Con Thien

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Inside the Cone of Fire
Mike Company, Third Battalion, Ninth Marines

These pictures appeared in Life Magazine October 27, 1967. They were taken by David Douglas Duncan. An ex-Marine who covered combat in the Pacific and Korea, All the images are in thumnail form and are clickable to a full scale jpg. Photographed and Written by David Douglas Duncan

Vietnam War - Life — Thursday morning, Sept. 28, was beautiful at Con Thien, where I had just helicoptered in to join Mike Company, Third Battalion, Ninth Marines. Sunshine was drying the red mud and men atop the trenches were cleaning their weapons. The last time I covered the Marines was at Chosin Reservoir in Korea; it was 30′ below then.

Now the heat was stifling. A corporal led me into the cool sanctuary of his bunker, shared his canteen, then took me out to OP One, the most forward Marine position in Vietnam, to watch our planes bomb the enemy 700 meters away. Soon we would be in the enemy's cone of fire. — Now the heat was stifling. A corporal led me into the cool sanctuary of his bunker, shared his canteen, then took me out to OP One, the most forward Marine position in Vietnam, to watch our planes bomb the enemy 700 meters away. Soon we would be in the enemy’s cone of fire.

I had gone to the rear, as if there is any rear at Con Thien to scrounge a carton of milk from Pfc Kenneth Birdsong, the helicopter landing zone controller. Two choppers had touched down, unloaded and shoved off. Enemy spotters must have seen them and radioed their 152-mm guns hidden 10 miles away. There was no warning when the shells came there never is when they come on top of you. The first salvo of three hit 100 meters away. A Marine dived for a trench. Others piled into a bunker. Five of us wedged there with ammo stacked all around.

Impact 50 meters. Shudder of Target Zero.

Charlie was walking his barrage right in upon us. The second salvo erupted 50 meters dead ahead of our bunker. No one spoke, no one moved. There was no place else to go. It was too late. Salvo number three was already coming. We just waited. We all knew, by now, that the enemy gunner was shortening his range by 50 meters each salvo. We were Target Zero. Then eardrums and hearts and dreams burst. My camera shuddered (left photo). Three shells exploded against our bunker’s outer flank, 15 feet away and I was deaf and alive, with muddy Marine boots in my face. Not deaf! Another salvo echoed far away, 50 meters behind us which seemed quite beautiful until we heard the worst sound of all.

Target Minus 50-the cry of Corpsman.

The corpsmen came. The bunker at Target Minus 50 was a shambles. Litter bearers converged from everywhere to carry the wounded to the battalion aid station, nearly 300 yards away. It was very far-the North Vietnamese artillery was raking Con Thien, searching for anyone who moved and for the medevac choppers trying to land. The doctors had only a few minutes to stop the hemorrhaging and clean off the mud. Then, in a helicopter that dropped in with a recoilless rifle, there was an exchange: one weapon for one wounded.

When rain lashes Con Thien, mud and mist enfold the Marines in a grip from which there is no escape, it will be like this or worse until next spring when the monsoones end. Almost all air support stops. Only lonely choppers hedgehop over the bleak misery of the front to bring in emergency supplies and evacuate the wounded. Yet it is better when skies turn foul; the enemy's guns flood out, his ammo bogs down along the supply trails, and best of all, his prowling forward observers sit blinded out in the DMZ moonscape. — When rain lashes Con Thien, mud and mist enfold the Marines in a grip from which there is no escape, it will be like this or worse until next spring when the monsoones end. Almost all air support stops. Only lonely choppers hedgehop over the bleak misery of the front to bring in emergency supplies and evacuate the wounded. Yet it is better when skies turn foul; the enemy’s guns flood out, his ammo bogs down along the supply trails, and best of all, his prowling forward observers sit blinded out in the DMZ moonscape.

Somehow, the mud-smeared, often bandaged Marines on that forlorn hill seem at home, oblivious to water and wounds, even ready to laugh. Perhaps their world within our world is enough unto itself. during the month that the Third Battalion, Ninth Marines held their position at con Thien, 27 men died in action; another 577 were wounded. Yet, of the wounded, only 73 were evacuated from vietnam. The other 504 Marines went back to war-their way of life.

Life below ground and above ground.

By night, my world spun around Mike Company's command bunker, overlooking a no man's land sporadically lit by flares and tracers. As soon as Captain Frank Breth had briefed his platoon lieutenants, every man in that massive timbered haven ripped open rations and began cooking, cleaning weapons, writing home, or talking: of communism; of there being no retreat for a Marine; of God-an intensely personal God; of their hatred but respect for enemy Charlie. — By night, my world spun around Mike Company’s command bunker, overlooking a no man’s land sporadically lit by flares and tracers. As soon as Captain Frank Breth had briefed his platoon lieutenants, every man in that massive timbered haven ripped open rations and began cooking, cleaning weapons, writing home, or talking: of communism; of there being no retreat for a Marine; of God-an intensely personal God; of their hatred but respect for enemy Charlie.

"Captain-I've been hit...." the voice on the field phone from OP One was perfectly clear, although the sandbagged position-blasted by a recoilless rifle from the DMZ-was nearly in ruins. Corpsmen Dennis Mclean and Bill Dancy had the forward observer, Cpl Harry Hutchinson ,back in Mike Company's bunker almost before shock set in-but not before he weakly joked, "Oh mercy, friends, whatever was that noise?" Shock, concussion, the burned arm and the sense of humor apparently balanced each other. Harry Hutchinson was back in OP One two nights later. — “Captain-I’ve been hit….” the voice on the field phone from OP One was perfectly clear, although the sandbagged position-blasted by a recoilless rifle from the DMZ-was nearly in ruins. Corpsmen Dennis Mclean and Bill Dancy had the forward observer, Cpl Harry Hutchinson ,back in Mike Company’s bunker almost before shock set in-but not before he weakly joked, “Oh mercy, friends, whatever was that noise?” Shock, concussion, the burned arm and the sense of humor apparently balanced each other. Harry Hutchinson was back in OP One two nights later.

"The Hill of Angels" - Vietnam War — This cratered knoll, Con Thien-“The Hill of Angels” to the Vietnamese, “The Graveyard” to the Marines is a place of no special laws or codes except mutual support.

Men there share everything. They alone make me think that the hill's Vietnamese name is the right one. — Men there share everything. They alone make me think that the hill’s Vietnamese name is the right one.

Scenes not easy to bare.

In a way, I look on this story as a letter to the families and friends of the men of the Third Battalion, 9th Regiment, 3rd Marine Division. There are some pictures which are not easy to bear-of men wounded and killed. But they are all professionals, practicing a trade for which they volunteered. In ten days at Con Thien-though this seems hard to believe-I never heard any griping at being there. The men view Con Thien in the same light as Tarawa and Iwo Jima and are proud and happy to have this hilltop in a remote land. It is a place every one of them seemed to believe important. Perhaps my pictures will add meaning to the letters the men themselves write home.