oral-history-prentice

Oral History Interview Prepared for the Museum Division of Headquarters, U. S. Marine Corps Interview conducted on 15 April 2005 in Lexington, Virginia My name is Glenn Prentice, former Sergeant with Charlie Battery, 1st Battalion 13th Marines, and I served in Vietnam from early November 1967 until late November 1968. For much of that time period, I was attached out to India Company, 3rd Battalion, 26th Marines as the radio operator in an artillery Forward Observer team. India Company arrived at Khe Sanh in mid-December 1967 along with other combat units as part of the United States response to counter a large scale infusion of North Vietnamese Army troops in the area. India Company, and later, elements of Mike Company, was given the task of defending Hill 881s. This hill top, named for its height in meters on military maps, was the most distant out- post from the airstrip and the combat base. During the last month of 1967 and the first weeks of the New Year, 881s was a place of modest tranquility, unsurpassed beauty, and the standard military routines of patrols and ambushes away from the hill. The patrols themselves were punctuated with relentless heat, and demanding inclines and declines that took a toll on us. On the hill, defensive preparations involved trench and bunker construction, sandbag filling, and ammunition storage. Patrols off the hill – which ran in length from half to full days – were meant to detect the presence of the NVA before they began to approach the hill. Occasion- ally, the FO team would call in fire missions on suspected NVA sites, but actual contact with the NVA was almost non-existent through December and early January. Because of the distance from the combat base and the real concern about getting artillery support from there, Charlie Battery was split in half, and three 105mm guns were heli-lifted to 881s along with crews, fire direction center personnel, radio operators, and support staff. Naturally, re-supplying the three guns with ammo involved additional logistical headaches, but if 881s was going to have artillery support north and west of the hill, it had to be done internally. The daily routines of December blended into January, and while never boring, they became almost automatic. Suddenly, all that changed on my birthday – January 20, 1968. A Recon Patrol had earlier bumped into some NVA on Hill 881n, and India Company had responded in a day long firefight and then returned to the hill. At midnight of the 20th, Marines on Hill 861 to the east of us were attacked and partially overrun by another NVA battalion, and the start of the 77 Day Siege of Khe Sanh had begun. On the day I turned 19, I really had my doubts that I’d ever live to be 20 years old. With the opening shots of the siege, my duties changed dramatically. Patrolling outside the protective barbed wire was halted because there was no need to find the NVA. They were on the hills and in the ravines leading up to us! Captain O’Conner, Charlie Battery’s commander down at the base, assigned me the task as a liaison between the base and the hill. Essentially, my job required me to ensure that anything needed by the gun crews on the hill arrived intact and in the quantities requested. In numerous, roundtrip helicopter flights between the hill and the base, I would bring up batteries, extra sights for the guns, communication wire, radios, maps, NATO code books, and the most sought after item: the mail from home! During re-supply missions, Lt. Schneider and I would hunker down in scrub growth vegetation near one of the three landing zones that had been cut into the hill. As helicopters began to off load men and equipment, we’d wait for the NVA gunners to hit the landing zone with mortar rounds. When the rounds became too close or the helicopter became bracketed, we’d radio the pilot to take off before the arrival of the deadliest rounds. There were times when arriving troops – most often replacements and new to the instant dangers that awaited them – would be wounded on the LZ and put right back on the same helicopter to fly them back to Charlie Med at the Combat Base. The landing zones were, without a doubt, the most dangerous places on 881s. The NVA knew that the Marine-held hills at Khe Sanh could only exist because of helicopter re-supply missions, and they did as much as they could to cut off the flow of men and material. It was inspiring to see fellow Marines assist their wounded into waiting helicopters where often they would be wounded themselves. Despite the bravery and the dedication of the pilots and their crews, condi- tions began to deteriorate on the hill. Food supplies ran short and drinking water became a precious commodity. We never washed our clothes, shaved or bathed and unless job requirements forced us into the open, we lived underground. For months, we existed with the random selections determined mainly by fate. When rounds impacted inside the perimeter, no talent in the world could keep you safe. It was all a matter of chance. Helicopters were shot up, shot down, and the damaged frames of some became permanent fixtures that decorated the hill. Casualties began to mount and the near miss moments became almost legend. PFC Riley, who worked underground in the Fire Direction Center, asked if he could learn how to land helicopters using hand signals. The Shore Party Marine in charge of one LZ said, “Sure. Just come up to the landing zone when you hear them coming.” Upon hearing the helicopters overhead, Riley left his bunker, traveled a short distance without a helmet, returned to get it, and then headed back towards the LZ. In those few moments, an NVA mortar round hit directly in the LZ. It killed several Marines, wounded others, and disabled the helicopter. PFC Riley aided in the evacuation of the wounded Marines, including the Shore Party Marine who was to be his instructor. Similar incidents of luck, bravery, and timing would be commonplace on the hill. The three artillery pieces on the hill took a beating along with the gun crews. Aiming stakes, aiming lights, and the sights themselves were vulnerable to damage, and tires on the guns were always flat because of shrapnel punc- tures. It