It was late May 1968 when I was transferred into Fox Company, Second Battalion, Ninth Marines at Combat Base Ca Lu. I had been trained as a truck driver in the States, finishing at the top of my class and promoted to PFC, Private First Class, a few months prior. My destiny changed because the TET Offensive created the need for Infantry replacements.
My driving while at Fox Company was limited to the Mechanical M-274 "Mule." I drove all over the combat base developing favor with fellow squad members and was given the nickname "Motor T" to express their sarcastic sympathy. 
Now I was facing my first combat experience, Hill 512, as an innocent nineteen-year-old. Charlie Company had been hit and overrun by "sappers," NVA throwing satchel charges, creating a perceived mortar barrage. By the time the Marines figured out what was happening, another wave of NVA moved in and a firefight followed inside their perimeter.
My squad members, Warner and Ricks, helped me figure out what to load into my pack, and how to assemble all the gear I would need as an ammo humper. I figured I carried somewhere around 105 pounds with a flak jacket, helmet, rifle, and ammo included. Warner kept encouraging me, you'll get used to it. Joe Bell, the comedian, yelled, "Hey motor T, see how high you can jump."
Squad Leader Sandy yelled, "Move out!"
I felt like a deep-sea diver in slow motion trying to keep up in a dream.
Be just like John Wayne, I thought to myself, as I stepped up the chopper's ramp, only to find I had the wrong chopper. "That one over there!" yelled Sandy.
I barely made it into the next waiting chopper without falling. It felt so good to sit until the chopper lifted and spun around for my first disorienting ride. Once we were airborne, all I could see out the window was jungle canopy. We didn't land in the way I expected a chopper would land. Because of the steep terrain, the chopper had to back in and lower the tail ramp against the side of the hill without touching the rear wheels to the ground. Everyone scrambled off the back end as I followed, hoping my John Wayne attitude wouldn't fail me now. The chopper didn't wait a heartbeat before it lifted off, the evening ground fog swirling like cotton candy into its rotors. I couldn't see anyone through the thick fog rolling in.
I shouted in a whisper, "Warner, where are you?" "Up here, Motor T," Warner whispered back.
Warner said, "Follow my voice." I couldn't tell where Warner's voice was coming from as I started having conversations with invisible people. I blurted out for help. "This shit is too heavy; I can barely move."
Sergeant Klein appeared out of the fog. "Get your ass up the hill, Marine!" Ugh! That was good for another twenty feet or so, where I bumped into Sandy and the rest of the squad being briefed on what to do. As the fog dissipated and the moon broke through, we were split up into twos to man the perimeter positions that were set up by the Marines we replaced. 
In the morning, we would be checking out the two-man sleeping holes the other Marines had dug, to look for booby-traps and places to hide or sleep. Warner stood the first watch with me to give me some understanding of sounds to listen for, and how to interpret what they meant. Warner was ready to crawl up to a sleeping area above; running out of patience, he told me to just listen for crickets. I was dying for a cigarette but didn't know what the consequences might be of lighting a match. I listened for crickets, rehearsing over and over what I would do if attacked.
The next morning came without any indications of activity around our perimeter, so we got on with settling into our new location. Most of the day was spent watching the choppers making regular supply deliveries on a flat area below and packing the supplies up the hill.
As the amber light of dusk began, everyone was hunkering down for a night of expectation. It was my turn for watch as the peek-a-boo moonlight cast moving shadows against the bamboo canopy before me. It was dead quiet, and in the distance, I heard a barely discernable crack-creak. I started pondering my options. I didn't want to wander over to the next hole and explain funny noises. The idea popped into my head: how about a grenade? I kept hearing what I thought were tennis shoes crunching leaves and twigs snapping off in the distance, barely perceptible. It must be down near Bell and Ricks. I rehearsed over and over pulling the pin, letting the grenade spoon fly. I could count to four and have 3 seconds left before it went off. I had a picture memory from when it was still light out and could imagine where I wanted the grenade to go. I imagined the arc of the grenade getting over the bamboo and dropping right where I heard the noises. I couldn't figure out how to get the stupid cotter key out.
Let me try this damn cotter key again, oh shit; it fell out, and I have no idea where it went. I knew it was safe if the spoon was closed but wasn't going to sit there all night holding it. I used my mental picture of Bell's position and was positive he would be okay. My heart was pounding so hard I could hardly hear myself think-okay-click there goes the spoon with a snap; I knew the trigger had hit the blasting cap starting the fuse train burning; 1001 - 1002 - 1003 - 1004; with everything I had I let it fly. I threw it like a heavy rock, not hardball style. The damn grenade was heavy. I heard the grenade banging into the bamboo and bouncing back and forth. It didn't go off in the air as I had planned; finding its way to the ground there was a loud thud. WHAM!!!! Cool! I could see a bright flash made of white-hot metal flying all around where it had gone off. I heard Warner clambering over to me. "Jesus H. F-n Christ Motor T, what the hell are you doing?" Warner asked.
