John 'Dutch' Holland
3 September 1996
Co'B'1/503rd INF
173rd ABN Brig (Sep)
3rd Sqd 2ndPIt 1965-66
MY RECALL OF
OPERATION HUMP (Hill 65) Nov 8, 1965
When we arrived on
the LZ the Hueys were unassed in the normal chaotic fashion for an area
assumed to be hot or full of enemy. But in short order the troops were
formed into their respective units and vacated the landing zone for the
security of the jungle.
We set into a small
clearing about twenty by thirty meters in area. It elevated to our right
and was densely surrounded by foliage with a dry ravine at the bottom of
the elevation. This ravine would be the assembly point of the few left
living. Security was placed facing the trail we'd just come up and
forward where the rest of the platoon had just gone to support Charlie
Company.1 was to the right of the trail we'd came up with dense
undergrowth partly hiding me when I saw what looked like Americans
coming up the trail. These bastards were wearing fatigues, helmets, back
packs, and walked as though they were expecting friendlies in the area.1
whispered to my squad leader SSgt Theodore Shamblin that it looked like
friendlies were coming up on our rear. He looked through the undergrowth
and also mistook them for our troops then hollered Bravo Company 2nd
platoon and it was a deadly error on both our parts. While facing back
down the trail that put the rise to our left and that's where the enemy
immediately set up their RPD on the top of the slope with others
flanking it on each side of us.
The first to die was
a young kid whose name I can’t recall. He was no more than a couple of
meters from their machine gun when it cut him down. Even as he laid dead
the sons-of -bitches continued to fire into his body literally tearing
him apart. No more than two to three meters behind him were Everett
Goias and I behind a small log but directly in the RPD's field of fire.
I heard Goias kind of grunt as the first round hit him and as I looked
over I could see smoke from a WP round coming out of his right shoulder
yet he continued to fire around the end of the log.1 knew this dead tree
wouldn’t stand up to much more of this intense small arms fire and
that we were to close for a frag-grenade when the inane thought hit me
of tossing the tear gas canister I was carrying. When I threw it a small
branch to our front interrupted it's flight and it burst rather close to
us. No matter what anyone says concentrated tear gas will make you move
regardless the event. No way could we remain there so I started helping
Goias down the hill and to our advantage the RPD stopped firing. Probably
to, relocate from the irritating gas. We weren't more than a few feet from
the log when an enemy grenade hit me right on the side of my helmet and
with all the firing still coming in from our flanks there wasn’t much I
could do but turn my head and wait for it to blow but luckily it was a
dud as so many of their mortars and grenades were. As we continued our
slow trek down the hill another grenade hit and rolled right up to us and
after an eternity of waiting it also failed to detonate.
When we reached the
main group most of them were dead, while the remaining poured heavy
volumes into the enemies positions. The only reason they were alive is
because of the dead bodies sheltering them from the intense incoming
fire. About the time we reached them my blood nearly turned to ice as
Charlie blew that damned one note bugle and charged into the clearing
camouflaged with small tree branches and screaming their fuckin' heads
off. Us left living fired everything we could find to stop this mad
suicidal assault and thanks to the ammo of the dead it was a temporary
success.1 mention the ammo of the dead being essential in surviving
their fanatical charge because at that time each trooper took five
hundred rounds of ammunition to the field but only seven magazines
because of a supply shortage and in the heat of battle reloading is next
to impossible
After we stopped
their attempt to over run us they went back to firing from the jungle.
Then heavy small arms fire started coming in from behind us on the other
side of the dry ravine and it wasn’t hard realizing they were
Americans by the sharp crack of the M- 1 6 rifles the automatic fire
didn't last long then all firing ceased by both sides and during that
lull I hollered Bravo company over here. Again it was a deadly mistake
because the patrol poured heavy automatic fire into our position.
Between these volleys fired on us by one of our patrols I told Goias he
was on his way home with the million-dollar wound but he never made it.
When the second burst was fired in on us I was holding this brave mans
head and looking into his eyes and unlike action movies there was no cry
of pain, distortion of features, or animated facial expressions instead
his eyes just lost their glow of life and I knew he was dead from
friendly fire. It's a shame that some died from what's referred to as
friendly fire but I for one found nothing friendly about it. Yet after
all these years I feel no one person is responsible we all tried our
damned best to protect our fellow soldiers as well as ourselves but in a
situation as we had that day errors occur. It's a sad fact of war!
At one point I
thought I was the only one left alive and began slowly crawling back
down toward the dry ravine when Jerry Langston came inching up from that
directional was sure he'd lost his mind going back to the area that had
been the main field of fire. But of the two of us Jerry was the only one
thinking rationally at the time and was heading for the field radio
which by some miracle was still operational after so many had died while
attempting to use it. He did make contact and led a patrol in by firing
a 45cafiber pistol for them to guide in on. The patrol arrived in record
time and checked out the jungle from where the enemy had been firing and
I heard one say that dead VC were everywhere.1 later thought that was a
small tribute to the gallant men who gave their all in the short but
very intense battle for survival.
When the companies
were united it was to late in the evening for a detail to cut out
MEDAVAC landing area so it meant a
long night in an unsecured jungle. By then I was really keyed up and
almost came unglued at every sharp noise especially recon by fire from
inside our perimeter. When the first fight of the day came I really
realized the extreme of the battle as I lay among the wounded and dead
and watched the medics in their futile efforts at keeping some of the
very seriously wounded alive. It was some time before a clearing could
be cut to get the Hueys in but the Air Force brought in a little ugly
helicopter with offset rotors that would allow it to remain stationary
in flight. This little chopper also had a power wench, which they
utilized to get a few of our dying paratroopers out and to emergency
surgery.
As you read my
description of our isolated battle your probably thinking we had a force
larger than we did but in reality we had only eighteen men. Of those
eighteen only five were living when the patrol arrived and of those five
two died leaving only three survivors. I’ve thought of that fight for
life many times over the years and to this day don’t realize how any
of us lived against such odds. They were in the wood lines while we were
in the clearing, they had the high ground with a machine gun above us,
they drastically out numbered us, we had no mortar or artillery support,
they put a suicide charge on us in a confined area, but we did have one
huge advantage over them we were American paratroopers who wouldn’t
say die!
While in the Saigon
hospital General Westmoreland came in to present our wounded with Purple
Hearts and tell us the 1/503rd had been put in for a Presidential Unit
Citation but the news and medals meant little as I learned my squad
leader SSgt Shamblin had just died in surgery.
As long as I live not
one paratrooper who died on that worthless hill will be forgotten. They
may have died without cause but they didn’t die in vain because they
were part of an elite unit standing well above others they were
Skysoldiers!