I remember that day...

Posted for: THOMAS STEVEN HUGHES: Thomas S. Hughes

I met Lt. Hughes just days before an operation that started on 5/15/68. The little-known May Offensive was underway with whatever forces the VC and NVA could scrape together after their Tet Offensive losses. The MRF (Mobile Riverine Force) had been moved closer to an embattled Saigon and we were to be inserted by ATC several clicks (a click is equal to a kilometer) south of the city.

I clearly remember the ride down the canal the morning of 5/17/68 to our insertion area because we were treated to cold chocolate milk in cans. That was extreme luxury for us line grunts. It was soon after dawn and the sun was already making its presence felt. I remember the condensation running down the side of the can.

I got to know a little bit about Lt. Hughes during our brief cruise. His physical appearance was as though he were a long lost twin brother of Robert Redford. As if that weren't enough, he mentioned that he was inducted into the army in Las Vegas, Nevada. Tall, blonde and handsome, he exuded an air of confidence. That feeling was reinforced when I noticed the Ranger patch on his left shoulder. This gave me the instant image of a man who knew what he was doing in the confusion of battle and would obviously be going home in one piece. All I had to do was stay close to him and do as he told me. I was ready.

Third platoon exited the boat with no resistance and moved into an area of rice paddies with a few treelines in the distance and scattered clumps of nippa palm. We lined up and moved toward one of those clumps with Lt. Hughes immediately behind the two point men. Standard procedure had always been for the Platoon Leader and his RTO (radio man) to position themselves at the middle of a column to improve survivability. Ambushes almost always mangled the first few men in the front of the column. Seeing the question mark on my face, he explained that if any trouble started and we were at the front of the column, we wouldn't have to get up (exposing ourselves to enemy fire) and run forward in order to determine the situation. I had complained about this unpleasant experience to our regular Platoon Leader (who was currently in the hospital recovering from wounds) on more than one occasion. This man obviously knew his stuff. I found myself becoming optimistic about surviving another day in combat.

The clumps of nippa palm became thicker until they were taller than us and so dense you couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction. There were several trails and we picked one figuring they wouldn't all be mined. There was a clearing and a solid wall of green beyond that. As the two point men went through the wall, Lt. Hughes and I stepped into the clearing. Gunfire erupted a few feet from us shattering the morning stillness.

I saw Lt. Hughes drop flat into the clearing. Not believing that this was our best course of action, I leaped into the nippa palm to my right. I knew this was always dangerous because usually those other people would prepare the ambush site, placing mines and sharpened stakes along the side of the trail. But I sought cover even in the face of such knowledge.

When I hit the ground my helmet bounced off. I didn't want to raise up to look for it because pieces of foliage were raining down on me, which told me that bullets were doing their weedeater imitation directly over my head. I looked to my left to catch a glimpse of Lt. Hughes.

From the puzzle parts I could make out through the jungle, he seemed to be lying still. This didn't seem right and I briefly considered going to him. But at this point the dictionary definition of "pinned down" would have been incomplete without a picture of my present predicament. Bullets were hitting the ground around me and shredding the jungle above me. I groped around a little and found my helmet.

Apparently my rucksack had shifted when I hit the ground and now, with my helmet on, I couldn't raise my head at all. I could picture, in my mind's eye, a small oriental soldier in black pajamas standing over me with a big rock in his hands. He could have had his way with me at this point and I was so unutterably embarrassed about the possibility of being killed in combat by a little guy with a big rock that I took my helmet off again. I looked around and, much to my relief, there was nobody standing over me. I then wriggled out of my ruck, pushing the radio and other gear to my right.

An amazing thing happened. The blind fire that had been aimed at me shifted to my right. Then I remembered. Just for that mission I had attached an optional external speaker to my PRC-25 radio. They had been firing at the noise of the radio! I was beginning to lose a certain amount of confidence in my abilities as a combat soldier. But it occurred to me that, with the radio out of the way I could wear my helmet properly. I heard a thump nearby and drew my arms around to shield the part of my face that the helmet didn't cover.

