bobdina
10-03-2009, 06:07 PM
Vietnam vet remembers rescue
By Billy Watkins - The Clarion-Ledger
Posted : Saturday Oct 3, 2009 15:52:57 EDT
PACHUTA, Miss. — On frequent visits to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial — better known as The Wall — in Washington, Ken Woodward of Pachuta first locates the name of Willie G. Thigpen of Ocala, Fla.
Fresh to the 100-degree jungles of Vietnam, Woodward guzzled water. His four-day supply was gone in two. Others knew and ignored it. Without being asked, Thigpen gave the rookie part of his supply.
"He was killed two weeks before his tour of duty was up," Woodward said. "I can't tell you how bad it hurts to see his name up there because I know my name could just as easily be on that wall. That is a very humbling thing to live with."
Woodward was one of about 100 soldiers surrounded in March 1970 near the Vietnam-Cambodia border by about 400 members of the North Vietnamese army — a precise, well-trained unit. The fighting was vicious. Charlie Company's chances of survival seemed zero until Troop Alpha, 11th Armored Cavalry unit roared in with six tanks and 18 armored assault vehicles and rescued the soldiers.
Nearly 40 years later, Troop Alpha is being recognized for its bravery. On Oct. 21, it will receive the Presidential Unit Citation, a unit's equivalent to the Medal of Honor, in ceremonies at the White House.
"I plan to attend if at all possible," said Woodward, 59, a retired health care administrator who is married with no children. "I just want to shake the hands of the guys who saved my life. I don't know if I will ever be totally at peace about this until I have the chance to say 'thank you' in person."
On Valentine's Day 1970, just a few days after arriving in Vietnam, Woodward was part of a seek-and-destroy mission.
"I was 19 years old and pretty naive," he said. "It hadn't been that long ago that I was playing football and serving as student body president (at Quitman High School). Being a Southern boy, I was raised to do what I was told. And I had seen enough John Wayne movies that it was instilled in me to go get the bad guys. So I was kind of excited about it."
That excitement didn't last long. Two hours into the mission, bullets were whizzing past his head from an enemy he could not see in the thick jungle.
The fighting was intense for five hours. Eight members of his platoon died that day. More than 30 were wounded.
"We had a memorial service for the eight killed, with their rifles stuck in the ground and their helmets resting on top," he said. "My innocence was stripped away that day. I became a different person. I didn't believe in John Wayne anymore. From then on, it was the big 'S' word — survival.
"One of the first things I did was write a letter home to my parents. I didn't think there was a chance in the world that I'd make it back alive."
Just two years earlier, he had been at Quitman High. He had spent a semester at Ole Miss, cheering for a sophomore quarterback named Archie Manning and partying too much to make his grades. After returning home to Quitman, Woodward was certain he would be drafted. He saved the government the trouble and enlisted in 1969.
His parents — Cecil, a mortician, and Ola, a registered nurse — already had watched their only other child go to war. Cecil Jr. pulled two tours of Vietnam in the Marines and returned with two Purple Hearts.
A couple of weeks after Woodward's first enemy encounter, his company stumbled upon a huge bunker filled with the North Vietnamese army's area food supply.
"We destroyed 200 tons of rice, and that really ticked them off," Woodward said.
Charlie Company awoke on March 7 to an enemy less than 40 feet away. The exchange of gunfire was rapid and loud, like 100 fireworks shows booming at the same time. A land mine Woodward's platoon had planted the night before took out part of the North Vietnamese unit. Air support and artillery did the rest.
For the first time, he saw the bodies of the people he had been sent 8,000 miles around the world to kill.
His reaction? "I was just glad they were no longer alive to fight," he said. "Again, I had become a new person."
What would become known as The Anonymous Battle began with about 100 members of Charlie Company on a routine patrol.
"We were marching single file, and my group had dropped to the rear because we had just rotated off the point," Woodward said.
The point personnel walked blindly into a North Vietnamese bunker complex. This one was filled with soldiers instead of rice.
For three hours, gunfire never ceased. By approximately 2 p.m., Charlie Company was running low on ammunition, and the North Vietnamese had them surrounded and outnumbered 4 to 1.
