Where Have All the Heroes Gone?

  ...Shanley surveyed the landscape and could see piles of dead NVA soldiers everywhere. His platoon had killed more than a two-hundred NVA and had wounded countless others...

Contributed by Joseph Kinney, Combat Marine

Photo: Joseph Kinney receiving the Purple Heart, 1969.

He stood at attention, his chest all puffed out. Tall, lean, and well-muscled. The lines on his jaw protruded slightly, giving his face a sculpted and determined look. Perhaps more significantly, his eyes radiated certitude. You can always tell a man by his eyes, whether he was willing to look you in the eyes or not. Eyes are a window into a man¹s soul, they reveal all. Here was a man that knew what he wanted to do and how to get it done.

An arm length¹s behind the Marine Corps lieutenant were the remnants of his hard-hit platoon. This was a melancholy moment for them. The year was 1969, and the platoon had seen some of the most intense fighting of the First Marine Division during the spring and summer months. Fourteen of his men, one-fourth of his complement, had met death in just the past two months. This outfit had confronted the harsh nature of an often-desperate war with the painful loss of fallen comrades.

That is the way it was, and always will be. Combat Marines will endure the shadows of death, and march to the other side, to fight still another day.

Within a few moments, our reason for being in formation crystallized. Until that moment, we could only speculate why we were there. When you are in the Marine Corps, you don¹t ask questions‹you do as you are told and we had been ordered to fall-out for something big.

Soon, the dust was swirling as a Huey slick helicopter circled and then landed nearby. In a few moments, a Brigadier General made his way to our formation. The General walked briskly to the Lieutenant who was, like the rest of us, patiently waiting.

"Lieutenant," the general barked. "It is my distinct privilege to award you the Silver Star Medal for gallantry above and beyond the call of duty."

Standing there, I knew that there was never a medal more deserved than this. Goose bumps went up my spine as I savored the fact that my platoon commander had won the third highest decoration for valor, just behind the Navy Cross and Medal of Honor. Some lieutenants are so-so and still others are great. The great ones are inclusive in the way they think but decisive when decisions must be made.

The Lieutenant had got us through many tough situations. He had identified many traps set by the North Vietnamese Army and skillfully avoided them. In combat, he had nerves of steel. His hands were steady and his voice unwavering. Without him at the helm, our losses would have been higher.

Just as the General began to pin on the medal, the Lieutenant spoke.

"General, sir," he firmly interjected. "I must decline this medal for I know of nothing that I have done above and beyond the call of duty that was not done by each and every member of this platoon."

The General seemed confused by this statement, and dropped his hands to his side. Lieutenants are known to covet medals, this was not to be!

The Lieutenant spoke again: "I cannot accept this medal without one for each and every member of this platoon. These men have fought together and they have suffered the loss of buddies. A commander is nothing without the faithful dedication of his troops."

I stood there in an absolute daze. I was witnessing the acknowledgement of a true hero, a man genetically linked to those who had fought at Iwo Jima, Tarawa, Tripoli, maybe even the Revolutionary War. This memory would be ingrained into my soul forever.

With those words said, our platoon was dismissed and the General scurried off in his chopper as quickly as he had come.

Where have all the heroes gone?

The moment the Lieutenant declined the medal was one of my proudest moments as a Marine. Officers were supposed to get medals. Why is this so? Where did their heroism originate? Can it come merely from leadership that they have been entrusted to give? Have you heard of officers charging machinegun nests or rolling over to muffle the otherwise lethal effect of a Chinese Communist grenade?

I never knew an officer who left Vietnam without a Bronze Star, including many who never saw combat.

By his example, our Lieutenant once again taught us still another lesson that should be learned and embraced by true warriors: Heroes don¹t need medals to be who they are… God had seen all.

When I drive my pickup down the road and see a Vietnam Veteran bumper sticker, I wonder. Was this a guy who charged enemy positions at risk of life and limb? Was this one of those men who humped a wounded buddy out of the bush with enemy fire all around?

Where have all the heroes gone? They are just down the street from us. The go to church with us, play golf or bowl with our family and friends. They drive Fords and pick-ups and do what they can to keep food on the table and the bills paid.

I was blessed to see heroic acts, most of them still unacknowledged, during my service in Vietnam. When I first went there, I dreamed of returning home with a chest full of medals. That is natural. When I received my first medal, The Purple Heart, I was wounded and in the hospital in Da Nang. I tried to draw pay from the paymaster but he declined since I was not on his roster. I just didn¹t exist! I ended up selling the medal for $15 to get money for burgers and Cokes at the NCO club. My god, I thought: What have I done? Have I sacrificed my family¹s heritage to feed my cravings?

We, as grunts, longed to be appreciated for going to war. But in the heat of combat, it all changes. We no longer exist for ourselves, but for each other. We are molded into a brotherhood: All for one, one for all. While our mission is to destroy a cunning and ferocious enemy, we do so in the context of saving each other. It is this brotherhood that calls us and sustains us, that gives us reason to believe and have hope when others let us down.

