The date, April 30, 1967. The place, a few miles northwest of Khe Sanh. The 2nd and 3rd Battalions of the 3rd Marine Division are preparing to assault Hill 881 and dislodge the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) forces emplaced in fortified bunkers on the hill. With 105 mm artil-lery at their backs and the new M16 rifles in hand, it seems like nothing can stand in their way as they attempt to take the hill.
Within just a few short hours, however, nothing is going according to plan. Because the defenders on the hill are more numerous and far better dug in than anticipated, the air strikes and artillery bombardment preceding the assault have had little practical effect. To make matters worse, Marines have been experiencing serious problems with their high-tech M16 rifles—critical malfunctions are causing them to seize up in the heat of combat. It seems nearly inconceivable that the U.S. military would issue fatally flawed equipment, but the Battle of Hill 881 and several other conflicts during the Vietnam War serve as grim reminders that it did indeed happen.
So, why were soldiers and Marines using rifles that often malfunctioned in battle? To understand how and why this happened, we need to travel more than a decade back in time and thousands of miles away to a small office complex in Hollywood, Calif.
Fairchild Airplane and Engine Com-pany created its ArmaLite division in 1954 to design and produce firearms. As a subsidiary of a major aerospace contractor in the 1950s, ArmaLite’s de-signs were unconventional and highly innovative. Where a rifle was traditionally constructed out of a milled or pressed sheet steel receiver mated to a steel barrel in a wood or metal stock, ArmaLite’s AR-1, AR-5, and AR-7 rifles made heavy use of space-age materials like aluminum and fiberglass.
In the mid-1950s, ArmaLite engineer Eugene Stoner designed a revolutionary new military rifle he hoped would replace the venerable M1 Garand. Stoner’s rifle, designated “AR-10,” was a radical departure from conventional designs. Its barrel, operating components, and stock were all arranged in a straight line, trans-ferring recoil directly back into the shooter’s shoulder and minimizing muzzle rise on full-auto. With its aluminum re-ceiver, fiberglass furniture, and composite barrel, the AR-10 was a full pound or more lighter than any of its more mainstream competitors. Unfortunately, military trials showed that the AR-10 was perhaps too far ahead of its time, and without years of refinement behind it, the rifle suffered a number of teething troubles which couldn’t be corrected quickly enough to prevent its disqualification from the trials. The U.S. Army would ultimately go on to adopt the T44E4 prototype, essentially just an improved M1, as the M14 rifle.
PFC Tommy Gribble displays his M16 rifle, which was hit by a round from an enemy AK-47 on Sept. 6, 1968. The round pierced Gribble’s forearm, passing between both bones, then smashed through the Marine’s rifle stock. Gribble, assigned to Co I, 3rd Bn, 5th Marines, was walking point during a patrol in Vietnam when the round hit.
But all was not lost for Eugene Stoner and ArmaLite. The Department of Defense was investigating a small-caliber, high-velocity rifle cartridge concept based on research and testing from the Aberdeen Proving Grounds in the early 1950s, and they wanted ArmaLite to help develop the new ammunition and a lightweight rifle to fire it. While Stoner worked on the design for the pro-jectile itself, ArmaLite engineers L. James “Jim” Sullivan and Robert Fremont worked with Remington on the design for the case. What they came up with was a more powerful version of the .222 Remington capable of propelling a 55-grain full-metal jacket projectile at an astounding 3,250 feet per second from a 20-inch barrel.
To go with this new so-called “.222 Remington Special” or “.223 Remington” ammunition, Sullivan and Fremont created a new rifle based on the AR-10. It used the same operating principle and retained many of the same desirable features as its predecessor, but testing showed that the new prototype was capable of superior accuracy and reliability. They called it the AR-15.
The first AR-15 was an impressive weapon for its time. It was demonstrated to have better reliability and accuracy than the M14 while being nearly two pounds lighter. The new .223 ammunition was much lighter and produced less recoil than 7.62 NATO, allowing infantrymen to carry twice as many rounds and fire accurately in both semi-automatic and fully automatic modes. A 1959 test by the Army showed that a squad of five to seven men armed with AR-15s was just as effective as an 11-man squad armed with M14s.
Despite its lighter weight and lower recoil, the new high-velocity ammunition produced devastating wounds in soft targets. Whereas conventional rifle bullets had the potential to pass through their targets and leave behind small wound tracks, high-velocity projectiles had a tendency to fragment shortly after impact. Jim Sullivan would later recount an informal test at a shooting range between a conventional 7.62 NATO rifle and an .223-caliber AR-15 wherein the ArmaLite employees shot at jerrycans filled with water. The full-power rifle punched a hole straight through a can—the bullet went in one side and out the other, leaving nothing behind but a pair of holes. The AR-15, firing ammunition nominally half as powerful, caused a can to explode from the sudden shock. Battlefield reports later confirmed the lethality of this effect on enemy combatants.
The AR-15 showed great promise as a combat rifle, but it couldn’t have come at a worse time. The Army and Marine Corps had just adopted the M14 after 12 years of development and amid a great deal of controversy; they weren’t about to go out and order hundreds of thousands of AR-15s. Furthermore, top generals were extremely conservative about small arms designs, and the AR-15 was easily the most innovative and unconventional rifle of its time. By this time, ArmaLite was on the verge of bankruptcy. Years of work on the AR-10 project without a major contract to show for it had left the company in deep financial trouble, and the Army passing on the AR-15 was the final nail in the cof-fin. ArmaLite was finally forced to sell the rights to the AR-15 to a larger and more established arms manufacturer. Colt quickly snapped up the new design and began shopping it around to militaries around the world, as well as creating its own version lacking the fully automatic functionality for the civilian market.
The initiating event that led to the AR-15’s popularity in military service for the past half-century and counting was not an elaborate multi-year military R&D program, but a backyard barbecue party.
July 1960. Richard Boutelle, former president of Fairchild (ArmaLite’s parent company) is hosting an Independence Day party in his backyard. Among the high-powered friends on the guest list are Colt representative Robert Macdonald and legendary Air Force General Curtis LeMay. Eager to show off the capabilities of the AR-15, they offer to let Gen LeMay test the new rifle on some watermelons. A few magazines and a lot of pulp later, LeMay is so impressed by the rifle that he immediately places an order for 80,000. At that time, Air Force security personnel were still using the M2 Carbine. A variant of the M1 carbine, it was popular with troops when it was adopted during the Second World War, but by the early 1960s the design was beginning to show its age. The airmen still using it appreciated its light weight, but the carbine lost much of its lethality and accuracy beyond about 100 yards.
Congress delayed LeMay’s order, but other top officials soon came to realize why he was so enamored with the new rifle. After another brief round of trials, the AR-15 entered service with the United States Air Force and United States Army special forces. It would see its first combat use by American advisors in a bush war that was just beginning to heat up in the small, relatively unknown country of Vietnam.
The United States Army and the Marine Corps went into the Vietnam War using the M14. According to conventional Ameri-can military doctrine of the time, infantry combat would take place at long range, therefore accuracy was king. The M14 worked well with this theory, firing the powerful 7.62×51 mm NATO round with an effective range farther than most people can identify a man-sized target. However, the jungles of Vietnam were suited to a very different kind of combat, a kind of combat with which the NVA and Viet Cong insurgents were intimately familiar. The thick brush and rugged terrain reduced visibility and obscured targets from view even at relatively close range, forcing combatants much closer together and making conventional long-range marksmanship all but impossible at times.
In an effort to simplify logistics, U.S. military officials had intended the M14 to replace most of the small arms in the inventory. However, the rifle was too light and too powerful for fully automatic fire to be useful, yet too long and heavy for effective use in close-quarters combat. NVA soldiers, by contrast, were using Soviet-designed rifles supplied by communist China, namely the AKM—an improved variant of the AK-47. Lighter and much more compact than the M14, it fired the 7.62×39 mm Soviet cartridge. Sacrificing effective range to achieve lower recoil, the AKM could be fired in bursts with reasonable accuracy. These traits suited the AKM perfectly for poorly trained soldiers fighting in the jungle, allowing them to overwhelm even seasoned American combat vet-erans through sheer volume of fire. Furthermore, the M14 suffered from an unexpected problem of its own—in humid conditions, its wooden stock would swell and place uneven pressure on the barrel, causing the rifle’s point of impact to shift dramatically.
Marines during Operation Desert Storm deployed with M16A2 rifles and M60E3 machine guns.
The AR-15 could not have come at a better time for the United States military. Initial testing suggested that it surpassed the M14 in accuracy, reliability, and projected combat effectiveness, so the only thing left to do was bring it into service with the Army and Marine Corps. Yet another round of military trials resulted in the AR-15’s official adoption as the M16 rifle in 1964. Con-tracts were signed, hands were shaken, and Colt began converting its civilian tooling for the military variant. Within a few years, the first M16s began to show up in the hands of U.S. military advisors and special forces operatives in theater.
Initial combat reports were positive. Its light weight and high volume of fire suited it well to the dense jungle environment of Vietnam, and the enemy quickly learned to fear the so-called “black rifle.” According to co-designer Jim Sullivan, enemy combatants wounded in the arm or leg by the new M16 would often die from blood loss due to the fragmentation effect of the projectile. One of the M16’s first trials by fire was at the Battle of Ia Drang in November 1965. Elements of the U.S. Army 5th and 7th Cavalry, numbering approximately 1,000 men total, were able to repel nearly three times their number in hardened veterans from the NVA.
When Marines were first issued the M16, its lethal reputation preceded it. But what they didn’t know was that it would soon develop a reputation for a very different kind of lethality.
All of this brings us back to the Battle of Hill 881. Some combat reliability prob-lems with the M16 had begun to show, but the Marines of 3rdMarDiv didn’t know about any of this. They found out as soon as their rifles began jamming in combat. The rifles ran extremely dirty, causing the delicate mechanics inside to seize up at the most inopportune times. Furthermore, spent casings would often get stuck in the chamber with no way to knock them out except by disassembling the rifle while under fire or by shoving a cleaning rod down the barrel. And the rifles weren’t issued with cleaning kits.
PFC Ricardo King, 3rd Bn, 1st Marines, cleans his early-pattern M16 aboard the helicopter assault ship USS Valley Forge (LPH-8) along the coast of Vietnam, Dec. 19, 1967. Early M16s required careful maintenance to withstand the humid jungle environment of Vietnam.
The so-called Hill Fights ended in a strategic American victory. The North Vietnamese were pushed out and the U.S. Marines were able to secure the area around Khe Sanh. But the question remained: what had happened to the rifles? What went wrong? This revolutionary new piece of technology that had promised to give American fighting men a decisive advantage now appeared to have cost many men their lives. The answer lies in a place almost no-one would immediately think to look—the military acquisitions system.
Recall that the M16 had been designed around the 5.56×45 mm M193 cartridge designed by ArmaLite and Remington. It was loaded with thin sticks of so-called “Improved Military Rifle” gunpowder, specifically IMR 4475, supplied by Du Pont Chemical. In Army testing, the am-munition yielded an average muzzle velocity around 3,150 feet per second—blisteringly fast, but about 100 feet per second lower than the specified velocity. In order to remedy this perceived problem, the Army had Remington switch to a different type of gunpowder, known as WC846, supplied by Olin Mathieson. The pressures and velocities looked just fine on paper, but like with many things, the devil is in the details. The new powder came in the form of small grains, coated in a special chemical blend to improve shelf life. The only problem was that the Army, thinking the powders to be interchangeable, didn’t test the rifles with the new ammunition. The new powder placed additional strain on the M16’s gas operating mechanism, and the protective coating left chalky deposits inside the rifle’s delicate internals. A seemingly simple change to the ammunition was able to multiply the rifle’s failure rate by six without anyone noticing.
The Marines of the 2/3 and 3/3 didn’t know any of this. What they did know was that their fancy new rifles, which had been billed as “self-cleaning,” ran so dirty that they often stopped working—sometimes after only a few rounds. Without training on how to clean the rifles and no cleaning kits to do so anyway, the chalky residue clogging up the rifles became a deadly problem.
Marines of C/1/3 move out on an early morning patrol in Vietnam, 1969. (Photo by Cpl Philip R. Boehme, USMC)
As if that wasn’t bad enough, the humid jungle environment of Vietnam created microscopic deposits of rust inside the barrels and chambers of the M16 rifles. Once the invisible rust pitting in the chamber of a rifle was severe enough, cases would begin sticking inside without any way to remove them.
When the M16’s numerous problems began to surface, Congress had a field day. A committee, led by Congressman Robert Ichord of Missouri, set out to identify the causes and solve the problems to get American soldiers and Marines a weapon that wouldn’t get them killed. The corrosion problem was the easiest to fix. All barrels and bolt carrier groups rolling off the production line at Colt would be coated in a thin layer of chromium metal, preventing the underlying steel from rusting. The fouling issue, however, was a little bit more difficult. Du Pont had long since stopped manufacturing IMR 4475, and the military desperately needed large supplies of ammunition as soon as possible. Contrary to the Ichord committee’s recommendation to immediately switch back to the old powder, the new powder was reformulated slightly and the rifle’s recoil buffer system redesigned to accommodate it. The most controversial change of all was the addition of the for-ward assist. This button on the side of the receiver was designed to engage with scalloped cuts on the side of the bolt carrier to allow it to be forced into battery. Eugene Stoner and the other ArmaLite engineers who had designed the system were vehemently opposed to this change—testing showed that failures to feed were only worsened by forcing the action closed. Nevertheless, these changes were incorporated by Colt onto the next pattern of M16 rifle, the M16A1.
The reliability problems all but dis-appeared when the M16A1 entered service, but the damage to the rifle’s reputation was done. Hardliners continued to deride the futuristic-looking rifle with its small-caliber ammunition and plastic furniture contract-made by Mattel. But most of all, what the M16 showed the world was that the assault rifle paradigm was the way of the future. When the Warsaw Pact began issuing select-fire intermediate-caliber rifles like the AKM, military strategists in the West had derided it as a “peasant’s weapon,” designed to maximize the combat effectiveness of a poorly trained conscript army. What the M16 proved was that even the best-trained fighting forces in the world could take advantage of the lighter weight and higher volume of fire provided by this revolutionary new weapon.
Recruit Jared C. Seeland, Plt 3229, “Kilo” Co, 3rd Recruit Training Bn reloads his M16A4 Service Rifle in the standing position at Edson Range, Weapons and Field Training Bn, Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, Calif., Nov. 24, 2014. (Photo by Cpl Jericho Crutcher, USMC)
In the 1970s, NATO member countries began developing their own 5.56 mm rifles and tinkering with the ammunition to optimize it. The Belgian SS109 cartridge, based on the earlier American M193 but with improved penetration on hard targets, was adopted by most of NATO as stan-dard. When the Marine Corps requested an improved version of their rifle in response, Colt modified the M16A1 slightly to create the M16A2, which entered service in the early 1980s.
With the A2 variant, the M16 had finally fully matured. It used a different barrel for better accuracy and compatibility with a wider variety of ammunition types. The sights were made more adjustable, improving the individual rifleman’s ability to hit targets at long range. Even though most infantry combat thus far during the 20th century had taken place at 300 meters or less, a rifleman armed with an M16A2 could reliably hit man-sized targets out to at least twice that.
The M16’s final evolution in Marine Corps service was the M16A4. Taking a cue from the civilian aftermarket, the M16A4 is essentially just an M16A2 with enhanced modularity. The rear sight and carry handle assembly was made re-mov-able so an optical sighting system could be mounted, dramatically increasing the rifle’s combat effectiveness. The currently issued Trijicon TA31 RCO can mount to this rail with two thumb screws, a far cry from the intricate machining required to mount optics on previous service rifles.
The round plastic handguards were replaced by long segments of MIL-STD-1913 rail, where Marines could attach a variety of accessories to fit almost any kind of mission. Even after the Army switched to the shorter M4A1 carbine, the Marine Corps continued using the M16A4 until a few years ago. With its longer barrel, the M16 is able to reliably hit targets, well past the effective range of the M4. While the M27 IAR has already replaced the M16A4 in frontline infantry units, hundreds of thousands of M16 rifles are still in Marine Corps inventory and will continue to see use for many years to come.
Editor’s note: This article is the first in a serious of features detailing the small arms U.S. Marines have used since 1775. What were your experiences like with your issue weapons? Do you have a favorite one you would like to see featured next? Let us know at [email protected].
Author’s bio: Sam Lichtman is a college student and licensed pilot. He works part-time as a salesman and armorer at a gun store in Stafford, Va., and occasionally contributes content to Leatherneck. He also has a weekly segment on Gun Owners Radio.
Featured Photo (Top): A Marine armed with an M16A1 checks in with his command post via field radio during Operation Urgent Fury in Grenada, Oct. 25, 1983.
45-200 rounds per minute effective, 12-15 rounds per minute sustained
Muzzle Velocity: 3,150 feet per second
Range: 460 m effective
Description
Designed in the late 1950s by ArmaLite, a division of Fairchild Engine and Airplane Company, the M16 was a cutting-edge rifle for its time; its aluminum receivers and polymer furniture make it extremely lightweight, especially as compared to contemporary military arms. With its shoulder stock positioned in line with the barrel and bolt carrier, the M16’s soft recoil impulse is directed straight back into the shooter’s shoulder, minimizing the muzzle’s tendency to rise during rapid fire. The M16 has good ergonomics, with all its primary controls conveniently located to allow the shooter to manipulate them without removing his or her firing hand from the pistol grip.
The M16’s self-loading action is powered by gas tapped from a port under the combination gas block/front sight tower and vented back into the bolt carrier through a thin stainless steel gas tube positioned just above the barrel. The gas expands and cools inside the bolt carrier, contained by three gas rings on the bolt stem, driving the bolt carrier back, which in turn unlocks the bolt and cocks the hammer. After the spent casing is extracted and ejected, the buffer spring located in the stock pushes the bolt carrier group forward again, picking up a new round from the top of the magazine, pushing it into the chamber and returning the bolt to battery.
Although gas is vented from the barrel into the receiver, the M16 is unlike “true” direct-impingement rifles in that the gas does not act directly on the bolt carrier. The bolt carrier’s internal expansion chamber acts much like the piston in an M14 rifle or M60 machine gun, giving rise to the technical term “internal piston” for this unique operating mechanism.
A military M16 is different from a civilian AR-15 principally in the design of its fire control group. When the fire selector is in the “AUTO” position, the action of the bolt carrier returning forward pushes on the automatic sear, which releases the hammer to fire the rifle again. This process repeats continuously, as long as the trigger is depressed.
Development and Service History
The AR-15/M16 platform’s military service began in the early 1960s, when the Air Force placed what was expected to be a one-time order of 8,500 rifles to replace its security forces airmen’s aging and obsolete M2 carbines. Defense Secretary Robert McNamara also authorized a small purchase of AR-15s for field testing with Military Assistance Command, Vietnam – Studies and Observations Group. Due to promising results in combat, chronic production delays with the M14 and increasing tensions in Vietnam, the AR-15 was put into full trials and quickly adopted as the M16.
Weighing some 2 pounds less than the M14 and with a 5-inch-shorter overall length, the M16 was much more maneuverable in the tight confines of Vietnam’s jungles. Its lighter ammunition and substantially softer recoil allowed infantrymen to send more rounds downrange, better equipping them to repulse ambushes and win firefights. Early M16s, however, suffered from corrosion and poor reliability in the jungle environment, leading to a public scandal and Congressional investigation. The XM16E1 and M16A1 implemented features including a fully chrome-lined barrel and chamber, an improved buffer to reduce bolt carrier velocity, and a forward assist, which allows a shooter to force the bolt into battery when the chamber is fouled. After its early deficiencies were corrected, the M16 proved to be a highly effective weapon and became one of the most widely used military rifles in the world. The M16A1 was the Army and Marine Corps’ standard long arm until the M16A2’s adoption in 1982 and persisted in limited service for years thereafter.
For Colonel Stuart W. Glenn, it’s an opportunity to test his skills in military strategy at the Commandant’s Cup Wargaming Tournament finals. For Lance Corporal Omariyon Wright, it’s a chance to “stay in the know… [about] all the modern-day technology, weapons, vehicles” and other equipment coming soon to the fleet. For Marines of all ranks, Modern Day Marine is a highlight of the year, providing the premier venue for learning about the state of the Corps and gaining an inside perspective on its areas of growth.
Throughout the three-day expo, speakers delivered professional military education briefings at stages like this one, the Marine Zone, scattered throughout the show floor. Topics ranged from leadership to laser weapons and everything in between. Here, Capt Joseph Sporleder and some of his fellow students at the Expeditionary Warfare School present on the future of electronic warfare in the Marine Corps.