Bell in the meantime had scrambled over. With his heavy Brooklyn accent, he blurted out, "Are you try-in to F-ing murder us over-der, you almost put dat F-n ting in our lap; Jesus Christ Mutter Tae, now you woke everyone up and Sergeant Klein's on his way."
Klein let Sandy have it; then Sandy gave it to Joe. When I heard Joe being read out by Sandy, I stepped into the middle. "Hey, dammit, I heard movement!" I said.
"Shit, now you woke up the whole company, nobody will get any sleep; these guys are freaked out enough," Klein said. "I told you I heard movement!" I reiterated.
The Gunny stepped over to add his two cents, telling me I probably killed an F-ing rock-ape, and then blasted me with the "free fire zone lecture." 
We were not supposed to fire unless fired upon. "Next time come over to the CP and wake up Sergeant Klein before you decide to throw another grenade," Gunny told me.
Klein looked at Gunny - "aw shit Gunny!" Klein didn't want to be waked up, for any reason. Gunny retreated to his sleeping area.
Klein looked over at Bell. "If he wakes me up again, you'll be digging latrines the rest of your tour, Bell!"
Everyone went nighty- night at the CP and left me feeling stupid. But as had become the case, there was always the kind word from Warner and teasing from Bell. "Okay Mutter Tae, you get two more watches for F-ing up."
There I was on my second watch hearing noises again, except I had no grenades. Joe Bell took them from me and said I could only get them back with good behavior.
"Hey Warner, I hear movement," I whispered. "What?" Warner replied in a sleepy voice. "I hear movement; come here!"
Warner scrambled over and listened. "I think you're right, Motor T. Go wake up Sergeant Klein." "Me?" "Careful, he keeps his 45 loaded," Warner said with a grin.
I crawled over to Klein and tugged on his poncho liner, carefully watching the 45 he was sleeping on. Klein whispered. "What?" "It's Motor T," I whispered back.
"You again?" Klein grumbled. "Ah! You woke up the Gunny!" Klein scolded me. "What is going on?" Gunny whispered in a gravelly growl.
"Motor T's here, and thinks he's hearing things again," Klein explained.
The Lieutenant, "Firecracker Man Pierce," woke up, and hearing the conversation, inquired: "What's going on, Motor T?" "Sir, I hear movement below my position and I need permission to throw a hand grenade."
Pierce was interested in what I had to say. "Let's go check it out, Motor T." Pierce followed me to my position, and by now everyone on my side of the hill was awake. Pierce cupped his hand to his ear and gave hand signals to Klein to shut up, while Gunny rolled his eyeballs at me. The Lieutenant motioned to Klein and sent him to get a case of hand grenades. The Lieutenant popped out half a dozen or so grenades and told me to open them up. I was surprised when he handed me a grenade and motioned to get ready to throw in the direction he pointed. He nodded his head and we let it fly. Wham- wham! Gunny and Sergeant Klein joined in throwing grenades, as we unloaded the case and finished throwing what we had. Wow, it sure is quiet out there now, we all agreed.
The next morning, I caught up with Joe Bell. "Hey Joe, we must have thrown nearly two cases of grenades last night," I proudly reported. "No kidding, we changed your name to "Motor T with a capital G," for grenade," Joe said, explaining we had everybody freaked out last night, convinced we were being overrun. "Next F'-n time pass the word before you start blowing up the side of the hill Motor T," Joe instructed.
Later that morning, the Lieutenant put together a recon team to look for bodies. Evidently, because of being a non-free fire zone, we had to justify the ordnance used by finding bodies. I just stood around while the Lieutenant and Big John, the Lieutenant's volunteer, were chopping holes in the dense canopy to make trails into the bamboo. We were standing around watching the show as I grasped my M-16, flak jacket, and helmet, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. Warner, Bell, and Ricks stood with me, providing color commentary.
Suddenly all hell broke loose, as the Lieutenant's pump action over-and-under 12-gauge shotgun emptied. Big John opened on full automatic with his M-16, while another guy opened with his M-79 grenade launcher. To me, it was like the noises from a comic book I used to imitate. The Lieutenant was running back toward the perimeter. Big John was right behind him, stepping backward while firing his M-16. Joe and Ricks started over to add firepower. I hesitantly followed Warner just as the Lieutenant stepped inside the perimeter and yelled "Cease-fire!"
From the enemy's positions came five round volleys of 82 mm mortars. We fired back around twenty 60 mm mortars at them. Then it became quiet. All the people in positions except me had emerged from protective cover and had begun milling around as if nothing had happened. I needed to be coaxed out of a sleeping bunker by Warner.
Most days could be amazingly boring, and some nights filled with sheer anticipation. Then there was the Man in the Moon, my friend, who could smile at me and light up my night with the remembrance of home. The same moon everyone at home was seeing; a comforting connection that touched my soul. My other escape was sleep and space just before I awoke, in which I dreamed I was back home.
