LZ Margo: Lest We Forget

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RECOVERY

      Kent Wonders lay flat listening to the mortars. By the time he made it to his coffin-size hole, three other Marines had already squeezed into it. He shoved his face down between two of their backs, while the rest of him remained above the rim of the hole. Nearly twenty minutes of non-stop steel rain had passed. It seemed like an eternity, drawing out his wait for death, and taunting him with every close explosion. He could not begin to guess how many mortars had fallen. Suddenly, it stopped. The only sounds filling the LZ were the screams of the wounded and cries for corpsmen. Machine gun fire came from down the slope on the north side of the LZ. Wonders stood in time to see Marines with rifles running towards the northern perimeter.

     “What’s going on?”

     “Ground attack! They’re coming up the hill!”

     Marines filled gaps in the line and poured fire down the hill. The NVA force in sight seemed smaller than would have been expected to follow such a barrage. Seeing the amount of Marines still ready and willing to fight back, the NVA retreated into the jungle.

     Wonders returned to the CP. Dead and wounded Marines lay everywhere. Those unscathed rushed around the LZ helping out however they could. The battalion surgeon worked close by. Wonders saw him performing a tracheotomy, while the wounded piled up around his position. Wonders found Maj Lynch on the radio. Chaos reigned as everyone attempted to grasp the extent of what happened. Wonders offered to take charge of organizing the wounded for medevac. Marines carried their buddies into the collection point. Corpsmen triaged the wounded for evacuation, and set the dead aside. Wonders prepared the highest priority Marines to be evacuated on the first bird, then moved onto organizing the wounded for the second. Just as the battalion had come into the LZ, one chopper at a time would carry them out.

     A corpsman miraculously made it to Steve Haisley while the mortars still fell. He applied a tourniquet to Haisley’s arm, and treated his other wounds. Haisley barely retained consciousness as he waited for medevac. The first chopper finally arrived. Marines carried him onto the bird, one of the most critical casualties. He sensed the chopper lifting into the air.

     “Help me! Please, help me!”

     The cry filled the inside of the helicopter, so loud it could be heard over the intense whine of the engines. Haisley looked around for the source. Another wounded Marine lay on the floor several feet away. Haisley realized the Marine was staring right at him.

     “Help me! Help me!”

     Haisley wondered if the Marine was asking him to help somehow. He looked around the chopper again. Above his head, the helicopter crew chief stood at his door gun looking down at the dying man. Above the noise, and through his helmet, even he heard the screaming. What was he supposed to do? What was anyone supposed to do? Haisley returned his gaze back to the Marine and found him still staring.

     “Help me!”

     Haisley extended his good arm and grasped the man’s hand. He held it firm and watched the man continue pleading. His screams grew faint as the helicopter continued on. When they stopped completely, the Marine’s gaze fell from Haisley’s face. His hand went limp. Haisley kept his own gaze, and the Marine’s hand, held firm.

     Teddy Banks found shelter in a crater to wait out the remainder of the barrage. A corpsman helped him to a casualty collection point, where he waited for medevac. Banks still could not move his legs. His right arm hung motionless and numb, yet his fingers remained locked around his rifle. The corpsman attempted to pry the rifle loose, but Banks’ fingers would not budge. Despite his wounds, Banks clearly saw he was one of the lesser wounded and lower priority. He would be there for a while.

     In the wake of the attack, Alan Green consolidated his platoon. Four of his eight mortars were destroyed. Several of his Marines were already moving their wounded and dead to the LZ for evacuation. Green joined in the effort. He saw the wounded stacking up waiting for their helicopters. Poncho liners covered the dead, waiting to be identified. As he passed, Green paused over two bodies. What remained had been devastated beyond recognition. When Green returned to the gun pits, his platoon sergeant approached. Everyone in the platoon was accounted for, except two. They searched the position once more, then returned to the LZ. Green surveyed the wounded for his Marines. Images of the two mangled dead returned to him.

     “All of the sudden, it hit me,” Green remembered, “That’s got to be my Marines.”

     They located dog tags on the bodies, confirming his gut feeling. The platoon sergeant marked all Marines accounted for.

