The marines of Hue had no way of knowing the enemy Tet offensive of 1968 would be the turning point of the war in Vietnam. The Americans would win the battle, but the Vietcong and the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) would claim a psychological victory. It was the beginning of the end of the war.
Vietnam was not a popular war. If it had been like the participation in World War II, Hue would still be a popular name. The marines who fought there and survived would now be heroes. Young Americans who died there would be remembered. Instead, the marines who fought in Vietnam returned to a nation that had turned its back on them. The United States would be unable to separate the war from the warrior. America would disgrace itself by scapegoating the very young men it had sent to fight. The sacrifices made and the hardships endured by those who faced the brutal month-long house-to-house fighting would go unnoticed next to the headlines about returning veterans going off and shooting up the town.
In Hue, two understrength marine battalions fought eight enemy battalions.
The truck convoy neared Hue. The marines watched in horror as the Vietnamese civilians streamed out of the city and down Highway 1 on foot by the thousands, carrying whatever belongings they could hold.
The enemy troops attacked the marine convoy just inside Hue. North Vietnamese soldiers took positions in a graveyard. They detonated a mine as the lead truck passed over it. Twenty marines were killed or wounded in that truck. Pieces of their young bodies were strewn all over the road.
Mac and his machine-gun team took cover behind the gravestones in the cemetery and began returning fire. Another truck came up and started shooting fifty-caliber machine guns, blowing away the paddy dikes and grave mounds concealing the North Vietnamese soldiers. As the dirt walls began to disintegrate, the enemy panicked and ran into the open. Mac and his machine-gun team cut them down. The battle ended when the NVA retreated under cover of smoke.
February was monsoon season in Vietnam. It was cold, wet, and dreary in Hue. During the early days of the fighting marines died trying to cross streets and move through doors. The enemy knew where the marines would cross and would be waiting for them with machine guns. The young marines ran into a wall of bullets. Crossing a street became a deadly business. A marine would be wounded or killed in the street, and his body would lie there until his buddies went out into the street to get him. Often another marine would be hit in the process and more marines would have to run into the withering machine-gun fire again. Many marines were lost in this manner, because the marines refused to leave one dead or wounded comrade behind. Eventually, the marines began blowing holes through walls with a recoilless rifle, and casualties became much lighter.
Bodies of dead enemy soldiers were lying in the streets. Their bloated, stinking bodies were strangely contorted, with arms outstretched and their legs and heads blown off.
Two weeks into the fighting, a marine chaplain arrived in Hue. There was a ceremony held for the dead marines. Several rows of rifles with fixed bayonets were stuck in the ground. Helmets of dead marines were placed on the rifle butts. The chaplain said the young marines had not died in vain. He said God was on their side. Mac and the marines of Hotel Company paused for a moment to imagine what hell would look like if this was God’s work. Many of the marines in Hue were taking on the thousand-yard stare. It is a vacant, distant, frightened, exhausted look that those who have been in combat for long periods of time with no sleep and little water would recognize. The next morning, an enemy sniper tried to kill Mac as he crossed the street. Mac realized that he was too tired, cold, and hungry to even care. There was a person out there he didn’t even know, and that person was trying to kill him. Mac felt an eerie, surrealistic rush of emotion that left him ashamed to be part of such madness.
The next morning, Hotel Company advanced to a row of houses that had to be secured. Mac and his squad entered a house and were told to wait. As he stood looking out the window, Mac saw a Vietnamese soldier wearing a pith helmet walk past with his rifle slung over his shoulder. The enemy lines were farther up, and Mac thought this was not an enemy soldier. Then he understood the mistake that could have cost him his life: only enemy soldiers wore the white pith helmets. Mac had just seen an enemy soldier stroll past the window like he had all day. Fortunately for Mac, the enemy had not seen him or he wouldn’t still be thinking about it. Mac thought it was very unlikely that the enemy soldier would return, but he would be ready just in case. He rested his M-16 rifle on the windowsill and moved the selector to single fire. A minute later, the same soldier returned. He was very close and this time he held his rifle in his hands and crouched low. He turned and looked at Mac. Both soldiers froze for an instant. Then the enemy started to raise his weapon. Mac squeezed the trigger and felt the rifle gently buck against his shoulder. The round slammed into the enemy soldier’s chest. The man looked surprised, then grimaced in pain as the force of the bullet knocked him down. He was dead.
The next morning, Hotel Company moved out early. The patrol came upon four enemy officers in a hooch with several women. Grenades were tossed in the windows. Two marines went inside. One of the women and one of the enemy officers were alive, but they were all blown up. Two pistol shots echoed through the streets.
The brutal, bloody, house-to-house, street-to-street slaughter went on for thirty more days in Hue.
Near the end of the battle, Hotel Company pursued a fleeing unit of enemy soldiers into the nearby hills. The marine patrol reached the base of a hill that was covered with brush and trees. The enemy was holed up inside two old block buildings at the top of the hill. They opened up with machine guns, pinning down the marines. The captain got on the radio and called for air strikes on the enemy positions. There was another marine company nearby, so instead of directing the jet bombing run parallel to the front line, he brought them in overhead, thus cutting down the chances of overshooting the target and bombing the other company. The U.S. Air Force jet came in low and dropped napalm canisters on the hilltop. The enemy fire ceased.
The captain stood up to get a better look. The enemy position was smoking and burning from a direct hit. Standing with his radio, the captain brought the aircraft in for another air strike. The jet banked around and came shrieking in low over the treetops, releasing four 500-pound bombs. There was a tremendous roar, and Mac was slammed to the ground by a huge concussion. He knew two of the bombs had exploded behind him. The pilot had pressed the button a second too soon. The grunts staggered around for a few moments trying to comprehend what had happened. Some of the marines were calling for corpsmen. Then they found four young marines, blown apart, arms and legs and intestines and brains smeared in the bushes. It was a direct hit. Marines were getting sick, turning away, not wanting to look at the mess. Mac and another marine put what was left of the kids in ponchos. Fox Company moved up to secure the hill. They found twenty-two enemy dead in the demolished blockhouses. It didn’t seem to matter much to the marines of Hotel Company.