By Honor Bound Page 16

  During much of the Morton’s journey up the coast, south to north, while its crew were putting in spotting rounds, they were in direct communication with only Bill Woodruff on the junks. He relayed radio traffic from Norris to the Morton—the information that neither he nor Norris could see the fall of shot from the spotting rounds. Once Norris made his way to the high ground near the bunker and the Morton had moved farther north, the ship came within range of Norris’s radio. As the North Vietnamese closed in, Tom was able to speak directly with Ed Moore on the Morton.

  “We began by firing spotting rounds farther north than what we had previously thought would be their extraction point—where we had assumed they would be coming out,” Moore said of the NGFS mission, “and then worked our way north along the coast. We fired the first round, alerted the SEALs just before the impact or ‘splash,’ and got a negative reply. So we moved up the coast several hundred yards and fired a second Willy Pete round. Again the response was negative visual. We continued to do this for about four or five more rounds. On the last round, we moved the round much farther up the coast. This time the SEAL on the radio said, ‘I see it! I see it!’ We waited a couple of seconds, then radioed back, ‘Interrogative spot, over?’ We assumed that he would give us instructions to move the fall of shot onto the target. The response we got back was, ‘Shoot! Just shoot!’ This was around 0745 on the morning of 31 October.”

  Ed Moore then made a crucial decision. Without going to the Morton’s skipper to release the batteries, he decided to shoot. “I called down to gunnery plot and told them, ‘Fire for effect, ten rounds HE [high explosive], fuse quick.’ Plot asked me if I wanted to walk them around a bit for better coverage and I said yes. When I got their ‘Plot set,’ I immediately told them, ‘Plot shoot, ten rounds.’ The first round was fired immediately, followed by a round about every three seconds. All ten rounds were in the air within a minute. The entire operation, from the first call for fire until we fired for effect, lasted less than half an hour.

  “We heard nothing more from the SEALs ashore. We called and asked for their status and to ask them for any spots, but they were silent. For the next hour, we called them every five minutes, and after that continued to monitor the frequency, but heard nothing. Later we were contacted by an offshore spotter and asked to put more rounds into the area, but we never heard from the SEALs ashore. We didn’t talk much about that NGFS operation; we all assumed that they had either been overrun or we might have inadvertently killed them with one of our rounds. I never received any feedback on the mission while I was assigned to the Morton. It was only recently that I learned of the events ashore that day and about Tom Norris and Mike Thornton.”

  Ashore, Tom Norris was busy. “I was getting ready to fire my last LAAW rocket at a pocket of advancing NVA troops. My thought was that I would fire the rocket, and then Deng and I would make a run for it. I didn’t like our chances making that run over open ground to the north, but we had no other option. Then I couldn’t believe it! This round dropped out of the sky right in the middle of the NVA advancing on our position.”

  Tom recalls a variation of the radio exchange with the Morton. “When the spotting round landed just in front of me and right in the enemy’s line of advance, I told them to shoot—to fire for effect. I can understand the ship’s reluctance to fire, as that spotting round was very close to us. I was asking for naval gunfire right onto our position—those rounds could have hit Deng and me just as well as the bad guys. But we had no choice. The guy on the radio came back and said, ‘Understand fire for effect?’ And I said, ‘Absolutely. Put it on us.’ And he said, ‘Are you sure?’ And I said, ‘Just get it in here!’ I went back to getting the LAAW ready to fire. I could hear the ship shooting, but that’s the last thing I remember.”

  At that point in the fight, Tom Norris took an AK-47 round into the left side of his forehead. The bullet entered his skull at the orbital socket of his left eye, tore out a section of his skull exposing his brain, and cut a shallow furrow along the brain itself. Deng saw his officer go down and the extent of his head wound. His lieutenant had been shot dead. Knowing there was nothing he could do, he made for the others, who had just taken a position on the next tall dune to the north. As he ran he took a round through the radio he still carried on his back, knocking him down. The round destroyed the radio and saved his life, but fragments carried through and into his back. Deng picked himself up and kept running. It took him close to ten minutes to reach Mike.