“The future of warfare is right now, so seeing what we have, current capa-bilities and what future developments we’re currently making is pretty cool,” said Sergeant Bryan Arteaga Celeiro, an air traffic control Marine who attended the 2025 expo, which is cohosted by the Marine Corps Association and the Marine Corps League.
Of special note at this year’s show was the preponderance of products aimed at training and education. From virtual reality (VR) and augmented reality (AR) headsets to recoil-simulating dummy rifles, Marines at the expo were given ample opportunity to try out high-tech training systems designed to help im-prove mission-critical skills in a variety of military occupational specialties. With the 39th Commandant’s Planning Guidance directing the Marine Corps to “fully integrate constructive and virtual training into [its] exercises… [to] train with the full complement of [its] new capabilities,” Leatherneck paid special attention to companies exhibiting training systems, including some that are already in service.
A major area of focus this year was training systems, such as this one for the Joint Light Tactical Vehicle.
InVeris Training Solutions
Some of the crowd favorites at this year’s Modern Day Marine were the firearm training systems (FATS®) exhibited by InVeris Training Solutions. Throughout the expo, a near-constant stream of Marines and civilians passed through InVeris’ booth and fired off tens of thousands of simulated rounds at virtual targets and computer-generated hostiles.
Most Marines and soldiers are already familiar with the company’s FATS 100MIL as the Indoor Simulated Marks-manship Trainer (ISMT) and Engagement Skills Trainer (EST), respectively. It uses a projector and screen to create a virtual shooting range for up to five shooters (or up to 15 with three systems linked together) to practice with replica pistols, rifles, shotguns, grenade launchers and various crew-served weapons. Virtual ranges can be configured with a variety of static and moving targets and simulate the effects of environmental conditions on ballistics, applying the correct amount of drop and wind drift depending on distance.
While the ISMT (above) is good for practicing basic marksmanship, the FATS AR (below) creates a fully three-dimensional virtual environment to train Marines for urban combat. Through an augmented reality headset, Sgt Carlos Castro sees computer-generated enemy combatants as vividly as if they were in the room with him. (Photos by Sam Lichtman)
The FATS AR takes virtual firearms training into the third dimension, using a lightweight augmented reality (AR) headset to transform any indoor environ-ment up to 10,000 square feet in size into a simulated shoot house for up to four users at once. Enemy combatants and civilians behave realistically, either using AI or a human operator monitoring the situation from outside. After clearing the shoot house, shooters can walk back through and watch a playback of themselves in real time to analyze their own performance.
Every “firearm” compatible with InVeris’ training simulators has nearly identical weight, balance and controls to the live-fire model from which it is rebuilt, and even simulates about 60 percent of a realistic recoil impulse using a gas blowback system feeding from a compressed air capsule in the magazine. The weapon can be programmed to hold a preset number of “rounds” per magazine and lock the bolt or slide back on empty, just like a real firearm. Magazines are recharged between sessions using a large scuba-type tank holding enough com-pressed air for about 45,000 shots, allowing shooters to practice all day for literal pennies on the dollar.
This isn’t just a high-tech version of an arcade game, though—a suite of on-board electronics wirelessly linked to a control computer offers highly sophis-ticated analytics to assist each shooter in correcting bad habits that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. After a shooting stage is completed, the software shows the operator how long it took for each shooter to begin firing, engage each target and transition between targets, with a line showing the point of aim throughout. Are you slapping the trigger, holding your firing hand too low on the grip or jerking the rifle under recoil? InVeris’ software can help your instructor show you exactly where you need to improve your shooting.
In addition to aiding basic marksman-ship practice without the need for a real range or live ammunition, InVeris’ virtual firearm trainers provide a safety benefit, as they allow novice shooters to practice handling their service weapons with no risk of negligent discharge. The safety ben-e–fits also extend to personnel in com-bat arms MOS’s; whereas firing a live mor-tar produces the type of concussive blasts that have been linked to traumatic brain injury, simulated shots are perfectly safe.
InVeris does not claim that their FATS can completely replace live-fire marksmanship training, but military and law enforcement organizations around the world have already recognized the value in these simulations. The U.S. Army and Marine Corps use the FATS 100MIL virtual range, as mentioned above; the Air Force and Coast Guard use the FATS AR, and the U.S. Marshals Service has evaluated it.
Ultimate Training Munitions
Virtual firearms training with sim-ulated recoil is certainly impressive tech-nology, but for force-on-force training, a different solution is needed. As its name suggests, Ultimate Training Munitions (UTM) offers a line of nonlethal ammunition and conversion kits that allow existing firearms to use it.
Conceptually similar to Simunitions, UTM’s solution consists of drop-in re-placement bolt carrier groups for rifles, submachine guns and machine guns, and replacement slide assemblies for pistols. Special magazines which are identical in size to standard ones but are physically incapable of loading UTM ammunition and vice versa are also used. Even if a live round were to be force-fed into a UTM weapon or the other way around, the primers are in different locations, preventing a potentially catastrophic accident.
The UTM bullet contains a spherical plunger which continues moving forward when the projectile impacts a target, spraying out a small amount of marking paint more reliably than paintball-type projectiles. A firearm training system is useless if it does not offer adequate accuracy, so the UTM bullet includes a driving band—like on an artillery shell—which allows the rifling in the host firearm’s barrel to stabilize the projectile just like an ordinary bullet. The company claims better than 2-inch groups at 27 yards with 5.56 rifles such as the M4 and M27, entirely adequate for close-quarters battle-type scenarios.
To enable force-on-force training with its marking ammunition, UTM also of-fers a variety of protective gear, such as face masks compatible with helmets and communications devices. Because the projectiles travel at a modest 300 to 375 feet per second, face protection and padding around sensitive body areas are the only specialized equipment needed to prevent serious injury to someone shot with UTM rounds. Because of the lack of penetrating power, a military unit or law enforcement agency using UTM equipment can use the aptly named Portable Training Facility system to quickly construct a shoot house using metal poles and tarpaulin-like walls and doors.
For realistic training outside force-on-force scenarios, UTM conversion kits also work with “battlefield blanks,” which create realistic noise and recoil without firing a projectile, and “silent blanks,” which still cycle UTM actions without creating any potentially dangerous muzzle blast.
Although a UTM-converted firearm is even less powerful than a paintball gun, its blowback action generates a realistic recoil impulse and cyclic rate of fire, enhancing training. Firing a converted HK MR556 (similar to the M27 IAR) inside UTM’s plexiglass enclosure at the expo was a highly immersive experience: the recoil, the action noise, the sound of spent casings bouncing off the floor and even the smell of burnt powder all mimicked the sensations associated with a live firearm and real ammunition. Al-though hearing protection was not required, the sound of the gunshots was similar to that of a real gunshot heard through hearing protection.
Due to its greater complexity to manufacture, UTM ammunition is more ex-pensive than standard lethal ammunition, but like InVeris’ FATS, its purpose is not to replace live-fire marksmanship train-ing. Instead, UTM firearms and ammuni-tion allow military and law enforcement personnel to “train how they fight,” prac-ticing close combat as realistically as possible so as to maximize performance on the actual battlefield. Air Force Security Forces, Coast Guard, Army and SOCOM (including MARSOC) per-sonnel have already been training with UTM kits; the Marine Corps has a pro-gram of record for it as well, meaning UTM may soon become widespread in infantry units.
Cole Engineering Services’ Stinger Training System
Given the enormous cost of each missile, a LAAD Marine might not have many opportunities to fire one outside combat. The Stinger training system promises to address the resulting training gap, allowing its users to practice firing any number of simulated shots in force-on-force exercises for a negligible marginal cost. (Photo by Amanda Higgs)
At its large booth along the show floor’s main thoroughfare, By Light Professional IT Services showed off its child companies’ vehicle and small arms trainers. Cole Engineering Services displayed its modular training systems for the FIM-92 Stinger surface-to-air missile and crew-served mortars, all built around an electronics package dubbed the “cyclops.” Cole’s Stinger training system consists of a dummy gripstock and launch tube, the former of which has a socket for the “cyclops.” Once the “cyclops” has established a wireless connection to a computer or smartphone, the user operates the launcher exactly as he or she would a live one, while the electronics log analytics in real time throughout the firing cycle. The entire system can be used by itself or connected to a computer network that automatically adjudicates “hits” and “misses” for force-on-force exercises, which is how the Army has utilized the Stinger trainer so far. For training with mortars and other heavy weapons, the “cyclops” can be swapped over to other dummy launchers, its onboard software automatically adjusting to the different behavior of each weapon.
The Army already uses Cole Engineer-ing Services’ Stinger trainer, and the company is eager to obtain a Marine Corps contract. Due to the con-siderable cost of Stinger missiles and the disposable battery coolant units they consume, Low Altitude Air Defense (LAAD) gunners ordinarily have little opportunity for practice, potentially inhibiting combat effectiveness. Given the proliferation of small unmanned aerial systems (UAS) on the modern battlefield, an electronic training system such as this one could be more valuable than ever in remedying that training gap and ensuring LAAD gunners are already proficient before they ever fire live missiles.
MVRsimulation’s Deployable Joint Fires Trainer
The high-tech training systems on display at this year’s Modern Day Marine were by no means limited to small arms. MVRsimulation demonstrated its mixed-reality Deployable Joint Fires Trainer (DJFT), which the Air Force and III MEF already use to train joint terminal attack controllers (JTACs) and forward observ-ers (FOs). First fielded three years ago, the DJFT consists of three portable work-stations with peripherals designed to emulate the real equipment, such as radios and laser designators, that JTACs and FOs use. The physical hardware is visible inside the computer-generated environment projected in the virtual reality headset, allowing the user to in-teract with it seamlessly. This blending of the real and virtual worlds creates an almost uncanny level of immersion.
The ongoing conflict in Ukraine has shown the value of small, inexpensive UAS in modern warfare. MVRsimulations demonstrated its DJFT at Modern Day Marine with an off-the-shelf handheld gaming device as a controller for an FPV drone. Other controllers emulate radio equipment and laser designators, allowing users to train with a wide variety of hardware.
The three stations are configured for an observer, an instructor and a role player, the latter of whom uses a hands-on throttle-and-stick controller to fly aircraft in the simulation. All three users interact with each other through a virtual recreation of real-life locations, run on MVRsimulations’ Vir-tual Reality Scene Generator engine or the Modern Air Combat Environment produced by Battlespace Simulations. The computers inside each station are built with the same components one might find in a high-end professional workstation or gaming computer and run Windows 10, ensuring compatibility with other hardware and software. Each machine is light enough to be carried by two people in its packed state and has a unified onboard power supply, needing only one wall outlet for the entire station instead of one for each component inside.
Forterra’s AutoDrive and Allen Control Systems’ Bullfrog
The past few years have seen an explosion in unmanned ground vehicle (UGV) development. Companies such as Pratt Miller and Oshkosh Defense have developed small UGVs with adequate mobility to keep up with a Marine rifle squad as it moves over rough terrain, providing integrated logistics and fire support at the small unit level. All that capability comes at a cost, however. Every infantryman designated to control a UGV is a Marine not using his or her rifle, which could pose a problem in combat. Clearly, before UGVs are widely fielded in the Marine Corps, a solution is needed to eliminate the task of leading vehicles around like pack animals.
To that end, Forterra (formerly Robotic Research Autonomous Industries) spe-cializes in UGV autonomy. Their flagship product, AutoDrive®, is a retrofit package consisting of a 50-pound ruggedized computer “brain” connected to a sensor suite, capable of autonomously driving an otherwise manned or remotely con-trolled ground vehicle. The brain is more durable than a human driver, and all the sensitive electronics inside are shielded against electromagnetic interference to prevent disruptions to the mission. Although an AutoDrive-equipped vehicle can be controlled wirelessly by a remote operator anywhere in the world, its onboard software allows it to intelligently navigate to a designated location using the best available route while recognizing and avoiding environmental hazards.
This unmanned ground vehicle is equipped with an M240 machine gun, allowing it to provide fire support to a Marine rifle squad as well as carrying supplies over rough terrain. AutoDrive’s intelligent autonomy allows the vehicle to function either independently or under remote control, depending on the availability of a remote operator.Allen Control Systems builds variants of its Bullfrog autonomous weapon station for the M240, M2, M134 minigun and M230 30 mm autocannon
For UGVs operating at the squad level, this level of autonomy is crucial. An AutoDrive-equipped vehicle can trans-port extra supplies and ammunition, evacuate wounded Marines, patrol a perimeter or provide fire support to a squad in contact with the enemy, allowing Marines to focus on the mission instead of a controller. With autonomous vehicles providing organic logistical and fire support at the squad level without the need for additional vehicle crews, an infantry unit can bring more supplies and heavier weapons into battle.
To enable autonomous UGVs to fight alongside Marines in the field, Forterra is working with Allen Control Systems to provide remote weapons stations. The latter company’s Bullfrog system is essentially a small robotic turret designed to operate an unmodified M240B machine gun. Bullfrog uses an infrared camera, artificial intelligence-based targeting software and an onboard ballistic calculator to autonomously identify targets, aim the weapon and adjust its fire. The system is accurate enough to ensure a first-round hit on a standing man-sized target at up to 800 meters, with its range limited only by weather conditions and the inherent precision of the weapon and ammunition. With its superior reaction time over a human gunner combined with a traverse rate of 400 degrees per second and the ability to fire directly overhead, the Bullfrog is ideal for engaging small, fast-moving enemy UAS. Its software currently re-quires authorization from a human supervisor before it pulls the trigger, but a human operator is not technically necessary for the system to function.
AutoDrive and Bullfrog can interface with existing command, control and com-munications (C3) networks to share information about the battlespace with friendly units. Even onboard the same vehicle, a Bullfrog turret can instruct the AutoDrive “brain” to search for new targets, for example.
Forterra has demonstrated AutoDrive units on a wide variety of vehicles, rang-ing from small UGVs to joint light tactical vehicles (JLTVs) and even High Mobility Artillery Rocket Systems. The company is also pushing for wider adoption on commercial vehicles, such as forklifts and trucks, to re-move human operators and therefore increase safety at industrial sites such as ports.
BAE Systems’ Amphibious Combat Vehicle (ACV)
The ACV was indisputably one of the stars of this year’s show. It has replaced the 1972 vintage AAV7 platform as the Marine Corps’ frontline armored personnel carrier, offering improved safety and mobility as well as a host of other modern features. This ACV-L variant is designed to transport cargo in logistics-contested environments.
The centerpiece of the show was BAE Systems’ amphibious combat vehicle (ACV), the Marine Corps’ replacement for its geriatric assault amphibious vehicle (AAV) fleet. Given its crucial role in the Corps’ mission of expeditionary war-fare, the ACV program has had a high pro-file, especially after a series of rollover accidents in 2022 and 2023. To address the resulting concerns, the Marine Corps has updated its training for vehicle crews to emphasize the new vehicle’s different handling characteristics from the legacy AAV.
The ACV’s most obvious external difference from its predecessor is its wheeled motive system. The debate between wheels and tracks has raged fiercely for decades, but generally speaking, wheels offer greater speed, whereas tracks spread a vehicle’s weight more evenly to provide better mobility over soft ground. With its centralized tire in-flation system, though, the ACV can dynamically reduce the air pressure in its own tires for operation on soft beach sand, for example. Unlike the tracked AAV, which becomes effectively immobile if a track separates or becomes dislodged, an ACV can still move under its own power with up to two of its eight wheels damaged. One additional benefit the wheeled motive system offers is in-creased comfort for the vehicle’s occupants. Far from a mere convenience feature, this reduces fatigue on the crew and passengers, improving their combat effectiveness.
Safety is a major area of emphasis in the ACV’s design. Although the vehicle has a somewhat high center of gravity, this is a by-product of its use of a V-shaped hull, which offers much greater protection from mines and improvised explosive devices than legacy ve-hicles’ flat-bottomed hulls. In the event of a rollover, individual seats with har-nesses protect the occupants from injury much better than the primitive bench seats found in the AAV. Although the use of individual seats reduces passenger capacity in relative terms, the standard ACV-P variant can still transport a full squad of Marines in safety and relative comfort.
BAE Systems offers the ACV in four variants. The ACV-P is the standard armored personnel carrier configuration, transporting 13 combat-loaded Marines and armed with a .50-caliber machine gun in a remote weapon station. This variant is by far the most numerous, with more than 300 examples already in Marine Corps service. For direct fire support against fortified positions and light armored vehicles, the ACV-30 gives up five seats in the passenger compartment to replace the machine gun with a 30 mm autocannon turret. Thirty units have been delivered so far, with up to 150 more on order. The ACV-R variant is an armored recovery vehicle mounting a crane and winch to tow disabled vehicles and pro-vide mobile maintenance support; so far, three examples have been produced for testing. The ACV-C is a dedicated com-mand platform, further reducing passen-ger capacity to seven and replacing the remote weapon station with a mounted M240 to free up space for C3 equipment.According to BAE, the ACV’s 690-horse-power engine gives all variants equal or superior mobility and range on both land and water as compared to the AAV.
At this year’s Modern Day Marine, BAE Systems showcased the ACV plat-form’s modularity with a test chassis in a logistics configuration, its passenger compartment and remote weapon system replaced with a cargo area and a crane similar to that on the ACV-R. This variant is not one the Marine Corps has specif-ically requested, but BAE hopes to dem-onstrate its utility in providing logistical support in contested environments. The crane can hoist up to 4,000 pounds, al-lowing it to lift a power pack (engine and transmission) to aid in repair and main-tenance of other ACVs in the field. The payload bay can store 500 cubic feet and up to 1,000 pounds of cargo, such as fuel containers, spare tires and ammunition; its roof can be opened to allow for direct loading and unloading with the crane.
Designed for frontline combat, the ACV-P and ACV-30 feature the so-called Integrated Combat System (ICS), a sophisticated battle computer that provides increased situational awareness and can help aim the remote weapon stations. Using touchscreen interfaces or physical controls, an ACV crew can work together with the ICS to efficiently locate and destroy a threat before it has a chance to shoot back. The ICS’s semi-autonomous nature allows it to track small, fast-moving targets that would otherwise be difficult for a human gunner to hit. With airburst or proximity-fuze munitions, remote weapon stations on ACVs have been demonstrated shooting down small UAS moving at up to 18 miles per hour. Similar systems have already seen combat use in Ukraine, with at least one recorded shootdown of a cruise missile.
XR Training
To support the ACV program, the Ma-rine Corps put out requests for simulation hardware and software to help ACV drivers and gunners build proficiency outside the vehicle. In February 2024, XR Training was awarded a contract to produce their aptly named Driver Train-ing System (DTS), a custom solu-tion developed specifically to meet the Marine Corps’ needs. So far, XR Training has delivered 81 such systems to Marine in-stallations around the world and is presently working with the Corps to introduce the Gunnery Training System, which is very similar in form and function.
Each DTS unit consists of a seat, a set of hand and foot controls mimicking those of a real ACV and an augmented reality headset, all connected to a lap-top computer running the simulation software. The use of augmented reality instead of monitors offers superior im-mersion; unlike with fully physical or fully virtual solutions, the user can see the physical controls he or she is manipulating inside the simulated en-vironment projected by the headset. The controls and seat are connected to a common chassis, which can articulate like an amusement park ride to simulate the feeling of acceleration and travel over uneven terrain.
Although the Marine Corps has only adopted the Driver Training System, XR Training also offers a complementary Gunnery Training System, which can network with the former to allow two crewmembers to train together.
These features combine to create a level of immersion that not only improves the quality of the training, but can even make that training enjoyable. For a gen-eration of Marines raised with video games, the ACV-DTS is essentially a high-tech driving simulator that helps them hone the skills they use every day in 18-series MOS’s. XR Training offered Marines at the expo the chance to trial the system.
After a session on the DTS, MDM attendee Sergeant Chayce Quaranta was quick to point out the value of such realistic simulated training. “I think it’s a good training tool,” he said. “It’s immersive and seems inexpensive.” In his opinion, the system’s video-game-like nature promises to increase its value as a training aid. “With Marines getting excited about that, they’re more likely to learn.”
While Quaranta maneuvered the simulated ACV through a combat zone, Sgt Bryce Jones manned the Gunnery Training System and engaged targets with the vehicle’s remote weapon station. “This does a really good job of showing how hard it is to stay on target in a moving vehicle on rough terrain,” observed Jones, a former crew-served weapons instructor. “Every MOS, I think, should have some level of simulated training.”