was necessary to rotate the guns for various fire missions, and since they essentially sat on metal rims, it required the work of many to come above ground and wrestle the guns into the proper firing direction. I’ll always remembere the sight of volunteers helping to rotate the guns as well as communicators and the wiremen jury rigging lights so the artillery could continue to fire back at the NVA. There was a moment when food and water supplies were just about depleted. I was standing radio watch in the command bunker, and I listened to Captain Dabney and other officers discussing plans to leave the hill because without water and food fighting ability can be compromised. Some had the idea of leaving and fighting our way back to the base. Others suggested going north into the DMZ and making our way down to Dong Ha near the coast. Captain Dabney’s idea was to fool the NVA and set out for Laos. Once over the border, an LZ could be set up and evacuation by helicopter could begin. Luckily, for all of us, the next day we received a major re-supply of food and water, and the battle continued as it had been. Weather permitting, we would call in artillery strikes or mark targets for bombing runs for Corporal Bob Arrotta – India Company’s Forward Air Controller. Medivacs were a daily occurrence. At times one could see the NVA less than 2000 meters away on the slopes of 881n. At those times, Lt. Biaondo, the officer in charge of the gun section, would roll out the guns, sight right through the tube of the 105mm howitzers, and undertake direct fire missions. There was no need for a forward observer – FO – as all adjustments were made by looking directly through the barrel to the target. A good-natured rivalry began between the 106’s recoilless rifle crews from Mike Company and the 105mm gun crews. Mike Company would take an NVA position under direct fire, and the 105mm gun crews would try to out shoot their buddies by putting more rounds in the target area in a shorter amount of time. The 105’s could always be loaded and fired quicker than the106’s. The attempt to out do one another in Fire missions was one way to relive the stress. Another was to jump the frequencies on our radios and socialize over the air with Marines in other locations. Dennis Mannion-the arty FO for Kilo Company on Hill 861 – and I used to shoot the breeze late at night this way. Everyone on the hill had friends killed or wounded. I was no exception. My good friend Senior Corpsman Wickliffe was killed on the initial day of the siege while assisting with the helicopter evacuation of some seriously wounded personnel. The aforementioned PFC Riley was wounded by a 120 millimeter mortar while working in the fire direction control bunker. If it was not for the courage of the people that evacuated him to the LZ, he would not have survived. Corporal Leasure was shot and killed during a fire mission by a sniper as he manned his 105 in the exposed gun parapet. The thing you noticed on the Hill was every marine helped each other. There was no shortage of courage on the Hill, no shortage of close calls, no shortage of volunteers to go to the LZ. There was also no shortage of targets. We would work day and night shooting fire missions to destroy the NVA and save our friends. On a daily and even hourly basis artillery crewmen would fire back at NVA positions while incoming mortar rounds impacted in and around their gun positions. It was something I had only seen in the movies, but it was real and surreal at the same time. They knew they had to keep firing to protect their friends no matter what the cost, and they did. When there were no fire missions, Charlie Battery people would assist India and Mike Companies by loading casualties, unloading supplies, and helping any way we could. In turn, the grunts in both companies would be our eyes, always looking for targets of opportunity. Faith in each other, a willingness to help one another, and personal sacrifices too numerous to mention here were the intangibles that helped us to hold 881s for the entire 77 day siege. In 1995, I was overtaken by an overwhelming urge to go back to Vietnam. I flew to Saigon, and then, on my own and with no guide but the “map” still locked inside my head, I journeyed by plane, bus and van to Phu Bai, Hue City, and finally to the remains of the former Khe Sanh Combat Base. After some negotiations with the local officials, I was provided with a translator and a guide, and I set out to climb up to 881s – a place I had not seen in over 25 years. Walking through some of the Bru villages, I saw tangible evidence of our presence there all those years ago: numerous 5 gallon water cans with 3/26 painted on their sides. I made my way up to Hill 881S, and at the top, I was stunned to see how small and confined the area was. In an instant, I knew why there had been so many casualties. Those NVA 120mm rounds produced large pieces of shrapnel that had no trouble covering all parts of the hill from a single explosion, and we were hit with hundreds of them for months at a time. I remembered brave Marines; I stared at Co Roc Mountain where the big NVA artillery pieces had fired from; I even walked the erosion worn trench lines once again. I looked for a long time at Hill 881N and wondered at all the death and destruction that had happened over there. I thought about the losses on both sides and of men who were sent by their governments to this locale so long ago. I knew it had happened, but standing there in 1995, it almost seemed like a fantasy. As chance would have it, in 2000 I would accompany some other hill Marines back to Khe Sanh to revisit 881S and to stand on Hill 861. In the Vietnamese Museum at the former combat base, we found a note in their log book written by Ken Burns of India Company thanking Bob Arrotta and myself for saving his life during a medivac mission back in 1968. As it turns out, Ken now lives in Nha Trang, Vietnam and I visited with him. I met his wife and two kids. I had supper there. We raised a glass in tribute to all the Marines who gave their lives so we could live, and thought about all the families that never were. Semper Fi. Sergeant Glenn Prentice, Untied States Marine Corps

