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RECOLLECTIONS: Flag-Waving and the Marine Corps Way

By John Lindquist

FLSG-B--what the hell does that stand for? This was the first question to enter my mind when I received orders. LZ stud--was that an abbreviation for "student?"

Out of 50 Marine radio men who flew to Okinawa on a yellow Braniff jet, I was one of only five who did not get their orders changed to Khe Sanh. Seeing as I was no longer a dumb John Wayne freak, that was OK with me. I had orders for FLC--Force Logistics Command--In Da Nang, but my joy was short-lived.

Upon my arrival in Da Nang, two of us were transferred to FLSG-B Dong Ha. Dong Ha was about six miles from the DMZ. I was told that the battle for Dong Ha City had been retaken at the end of February, the Tet Offensive was not yet entirely over.

All over South Vietnam there were areas that still had to be recaptured. In the case of Dong Ha and other areas, a mini-Tet was on during the first two weeks of May. Another NVA offensive was being repulsed.

We drove to the Da Nang airport and waited in a tin-roofed building which served as a terminal. The sign said: "World's Busiest Airport." The heat was unbelievable and the noise and dirt were overpowering.

Finally, they loaded us onto a camouflaged plane which they called a Caribou--A C-123 I guess. Officers and NCO's went in first and sat on the web seats on the side. All the enlisted men, from salty looking grunts to us Newbies sat on the metal floor in ranks and files of three. We talked a little until the plane's engines started up and then our talking was overpowered. We banked out over the ocean and flew to Dong Ha.

We landed with a jolt--and then came the surprise of my life. The plane's engines never stopped. All our gear was kicked out the rear door and officers were pushing us off the plane as fast as possible. The ramp went up and the plane took off, and it finally sunk in that Dong Ha really was hot.

I went through the pile of gear, sweating like a pig, and found my sea bag. As I walked to my area, I could see jets dropping napalm about half a mile from the perimeter. It was too much.

I walked past some old multisided buildings. I was to find out later that day that these were old French bunkers from the 40's and 50's. I found out when I reported in to FLSG-B (Force Logistics Support Group-Bravo) that we had been fighting about 5000 NVA for three days now. They had tried to take the base but had walked into the 2nd Battalion, 4th Marines.

FLSG-B was a service regiment. We did the convoys, ammo, EOD, engineer work, motor maintenance, bakery, medical supply--you name it. I found out that first night on A Guard that Dong Ha was a kind of USMC dumping ground. Dong Ha was within artillery range of North Vietnam, and every shit-bird, troublemaker, and a lot of regular guys were sent up to build Dong Ha in late 1967.

As I watched the napalm drops, I heard all about the old French bunkers we lived in, as we sat with our backs to Vietnam's only Railroad to Nowhere.

One of the biggest heartbreaks I experienced while in Vietnam happened in late 1968. I had been sent back down from Cau Viet after our bunker burned down during a 125-round artillery attack. The Lt. said I was too jumpy--why not do 88 convoys? (Just what I needed)

While I was at Cau Viet a new replacement arrived, a quiet kid from Alabama or Mississippi. I saw him once before he was transferred to Quang Tri. While at Quang Tri he raised up his state flag over his hootch--his state flag was the confederate stars and bars.

His staff NCO from New York said, "Take it down. Ain't no Rebel flags in my Marine Corps." The kid said it was his state flag and the other Marines had their state flags up. So, in the Marine Corps tradition, all flags were ordered down. And that didn't make the kid too popular.

The kid wrote his Congressman who went down and pounded on the Commandant's desk. The Commandant wrote a letter to 3rd Marine Division and they contacted Major English, CO of HQS Company, FLSG-B.

Major English ordered the kid transferred back to Dong Ha and then to report to his office. I saw the kid move into the hootch next door. He unpacked, put on clean whites and went to see the CO.

Major English told him that there had been a misunderstanding. He told the kid that he needed to write another letter to his Congressman and tell him he had made up the story or twisted the facts. Something had to be done to lift the heat on Major English, heat coming from the Commandant of the Marine Corps.

The kid said, "Sir, it is not a lie. I told the truth."

Major English told him to get with the program.

The kid answered back: "Sir, I'd rather be dead than write that letter."

"Son," said Major English, "you better go back to your hootch and think it over."

The kid--cant remember his name--came back to his hootch and packed all his gear. A bunch of us were sitting one door away, smoking some joints when M-16 shots were heard.

The kid had packed his gear away neatly and sat down on the steps. He put a clip into his M-16, put it on auto, put the barrel in his mouth and blew his brains out.

As we rushed to his side I heard a Marine proclaim "Your son gave his life his country." I wondered, would Major English get a promotion?

John Lindquist
Vietnam
May '68 - May '69