  “Where’s Tommy?” Mike asked Deng when he reached them. “Where’s the dai uy?”

  “Dai uy dead,” Deng replied.

  GRIT TIME

  The firefight had begun about 0545 that morning, and the first high-explosive rounds from the Morton arrived on target just after 0745—seconds before Tom Norris received his head wound. So the team had been fighting for two hours at that time, and the fight was far from over. All of them had been up for twenty-four hours and were running on adrenaline. On learning that his lieutenant was dead, Mike Thornton had a decision to make: Do I consolidate my position on the defensible dune? With the enemy at least partially occupied with the naval bombardment, do we now make for the water? Or do I go back for the body of my lieutenant and my friend? Logic dictated one of the first two of these options. Yet the Navy SEALs, then as now, have a covenant that they leave no one behind, and Mike was not about to violate that covenant. He immediately went back.

  “I told Quan and the others to wait here, that I was going back for Tommy. They tried to stop me, saying that it was no use—he was dead. I believed them; I too thought he was dead. But I wasn’t going to leave him behind; we never leave anybody behind. So no way was I going to be the first to do that. Had I been wounded or dead, he’d have come back for me. That’s who we are. Deng said he was dead and I had no reason not to believe him. It didn’t matter. And what if, by chance, he was still alive? I could not have lived with myself if I had left him behind not knowing, or what the NVA might do to him if he were still alive. That whole area south of the bunker was littered with bodies, and they would be looking for revenge.

  “I had close to a quarter of a mile to cover, and the last part of it was uphill, but I ran all the way. The initial salvo from the Morton, although I didn’t know at the time that it was the Morton shooting, had made the bad guys think twice about advancing on that dune with the bunker. When I got close, I saw them moving carefully toward the bunker. From where I was I could see they were flanking the bunker and moving in from the east or the beach side as well as from the south. I saw Tommy lying on the west side of the bunker. Two guys were climbing over the top as they moved in from the east. They moved cautiously, and got to within a few feet of him. I shot them both, and moved to where Tommy was. He had an unbelievable head wound. The whole side of his forehead was gone, his brain was visible—you could actually see it. The front lobe of his brain was kind of pushing out through his skull. I could now see why Deng said he was dead. I sure thought he was. I picked him up, put him over my shoulder, and started running. I also grabbed his AK-47, as I knew I was getting low on ammo. I hadn’t taken more than ten steps from the bunker when there was this explosion behind me from a naval gunfire round. The concussion picked us both up in the air, lifting Tommy off my shoulder, and tossed us forward ten or fifteen feet. I literally saw him leave my shoulder and fly through the air. When I landed, I sat there for a moment stunned, trying to orient myself and catch my breath. Once I sorted myself out, I crawled over to where Tommy was lying in the sand.”

  “I never saw or heard those initial rounds from the Morton land,” recalled Tom. “After I told them to fire for effect, I went back to trying to get the LAAW rocket launcher extended so I could use it. Then I was hit. The round just picked me up off of the side of the bunker and dumped me on my back. I knew I was hit, but I didn’t know how bad. I began scrounging around to find my rifle to shoot back. I was starting to have tunnel vision, and I was fighting to stay conscious. I kept say
ing to myself, ‘No, no, no, no!’ because I needed to shoot; I needed to cover my guys. I fought it for a few seconds, then boom, I just went out. And the next thing I remember, Mike’s over top of me and I’m looking up at him.”

  * * *

  “After Tom called for the fire for effect,” Bill Woodruff said of the NGFS salvo, “we heard nothing more from them. The Morton called them; I called them—nothing. Their radio went dark. I think the NGFS team on the Morton felt they may have killed them with friendly fire, and I didn’t know what to think. We had drifted south of where we had inserted them, so my two junks were chugging north along the coast. We now knew roughly where they were—just south of the Ben Hai River, not the Cua Viet. Now I wanted to get up to a location off the coast so if they were alive and could make it to the water, we would be there for them.

  “I tried to put myself in their position—no radio, hopefully still alive and fighting. And I figured they’d probably need more gunfire support. So I called the Morton and asked them to put more rounds in to where Tom had last called for them. If Tom, Mike, and the others were still alive, some more 5-inch rounds in the area would give the enemy something to think about.