On the worst nights, the moon's light was totally obscured with layers of dark clouds, creating a sinister presence of opportunity. On such a night, we were probed at several locations at once. It was so dark that the only identifier was a familiar voice to follow while scrambling around on hands and knees. Chaos broke out and Ricks told me to grab some illumination rounds. Warner showed me how to unwrap and lay the rounds out for Bell to drop in the tube. Ricks was free handing the tube, holding it without tripods and firing rounds directly above us. 
The illumination came down on small parachutes swinging back and forth, lighting the place up, followed by a whistling loud thud. The canister that contained the illumination function would break away and fall on us. As I scrambled to find my helmet, there were guys making a game of catching the parachutes to keep for souvenirs. We began pumping out HE, high explosive mortars toward Charlie's position, about 300 yards from us. C-130 Caribou airplanes above began dropping huge illumination canisters, causing the night to become bright as daylight. Firecracker Man called in a fire mission with artillery rounds neatly walked around our position, followed by a deafening silence. I returned to my position.
The silence was golden around me, the man in the moon, and my new friends, the rock apes, so-called because of their habit of throwing rocks. The NVA hunted them for food. We believed that the rock apes, or orangutans as they were known, could smell the NVA and be quiet. If they came near our perimeter looking for food, we knew there would be no NVA nearby. There was a stump of a burned-out tree near our position where I would put out crackers and a couple pieces of chocolate. The rock ape would come and sit on the stump and munch on the crackers and chocolate and stare, conveying it was safe.
The next day First Platoon went down on a search patrol. We got our tube set up and I waited dutifully by my pack board of mortar rounds, awaiting instructions whether to unzip the string around the canister holding HD rounds. There was yelling and chatter about the patrol walking into an ambush. Lt. Pierce gave orders to Sandy, and Ricks and Joe set up the mortar tube and began firing WP, white phosphorous rounds to confirm distance. Warner helped me attach increments, little booster charges fastened to clips at the base of the mortar.
My friend Doc Woody was with First Platoon, toward the rear of the column, when enemy machine-gun fire hit several men at the front. Woody heard the frantic call, "Corpsman up!" and crawled on his belly through elephant grass that was being mowed down by bursts of gunfire over his head. The first man he reached was Litzler. Litzler had been struck by a bullet through his chest and lay near death. Woody crawled then to "Buzz" Caldwell and found the bloody remains of a face. Woody went to work on Caldwell, hooking up an intravenous line to pump in a pint of plasma. Woody worked while on his stomach as machine-gun fire creased the back of his flak jacket. Then, as abruptly as all the craziness had started, it seemed to end.
Warner tapped me on the shoulder. "Move it, Motor T, follow me. We've got to help E-vac." The patrol was at the bottom of the hill as I stumbled and slid on the elephant grass. My eyes met the eyes of the dead man coming back from the ambush. I stepped closer to ask if I could help. He just said, "Oh no!"
The look in his eyes was haunting as I figured out he was dragging a body behind him. He had tied a poncho around the man's head with cartridge belt straps to drag the lifeless body. I felt paralyzed with helplessness.
Someone screamed. "Motor T get over here and help carry the Corpsman!"
It was Doc Woody. Woody showed me how to support the leg of the Corpsman shot in the kneecap. Woody's corpsman friend was lying face down on a poncho to be used to carry him up the hill. Woody tried to assure him he was going home with the million-dollar wound. The injured corpsman writhed in pain and screamed as the chopper landed at the top of the hill with its back door extended down. I couldn't keep his leg in the position that Woody showed me, because the side of the hill was muddy, and I kept slipping. With every slip of my foot, the corpsman would scream louder.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I couldn't stop saying.
He looked back at me with contempt as I stepped aside to let another man took over. I stood helpless as I watched him and the other seriously wounded being loaded into the chopper. Time stood still as I turned around and looked to find that I was the last guy at the bottom of the hill. I slogged and slipped my way up the hill and returned to my familiar space. Woody helped pull Caldwell's body up the hill to perform an emergency tracheotomy. Woody didn't have a scalpel or even a field knife. He pulled out a ballpoint pen and slammed it into Caldwell's throat to open an airway. Then he turned to Litzler, whose body had been carried up the hill. Woody pumped on his chest and breathed into his mouth to no avail. Nearby, Caldwell stood holding what was left of his jaw with a 4 x 4 battle dressing.
There was no priority chopper for the dead. Dead were placed into body bags and carried to a plateau fifty yard below. Litzler's friend sat close by 
the contents of the black bag, knees drawn to his chest. I could hear him talking as he sat with Litzler until another chopper came.