Three miles away, Capt. John Poindexter and others in Troop Alpha monitored radio chatter.
"The more we listened, the more we realized if we didn't get them out of there, those men would be lost," said Poindexter, retired and living in Houston, Texas. "The tricky part was getting there before dark because we had to maneuver through bamboo, bomb craters and triple canopy jungle."
Woodward, who carried a radio, heard an armored troop was on the way.
"The fighting was still going strong, and I knew that if something didn't happen before dark — which was around 7:30 — the North Vietnamese would move in that night and kill or capture us all."
Around 5 p.m., Woodward heard tanks in the distance. So, too, did the North Vietnamese, who immediately ceased fire.
"I figured they would load us up and get the heck out of there," Woodward said. "But there was a change of plans. We knew, sooner or later, we would have to engage them. Alpha decided to do it then and there."
Again, the fighting was intense. Woodward was hit in both legs with shrapnel while carrying an injured comrade to a medic station. Just before dark, Troop Alpha retreated, with Charlie Company in tow and satisfied it had done significant damage to the North Vietnamese unit.
For 33 years, Poindexter assumed many of his men had been recognized for their valor. He had submitted the proper paperwork.
"But the more people I talked to, the more I realized not a single one had received anything," he said.
Poindexter began interviewing as many surviving members of Troop Alpha who were there that day he could find. He asked the 11th Armored Cavalry Veterans of Vietnam and Cambodia organization out of Manassas, Va., to help with the interviews.
"Thing is, I'd never heard of the battle and couldn't believe such a heroic act hadn't been recognized," said Allen Hathaway, president of the group. "It was amazing talking to these men. To a person, they all sort of took it in stride and said they simply did what any soldier does in that situation."
Recently, the Department of Defense contacted Poindexter to inform him Troop Alpha would be honored with the Presidential Unit Citation. Poindexter said between 100 and 120 members still are alive.
Woodward, who lives a quiet life near the Clarke County town of Pachuta, continues to call the rescue "a miracle."
"If people don't believe in them," he said, "all they have to do is look at me."
By Billy Watkins - The Clarion-Ledger
Posted : Saturday Oct 3, 2009 15:52:57 EDT
PACHUTA, Miss. — On frequent visits to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial — better known as The Wall — in Washington, Ken Woodward of Pachuta first locates the name of Willie G. Thigpen of Ocala, Fla.
Fresh to the 100-degree jungles of Vietnam, Woodward guzzled water. His four-day supply was gone in two. Others knew and ignored it. Without being asked, Thigpen gave the rookie part of his supply.
"He was killed two weeks before his tour of duty was up," Woodward said. "I can't tell you how bad it hurts to see his name up there because I know my name could just as easily be on that wall. That is a very humbling thing to live with."
Woodward was one of about 100 soldiers surrounded in March 1970 near the Vietnam-Cambodia border by about 400 members of the North Vietnamese army — a precise, well-trained unit. The fighting was vicious. Charlie Company's chances of survival seemed zero until Troop Alpha, 11th Armored Cavalry unit roared in with six tanks and 18 armored assault vehicles and rescued the soldiers.
Nearly 40 years later, Troop Alpha is being recognized for its bravery. On Oct. 21, it will receive the Presidential Unit Citation, a unit's equivalent to the Medal of Honor, in ceremonies at the White House.
"I plan to attend if at all possible," said Woodward, 59, a retired health care administrator who is married with no children. "I just want to shake the hands of the guys who saved my life. I don't know if I will ever be totally at peace about this until I have the chance to say 'thank you' in person."
On Valentine's Day 1970, just a few days after arriving in Vietnam, Woodward was part of a seek-and-destroy mission.
"I was 19 years old and pretty naive," he said. "It hadn't been that long ago that I was playing football and serving as student body president (at Quitman High School). Being a Southern boy, I was raised to do what I was told. And I had seen enough John Wayne movies that it was instilled in me to go get the bad guys. So I was kind of excited about it."
That excitement didn't last long. Two hours into the mission, bullets were whizzing past his head from an enemy he could not see in the thick jungle.
