Vietnam Warriors! A Recon Story: Taylor's Tigers Alpha Company 2nd Platoon 1st Reconnaissance Battalion 1st Marine Division

By J. Boyd Morningstorm USMC

Vietnam Warriors!

A Recon Story--Taylor's Tigers

J. Boyd Morningstorm, a Recon Marine during the Vietnam War, dug deep within himself to write his story that also includes the stories of the brave men who fought with him. They served together and depended on each other for survival-- something that created lifelong bonds and friendships. Morningstorm helps us understand the impact of war on young Americans who graduated from high school, trained as Marines, then were sent to war in a foreign country. He tells of the fear, the trauma, the hell...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781636928746

Book preview

Vietnam Warriors!

A Recon Story

Taylor’s Tigers

Alpha Company 2nd Platoon

1st Reconnaissance Battalion

1st Marine Division

J. Boyd Morningstorm

USMC

Copyright © 2022 J. Boyd Morningstorm

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-63692-873-9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63692-874-6 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

From the Author

Marine’s Prayer

Foreword

Chapter 1 Into the Corps

Chapter 2 Into the Nam

Chapter 3 To the Jungle

Chapter 4 Death Awaiting in Ashau Valley

Chapter 5 A Transition Occurs

Chapter 6 New Guys Take Over

Chapter 7 A Terrible Introduction

Chapter 8 The Old Guard Leaves

Chapter 9 The Long, Grueling, Rainy March

Chapter 10 Operation Mobile

Chapter 11 North to the Danger Zone

Chapter 12 Battle on the Island—The Body Retrieval

Chapter 13 A Thai Beauty Comes My Way

Chapter 14 The Grind Continues

Chapter 15 A Near Tragedy Avoided

Chapter 16 Taylor’s Disappearing Act

Chapter 17 Human Prizes

Chapter 18 Wronge Man for the Job

Chapter 19 Baker’s Dance with Death

Chapter 20 Lieutenant Blue Takes Charge

Chapter 21 Battle of the Crater

Chapter 22 Heading Back South

Chapter 23 Near Tragedy before Leaving

Chapter 24 The War Follows Me Back

Chapter 25 The Battle of Rowe’s Hill—An Aftermath

Photos

Medals and Ribbons Legend

Index

From the Author

In the early 1970s, when I had been out of the military only a couple of years, I became involved in our Menominee traditional ways—while at the same time living a negative lifestyle. Needless to say, this did not work for me. My concept of a warrior verged on the criminal by simultaneously trying to buck the system while paying lip service to the Great Spirit. By coming to know a Menominee elder, I would truly comprehend the concept of warriorhood.

It was not until my late twenties that I became familiar with the tribal elder, Moon Weso. With his guidance, I found a spiritual road. His explanation of genuine warriorhood gave me an understanding of Menominee oral tradition. Moon was one of the last Native American Church people in my tribe. He was an original charter member of the Menominee chapter of the Native American Church back in 1913, when the Menominee were given recognition by the state of Wisconsin. A fluent speaker of Menominee, he was also a graduate of Haskell Indian School in Lawrence, Kansas (now Haskell Indian Nations University), the premiere Indian school of its day. He was born around 1903 or 1904, he says. For his age, he was a very energetic and vigorous man. Through him a reival of the Native American Church—with its use of peyote ingested as a sacrament—would occur on the Menominee Reservation.

A significant group of tribal members began to follow the Native American Church and straightened out their lives. With many native youth, a legacy of alcohol abuse had persisted, and it was at this time that many of our older Indian spiritual leaders made themselves heard.

—J. Boyd Morningstorm

Marine’s Prayer

Almighty Father, whose command is over all and whose love never fails, make me aware of Thy presence and obedient to Thy will.

Keep me true to my best self, guarding me against dishonesty in purpose and deed and helping me to live so that I can face my fellow Marines, my loved ones, and Thee without shame or fear. Protect my family. Give me the will to do the work of a Marine and to accept my share of responsibilities with vigor and enthusiasm.

Grant me the courage to be proficient in my daily performance. Keep me loyal and faithful to my superiors and to the duties my Country and the Marine Corps have entrusted to me. Help me to wear my uniform with dignity, and let it remind me of the daily traditions which I must uphold. If I am inclined to doubt, steady my faith; if I am tempted, make me strong to resist; if I should miss the mark, give me courage to try again.

Guide me with the light of truth and grant me wisdom by which I may understand the answer to my prayer.

Foreword

In the long history of the US Marines, there have been many storied fighting units. This book will chronicle a small special fighting unit of the US Marine Corps—the First Reconnaissance Battalion, First Marine Division, Alpha Company, Second Platoon.

