On 25 May, I got a new Platoon Sergeant, a Staff Sergeant. Although he was a Staff NCO, he was serving his first tour in Vietnam, having spent the past four years as a recruiter. I received several new Marines, bringing the platoon up to about 30 in strength.
On the morning of the 26th, we set in early in the day after a long night march. As the Platoon Sergeant and I were setting in the lines, there was a burst of rifle fire from our left. Everyone hit the deck. I told the platoon Sergeant to check our right and I moved left. At each of my holes, the troops reported that the fire had come from their left. I continued to crawl to my left, coming up to Charlie 2’s first (right-most) fighting hole. I knew the two Marines in the position from my time as Second Platoon Commander.
“Where did that rifle fire come from,” I asked?
“I fired, Sir,” one Marine replied. “A gook popped up and threw a satchel charge into our lines. I’m sure I hit him.”
Mike Tonkin, my left-most fire team leader was close by and I ordered him to take his team out to look for the wounded enemy soldier. They moved out carefully and found him about 10 meters in front of our lines. Two Marines grabbed him by the arms and pulled him back into our perimeter.
The Gunny and the Skipper crawled up. “What happened,” the Skipper asked. I told him and went on to say, “Did anyone hear an explosion? This guy tossed a satchel charge at us.”
No one had, which meant we probably had a dud satchel charge inside our lines. “What did it look like,” the Gunny asked?
“It was wrapped in banana leaves like them satchel charges we found after they blew up the An Hoa ammo dump, Gunny,” one of the Marines replied. We started a careful search and soon found a packet of leaves about 5 meters behind the hole. It had broken open on impact. All it was was a bundle of leaves.
The wounded Vietnamese was a kid of about 14. He had been hit in the stomach, and the exit wound took off most of one buttock. The corpsmen were working on him to stop the loss of blood. A medevac was called and he was flown off to Danang.
About all we could determine was that he decided to screw with us. He paid dearly for his practical joke.
That afternoon, Charlie 2 was on patrol and spotted one NVA in uniform fleeing from them into a tree line. They took him under fire, and the tree line erupted with heavy small arms fire. The platoon maneuvered forward and spotted several NVA running away in an open paddy. They called in artillery fire. A platoon from Bravo Company was patrolling nearby and linked up with Charlie 2. They found several heavy blood trails and one wounded NVA.
That next morning, I took out an area security patrol. As we entered one abandoned village, we checked the hooches and found a large piece of rusted tin. On the reverse side, drawn in chalk, was a diagram indicating how a machine gunner should lead a helicopter in order to shoot it down. It was the same kind of training aid I might use for a similar period of instruction.
A few feet away, there was a dud 175mm artillery round lying next to the trail. This would have been a deadly booby trap and needed to be destroyed. I did not have an engineer with me, and we had used our C-4 to blow a couple of dud 81 mm rounds earlier on the patrol. I reported our finds to the Skipper, marked the location of the duds on my map, and completed our patrol. When we were about 400 meters from our perimeter, I saw the re-supply chopper hover and release its external cargo net and then land. In only a minute or two, it took off and headed back toward An Hoa.
As we entered the perimeter, I told the Platoon Sergeant to return to our portion of the lines which hAd been manned by Charlie 2 during our patrol. I continued on up the rise towards the CP to report to the Skipper. As I did so, who should I see but Jimmy Phipps, the engineer with whom I had the spider hole adventure in February. Shortly before we left the bridge for the Arizona, he had returned to his parent unit, Company B, 1st Engineer Battalion up near Danang.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” he said with a big grin.
“What the hell are you doing out here, Phipps?”
“Aw, hell, Lieutenant, I’m not cut out to be a garrison Marine. Me and the First Sergeant had a disagreement. He said, ‘Phipps, for two bits I’d send your raggedy ass back out to the bush with the grunts and let you get your [male appendage] shot off.’ I pulled out a 25 cent MPC and said, ‘Go ahead. I don’t mind being with Charlie Company.’ And here I am.”
By now, we were both grinning. I could imagine the First Sergeant’s reaction. “Well, grab your gear and come with me. I’ve got some business for you.”