My name is Glenn Prentice, former Sergeant with Charlie Battery, 1st Battalion 13th Marines, and I served in Vietnam from early November 1967 until late November 1968. For much of that time period, I was attached out to India Company, 3rd Battalion, 26th Marines as the radio operator in an artillery Forward Observer team. India Company arrived at Khe Sanh in mid-December 1967 along with other combat units as part of the United States response to counter a large scale infusion of North Vietnamese Army troops in the area. India Company, and later, elements of Mike Company, was given the task of defending Hill 881s. This hill top, named for its height in meters on military maps, was the most distant out- post from the airstrip and the combat base.

During the last month of 1967 and the first weeks of the New Year, 881s was a place of modest tranquility, unsurpassed beauty, and the standard military routines of patrols and ambushes away from the hill. The patrols themselves were punctuated with relentless heat, and demanding inclines and declines that took a toll on us. On the hill, defensive preparations involved trench and bunker construction, sandbag filling, and ammunition storage. Patrols off the hill – which ran in length from half to full days – were meant to detect the presence of the NVA before they began to approach the hill. Occasion- ally, the FO team would call in fire missions on suspected NVA sites, but actual contact with the NVA was almost non-existent through December and early January.

Because of the distance from the combat base and the real concern about getting artillery support from there, Charlie Battery was split in half, and three 105mm guns were heli-lifted to 881s along with crews, fire direction center personnel, radio operators, and support staff. Naturally, re-supplying the three guns with ammo involved additional logistical headaches, but if 881s was going to have artillery support north and west of the hill, it had to be done internally. The daily routines of December blended into January, and while never boring, they became almost automatic. Suddenly, all that changed on my birthday – January 20, 1968. A Recon Patrol had earlier bumped into some NVA on Hill 881n, and India Company had responded in a day long firefight and then returned to the hill. At midnight of the 20th, Marines on Hill 861 to the east of us were attacked and partially overrun by another NVA battalion, and the start of the 77 Day Siege of Khe Sanh had begun. On the day I turned 19, I really had my doubts that I’d ever live to be 20 years old.