This small fighting unit would prove its mettle and earn its battle honors in the dangerous tasks it would be confronted with during the early years of the Vietnam War. This history will not only be about the fighting unit these men served with; it will be about the men themselves, the officers, sergeants, and corporals who led this small recon unit. These men would come to call themselves Taylor’s Tigers after their platoon commander, Lieutenant James Jim Taylor.

Lieutenant Jim Taylor would become a great small-unit commander. The platoon he led would become very proficient at its trade which was combat intelligence, the gathering of enemy information, dispositions, whereabouts and intentions. This was a US Marine Corps recon trade.

These stories of Taylor’s Tigers will not only cover battles, patrols, and operations but will also cover some of the day-to-day occurrences that happened while this recon platoon was in the rear areas between patrols. Many of these stories will speak of mundane experiences of life as a recon enlisted man. Some of the stories will be a bit profane. Others are enlisted men’s drama with near tragedies. Finally, some of these stories will be humorous situations, both in and out of the field.

After the introduction, the story will start with a coming together—where these men came from and what outfits they were with before they came to Alpha Deuce. The core of these stories will be about the six months they spent together with their platoon commander Jim Taylor.

After Lieutenant Taylor’s six-month stint as platoon commander was up, Taylor’s Tigers remained in country (Republic of Vietnam) for another six months or more. The closing chapters of this story will follow these men through their remaining time in the war zone with its tragedies, ultimate triumphs, and sad farewells.

Finally, this story is written from my point of view. I am a Menominee Native veteran. At the time, I was a Private First Class Recon Marine on a one-year tour of duty with First Reconnaissance Battalion based at Chu Lai, RVN (Republic of Vietnam). For six months of my tour of duty, I was assigned TAD (temporary active duty) to Third Reconnaissance Battalion, Recon Group Bravo based at Phu Bai (sleep little baby), RVN, on the outskirts of the old imperial city of Hue.

Many of these stories are my recollections, while others are from interviews with platoon members from Alpha Company Second Platoon. These men were all members of Taylor’s Tigers.

—J. Boyd Morningstorm

Vietnam War Most Traumatic Experience for US in Twentieth Century

The Vietnam War was arguably the most traumatic experience for the United States in the twentieth century. That is indeed a grim distinction in a span that included two world wars, the assassinations of two presidents and the resignation of another, the Great Depression, the Cold War, racial unrest, and the drug and crime waves.

—Donald Goldstein, Introduction, The Vietnam War

Marine Recons—An Elite Fighting Force

Accurate and timely intelligence—about the enemy s location, strength, intentions, and actions—was very important to the US military commanders during the Vietnam War. This information was important to the Marines because their area of operations was the demilitarized zone that divided communist North Vietnam from democratic South Vietnam. The Marine Corps’ high command turned to the special group of men who were trained to operate in four- to eight-man teams deep behind enemy lines, the Marine Force Reconnaissance companies. By the time the last unit left Vietnam, they had recorded a remarkable record that distinguished them as an elite group within a branch of the military that is an elite service.

Chapter 1

Into the Corps

I come from the Menominee Country of northeastern Wisconsin, a land of beautiful forests, lakes, rivers, and streams. In May of 1965, I graduated from Shawano Senior High School in Shawano, Wisconsin. I did not want to go to college right away, so in February of 1965, I signed up for the US Marine Corps.

I had noticed a poster in the school library window at the high school I was attending. The poster was of a US Marine in his dress blues, standing tall at attention in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France. I was captivated by this picture. I suddenly knew what I wanted to do with the next few years of my life. I talked a few buddies of mine into signing up for the 120-day delayed entry program. This gave me time to finish my high school course work and graduate that May of 1965.

Marine Corps boot camp was definitely a rude awakening, but I measured up and graduated from Marine Corps recruit training in San Diego, California. I was now Private J. L. Boyd. It was then on to basic training at Camp Pendleton MCB (Marine Corps base) north of Oceanside, California. This high, sprawling base teaches Marines basic infantry tactics and weapons training.

It was during the course of my basic training that the Marine Corps taught me waterborne warfare tactics. This instruction was provided to those who were good swimmers. Coming from a land of rivers and lakes, I had learned how to swim at an early age.

I was to become proficient at many of these waterborne tactics. Little did I know that I had become a prime reconnaissance (recon) prospect. Marine Corps Reconnaissance is an elite fighting unit.

After basic training, I was promoted to private first class (PFC). I took my first leave from the Marine Corps during October of 1965. I was home for twenty days and greatly enjoyed the beautiful fall colors of the lake country. The vibrant colors of autumn in Menominee County are so sublime they are haunting. My Marine Corps leave came to an end only too quickly.