  “The round that had knocked us down landed on the southeastern side of the bunker,” said Mike. “Thank God there was a portion of that dune between us and that round or we’d have both been killed. It must have raised havoc with the NVA still working their way toward the bunker. Once I got to Tommy again and started to pick him up, he spoke to me for the first time. He said, ‘Mike, buddy,’ and it was then that I knew he was alive. I said, ‘Can you run?’ and he says, ‘I can run but I can’t see.’ But he really couldn’t run, and he blanked out again. I put him in a fireman’s carry and took off for the dune to the north where I had left the others. I heard him talking now and then, and guessed he was fading in and out. But I knew he was alive. And I put all my energy and focus to covering the ground between where we were and the other dune.”

  The Morton continued to put rounds into the area at the request of Bill Woodruff and then by the direction of an Air Force airborne observer in an OV-10 Bronco spotter aircraft. Yet with the few SEALs among the many NVA moving in the area, there was the ever-present danger of friendly fire. And with no radio communication, that danger increased. It is uncertain after these many years just how many rounds of high explosive the Morton fired that day. The Newport News arrived on station sometime that morning, but there is no record of the big cruiser ever taking part in any NGFS activity. The Morton did move in close enough to the beach to take counterbattery fire in the form of rocket-propelled grenades. In all probability, these were Russian-made RPG-7s with a maximum range of one thousand yards. It is doubtful the Morton was ever that close to the beach, but the ship moved out to seaward just to be safe. There were some reports of soldiers running along the beach, but with no clear identification, the Morton declined to take them under fire.

  * * *

  “I knew we weren’t safe, not by a long shot,” Mike remembered, “as I could now see North Vietnamese deployed on the beach to the north, coming at us. When I got back to the dune, Deng and Quan were waiting for me, providing covering fire. Lieutenant Thuan was nowhere in sight; he had already made for the water to escape. But God bless Deng and Quan. They waited for me and were still in the fight, even though Deng was wounded.

  “They said, ‘Mike, what do we do now?’ and I said, ‘We swim.’ But first we had to get to the water, and the bad guys were now coming at us from the north and the south. Rounds were starting to kick up sand around us, and we had 250 yards of sand and open beach to cross before we got to the water. And we’d be under fire the whole way. I had just one full magazine left for my CAR, and I knew Deng and Quan were low on ammunition. So off we went. Now we were leapfrogging with bounds of thirty to forty yards, first me carrying Tommy and then the two of them—running, then dropping to one knee to shoot. I remember taking measured, single shots, hoping that I could make my ammo last until we got to the water. All the while, rounds were kicking up sand all around us. I had Tommy in a fireman’s carry, and I still had his AK-47 clutched in one hand, my CAR in the other. I could feel there was a magazine or two left in Tommy’s AK ammo vest, and that was my fallback when my rifle ran dry. Just as I got into the water, I took a round in my left calf. The round tripped me, and pitched me forward, tossing poor Tommy into the shallows. I got to my feet, picked him up, grabbing him around the waist with one arm, and we staggered into the water. I fired the last rounds from my CAR and tossed it aside, along with my combat vest. I now had no rifle, no grenades, no nothing—just Tommy and Tommy’s AK. But there was no time to get Tommy’s AK-47 into the fight; I was totally focused on getting through the four- to five-foot surf that was then running.”

  From Tom: “As you might imagine, what took place after I got shot was pretty much of a blur for me. I was going in and out of consciousness. I remember there was a lot of shooting going on—from Mike and from the others nearby. I also remember the impact of rounds from the naval gunfire. But it was hard for me then, and now, to put the sequence together. I remember getting to the water, trying to run through the water, and that Mike had me around the waist, moving me forward. I remember the rounds coming in and splashing all around us. I could see them and hear them. I could even hear the action of the enemy AK-47s, ‘Cha-cha-ching! Cha-cha-ching!’ I’m thrashing around, reaching for whatever I could find to shoot back with, but there was nothing I could do. It was frustrating and, of course, I was having trouble seeing. I really didn’t know at the time that I had only one good eye. The blood from my head wound kept washing in my eyes and I remember dunking my head in the water to wash it off, but then I’d get all bloody again. I was aware there was another guy in the water nearby, but I was having a hard time seeing him. I kept ducking my head in the water to wash the blood off so I could see. I’d be awake, then things would close in and I’d fade out. It was like a dream sequence.”

