I served in the USMC from April 1976 through June 1997. I attended Officer Candidates School (PLC Combined) the summer of 1976. I was assigned to Delta Company, 4th Platoon and my senior drill instructor was GYSGT Wells. I remember reading the list of casualties from the Beirut bombing which killed many outstanding Americans, and unfortunately there was 1st Sergeant Wells name. I was very saddened about his death because he was a great Marine who shared many of his life experiences from Viet Nam to our platoon of officer candidates. He went above and beyond traditional Marine Corps training requirements, he shared a piece of himself with us. God Bless you 1st Sergeant Wells and Semper Fi.
Stephen Hill
Major USMC (Ret.)
Two Med Floats to the Root, 1983 & 1985
Hello, all my marine brothers! First, thank you for your dedicated service no matter what branch! I proudly served from 1982 to 1986 where it started @ Parris Island then to Camp Pendelton for amphibian assault vehicle training then to Beirut, Lebanon (May – Nov ’83) for my first Med float (USS Harlan County). My 2nd Med Float (USS Spartanburg County) in 1985 was interrupted by the high-jacking of a TWA commercial airliner and we were off the coast on standby to evac Americans for the university there. To round out my active duty, I participated in Cold Weather operations in Norway. A tough 4 years especially with the losses of 220 of our brothers on that fateful day, Oct. 23rd, 1983. Never forgotten! Semper Fi Marines!
Great minds unsuccessfully co-exist with heavy artillery.
Before I landed at Chu Lai, July 1965 with 1st 155 Guns (SP), I inverted two magazines tightly wrapped with electrician’s tape and came ashore with confidence that my added firepower would rue the day, easily neutralizing envisioned nasty, fire breathing indigenous heathens with my superior military creativity. Another time I returned incoming small arms fire. Excited to bag my first trophy, my rifle jammed after the second round. I flipped magazines. Another three rounds fired. Jammed! Nonetheless I confidently persevered even with the additional weight of two loaded magazines in the tedious heat of a long patrol. I pondered the value of my experiment, unwrapped, thoroughly cleaned the magazines and repositioned them, rewrapped and reloaded with fresh ammo. Nothing! Silent, ominous pictures in my brain finally assured me of my folly. I buried my superlative, yet ill conceived invention, offered a few words of wisdom and with appropriate ceremony included my red cape, mask and tights. I resorted to standard mags the remainder of my tour. Too bad. I was never able to justify “my imagined lethality” with 40 continuous and glorious rounds fired down range.
But I’m convinced the laughter of my enemy, much older now but with long memories that still ring throughout the provenance with stories of that “Boocoo Dinky Dow”. Subsequently I carried a Grease Gun on future excursions into the jungle; a much wiser Marine. Somewhere I heard the raspy voice of my DI: “Son, if the Corps wanted you to have a double mag he would have issued you one!”
1st. Guns (SP) 3rd. 8″ Howitzer (SP)
1965-1966
For all who are curious about survival, its guilty consequence and PTSD, my novel “The Price for Glory” a story of Destiny’s mystics and mysteries will be published in August.
24 MAU in Beirut
I was hoping to catch up with some of my fellow Marine’s that I spent a part of my life with that I’ll never forget! Fom a working port in Hifia, to the train ride to Tel Aviv, then Jerusalem. Then of course the no duty store for the ride back with Johnny Walker. We did have fun, but it never took the true pain away! Making Grape hooch down in the well deck of the USS Nassau (Being a Marine I never thought I’d say she was a GOOD ship). Never did we forget the REAL reason we were there! God bless our Hero’s that gave all! And are still giving!
40 Round Magazine
I saw an AK-47 while in Vietnam and it had a 30 round magazine. So I cut the top and bottom off of a couple of M-14 Magazines and welded them together and made a “40” Round magazine for my M-14. It really didn’t work very well when test firing it, several of the last rounds would not chamber with only two springs. So I put “three” springs into the magazine, but then I could only load a little over 30 rounds. There just wasn’t enough room for three springs and 40 Full Metal Jacket rounds in that magazine. I sure received some strange looks while walking around with my 40 round magazine.