It was back to camp Pendleton for a few weeks while in transit to Western Pacific (Wes Pac). In early November 1965, we flew into Kaneohe Bay, the Marine Corps Air Station, on the island of Oahu in Hawaii. This island was truly a beautiful place. We landed there for about six hours for the purpose of refueling, as well as for a maintenance check.

While we were waiting, a first sergeant (sergeant) came up to one of our sergeants and asked for five men to be stationed at this base as garbage men. I was one of the five chosen to be a garbage man in paradise. About twenty minutes later, after I had gotten my gear together, this same first sergeant came back and said they only needed four men. I happened to be standing at the front of the five men and therefore was told by the sergeant to grab my gear and go back with the rest of the men heading to Wes Pac.

Oh well, I thought, I will never forget the chance I almost had at being a trash man in Paradise.

We flew into Kaneohe Bay, the Marine Corps Air Station on the island of Oahu in Hawaii.

We boarded our plane and took off from the beautiful Hawaiian Islands heading west across the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean. We flew all night for thousands of miles, or so it seemed. As morning moved in over the Pacific Ocean, the pilot announced over the intercom that we were approaching Wake Island Naval Air Station (NAS), located 2,300 miles west of Honolulu in the Pacific. It was a territory of the United States. Every Marine looked out of the plane windows. Off in the distance, a speck appeared.

It was a triangular ribbon of land that seemed out of place in the vast water world below.

We landed and disembarked the plane onto one of America’s most desolate pieces of real estate. A sergeant jokingly said, Don’t get lost.

He also told us to go to the mess hall and get something to eat.

On our way there, it suddenly occurred to us Marines that here on Wake Island, in 1941, a great early World War II battle had occurred. Japan’s first unsuccessful attack on American forces occurred here.

This island suddenly took on a different aura. We started looking around and talking about this far-off comer of the world. We were walking by some large aircraft hangars when we heard someone speaking about that famous battle.

An aircraft maintenance sergeant came up to us. This was one unkempt Marine if ever we saw one. He was an Air Wing Marine with unbloused boots and a slouchy, oily-looking uniform. From the look of his work clothes, he obviously knew and performed his job well.

This air wing sergeant was the local expert historian. We had time, so he started telling us about the renowned Battle of Wake Island. He would point to certain sections of the island and tell the war story that had occurred there. He had us looking out across the runway then out across the sand dunes of the interior part of the island. We were enthralled with his stories of the heroic stand at Wake Island. We made our way to the mess hall with a newfound appreciation for this desolate piece of American real estate.

After our morning chow, many of us wandered around the edge of the runway taking in the sights of the airfield and getting a closer look at the battle sights up and down the island. That Air Wing sergeant made us proud to have visited this lonely American outpost where Marines had once fought so gallantly during that historic battle of World War II.

We suddenly heard our sergeant hollering again, telling us to get back on the plane. It was mid-morning when we took off and our destination was Okinawa, Japan. As we were leaving this airspace and watching the island disappear, we all began realizing that we had just been to a truly famous World War II battlefield site that most people only hear about.

It was now onto another historic battleground, Okinawa. This was no desolate island. Okinawa was a lush sub-tropical island off the coast of China and south of the main islands of Japan. This was the site of the final battle with Japan during WW II and a horrific blood-bath remembered by both sides during the last days of the Pacific Campaign.

Our flight from Wake Island by way of Hawaii, via California landed at Kadena Air Force base in the central part of the seventy-fivemile-long island of Okinawa. It was dark when we disembarked. We boarded buses to Camp Schwab outside of a local village called Henneko, a famous watering hole for Marines passing through this base.

It was early November of 1965. My time on this American outpost far across the wide Pacific would pass slowly. We would attend classes and have weapons drills in preparation for our jungle warfare training maneuvers on the northern part of the island. This place was called NTA (Northern Training Area).It was made up of heavy thickets of bamboo and sub-tropical jungle.

Thanksgiving and the holiday season were coming up and we were away from our home country and very lonesome. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time at the local watering holes.

In the intervening time, I would spend my time around Camp Schwab in classes and base-side training drills. There was a two-week stretch that I was placed on mess duty. While on mess duty, I served as a milkman filling up the milk machines for the thousands of troops coming through the mess hall. Also, while on mess duty, I ran into an old school friend whose outfit had just returned from Vietnam. His dungarees were still dirty with Nam dust and he had long hair and looked very slouchy. I was on my way to fill up a milk machine and was in my mess-white uniform with a white hat on. This guy passed right in front of me with his tray full of food. I recognized his face and hollered his nickname, Romy.