Another major area of consideration in the DTS design is modularity. As well as enabling the use of commercial off-the-shelf components to save cost and make maintenance easier, this design paradigm makes the system easy to reconfigure to simulate other types of vehicles should the need arise. Additionally, the entire unit can be fully disassembled in less than half an hour and transported in two Pelican-style cases.
MDM: Hands-On Educational Experience
As in every year, attendees at Modern Day Marine 2025 were treated to the opportunity to see future technology and try it out for themselves. From the Objective 1 Wargaming Convention area to the numerous vehicle and small arms simulators set up for demonstration, Marine visitors were encouraged to participate in the expo. “I expected to get hands-on, but not this hands-on,” said LCpl Michael Walsh after using a JLTV simulator.
One major draw at every Modern Day Marine expo since 2023 has been the Objective 1 Wargaming Convention, where designers demonstrate educational war games and teams compete for the Commandant’s Cup. Professional wargaming for educational and analytical purposes has seen a resurgence in recent years in the Marine Corps and other services, with the General Robert B. Neller Center for Wargaming and Analysis on MCB Quantico now open.
In addition to the acres of high-tech gear, Modern Day Marine hosts numerous professional military education briefings running nearly constantly over its three-day duration. These help place all the fancy gadgets on the show floor into their proper context as essential tools for pres-ent and future warfighters. The expo is a valuable experience “if you’re just looking for a glimpse of how much tech is out there and how the military can actually use it,” according to Master Gunny Sergeant Felipe Lopez, a defense logistics manager at CD&I, “but also you get a glimpse of what the Marine Corps actually provides to the nation—what the Marine Corps is capable of doing and just [how] being equipped with the right gear set makes us that much more lethal.”
Between the near-constant briefings and demonstrations at half a dozen presentation areas and the thousands of corporate, government and nonprofit ex-hibitors, there is always something to see or do at Modern Day Marine, and it only improves with each year. Every Marine attendee interviewed for this article had something positive to say about this year’s expo, but Sgt James Sellers, an air traffic control communications technician, put it the best: “Come to Modern Day Marine!”
Author’s bio: Sam Lichtman is a free-lance writer and editor who specializes in small arms technology and military history. He has a weekly segment on Gun Owners Radio. He is a licensed pilot who lives in Virginia.
Featured Image (Top): Modern Day Marine offers an opportunity to see and learn about new military hardware designed for the battlefields of the future. Built by Pratt Miller Defense, a subsidiary of Oshkosh, this unmanned ground vehicle (above) was just one of the several unmanned systems on display at the expo.
First Lieutenant Harris Himes stabbed holes around the side of an empty C-ration can. He ignited a heat tab inside and warmed his breakfast over the flame. The alien aroma of beans and weenies flared his hunger pangs, gratefully supplanting the reek of diesel fumes thickening the air. Two of his tanks idled on the road nearby. Himes commanded the 1st Platoon of “Bravo” Company, 3rd Tank Battalion, 3rd Marine Division, with five tanks under his charge. Infantrymen bustled about the area preparing for the mission at hand. Each had begun their day long before dawn. Now, a tired sun stirred on the eastern hills, reluctantly ascending over the battle-scarred landscape of Khe Sanh Combat Base.
An M48A3 Patton tank in Vietnam: 1stLt Harris Himes’ platoon operated five of these armored giants. Note the TC’s cupola attached above the rest of the turret, with the TC standing exposed in his hatch. A ring of rectangular vision blocks surrounds the bottom of the cupola, offering limited visibility from inside. Also, note the factory-installed machine gun inside the cupola has been removed and replaced with a “sky-mounted” gun on the exterior. (Courtesy of the USMC Vietnam Tankers Association)
Corporal Fred Kellogg waited impatiently outside the supply hooch, hold-ing his M3 submachine gun. A line of grunts formed ahead. The sergeant in charge doled out bullets like a munificent millionaire dispensing Halloween candy from the portico of his mansion. When his turn arrived, Kellogg approached with his antiquated weapon extended, an empty bucket desperate for a treat.
“Good morning, Sergeant. I really need some new magazines for this grease gun. The springs are all worn out. They won’t hardly feed anymore.”
The sergeant glared at Kellogg. This was not the first time the tanker had come whining about his worthless weapon.
“Corporal, if the Marine Corps wanted you to have new magazines, it would have given you new magazines! Now get the hell out of my tent!”
A litany of profanity hounded Kellogg back to his tank and trailed off below the rumbling diesel engine. Kellogg climbed aboard and dropped into the tank commander’s (TC’s) hatch, tossing the grease gun aside with a slew of opinions about the supply sergeant. He ignored the looks from the rest of his crew as he prepared to roll out.
Marine engineers repair a bridge along Route 9 near Khe Sanh. In April 1968, Operation Pegasus successfully relieved the beleaguered combat base and reopened Route 9 for traffic. (Courtesy of the USMC Vietnam Tankers Association)
Kellogg positioned his tank, call sign B-12, on point leading out the Khe Sanh gate. Cpl Adrian “Buzz” Conklin com-manded B-13 in line behind him. The remainder of Himes’ platoon staged behind in a separate supply convoy. The two lead tanks would accompany an advance party of grunts from Fox Com-pany, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines, sweeping ahead in search of mines laid over-night or an enemy ambush lying in wait. Today, of all days, that prospect felt sure-ly to become reality.
It was May 19, 1968, Ho Chi Minh’s birthday. Intelligence reports streamed in over the preceding week. The North Vietnamese Army (NVA) around Khe Sanh seemed hell-bent on blocking the road out of the base and perhaps, after months of siege warfare, finally overrunning the American encampment as a gift for their leader.
The infamous siege of Khe Sanh was already over in the eyes of the world. The combat base and surrounding hill outposts had held. The NVA had failed. Much of the air support so critical to sustaining life through the siege was diverted. Virtually all the media attention shifted elsewhere. To the Marines who remained, however, a steady dose of enemy rockets and mortars belied the prevailing attitude.
Just the month prior, American com-mand-ers organized Operation Pegasus for the overland relief of Khe Sanh. Ma-rines and 1st Cavalry Division sol-diers struck out westward from their base at Ca Lu, while the defenders of Khe Sanh surged from their fighting positions in a coordinated effort. By mid-April, engi-neers cleared or rebuilt the impassable stretches of the main supply route be-tween the two combat bases, called Route 9.
Even after the official conclusion of Pegasus, Route 9 remained a tenuous 16-kilometer gauntlet. Himes’ platoon spearheaded the armored relief of Khe Sanh, arriving at the combat base at the beginning of May. Within days, the tank-ers battled through an ambush along Route 9 while escorting the platoon they relieved back to their home base in dire need of repairs. Himes’ mission now was to protect convoys moving along the treacherous route.
Himes issued assignments to his Marines the night before the May 19 supply run, placing Kellogg and Conklin with the mine sweep and two additional tanks with the main column that would depart once the advance party returned. Nearly his entire platoon held a role in the day’s mission. Himes served not only as the lieutenant in charge of the tankers, but one of the most experienced. He arrived in Vietnam in July 1967. That August, Himes was seriously wounded while com-manding a tank in combat and was evacuated to a hospital ship. He returned with his arm still in a sling to finish his tour. Much of his platoon rotated home at the end of the year and a fresh batch joined in January 1968. Several newcomers, like Kellogg, arrived as green lance corporals but were promoted and assigned as TCs in short order. Their limited combat exper-ience notwithstanding, Himes trusted their instincts and judgment.
Kellogg tested B-12’s internal comms. Charles Lehman sat to his left as loader, servicing the tank’s main gun and coaxial-mounted .30-caliber machine gun. Carlos Trinidad sat in front of Kellogg as the gunner and Stanley Williams occupied his own compartment forward as the driver. Kellogg loaded bullets into his faulty grease gun magazines. He placed the weapon in the rack behind his seat with the tank’s cache of hand grenades. He counted 19, an unusually high number. Since the M48A3 Patton tank possessed a 90 mm main gun, tankers rarely found the need to pop out of their hatch and toss a grenade.
Kellogg inspected the .50-cal. machine gun mounted inside his cupola. The space was so cramped that nothing more than a 50-round belt of ammo would fit preloaded into the weapon. Worse, some engineer back in the States decided to save space by mounting the gun on its side, oriented to fire in a way it was not designed. Tankers cursed the weapon and its tendency to jam even before the paltry 50 rounds fed through. The gun’s most valuable purpose served as an additional block of metal in front of the TC’s face. This “additional armor” saved Himes’ life when he was evacuated the previous fall, shielding him from a direct hit by a rocket propelled grenade (RPG).
Courtesy of the USMC History Division
Lehman extracted a 90 mm canister round from a honeycomb storage rack and shoved it into the main gun’s breach. Experience thus far proved these tank-sized shotgun shells most effective at disrupting an enemy ambush. Fox Company Marines moved ahead with their mine sweepers. Kellogg waited for them to exit the wire. He turned back, surveying Conklin’s tank and the rest of the convoy readying behind him. Himes stood in the road, breakfast in hand. He flashed a smile and thumbs up. Kellogg returned the gesture as the tank throttled up and rolled out.
It was 7 a.m. Innocent morning rays illuminated a pristine blue sky, clear and fresh before the midday heat. Preceding months of conflict left the area barren. Ghoulish trees cast gangly shadows across exposed red earth. Emaciated shrubbery punctuated irregular patterns of bomb craters in every direction. The road out of Khe Sanh led directly through this no man’s land, linking up with Route 9 in the surrounding hills. Uncle Ho’s expected birthday violence hung heavy over the column. How far would the convoy make it this time before the NVA attacked? The Marines pressed on, their incipient sense of disaster kindling.
The grunts worked their mine sweep-ers back and forth. Less than half a mile outside the gate, Kellogg’s radio crackled to life.
“Charles is in the area.”
Every Marine knew “Charlie,” the commonly held term for enemy, but “Charles?” What was the radio operator trying to say? An AK-47 opened up from a hedgerow in prompt explanation. Less than 100 feet away, concealed NVA sprang the ambush. Kellogg dropped into his seat. A ring of vision blocks sur-rounded the bottom of his cupola offering limited visibility outside. Grunts in the kill zone hit the deck, cut down by enemy fire or taking cover. Kellogg shouted through the intercom to Williams.
“Let’s go! Kick it in the ass and get us up front!”
The 50-ton machine surged forward. Bullets ricocheted off the armor as Kellogg directed Trinidad onto the bushes. The canister round boomed, devastating everything in its swath. Kellogg toggled a switch, changing the trigger controls from the main gun to the coaxial-mounted machine gun. Trinidad unleashed .30-cal. rounds as Lehman removed the spent 90 mm brass and inserted another main gun round.
Marine tanks support infantry clearing a stretch of Route 9 near Khe Sanh. (Courtesy of the USMC Vietnam Tankers Association)
Kellogg triggered his .50-cal., spraying five-round bursts along the hedgerow. Maliciously on cue, the machine gun jammed. His efforts to correct the prob-lem proved futile in the constricted cupola. Mayhem enveloped the tank. Dozens of NVA soldiers attacked from bushes and bomb craters at point-blank range. Kellogg directed Trinidad as he fired another round through the main gun, while simultaneously guiding Williams around the Marines exposed outside. How could they possibly fire, or even move, without killing one of their own?
“Traverse right.”
The thought breached Kellogg’s internal monologue without prompting, an overwhelming premonition without explanation. He obeyed. He clutched the TC override controls, arresting command from Trinidad, and spun the turret right as fast as it would move. When the main gun stood out at a 90-degree angle, the tank rocked violently as an RPG detonated on the turret. Kellogg’s intuition saved the tank. The well-aimed shot hit squarely on the gun shield, the thickest point of armor.
Smoke cleared from the vision blocks. Trinidad’s frantic voice screamed through the headset.
“I see them! I see them! I see them!”
The enemy RPG team stood in the open, taking aim once again. The tank’s gun pointed directly at them, loaded with a high explosive round. Kellogg estimated the range; they looked too close. Internal safeties prevented rounds from detonating before they reached a specified distance from the tank. Kellogg instantly decided he had to fire first. He squeezed the trigger on his override controls. The round blasted into the dirt at the RPG team’s feet, reaching bare-minimum range to explode. The enemy soldiers vaporized into pink mist.
Back inside the combat base, Himes wrapped up his morning routine brush-ing his teeth. His blouse clung to his sweaty back as he bent and spat out the toothpaste. To live in Vietnam was to endure habitual humidity. The sun had yet to perch on its high, oppressive throne. Staccato small arms echoed in the distance. The quickening tempo bade each Marine within earshot swivel and stare. Finally, the unmistakable crescendo of a tank’s main gun tolled. Barely half an hour passed since the mine sweep departed. Lance Corporal Jack Butcher sprinted up as the battle reverberated with a fever pitch.
1stLt Harris Himes, shortly after arriving at Khe Sanh in early May 1968, is pointing to the spot where an RPG detonated on the turret next to his cupola during an ambush along Route 9. Just days after arriving at Khe Sanh, the tankers battled through an attack while escorting the platoon they relieved back to Ca Lu, their tanks in desperate need of repairs (Courtesy of Harris Himes).
“Lieutenant! One-Two and One-Three have really gotten into something! I was monitoring the radios, and it sounds like it has really hit the fan!”
Himes ran with Butcher back to his tank, B-15, and climbed into the cupola. He ordered Cpl Rene Cerda, B-15’s TC, to collect his crew and crank up the engine. Himes grabbed a helmet. The battle played out through his headset in excited spurts.
“… over to your right …”
Machine-gun fire smothered the words.
“… a whole load of ‘em in the bushes … ”
A 90 mm roared.
“Bravo One-Two, this is Bravo One, over,” Himes chimed in on the net. Heavy breathing followed a long pause.
“Bravo One … this is One-Two … over.”
Kellogg’s reply sounded more animated than ever.
“One-Two, what’s going on out there?”
“Looks like we woke somethin’ up. Started out small, just a couple of shots after the grunts … ”
Static interrupted the words.
“ … then we got into the show and all hell broke loose.”
“One-Two, you’re breaking up. How are you doing?”
“OK so far. Busy.”
“Roger, keep at it. Keep me informed when you can.”
“Roger, One-Two out.”
Himes raised Conklin’s tank.
“Bravo One-Three, this is Bravo One, over.”
“One, this is One-Three,” Conklin replied. “SITREP the same. Lotsa enemy scramblin’, over.”
“Roger. Do it to ’em. Let me know. Out.”
Himes stood on the TC seat, half exposed above the cupola. Cpl Cerda waited further instruction.
“Rene, get over to the comm shack and try to raise someone from regiment,” Himes ordered. “We need permission to get out there and help Fred and Buzz right now!”
Himes dropped back inside the turret with the radio. Another quarter hour ticked by, the battle raging within earshot dreadfully narrated through his headset. Cerda had still not returned. Himes ordered his platoon sergeant to get the remaining tanks ready to roll, then took off for the comm shack. He found Cerda exasperated, radio in hand.
“They’re still looking for someone, Lieutenant. Nothing yet. Not sure regiment even knows what’s happening out there.”
“Stay with it.”
Himes walked back towards B-15. His remaining tanks occupied the road. Infantrymen staged in silent company listening to the chaotic show. What the hell was taking so long?
B-12’s main gun thundered once again, spraying canister fire through a row of bushes. Kellogg squinted through the vision blocks searching for additional targets. Miraculously, numerous Marines outside survived the onslaught thus far. To avoid running them over, Kellogg knew, would be the greater miracle. A lone grunt flashed into the scene framed by his vision block. Haggard, bleeding, and armed with nothing but his Ka-Bar fighting knife, the Marine charged head-long into a bomb crater full of NVA. He stabbed and slashed in a frenzy of gory violence until the tank turned block-ing Kellogg’s view, the grisly scene jettisoned in its wake. A bush rotated into the pic-ture. As if on cue, a World War II-vintage “potato masher” stick grenade arched up and away from the bush, landing in front of the tank near a scattering group of Marines with the fuze still burning.
“Drive over it!” Kellogg shouted.
Williams stopped the tank on top of the grenade, smothering the blast between the road wheels. The tank pushed forward unfazed to the bush where an NVA soldier ducked away into a spider hole. Straddling the hole, Williams threw the tank into a neutral steer, one tread moving forward while the opposite moved backward, rotating the machine in place. The treads dug into the earth, snagging the enemy soldier and crushing his hiding place. Williams shifted both treads forward, dragging the doomed enemy out of his hole and through the tread’s rear sprocket.
Enemy fire increased from B-12’s opposite flank where B-13 sat motionless on the battlefield. Through the drifting smoke, Kellogg noted his sister tank’s main gun blast deflector canted at an odd angle, damaged by an enemy RPG or mortar. Firing the main gun in this condition could mean catastrophic failure for the Marines inside the turret. Kellogg raised Conklin on the radio.
Marine tanks support a convoy along Route 9. The varying terrain enabled enemy ambushes at numerous points along the road. (USMC)
“Bravo One-Three, this is One-Two, over.”
No response. He tried several more times. Conklin finally responded.
“One-Two, this is One-Three.”
“One-Three, your main gun looks like it was hit and may be out of trunnion.”
“Roger, well I’ve been shot, and I’m not stickin’ my head to take a look!”
Unknown to Kellogg, Conklin somehow had been shot in the face, a wound that would result in the loss of one eye. B-13 sat defenseless against the renewed wave of NVA. Kellogg keyed his internal comms.
“Get us over there behind Buzz!”
Williams wheeled around to the other side of B-13, placing B-12 between Conklin and the bulk of enemy fire. Grunts hugged the dirt, pinned down across the front. A radioman directed B-12 toward a group of enemy attacking from bomb craters less than 50 feet away. At that close range, Trinidad could not depress the turret low enough to bring his guns to bear. With his .50-cal. out of commission and his turret-mounted guns useless, Kellogg resorted to the only weapons he had left.
He ordered Williams to hold course along a line of enemy-held craters, then snatched his grease gun and a handful of grenades from the rack behind him. Kellogg stood, half exposed above the cupola. The muffled sounds of gunfire inside the turret erupted into a deafening roar. Bullets zipped and cracked and pinged all around the tank. Kellogg flipped his grease gun upside down and opened fire. He prayed his unconventional firing technique might enlist the force of gravity to aid his faulty magazines feeding the bullets into the weapon. The tank approached the nearest crater. Kellogg pulled the pin on a grenade and lobbed it into the hole. He ducked as the explosion killed or stunned the sheltering NVA sol-diers. Kellogg resumed firing his grease gun upside down at near point- blank range. The next several bomb craters dotted the earth in an approaching batch. Kellogg steered Williams along-side, then tossed a grenade apiece into the holes until each fell silent.
Several stubborn enemy targeted Kellogg from a small crater in the tank’s path. Kellogg returned fire until the tank drove immediately alongside. He leaned out and dropped a grenade down into the hole. As the bomb exploded, Williams performed another neutral steer, crushing and grinding the dead and dying NVA beneath them.
Kellogg expended all 19 grenades wip-ing out enemy-held craters. His heart threatened to pound through his sternum as he collapsed back inside the tank. Some-how, despite the terrible toll the Marines exacted, NVA fire only in-creased. More than two hours had passed since they left the combat base. How much longer could they possibly survive?
Shell casings piled up inside B-12, further constricting the cramped tur-ret. Trinidad sighted in another target. Lehman slammed in another high explo-sive round. Kellogg waited to observe the destruction his team efficiently wrought. A violent yellow flash suddenly blinded him. A terrific impact struck like a major leaguer’s bat to the chest. Kellogg folded on the turret floor. As he lay in utter silence, his memory inexplicably recalled a story from his youth of a rel-ative who stopped breathing for several minutes in the hospital before doctors brought her back to life. Resurrected with the relative were the wonderful, luminous descriptions of the heaven that she wit-nessed while suspended between this life and the next. The sun-bathed glory she described had always impressed Kellogg. Now, he lay freezing, drowning and staring into a barren, black abyss.
“Oh, hell, I’ve gone to the wrong place.”
Cerda gathered his tankers in the road next to B-15. He lost track of how long Himes had been gone. When regiment finally located someone with authority, they denied the lieutenant’s request to support B-12 and B-13. Cerda never witnessed Himes lose his bearing, but this morning Himes was livid. After multiple requests, delays and denials, Himes stormed off to address the reg-imental office in person.
“The lieutenant said as soon as we get permission to go out, he’s riding in our tank as TC,” Cerda told his crew. “I’m going out with him. That means one of you has to stay behind.”