We got to the CP and I briefed the Skipper. Neal Meier was there, planning the afternoon patrol. He joined our conversation and re-worked his patrol route to take him to the dud round. Phipps began to prepare charges to use on the dud.
At about 1530, my radio operator said, “Hey, Lieutenant, Charlie 1 has some casualties.”
We later learned that they had found a dud 500 pound bomb in addition to the 175 round. Phipps destroyed the bomb, but as he was putting a charge on the 175, he found that it was booby-trapped with a grenade. Shouting a warning to Neal who was observing, he leapt onto the grenade. He was 18.
Neal and another Marine were wounded, but Phipps had saved their lives. He was awarded the Medal of Honor (posthumously). His citation can be found here.
In Scripture, Christ tells us “Greater love has no man than this; that he give his life for his friends.” Phipps meets that standard.
Phipps Hall at Quantico, Phipps Hall at 2d Engineer Battalion at Camp Lejeune, and Phipps Road at Camp Pendleton are all named in his memory. His name can be found at Panel 23 W, Line 2.
Showing posts with label Medal of Honor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Medal of Honor. Show all posts
03 June 2009
31 December 2008
CHARLIE BASE CAMP
We quickly settled into a routine. Because the ambush patrols were squad sized, after I had accompanied each of my two squads on a night roving ambush, I tended to remain in the rear with the platoon headquarters.
A roving ambush was interesting. Each squad would depart the lines after dark and move out along the road. The lead squad would move out a couple of clicks and set in at their first ambush site. The second squad would set up an ambush a few hundred meters beyond strongpoints A and B. After a couple of hours, each squad would move to a second position, and then to a third a couple of hours before daybreak. With my two good squad leaders, things went smoothly.
We lieutenants did what platoon commanders do. We inspected our troops before they left on patrols, we supervised the preparations for day activities. And we did the administrative stuff that never ends, not even in war time. I conducted a JAG Manual informal investigation into the loss of two compasses, a prerequisite to writing them off.
And we began to discover that war can be boring.
We got boxes of paperback books from Special Services. The troops devoured them and then passed them along. I once read an interview of a Continental stewardess who worked the flights to and from Vietnam. She said “They go in reading comic books; they come out reading newspapers and novels.” She was right.
Our newspaper was the Pacific edition of Stars and Stripes. It was published daily and we usually got ten copies for the company as part of the mail and resupply. It was usually 20 to 24 pages, with about 10 to 12 pages of hard national and international news, an editorial page with columns from a wide variety of American newspapers, a financial page, the funny papers and several pages of sports, professional, college, and inter-service. It was the distributed all through the Pacific (Vietnam, Korea, Japan, the Philippines, Guam, Taiwan, Thailand, and any other places at which there were American bases) and was “the newspaper” for a lot of Americans.
The first headline I saw announced the escape from captivity of Major Nick Rowe. Rowe had been a POW for over 5 years and was one of only 34 Americans to escape from Vietnamese captivity during the war. His superb book, Five Years To Freedom, is a testimonial to the men who were POWs and, among other things, revealed that the “anti-war” movement in the United States was actively working with the Communists and against our troops. His carefully crafted cover story (that he was a Purdue ROTC grad and civil engineer) was finally defeated when the VC received information from the States revealing that he was a West Point graduate and a Green Beret. At that point, he realized that he was a marked man and made his desperate and successful escape.
He remained on active duty and was on a long-standing communist target list. In 1987, Colonel Rowe was assigned as the chief of the Army division of the Joint U.S. Military Advisory Group (JUSMAG), providing counter-insurgency training for the Armed Forces of the Philippines. In February 1989, he had acquired intelligence information which indicated that the communists were planning a major terrorist act. He warned Washington that a high-profile figure was about to be murdered and that he himself was second or third on the assassination list. On the morning of April 21, 1989, as he was being driven to work his vehicle was ambushed and he was killed.
Another officer captured with him, Captain Rocky Versace, was executed by the VC as a propaganda show for the villagers in the area. He was awarded the Medal of Honor
There were convoys of military vehicles intermingled with small busses jammed full of humanity and motor scooters with four or five people riding. At strongpoint Delta, a daily security patrol scouted the western approaches to An Hoa. Strongpoint Charlie sent out a fire team ambush, augmented by Popular Forces residents of the villages in the area.