In God we trust.

In the final analysis, we are Marines, and it is how we wear the uniform that matters. Our business is not to please other mortals, but the God that calls us to arms, who sustains us during difficult periods, and gives us the guts to get it done. It is this God that shall judge us, not only as men, but also as warriors undeniably linked throughout history to our brothers who fought for family and community.

I don¹t know of any Marine who has won a cherished medal that cannot identify similar or even more courageous Marines who have gone unacknowledged for essentially the same valor. I do know that every American lives a short ride from a true hero and they don¹t even know it. The same people who can name the All-Star or Pro-Bowl teams could not name one true hero from the Vietnam War. Is it because this war was so painful and that we, as a society, have chosen to bury symbols of service in a nasty war?

My mind swells with memories. Did you know that the 5th Marine Regiment battle flag has over 500 battle streamers? There is no regiment in the entire American military as honored as the proudly acclaimed as the Fifth Marines. As a Marine, you sign up for war and when business is good, you will be in the thick of things.

Sadly, we know so few of the stories of America¹s Vietnam heroes. I can only guess why this is. Maybe it was the nature of the war. Perhaps by praising a few good men, the anti-war public would have been forced to confront the wider dimensions of this conflict and the price that individuals so freely paid to honor their nation. The bravery of my fellow Marines clearly demonstrated our valor, which, if fully revealed, would have symbolically crushed the more idiotic fringes of the anti-war movement.

I want to tell you about one of those heroes. I do so because his service and accomplishment was so extraordinary that he made the cover of Life Magazine. There was never a more obvious candidate for the Medal of Honor in any war. But rather than be acknowledged for the hero he was, his memory was promptly obliterated from our memory banks. His profound bravery was left twisting in the wind only to disintegrate in the memory banks of a few.

The vision of this man comes into my mind as I contemplate the many that served so well. There were so many patrols that were "lost" in Vietnam. Fire-teams or even squads went into battle, often against overwhelming odds, only to be totally wiped out. These soon to perish units communicated their situation to forward combat bases, only to lose touch as the last men fell begging for fire support or help of some sort.

I wonder about these units and the fate they faced. I knew of a few and heard of still others. There are only two things you can count on in thinking about this loss. First, they didn¹t go down without a fight. You can bet that they gave a stellar fight. Second, God was their witness and He held them in His arms as they breathed their last breath.

Then there was heroism so conspicuous yet not on the radar screen for those who awarded medals. Perhaps one of the most horrific battles of the Vietnam War came during the siege of Khe Sanh. This remote combat base was as far northwest as the units were based in Vietnam. It was dangling like fish bait for the North Vietnamese Army (NVA).

Photo: Joseph Kinney, 1969

Khe Sanh was in the middle of major NVA infiltration routes across the demilitarized zone. It made sense that the American military attempt to intercept these units as they made their way south. In time, the US built a large base at Khe Sanh.

Khe Sanh was a viable base as long as the Marines ran patrols to cut off NVA probes of base perimeter. When the patrols operated, the NVA could not get their rockets and mortars into a position to be effective. Suddenly the Marine patrols stopped. As they did, the Marines were like ducks at a shooting gallery.

The Marines could only dig-in for what surely would be a major fight. Soon, the NVA began blasting the base with all that they had and the weather worsened. The Marines were left to defend Khe Sanh with diminished ammunition and supplies, a growing tally of wounded and dead, and no reinforcements in sight.

There was one route into Khe Sanh, a narrow pass between two hills. This was the only way in for the NVA. The Marines dug four rows of trench lines across the choke point and dug in for the fight.

The platoon commander given the task of defending that precious ground was Lieutenant Don Shanley, a highly respected commander. He stood his ground for his men and led them with steel nerves and compassion.

Lieutenant Shanley looked more like a Rhodes Scholar that a jaw-breaking Marine. He was an All-America swimmer at Stanford University where he studied literature.

Don Shanley knew that it was only a matter of time before the big one would come. Each day he worked with his squad leaders establishing their fields of fire, to cover all angles into the choke point they defended. Shanley knew that planning and discipline were critical to his mission. The NVA would try to fill the choke point with bodies that would swarm the Marines like ants.

The attack that came exceeded expectations. It came late one night. In a nearby tree line, more than a thousand NVA soldiers lined up for a major assault against Shanley¹s platoon of forty souls. Ever alert, Shanley¹s platoon picked up the movement of NVA toward their position. The NVA came in waves that horrified Shanley who took up his own firing position while commanding his unit. Scores of NVA soldiers fell during the first assault, which was designed merely to test the resolve of the Marines. As the NVA made their strategic retreat, Shanley assessed the situation. He had a hand full of casualties, including two killed in action.