No one volunteered. Cerda made the Marines draw straws. Jack Butcher, his loader, came up short. Cerda assumed his spot inside the turret while LCpl John Cox took his place as B-15’s gunner and LCpl Clayton Larabell dropped into the driver’s seat.
Himes finally returned with orders. B-15 and B-14 were tasked to reinforce the beleaguered mine sweep along with the remainder of Fox Company. Himes instructed grunts to board his vehicles. The sun, now teeming with radiant fury, broiled the infantrymen crowding on top of the tanks and baked the crews hemmed inside. Cerda inspected his ammo racks and weapons. Sweat dripped from his nose as he leaned forward and rolled both pants legs to his knees. He stood in the open hatch above his head. Himes stood to his right in the TC hatch shouting orders into his headset and gesturing to the grunts swarming the road. A dozen Marines surrounded the turret, holding on wherever they could. A dozen more clung to B-14 behind them like barnacles to a ship’s bottom. The remainder piled into a 6×6 cargo truck or spread out on foot.
B-15 lumbered forward. Before lower-ing into his hatch, Cerda noticed a flak jacket tucked into the rack on the outside of the turret. Somehow, at some point, Butcher commandeered an army-style vest, more snuggly fitting and a superior construction to Marine-issued flaks. Cerda normally shunned the extra weight in the crowded interior but snatched the jacket and fastened it over his torso before wriggling down into his position. Just before 10 a.m., the two tanks and depleted infantry company surged out the gate.
The RPG penetrated B-12 through the side of the turret, detonating inside with the crew. Kellogg absorbed the brunt of the blast. He lay in a pile of shell casings drowning in his own blood. Trinidad slumped in his seat, alive but incapacitated. Lehman remained the only crewmember inside the turret able to fight. Ignoring his wounds, he struggled into a position around Trinidad and took over the trigger, laying down suppressive fire. He glanced at Kellogg. Surely, the TC was dead. When the gun ran dry, Lehman moved back to reload.
“One-Two, One-Three, this is Bravo One, over,” Himes hailed on the radio.
“This is One-Three,” Conklin replied.
“One-Two,” Lehman called in Kellogg’s stead as he fed a belt of ammo into the gun.
“Get back to base. We’ll take it from here. Well done.”
B-15 and B-14 halted near their fel-low stricken tanks. Grunts leaped from their sides and streamed out of the truck behind them. Himes ordered B-15 into the assault and commenced firing as soon as the grunts were clear. B-14, commanded by Cpl Pat Baddgor, followed into the fray.
Lehman poked his head through the loader’s hatch. Bullets cracked by and bounced off the steel around him. A blazing fire in the exterior cargo rack seared his face. The acrid smoke drove him back inside, hacking up black phlegm.
“Williams, the cavalry has arrived! Get us out of here!”
With his periscopes cracked, Williams operated the tank virtually blind. He threw the tank in reverse, backing away from the battle. The tank pitched sud-denly forward, tossing Lehman across the turret. Without stopping, the tank abruptly pitched backward before level-ing out. Lehman stood in his hatch. The frame of a 6×6 truck lay ahead of B-12 in the road, hastily left in the tank’s path as the grunts poured into the battle, now flattened like a rolling pin. Lehman stooped inside the tank and gulped a breath of fresh air. He stood exposed, once more guiding Williams in reverse all the way back to Khe Sanh’s gate.
Now nearly three hours into the battle, the NVA escalated their effort in even greater proportion than the Marines. Enemy soldiers materialized seemingly everywhere. They dashed into the fight with polished parade uniforms wrapped in plastic and stowed in their backpacks, ready to don for their anticipated victory parade. They fought with fanaticism, as though Ho Chi Minh himself watched from a nearby hilltop impatiently waiting to collect his promised birthday present. Mortars and recoilless rocket fire rained down.
Within minutes of reaching the battle-field, Himes looked helplessly on as a mortar exploded in a group of Fox Company Marines, knocking out several of-fi-cers and senior enlisted leaders. The company commander was quickly shot and killed. While Cerda, Cox and Larabell maneuvered the tank and poured continuous fire from the main gun, Himes remained exposed, hanging out the TC hatch and screaming to leaderless ele-ments of grunts, directing them toward the enemy.
Cerda lost all sense of time as he loaded round after round into the main gun. Spent casings piled so high so quickly inside the turret that the hot brass burned his bare calves and singed the hair on his shins. A rapid succession of bullets thudding unsuppressed off metal above him stole his attention. His hatch stood wide open, leaving Cerda vulnerable.
“Would you look at that!” Himes shouted, as much to himself as to anyone else. “Those Marines are fighting hand-to-hand!”
Desperate for a glimpse, Cerda jumped up. The world outside brimmed in savage chaos. Marines and NVA soldiers collided in craters with buttstrokes and bayonets ordaining the victor of each individual struggle. Cerda returned to his seat after fewer than 30 seconds. Less than 30 seconds later, an RPG round detonated on the hatch still open above him. The concussion slammed him down to the turret floor. Shrapnel stitched across his back, absorbed by the flak jacket. His ears rang, his eyes watered uncontrollably, and his nose bled. He wiped his face until his vision cleared then lurched upward and secured the door.
Napalm explodes on NVA positions during the battle on May 19, 1968. Marine pilots dropped their ordnance danger-close to Marines, finally breaking the enemy’s will to fight. (Courtesy of Peter D. Hoban)
B-15 fought on unhinged. Cerda main-tained a relentless pace, feeding ammo to the insatiable guns while Cox tore the enemy apart. Ricocheting bullets pinged off the exterior armor in a never-ending cacophony. The sharper thuds of ricocheting RPGs signaled more imminent danger. Several times, shell casings piled so high they blocked Cerda’s access to additional rounds and interfered with the rotation of the turret. Cerda opened his hatch long enough to shot put the empty shells through the opening.
Himes rotated in his cupola calling out targets. He pivoted just in time to witness an enemy RPG team staring down the sights directly at him. Before Himes could react, the NVA soldiers exploded into pieces. B-14, situated on Himes’ flank, spotted the enemy and the tank’s gunner, Cpl Rick Oswood, obliterated them with a high explosive round.
“One-Five, this is One-Four,” Baddgor called. “You’ve got Charlie climbing on your tank!”
Himes peered through his vision blocks. Several NVA soldiers mobbed the vehicle, scaling the rear away from the main gun.
The crew inside B-14 loaded a canister round while the turret rotated. Oswood locked B-15 in his sights and pulled the trigger. More than 1,200 steel pellets erupted at close range. The shrapnel ripped the radio antennas from the outside of B-15 and destroyed everything left in the exterior racks. The unfortunate, brave NVA soldiers who mounted the tank fell to the ground in mangled heaps of flesh.
B-12 reached Khe Sanh with the fire still burning in its cargo rack. Marines extracted each member of the wounded crew. They placed Kellogg on a stretcher awaiting immediate medical evacuation. Doctors assigned a Navy corpsman to remain by Kellogg’s side to keep him alive. NVA mortars exploded around the landing zone, forcing helicopters away. The corpsman and a battalion surgeon plugged the worst of Kellogg’s bleeding holes and started four IVs, one in each arm and leg, replenishing the tanker’s system with a barrage of fluids. A monstrous sense of helplessness overwhelmed Kellogg as someone finally loaded him onto a chopper. Door gunners opened up with their machine guns as they lifted off, showering the floor with spent brass rolling around Kellogg’s stretcher. All four fluid bottles ran dry. The corpsman looked frantic as he hooked up four more, clearly concerned he might fail to keep his charge alive.
A flurry of doctors met Kellogg aboard the hospital ship and rushed him down to surgery.Someone leaned over Kellogg’s battered face as they ran alongside his stretcher wheeling across the deck.
“Do you want a priest?”
Kellogg never considered himself especially religious but knew enough to understand that last rites were usually reserved for those crossing death’s doorstep.
“Do I need one?”
The battle outside Khe Sanh raged beyond midday. Time conspired against the Marines. Cerda swapped barrels on the .30-cal. when it overheated. He ran low on 90 mm rounds. An RPG detonated on the turret next to him. The metal inside glowed with bright orange spalling, barely containing the brunt of the explo-sion. Still, shrapnel blasted through the turret, peppering Cerda’s side. The flak jacket again saved him from catastrophic injury. Hot metal sliced through the com-munications cord attached to his helmet. One piece dug into his wrist, cutting cleanly through his watch band. Another RPG penetrated the turret, wounding Cerda a third time along with the rest of the crew. Exhausted, dehydrated, dis-oriented and bleeding, the tankers fought on.
The armored giant became the favored target of every RPG within range. Mul-tiple penetrations into B-15’s engine crippled the transmission and ruptured the fuel tanks. Unable to move and running low on ammo, the tankers persevered. When an RPG damaged the remote firing mechanism for the coaxial machine gun, Cerda took over triggering the weapon. When the turret lost all electrical power, Cerda worked the hand crank, manually traversing the main gun. Smoke suffused through the rear of the turret from the engine compartment. Within minutes, the Marines inside choked down every breath.
“Put your gas masks on!” Himes ordered.
The tankers donned their masks and continued fighting. The infiltrating smoke soon morphed into licking fire. Himes called to his Marines through the smoke and kindling flames. Cerda leaned over the .30-cal., looking more dead than alive. Cox and Larabell, muffled by their gas masks, sounded in nearly as rough of shape. B-15 faced the irreversible end of its role in the battle. Himes weighed their options aloud.
“OK gents. Looks like we’ve got two choices. We can either stay in here and burn up with the tank or jump out and get shot. What do you want to do?”
Each crewmember threw off their gas masks and scrambled outside. Cox and Larabell leaped down and sprinted toward a nearby bomb crater. Himes discovered Cerda nearly limp and stuck inside the turret, severely weakened from blood loss. Himes grasped his arms and hoisted him out onto the fender. Cerda drifted in and out of consciousness, lying in the open while Himes jumped to the ground. Enemy fire poured on unabated. Himes snatched up Cerda over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Grunts lay down a barrage of covering fire as Himes plodded toward the crater with Cerda’s weight exacerbating painful shrapnel wounds in his legs. He stumbled and fell into the hole, his entire crew miraculously intact.
The tankers joined the grunts in shoot-ing, armed only with pistols and a grease gun. A jeep zipped past the bomb crater laden with ammo. When it circled back empty of cargo, Himes clambered out into the driver’s path with arms waving over his head. The driver halted long enough to load the wounded tank crew aboard, then sped back toward the combat base.
B-15’s crew underwent the same rapid triage as the B-12 tankers. Another med-evac chopper swooped in, lifting Himes and Cerda away. Elevated high above the battlefield, Himes spotted B-14 still under heavy bombardment. B-15 remained con-spicuously paralyzed like a forbidding monument erected in memory of the tank-ers’ heroic deeds, a conflagration beneath a billowing plume of black smoke.
After nearly six hours of fighting, the battle’s outcome remained undecided. B-14 suffered multiple penetrating RPG hits, severely wounding crewmembers in-side before finally returning to base. The platoon’s fifth and final tank, B-11, deployed with another reinforcing wave of Marine infantry. Despite everything he already endured driving Kellogg’s B-12, Stanley Williams returned to the battlefield driving B-11. Golf Company, 2/1, advanced from Khe Sanh, along with Echo 2/3 sweeping in from another direction.
The fresh wave of infantry waded through a thick field of carnage. Dead bodies clogged the ground along their path. Discarded and damaged equipment littered the ravaged landscape. The Marines rearmed themselves along the way, commandeering machine guns and bayonets cast aside. They steered clear of B-15, still burning with rounds cooking off inside. They pushed into the fray, close enough to hear NVA jeers in accented English hurled their way alongside the bullets. The grunts fired back with, “Ho Chi Minh sucks!” and a serenade of machine guns.
Napalm finally broke the enemy’s back. A-4 Skyhawks streaked in so low the grunts could see the pilots’ faces as they dropped their terrifying ordnance. The firebombs exploded danger-close to Marines scattered across the field, some as close as 50 yards away. The Marines shielded themselves and gasped for breath as the flash inferno sucked the oxygen from the air and burned the enemy soldiers alive.
Both contestants embroiled in the birthday battle outside Khe Sanh suffered dearly. Eighteen Marines from 2/1 died, with several dozen more wounded. One of the KIA, Private First Class Patrick Riordan, would posthumously receive a Silver Star for his heroism. Lieutenant Colonel William R. Duncan, the battalion commander of 2/1, also received a Silver Star. The whole battalion received a Mer-itorious Unit Citation. According to the 3rd Tank Battalion command chron-ology, May 19 cost the NVA 165 confirmed KIA. The number of dead dragged away or wounded to escape the battlefield will never be known.
In terms of percentages, the tank platoon withstood perhaps the most shocking casualties. Eleven tankers received Purple Hearts, more than half of the platoon. Six of these required medical evacuation. All five of Himes’ tanks absorbed at least three RPG hits each, with B-15 incinerating on the battlefield as a complete combat loss. Miraculously, every tanker survived.
Surgeons counted 73 shrapnel holes spread across Kellogg’s body. They ex-tracted the largest pieces and stitched over the rest. Kellogg recuperated on the hospital ship for two weeks before stabilizing enough for a flight to Japan. He spent nearly a year fully recovering back in the States. The Corps assigned him as an instructor at the tank schoolhouse in Del Mar, Calif., to finish out his enlist-ment. For his role in the battle, Kellogg eventually received a Bronze Star with combat “V.”
Himes returned to the unit following his recovery. He walked with a cane but was determined once again to be with his Marines. After 10 months leading a tank platoon in combat and two harrowing medical evacuations, the battalion ordered Himes to finish out his tour in the rear. He remained on active duty following his time in Vietnam for another two years, eventually retiring as a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps Reserve.
Cerda shuffled through multiple hos-pitals after May 19. He spent several days fighting a blinding headache before doctors at a U.S. Air Force hospital finally X-rayed his head. They discovered a large chunk of metal embedded in his skull and rushed Cerda into surgery. Like Kellogg, Cerda finished out his enlistment and left active duty. In recognition of his part in the ambush, the Marine Corps presented Cerda with the Silver Star.
The passage of time has clouded the memory and significance of May 19. Today, the ambush exists in the shadows of larger events that took place around Khe Sanh. The exception lies within the battle’s survivors, who lived their lives in memory of their fallen brothers and defined by the experience. Kellogg en-dured decades of vivid nightmares that began before he was even evacuated from the battlefield in his semi-conscious state. He was convinced he had accidentally run over Marines during the battle. The compressed chaos surrounding his tank made the possibility inevitable, he believed. He refused to discuss the battle, despite its inescapable grip and undeniable impact on his later career in law enforcement. Not until 2003 at a reunion of Vietnam tankers did he begin to open up. The decision ushered in a new phase of camaraderie, understanding and healing.
Kellogg eventually connected with veterans from 2/1 who also survived the battle. He met a grunt who watched Kellogg’s tank in action throughout the engagement from less than 20 feet away. The veteran confirmed that Kellogg never ran over any Marines. For Kellogg, the news washed over like a cleansing rain. His nightmares vanished.
Veterans of the May 19 battle sit for an oral history interview at a reunion of the USMC Vietnam Tankers Association in Colorado Springs, Colo., in 2023. From left to right: Doc Michael Pipkin, a U.S. Navy corpsman assigned to Fox Co, 2/1; Fred Kellogg, B-12 TC; Harris Himes, platoon commander, 1st Platoon, Bravo Co, 3rd Tank Battalion; Rick Oswood, B-14 gunner and Rene Cerda, B-15 tank commander. (Courtesy of The USMC Vietnam Tankers Association)
In 2008, Himes led an effort to reunite survivors on the 40th anniversary of the battle. Marines gathered from around the country at the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Triangle, Va., to reminisce and fill each others’ gaps in understanding. Himes, Cerda, Kellogg and many others from the platoon all joined numerous others from the infantry units that played a part. The resulting picture of May 19, 1968, proved more complete than ever before.
“A focused mission that can cost you your life is something that will forge a relationship that deserves to be kept,” Himes reflected during the reunion. Those relationships forged nearly 60 years ago persist even now.
The medals for valor some of the tank-ers received were downgraded from Himes’ original recommendations. Himes submitted Cerda to receive the Navy Cross. The rapid disintegration of his platoon also led to awards less than fitting for the heroism exhibited. Himes penned Kellogg’s award citation in the days following the ambush, large-ly unaware of the depth of courage and specific actions Kellogg had taken through–out the engagement. Those details would only be filled in over the ensuing decades. Eventually, Himes learned that Cox and Conklin both received the Silver Star, Larabell a Bronze Star with “V,” and Baddgor and Oswood both a Navy Commendation Medal. To this day, Himes remains convinced the valor of his men deserves much higher recognition.
“Heroism is just doing your job even though it’s scary and sometimes you’re a little scared,” Himes stated today. “The circumstances just pile up and it’s the aftermath that says whether you’re a hero. As far as I’m concerned, all my men are heroes.”
Author’s bio: Kyle Watts is the staff writer for Leatherneck. He served on active duty in the Marine Corps as a communications officer from 2009-13. He is the 2019 winner of the Colonel Robert Debs Heinl Jr. Award for Marine Corps History. He lives in Richmond, Va., with his wife and three children.
Featured Image (Top): Cpl Fred Kellogg seated on his cupola, covered in dirt after riding the second tank in line during a road march. Kellogg arrived in Vietnam in January 1968 and was quickly promoted to his role as TC. (Courtesy of Fred Kellogg)
It was Dec. 18, 1965, and First Lieutenant Harvey “Barney” Barnum maneuvered east along a dirt road that crossed hills of dense jungle and wound around flooded rice paddies of the Quế Sơn Valley with the rest of Company H, 2nd Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment. The road was designated Route 586, but no vehicle could traverse it.
According to Nicholas J. Schlosser’s pamphlet titled “In Persistent Battle” about Operation Harvest Moon, Barnum had arrived in Vietnam 10 days earlier and was designated Co H’s artillery forward observer. His deployment was a 90-day temporary duty assignment from his duty station at Marine Barracks Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. In 1965, the Marine Corps sent company-grade officers and senior en-listed for three-month deployments to Vietnam to gain combat experience and lessons learned to share with their home units. Marine Barracks Pearl Harbor had only one allotment available, and as the only bachelor among the officers, Barnum volunteered so the others could spend the holidays with their families. The rest of Company H had been in Vietnam for five months already and were expected to be there after his tour ended. Despite being the newly assigned forward observer in an experienced infantry company, Barnum would bring them to safety from the brink of annihilation over the next few hours.
Company H was serving as the rear element in 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment’s column movement along Route 586 as part of Operation Harvest Moon. Co H was attached to 2/7 to replace the beleaguered Co E, 2/7 on Dec. 13 after combat casualties and immersion foot made the company combat ineffective, according to Schlosser. In the days since, they had covered more than 30 kilometers of flooded roads and paddies on foot. On Dec. 18, the battalion planned to reach Route 1 by nightfall, before all visibility would be lost due to the thick cloud cover of a winter monsoon. They expected this to be the last day of the operation and that the trucks awaiting them at Route 1 would bring 2/7 to Chu Lai and Co H back to Da Nang.
Operation Harvest Moon, which intended to clear the 1st Viet Cong Regiment from the Quế Sơn Valley, had begun 11 days earlier. With brigade-strength task forces of U.S. Marines and Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) soldiers, this was the largest combined operation of the conflict to date, according to “U.S. Marines In Vietnam: The Landing And The Buildup, 1965,” by Dr. Jack Shulimson and Maj Charles M. Johnson. Unfortunately, the operation did not go as planned. In the first two days, am-bushes by the 1st Viet Cong Regiment reduced the combat power of one ARVN battalion by one-third in only 15 minutes and overran another ARVN regiment, killing their regimental commander. By the third day, the Marine Corps task force commander was relieved and cooperation between the Marine Corps and ARVN deteriorated, according to Schlosser.
However, the operation continued, and Barnum and the rest of Co H trudged on. For the Marines, the weather was the greatest enemy of the operation so far. Despite a resupply of thousands of socks, many Marines suffered immersion foot. After months of jungle hiking, their boots were rotting away. So were their chafed feet. Company E 2/7 evacuated 54 Marines for immersion foot before Company H 2/9 attached to the battalion. Barnum later recalled in a Congressional Medal of Honor Society interview that when he first heard gunfire ahead, “I didn’t think much of it.” The main body of the column had reached the small market town of Ky Phu—only 9 km before Route 1. Around 1:30 p.m., the previously distant gunfire erupted along the column. The battalion had experienced sniper fire in the days prior, but this was different. This was a well-coordinated ambush of the entire battalion.