We were settling into a routine. The only real danger seemed to be from booby-traps.
Once the road opened for the day, the flow of traffic on the MSR was busy.
Every morning, the platoon that manned strongpoints Alpha and Bravo provided a squad sized patrol to provide flank security for the morning road sweep. A couple of tanks and a two-and-a-half ton truck would arrive at the top of the hill. The squad assigned to accompany the sweep would link up with them and the sweep would begin.
An engineer team with a mine sweeper would walk the road ahead of the lead tank. The two fire team security patrols would move out to about 100 meters off the road. Because the engineer team leader was in charge, the SOP devised by 1st Engineer Battalion had to be followed. The engineers seemed to believe that if they could not see the flank security, there was none. They demanded that the troops move no less than 75 meters nor more than 100 meters from the road.
We all begged, pleaded, screamed and cursed this stupid policy, but Regiment backed upthe engineers. The problem was that the VC were not stupid. They soon figured it out—plant the booby traps in the 25 meter-wide zone.
The booby traps were mostly dud hand grenades and mortar rounds rigged to explode when a trip wire was pulled. Some were pressure devices, triggered when stepped upon. After Mike Koch took mover Second Platoon, we even found a bear trap. (Fortunately, the Marine stepped into the trap in a wet paddy. The trap sank and the muck slowed the spring action. Instead of a broken ankle, all he got were some bruises and one hell of a sea story.)
Our Marines became very good at spotting the traps, but the odds were on the VC’s side. We might discover 6 traps, which would be disposed of by the engineers, but the seventh one would get someone.
We were fortunate. We had well over 60 casualties during our time at the Base camp. All but four were due to mines or booby traps. And of those, only two Marines were killed. But they were always there.
About two weeks into my tour, the Skipper called us in and had us draw slips of paper from a helmet. I “won.” Division had started a school for small unit leaders. Charlie Company had a quota of one. Now, six months later, I would have jumped at a week in Da Nang, but I was just getting to know my platoon, and I sure didn’t want this trip.
I went anyway.
A roving ambush was interesting. Each squad would depart the lines after dark and move out along the road. The lead squad would move out a couple of clicks and set in at their first ambush site. The second squad would set up an ambush a few hundred meters beyond strongpoints A and B. After a couple of hours, each squad would move to a second position, and then to a third a couple of hours before daybreak. With my two good squad leaders, things went smoothly.
We lieutenants did what platoon commanders do. We inspected our troops before they left on patrols, we supervised the preparations for day activities. And we did the administrative stuff that never ends, not even in war time. I conducted a JAG Manual informal investigation into the loss of two compasses, a prerequisite to writing them off.
And we began to discover that war can be boring.
We got boxes of paperback books from Special Services. The troops devoured them and then passed them along. I once read an interview of a Continental stewardess who worked the flights to and from Vietnam. She said “They go in reading comic books; they come out reading newspapers and novels.” She was right.
Our newspaper was the Pacific edition of Stars and Stripes. It was published daily and we usually got ten copies for the company as part of the mail and resupply. It was usually 20 to 24 pages, with about 10 to 12 pages of hard national and international news, an editorial page with columns from a wide variety of American newspapers, a financial page, the funny papers and several pages of sports, professional, college, and inter-service. It was the distributed all through the Pacific (Vietnam, Korea, Japan, the Philippines, Guam, Taiwan, Thailand, and any other places at which there were American bases) and was “the newspaper” for a lot of Americans.The first headline I saw announced the escape from captivity of Major Nick Rowe. Rowe had been a POW for over 5 years and was one of only 34 Americans to escape from Vietnamese captivity during the war. His superb book, Five Years To Freedom, is a testimonial to the men who were POWs and, among other things, revealed that the “anti-war” movement in the United States was actively working with the Communists and against our troops. His carefully crafted cover story (that he was a Purdue ROTC grad and civil engineer) was finally defeated when the VC received information from the States revealing that he was a West Point graduate and a Green Beret. At that point, he realized that he was a marked man and made his desperate and successful escape.