Lt. Pierce had another fire mission. We needed to mark where the bunkers were that the patrol had encountered earlier. I was unwrapping WP rounds then watch them being lobbed to nowhere. A small spotter plane flew around, firing rounds from a launching device on its wing into the same area we were firing at. I could see the pilot when he circled back around above me giving us thumbs up; we had the right target lit up. The next thing I knew, the Aerial Observer flew off into the distance and an F-4 Phantom came screaming in alongside the hill, firing his 20 mm cannons and dropping a serious load of bombs into the bunker complex area, to shouts of "Wahoo, get some!" Another jet came screaming by and dropped napalm, lighting up the whole jungle behind us. I didn't understand why they were using airstrikes now, and not before the patrol.
We were told it was time to leave Hill 512. Not knowing what we had accomplished nagged at me, but following orders was my duty. We had to fill in all our holes and clean up the perimeter, assembling the entire ordnance that we had used. It seemed to take forever for the choppers to show up, allowing the feeling of combat to sink in. I became busy making sure all my gear was squared away: my rifle cleaned, every magazine cleaned. I was overwhelmed with the reality of Hill 512. I sat on the edge of a bunker and Warner took my picture. The reflection on my face would be frozen in time. We loaded the first wave of helicopters with all the gear we had gathered and waited for our troop transport choppers to arrive.
We sat together waiting and finding a spark of playfulness still left in me, I pitched a little pebble at Warner. Warner, surprisingly, got really pissed as the others in the circle noticed, excitedly encouraging Warner to attack. As Warner began to rise, the anger building on his face was something unfamiliar. I just held up my hand in a gesture of surrender and looked at Warner and said "sorry." He sat down and said "yeah." We knew nothing further had to be said.
Dusk drew near as we heard our choppers approach. They backed into the hill one by one, blowing dust over the empty hill as they departed. Sunset's embers reflected off the valley floor as the moon peeked over the hills of Ca Lu. Under the glow from the Man in the Moon, Hill 512 began to fade to a bad dream.
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All available fighter pilots! Man your planes!" boomed the squawk box in Essex' ready room. The ship's radar had detected three large groups of Japanese planes coming in.
David McCampbell, the CAG, and the Navy's most famous aviator considered this announcement. Earlier that morning, Admiral Sherman himself had forbidden McCampbell from joining a dawn sortie. Given his responsibilities as Commander of Essex' Air Group and his public prominence as a top ace, McCampbell was too valuable. He decided that he was indeed "available" and headed for his airplane, Minsi III. His plane crew hurried to fuel Minsi III, which had not been scheduled to fly that day. With the Hellcat only partially fueled, the 
Flight Officer ordered it off the flight deck - either into the air or below to the hangar deck. McCampbell went up, leading Essex's last seven fighters toward the Jap strike force.
He and Ens. Roy Rushing got out in front of the other Hellcats, putting on all speed to intercept the Japs, then only 22 miles away. He directed the other F6F's to get the bombers, while he and Rushing tackled the fighters. Surprisingly, the enemy fighters turned, allowing McCampbell and Rushing to gain altitude and a position behind them.
Seeing over 40 Japanese fighters, McCampbell radioed back to the carrier for help. "Sorry, none available." The enemy planes spread out in a typical formation of three V's. McCampbell picked out a Zero on the extreme right and flamed it. Rushing also got one on this first pass. Incredibly, there was no reaction from the Japs as they climbed back up to regain altitude. The two Hellcat pilots dived back down on their quarry for another pass; McCampbell blew up a second Zero. Now the gaggle of Zeros, Tonys, Hamps, and Oscars reacted - by going into a Lufbery! McCampbell made a couple of head-on passes against the formation, but without results.
A strange interlude ensued as McCampbell and Rushing climbed back up and circled, while the Japanese fighters continued to circle below. McCampbell radioed again for help; one of the Hellcats that had been going after the bombers headed his way. The Lufbery broke up and the planes headed toward Luzon in a wide Vee. The two American fliers closed in again on the formation. McCampbell opened at 900 feet and exploded his third plane of the morning. Rushing shot down his second one.
Apparently low on fuel, the Japanese planes doggedly flew on, maintaining formation. On his next firing pass, gunfire coming from behind forced McCampbell to break off his attack and pull up. It was another Hellcat shooting too close to him. A few choice words straightened things out. Still, the enemy planes didn't turn and mix it up.
McCampbell realized he could relax and take his time. This was practically gunnery exercise. He could focus on identifying his targets carefully. The next one was an Oscar. Again, his six fifties roared and blasted the Oscar's wing root. It flamed for number four. Rushing had scored his third by this time. This continued for several more passes until McCampbell had downed 7 and Rushing 6. Rushing radioed that he was out of ammo, but he would stay on McCampbell's wing while the CAG used up his remaining bullets.
Two more passes and two more kills. As the Jap planes approached the security of their bases on Luzon, the two Americans' low fuel finally ended the slaughter. The Hellcats broke off and headed for Essex. In one morning, sortie, McCampbell had shot down nine enemy planes and Rushing six, an unparalleled achievement in American fighter aviation.
