This morning, and frankly, many mornings every week, month, and year over the past fifty-eight years, I think of what happened to my mates on this date in 1968.

I was there, in the close vicinity, I heard, I should have been out there, we weren’t allowed out there, we watched them return, we heard the stories, we listened, we whispered, we resented our leaders, we hated our enemy, we wanted revenge, we lived with it, we were guilty, we are guilty, we will always be guilty.

But whatever my recollections are of this anniversary of what has come to be called the Ghost Patrol, they are nothing compared to those who went outside the wire and walked—or were led by a young officer—into an ambush. A slaughter.

When we made the film, BRAVO! COMMON MEN, UNCOMMON VALOR, we talked during each individual interview about the date, the horror, the aftermath.

Here are some things the survivors had to say about that date. I have added some of their additional remarks that are not included in the film and have never before been heard.

Cal Bright

“I was on a patrol on February 25^th. We were leaving at, I think it was like 0800, 0900, something like that. And I ended up being point for a while, and my team member, a Clayton Therrell, who was from Racine, Wisconsin, was directly behind me and we got out so far and he motioned for me to stop. He says, ‘I’m going to take your place,’ he says, ‘This is your first patrol and consequently we just want to be safe.’ I said, ‘Okay, fine,’ and probably within five minutes, all hell broke loose from the back portion of our patrol, and I find out afterwards two or three NVA jumped and suckered part of our platoon into following…chasing them, which they definitely did and that’s when the ambush was really sprung.

“And when I finally hit the ground, I could tell that Therrell was killed. My team leader who was Lance Corporal Thrasher from Oklahoma City, asked me to go up and retrieve the body, or bring him back, he might still be alive. I kind of knew differently, but, okay I would. So I stripped down and went up and grabbed ahold of his flak jacket by the collar and as I was dragging him back, the body was bouncing, jumping back and forth and I could feel bullets whizzing past my head, to my sides, and so in a sense, his body protected mine and I look back and for a long time, in fact I still do it every once in a while, that it should be me instead of him, but I guess the good Lord upstairs had something more in mind for me. “

John “Doc” Cicala

“That’s a tough one. I relive that thing quite a bit. I remember us saddling up and going out the gate. We had a Chu Hoi scout with us and we were supposed to follow a designated route, bracketed on all sides by artillery within an instant. Well, we got about five hundred meters, I guess, outside the gate, crossing the road, and Lieutenant Jacques spotted a couple of North Vietnamese standing over in a field, and he made a decision, we’re going to take ’em prisoner. And I do remember the Chu Hoi telling him no, and a lot of us saying maybe we shouldn’t do this, but he gave the order, so we went to get ’em. And, I guess probably a few hundred yards further out, we crossed the road, we crossed a set of trench lines and then they opened up on us and it was just pure chaos from there on.”

Ben Long

“I helped plan that patrol. We had made the checkpoints. I knew how far they were going out, and from my perspective I thought this patrol should have no problems; there should be nothing to be concerned about. So, I remember watching them go out the wire. You couldn’t see them for very long because it was very foggy. And they soon disappeared and I went back in the bunker. I remember listening on the radio—they were checking in and what they were doin—and then I got busy because the next thing I realized was that they had contact, and I didn’t realize—wow, they’re in contact. How did this happen?  Because I thought, no way they’re going to be in contact when they follow the route that we had prepared for them. So I thought, either in the fog they got lost, or didn’t know where they were, or they were well beyond the checkpoints…it shouldn’t have happened that way.

Company Commander Ken Pipes

“There’s been a lot of things written about that, some of it not good, some of it an attempt to be factual. But it was something that was not uncommon in Vietnam at the fire team, squad, platoon level, and in some instances entire battalions, entire companies.”

Peter Weiss

“I was the backup for Don Jacques, and so when he went out, my platoon—two of the squads—we were the backup. So we were on the radio listening to what happened and when he was ambushed, Captain Pipes came on the radio. ‘Okay, Lieutenant, it’s your time to go out.’ And two squads—we  actually split up—one squad and I went straight out towards where they were. The other squad went to the right, which was up toward the road, because the sergeant I was with had been out there before…had been there for a while, and he knew the terrain. I didn’t know what was out there. I’d never been outside the perimeter other than being on the hill. And unfortunately, he got trapped in the same kind of ambush, and so of that squad—maybe of ten men, I think—four were killed in that ambush.”

Steve Wiese

“It took me thirty-five years before I could get into my mind that we went out there at nine or nine-thirty, whatever it was, ten in the morning, and I didn’t make it back into the base until the sun was going down, and used darkness as a cover to work my way back.