He remained on active duty and was on a long-standing communist target list. In 1987, Colonel Rowe was assigned as the chief of the Army division of the Joint U.S. Military Advisory Group (JUSMAG), providing counter-insurgency training for the Armed Forces of the Philippines. In February 1989, he had acquired intelligence information which indicated that the communists were planning a major terrorist act. He warned Washington that a high-profile figure was about to be murdered and that he himself was second or third on the assassination list. On the morning of April 21, 1989, as he was being driven to work his vehicle was ambushed and he was killed.
Another officer captured with him, Captain Rocky Versace, was executed by the VC as a propaganda show for the villagers in the area. He was awarded the Medal of Honor
Humbert Roque Versace
Rank and organization: Captain, U.S. Army, Intelligence Advisor, Special Operations
Place:Republic of Vietnam
Entered service at: Norfolk, Virginia
Born:Honolulu, Hawaii
Citation:
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while a prisoner of war during the period of October 29, 1963 to September 26, 1965 in the Republic of Vietnam. While accompanying a Civilian Irregular Defense Group patrol engaged in combat operations in Thoi Binh District, An Xuyen Province, Republic of Vietnam on October 29, 1963, Captain Versace and the CIDG assault force were caught in an ambush from intense mortar, automatic weapons, and small arms fire from elements of a reinforced enemy Main Force battalion. As the battle raged, Captain Versace fought valiantly and encouraged his CIDG patrol to return fire against overwhelming enemy forces. He provided covering fire from an exposed position to enable friendly forces to withdraw from the killing zone when it was apparent that their position would be overrun, and was severely wounded in the knee and back from automatic weapons fire and shrapnel. He stubbornly resisted capture with the last full measure of his strength and ammunition. Taken prisoner by the Viet Cong, he demonstrated exceptional leadership and resolute adherence to the tenets of the Code of Conduct from the time he entered into a prisoner of war status. Captain Versace assumed command of his fellow American prisoners, and despite being kept locked in irons in an isolation box, raised their morale by singing messages to popular songs of the day, and leaving inspiring messages at the latrine. Within three weeks of captivity, and despite the severity of his untreated wounds, he attempted the first of four escape attempts by dragging himself on his hands and knees out of the camp through dense swamp and forbidding vegetation to freedom. Crawling at a very slow pace due to his weakened condition, the guards quickly discovered him outside the camp and recaptured him. Captain Versace scorned the enemy's exhaustive interrogation and indoctrination efforts, and inspired his fellow prisoners to resist to the best of their ability. When he used his Vietnamese language skills to protest improper treatment of the American prisoners by the guards, he was put into leg irons and gagged to keep his protestations out of earshot of the other American prisoners in the camp. The last time that any of his fellow prisoners heard from him, Captain Versace was singing God Bless America at the top of his voice from his isolation box. Unable to break his indomitable will, his faith in God, and his trust in the United States of America and his fellow prisoners, Captain Versace was executed by the Viet Cong on September 26, 1965. Captain Versace’s extraordinary heroism, self-sacrifice, and personal bravery involving conspicuous risk of life above and beyond the call of duty were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Army, and reflect great credit to himself and the U.S. Armed Forces.
There were convoys of military vehicles intermingled with small busses jammed full of humanity and motor scooters with four or five people riding. At strongpoint Delta, a daily security patrol scouted the western approaches to An Hoa. Strongpoint Charlie sent out a fire team ambush, augmented by Popular Forces residents of the villages in the area.
We were settling into a routine. The only real danger seemed to be from booby-traps.
Once the road opened for the day, the flow of traffic on the MSR was busy. Every morning, the platoon that manned strongpoints Alpha and Bravo provided a squad sized patrol to provide flank security for the morning road sweep. A couple of tanks and a two-and-a-half ton truck would arrive at the top of the hill. The squad assigned to accompany the sweep would link up with them and the sweep would begin.
An engineer team with a mine sweeper would walk the road ahead of the lead tank. The two fire team security patrols would move out to about 100 meters off the road. Because the engineer team leader was in charge, the SOP devised by 1st Engineer Battalion had to be followed. The engineers seemed to believe that if they could not see the flank security, there was none. They demanded that the troops move no less than 75 meters nor more than 100 meters from the road.