His real name was Ken Johnson. He jumped back and to the side to face me. Then he hollered my name, Jeff!

We made some small talk and I then told him that my cousin, George Warrington, had also come over to Okinawa with another replacement outfit. The three of us got together for a few drinks, off base.

A couple of days later, I was in the barbershop on base when out of the comer of my eye I saw a man looking at me. I got in the barber chair and as I was sitting there, he came up and stood behind the chair with a big grin on his face, looking at me in the mirror. He stepped back as the barber moved in. While the barber was cutting my hair, it finally dawned on me who he was.

I said, ‘‘Metty Madosh!"

I asked him to wait, that I had something to talk to him about, and I asked the barber to hurry. Metty was another familiar face from my home country. I hadn’t recognized him right away, probably because of his mustache. He was a few years older than me and had been in the Marine Corps for over three years. Now he was rotating back to the States to await his discharge after having served a one-year tour of duty in Vietnam.

We called him Met, or Metty. His real name was Milton Madosh. It was good to see another Menominee way over there in the Far East. I told him that there were two other guys from back home over here. One was Romy Johnson from South Branch and the other was George Warrington from Niw-opet Met remembered Romy, who was a little more his age, but he could not remember George. I reminded Met of George’s good looking older sister, Janis.

Then he remembered and said, O yeah! Now I remember; you mean that little skinny fella!

Met said this because he was a senior in high school when George and I were freshmen. At the time, he had made a few comments about Janis’ good looks. I reminded him that she was my cousin and he changed the subject.

There were now four of us home boys over here far, far away from home. Thanksgiving and the holiday season were coming up and we were away from our home country and very lonesome. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time at the local watering holes in Hennoko Village when we were off duty. It was good to be with some of my Menominee people from back home and we spent as much time with each other as we could talking about the things around the home country and our growing-up years together in Northern Wisconsin. We also talked about our accumulating military experiences.

Then, the sobering realization set in, George and I were on our way to war!

In one of our conversations, Romy and Met were talking about their Vietnam experiences. They both served in the infantry outfits and had war stories to tell. Suddenly, these two returning warriors started calling each other vet (veteran). It was a name of pride between them. George and I just kind of took it in with a deep respect for what these men had gone through.

Then, the sobering realization set in, George and I were on our way to war! The war was getting worse. What these guys went through, we soon would experience the same, if not worse. The conversation took on a different feel. We all realized that George and I could be killed and the two veterans acknowledged this fact. They both began giving us advice on how to stay alive. George and I listened carefully, for we knew that we were heading into harm’s way soon!

There was much comfort in having our Menominee brothers close by when we were all so far from our homeland. Letters from our families back in the States told us they were glad for this as well. Those letters also relayed how proud the families were of us.

A lonely Thanksgiving came; our thoughts were of home. We went and ate Thanksgiving dinner together. We had to admit, the Marine Corps served up a sumptuous Thanksgiving meal. The four of us got together that night to drown our lonesome feelings for we knew we were not going to be together for long.

The next day, I went on maneuvers to the Northern Training Area for twenty-six days of jungle warfare training. While at the NTA, we were taught the art of the jungle ambush. We learned about booby traps, spider holes, and communist weaponry and tactics.

We were also taught about patrolling and infantry operations in jungle terrain along with compass use and how to shoot an azimuth to get a compass bearing.

A very lonesome Christmas in Vietnam.

Basic radio communication operations, tactics involving warfare in a jungle terrain, and instructions on how to kill and not be killed while in harm’s way were drilled into us.

Health and medical care were also a top priority since the hot and humid environment tends to infest and infect any wound, bite or sore. This is specialized infantry training US Marine Corps-style. We would need every bit of this training deeply ingrained in us for what we would soon face on our arrival to the Republic of Vietnam (RVN) or South Vietnam. After three and a half weeks of intense jungle warfare training, I knew my time in Okinawa was getting short. I got a glimpse of George a few times. He was in another rotation about a week behind me. It was good to know I had a cousin going through this training with me, even though we were in different training units.

After the Northern Training Area (NTA), it was back to Camp Schwab to prepare for my departure to Vietnam. It was just a couple of days before Christmas. We had some free time, so I got into my civvies (civilian clothes) and went for a walk over to the EM club. The club was close to the bay on the west coast of Okinawa. One can see the turquoise-blue waters along the coast of the island, a very beautiful sight.

Since it was the Christmas season, everyone was extremely homesick. To make things even worse, when I got over to Romy’s barracks I found that he had caught his flight back to the States the day before.

George was still up at NTA, so I got together with Met and figured our only option to fight off the loneliness was to find a good watering hole and drown out those feelings.