“But the initial ambush, once they opened up, I mean it was bad. I mean they opened up and you know most of the guys went down in the first minute. I mean, it was not a good thing. The actual battle itself at that point went on for hours. The only reason I survived was I just happened to be standing in a bomb crater where it was like 2-1/2 feet deep where it blew the ground out, and I just happened to be walking through that at the time that the ambush opened up. And when the first round went off, I dropped and just…my luck was that I just dropped in that hole. So I was below ground level when all the—you know—all the bullets and everything were going over. And I just laid low.”

Cal Bright

“I come across a radio operator who had been killed—to this day I have no clue who, what his name was. And all I could hear on the radio was, ‘Hello, hello, anybody there, anybody hear us?’ And I never had any training whatsoever as far as talking on the radio. I had none whatsoever.  But I knew, press the mic. So I keyed the mic and said, ‘Hello.’ And somebody come back and said, ‘Who’s this?’ and I said, ‘Well, this is Cal.’

“‘Cal who?’ And I told him. He said, ‘Who else is there with you?’ I called back and I said, ‘Nobody.’ He said, “What do you mean? I said, ‘There ain’t nobody here alive; they’re all dead.’ And he said, ‘Where are you at?’ and I says, ‘I’m laying next to a road and I’m overlooking another road that goes down over a hill.’’ And he said, ‘How did you get there?’ I said, ‘This is where we ended up.’ He said, ‘What can you see, from where you are…laying down?’ I could see little helmets in the background.

“Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was just a few meters away from the NVA trench line. I had no clue I was even there, that close to them, and somebody else come on the radio and says, ‘I want to shoot a round.’ He says, ‘I want you to let me know where they land.’  I say, ‘Okay.’

“Next thing, out comes a round—afterwards I found out that it was a Willie Pete round. It was a spotter round, and I went back to him and I said, ‘You need to drop the range down,’ and he says, ‘How much?’ I said, ‘50 yards, 75 yards,’ something, and he dropped it. Shot another round. I says, ‘You need to drop it another 40 yards,’ he said, ‘Okay.’ He says, ‘Bury your head, because we’re going to fire for effect.’ And that was the last I heard, because all of a sudden, bah bah bah boom boom boom, rounds were going off left and right.”

John “Doc” Cicala

“I just watched a guy drop and I took care of a couple of guys and then I was crossing back over the road because another guy got hit, then the next thing I know I seen a guy pop out of a fighting hole. He hit me a couple of times in the chest. I was laying there and the other Corpsman, Frank Calzia, seen me go down and he come running over yelling at me, ‘JC, are you okay, are you okay?’

“And then a grenade landed between my legs and I looked down and I seen it and I yelled ‘Grenade,’ and he hit the dirt and I curled up into a ball and it went off and I couldn’t hear or see anything for a minute with all the dirt and everything and then when I could see, my foot over there and I’m thinking to myself, this isn’t good. My foot moved and I said, ‘Well, at least it’s still attached,’ and by that time Frank came over and he said, ‘You know, we got to get out of here,’ and I told him, ‘Git, you know, go take care of that guy, I’m okay, I’ll take care of myself.’

“And then Lieutenant Jacques came running by and he looked down at me and he said, ‘Doc,’ he said, ‘Get out of here.’ He said, ‘We’re all getting killed.’ And he made it from about here to the wall and I seen him go down and I crawled over to him and he’d caught it right across the legs, both his femoral arteries, and by the time I got to him he’d already bled to death and there was nothing I could do for him.

 Ben Long

“In all the confusion that’s going on, men were getting shot and you could hear that happening and I moved from my bunker. I moved up on top because I not only wanted to listen, but I wanted to see if I could see them, and it was too foggy and I still couldn’t see, but I still stayed outside because I thought maybe I’ll be able to see something. Maybe the fog will float by and I’ll be able to get a glimpse, but really, it was very foggy that day and you couldn’t see hardly anything.

“First Platoon was called up and they were the ones who were supposed to go if it got into trouble and I thought, they’re not going to get in trouble, no problem. I was Platoon Commander for that platoon for 8 or 9 months, for a long time. Those were my buddies. They were my friends. I knew them. And I thought, if they’re going to go out, I want to be their leader. I want to take them out. I know how they work together.

“And so it was hard for me to not be with them. I knew that some of my friends were being shot, some I knew were dying. I heard it on the radio. But it would just tear your heart out. These were guys that I had been working with for a long time. I felt helpless. I felt so powerless. There was just nothing I could do. I mean, I wanted to do something. I think everyone in the company wanted to go out. We wanted to do something, but we got orders: no, no more people, we can’t do that, can’t go out.”