We all begged, pleaded, screamed and cursed this stupid policy, but Regiment backed upthe engineers. The problem was that the VC were not stupid. They soon figured it out—plant the booby traps in the 25 meter-wide zone.
The booby traps were mostly dud hand grenades and mortar rounds rigged to explode when a trip wire was pulled. Some were pressure devices, triggered when stepped upon. After Mike Koch took mover Second Platoon, we even found a bear trap. (Fortunately, the Marine stepped into the trap in a wet paddy. The trap sank and the muck slowed the spring action. Instead of a broken ankle, all he got were some bruises and one hell of a sea story.)
Our Marines became very good at spotting the traps, but the odds were on the VC’s side. We might discover 6 traps, which would be disposed of by the engineers, but the seventh one would get someone.
We were fortunate. We had well over 60 casualties during our time at the Base camp. All but four were due to mines or booby traps. And of those, only two Marines were killed. But they were always there.
About two weeks into my tour, the Skipper called us in and had us draw slips of paper from a helmet. I “won.” Division had started a school for small unit leaders. Charlie Company had a quota of one. Now, six months later, I would have jumped at a week in Da Nang, but I was just getting to know my platoon, and I sure didn’t want this trip.
I went anyway.
23 May 2008
LEST WE FORGET
Next Tuesday, 27 May, marks the 39th anniversary of the death of PFC Jimmy Wayne Phipps, USMC. It is fitting that it always comes in the week of, and every so often falls on, Memorial Day.
I first met Phipps (it is a Marine Corps tradition that enlisted men below the rank of Corporal are routinely addressed by their last names) in February 1969. He was a combat engineer attached to Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines, 1st Marine Division. I was the platoon commander of 3rd Platoon, Charlie Company. An NVA sapper team had infiltrated the 5th Marines regimental combat base at An Hoa and had destroyed the ammunition dump. We were dispatched to try to find and destroy them.
As we secured a small ville northeast of An Hoa, I came upon a fighting hole at the perimeter of the village. It was complete with overhead cover. In other words, the hole was dug and then logs, earth and finally sod were put in place to camouflage it and to provide cover from artillery and mortar air bursts. It had to be destroyed.
Who should walk up but Phipps. “Watcha got, Lieutenant?” he asked.
I showed him and we agreed that a C-4 charge would do the job. C-4 is a clay-like white substance that is commonly referred to as “plastic explosive.” It came packaged in satchel charges made up of numerous plastic-wrapped quarter pound sticks. All you had to do was punch a hole in the plastic wrap, insert a blasting cap, fuse and fuse lighter, ignite the fuse lighter, and run like hell.
I had a quarter pound stick in my pack. (I had scrounged it to use it to heat my C-Rations.) Phipps had another two sticks. We agreed that that should probably do the job. I peeled the sticky tape on the back of each stick and put them together, while Phipps cut a piece of fuse, inserted and crimped it into a blasting cap and then crimped on a fuse lighter. He pulled the pin, set the charge in the back side of the hole, and we took off, yelling “Fire in the hole!”
We soon learned that in our inexperience, we had slightly overestimated the amount of C-4 we needed. The ground erupted, and I suspect that some of that bunker is still in orbit. The Skipper had a few choice comments, fatherly and memorable, about adding to his age, about our judgment, and the future location of our posteriors if we did it again. Thereafter, Phipps and I laughed about it every time we saw each other.
By April, he had finished his tour in the bush and returned to his parent unit, Bravo Company, 1st Engineer Battalion in Danang.
In mid-May, 1/5 waded the Song Thu Bon River and began a six week operation in what was known as the “Arizona Territory,” a low area of rice paddies and tree lines between the Song Thu Bon and the Song Vu Gia rivers. It was a free fire zone, meaning that non-combatants had been evacuated to a refugee camp and only bad guys were left. Of course, it didn’t work that way, because the peasant villagers insisted on returning to their ancestoral homes. Nonetheless, it was an area in which at least two NVA regiments were operating. It was a very bad place.
At around midnight on 26-27 May 1969, Charlie Company made one of its patented night moves to a small village and established a cordon around it. At first light, we entered the ville, rounded up the inhabitants for an id check, and searched the hooches for weapons and ordnance. We then dug in for the day.