With the opening shots of the siege, my duties changed dramatically. Patrolling outside the protective barbed wire was halted because there was no need to find the NVA. They were on the hills and in the ravines leading up to us! Captain O’Conner, Charlie Battery’s commander down at the base, assigned me the task as a liaison between the base and the hill. Essentially, my job required me to ensure that anything needed by the gun crews on the hill arrived intact and in the quantities requested. In numerous, roundtrip helicopter flights between the hill and the base, I would bring up batteries, extra sights for the guns, communication wire, radios, maps, NATO code books, and the most sought after item: the mail from home!

During re-supply missions, Lt. Schneider and I would hunker down in scrub growth vegetation near one of the three landing zones that had been cut into the hill. As helicopters began to off load men and equipment, we’d wait for the NVA gunners to hit the landing zone with mortar rounds. When the rounds became too close or the helicopter became bracketed, we’d radio the pilot to take off before the arrival of the deadliest rounds.

There were times when arriving troops – most often replacements and new to the instant dangers that awaited them – would be wounded on the LZ and put right back on the same helicopter to fly them back to Charlie Med at the Combat Base. The landing zones were, without a doubt, the most dangerous places on 881s. The NVA knew that the Marine-held hills at Khe Sanh could only exist because of helicopter re-supply missions, and they did as much as they could to cut off the flow of men and material. It was inspiring to see fellow Marines assist their wounded into waiting helicopters where often they would be wounded themselves.

Despite the bravery and the dedication of the pilots and their crews, condi- tions began to deteriorate on the hill. Food supplies ran short and drinking water became a precious commodity. We never washed our clothes, shaved or bathed and unless job requirements forced us into the open, we lived underground. For months, we existed with the random selections determined mainly by fate. When rounds impacted inside the perimeter, no talent in the world could keep you safe. It was all a matter of chance. Helicopters were shot up, shot down, and the damaged frames of some became permanent fixtures that decorated the hill.

Casualties began to mount and the near miss moments became almost legend. PFC Riley, who worked underground in the Fire Direction Center, asked if he could learn how to land helicopters using hand signals. The Shore Party Marine in charge of one LZ said, “Sure. Just come up to the landing zone when you hear them coming.” Upon hearing the helicopters overhead, Riley left his bunker, traveled a short distance without a helmet, returned to get it, and then headed back towards the LZ. In those few moments, an NVA mortar round hit directly in the LZ. It killed several Marines, wounded others, and disabled the helicopter. PFC Riley aided in the evacuation of the wounded Marines, including the Shore Party Marine who was to be his instructor. Similar incidents of luck, bravery, and timing would be commonplace on the hill.

The three artillery pieces on the hill took a beating along with the gun crews. Aiming stakes, aiming lights, and the sights themselves were vulnerable to damage, and tires on the guns were always flat because of shrapnel punc- tures. It was necessary to rotate the guns for various fire missions, and since they essentially sat on metal rims, it required the work of many to come above ground and wrestle the guns into the proper firing direction. I’ll always remembere the sight of volunteers helping to rotate the guns as well as communicators and the wiremen jury rigging lights so the artillery could continue to fire back at the NVA.

There was a moment when food and water supplies were just about depleted. I was standing radio watch in the command bunker, and I listened to Captain Dabney and other officers discussing plans to leave the hill because without water and food fighting ability can be compromised. Some had the idea of leaving and fighting our way back to the base. Others suggested going north into the DMZ and making our way down to Dong Ha near the coast. Captain Dabney’s idea was to fool the NVA and set out for Laos. Once over the border, an LZ could be set up and evacuation by helicopter could begin. Luckily, for all of us, the next day we received a major re-supply of food and water, and the battle continued as it had been.