Two companies of the 1st Viet Cong Regiment stretched 1,000 yards in entrenched, well-camouflaged positions. Movement by 2/7 halted in the face of the sudden barrage of machine-gun fire. The lead element in the column, Co G, established a defensive position east of Ky Phu as they started to receive mortar fire. Fortunately, many of the mortar rounds sank into the muck around them. After days of rain, the saturated soil made the fire much less effective, according to Schlosser. Viet Cong snipers, however, were undeterred and killed several Co G radio operators in the opening minutes of the ambush.
On Dec. 10, 1965, Marines advance along rice paddy dikes in pursuit of enemy forces.
The battalion commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Leon Utter, lost contact with much of the battalion as the radio operators were killed. In the turmoil, some radio traffic went out on the wrong nets and the battalion’s column started to separate. Two platoons of Co F were sent to relieve Co G in the defensive positions east of Ky Phu. The rear guard, Co H, however, was still about 500 meters west of the village. Two Viet Cong companies attacked from north and south of the road to exploit this gap. When the attack intensified on the western perimeter of the village, Co F was ordered back west.
As Co F raced west, the VC unleashed a flurry of fire upon Co H. Effective rifle, heavy machine-gun, recoilless rifle and mortar fire from entrenched and camouflaged positions curtailed any movement from Co H. In a 2021 interview with the Department of Veterans Affairs, Barnum recalled, “The enemy knew what the hell they were doing, and it was hellacious.” He first sent a call for fire to the artillery battery to take out the machine-gun emplacement on their right flank. The enemy positions were so close, he said, that “the first fire mission I call[ed] was in on that trench line. The first rounds we took some ‘shrapmetal’ in our positions.” Barnum ceased fire after two rounds. He could only adjust fire for missions that weren’t overhead because the targets were at the battery’s maximum range and the missions were dangerously close.
Meanwhile, Barnum saw Hospital Corpsmen Wesley “Doc Wes” Berrard streak by, yelling, “The skipper’s down! The skipper’s down!” About 50 yards ahead, he saw a pile of Marines. Among them were Co H Commanding Officer, Captain Paul L. Gormley Jr., and his radio operator, Lance Corporal Savoy. Fifty-seven millimeter recoilless rifle fire hit them in the opening salvos of the ambush. Doc Wes was shot several times in his dash to the CO. So was the artillery scout sergeant, Private First Class McClain, who followed him.
Barnum was still adjusting artillery fire when he realized that in a matter of moments, the company CO, radio operator, corpsman and scout sergeant were all down ahead of him. Now Barnum raced forward, but it was too late to help Savoy—he was already dead. Barnum carried Gormley back to a covered position as the firefight continued all around him. He had been with the company for a matter of days. Now the commanding officer was dying in his arms.
Marines of G/2/7 search for VC during Operation Harvest Moon in 1965.
Back at Ky Phu, the battalion began establishing defensive positions around the village. Company H, however, remained pinned down 500 meters away, with a dead commanding officer and radio operator and no radio connection to the leadership.
All around Barnum, the platoon commanders of Co H were in their own firefights. As he held his dead CO, he realized that the radio was still out there. To reestablish communications with the battalion and provide direction to the company, he had to retrieve it. Barnum raced back to Savoy’s body and slung the radio (and its telltale 3-foot antenna) onto his back. He later explained in an interview, “I think the PRC-25 saved our lives.” He immediately contacted Lieutenant Colonel Utter to report the situation, to which Utter replied, “Young man, it sounds like you have a grasp of the situation. Make sure everyone knows you’re the skipper.”
Although airstrikes from Air Force B-52s helped to drive out the enemy, the hills had to be combed on foot by Marines.
Utter also warned, “Lieutenant, you’ve gotta come on out. We can’t come get you. We’re in our own fight in here. Can’t come out and get you. It’s getting dark. If you don’t fight your way out, you’re there by yourself tonight.” Barnum was the only artilleryman in the company of infantrymen, but he was now the one in command. He later reflected, “When I took over that company, they didn’t even know my name, but I had a bar on my collar and they knew that lieutenants were supposed to give orders. So when I started giving orders, they did exactly what I tasked them to do.” He was grateful that he was only three years out of The Basic School, where every Marine Corps officer is trained in the principles of leading as an infantry platoon commander.
Barnum needed to evacuate the dead and wounded and break through the enemy ambush to rejoin 2/7 in Ky Phu. He recalled, “These young Marines who were pinned down and scared, all they wanted was someone to give them direction. And when I started doing things, they got motivation going. So, at that point, I launched a counterattack on that trench line to our right.” The consequences of command soon weighed on Barnum. “I just got four Marines wounded, and I turn to the next four and say, ‘OK, it’s your turn,’ ” he relayed in an interview with the VA. But he maintained his composure and continued to lead: “We mounted a charge, and I led it. I didn’t say, ‘Go get ’em,’ I said, ‘Follow me.’ And I took off and they were right behind me.”
Now one enemy machine gun was out of action, but the attack continued unrelenting. An hour and a half after the ambush began, close air support arrived: three UH-1E Iroquois, armed with 3.5 mm rockets. Barnum put his experience as a forward observer to good use. His first target was a nearby trench line. He marked it with white phosphorus and talked the pilots onto the target. Barnum continued marking targets until he ran out of white phosphorus, and then, according to Schlosser, he “stood up there and was pointing with [his] arms outstretched at the targets, and the chopper pilots flew down the axis of [his] arms at the targets.”
Company H rallied under Barnum’s leadership. Slowly, they fought back the attack and established a defensive position around a small hill north of the road. Barnum still had to manage an evacuation, so he sent engineers out to blow down trees to make space for a landing zone. After four hours of fighting, they were still repelling the ambush south of the road but had prepared a landing zone on the north side. Barnum explained in his Congressional Medal of Honor Society interview, “Doc Wes was shot five or six times, and he would not let us evacuate him. … He was still giving instructions on how to handle the other cases that were serious and he was the last one he would let me put on a helicopter. … He got shot for the seventh time, but he lived.” Company H’s defense of the landing zone ensured the UH-34 Seahorses evacuated all of the company’s dead and wounded.
Following the loss of his company commander and radio operator to enemy fire, 1stLt Harvey Barnum assumed command of his unit, moving through heavy fire to rally and reorganize his fellow Marines. Barnum urged his troops forward in a successful counterattack, exposing himself to direct enemy fire. After the attack, Barnum coordinated the landing of two transport helicopters to evacuate the dead and wounded, ensuring the safety and recovery of his men. Secretary of the Navy Paul Nitze presented Barnum with the Medal of Honor in a ceremony held on Feb. 27, 1967.
Barnum and the company still had those 500 meters of open rice paddies to cross under heavy fire to rejoin the rest of the battalion in Ky Phu. It was over a quarter of a mile of hell for Co H. Barnum collected all the inoperable radios, ma-chine guns and other equipment, and he had his engineers destroy them to lighten the load. Next, he had the company drop their packs in a pile to burn them. Barnum explained to the company, “Marines don’t leave anybody on the battlefield. Someone drops, you pick him up and bring him with you. So that’s the reason I made you light.”
Relying on his early training, Barnum started moving the company across the rice paddy in fire team rushes. He soon realized that he would never maneuver the entire company across the dike while still receiving intensive fire. Barnum contacted 2/7 and had them provide a base of fire so that he could rush squad by squad across the dike. As each new squad prepared to rush, he told them, “You run as fast as you can. Don’t even stop. The only time you stop is if someone gets shot and you pick them up.” It took almost an hour, but Co H made it into Ky Phu before dark.
Two days later, Co H returned to 2/9, and an infantry officer was assigned command. Shortly after, Barnum was informed that Lieutenant General Walt, III Marine Amphibious Force Commander, had nominated him for the Medal of Honor. Just over 14 months later, Secretary of the Navy Paul Nitze presented Barnum with the medal at a ceremony at Marine Barracks Washington, D.C.
Then-Capt Harvey “Barney” Barnum, USMC
Barnum served in the Marine Corps for another 24 years. In that time, he returned to Vietnam to command Battery E, 2nd Battalion, 12th Marine Regiment; taught at The Basic School; commanded 2nd Battalion, Recruit Training Regiment, Parris Island, S.C., and served as Chief of Operations, U.S. Central Command, among many other assignments. After the Marine Corps, his life of service continued as the principal director of Drug Enforcement Policy, Office of the Secretary of Defense; assistant secretary of the Navy for Reserve Affairs; acting assistant secretary of the Navy (Manpower and Reserve Affairs) and in leadership positions with several nonprofits.
Secretary of the Navy Ray Mabus shakes hands with retired Marine Col. and Medal of Honor recipient Harvey C. Barnum, Jr. during the renaming of the Navy Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, DDG 124 at Marine Barracks Washington, July 28th, 2016. The destroyer was renamed USS Harvey C. Barnum, Jr. Barnum earned the Medal of Honor for his actions in Vietnam as a first lieutenant. (Marine Corps Photo by Lance Cpl. Dana Beesley/Released)
Barnum’s quick action, composure and sound leadership saved the lives of over 130 Marines and corpsmen of Co H on Dec. 18, 1965. In the Congressional Medal of Honor Society interview, Barnum reflected on that day, explaining that he wears his Medal of Honor “in honor of those corpsmen and young Marines that I had the opportunity to lead on the field of battle that day. And anytime I put this medal on, I think of them. And any actions I do or decisions I make, I make it in their name.”
Author’s bio: William J. Prom was a Marine Corps artillery officer from 2009-2014 and now serves as Development Director for the nonprofit veteran service organization, NextOp. He is the 2022 U.S. Naval Institute Naval History Author of the Year, and his work has appeared in Naval History and Proceedings.
Featured Image (Top): Radio operator Cpl Patrick Iacunato, left, and 1stLt Harvey “Barney” Barnum pose for a photo together on Dec. 20, 1965, two days after Barnum’s actions during Operation Harvest Moon, which resulted in the Medal of Honor.
As Americans read their morning newspapers on Sept. 15, 1950, headlines such as “Seoul Port Isle Falls to Marines in Brief Battle” in Washington D.C.’s The Evening Star caught them by surprise. Across the country, this is the way almost every citizen learned of Inchon, which had been seized by the 1st Marine Division. The articles featured on the front page of that day’s Evening Star described the amphibious assault, including naval bombardment, napalm strikes and Marine landings.
Reading the column, one might assume the operation was easy for the Navy and Marine Corps. However, the articles failed to convey the truly Herculean task involved in executing the landings at Inchon, called Operation Chromite. The Navy and Marine Corps faced an almost impossible challenge: They were expected to call up their reserves, sail across the globe and plan an invasion within three months—a feat that directly contradicted the doctrine developed during the Pacific campaigns of World War II.
Just a few months earlier, on June 25, the North Koreans poured across the 38th Parallel. In just over 30 days of fighting, the North Koreans had the Republic of Korea and U.S. forces with their backs to the wall in the southeast corner of the Korean peninsula, the Pusan Perimeter. The theater commander, General Douglas MacArthur, USA, conceived the idea to relieve the Pusan Perimeter with an amphibious assault during the first week of July. This assault, which would have used the 1st Cavalry Division and an airborne regimental combat team drop, never came to fruition as the 1st Cavalry was needed at Pusan. The idea was then reluctantly agreed to by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who looked to the Navy and Marine Corps to carry it out.
The Buildup
Due to budgetary restrictions in the massive post-WW II drawdowns, the Marines were just 74,279 active-duty Marines, with only 7,779 Marines in 1stMarDiv. With the agreement of Gen Clifton Cates, the 19th Commandant of the Marine Corps, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had slated 1stMarDiv and the 1st Marine Air Wing (MAW) to conduct MacArthur’s amphibious operation. First, the division had to reach war-time strength, and it was woefully short. Second Marine Division and the security forces were cannibalized, with thousands of Marines sent from Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune to Camp Pendleton by August 1950.
U.S. commanders inspect the Inchon port area for an amphibious assault, Sept. 16, 1950. Those present in the front row are, left to right: VADM Arthur D. Struble, Commander, Joint Task Force Seven; GEN Douglas MacArthur, Commander in Chief, Far East Command and MajGen Oliver P. Smith, Commanding General, 1st Marine Division. (Courtesy of Naval History and Heritage Command)
To achieve a full-strength division, the Marine Corps turned to the Reserve force created after WW II. Many combat veterans from the Pacific campaigns had gone to the reserve, but a portion of the force still consisted of Marines who had never seen active duty or even boot camp. The call went out for thousands of these reservists to report to 1st and 2nd MarDivs for active service. These reservists made the bulk of the manpower behind 1stMarDiv and 1st MAW, preparing to meet the North Korean enemy.
Logistically, the buildup of the Marine forces for Korea was a near impossible feat on its own. Thousands of Marines needed to be equipped and trained for war with mere weeks left before shipping out. Seventh Marines Commander Colonel Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller remembered ordering company commanders to pull mothballed gear and cosmoline-caked weapons from WW II to be issued to arriving Marines. After being equipped, the Marines received rudimentary instruction on weapons, which continued while they sailed to Korea in late August 1950. Despite the hardships of forming a division in only two months, 1stMarDiv and 1st MAW were all en route to or in Korea by the end of August, following the timeline to conduct an amphibious operation in September 1950. With the 1st, 5th and 7th Marine Regiments being shipped out at different times, there was no opportunity for the entire division to make preparations or practice assaults prior to the scheduled invasion.
Operation Chromite
The Navy and Marine Corps, drawing on their vast experiences in WW II, began formulating ideas of landing beaches suitable for amphibious operations. It was noted that the east coast beaches presented many more acceptable landing sites than the west coast beaches. GEN MacArthur, Commander of Far East Forces, was presented multiple locations with acceptable conditions for an amphibious assault. However, MacArthur was dead set on a place called Inchon.
Navy and Marine planners noted that the port of Inchon was the worst possible location for an amphibious assault. The approach to the harbor was bottlenecked by two peninsulas, perfect for underwater mines. In the harbor, the tidal range was one of the most volatile in the world, leaving Sept. 15 as the only day with enough water clearance for landing craft. Further, the tides restricted landing to just two windows: a few hours in the morning and late afternoon. If that wasn’t enough, offshore islands dominated the approaches to the landing beaches. Once on the beaches, Marines would have to contend with a concrete seawall or a mud flat, leaving virtually no beach exit for vehicles.
Defending Inchon was the 226th Independent Marine Regiment of the North Korean People’s Army’s (NKPA), supported by the 918th Artillery Regiment. Nearby in Seoul was the 18th Infantry Division and the 42nd Mechanized Regiment, equipped with Soviet T-34s. The only redeeming factor for the selection of Inchon was that it was the closest harbor to Seoul. MacArthur’s entire strategy revolved around capturing Seoul by an arbitrarily picked date at the end of September. Despite almost unanimous objections to Inchon, MacArthur pressed his decision, again receiving a begrudging approval from the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The Inchon landing, carried out on Sept. 15, 1950, was a pivotal amphibious operation during the Korean War, led by United States and South Korean forces. (USMC)
Joint Task Force 7, comprised of 1stMarDiv under Major General O.P. Smith; 7th Infantry Regiment, 1st MAW; and a multinational array of naval vessels, approached Inchon on Sept. 10. Navy and Marine planners continued meeting day in and day out to finalize the plans for the Inchon invasion, even while sailing toward their ultimate objective.
Opening the invasion were Marine F4U-4B Corsairs from Marine Fighter Squadrons 214 and 323, which began softening up the landing area with bombs and napalm. Looking toward shore, observers saw the gull-winged fighters delivering their deadly payloads. Moving cautiously into the harbor, the Navy detected multiple mines guarding the narrow approach. For the next few days, minesweepers, covered by destroyers, made the harbor safe for the landing craft to proceed. This task was made increasingly difficult as shore batteries opened on the ships. The ships responded in turn, leveling the positions. With the mines and approaches clear, the way was paved for the Marines to go ashore. The final day loomed before them—Sept. 15, 1950, was their day to pull off the impossible.
Green Beach
Before the Marines could proceed to Inchon, they first had to take Wolmi-do, the offshore island. On the morning of the 15th, the calm darkness was shattered by the whine of Corsairs and the pounding of their bombs. Around 6:30 a.m., the racket suddenly ceased, replaced by the humming of landing craft. The Marines of 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines, stormed ashore and swarmed the island.
They encountered little resistance, finding only small pockets of North Koreans holed up in caves. When hand grenades proved ineffective, enterprising Marines flagged down an M26 Pershing tank rumbling off a landing craft. The tank, specially equipped with a bulldozer blade, approached a cave. Withstanding a flurry of last-ditch resistance, the tank lowered its blade and shoved a wall of debris into the cave mouth, sealing the defenders’ fate.
The Marines continued their advance, crushing what little resistance they encountered. At 8 a.m., Colonel Robert Taplett, commander of 3/5, reported Wolmi-do secure with only 17 casualties. Soon, the tide receded, leaving only sticky muck in the harbor. Across the island, Marines settled into defensive positions to wait out the next few hours until the rest of the division arrived. Only an hour and a half of daylight was expected after the afternoon landings took place; if anything went wrong, 3/5 would be isolated on Wolmi-do.
Col Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller, right, studies the terrain before advancing after the Inchon Landing. (USMC)
Blue Beach
The naval bombardment picked up again at 2:30 p.m., softening up the remaining beaches. At 5:30, the Marines started for shore. Chesty Puller’s 1st Marines piled out of their landing craft onto Blue Beach, which was inundated with smoke and fog. Once again, the Marines encountered little resistance. What held them up was the deep quagmire that made up most of Blue Beach. The landing craft got stuck across the beach, forcing Marines to trudge ashore through the mud. Compounding the problems, some follow-on troops landed in the wrong location and had to march across the peninsula to rejoin the rest of the regiment.
Despite the mud and confusion, Marines streamed ashore and swiftly overwhelmed any resistance they encountered. Most of the enemy consisted of isolated bunkers, like on Wolmi-do, which were reduced with tanks, flamethrowers, grenades and tenacity. By nightfall, the 1st Marines paused their advance on the hills overlooking the beach. Despite the setbacks of the confused landing, the 1st Marines were ready to push on through Inchon the following day. Across the peninsula, Marines in the 5th Marine Regiment were facing a much different landing.
Red Beach
On Red Beach, Lieutenant Colonel Raymond Murray’s 5th Marines broke through the smoke in landing craft, revealing the looming concrete seawall. The deceptively named Red Beach had no beach at all. The water lapped directly against the wall, which in some places towered 4 feet above the landing craft. Simple ingenuity got the Marines ashore: Navy coxswains maneuvered their craft against the seawall, gunning the engines to keep the ramps pressed tight against the concrete. Marines hurled grenades over the top before bracing wooden ladders up the ramp and wall. One by one, they clambered up and over, enemy bullets snapping overhead.
Once ashore, the Marines faced the fiercest resistance yet. Bunkers and fighting positions dotted the landscape. Unlike previous amphibious assaults, Inchon’s buildings and warehouses extended right to the water’s edge. Marines fought through streets and warehouses, battling to clear out defenders and achieve their objectives.
The fighting on Red Beach resembled the brutal, close-quarters combat of the Central Pacific, nearly a decade earlier. The Marines systematically neutralized NKPA positions, one by one, with grenades and flamethrowers. Close air support, honed to a fine edge by the Navy and Marine Corps, roared in low over the beaches, dropping bombs on targets designated by the battalion forward air controller.
Marines pose for a picture on top of an LVT after securing Blue Beach. (Courtesy of National Archives)
The battle for Red Beach culminated on Observation Hill. This commanding height dominated the surrounding terrain but teemed with NKPA defenders. Night had fallen by the time mixed units from 2nd Bn, 5th Marines, were ready to assault the hill. Eerie light emanated from burning buildings, while muzzle flashes punctuated the darkness. Marines charged up the northern and southern slopes, locked in furious grenade battles with the enemy. Despite taking casualties, they seized the hilltop and dug in to repel counterattacks.
As the fighting subsided and the sounds of battle faded, the smoke and fire from naval shells and napalm illuminated the midnight sky. The 1st and 5th Marines consolidated their positions, reorganizing their units after the chaotic landings. Meanwhile, the Marines on Wolmi-do crossed the causeway to Inchon proper, completing the now-continuous defensive line spanning the peninsula.
One Day Down, Many More to Go
The Sailors and Marines at Inchon had achieved the impossible, successfully executing an amphibious assault on one of the most inhospitable landing sites imaginable. Even more impressively, they had planned, organized and executed the entire operation in less than three months, with half of the planning occurring while the division was at sea. Such a feat would have been unthinkable just a few years earlier. But under the expert leadership of seasoned veterans, from Smith down to platoon and squad leaders, the operation unfolded with minimal casualties. Marines, both veteran and recruit, displayed the courage, tenacity and fighting spirit that have defined the Corps since its inception.