Third Platoon was ordered to conduct the morning local security patrol out to about three clicks (kilometers). We would make sure that there were no enemy forces in the vicinity and also recon the area for that night’s move. We found a couple of dud mortar rounds which we destroyed with C-4.
In the last ville we entered, we found a dud 175mm artillery round sitting next to a hooch. It had obviously been moved there. We also found a rusted sheet of scrap tin covered with a chalk diagram used to teach machine gunners how to lead an American helicopter in order to shoot it down.
I called it in and we then rounded up all the villagers (old men, old women, young women and kids—no young men), and herded them back to our perimeter for air evacuation to the refugee camp. I told the Skipper about the dud. I had no more C-4, so he told me to note the location. I understood that he would send the afternoon security patrol out that way to finish it off.
As we were moving back to the Company, we saw the resupply helicopter land and then take off. As we entered our lines, I told the platoon sergeant to get our people set in and to get them to work on their holes. I headed for the command post.
As I walked up the gentle slope, there was Phipps, with his usual shy grin on his face. He had come out on the resupply bird.
“Phipps, what the hell are you doing here?" I asked.
“Aw, you know me, sir. Me an’ the First Sergeant didn’t see eye to eye. I ain’t cut out to be a garrison Marine, so I told him ‘For two cents, I’d go back out with my friends in Charlie Company.’ Here I am.”
By then, we were both laughing. “Well, c’mon along while I brief the Skipper, ‘cause I’ve got some business for you.”
That afternoon, my OCS Bunkie, Lieutenant Neal Meier, took 1st Platoon out on the patrol. Phipps went along. His Medal of Honor Citation tells the rest:
Jimmy Wayne Phipps was 18 years, six month and 26 days old, the third youngest Marine to be awared the Medal of Honor in Vietnam. His name appears on the Vietnam War Memorial, Panel 23W at line 2. Phipps Hall at Marine Corps Base, Quantico is named in his honor.
The Marine’s Hymn assures us that the streets of Heaven are guarded by United States Marines. If so, I pray that the ultimate Sergeant of the Guard has given Phipps a special liberty for eternity.
Semper Fidelis
I first met Phipps (it is a Marine Corps tradition that enlisted men below the rank of Corporal are routinely addressed by their last names) in February 1969. He was a combat engineer attached to Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines, 1st Marine Division. I was the platoon commander of 3rd Platoon, Charlie Company. An NVA sapper team had infiltrated the 5th Marines regimental combat base at An Hoa and had destroyed the ammunition dump. We were dispatched to try to find and destroy them.
As we secured a small ville northeast of An Hoa, I came upon a fighting hole at the perimeter of the village. It was complete with overhead cover. In other words, the hole was dug and then logs, earth and finally sod were put in place to camouflage it and to provide cover from artillery and mortar air bursts. It had to be destroyed.
Who should walk up but Phipps. “Watcha got, Lieutenant?” he asked.
I showed him and we agreed that a C-4 charge would do the job. C-4 is a clay-like white substance that is commonly referred to as “plastic explosive.” It came packaged in satchel charges made up of numerous plastic-wrapped quarter pound sticks. All you had to do was punch a hole in the plastic wrap, insert a blasting cap, fuse and fuse lighter, ignite the fuse lighter, and run like hell.
I had a quarter pound stick in my pack. (I had scrounged it to use it to heat my C-Rations.) Phipps had another two sticks. We agreed that that should probably do the job. I peeled the sticky tape on the back of each stick and put them together, while Phipps cut a piece of fuse, inserted and crimped it into a blasting cap and then crimped on a fuse lighter. He pulled the pin, set the charge in the back side of the hole, and we took off, yelling “Fire in the hole!”
We soon learned that in our inexperience, we had slightly overestimated the amount of C-4 we needed. The ground erupted, and I suspect that some of that bunker is still in orbit. The Skipper had a few choice comments, fatherly and memorable, about adding to his age, about our judgment, and the future location of our posteriors if we did it again. Thereafter, Phipps and I laughed about it every time we saw each other.
By April, he had finished his tour in the bush and returned to his parent unit, Bravo Company, 1st Engineer Battalion in Danang.