SECOND ATTACK

     Kent Wonders continued getting the wounded out of LZ Margo. Chopper after chopper touched down and waited as Marines rushed up and down the tail ramp. One chopper prepared to lift off. Wonders ran to the front of the bird and signaled for the pilot to hold. Two more Marines in critical condition were on their way. Despite the already full cargo bay, and sitting exposed on the LZ, the pilot waited. Wonders signaled him once the Marines were loaded and the chopper groaned skyward.

     Wonders organized the next group for evacuation. Volunteers came from everywhere to help carry the wounded.

     “THOOMP, THOOMP, THOOMP, THOOMP.”

     Mortars exploded again across the LZ. Everyone dove to the ground, without time to find a hole. The explosions walked closer, wounding the wounded again, and others who escaped the first barrage. Wonders poked his head up. As far as he could see, men lay on top of the Marines they were carrying when the attack began. He rolled over the Marine next to him and closed his eyes.

     The second barrage stopped mercifully shorter than the first. Nearly 100 more rounds fell. More wounded came to the LZ. Choppers landed again and Wonders resumed his mission.

     Helicopter after helicopter ferried the wounded out of Margo. Wonders marveled that none were caught by mortars. He knew enough wounded remained that the dead would not make it out until tomorrow. As the sun faded, a final chopper landed in the LZ. Maj Lynch observed as Marines filed up and down the tail ramp loading casualties. He finally grabbed a radio operator as Marines continued transporting wounded.

     “Get ahold of that pilot and tell him he needs to get out of here. He’s already overloaded.”

     The radio operator relayed the message.

     “Sir, he says he can take more.”

     “No, he can’t. He’s overloaded. Tell him to get out of here!”

     The last casualty entered the bird, and the pilot launched. The chopper struggled to gain altitude. It slid through the sky off the hill, then dropped into the valley below line of sight. The Marines on the ground waited for the sound of the crash to reach them. Suddenly, the chopper sprang up again as the pilot jettisoned fuel. Everyone breathed a sigh. As soon as the helicopter was out of sight, a single echo cut their relief short.

     “THOOMP.”

     They dove for cover as the mortar exploded exactly where the chopper had sat moments earlier.

AFTERMATH

     Medevacs resumed on the morning of the 17th. The NVA attacked LZ Margo with mortars twice more, killing and wounding more. Piles of destroyed and blood-covered gear dotted the LZ: helmets, rifles, flak jackets, all individual items left by their wounded owners. Marines filled black nets full of the excess gear and helicopters picked them up. The sight of these loads departing proved equally disturbing as the medevac birds. Between the two days’ barrages, nearly 30 Marines were killed and 160 wounded.

     How could this have happened? Who could have ignored every sign, and forced these Marines into such a position? I reflected on the men I spoke with. Most of them had little or no idea why they were at Margo in the first place. They followed orders. They did their jobs. They sacrificed so much for little purpose. The angrier I became, the more I realized my reaction to their stories did not mirror what I saw in them. Every single Marine at LZ Margo was wounded. They carry these wounds still. They buried Margo deep inside, and pressed on. I expected to find bitterness. Instead, I saw thankfulness.

     Many of the Marines chose a life of service after Vietnam. Several, like General Lynch, stayed in and retired from the Marines. Teddy Banks left the Marines for 11 years before reenlisting. He retired as a Gunnery Sergeant, after going to war a second time in Operation Desert Storm. He counseled his young Marines, telling them they would not be the same person by the time they made it home. Some, like Steve Haisley, served outside the military. After multiple surgeries to reattach his arm, Haisley regained extremely limited use. Despite this disability, he became a police officer, serving 37 years. No matter their chosen profession, by the time the veterans of 2/26 arrived in Detroit, their lives reflected a dedication to their Corps, communities, and families.

REMEMBRANCE

     Steve Haisley addressed the group as well.

     “My life is divided into two parts; before Vietnam and after. September 16th, 1968 was the single most defining day of my life. I remember laying in that hole and begging God for my life. I’m sure I promised God everything that my 19 year-old mind could come up with. I remember laying on the floor of the medevac chopper hearing the screams of the Marine next to me. I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life. When the medevac chopper landed, they took us into the triage area. I remember very vividly two men standing over my litter discussing my chances. I heard one of them say, ‘he’s lost a lot of blood, I don’t think he’s going to make it.’ I remember thinking, ‘I am 19 years old. I cannot die. I am not going to die.’”