The fighting was intense for five hours. Eight members of his platoon died that day. More than 30 were wounded.
"We had a memorial service for the eight killed, with their rifles stuck in the ground and their helmets resting on top," he said. "My innocence was stripped away that day. I became a different person. I didn't believe in John Wayne anymore. From then on, it was the big 'S' word — survival.
"One of the first things I did was write a letter home to my parents. I didn't think there was a chance in the world that I'd make it back alive."
Just two years earlier, he had been at Quitman High. He had spent a semester at Ole Miss, cheering for a sophomore quarterback named Archie Manning and partying too much to make his grades. After returning home to Quitman, Woodward was certain he would be drafted. He saved the government the trouble and enlisted in 1969.
His parents — Cecil, a mortician, and Ola, a registered nurse — already had watched their only other child go to war. Cecil Jr. pulled two tours of Vietnam in the Marines and returned with two Purple Hearts.
A couple of weeks after Woodward's first enemy encounter, his company stumbled upon a huge bunker filled with the North Vietnamese army's area food supply.
"We destroyed 200 tons of rice, and that really ticked them off," Woodward said.
Charlie Company awoke on March 7 to an enemy less than 40 feet away. The exchange of gunfire was rapid and loud, like 100 fireworks shows booming at the same time. A land mine Woodward's platoon had planted the night before took out part of the North Vietnamese unit. Air support and artillery did the rest.
For the first time, he saw the bodies of the people he had been sent 8,000 miles around the world to kill.
His reaction? "I was just glad they were no longer alive to fight," he said. "Again, I had become a new person."
What would become known as The Anonymous Battle began with about 100 members of Charlie Company on a routine patrol.
"We were marching single file, and my group had dropped to the rear because we had just rotated off the point," Woodward said.
The point personnel walked blindly into a North Vietnamese bunker complex. This one was filled with soldiers instead of rice.
For three hours, gunfire never ceased. By approximately 2 p.m., Charlie Company was running low on ammunition, and the North Vietnamese had them surrounded and outnumbered 4 to 1.
Three miles away, Capt. John Poindexter and others in Troop Alpha monitored radio chatter.
"The more we listened, the more we realized if we didn't get them out of there, those men would be lost," said Poindexter, retired and living in Houston, Texas. "The tricky part was getting there before dark because we had to maneuver through bamboo, bomb craters and triple canopy jungle."
Woodward, who carried a radio, heard an armored troop was on the way.
"The fighting was still going strong, and I knew that if something didn't happen before dark — which was around 7:30 — the North Vietnamese would move in that night and kill or capture us all."
Around 5 p.m., Woodward heard tanks in the distance. So, too, did the North Vietnamese, who immediately ceased fire.
"I figured they would load us up and get the heck out of there," Woodward said. "But there was a change of plans. We knew, sooner or later, we would have to engage them. Alpha decided to do it then and there."
Again, the fighting was intense. Woodward was hit in both legs with shrapnel while carrying an injured comrade to a medic station. Just before dark, Troop Alpha retreated, with Charlie Company in tow and satisfied it had done significant damage to the North Vietnamese unit.
For 33 years, Poindexter assumed many of his men had been recognized for their valor. He had submitted the proper paperwork.
"But the more people I talked to, the more I realized not a single one had received anything," he said.
Poindexter began interviewing as many surviving members of Troop Alpha who were there that day he could find. He asked the 11th Armored Cavalry Veterans of Vietnam and Cambodia organization out of Manassas, Va., to help with the interviews.
"Thing is, I'd never heard of the battle and couldn't believe such a heroic act hadn't been recognized," said Allen Hathaway, president of the group. "It was amazing talking to these men. To a person, they all sort of took it in stride and said they simply did what any soldier does in that situation."
Recently, the Department of Defense contacted Poindexter to inform him Troop Alpha would be honored with the Presidential Unit Citation. Poindexter said between 100 and 120 members still are alive.
Woodward, who lives a quiet life near the Clarke County town of Pachuta, continues to call the rescue "a miracle."
"If people don't believe in them," he said, "all they have to do is look at me."