As the sun rose above Observation Hill on the morning of Sept. 16, the Marines beheld a smoldering city before them. Beyond Inchon lay the Han River, which they would need to cross, again relying on their beloved amtracs. And beyond the Han River sprawled Seoul, the capital city, full of twisting alleyways and formidable barricades. Though they didn’t know it then, these Marines were bound for the frozen peaks of the Chosin Reservoir and the most desperate fight of their lives. But for now, they focused on the task at hand, for Inchon was theirs.
Author’s bio: Chris Kuhns, a veteran Marine infantryman, separated from the Corps to pursue his passion for military history, specializing in the history of the United States Marine Corps. He serves as the deputy director of the USMC Historical Company, a 501(c) organization, while also working as a historian for the U.S. Air Force. He calls Gettysburg, Pa., home.
As a Depression-era child, the Kentucky native could light a matchstick from 100 yards out with his .22. He would often take out wild boar that were roaming the tobacco farm where he and his family worked, and his shooting prowess made him an Expert marksman while serving in the Marine Corps a few years later.
But Beach could also play a mean guitar, an instrument that brought him local fame and a lifetime filled with songwriting. More than five decades after releasing his signature single “Peg Pants” on the Cincinnati-based King Records label, Beach was inducted into the Rockabilly Hall of Fame. On Oct. 28, 2024, Beach died at the age of 92 in Hamilton, Ohio, leaving behind wonderful memories for his family and friends and a love for the Marine Corps.
“He often told young people that were considering service to not waste time with the green uniforms, you want to go into the Marines,” said daughter Bonnie McDaniel. “[He said] it will prepare you for what life is like outside of the service.”
Born in 1932 in rural Gallatin County, Beach was far from privileged. As a youngster, he made himself a valuable member of the community thanks to his skill with a rifle and his trapping ability.
In addition to shooting wild pigs that encroached on the farm, he was also tasked with trapping mink and selling the furs to make ends meet for his family. But by age 14, another instrument caught his attention. He began to spend his free time plucking away on a guitar.
“My cousin would carry around his guitar in a burlap bag,” Beach said in a 2010 radio interview with WVXU in Cincinnati. “So, I got fascinated with him singing a little bluegrass music and a little country music. He let me borrow it, and I got real interested in it. He showed me three or four chords, and I went on from there.”
Eventually, he and his childhood friend Jimmy Shelton started busing the 40 miles to Cincinnati Wurlitzer Studio and used the money they had saved to record—just to see what they sounded like. One day, a friend of Beach’s, whose relative was stationed in the Army in Pennsylvania, invited them up to play for a local radio show and perform locally at fairs during a break from school. Thanks to that connection, Beach wound up warming up for country legend Hank Williams and some of the future cast members of the hit TV show “Hee Haw.”
A crack shot with a .22 since he was a kid, Bill Beach was an expert marksman in the Marine Corps. (Courtesy of Bonnie McDaniel)
By 1952, Beach was living with his mother in Cincinnati when he joined the Marine Corps, figuring he would be drafted for the Korean War eventually. According to McDaniel, Beach missed serving in combat by one day—the armistice was signed before his scheduled deployment in 1953.
During his time in the Corps, he was a supply Marine stationed in Bakersfield, Calif. Beach wrote a number of songs while in the Marine Corps and happened to meet the late great country singer and actor Gene Autry, who was looking to acquire a jeep from his department.
“He [Autry] brought a couple of his other friends to buy jeeps,” McDaniel said. “My dad had his guitar in the Marine Corps that he would play. He and Gene Autry put on an impromptu concert in Bakersfield.”
After his honorable discharge from the Corps, Beach married his first wife Mildred and the couple had a daughter, Debbie. He continued to write and play music, and in 1956, he recorded “Peg Pants” in Cincinnati, a song he penned while serving in the Marine Corps. A two-minute track about the new fashionable guy in town, the part rock, part hillbilly [rockabilly] ditty received some air play on the local radio stations. Beach soon became a regular studio musician who toured on occasion.
Six years after he and Mildred got divorced, his second wife Barbara contracted multiple sclerosis when McDaniel was just a year old. Forced to make a decision on devoting his career to music or being a caretaker of his loved one, he unplugged his guitar from a gig in Alabama and returned home to Kentucky.
“A lot of people in the music industry said, ‘oh you are giving up everything to care for your wife,’ ” said Bonnie. “And true to Marine form, his response was, ‘no I am gaining everything. I am gaining my family. I am doing what I am supposed to do. ’ ”
Beach soon started a sewing company in northern Kentucky to provide for his family. Repairing sewing machines was a skill he learned when he was a Marine. His technical know-how, affable personality and business acumen helped him become well-known in the area. At one point, he ran three locations of his business in Northern Kentucky and was doing suit alterations for the Cincinnati Reds baseball players.
“Back then, I didn’t know if this rockabilly thing would catch on, so I thought I better get a real paying job,” Beach said in the radio interview.
Bill Beach, shown here playing at the Cincinnati Blues Festival, was inducted into the Rockabilly Hall of Fame in 2007. (Courtesy of Bonnie McDaniel)
In 1985, his wife passed away and Beach eventually returned to his musical roots, playing well into his 80s. For much of his golden years, Beach lived in Naples, Fla., with his third wife, Joan. While there, he was commissioned by the Rookery Bay Estuary in 2009 to write a song about the new species of fish just discovered in the area. Beach penned the song “Batfish Boogie,” a humorous tune played every year at the Bash for the Bay at the Estuary Visitor’s Center in Naples.
According to McDaniel, Beach continued to strum his guitar even after moving into a retirement home in Ohio at the age of 88.
Today, McDaniel is working with Xavier University in Cincinnati to showcase the history of Cincinnati music. With her father’s 1946 Martin D-28 guitar in hand, McDaniel is hoping to visit elementary schools in the city this fall to talk about the influence of local musicians like Beach. The Rockabilly Hall of Fame that Beach is a part of also includes the likes of Sonny Burgess of Memphis Sun Studios fame and Bo Diddley and his iconic cigar box guitar.
“Bill Beach’s contributions were not just significant; they were foundational,” said Jeffrey L. Cole, executive director of the Rockabilly Hall of Fame Museum. “His raw energy, distinct sound, and unrelenting passion helped shape the early pulse of rockabilly and, in turn, gave rise to a new musical movement that changed culture forever.”
The Northern Kentucky Historical Society also recently contacted McDaniel regarding dedicating a spot in their museum to Beach’s Sewing Centers. The attention she has recently received about her father has been a bit overwhelming, she conceded. However, the legacy he left as a father and Marine was one McDaniel won’t forget.
“Dad was my best nursing instructor because of how he cared for [my mother],” Bonnie said. “He attributed his ability to do so from the instruction he received in the USMC. I learned the value of empathy and never giving up early on, and it carried me through an amazing nursing career.”
To listen to an interview with Beach and learn about his upbringing and musical career, visit https://www.exhibit.xavier.edu/wvxu_king/1/.
Author’s bio: Kipp Hanley is the deputy editor for Leatherneck and is a resident of Woodbridge, Va. The award-winning journalist has covered a variety of topics in his writing career including the military, government, education, business and sports.
The 1st Battalion, 27th Marine Regiment was one of nine infantry battalions of the 5th Marine Division activated in early January 1944 at Camp Pendleton, Calif. Salted with disbanded Raiders, ParaMarines, and other combat veterans from earlier Pacific battles, the battalion was destined to play a crucial role in the Battle of Iwo Jima.
Among the veteran NCOs reporting to 1/27 was Gunnery Sergeant John Basilone, the Guadalcanal national hero, who requested relief from a national bond tour so he could get back in the war. The quality of training and battle leadership provided by the presence of these veterans was invaluable.
Assigned to command the battalion was Lieutenant Colonel John A. Butler, a native of New Orleans, La., and a career Marine who had graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1934. Butler had early sea duty in the Caribbean, where his linguistic skills led him to work in naval intelligence and as an attaché in the Dominican Republic. He also had duty with 1st Bn, 5th Marines from 1938 to 1940. Fresh out of Command and Staff Course, though not yet having experienced Pacific combat, this seasoned Marine officer was eager and prepared for command.
With the arrival of new men and veterans, training progressed from individual combat training to unit training. The battalion, and the entire division, trained for serious amphibious assault combat and selected “The Spearhead” as their nickname and division shoulder patch.
On Aug. 12, 1944, the 27th Marines left San Diego for Camp Tarawa in Hawaii. There in the high windswept volcanic desert, the battalion completed its final phase of training before combat. On Dec. 31, the battalion deployed for rehearsal landings at Maui, followed by a final liberty in Pearl Harbor before sailing westward aboard the USS Hansford (APA-106). Two days out of Pearl, LtCol Butler announced to his battalion that they were destined for Iwo Jima, a Japanese island objective closer to Japan than any other to date. He also told his men they were a designated assault team for the D-day landing. A sober silence fell over the battalion.
After stopping at Eniwetok for some swimming and mail call, Hansford proceeded to Saipan, where a final rehearsal was held, and the assault elements of the battalion transferred to three tank landing ships, which carried the amtracs assigned to transport 1/27 to Red Beach 2.
Lt Col John A. Butler was killed in action on March 5, 1945, by a Japanese mortar shell. (Courtesy of John A. Butler III)
On D-day, Feb. 19, 1945, the assault elements of 1/27, on the heels of the first wave of armored amtracs, began coming ashore at exactly 9:02 a.m. Landing on their left was 2/27 on Red 1, and on their right, 1/23 from 4thMarDiv on Yellow 1. 1/27, as the right-flank battalion of 5thMarDiv, was tasked with the D-day mission of securing the southern end of Motoyama Airfield just inland from Red Beach 2 and advancing on order to the 0-1 Line, drawn on a map, representing the final D-day objective. Their secondary mission was to maintain contact with the 4th Marine Division. The 28th Marines, landing on Green Beach, were tasked with cutting off the head of Iwo Jima, Mount Suribachi.
On the extreme right, landing on Blue Beach, the 25th Marines of 4thMarDiv were assigned to secure the high ground overlooking the landing beaches. Enfilade fire from the high ground on the right and plunging fire from Mount Suribachi on the left pummeled the landing beaches and follow-on reserve units as the assault battalions struggled up the sand-studded terraces to reach their objectives.
LtCol Butler, who had landed on Red 2 in the fourth wave, with his assault elements, established his initial command post on a sand-covered blockhouse that still housed enemy troops, some of whom were attempting to escape from the onrushing assault. Initially, resistance was light, but that soon changed.
General Kuribayashi’s gunners unleashed their mortars and artillery. Company B of 1/27 landed out of position and soon became disorganized and ridden with casualties. GySgt Basilone, who led the machine-gun platoon of Co C, wasted no time. He immediately took control of a lost machine-gun squad from Co B and directed them toward a blockhouse that was causing serious trouble. Private First Class Chuck Tatum described that action in his book “Red Blood, Black Sand.” This was the first of several heroic actions Basilone performed in those first hours ashore as the battalion fought to gain their objective. Two hours after landing, Basilone, one of the Marine Corps’ legendary fighters of World War II, lay bleeding and dying from multiple fragment wounds caused by mortars. For his actions on D-day, John Basilone was posthumously awarded a Navy Cross.
Leathernecks from the 27th Marines trudge up Hill 362 on Iwo Jima. (Pvt Bob Campbell, USMC)
LtCol Butler, accompanied by his radio operator, moved up to the top of the airstrip for better observation. From there, he could clearly see the disorganization of Co B, so he directed Co A to replace them on the right.
Returning across the fire-swept area under observation of snipers in wrecked aircraft, he led Co A forward on a sweep that, along with Co C’s advance on the left, gained the southern end of Motoyama Airfield No. 1 by midafternoon.
Though the battalion was far short of its D-day objective, 1/27 was the only Marine unit to secure any part of Motoyama Airfield No. 1 by the end of D-day. Their first night on Iwo Jima was uneventful except for some infiltration attempts and intermittent enemy mortar fire. The enemy shifted their main fire to the now-crowded landing beaches, turning it into a junkyard of wrecked landing craft tanks and vehicles. D-day was costly, and on the morning of D+1, 1/27 was ordered into regimental reserve.
However, they did not rest but instead followed 3/27 in trace, mopping up bypassed positions as the drive for the O-1 Line continued. Despite its reserve position, 1/27 continued to suffer casualties from enemy mortar fire, snipers and firefights at bypassed positions. Despite sizeable gains by 3/27 and 4thMarDiv securing a good portion of the airstrip, the O-1 Line was still not reached by day’s end. That night the battalion established a defensive position in depth behind 3/27.
On D+2, the 27th Marines went into reserve as the 26th Marines made a passage of lines and continued the drive toward the O-1 Line just north of the airstrip. Meanwhile, the 28th Marines remained fully occupied with Mount Suribachi. However, by midafternoon, a gap between 5th and 4thMarDiv had developed, and 1/27 was directed to fill it. Moving into this gap, the battalion prepared hasty defensive positions before darkness set in. That night, Japanese aircraft, including kamikazes, launched an air raid against the fleet offshore. The attack sank the escort carrier Bismarck Sea (CVE-95) and heavily damaged the Saratoga (CV-3), taking her out of the war. At midnight, the Japanese conducted a ground counterattack, concentrated against 1/27.
The attack was stopped cold by the battalion’s 81 mm mortar platoon, interlocked machine guns, and on-call artillery from the 13th Marines. This was one of very few Japanese counterattacks during the entire campaign, and one can speculate it was planned to take advantage of the gap in the lines or the distraction of the off-shore air raids.
Marines advance toward the O-2 Line, a strategically important ridge on Iwo Jima. (USMC photo)
Daybreak on D+3 found 1/27 dug in across open ground. A cold rain added to the general misery of three days of combat. Once again, the 26th Marines affected a passage of lines and 1/27 reverted to division reserve and moved to an assembly area just northwest of Motoyama Airfield No. 1, where the Marines rested and replenished. For the first time in days, the exhausted 1/27 Marines changed socks, ate hot rations and wrote letters. They slept on the ground under ponchos or blankets. It was not an R&R center as the war thundered around them and patrols went out to hunt snipers and secure bypassed positions. No place on Iwo Jima was secure and comfortable, but for the Marines of 1/27, this was a break from the front lines.
On D+8, the 27th Marines were released from division reserve. 1/27 went into an assault along with 2/27 on the left and 3/27 on the right. The objective was Hill 362A and the ridge complex extending to the western beaches. These heavily fortified positions were the western anchor of Kuribayashi’s main defense line, and they chewed up 1/27 and its sister battalions. Two days of brutal combat gained a foothold but did not secure the objective. Fighting in this area was some of the most vicious of the Pacific war. Before the complex finally fell to the 28th Marines, who had rejoined the fight after resting from the capture of Suribachi, much Marine blood was shed.
2/28, commanded by LtCol Chandler Johnson, relieved 1/27 and passed through their lines to continue the attack on 362A and the adjoining ridges. In the next few days, 2/28 lost three of their six flag raisers and their battalion commander. 1/27 licked their wounds in division reserve but not for long. On D+13, March 4, 1/27 was attached to the 26th Marines and back in the attack on the right flank, adjacent to the 3rd Division zone of action just northeast of unfinished Motoyama Airfield No. 3. The battalion advanced in a column of companies along a narrow front led by Co C, which soon became casualty ridden. LtCol Butler replaced Co C with Co B, which managed to gain a difficult additional 100 yards against stiff resistance.
D+14, March 5, was a day of no offensive operations for the entire Amphibious Force, somewhat like a called time out to reorganize, rest and refit. The battalion was detached from the 26th Marines and directed to rejoin its parent regiment. As 1/27 moved to an assembly area just north of Road Junction 338, LtCol Butler asked for his jeep and driver so he could make a visit to the regimental supply dump and the 27th Marines command post. As the jeep passed through RJ 338, it was hit by a Japanese 47 mm round that had targeted the area. LtCol Butler was killed instantly. The runner and radio operator who were with him were wounded.
Word of LtCol Butler’s death swept through the battalion and was felt deeply by the men, who had appreciated his upfront leadership style and his honest personal care and respect for them, a sentiment often expressed in letters to his wife. In his last hastily penned letter from “Tojo’s Cave,” after the bloody fighting on 362A, he wrote of the men’s splendid courage. For his action on D-day and his leadership throughout the battle, he was awarded a Navy Cross.
Replacing LtCol Butler was LtCol Justin Duryea, the 27th Marines operations officer, who had been the interim commander at Pendleton in January 1944 before LtCol Butler arrived.
Five Marines from Charlie Co, including John Basilone, bottom left, pose for a photo on their way to fight on Iwo Jima. (Courtesy of John A. Butler III)
After a few more days in reserve, the battalion was back in the front-line action. On D+18, with Co C in the lead, Platoon Sergeant Joseph Julian became a one-man wrecking crew. Julian destroyed a number of Japanese positions in a series of furious assaults before he was mortally wounded. He was awarded a Medal of Honor posthumously.
That afternoon Duryea was severely wounded when his runner detonated a mine. The battalion command passed to Major William Tumbelston, the original battalion executive officer. With Tumbelston in command, the battalion continued in the attack for five days of hard-gained yards in the rocky terrain of northwest Iwo Jima until he also was badly wounded and evacuated on D+23. Command of the battalion then passed to Maj William Kennedy, who had been the operations officer for 3/27.
Killed in action on D+23 was First Lieutenant William Van Beest, who had taken command of Co C when the original company commander, Captain John Casey, was shot in the foot on D+1. Van Beest, who had been fighting since D-day, was a diligent and heroic company commander. He was awarded a posthumous Navy Cross.
On D+24, 1/27 advanced 350 yards to the top of a ridge from which they could see Iwo’s northern shore. The end was in sight. In fact this was the last day of fighting for the shot-up battalion that had lost three commanders and the majority of its original officers and NCOs. The ranks had become replacements and a few very exhausted originals who had somehow survived.
Ordered to a rear assembly area, the battalion reorganized into two companies (A and B) and a headquarters company. For Co B and Headquarters, there was no more fighting. Those assigned to Co A were detailed to a composite battalion formed from the remnants of 2nd and 3rd Bns, commanded by LtCol Donn Robertson, the original commander of 3/27 and the only original battalion commander in the 27th Marines still on his feet. This composite battalion, along with the 28th Marines and elements of the 26th Marines, fought in the Gorge, a brutal piece of ground that protected Kuribayashi’s headquarters. For his heroics during the fighting with the composite battalion, Private First Class Daniel Albaugh of Co A was the last of six 1/27 Marines posthumously awarded a Navy Cross.
On D+31, Co A was released from the composite battalion and rejoined 1/27. After saying farewell to their buddies at rest in the large 5thMarDiv cemetery, the remnants of 1/27 boarded a troop transport and departed the island of Iwo Jima. In 29 days of brutal combat, including Co A’s six days with the composite battalion, 1/27 lost 233 KIA or DOW and 557 WIA, for a total of 790 casualties.
A photo of the 5th Marine Division Cemetery on Iwo Jima, with Mount Suribachi visible in the background. In 29 days of fighting on Iwo, 233 Marines from 1/27 were killed in action. (Courtesy of National Archives)
This was one of the highest for the 24 battalions which fought on Iwo Jima. Only 1/26, with a total of 1,025, and 2/25, with 804, had higher casualties. Among the officers, no battalion suffered more than 1/27, which lost 11 officers KIA or DOW and another 27 WIA. Among the entire battalion staff, including two surgeons, only the S-2 and the communications officer were unscathed. Only one of the three original line company commanders, Captain John Hogan in Co A, was not a casualty. Co C had no original officers left after the loss of 1stLt Van Beest on D+23. Among the 34 officers and NCOs listed as boat team leaders for each of the amtracs with the 1/27 assault element, 31 were killed or wounded.
1/27 lost the cream of its officers, NCOs and experienced men, yet continued to fight and carry out its mission until the bitter end. Like all the units of the 3rd, 4th and 5th Marine Divisions that fought on Iwo Jima, 1/27 established forever the legacy of Marine courage and “uncommon valor,” represented by the Marine Corps War Memorial. Its short and valiant history belongs alongside other storied Marine battalions which have so nobly served our Corps and nation.