Peter Weiss

“Then we got the word, come back, retreat, and I remember very well, because we were laying out in the open because we got stopped at some point; rockets started coming in.

“I was right next to someone who I believe was killed because I checked his pulse. My weapon had stopped firing. Couldn’t use it. Just me and the body and I wasn’t sure if I should drag him back. And bullets started coming…being walked toward the two of us. And the last one stopped right at the fellow, right in his chest—must have been a fifty caliber hit him, and I said, ‘He’s got to be dead.’”

Steve Wiese

“You know, the initial blast started quieting down, and then you could tell they were just firing pretty randomly and if anybody moved, they just drew fire. So I just laid there and threw grenades. Shot a clip of ammo out of my rifle which basically I figured out pretty quickly, that was not a smart thing to do. Because as soon as I fired a round there were hundreds of guys shooting back. So, it was like okay, don’t draw attention to yourself.”

Cal Bright

“I was able to get out of there after some time. How long? I have no clue. It was still daylight but I could tell that the sun was—what there was of it—was going down so I figured it had to be late afternoon, early evening.

“I knew where our lines were at, and I was able to evade some enemy soldiers, and I was able to get back, and then, as I was coming back, all of a sudden, here’s these—I didn’t recognize as to who they were until I got closer—South Vietnamese ARVN Rangers. And they were waving at me to stop. And then I could see some American advisors telling me to stop, halt, don’t move. Don’t move, whatever, but I kept coming. And that was when I tripped over barb wire that also had a red triangle-shaped sign on it. Come to find out afterwards, I went through the entire mine field in front of Khe Sanh and never touched a round off. Now I know why they kept telling me to stop  and not to move.

“Again, I’ve never been real religious, or anything whatsoever, but I have to think that the Man Upstairs had something in his…on his agenda. Says, ‘I want to talk to you, young man.’

“I know there has been conflicting reports as far as how many of us went out. I was led to believe there was like anywhere from 60 to 70 of us that went out and there was only just a small handful of us that come back.”

John “Doc” Cicala

“They said I made it back to the base, maybe six, eight hours later. But I did see a lot of guys go down. I seen Clay go down, I seen Jerry Lee Dotson. I took care of them. There’s nothing you could do, it was just chaos for that five or six…probably five minutes or whatever it was. I mean I heard all the stories afterwards. We ran into a battalion-sized force and everything, but it didn’t last long and it wasn’t pretty. That’s for sure.

“I crawled back to the base. I was kind of passing in and out, you know. I don’t remember all the details and I was pretty well messed up myself, but I do remember setting off a trip flare and when that went off I was thinking, ‘Oh, shit,’ but one of the weapons platoon guys—a guy named Eddie Pendergast—had a set of binoculars and he looked out and seen my uniform and he said, ‘Stop, cease fire, that’s a Marine coming in,’ and he physically ran out, him and a couple other guys, and they threw a poncho over the wire, grabbed me and yanked me back over the wire. Took me to Charlie Med.”

Ben Long

“I just started seeing people coming back, not in groups, but straggling back and some were wounded. Some were very severely wounded, and it was just very hard to take, but from my perspective, also what I saw was just a sense of confusion, a sense of ‘what’s going on…what’s happening?’ And it’s like how come we’re not doing anything? How come we’re just standing there? How come we’re not going out?

“We always want to rescue our people and we don’t want to leave our dead and wounded. Nobody was doing anything, and it was hard. Hard to watch that. We wanted to do something, but at the same time, we just couldn’t. So we had to be patient and wait and that was hard, that was really hard.”

Company Commander Ken Pipes

“But that one, that one was the hardest, I think. I think it broke all of our hearts.”

Peter Weiss

“We came back, maybe about three or four of us left, and we then came back into the perimeter. And a couple hours later, we were shelling that area. Planes were coming over dropping bombs, and all of a sudden, out on the outskirts of the wire, a lone Marine came. He was not in my platoon. And then I went out to get him. Walked through that minefield, not, you know, around the side, but through the minefield. And I was scared. Walked through the minefield, walked through the concertina, and he was in absolute shock. Grabbed him by the arm and we walked back through the minefield, back into the perimeter. I was happy that I got him out of there and that we both got back. That was a sad day.”

Steve Wiese

“I ended up leaving my rifle and just trying to work my way through. I had a pistol and I was using that for personal protection because the rifle was useless at that point, and it was just something to carry. I would dive from one bomb hole to another. Work behind anything I could find that was any kind of cover.