Extending In Nam
For all it’s worth, I drew combat pay for some 41 months in RVN, all but the first six months in direct combat assignments. I arrived in May of ’67 and was assigned to the 1st MarDiv G-2 shop on Hill 327 until November of the same year. (My OQR showed I spoke French and somehow Division thought that might come in handy – it didn’t.) From there I went to 1st Force Recon Co. until June ’68, extended and went to 1st Recon Bn. until January ’69, extended again, and was seconded to the PRU program until September ’69. While on extension leave in Jan. ’69, I managed to visit Kabul, Afghanistan, and stayed with the MSGs at the Marine House. The Gunny there, the MSG NCOIC, was a great host, showed me all around town, and helped me get a flintlock musket at the bazaar that had been captured from the British army by Afghan guerrillas ca. 1842. It has a stamp on the firing mechanism “VEIC 1807”, for ‘Venerable East India Company 1807’. I haven’t been back to Kabul since – maybe now’s not a good time to visit.
“Born Again Hard”
Like all Corpsman, I started at Navy Boot Camp, 1980. Over the next seven years, I was with the Blue Side. But in 1987, the Navy saw fit to train me “Green”. Despite graduating from Field Medical Service School in December of 1987, I didn’t “get it” until February 1988. I was assigned to the Northern Training Area, Okinawa. Within two weeks, the Marines signed me up for Rappel Master Training. Never having Rappelled before, I was “unsure”. When it became my turn to do the slack-jump off the helo-simulator on the cliff, I panicked. The thought of having to slack jump out of an actual helo the following day pushed me over the edge. I walked off the obstacle, not realizing what the repercussions would be. For the next three months, I was piranha. A non-being. At a command of less than 40 personnel, isolated in the Okinawa jungle, I was in hell, branded a coward. After a month of being cut off from everyone at NTA, I was begging the senior Corpsman for a transfer. He said it was impossible. “What else can I do?” He said, “earn back their respect.” For the next two months, I stayed in the bush. If there was a training op, I stayed out there, night and day. I didn’t expect to be acknowledged by the NTA Marines. And I wasn’t. Then one day, three months after my mistake on the cliff, I was making my way across the Commando Crawl obstacle. Halfway across the Shanghai River, I spoke to the Chief Instructor on the far side of the cliff, “I can’t take back what I did that day on the cliff Staff Sgt. But given these past two months, I wish I had done the slack jump. If the rope had snapped, I would have been better off than I am now.” As I came off the obstacle, I went past him. He didn’t acknowledge me. I didn’t expect him to. A week later, my senior Corpman took me aside and said, “The Senior Instructor acknowleded your efforts today, saying, “At least he’s out there trying.” A couple of nights later, we were doing a night rappel into training smoke. The Rappel Master yelled out, “Navy, on rappel!” (I hadn’t heard the term “Doc” in over three months). I came off the line and couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Then the Chief Instructor’s voice was next to me, “Now that you’ve grown a pair, put in another request for enrollment. I’m not saying it will be accepted. It’s never been done before.” And he was gone. The next morning, he walked into his office and found my request chit with a pen, sitting on his desk. A couple of days later, the next class of Rappel Master started. When it came time for the slack-jump, I was all over the process of tying the knots. The lead instructor for the obstacle spoke to me, “I know you want to be the first one down Doc (my first time hearing that title), but I have to go first, then you.” The obstacle was being run by a student, but one of the NTA Marines took over. He grabbed me by the blouse and looked me in the eye. “Just do it. Don’t think about it.” He hit me on the helmet and I jumped. I got to the ground and every available NTA Instructor was on hand to clap me on the back and tell me, “good job, Doc!” From that moment in my life, I strived never again to bring dishonor upon myself, or upon Corpsman, or upon my Marines. When I look back, I consider that the day I was “Baptised in The Corps.”
To my Vietnam Veteran dad.
My hero and father,
Protector and friend.
In Vietnam you fought,
In Vietnam you lost, many a friend
But you never forgot.
You vowed to keep a distance
The product of the war.
But we loved you so much
We couldn’t walk out the door.
You told us to be ready
You told us to be brave.
That you would soon descend
Your temporary grave.
Helmand, Afghanistan 2009
Sept. 29th 2009 is the date this story takes place. To begin I served as a Weapons Co. Heavy Machine-Gunner (0331 2/8 wpns co.) Our plt. pushed out from FOB Delhi early that afternoon to patrol some new area’s of the western desert we had not yet visited. EOD accompanied us as the area we were headed was known to be riddled with IED’s. My section establised a VCP by the “main” road, While section one began clearing the ridge we intended to establish support by fire positions on.
“Pig”
In 1969 while serving in the 1st MAW in DaNang, I was at the airstrip waiting to catch a C-130 for Chu Lai when a little guy came out of nowhere… He jumped in my lap and looked hungry. I took him back to the compound and got him some chow & water. We became good buddies for the next 4 months. I named him “Pig” because he would eat anything! He was a great little guy!