The Kindergarten Marines

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/12/15/opinion/the-kindergarten-marines.html

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In early December 1967, I returned from a patrol in the paddies south of Danang, South Vietnam, to see a squad clustered around a radio, glad to hear that Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara had resigned. At that time, Marines were fighting two vastly different wars on two fronts. Up north along the Demilitarized Zone, they defended against never-ending artillery bombardments and ground assaults launched from North Vietnam, four miles to the north.

Every grunt knew that the DMZ was a hornet’s nest. A year earlier, my five-man reconnaissance team had been on patrol in the DMZ when we came under intense fire; we escaped only because a bold F-8 pilot, Capt. Orson Swindle, diverted from his assigned mission to drop two 2,000-pound bombs on our pursuers.

But McNamara had ordered Marines to hold the line, a temporizing strategy that cost thousands of American lives. The only way to secure the top of South Vietnam was to maneuver through Laos and hit the North Vietnamese from their rear. But Washington wouldn’t allow it. Instead, American soldiers and Marines were stuck defending along the DMZ, a battle of attrition in miserable places like Khe Sanh that went on until we pulled out of the country in 1972.

Farther to the south, in the higher-populated lowlands, the Marines were fighting a different war. The concept was to drive out the Viet Cong guerrillas by sending small groups of volunteers into the villages to train bands of farmers, called Popular Forces. My regimental commander sent me (a grunt captain) to a remote village 70 miles south of Danang to report on the progress. There, a combined action platoon, or CAP, of 15 Marines and 30 P.F.s was trying to control five hamlets containing 5,000 Vietnamese. Their adversaries were a company of about 100 guerrillas who hid during the day and moved at night. Like the farmers and guerrillas, we fought with rifles and grenades, which we could throw farther than most Vietnamese.

We had no night-vision devices and, to keep down the noise when we moved at night, never wore helmets or flak jackets. In the dark inside the hamlets, we couldn’t see five yards. Firefights erupted at close range and the P.F.s often ran away. But they couldn’t go far. We Marines and the P.F.s (including the village chief) all slept on cots in a one-room schoolhouse. Due to constant patrolling, the P.F.s improved. But the guerrillas did not back off. Of the 17 Marines and P.F. farmers in the photo above, four were wounded and nine killed.

We never called for artillery or air support inside the village, because we lived there. Seeing that we weren’t rich or better armed and yet took higher risks than other troopers, the villagers gradually welcomed us into their thatched homes. We had been issued ham and lima beans in C-ration cans that had been sealed in 1955. Instead, we ate duck eggs and rice, peanuts and coconuts.

In early 1967, the CAP commander, Sgt. Jim White, rotated home. The village chief, Trao, wrote to White’s parents in broken but legible English: “Sgt. White and his Sq. (squad) evry days evry night go to empust with P.F. … They work very hard and never look tired … My people are very poor and when to see a marine they are very happy … P.F. and marine to fight V.C. Maybe die … Jod bless you all.”

Sgt. Vinnie McGowan took over. Like Jim White, Vinnie had fought against the North Vietnamese regulars and was tactically sharp. From the West Side of New York City, he had an outsize personality and within a few months knew hundreds of the villagers. The guerrillas, about 100 in the area, had been losing men night after night. Vinnie encouraged the villagers to point out where the remaining guerrillas were hiding. By the end of 1967, the guerrillas had pulled out and the firefights ended. After 485 days of combat and camaraderie, the Marines moved to another village, leaving behind a competent group of about 30 P.F.s.

This was happening throughout the Marine area, about 160 miles long. The CAP had begun as an experiment in one hamlet in 1966. By 1970, 114 of these platoons had secured more than 800 hamlets, protecting more than half a million Vietnamese. Not one village was ever retaken by the Viet Cong. It was the most successful counterinsurgency program in Vietnam. Five years later, North Vietnamese divisions armed with artillery and tanks conquered South Vietnam, whose top levels of government were in disarray. But at the village level in the Marine sector, the Viet Cong guerrillas had lost much of the support of the farmers. When I returned to the village in 2002, I was welcomed back with genuine affection. Because we had lived in the schoolhouse, the villagers referred to us as “the kindergarten Marines.”

Here in the United States, the Vietnam War remains divisive. As a culture, however, we share decent values that our soldiers carry into every war. A full 90 percent of Vietnam veterans are proud they served our country. As Gerald Ford’s secretary of defense, James Schlesinger, wrote to our troops after Saigon fell, “Your cause was noble; your dedication was determined.” This does not excuse policy blunders, then or now. In Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan, I have been on hundreds of patrols and operations with our grunts. In all three wars, our top leadership failed. In Vietnam, we lacked commitment. The same was true of Iraq and Afghanistan, with the additional insurmountable hurdle of religious culture. But there’s one difference: Twenty years from now, it’s doubtful our grunts will be welcomed back the way I was in Vietnam.

Lest we become cynical about our own belief in freedom or the appreciation many harbor for our sacrifices, we should remember the words that Ho Chi, a village schoolteacher, wrote in 1967 when Jim White was rotating home: “To Sgt. White Family … I hope in my heart that Sgt. White does come back when my country is at peace. Many of my American friends have died. I’m very sorry at has happened to your people. I hope someday we will all have peace and Charity. Your friend always, Ho Chi.”