  From Mike: “I kind of used Tommy like a surfboard. I pushed him underneath the water through the oncoming waves to get him through the surf zone. My worst fear was that I’d somehow lose my grip on him and have the waves carry him back to shore. Once we cleared the breakers, I tried to find his life vest and get it over his head, which was no small task given he had this big head wound and I could see his brain. Here the bullets were still splashing around us and I was looking for his damned life vest. I never did find it, as he for some reason had tied it to his leg. So I took my vest (these were UDT-type, horse-collar rubber inflatable vests) and managed to get it over his head. I partially inflated it, as I wanted to keep his head up, but not too high, as they were still shooting at us. All the while, I was kicking and pushing him out to sea. Pretty soon we were in the offshore swells and that gave us some cover from the guys firing at us from the beach. I’ll never know why those guys didn’t come into the water after us. They just stood on the beach, plinking away at us. I guess they were hoping for a lucky hit. Then maybe we’d turn around and give up. But we kept swimming.”

  “When I came to in the water, I knew that Mike had me and that we were clear of the surf zone. The water was warm and sort of lulled you along. Then suddenly, Mike was not there—he’d swum off.”

  “There were still bullets singing through the water, so we were still in range,” said Mike. “I could see Deng out in front of me and Lieutenant Thuan was nowhere in sight. I was thinking that if we got out of this, I was going to have a serious talk with our Vietnamese officer, but that would have to wait. Then I noticed Quan off to my right—to the south. He was lagging back and splashing about so I knew he was in trouble. I left Tommy and swam over to him. Quan had been shot through the buttocks and the round had lodged in his thigh. Later we learned that it had gone into his femur. So he was in a lot of pain and couldn’t swim. I grabbed him and got back to Tommy, and now I had two of them to push through the water. I got Quan’s life vest inflated so now I knew he, like Tommy, wouldn’t sink.
I tied a line around Tommy so he was tied to my back and I pushed Quan ahead of me. And there was nothing to do now but swim seaward. It was like SEAL training and Hell Week—kick, stroke, and glide, although there was not much gliding. With every stroke, I waited for a round to catch me in the back of the head, but with every stroke, we were that much farther from the beach.”

  “I somehow knew we were in deep water and aware that there was no more gunfire,” Tom said of one of his bouts with consciousness. “With the exception of Mike panting and an occasional grunt from Quan, it was quiet. I again ducked under to wash off the blood and looked around. I could see and hear Mike and Quan, and then I found Deng nearby. But what about Thuan? Where was Lieutenant Thuan? A SEAL officer always has to keep track of his men—always. This goes back to our basic SEAL training where our SEAL instructors did unspeakable things to officers in training if they could not account for their men, no matter what the conditions. So it’s hammered into your DNA: always account for your men. And I was missing one.”

  “Every time Tommy woke up it was, ‘Mike, you got everyone? I count only four of us; where’s the other guy?’ I’d say, ‘I got them, I got everyone,’ and he’d drift off again. Then when he awoke again, it was, ‘Mike, you got everyone? Do you have all of them?’ And I’d say, ‘Dammit, Tommy, I got ’em all, okay? They’re all accounted for.’ That seemed to calm him down and he’d drift back off to sleep. I really didn’t know where Lieutenant Thuan was, and about that time I really didn’t care. But I had this growing urge to wring his neck if I ever did see him again.”

  “I remember that Mike was getting a little irked at me as I kept asking him if he had everyone,” Tom recalled. “I don’t blame him. He was hurt, and he had to swim for me, Quan, and himself. Finally, after he’d once again assured me he had everyone, I guess I relaxed a little and drifted off. I don’t remember much of the day after that.”