WHOOM! A grenade detonated just on the other side of the radio. If the ground had not been muddy, this would have been a very painful experience. But apparently it sunk into the mud enough that the
shrapnel went up and not in my direction. At first I assumed it was a chicom (one of their grenades), but by now it was beginning to be clear that I was only a few feet from the people who were so noisily
shooting at me and the rest of the platoon. That meant that my comrades, trying to help, were firing at targets invisible to them and very close to my present position. It could have been one of our
grenades. I had to move. But how? And where?

WHOOM! Another grenade went off in the direction of Lt. Hughes. I later learned that this was a fragmentation grenade that he had readied just before he was shot three times in the forehead. His grip loosened and it exploded. At this moment the two point men came bursting through the green nippa palm wall (which was actually part of the enemy position) and grabbed Lt. Hughes on the run.
Somehow they got out of the clearing without life-threatening wounds. I can't explain that one.

I found my M-16 and bandolier of ammunition. Somehow that seemed to comfort me. I began to look around for a way out of there. On the other side of the clearing I saw Sp/4 Alton working his M-60 light
machine gun like a jackhammer. He was reloading and looked at me just as a bullet opened up the skin on his forearm in a smooth line about a foot long. As blood gushed from the wound, he rolled off the
gun, the assistant gunner rolled into his former position and pulled the trigger. The machine gun spewed death into the enemy position and the whole scene seemed so smooth that it must have been rehearsed beforehand. They didn't lose a second due to a serious injury. These guys were incredible.

I couldn't help but hear the words "alpha sierra" on the radio's external speaker. Now, any FNG (F**king New Guy) RTO knows that "alpha sierra" is coded language which means that the United States Air Force is on the way to rain fire and brimstone from the heavens. Of course they need a target to drop their bombs on and since one clump of nippa palm looks pretty much like another, we would toss a smoke grenade to give the flyboys a reference point.

I distinctly heard the word "yankee," which meant that someone was marking the target area with a yellow smoke plume which was visible for miles from the air. Suddenly I could see nothing but yellow smoke.

My fear of "friendly fire" in the guise of a scintillating napalm bath was instantly supplanted by the obvious fact that if I couldn't see two feet in front of me, neither could those other people who were earnestly trying to kill me.

I grabbed my M-16 and ammo and ran in the direction I could still vaguely see as the yellow cloud spread from right to left. This was the direction from which we had just come seconds, minutes...hours ago (I had no idea how much time had elapsed).

I realized that the sudden appearance of someone running from the ambush site could cause one of my platoon comrades to panic and shoot me. But I had no time and few options at this point. So I took
the chance.

I have recently learned that our Company Commander, Ron Pease and his RTO, Larry Flowers were actually in the nippa palm calling in napalm on the ambush site after third platoon withdrew.

I was pretty numb at this point. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, so I was beginning to shake. The fact that Lt. Hughes was dead seemed impossible. Weren't we just speaking to each other a
few minutes ago? Wasn't he the most knowledgeable man in the platoon about the dangers and wiles of combat? How could he be dead? He was just too f**king pretty to die. It wasn't fair. I knew next to nothing about combat. How could I survive when he died? It just wasn't fair. I wanted to cry.

I went to the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial in Washington, D.C., on 7/4/87. There I saw Lt. Hughes' name engraved as on a tombstone. Many feelings came rushing back to me, along with a good case of
survivor guilt. Why did he have to die? Why not me? What have I done, who am I to have survived that ambush? I haven't found a cure for cancer or made millions of dollars that I could give to save
starving children or help drug addicts. It's just not fair.

I still feel that way, minus the guilt. I know that nothing I could have done would have saved him. He might have stayed in that clearing for any number of reasons, but I'll never know what he was thinking. I suppose I did well to get my young ass out of there in one piece. I remember being very surprised to find that I had no holes in me while we were waiting for the medivac chopper to pick up Lt. Hughes,
the two point men and Alton.

That is all the story, from my perspective. I only knew Thomas Hughes for a few days, but he made an impression on me that hasn't faded with the passage of time. I would love to meet members of his
family some day. Maybe I could get a picture of him to hang on the wall of my study. I could tell people, "That's my friend First Lt. Thomas Hughes. I'll never forget him."

Larry E. Reid
US 53909075
9th Infantry Division, 1968-69

Posted by: Larry E. Reid
Email: gaian2000@yahoo.com

Relationship: We served together
Sunday, July 28, 2002

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