Born on January 16, 1910, this Bessemer, Alabama native's naval career began with dismissal. Graduating from the U.S. Naval Academy in depression- era 1933, he was rewarded with an honorable discharge from a Navy without funds. But in June 1934 McCampbell was called back and commissioned.
In 1936 his first assignment involving aircraft was gunnery observer aboard USS Portland. In 1937, McCampbell's flying career finally got off the ground at Pensacola Naval Air Station where he reported for flight training. A year later, he was designated a Naval Aviator and received his first flying assignment with Fighting Squadron 4 aboard the USS Ranger, CV-4 where he served two years.
Wasp was home from 1940 until she went to the bottom in 1942. During that time were two hot runs to the Mediterranean delivering Spitfires to Malta and support to the Guadalcanal campaign.
After Wasp was sunk on Sept. 15, 1942, by a Japanese submarine, McCampbell returned to the States to fit out a new squadron, Air Group 15, aka "The Fabled Fifteen." From February 1943 through early 1944 the group was aboard Essex steaming into history. One of the first squadrons to equip with Grumman's new F6F Hellcats, they saw action in attacks on Iwo Jima.
Barrett Tillman, in Hellcat Aces of World War 2, describes the introduction of the Hellcat to the U.S. Navy's carriers in the Pacific, and the immediate impact it had. Like all of Osprey's Aircraft of the Aces series, it's a great reference. The cover depicts McCampbell in his Hellcat, Minsi.
In February 1944, he was promoted to CAG (Commander - Air Group) of Air Group Fifteen. That spring, they went to war aboard USS Essex CV-9. McCampbell commanded the entire Essex air group bombers, fighters, and torpedo planes. He was thirty-four years old. During their tour of approximately seven months and more than 20,000 hours of operations, this group destroyed more enemy planes (318 airborne and 348 on the ground) and sank more enemy ships (296,500 tons sunk, and more than a half million tons damaged and/or probably sunk) than any other air group in the Pacific war. Among the major combat ships sunk was the Japanese battleship Musashi, three carriers and a heavy cruiser. The Fabled Fifteen became one of the most highly decorated air groups of the war.
McCampbell entered combat on May 19, 1944, leading a fighter sweep over Marcus Island. Three weeks later June 11th, flying near Saipan, he saw a lone Zero come out of the clouds. He turned towards the plane and fired three bursts. The Zero went down streaming smoke, the first in long series of successes for the CAG. He reacted coolly to his first aerial victory, "I knew I could shoot him down and I did. That's all there was to it."
As the United States forces prepared for the invasion of Guam and Saipan, the Carrier Task Force steamed west into the Philippine Sea. The desperate Japanese battle plan called for them to launch their strike planes at the U.S. ships, then refuel & re-arm on the Guam and Saipan airfields and hit the American carriers again in a 'shuttle' operation. It didn't turn out that way.
On June 19th, the Japanese launched two large raids of Judys and Vals, escorted by fighters. Other carrier air groups took care of the first raid; Essex' Fabled Fifteen, under McCampbell went after the second group of eighty planes. McCampbell started the slaughter at 11:39 by exploding the first Aichi D4Y2 "Judy" dive bomber he spotted. As he darted across to the other side of the enemy formation, evading a gantlet of return fire, McCampbell quickly splashed a second Judy, sped toward the front of the enemy formation to record a "probable" on a third, dispatched the formation leader's left wingman with a staccato burst, downed the leader with a steady stream of machine-gun bullets, then scored a final kill on a diving enemy craft. In minutes McCampbell had logged five kills and one probable.
There was a second air battle in the afternoon. After shooting down yet another Zero (his sixth for the day!), he became separated from his flight of eight and was returning alone to his carrier, the USS Essex. As his Hellcat cruised at 6,000 feet past Guam's Orote Peninsula, he spotted two Zeros attacking a Navy S0C seaplane picking up a downed pilot in the water. Diving to the attack, McCampbell shot down one of the two Zeros. Lt. Commander George Duncan, another VF-15 pilot, came upon the scene at that time and got the other. It was McCampbell's seventh for the day and his ninth in eight days of combat.
During the September 12th-13th strikes on the Philippines, He shot down five more planes, and learned about the capabilities of the 'Nate' - a small, open-cockpit monoplane, slow and lightly armed, but highly maneuverable, advanced trainer. McCampbell had bagged two Zeros early in the day and was heading alone toward a rendezvous when a Nate attacked him from above. It pulled out of gun range without damaging McCampbell's Hellcat, but McCampbell wanted the kill. He dropped his belly tank and put on full WEP but kept losing ground. The Nate's student-pilot saw his advantage and began an overhead pass; but McCampbell dove for the deck. In his after-action report he noted "1) Nate is even more maneuverable than Zeke. 2) Nate can out-climb F6F at 110-120 knots airspeed. 3) This 'operational student' will have no trouble completing the course." By the end of September 1944, McCampbell had shot down nineteen Japanese planes.