We then turned southwest to fly across the South China Sea to Da Nang in the Republic of Vietnam.

In Hennoko, a town outside the base, there were many different clubs where a guy could find some excitement and some female companionship. It was my first Christmas away from home and the emptiness I felt seemed almost the toughest part of being there.

I had guard duty through Christmas and during that time, I had a chance to truly see that every other Marine on that island was also experiencing a very lonely holiday season. I did stop to meditate and remember the true meaning of Christmas. Throughout this time of the year, I enjoyed all the pretty Christmas music filling the airways.

Met and I went out to the clubs a couple of times over the next week. One of these trips was to a big town called Kin Village and then to a bigger town called Koza. This gave us a chance to check out other parts of this big island. We always found a club to while away our evening hours and our common ties made everything a little easier for both of us.

My two months on Okinawa would be a time to remember. I did some good hard training and some good hard drinking with my cousin George Warrington, Romy Johnson, and Metty Madosh.

It was a couple of days before New Year’s when my cousin, George, came back from NTA. Of course, we three remaining Menominee boys had to have a good night on the town. We hit Kin Village and while we were downing a few beers, George told me about a Recon unit that was being formed on the island. He said they were asking for volunteers from all outfits in transit to Vietnam.

My first reaction was to say, Hell no!

I didn’t want anything to do with Recon. George explained that Recon would be forming up and training another two or three months before going down to Vietnam. I told George that I would think about it. We all went back to our barracks, glad that we had a chance to spend some time together again.

My time on Okinawa was getting short. George was volunteering for Recon. He again would try to talk me into signing up for the Recon unit being formed on Okinawa. I was tired of all that training, and wanted to move on to something different. I would regret this decision later.

Meanwhile my replacement unit began preparing to fly to Vietnam in a couple of days. As for George, Met and me, it was one more night on the town. This would be our last time together. Met gave me advice on how to keep my butt down in a hostile situation. He also gave us other information about his experiences in the tropical Republic of Vietnam.

George tried one more time to get me to volunteer for Recon. I was not having any of this Recon crap. I thought I just wanted an infantry outfit. Strength in numbers, that was for me. I just wanted to be a grunt, US Marine Corps Style. This last night though, my last night on this island, we really tied one on. One thing about Okinawa, it really taught me what a hangover was about. But I was young and strong and over it by noon the next day.

As for me, my two months on Okinawa would be a time to remember. I did some good hard training, but also did some good hard drinking with my cousin and a couple of other homeboys from the Menominee country of northern Wisconsin.

On January 2, 1966, we loaded up our gear and boarded buses to Kadena Air Force base. We stayed overnight on base awaiting our flight to sunny, tropical, South Vietnam.

The next morning, we caught a military flight at 0630 leaving Kadena AFB on the island of Okinawa heading south across the East China Sea. Then we flew by the big island of Formosa (Taiwan). We were over the Western Pacific for a short while, then turned southwest to fly across the South China Sea to Da Nang in the Republic of Vietnam.

While on our flight down to South Vietnam we could look out our window and see the huge continental landmass of Communist China. This was a rather scary sight for a young eighteen-year-old Marine at the time.

During our descent into the Da Nang Airport, the old jet that we were flying in was not pressurized very well, which caused our ears to begin popping. The only way to relieve the pressure was to yawn continuously. I was sitting between two men, a white guy on my left and a black guy on my right. I heard the one on my left making slight painful sounds from the popping in his ears. I wondered what the black guy was doing.

While yawning, I looked over at my black buddy from boot camp whose name was Mitchell. As soon as we looked at each other, we both busted out laughing. We were both yawning so repeatedly and so hard with our jaws moving up and down, that we looked comical to each other. We found it very hard to yawn and laugh at the same time.

Our landing though, was routine. We taxied to the embarkation point and disembarked our plane. It was about noon and the weather was hot and humid. All the replacements coming in wore starched and ironed utilities (work uniforms). They stuck to our skin in this tropical climate. This made our uniforms hot and uncomfortable.

In between patrols, Jeff Boyd (left) and his cousin, George Warrington, enjoyed a few brewers (beers).

War Is Hell

Wars are about humans fighting each other. It is horror and chaos, trauma and fear…fear in the other person’s eyes, the sweat on his brow, the pain in his face, the blood spurting from the wound, the desperate cries for help or mercy. Infantrymen are more traumatized by war than any other field due to the closeness of the enemy.

Private Jeffery L. Boyd and cousin George Warrington at Marine Corps boot camp graduation, September 1965.

Chapter 2

Into the Nam

A military fleet of troop transport planes landed and there