through to us. They
literally saved our lives that morning.
- The next thing I recall was being helped
back to the LZ. The NVA kept attacking and we kept firing back. I
found another M-16 and fired it so much the barrel burned out. When
things seemed to have died down a bit, one or two Huey slicks came
in and someone put me on one to be lifted out of there. Just as they
did, they attacked again and I hopped off, thinking I wasn’t hurt
that bad.
- All that morning (it seems today) they
kept attacking and we kept beating them back. We had lots of air
support. We had 500 pound bombs, rockets, 20mm cannon, napalm, 40mm
grenade launchers, everything—all "danger close" to us.
We kept telling them to bring in the next run closer, 20 meters
closer. I remember laying there watching a pair of A-1E Skyraiders
make several runs, Huey gunships (one got hit right over us and
crashed I think), and a couple of F4 Phantoms. I remember the F4s
because they looked so big, and because they came in nose high,
flaps down and air brakes out to slow down enough to lay their bombs
in close to us. Like the arty and our Huey pilots, our air force
guys were just incredible that day. I’ll never forget them for it.
- Sometime later (around 1200?) I was
kneeling next to a tree firing another M16 and something slammed
into my left side, knocking me down. By this time, my head was numb,
but this one hurt like a son of a bitch—it felt like a white hot
knife in my side. (I learned later it was an AK round that first
passed through three empty M16 magazines in my ammo pouch—they
probably slowed the round down enough to keep it from killing me.)
- That did it for me that day. I remember
being carried into another Huey and laid down on the floor. This
time I stayed. It banked so steeply coming out of the LZ I remember
being afraid I was going to slide out the open door on my back,
helpless to move.
- The next thing I recall was coming to on
a stretcher inside a MASH tent near Pleiku, laying on my back. I saw
LT Pat Lenz, Company A’s XO over me, and I began crying, asking
him how many of my men had been hurt. I don’t think he knew then,
and I passed out.
I came to later at the hospital in Qui Nhon
just before surgery. It was cold; I was shivering; and the next thing I
knew, it was over. But, it had really just started for those of us who
survived. Today, almost 36 years later, I feel like I died and was born
at that clearing at the base of the Chu Pong Massif, southwest of
Pleiku.
That’s all I remember about that place of
heroes called LZ 10-Alfa.
Larry Connor
April 23, 2002