On October 24th, during the Battle of Leyte Gulf, McCampbell, assisted only by Roy Rushing, broke up a large group of Japanese planes headed for Essex, as described above.
In one combat tour, David McCampbell shot down 34 Japanese aircraft. If he had served a second tour, he may very well have exceeded Dick Bong's total of 40. In recognition of his spectacular accomplishments: leading "Fabled Fifteen," personally accounting for 34 planes, and for his mission on October 24, McCampbell received the Medal of Honor, presented to him by President Roosevelt.
McCampbell also received the Navy Cross, the Silver Star Medal, Legion of Merit, and the Distinguished Flying Cross. After the war, McCampbell served in the Navy until his retirement in 1964. Married four times, David McCampbell must have had quite an eye for the ladies. He died in Florida after a lengthy illness on June 30, 1996.
After the fall of Mazar-i-Sharif, Kabul, and Herat, Kandahar was the last major city under Taliban control. Kandahar was where the Taliban movement had originated and where its power base was located, so it was assumed that capturing Kandahar would be difficult. The city fell after several weeks of fighting to a force of local militia under Pashtun military commanders and their American advisers.
In preparation for the attack of Kandahar, the first wave of aerial attacks against the Taliban was launched on October 7, 2001, at 6:30 pm local time. A group of United States Air Force (USAF) bombers consisting of five B-1s and ten B-52s took off from Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean. T
hey were complemented by twenty-five United States Navy (USN) F-14s and F/A-18s strike aircraft from the aircraft carriers USS Carl Vinson and USS Enterprise in the North Arabian Sea. The Royal Air Force (RAF) and USAF provided L-1011s, KC-135, and KC-10s to supply en route aerial refuelings to the USN aircraft. Flown in from Whiteman Air Force Base, Missouri, two B-2 Spirits also participated in the attack, as did the EA-6B Prowler electronic warfare aircraft.
At 9:00 pm, USN, USAF, and Royal Navy (RN) forces launched several salvos totaling fifty Tomahawk cruise missiles against Taliban military and communications facilities and suspected terrorist training camps. The timing was chosen to coincide with the arrival of the strike aircraft, which dropped a variety of bombs including Mk 82s, JDAMs, AGM-84s, AGM-154s, and laser-guided bombs.
Targets within Kandahar included Taliban strongholds, as well as the houses of Arab foreigners who worked with the Taliban regime. One of the primary targets for the airstrike in Kandahar was Mullah Omar. The attacking aircraft were met with sporadic fire from Taliban anti-aircraft artillery batteries and surface-to-air missiles. The U.S. considered the attacks, conducted against the cities of Kabul, Jalalabad and Herat, to be successful as the goal of neutralizing the Taliban's air defense was met.
To court and provide relief for the Afghan people, food and supplies were dropped into the region. Two C-17 transports delivered 37,500 daily rations by airdrop to refugees inside Afghanistan on the first day of the attack. Relief efforts faced a setback, however, from Taliban interference. World Food Program storehouses in Kandahar were raided and surrendered to Taliban soldiers, who "seized about 7,000 tons of food." Hoping to avoid a backlash by civilians, the USAF deployed an EC-130E propeller aircraft to broadcast a message that the Taliban and its allies were the only targets of the attacks, not civilians.
On October 19th, 200 Rangers from the 3rd Ranger Battalion (75th Ranger Regiment) departed from four Lockheed MC-130 aircraft towards a desert landing strip south of the city, codenamed "Objective Rhino," supported by 750 U.S. soldiers from the United States Army's 101st Airborne Division to create a forward base at Camp Rhino 100 miles south of Kandahar.
Anti-Taliban commander Gul Agha Sherzai was contacted by a U.S. Army Special Forces ODA on November 18th. His forces numbered about 800 men but were severely outnumbered and under-equipped. After receiving supplies, they moved out on November 22 in a convoy of over 100 vehicles and began advancing on Kandahar through the Arghastan desert. Attempting to bypass Taliban strongholds, Sharzai's convoy halted outside the Taliban-held town of Takht-e-pol. While trying to negotiate a surrender, the convoy was ambushed by Taliban forces. Sharzai's forces drove the Taliban back with the help of American air support. The Taliban retreated and abandoned the Takht-e-pol area.
Before the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit of the United States Marine Corps arrived at 'Rhino' on November 25th, a recce team from SEAL Team 8 carried out a reconnaissance mission but were mistakenly engaged by AH-1W Cobra attack helicopters, they managed to get a message to the Marines before anyone was wounded.
On November 25, FOB (Forward Operating Base) Rhino was established outside of Kandahar, cleared in by the SEALs the 15th MEU relieved the 101st Airborne Division of control of FOB Rhino and continued forward operations throughout Kandahar with coalition forces. On November 27th, the 15th MEU was joined by a unit of the Australian Special Air Service Regiment and began joint operations against Taliban forces.