Author’s bio: John A. Butler III was born July 30, 1939, in Quantico, Va. He enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve in 1957. He was appointed to the U.S. Naval Academy that same year and upon graduation was commissioned a second lieutenant. He served on active duty from 1961-1966 as an infantry and counterintelligence/human source intelligence officer. He served in the reserve with the 4th Reconnaissance Battalion in San Antonio from 1966-1967 and worked in the maritime industry before retiring.
Executive Editor’s note: June 27 is PTSD awareness day. We bring you this article to reinforce the importance of speaking openly about PTSD and other mental health issues. For more information about resources available to veterans, visit: https://www.mca-marines .org/resource/resources-for-veteran -marines/
The transition back into civilian life can pose significant mental, emotional, and physical challenges for our nation’s heroes. Coming home after a tour of duty can mean losing one’s sense of purpose and identity; cycling through feelings of guilt, anger and depression; experiencing flashbacks of traumatic events and—sometimes worst of all—losing the close-knit community once shared with comrades. Drug or alcohol addiction is common, and relationships with family and friends at home suffer as a result. And while it’s a common stereotype that veterans often experience post-traumatic stress disorder, support isn’t nearly as abundant as the diagnoses.
These struggles take a toll. The National Veteran Suicide Prevention Annual Report estimates that over 6,000 veterans die by suicide annually—nearly 20 per day. Our country loses more warriors each year to suicide than in the field. These sobering statistics highlight a painful point: our nation’s “sheep dogs” deserve better.
Enter Sheep Dog Impact Assistance (SDIA), a nonprofit organization that helps veterans and first responders find strength, purpose, community and healing after trauma. “Our whole purpose is to save lives,” said Lance Nutt, CEO and Founder of SDIA. After all, a Sheep Dog doesn’t stop being one when they finish their tour of duty. It’s much more than something they do; it’s something they are.
Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman USA (Ret), author of “On Combat,” explains, on the SDIA website, “After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, ‘Thank God I wasn’t on one of those planes.’ The Sheep Dogs, the warriors, said, ‘Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference.’”
Lance Nutt radiates an undeniable passion for veterans, their struggles and their potential. After all, he is one of them.
His father was a longtime Marine Corps aviator, and his family moved around frequently during his childhood. He grew up living and breathing the Marine Corps, so when it came time to choose a path for himself, becoming a Marine was a natural choice. In a profound moment for parent and child, Nutt’s own father swore him into the Marine Corps in 1988.
Nutt was soon deployed to the Persian Gulf and served during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. After returning to the States and completing college, he spent several years as a Marine recruiter. He took a break from the service to accept a civilian position in corporate sales management, but the Marine Corps was never far from his mind. Nutt knew he wanted to make a difference with his life beyond profit meetings and sales targets, so he quit sales and rejoined the Marines in 2003.
After serving together as Marines, Chris Jackson and Lance Nutt continue supporting our nation’s heroes, helping them realize their best days lie ahead. Though wearing new uniforms, their mission of leadership and service remains steadfast. (Courtesy of Sheep Dog Impact Assistance)
It was 2005 when Nutt formed the idea for Sheep Dog Impact Assistance. Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans while Nutt was stateside, so he organized an independent relief trip to help those affected by the disaster. The purpose and camaraderie he experienced during this trip made him realize this was a perfect way for Sheep Dogs to “get off the couch” and find meaning and community in serving others.
In 2010 he officially launched Sheep Dog Impact Assistance, and their disaster response missions quickly began to attract interest from veterans around the country. He led groups of comrades to various states and cities; whenever a natural disaster showed up, so did they.
Eventually, however, Nutt realized that while emergencies were a great opportunity for service, simply sitting around waiting for another disaster to strike wasn’t a healthy mindset—for himself or for the veterans he rallied for the missions. So, he added another program called Outdoor Adventures. In this arm of SDIA, veterans and first responders gathered together to participate in activities such as hunting, fishing, snowmobiling, hiking, skydiving and more. These adventures created a powerful experience for Sheep Dogs, who were connecting with each other and being challenged in new ways, both physically and mentally.
Nutt retired from the Marine Corps in 2018 with 30 years of service under his belt and the title of Sergeant Major of the 23rd Marine Regiment. By this time, SDIA had been active for eight years. After his Marine Corps retirement, however, he realized his organization could—and should—do more. SDIA was filling an important niche—it was providing an outlet for veterans to “get off the couch” and experience purpose and community again. But those same people were still struggling profoundly when they went back home. The emotions, the traumas, the pain and the memories were all still there.
Nutt vividly remembered how difficult military retirement was for his dad—the questioning, the anger, the relationship crises—and now he was experiencing similar struggles himself. He needed a solution that wasn’t just a temporary fix but a new way of operating that would help him and those he served truly heal and move forward in life.
During this time, Nutt connected with John Boozman, one of his U.S. senators from Arkansas. Boozman told Nutt about an organization called Boulder Crest Foundation and a program they were running in Arizona and Virginia called Warrior PATHH. He suggested that Nutt check out the program with the hope of bringing it to Arkansas for their state’s military veterans and families. So, Nutt flew to Arizona to attend the program. What he learned there would be nothing short of life-changing.
Warrior PATHH, an acronym for Progressive & Alternative Training for Helping Heroes, is a transformational mental wellness program created by Boulder Crest Foundation, and it involves a seven-day, on-site intensive course followed by three months of wellness training, support and mentorship by peers who know firsthand the challenges veterans face. During this program, participants learn about the science of post-traumatic growth, empowering them to find purpose and hope after trauma. Participants aren’t just given “tools” or “tips”; Warrior PATHH helps veterans and first responders form new habits, transform their struggles into strength and learn how to thrive again.
“I was going to look into it for [SDIA],” Nutt said, “but [eventually] I realized it was helping me, too.” He learned that there is always more healing to be had, even—or perhaps especially—for a lifetime Marine such as himself. He finished the program inspired to incorporate its principles into his organization.
CEO and founder Lance Nutt engages with participants during an outdoor adventure in Yellowstone National Park. The outing was designed to promote mental fitness with physical activity. (Photo courtesy of Sheep Dog Impact Assistance)
Chris Jackson would be the next one to experience the transformative benefits of Warrior PATHH. Chris describes his transition out of the Marine Corps as a profoundly lonely season of life. After 27 years of service, including several tours in Iraq, the retired Marine was exhausted and directionless. Like many before him, he turned to alcohol for solace. At first, it was just a beer here and there, but eventually, it turned into more until he was drinking just to numb the pain. “I was in fight or flight mode all the time,” he said. He was worried and confused. Jackson didn’t know what was happening to him, and he didn’t know where to turn. He often prayed alone, through tears, for help and answers.
He had been drinking one day, as had become his habit, when his daughter asked him a gut-wrenching question. “Why do you drink so much?” It was an acute flash of realization. “That was the moment,” Jackson said, “that I knew something needed to change.”
A miracle meeting was the turning point that allowed Jackson to step into that change. During his early years in the Marine Corps, he served with and befriended Nutt. They hadn’t kept in touch, but one day Jackson decided to attend a Carry the Load event in Dallas, Texas. Strolling by the SDIA booth, Jackson couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw his old comrade behind the table.
As the two Marines caught up, Nutt told Jackson about his work with Sheep Dogs and encouraged him to come check it out. With nothing to lose, Jackson signed up for a disaster response mission with SDIA. Those few days of service and community with other veterans sparked something inside him, so next he joined an SDIA Outdoor Adventure. These two events began to shift Jackson’s mindset. He realized how much he still struggled to find direction and purpose in his daily life. Eventually, he decided to follow Nutt’s footsteps into the Warrior PATHH program at Boulder Crest Foundation, and that’s when the true transformation began.
“[The program] helped me build mental fitness,” Jackson said. “They showed me how to give myself grace, that there were layers of stress from everything, which caused me to react. Now, I can respond to stress instead of just reacting. I’m able to be others-centered again like I was in the Marines.”
Nearly tearing up, Jackson revealed that his oldest daughter (the same one who asked why he was drinking so much) told him that “she could tell something was different, and that she was proud of [him].”
Jackson joined the SDIA staff in 2020 and is now the program director for Warrior PATHH. Running this life-changing program is just one of the ways he keeps serving his community and country even after the Marine Corps.
Jackson’s story joins many other examples of how SDIA and Warrior PATHH help Sheep Dogs heal and continue to live heroic lives. Some of the names in the following examples have been changed to protect individuals’ identities.
Sheep Dog Impact Assistance guides help participants rediscover a sense of control and purpose, fostering post-traumatic growth through activities like archery at Heroes Ranch. (Courtesy of Sheep Dog Impact Assistance)
“Robert” (not his real name) had battled daily suicidal ideation for 13 years after retiring from the U.S. Army. The only thing keeping him alive was his young son. After years of struggle, Robert heard about Warrior PATHH and decided to attend. He couldn’t be more grateful that he did. By day five of the program, Robert’s continual nightmares and suicidal ideations disappeared. A short six months later, he became a peer-to-peer mentor with the Wounded Warrior Project and has found a new reason to live.
“Laura” (not her real name) was sexually assaulted at a young age and developed OCD as a result. As a teen, she was on 12 different medications. Searching for a way to resolve her own pain, Laura chose a career in law enforcement with a focus on child exploitation. Still, she often felt as though she were spiraling. At her lowest point, she would shower up to 40 times a day and throw away her clothes each night. In desperation, Laura found herself at Warrior PATHH. By day five of the program, she no longer felt the need to constantly shower. She bought new clothes and didn’t throw them away. Laura found a new way forward in life and now serves as a trained Warrior PATHH Guide.
Many more stories of transformation continue to be written today. As a registered 501(c)(3) organization, SDIA is run primarily by volunteers, many of them veterans and veteran spouses. Sheep Dogs possess an innate drive to help others, even after retirement. After participating in SDIA programs, a number of veterans and first responders have gone on to become staff or peer-to-peer mentors for the organization. Staying involved as a staff member at SDIA often furthers the staff member’s own healing journey as well as that of those they serve. “Guides get as much out of the courses as the students do,” said Jackson.
Bridgette West is one of four veteran spouses on staff at SDIA. She began volunteering at SDIA in 2017 and joined the full-time staff in 2019. Her husband, Scott, an Army veteran who serves as the Outdoor Adventures program director, lost both legs from an improvised explosive device in Iraq in 2005. He was in recovery at Walter Reed for an entire year. “He struggled more after coming home than he did when he was in the hospital,” Bridgette shared. “At Walter Reed, you’re still surrounded by people who know exactly what you’re going through. But when you go home, you lose all of that comradery.”
Disaster Response Team veterans, first responders and volunteers assist the northwest Arkansas community following a series of tornadoes. (Courtesy of Sheep Dog Impact Assistance)
During Scott’s transition home, he became addicted to painkillers and eventually lost his first marriage as well as custody of his oldest son. Fortunately, his story didn’t continue in that direction. Scott found out about SDIA and joined a skydiving Outdoor Adventure, which began a profound healing journey for him. He eventually met and married Bridgette, and they have a son together who turns 7 years old this year. Bridgette is proud of how far Scott has come and feels very thankful for the role that SDIA played in his story. “Scott tells people that his life was saved twice—once at [Walter Reed], and once at SDIA.”
Bridgette’s role as the director of development and communications for SDIA means she is responsible for much of th organization’s fundraising activity. As a nonprofit, SDIA receives most of its funding through grants from private foundations. These grants, as well as donations from businesses and individuals, are the lifeline to continue helping the nation’s warriors heal and thrive after their service.
Countless lives have been changed through the SDIA programs, and the organization is committed to making their services available to whoever needs them. Warrior PATHH is always free of charge for military members and first responders, and Outdoor Adventures is free for sponsored military and first responders (those injured in the line of duty).
Since their inception in 2010, SDIA has led more than 360 disaster response missions, more than 235 Outdoor Adventures, and 50 Warrior PATHH courses. Outdoor Adventures and Warrior PATHH take place at the beautiful Heroes Ranch Training Facility, situated on 50-plus acres in Northwest Arkansas.
Sheep Dogs live a lifestyle of always putting others first, but they also deserve the opportunity to heal and grow so they can continue to lead lives that make a difference in their family, community and country.
Lance Nutt, Chris Jackson and Scott and Bridgette West have all personally experienced this. While it might sound counterintuitive, it has proved to be true: veterans can help more people in the long run if they come and heal first.
“Often, people hear about these programs and think, ‘Someone else needs that more than I do. I don’t want to take someone else’s spot,’’’ said Jackson. “But it’s OK to take time for yourself—you have to in order to fill up, so you can pour out.”
More information about the programs available through Sheep Dog Impact Assistance and how to apply can be found by visiting their website at www
.sheepdogia.org.
Author’s bio: Abigail Grysban is a freelance copywriter based in Kansas City, Mo. She writes on a wide range of topics, helping small businesses and nonprofit organizations to connect with and inspire their communities.
Editor’s note: This article was originally published in the September 2016 issue of Leatherneck Magazine.
“Due to all the rains, the river is so high that our boats have to go along close to the bank, wending their way between and under trees. It is a common thing to have to cut one’s way through the limbs. The result is that all day one is busy brushing off ants—worms—and bugs of all disciplines, most of whom bite.”
—Capt Merritt A. Edson, USMC, Nicaragua, August 1928
As early as the mid-nineteenth century, the Central American country of Nicaragua had been constantly torn between two political factions, Conservatives and Liberals, each striving for national supremacy. Conservatives could be described as devout Roman Catholics who believed in traditional Hispanic forms of family and society, while Liberals practiced an almost anti-clerical secularism and an increasingly aggressive form of Euro-socialism. Their conflicts at the ballot box frequently erupted into armed confrontation.
The year 1928 was an election year in Nicaragua, and Nicaraguan elections were not passive affairs. The election of 1928 promised to be even more explosive than most, which were explosive enough in their own right. Into the volatile mix of Conservatives and Liberals was thrown the human incendiary device of Augusto Nicolas Calderon Sandino. A complex blend of ardent Nicaraguan patriot and fire-breathing Marxist revolutionary dedicated to the armed overthrow of the government, Augusto Sandino had openly declared his intention to disrupt the elections and seize power by force.
As a countermove, Nicaragua’s interim president, Adolfo Diaz, requested that the elections be monitored by United States Marines. U.S. President Calvin Coolidge was less than enthusiastic at the prospects of such an involvement, but under the terms of an agreement negotiated between Conservatives and Liberals by Special Envoy Henry L. Stimson, the President consented. The stage was set for a collision between Marines and Sandino’s followers, “Sandinistas.” That collision would take place in eastern Nicaragua, for centuries the home of the Miskito Indians.
The Miskito
The Miskito prided themselves in never having been subjugated by early Spanish adventurers. Neither had they been assimilated into Nicaraguan culture, being more than determined to remain in their dense jungle domain, a nation within a nation, viewing Nicaraguans as Spaniards. They were the absolute masters of a vast region of rainforest, second in its immensity only to the Amazon, with almost no roads and few trails. In their extremely remote area known as “The Frontier,” the Miskito, expert boatmen without peer, roamed freely along waterways that would have defeated anyone else. Even the Rio Coco, a raging torrent all year, but especially during the rainy season, gave them no fears. From its source in the province of Nueva Segovia, Augusto Sandino’s stronghold in Nicaragua’s Northern Highlands, the Rio Coco flowed almost 500 miles, its lower reaches forming part of the international boundary between Nicaragua and Honduras, before reaching the sea north of Puerto Cabezas.
It wasn’t the Rio Coco’s length that made it such a formidable barrier. It was the river’s very nature that made it so daunting. There was nothing gentle and meandering about the Rio Coco. Every foot along the way the constantly decreasing elevation of the region forced the Rio Coco along at an ever faster rate of flow. Going upstream against that current was extremely difficult at best. During the summer rainy season, when the eastern region of Nicaragua endured as much as 300 inches of rain, the Rio Coco was capable of rising 1 foot each hour. Taking the Rio Coco head-on was a job for only the most skilled watermen.
Taking the Rio Coco head-on at the height of the rainy season, with the river at flood stage, was exactly what Captain Merritt A. Edson, USMC, intended to do. As commander of the Marine Detachment, USS Denver (CL-16), Edson had brought his entire detachment ashore at Puerto Cabezas in January 1928. As directed by Major Harold Utley, USMC, the officer in command of Nicaragua’s Eastern District, Edson and Denver’s Marines began conducting local security patrols in response to intelligence reports indicating possible infiltration by advance elements of Sandino’s forces. In June, Edson’s small command was increased with the addition of the Marine Detachment, USS Rochester (CA-2).
Why wait for Sandino to bring major elements from the north, Edson reasoned. Why allow Sandino to exercise the initiative? Why not hit Sandino from the blind side, what he thought was his secure eastern flank, before he was able to make good his intention to carry the conflict to the Eastern District? How? By driving some 370 miles directly up the Rio Coco to the town of Poteca, Sandino’s best potential staging base, checkmating Sandino’s move before he could make it.
Courtesy of Marine Corps Gazette
Edson’s Proposal
Confident that he could beat Sandino to the punch, even faced with the racing waters of the Rio Coco, Edson approached Maj Utley with the proposal. During the months they had been associated, Maj Utley had become so impressed by Merritt Edson’s aggressiveness, determination and intelligence that he approached Brigadier General Logan Feland, USMC, who was in overall command of Marine operations in Nicaragua, with the idea. The next day, BGen Feland, Maj Utley and Capt Edson sat down to discuss it.
“Major Utley tells me that you would like to go to Poteca. Can you get there from this coast?” BGen Feland began. No stranger to combat, Kentucky-born Logan Feland brought with him an impressive record as commander of the 5th Marines in France in World War I.
“Yes, sir; it can be done,” Edson replied.
A fighting man himself, BGen Feland needed nothing more in the way of an answer.
“Well, I’m going to give you the chance to do it.” BGen Feland went on to relate that aerial reconnaissance and human sources all confirmed evidence of Sandino’s forces in and around Poteca. Marines from the Northern District could not reach Poteca from the west soon enough to make a difference. If Sandino’s attempt to extend his territory into the Eastern District was to be stopped before it could start, it would be Edson who would have to do the stopping. In doing that stopping, Edson would need help, and he knew it.
Edson’s objective of Poteca could not be reached overland in time to do any good, not faced with the near impenetrable jungle that covered everything from the coast to the Highlands. For Edson’s Marines to hack and chop their way through the green wall of jungle that blanketed the entire area between Puerto Cabezas and Poteca would have consumed months. Only the Rio Coco existed as a realistic approach route to Poteca. In all of Nicaragua, only one group of people was capable of tackling the Rio Coco—the Miskito Indians.
From the very beginning, Edson had set about creating cordial relations with the Miskito, treating them with dignity and courtesy, always as equals, never as servants or menials. He knew that if he were to succeed in moving into the interior by way of the Rio Coco, it could be done only by gaining the trust of the Miskito. If the Miskito were to willingly join Edson’s force as boatmen, men accepted as equals, that trust would have to be earned through fair and honorable actions.
Merritt Edson earned the nickname “Red Mike” because of the red beard he wore during his time in Nicaragua. Edson would later receive the Navy Cross for his leadership of the Rio Coco Patrol. (USMC)
In his instructions to his Marines, Edson made it clear that fair and honorable actions must be sincere, not matters of convenience. “The Miskito are a proud people with a long history. Our success depends upon their assistance. They are far better at navigating this river than any of us. Only by dealing with them man-to-man, honestly, can we have any hope of succeeding. I expect each of you to conduct yourselves in such a fashion. l believe that if we offer the Miskito our hand in true friendship, they will accept it.” In a torrential downpour, Edson and 61 handpicked Marines started up the Rio Coco on July 26, 1928. Writing of it later to the girl he would one day marry, Private Edward Holston recorded: “It rains hard enough to knock you down. I’ve never seen anything like it. I haven’t been here very long, but if this is what life in Nicaragua is like, I’ll take Chillicothe [Ohio] any day.”
Fighting the Elements
Rain, constant and everlasting rain, day after day, was to be the trademark of the Rio Coco Patrol. The rain that fell for the entire period that Edson and his men made their way upriver was not of the gentle variety. Rather, it was a thunderous downpour that easily defeated any attempts to stay dry. For the Marines of the patrol, being soaking wet was an inescapable fact of daily life. All too soon that water-soaked existence would begin to exert an adverse effect on clothing, footwear and personal health as well.
Ferried along in pitpans (dugout canoes) by volunteer Miskito boatmen and guides, fighting the furious force of the river, Edson’s patrol advanced little more than 12 miles upriver that day. Wise to the ways of the river, the Miskito avoided any attempt to battle the river in midstream.
