Division from the North

The intelligence was fascinating. The 324th Division of the North Vietnamese army had crossed the border, it said, and had massed in Quang Tri province next to the 17th parallel's demilitarized zone. It was the first full division ever reported to have come down, it numbered 8,000-10,000 men, and its apparent mission was to deliver a sudden and overwhelming attack upon the two northernmost provinces of South Viet Nam, including the old imperial city of Hue.

To counter the plan, General William Westmoreland ordered a massive spoiling operation. It was called Operation Hastings, and it involved nine battalions of U.S. Marines, the largest number ever thrown into any combat in Viet Nam, together with sizable South Vietnamese army and marine units. When it got under way fortnight ago, the total allied strike force numbered 11,000 men. It was a daring, defiant and, by its very nature, often disorderly operation. Into the dense river valleys and high mountains, marines were lifted by helicopter to begin a sweep through a 300-mile crescent of land, destroying Communists as they went. Their paths often led through jungle so thick that it seemed as dark at noontime as at night, and the troops were forced to slog single file, following each other closely so that no one would get lost.

Hill Fortress. Ambushes and close-range fire fights began almost at once. In rapid order, each of three Marine battalions found and named its own "Ambush Valley." Two of the battalions moved into a landing zone surrounded on three sides by mountains filled with enemy troops. The marines were to move up the two river valleys on either side of Hill 208, which intelligence reported was the 324th Division command post. It was also a fortress. No sooner had the leathernecks advanced within range of the hill than mortar fire rained down on them from all sides, while hidden machine guns opened up. The marines were pinned down for three days before they finally decided to pull back. Then, when all but two platoons had withdrawn, a horde of 1,000 enemy troops in green twill uniforms and sneakers poured down on them from four directions.

Trapped at the river, the marines called in air strikes. Even so, the heavy attack continued. "The air was chopping them to pieces, but they kept coming at us," said Staff Sergeant John J. McGinty. All but ten men of McGinty's platoon had been wounded before a relief company arrived to pull them out. Ho Chi Minh's men got off even worse. Napalm, McGinty said, "cooked them" in the formerly Marine foxholes they had taken over, and at least 200 were killed.

By the middle of last week, the enemy's major troop units had faded away, and the U.S. and South Vietnamese battalions were sweeping forward almost at will. They overran an enemy regimental staging area, a base camp, a 100-bed hospital with 1,200 lbs. of medical supplies, and a V.C. reception area strung with banners reading "Welcome to the National Liberation Front."

All were deserted. One North Vietnamese unit had apparently pulled out so fast that its 500 men abandoned their field packs and left their rice still cooking in open pots.

To Brigadier General R. Lowell English, Marine commander of the operation, that was a good sign. "With all our bombing and our artillery we forced them to break up," he said. "They are moving in every direction. The impression we have now is that they lack leadership, communication and experience. But of course, tomorrow could make me a liar."

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