Weather permitting, we would call in artillery strikes or mark targets for bombing runs for Corporal Bob Arrotta – India Company’s Forward Air Controller. Medivacs were a daily occurrence. At times one could see the NVA less than 2000 meters away on the slopes of 881n. At those times, Lt. Biaondo, the officer in charge of the gun section, would roll out the guns, sight right through the tube of the 105mm howitzers, and undertake direct fire missions. There was no need for a forward observer – FO – as all adjustments were made by looking directly through the barrel to the target.

A good-natured rivalry began between the 106’s recoilless rifle crews from Mike Company and the 105mm gun crews. Mike Company would take an NVA position under direct fire, and the 105mm gun crews would try to out shoot their buddies by putting more rounds in the target area in a shorter amount of time. The 105’s could always be loaded and fired quicker than the106’s. The attempt to out do one another in Fire missions was one way to relive the stress. Another was to jump the frequencies on our radios and socialize over the air with Marines in other locations. Dennis Mannion-the arty FO for Kilo Company on Hill 861 – and I used to shoot the breeze late at night this way.

Everyone on the hill had friends killed or wounded. I was no exception. My good friend Senior Corpsman Wickliffe was killed on the initial day of the siege while assisting with the helicopter evacuation of some seriously wounded personnel. The aforementioned PFC Riley was wounded by a 120 millimeter mortar while working in the fire direction control bunker. If it was not for the courage of the people that evacuated him to the LZ, he would not have survived. Corporal Leasure was shot and killed during a fire mission by a sniper as he manned his 105 in the exposed gun parapet. The thing you noticed on the Hill was every marine helped each other. There was no shortage of courage on the Hill, no shortage of close calls, no shortage of volunteers to go to the LZ. There was also no shortage of targets. We would work day and night shooting fire missions to destroy the NVA and save our friends.

On a daily and even hourly basis artillery crewmen would fire back at NVA positions while incoming mortar rounds impacted in and around their gun positions. It was something I had only seen in the movies, but it was real and surreal at the same time. They knew they had to keep firing to protect their friends no matter what the cost, and they did. When there were no fire missions, Charlie Battery people would assist India and Mike Companies by loading casualties, unloading supplies, and helping any way we could. In turn, the grunts in both companies would be our eyes, always looking for targets of opportunity. Faith in each other, a willingness to help one another, and personal sacrifices too numerous to mention here were the intangibles that helped us to hold 881s for the entire 77 day siege.

In 1995, I was overtaken by an overwhelming urge to go back to Vietnam. I flew to Saigon, and then, on my own and with no guide but the “map” still locked inside my head, I journeyed by plane, bus and van to Phu Bai, Hue City, and finally to the remains of the former Khe Sanh Combat Base. After some negotiations with the local officials, I was provided with a translator and a guide, and I set out to climb up to 881s – a place I had not seen in over 25 years. Walking through some of the Bru villages, I saw tangible evidence of our presence there all those years ago: numerous 5 gallon water cans with 3/26 painted on their sides.

I made my way up to Hill 881S, and at the top, I was stunned to see how small and confined the area was. In an instant, I knew why there had been so many casualties. Those NVA 120mm rounds produced large pieces of shrapnel that had no trouble covering all parts of the hill from a single explosion, and we were hit with hundreds of them for months at a time. I remembered brave Marines; I stared at Co Roc Mountain where the big NVA artillery pieces had fired from; I even walked the erosion worn trench lines once again. I looked for a long time at Hill 881N and wondered at all the death and destruction that had happened over there. I thought about the losses on both sides and of men who were sent by their governments to this locale so long ago. I knew it had happened, but standing there in 1995, it almost seemed like a fantasy.

As chance would have it, in 2000 I would accompany some other hill Marines back to Khe Sanh to revisit 881S and to stand on Hill 861. In the Vietnamese Museum at the former combat base, we found a note in their log book written by Ken Burns of India Company thanking Bob Arrotta and myself for saving his life during a medivac mission back in 1968. As it turns out, Ken now lives in Nha Trang, Vietnam and I visited with him. I met his wife and two kids. I had supper there. We raised a glass in tribute to all the Marines who gave their lives so we could live, and thought about all the families that never were.