     In 2014, Haisley went to the VA for an appointment related to his arm. The bloodwork they performed revealed something more sinister. He had cancer. Despite his tour in Vietnam lasting only five months, the cancer was directly linked to Agent Orange exposure. He considered how to tell his family. He reflected on his life, and all the ways Vietnam had defined it. The next morning he sat at his computer. He went online to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Virtual Wall, and scrolled through photographs of Marines killed at Margo.

     “I realized, who am I to be sad or feel sorry for myself? These guys never had a chance at life. I have lived 50 years longer than them. They would have given anything to have been wounded, and lived the life I have. They would have given anything to be sitting here, right now, with cancer.”

     To this day, Haisley starts his daily routine by sitting at his computer and reflecting on the faces of the Virtual Wall. His comments can be found under many photographs.

     “My life has been so blessed. I can see now that the worst things in my life have turned out to be the best things. They have made me who I am today.”

     The afternoon of the ceremony centered around the return of two dog tags. Alan Green made contact with two former Marines, a father and son, who bought a pile of American dog tags in Vietnam during one of their trips. One set belonged to Clifton Spiller, killed on September 16th at the spring in LZ Margo. The mangled condition of the tags painted a solemn picture of his death, shielding another from the exploding mortars. Another set of tags belonged to Lancaster Brown-Bey, killed after Margo a few weeks later in the operation. Brown-Bey’s sister, a Detroit native, attended the ceremony to accept her brother’s tags.

EPILOGUE: ROLL CALL OF HONOR

     The ceremony ended with a Roll Call of Honor. Individuals around the room stood and listed off the Marines killed in action through the operation, both at Margo and in the weeks afterward. For each name given, their photograph was displayed on the screen.

     “Lance Corporal Lancaster Brown-Bey, Detroit, Michigan, age 19. Died October 1, 1968.”

     “Private First Class James Claude ‘Bull’ Durham, Jr., Lincoln Park, Michigan, age 19. Died at LZ Margo on September 16, 1968.”

     “Corporal Rodney Bradford, Chicago, Illinois, aged 19. Died at LZ Margo, September 16, 1968.”

     The list continued on and on. When the names of Echo Company Marines came, Teddy Banks stood to sound them off.

     “Private First Class John Martin Donohue, Gregory, Michigan, age 17. Died at LZ Margo on September 16, 1968.”

     “Lance Corporal Harry Eugene Rivers, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, age 19. Died at LZ Margo on September 16, 1968”

     Banks continued. Others followed. In total, 49 names were listed. They ranged from 17 to 27 years old. Some were in the final days of their tour. Some had been in country less than a week. Name after name, face after face, was announced. The gravity of what these Marines carried the past 50 years impacted me more completely. They told me LZ Margo defined them. They spoke of it in painful, distant memories, unearthed for the reunion. The memories came quickly, though, detailed and alive. This place they longed to forget was the place they could never forget, and became the great paradox of their lives.

     “Years after I became a police officer, I got my own office,” Steve Haisley told me. “I covered the walls and my desk with all my old Marine Corps stuff. The guys called it my war room. They’d come in and tell me, ‘Vietnam was years ago, you need to get over it.’ I’d tell them I could never get over it. I didn’t want to get over it. Our memories of the guys we lost there keeps them alive. If I forget them, who will remember?”

     Bagpipes played Amazing Grace. The men surrounding me bowed their heads. Their tears disclosed the living reality of the wounds Margo left. I realized this would be the closest I could come to understanding what it meant to them. I wondered if I could endure the things they had. I hoped I might come to emulate their strength. I marveled at their stories. Men like Jarvis Lynch, Alan Green, Kent Wonders, Teddy Banks, Steve Haisley, and all the others. They were each the story of LZ Margo. How could I possibly capture it into words? I stood in awe, and silently thanked them for allowing me to be there.

Originally published in Leatherneck Magazine, May 2019.

Want to learn more about the veterans of 2/26, and the story of LZ Margo? Visit their website, DMZ Rats, to read more.