On his own, Shanley re-positioned his platoon in the second, third and fourth trenches. Shanley knew that the enemy would be back, that it was only a question of time. Fire support provided illuminating flares that confirmed what Shanley feared most. The NVA had redoubled their attack. Every where that Shanley looked with his night vision scope were NVA soldiers with AK-47s with fixed bayonets.

The NVA pounded Shanley¹s positions en masse and the lines held as men in the second trench were forced into hand-to-hand combat. Shanely¹s men, with his encouragement, fixed their bayonets and smashed the invaders. In a bold move, Shanley led his men in a counter-attack to the first trench line, a surprise move that startled the NVA. Once again, the NVA were forced to retreat.

It was now slightly after 3 a.m. Shanley didn¹t know how many times he could defend the choke point. The seconds felt like minutes and Shanley knew he had no time to lose. He literally crawled from position-to-position, re-focusing fields of fire while sharing encouraging words to his men. Virtually every man that Shanley touched was wounded, some severely. But each man wanted to fight, to stay the course. There would be no medical evacuations for these men. They were, after all, United States Marines.

Shanley surveyed the landscape and could see piles of dead NVA soldiers everywhere. His platoon had killed more than a two-hundred NVA and had wounded countless others. There were at least three dozen bodies in and around the first trench line. The NVA fought with discipline and steel nerves, but the Marines were even tougher.

Soon, the swarms of NVA came again. This time the attack was even more ferocious as they broke into a dead run up the grade toward the Marine positions. Just as before, Shanley¹s men held their fire until the optimal time came. They unleashed their M-60 machine guns, M-79 grenade launchers, and M-16s with as much might as possible. They chewed up their attackers.

Once again, Shanley, facing certain death, crawled to key positions shouting encouragement while carrying the badly wounded back to the fourth trench line.

Shanley¹s ear and nose were bleeding from the concussion of grenades. He had shrapnel wounds on his chest, arms and legs, a reflection of the intense fighting. There were NVA bodies everywhere, some piled three and four deep. Shanley was compelled to move his men back to the third and fourth trench lines to consolidate their strength.

With the rising sun came the end of the battle. Shanley lost a dozen men killed in action. Virtually every member of the platoon was wounded. But they had held the line, and Khe Sanh was safe.

Virtually every man in Shanley¹s platoon felt that their lieutenant justly deserved the Medal of Honor. The facts were not only undeniable, but they were captured in a photograph on the cover of Life Magazine. Featured in the famous photo was a shell-shocked Don Shanley, surveying the battlefield below his position. There were hundred of NVA dead as far as one could see.

The oversight of failing to recognize Don Shanley¹s heroism bothers me to this day. I wasn¹t at Khe Sanh. In fact, I have only met Don Shanley on one occasion. But I know what my brothers in arms have told me about this remarkable man and this remarkable night. I also have come to believe that had Shanley not held his ground, that Khe Sanh would have been lost and hundreds of Americans slaughtered. The loss would have been critical to the American effort.

What could be more above and beyond the call of duty that the courage of Don Shanley? Perhaps politicians in the Department of Defense did not want to call attention to Khe Sanh and their failed policies. Perhaps the politicians did not want the public to know of the incredible courage displayed by Shanley and his men that also necessarily showed the dire side of this war.

I know that Don Shanley paid a appalling price. In a conventional sense, he never reached his potential as a Stanford graduate. Rather than become a man of letters or a prominent business leader, he retreated into the outer reaches of Elk, California where he established a small landscaping business. Like so many of us who toiled the vineyards of Vietnam, Don Shanley struggled to trust his fellow man. If they only understood, he would think until he realized that understanding was not possible. In his heart, Don Shanley knows that only a small number of men will ever come to appreciate what he did for his country and with that he is assured of his standing.

Don did not marry until his 40¹s and only now he is beginning to find peace of mind in this turbulent world. The scars of his war are now beginning to heal, 35 years after Khe Sanh was closed, and the last Marine pulled out.

Where have all the heroes gone? I say that they are all around us. You can start by reading the 58,000 names on a dark granite wall in Washington, D.C. There are heroes in the large cities and on our farms, in Butte, Buffalo, and Bismarck. They are everywhere you look. They may live down the street from you, even on the same block. There are men and women that we will never know, who gave their all and then some. We need to understand more about these souls have done for our freedom.

I know many heroes. Those heroes that are conventionally successful are those who have busied themselves in ways that would boggle the imagination. If they stop for even a second, they must confront the reality of pain and the sense of loss that is behind it. Still others have hidden more from society, blending into the anonymity that gives them peace. They, too, are not likely to have confronted their pain.

Still others have embraced God and have come to trust that their heavenly Father will help them bear the pain. That is the route that I have taken.

We are a nation that has been proud of its heroes. We have immortalized them in books and films. But the heroes of Vietnam are largely forgotten except for those who know.

Yes, war is never glorious. Just ask the heroes.

* Mr. Kinney is a Marine Corps Vietnam veteran. He lives in Pinehurst, NC where he is working on a book, NOTES FROM A VIETNAM VETERAN FATHER.