Out in the middle of that raging torrent, the force of the current was too overpoweringly strong to be overcome by simple muscle power. Full-grown trees of 60 to 100 feet in height, uprooted by the raging water of the Rio Coco, could be hurled downstream like toothpicks, carrying everything before them, obliterating anything in their path.
The experience of generations on the water had taught the Miskito that the prudent way to venture upstream against the Rio Coco in flood was to hug the riverbank where the current was considerably less strong. That did not mean that the job was easier. With the river out of its banks, the trees that grew to the water’s edge were now half in the water. The multitude of low-hanging limbs that normally were just overhead had become obstacles to be cleared.
While the Miskito provided the motive power with poles and paddles, Edson’s Marines provided the muscle power using axes and handsaws, cutting a path through the overhanging greenery. In addition to a shower of leaves, this activity also produced a shower of biting, stinging insects and occasionally a snake that had sought to escape the rising waters of the Rio Coco.
The relief system Edson had worked out to clear a path through the river improved their progress. While not easy, the undertaking was at least less daunting. As planned before departure, the lead pitpan tended to tree clearance for 30 minutes, then fell back to the tail of the flotilla, while the next pitpan in line assumed the lead role. Strenuous? Yes, extremely strenuous, but progress was being made. After a day of such exertions, all hands were more than ready for a night’s rest, which didn’t necessarily mean they would get it.
Each night camp was made ashore on such relatively dry land that could be found. Night also brought hordes of mosquitoes. The members of the patrol had been equipped with material that would make a crude shelter, as well as netting to keep the blood-thirsty mosquitoes at bay. Sometimes these field expedients were successful; most times they were not. Even if the netting succeeded in blocking out the mosquitoes, it failed to halt the nightly onslaught of sand fleas. Small enough to pass easily through the mosquito netting, the hundreds of biting sand fleas made sleep all but impossible, and life utterly miserable. Smudge fires were attempted once, but the coughing, nose-running, eyeburning results set most to enduring the hostile insects.
Insect life aside, the Rio Coco continued to be the Rio Coco. On the night of July 29, with the rain coming down harder than ever, Edson was forced to relocate his shelter to higher ground three times as the river rose 20 feet overnight. No one else did any better. All things considered; Edson felt that the wisest course of action for the following day was to give the day over to what rest could be had before battling the river again.
Members of Edson’s Rio Coco Patrol try in vain to keep the pesky flying insects away by lighting a smudge fire along the bank of the river. Unfortunately, the smoke was even more unbearable than the insects. (USMC photo)
“Bandits”
That day brought the first evidence that Edson’s efforts to gain the trust of the Miskito were showing results. At mid-day, two Indians came into the patrol’s camp to report seeing what they described as four “bandits” less than 2 miles upstream on the north bank. There was a scarcely used trail that led to the location. If Edson wished, the Indians would lead his men there. Edson dispatched an eight-man combat patrol led by Corporal Elwyn Richards to investigate the area. Guided by the Indians, Cpl Richards’ small patrol caught the intruders completely by surprise. There was no resistance. Not a shot was fired. As soon as the intruders (undoubtedly Sandinistas) saw the Marines, they fled. The relatively small size of the Sandinista element, and their precipitate flight, led Edson to conclude that they were scouts on a reconnaissance mission who expected no resistance. Sandino now would be alerted to the presence of Edson’s force and its probable mission.
Could Sandino do anything about it? Not if Edson continued to have the trust and cooperation of the Miskito. As Edson moved deliberately but constantly upstream, the Indians of the widely scattered villages along the route proved to be ever more helpful, offering their services as advance scouts. On two more occasions, small groups of three or four “bandits” turned and fled upon encountering Edson’s rather unusual screening force. Sandino’s attempts to gain information of Edson’s force were turned back by the Indians who had accepted Edson as trustworthy. No shots were exchanged in these encounters.
The weather continued to be miserable and the river a monster, but thus far, Sandino’s every move had been pre-empted before Sandino could make it. The non-resistance of Sandino’s elements encountered and their small size both indicated that Sandino had in fact been caught flat-footed, with little manpower in an area he had considered safe from attack. The contest increasingly became a matter of which side could reach Poteca first, Edson or Sandino.
More than a week into the upstream fight with the Rio Coco, only the Marines of Cpl Richards’ small patrol had seen a Sandinista. The weather was something else entirely; all hands saw that all day every day. The combination of thunderous rainfall, soaring temperatures and suffocating humidity was not long in exacting a toll on both men and equipment. Even the most elementary forms of personal hygiene became monumental undertakings. Many completely abandoned any attempt at shaving. Edson himself soon sported a face full of bright red bristles that earned him a nickname that would last for the rest of his life: “Red Mike.”
As the month of July drew to a close, more than half of the members of the patrol were gulping quinine tablets twice daily to hold the effects of malaria at bay. Skin ulcers and fungus infections that turned armpits, groins and feet raw and painful were becoming increasingly prominent. The upstream fight against the Rio Coco was becoming less of a fight with Sandinistas and more a battle with the elements.
As fully as nature’s ravages affected the men, no less so did nature debilitate their equipment. Each morning revealed a thick coating of green mold on web equipment, footwear and leather. Clothing literally was disintegrating on men’s backs under the combined assaults of rain, heat and humidity. Very few members of the patrol were wearing socks; they had long since turned to grey pulp. On Aug. 3, Edson dispatched a trusted Indian guide to Puerto Cabezas with a message for Maj Utley requesting a complete resupply of clothing, shoes and “240 pairs of socks, woolen.” It was requested that as soon as the weather allowed, these materials be air dropped.
A break in the incessant rain on Aug. 5 brought a welcome relief from nature’s onslaught and an equally welcome resupply of clothing. At midday a pair of Fokker tri-motor transports from Managua delivered the clothing, shoes and socks Edson had requested. The beards remained, but the members of the patrol would no longer look like so many down-at-the-heels and out-at-the-seat ragamuffins.
Despite nature’s best attempts and the constant onslaught of biting, stinging insects, steady progress was being made. In the next three days, Indian scouts reported only one contact with “bandits” who fled without offering resistance. This sole confrontation with Sandinistas strengthened Edson’s growing confidence that the patrol had truly caught Sandino off guard with little in the line of combat power to contest Edson’s advance. The river and the jungle may have continued to be formidable opponents, but thus far Edson was winning every encounter with Sandino’s elements without having to fire a shot.
Marines of the Rio Coco Patrol camped in makeshift huts, or “lean-tos.” (USMC)
Contact with the Enemy
That would change on Aug. 7 when friendly Indians reported Sandinistas preparing an ambush site no more than 3 miles upstream. Unseen by the Sandinistas, the Indians carefully recorded their numbers at a total of no more than 20 men, equally distributed between each bank of the river.
As potentially dangerous as the situation was, there also was the danger to the Sandinistas themselves, who could have fired into each other. Also in Edson’s favor was the fact that the Sandinistas were unaware they had been detected. Edson was quick to see that the ambushers could well be ambushed themselves if he played his cards right. Merritt Edson set about doing just that.
Within minutes of being alerted to the danger ahead, Edson, with one platoon of 20 Marines and two Miskito scouts, surprised the Sandinista element on the north bank and in a brief but intense firefight, shot the Sandinistas to pieces. With Edson in the lead, the patrol charged headlong into the unsuspecting Sandinistas. Leaving four dead behind them, the Sandinistas fled. Edson then laid down a concentrated fire on the suspected site across the river. There was no return fire. There were no casualties among the Marines or Indians.
Three days later, the Marines cautiously entered Poteca. They were not opposed. Villagers reported to Edson that an estimated 15 “bandits” had left two days before. Sandino’s attempt to carry the conflict into the Eastern District had been stopped before it could start. Sandino’s plan to disrupt the elections was stillborn. By doing the unexpected, doing what “couldn’t be done” and confronting Sandino with a situation for which he was unable to respond, Edson had completely altered conditions in Nicaragua. With no outside interference, the election of 1928 was conducted without incident. Liberal Jose Maria Moncada was elected president in balloting that both sides agreed had been fairly conducted.
For his leadership and determination throughout the entire period of the Rio Coco Patrol and for his complete disregard for his personal safety during the engagement of Aug. 7, 1928, Merritt Edson received the Navy Cross. In August 1942, he received a second award of the Navy Cross for his courageous leadership of the 1st Raider Battalion during the seizure of Tulagi Island in the opening stages of the campaign for Guadalcanal. Later, on Guadalcanal itself, Merritt Edson received the Medal of Honor for his defense of “Edson’s Ridge,” which safeguarded the all-important Henderson Field.
The Rio Coco Patrol, as little-known as it is today, serves as a classic example of the principle of surprise. By doing exactly what Sandino least expected, from the direction Sandino had not expected at all, Merritt Edson, with 61 Marines and one U.S. Navy pharmacist mate, completely altered events in Nicaragua in the important year of 1928.
Forty years later, in another war on the other side of the world, Edson’s manner of establishing an association of trust and respect with the Miskito would serve as a foundation block for the Marine Corps’ successful Civic Action Program in Vietnam. In Nicaragua in 1928, Edson knew that you could not expect a man to stand beside you if you treated him as an inferior.
Since 1998, the USMC Scout Sniper Association (SSA) has fervently supported the proud brotherhood of Marine Corps scout snipers.
Tom Ferran, a scout sniper and Vietnam War veteran, founded the organization and began the work connecting the community. Membership grew through the global war on terror, presently peaking around 2,000, including veterans from post-World War II through Marines still on active duty. Today, the organization exists as a 501(c)(3) nonprofit supporting the community, “through programs that inspire brotherhood, encourage professionalism, and foster resiliency,” according to the website.
Now, in partnership with their sister organization, the Marine Scout Sniper Heritage Foundation, this proud community is planning its most ambitious undertaking yet: creating a multi-faceted tribute to the now-defunct military occupational specialty (MOS).
Throughout the existence of the scout sniper MOS, the Corps maintained only 300 to 400 of these long-range gunmen at any given time. Their comparatively small numbers belie the significance these Marines played on the battlefield since their inception during World War I. Origins of the MOS can be traced directly to the spring of 1918 at the Overseas Depot on Marine Barracks Quantico, Va., where 75 noncommissioned officers and 375 privates graduated the Corps’ first official course for scout snipers. The enemy felt their presence on the battlefield in France within months.
Corporal John H. Pruitt earned his spot in history as the first Marine sniper awarded the Medal of Honor, one of only 19 people in history to receive two Medals of Honor. On Oct. 3, 1918, at Blanc Mont, Pruitt attacked two machine-gun nests, capturing both guns and killing two German soldiers. He then located 40 enemy soldiers trapped below ground in a bunker, all of whom surrendered to the 22-year-old Marine armed with a long-scoped Winchester. According to his award citation, Pruitt was killed the following day by shellfire, “while sniping at the enemy.”
The scout sniper program shut down following the armistice that November, beginning an unfortunate cycle destined to repeat numerous times over the next century. The program would not resume until the beginning of the next world war. A select group of enlisted Marines preparing for combat attended an informal scout sniper school at Camp Elliot in San Diego, Calif., until December 1942 when a new program was formally established. William D. Hawkins was one of these Marines trained as a scout sniper. He deployed as a private first class in June 1942 and was promoted rapidly. He received a battlefield commission that November during the Battle of Guadalcanal.
One year later, Hawkins was still on the front lines serving as a scout sniper platoon commander attached to the 2nd Marine Regiment. During the first two days of the assault on Tarawa, Nov. 20-21, 1943, Hawkins repeatedly performed staggering feats of heroism to lead his men and support the assault force until he was mortally wounded. For his heroism, he posthumously received a Medal of Honor.
Hawkins’ platoon suffered dearly during the battle and would receive numerous medals for valor. Later, during the Battle of Iwo Jima, another scout sniper platoon from the 24th Marine Regiment would endure 80% casualties by the end of the battle. Despite their sacrifices and contributions, Scout Snipers were again disbanded following WW II. They returned during Vietnam, where ultra-famous names such as Carlos Hathcock and Chuck Mawhinney emerged, propelling the deadly lore of scout snipers. Disbanded temporarily once again, a permanent school was established in 1977 and operated until 2023, marking the longest uninterrupted stint of scout sniper history. By the time Marines deployed to combat in Iraq and Afghanistan, scout snipers primarily found a home within the Surveillance and Target Acquisition (STA) platoons organic to each rifle battalion. Sniper teams operating independently at that level of command offered each battalion commander a valuable intelligence asset, in addition to their long-range precision fires striking fear into the heart of the enemy.
Scout snipers with Sniper Team 2, 1st Bn, 7th Marines, RCT-6, conduct a reconnaissance patrol out of Patrol Base Hanjar Yak in Sangin, Helmand Province, Afghanistan, on June 7, 2012. The team was scouting a suitable location to set in for a 36-hour observation mission. (USMC)
As a secondary MOS code (either 8541 or 0317), the structure, administration and implementation of the scout sniper program has changed over its history. Officers have never existed within the MOS, thereby limiting the weight of the community’s voice. The scout sniper MOS was disbanded in 2023, in accordance with Force Design. Currently, the 0322 reconnaissance sniper serves the Recon community in limited quantities with their long-range fires, and within each infantry battalion intelligence-gathering, sniping capabilities and specialized weapons are spread among the scout platoon and squad-level designated marksmen. The elimination of their MOS marked the foreseeable bookend of scout snipers’ 105-year history within the Corps.
In response to this abrupt conclusion, the SSA embarked on a mission to memorialize the MOS’s contributions to USMC history, physically embodied and represented through a statue erected outside the National Museum of the Marine Corps. To accomplish this task, a monumental feat of fundraising and design work on its own, the SSA incorporated the Marine Scout Sniper Heritage Foundation, linked legally to the association but operating as a separate entity.
The foundation has been in operation since March of 2024. MSgt Tim Parkhurst, USMC (Ret) serves as the founding president. Previously, Parkhurst served on the board of directors and as the president of the SSA for four years before stepping down to lead the new foundation. He served on active duty for 25 years, several of which were spent as a young scout sniper noncommissioned officer, before retiring in 2014.
“We decided we wanted our memorial to be a classical, figurative, bronze sculpture of a two-man sniper team, a shooter and an observer,” Parkhurst said. “As Marines, all of us are familiar with the cake cutting ceremony at the Birthday Ball. The oldest Marine present takes a bite, then passes it to the youngest Marine present and he takes a bite, symbolizing the passing of knowledge and experience from one generation to the next. We wanted to somehow portray that visually through our sculpture, so we decided to make the observer a sniper from a previous era and the shooter from Afghanistan, our latest era. All scout snipers are proud of being Marines first, and we have provided one of the many legacies of valor that many communities have provided over the years that has helped earn the laurels of the Marine Corps.”
A concept drawing of the proposed Scout Sniper War Memorial outside of the National Museum of the Marine Corps. The statue will stand 11 feet tall, featuring a spotter modeled after a WW I-era scout sniper and a shooter based on the latest appearance of the MOS from Afghanistan. (Courtesy of the Marine Scout Sniper Heritage Foundation)
The foundation’s team initiated the fundraising enterprise associated with such an endeavor. Simultaneously, they dove headlong into the equally daunting task of research. For the memorial to appropriately honor the community’s war dead and the contribution of scout snipers to Marine Corps history, Parkhurst blieves the foundation should be able to put names with the Marines they are memorializing. The complex history of scout snipers makes this task exceedingly difficult.
“Most communities within the military serve in a primary MOS and have a home unit with muster rolls and things like that,” Parkhurst said. “But if you’re a scout sniper, you’re part of a larger infantry battalion, and throughout our history there was not always any official way to track who those Marines were.”
Additionally, insights into the origins of the MOS and other revelations about their beloved history were revealed as research proceeded.
“None of us anticipated the new things we were going to find,” Parkhurst continued. “Most grunts don’t know Marine Corps history. We like to think we know it because we went to boot camp. We started researching and decided to learn how far back the MOS went. We found things we never knew about, like a formal scout sniper program in Quantico dating back to 1918. That was the first time anyone in the American military called them scout snipers and we have ever since. All of the sudden our mission just got a whole lot broader trying to figure out all this history.”
Today, the foundation pursues four mission sets. The first and primary goal is to build the memorial along the Semper Fidelis Memorial Park outside the Marine Corps Museum. Second is to identify the names of fallen scout snipers across the history of the MOS to include in the memorial. Third is to continue uncovering the lost history of the MOS and eventually write comprehensive volume, along with a corresponding online database of reference material.
Lastly, the foundation hopes to educate Americans and Marines on the contributions scout snipers have made to our national defense across their 105 years of existence.
In light of the history already uncovered, the foundation is planning the memorial to encompass the entirety of their history. The observer, standing behind the shooter and calling out a target, represents a scout sniper from WW I, identified by his vintage uniform and iconic M1903 A5 Winchester sniper rifle slung across his back. The shooter, seated behind his weapon on its tripod, is modeled after the last generation of scout snipers to witness combat at Hamid Karzai International Airport in August 2021.
Concept drawings portray a finely detailed, engaging sculpture standing 11 feet tall. To produce such a magnificent work of art, the foundation has partnered with master sculptor Sabin Howard. Howard’s phenomenal work most recently achieved national prominence in September 2024 when his sculpture called “A Soldier’s Journey” was dedicated in Washington, D.C., as the National World War I Memorial. This 25-ton colossus of bronze is far more than just a statue. In fact, it contains 38 separate men and women, sculpted together across a 60-foot base, capturing the triumph and sacrifice of those who endured that conflict.
Now, the community of scout snipers plans to bring Howard’s extraordinary vision and passion to bear in memorializing their history. Once completed, the statue will be a stunning and attractive addition to the pathway outside the National Museum of the Marine Corps. The memorial will be situated just outside Marine Corps Base Quantico, where the first scout snipers were created in 1918, and will stand as the only memorial to this small, disbanded group of grunts in the nation.
Many challenges lay ahead to complete such an ambitious, world-class project. Its funding proves the most immediate hurdle.
“In our first nine months of operation, we organically raised around $150,000,” Parkhurst said. “That sounds like a lot of money, but when you need to raise $3 million, it’s not. We know we really need to ramp things up. If we’re only able to raise $150,000 per year, I’m going to be a really, really, old man by the time this thing is complete. It’s going to take a lot of people to get involved and help. To get the word out and have people advocate for this project is going to take a real marketing effort to reach an audience that we don’t currently reach.”
Equally important to the Marines tasked with the monument’s creation is the challenge of discovering the names of every scout sniper killed in action. The foundation’s website hosts an “In Memoriam” page listing 147 Marine scout sniper KIAs currently known. 59 of these come from the Global War on Terror between March 2003 and March 2020. As more research is conducted, more names from earlier generations will inevitably be added to the list.
“A lot of Marines talk about standing on the shoulders of giants,” Parkhurst reflected. “As scout snipers, over the last few decades we’ve always talked about guys like Chuck Mawhinney and Carlos Hathcock and guys like that from Vietnam. They are the shoulders on whom we stand. But what we know now is that we’ve got a ton more giants to stand on. We didn’t know that we have this incredible legacy, but now we do, and we’re finding more and more every day. We have hundreds of killed in action. It’s heartbreaking that we’ve paid such a high price from such a tiny community. If we are going to build a memorial to honor our war dead, it stands to reason that we would want to know their names. We feel like we are honor-bound to identify our fallen and we are going to exhaust every effort to do so.”
Sgt Louis Wood, a scout sniper with 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, pays his respects to Sgt Thomas Z. Spitzer during a memorial ceremony aboard Camp Leatherneck on July 2, 2014. Spitzer, a professionally instructed gunman with Scout Sniper Platoon, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, was killed while conducting combat operations in Helmand Province, Afghanistan, on June 25, 2014. (Cpl Joseph Scanlan, USMC)
For those of us outside the community, the monument will serve as an immediate and telling representation of the immense pride held by scout snipers. For Marines who belong, the memorial will be a physical, lasting representation of the courage and sacrifice their members have displayed throughout their existence. Marine scout snipers served their units, their Corps and their country for more than 100 years, leaving a lasting impact. This memorial will indefinitely serve as a fitting and lasting tribute.
To help the community of scout snipers and their families, and to learn more about the USMC Scout Sniper Association, visit their website at https://scout
sniper.org/. To learn more about the Marine Corps Scout Sniper Heritage Foundation and contribute to their memorial, visit https://scoutsniperheritage.org/.
Author’s bio: Kyle Watts is the staff writer for Leatherneck. He served on active duty in the Marine Corps as a communications officer from 2009-13. He is the 2019 winner of the Colonel Robert Debs Heinl Jr. Award for Marine Corps History. He lives in Richmond, Va., with his wife and three children.