After the Battle of Tarin Kowt, the Eastern Alliance under the command of Hamid Karzai spent several weeks in Tarin Kowt attracting recruits. His forces swelled to around 800 men as he prepared to move on Kandahar from the north. On November 30th, Karzai's force began advancing towards the town of Petaw. After taking Petaw without a fight, Karzai's force attempted to take the bridge at Sayd Alim Kalay but was halted by stiff Taliban resistance. After a two-day battle involving heavy airstrikes, the Taliban withdrew on December 4th, leaving the bridge intact. Karzai's force seized a bridgehead on the other side.
The next day, a stray American bomb landed on an American position, killing three Special Forces soldiers and wounding Karzai. Karzai's men maintained their positions and began negotiations with the Taliban for the surrender of Kandahar.
On December 7th, Sharzai's men began their assault on Kandahar's airport but met little resistance. They discovered that the Taliban had already surrendered the city to Karzai's forces. Sharzai's men entered the city and Sharzai was declared governor of Kandahar. Karzai had already been declared president of Afghanistan.
The fall of Kandahar signaled the end of organized Taliban control of Afghanistan.
NOTE: To read accounts of the Battle of Kandahar by those who were there, please go to the following site: https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/campaign/ground/friendlyfire.html
Colonel Bui Tin, a North Vietnamese colonel who had a prominent role in the Vietnam War'sfinal moments but later fled the country and became an unlikely critic of its ruling Communist Party, died at the age of 90-years-old in the Parisian suburb of Montreuil, France.
Bui Tin personally accepted the surrender of South Vietnam in 1975. He was also present at the battle of Dien Bien Phu in 1954 when Vietnamese revolutionaries defeated French troops to secure their country's independence.
When Bui Tin awoke on April 30, 1975, he probably did not expect to play a direct role in a pivotal moment in Vietnamese history.
Later that morning, he rode aboard a North Vietnamese tank to the presidential palace in Saigon. There, he walked inside to find Gen. Duong Van Minh, the last president of South Vietnam, sitting in a conference room. "I have been waiting since early this morning to transfer power to you," General Minh told Colonel Bui Tin. "There is no question of your transferring power," was the colonel'start reply. "Your power has crumbled. You cannot give up what you do not have."
Bui Tin then reassured General Minh that he had nothing to fear; it was only the Americans who had been beaten, he said. "If you are a patriot, consider this a moment of joy," he said, before making small talk about the general's tennis game and orchid collection. "The war for our country is over," he added.
Colonel Bui Tin was not a commander but the deputy editor of an army newspaper, Quan Doi Nhan Dan. As the highest-ranking North Vietnamese officer in the room, however, it made sense for him to formally represent the winning side.
Many South Vietnamese officials would be imprisoned for years after the war in what the Communist Party called "re-education camps." Nevertheless, debates within the party would rage for decades over the role that Marxist-Leninist dogma should play in the country's postwar development.
During a trip to France in 1990 - just as Vietnam'smain patron, the Soviet Union, was crumbling - Colonel Tin declared himself a political dissident and complained that his country was troubled by "bureaucracy, irresponsibility, egoism, corruption, and fraud."
Bui Tin was born on Dec. 29, 1927, in Nam Dinh, a northern Vietnamese city about 50 miles south of Hanoi. His father had been a mandarin in Vietnam's last royal court, became one of a small number of educated Vietnamese who rallied to Ho Chi Minh'srevolutionary cause.
Bui Tin saw the Soviet bloc's disintegration as the right moment for his own political about-face. The Communist Party's leadership "failed to bring liberty and prosperity to Vietnam," he wrote in The Washington Post in October 1991. "Rather than improve the abysmal condition of the population, they have blindly pursued sectarian policies designed to maintain their power," he added.
Even before his defection, Colonel Bui Tin was known as something of a maverick. Notably, he discovered and published Ho Chi Minh's last will and testament, proving that Ho had wanted his ashes scattered around Vietnam. The discovery exposed what Colonel Tin said was the fraud behind the party's decision to build a mausoleum in Hanoi for the country's founder.
Colonel Tin might someday have become chief of the Communist Party "if he had only thought about himself," said Vo Van Tao, a Vietnamese political activist in the southern city of Nha Trang. "But he was an independent thinker with a democratic outlook who disagreed strongly with the regime."
Today, Vietnam is a haven for foreign investors seeking a place with cheap labor and a relatively stable political environment. And despite steady waves of online dissent from the Vietnamese public, the party has maintained its grip on power.
In 1991, Colonel Tin traveled to Washington and testified before a Senate committee that dealt with American prisoners of war. He also met with Senator John McCain of Arizona, a former prisoner of war in Hanoi, to discuss what the senator later described as their "mutual interest in promoting democracy in Vietnam."
After Colonel Tin spoke to the committee, Mr. McCain approached him and stretched out his palm for a handshake. He got a hug instead.