In mid-May, 1/5 waded the Song Thu Bon River and began a six week operation in what was known as the “Arizona Territory,” a low area of rice paddies and tree lines between the Song Thu Bon and the Song Vu Gia rivers. It was a free fire zone, meaning that non-combatants had been evacuated to a refugee camp and only bad guys were left. Of course, it didn’t work that way, because the peasant villagers insisted on returning to their ancestoral homes. Nonetheless, it was an area in which at least two NVA regiments were operating. It was a very bad place.
At around midnight on 26-27 May 1969, Charlie Company made one of its patented night moves to a small village and established a cordon around it. At first light, we entered the ville, rounded up the inhabitants for an id check, and searched the hooches for weapons and ordnance. We then dug in for the day.
Third Platoon was ordered to conduct the morning local security patrol out to about three clicks (kilometers). We would make sure that there were no enemy forces in the vicinity and also recon the area for that night’s move. We found a couple of dud mortar rounds which we destroyed with C-4.
In the last ville we entered, we found a dud 175mm artillery round sitting next to a hooch. It had obviously been moved there. We also found a rusted sheet of scrap tin covered with a chalk diagram used to teach machine gunners how to lead an American helicopter in order to shoot it down.
I called it in and we then rounded up all the villagers (old men, old women, young women and kids—no young men), and herded them back to our perimeter for air evacuation to the refugee camp. I told the Skipper about the dud. I had no more C-4, so he told me to note the location. I understood that he would send the afternoon security patrol out that way to finish it off.
As we were moving back to the Company, we saw the resupply helicopter land and then take off. As we entered our lines, I told the platoon sergeant to get our people set in and to get them to work on their holes. I headed for the command post.
As I walked up the gentle slope, there was Phipps, with his usual shy grin on his face. He had come out on the resupply bird.
“Phipps, what the hell are you doing here?" I asked.
“Aw, you know me, sir. Me an’ the First Sergeant didn’t see eye to eye. I ain’t cut out to be a garrison Marine, so I told him ‘For two cents, I’d go back out with my friends in Charlie Company.’ Here I am.”
By then, we were both laughing. “Well, c’mon along while I brief the Skipper, ‘cause I’ve got some business for you.”
That afternoon, my OCS Bunkie, Lieutenant Neal Meier, took 1st Platoon out on the patrol. Phipps went along. His Medal of Honor Citation tells the rest:
The President of the United States takes pride in presenting the MEDAL OF HONOR posthumously to
PRIVATE FIRST CLASS JIMMY W. PHIPPS
UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS
for service as set forth in the following CITATION:
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as a combat Engineer with Company B, First Engineer Battalion, First Marine Division in connection with combat operations against the enemy in the Republic of Vietnam. On 27 May 1969, Private First Class Phipps was a member of a two-man combat engineer demolition team assigned to locate and destroy enemy artillery ordnance and concealed firing devices. After he had expended all of his explosives and blasting caps, Private First Class Phipps discovered a 175mm high explosive artillery round in a rice paddy. Suspecting that the enemy had attached at the artillery round to a secondary explosive device, he warned other Marines in the area to move to covered positions and prepared to destroy the round with a hand grenade. As he was attaching the hand grenade to a stake beside the artillery round, the fuse of the enemy's secondary explosive device ignited. Realizing that his assistant and the platoon commander were both within a few meters of him and that the imminent explosion could kill all three men, Private First Class Phipps grasped the hand grenade to his chest and dived forward to cover the enemy's explosive and the artillery round with his body, thereby shielding his companions from the detonation while absorbing the full and tremendous impact with his own body. Private First Class Phipp's indomitable courage, inspiring initiative and selfless devotion to duty saved the lives of two Marines and upheld the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the United States Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.
/S/ RICHARD M. NIXON
Jimmy Wayne Phipps was 18 years, six month and 26 days old, the third youngest Marine to be awared the Medal of Honor in Vietnam. His name appears on the Vietnam War Memorial, Panel 23W at line 2. Phipps Hall at Marine Corps Base, Quantico is named in his honor.
The Marine’s Hymn assures us that the streets of Heaven are guarded by United States Marines. If so, I pray that the ultimate Sergeant of the Guard has given Phipps a special liberty for eternity.
Semper Fidelis
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