Colonel Tim is survived by his wife, Le Thi Kim Chung; a daughter, Bui Bach Lien; a son, Bui Xuan Vinh; four siblings; and five grandchildren.
This amazing, excellent, critically acclaimed, award-winning book is the true story of young men and officers serving with the 1st Battalion, 8th Infantry Regiment where deaths were near daily occurrences.
This powerful war story is taken directly from the daily journal kept by the author, Robert Sholly. Page after page depicts dramatic eye-witness recounts the riveting events of their war with stories of boys becoming veteran Soldiers and amazing warriors.
These battles sustained a great loss of life on both sides as America's young men were tested time and again. As is the case in all wars, there are events many veterans cannot talk about to this day, but they trusted Sholly to get their story told and it has been done with vision and respect. His Soldiers can be proud of his portrayal of their bravery and sacrifice he so well described in every word of his outstanding book.
Many heroic men battled in the raging bloody and horrific fights and four of them were awarded the Medal of Honor for their actions. This book describes the courage, heroism, and valor of these young Soldiers the United States sent to war. Tragically, too many did not come back.
Having read many first-person novels about the war in Viet Nam, I consider this to be among the top five. You get a very good feeling for the life of the Soldier at the squad and platoon level as well as the multiple responsibilities of a company commander.
I highly recommend this book for those who want to know what it was like being an Infantry Soldier inside of the most highly decorated battalion of the Vietnam war.
Reader Reviews
Young Soldiers Amazing Warriors is a first-hand account of a soldier's daily life in the combat zone during the Vietnam War. The reader is immersed in the youthful courage that permeates our hero's actions and the humor that helps him survive the mayhem. His job is not an ordinary one; flirting with death often happens well "before 9 o'clock when civilians at home were just getting to work." Intertwined with the author's recollections are interviews with fellow fighters and commanders, as well as excerpts from their letters home, completing the picture and ensuring the accuracy of events.
~Catherine Langrehr
Sholly has done a great job. As a battalion commander of the 3-8th Infantry, I participated in some of the same battles. Sholly's real Soldiers candidly describe the way they fought on the ground, without the bluster and braggadocio found in other accounts. This is the way it was and should be required reading for company grade officers and senior NCOs as well as their leaders. This is the best book I have ever read about combat in Vietnam.
~Maj. Gen. Thomas P. Lynch, U.S. Army (Ret.)
This is war. Not many books about combat ever really catch it. This one has, and in a language everyman can grasp. It's a terrific book.
~Dr. William Hammond
I think this book may be the best account written about combat in Vietnam. Put Sholly right up there with Phillip Caputo, James Webb, and Tim O'Brien as far as writing goes, but this is no novel. I don't think anyone can touch him for a non-fiction account.
~Mike Boren
An amazing tribute and legacy to all infantrymen, past, present and those yet to come. An inspirational honor for the families of those who did not return. Stephen Ambrose (Band of Brothers) wrote so eloquently of combat heroism. Bob Sholly LIVED it AND wrote about it. He has, in this book, immortalized the courage, bravery, and spirit of America's finest. This book should be mandatory reading for every citizen in this country.
~Jack Avant, Colonel, USA (Ret.)
Sholly was a Company Commander and he tells about his first year in country with his command. I'm usually cautious of books written from an Officers' viewpoint. I am very glad I set this prejudice aside this time because the book reads as though he was just a supporting character. The story is really about his men. If I were to teach a Leadership course in any field this book would be on the required reading list.
~HerB, USAID, Asst Inspector General
About the Author
Robert H. Sholly is a retired United States Army Colonel, Best Selling Author, professional speaker and a distinguished soldier-citizen who served thirty-five years in the military with two tours in Vietnam and other conflicts. Among his medals are the Silver Star Medal and three Bronze Stars Medals.
Command and staff assignments included a five-year period with the Defense Intelligence Agency. Other special assignments took him to the deserts of the Middle East, the mountains of Afghanistan and the plains and jungles of Africa.
Sholly is a recipient of the 1988 Nobel Peace Prize as a member of the United Nations Peacekeeping Forces. His last military assignment was with the Center of Military History which involved the writing of the official histories of the U.S. Army.
Sholly is a graduate of the United States Army Command and General Staff College, the National Security portion of the Industrial College of the Armed Forces and the Army War College. He earned a Master's Degree in History and English from the University of Texas at El Paso and speaks 5 languages. He resides with his wife, Peggy Touchtone Sholly, in Pearland, Texas and is active in the National Speakers Association Academy, Pearland Chamber of Commerce, Mid-Pearland Toastmasters and other professional and military organizations.
A short two-minute video can be found at:
http://youngSoldiersamazingwarriors.com/
Here are some of the pictures you will find in Young Soldiers Amazing Warriors. Taken by Robert Sholly during his tours in the Vietnam War:
http://youngSoldiersamazingwarriors.com/pictures/