“I would lay there for fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes. So, in between the firing, when it started to settle down a little bit, I would try to, you know, peek above and see, try to see where I could get to. And it took several hours, you know, of working my way across and moving out of the kill zone.

“Sometimes I’d have to lay there for two hours and wait for the firing to slow down. Towards sundown, in the shadows, I could move better and I worked my way out and moved down around the back and came back to the base.

“Several people came in through the gate, you know, and it was just like, where is everybody? I just remember the guys saying, ‘You’re pretty much it.’ When I got back to my squad area, Author Smith was in the bunker, and he said he was it.”

To reiterate what Skipper Ken Pipes said: It broke all of our hearts.

They are still broken.

~ By Ken Rodgers

To learn more about each of the men in this blog, click here.

_______________________________

Thank you for reading, and for honoring all Vietnam War veterans by sharing this blog, our films, and stories with friends and other veterans. 

BRAVO! Common Men, Uncommon Valor can be viewed on Amazon Prime. We also have DVDs available, which can be ordered on our website at https://bravotheproject.com.

You can find information about our companion film featuring eleven courageous spouses of combat veterans from various eras at https://imarriedthewar.com. I Married the War can be viewed on Amazon. DVDs are also available via the website.

In my most recent entry to this blog, I talked about my inability, even after the horror of January 21, 1968’s attack on Khe Sanh, to believe that it was more than a one-off attempt by the NVA to catch us weak or asleep.

By mid-February, I’d been disabused of that notion and as the month rolled forward, my acceptance that things would not get better but would only get worse drummed me like a dead rat stomped into the red mud at the bottom of the trench.

On February 5, 1968, NVA troops briefly overran much of Hill 861-A just west of the combat base which was occupied by Echo Company, Second Battalion, 26^th Marines. Echo engaged in up-close-and-personal combat before they drove the enemy off the hill.

On February 7, the NVA overran the Special Forces compound at Lang Vei and used tanks in their assault. PT-76 tanks. Not something we’d worried about in our daily trench digging. We imagined that night and into the early morning, enemy attacks with armored vehicles crashing through the wire and wondered how we could possibly fight that. We thought we heard them out there. All night long.

The next day, a platoon from Alpha Company, First Battalion, 9^th Marines, was attacked on Hill 64 not far outside the perimeter of the combat base. A nasty, vicious firefight ensued with heavy casualties on both sides. In our trench, we waited, biting fingernails, writing letters home to moms and girlfriends and wives. Gloomy letters, angry letters, defiant letters. Maybe, as we wrote on our stained sheets of paper, wings of hope tried to lift us up so when the moment came that we needed to fight for our lives, we would own the spirit to become ferocious.

On February 10, 1968, the men of 3^rd Squad, 2^nd Platoon, Bravo Company, First Battalion 26^th Marines, were filling sandbags when a C-130 designated BASKETBALL 813, flew in from the east and was hit by enemy anti-aircraft fire. The plane circled around the base and came in from the west. We watched, nobody talking, as the obviously wounded flight managed to get onto the runway before it skidded off. The plane burned and smoke and flames erupted from the fuselage. We were not more than one-hundred yards from the event. We watched as men jumped out of the cockpit. By then, the horrors of war were old hat. We were numb, and this and subsequent events would numb us more.

Later in the month, Bravo, 1/26 suffered a blow on the 25th in which the NVA first ambushed a patrol and then a relief patrol that went out as reinforcement. The losses were devastating for the men of the company. I will have more to say about this at a later date.

The amount of incoming artillery—rocket and mortar rounds—also increased, often pinning us in the trench for what seemed like hours as the ordnance rocked the ground. We heard a lot of the NVA artillery leave the tube and the big ones, the 152-millimeter rounds, sounded like trains as they approached. Men died, men were wounded, men almost broke. We discovered one of our staff sergeants whining like a beaten dog as he dug into the bottom of the trench.

But maybe what saved us from going completely nuts were a few events that led to chuckles. Sometimes it was morbid stuff, but those who have been through hell often understand the warped humor humans can dig into when circumstances necessitate.

I don’t remember exactly when these following three things happened, specifically, but I’m pretty sure they all occurred before the 20^th of February.

Early into the siege, the 37^th RVN Ranger Battalion, our allies, arrived at Khe Sanh and dug in on a line in front of some of 1/26’s entrenchments.

One evening, just before sundown, I was ordered to report to the platoon commander’s bunker. It was our squad’s turn to conduct an LP (listening post) for the platoon, and it was my fire team’s turn to stand that particularly distasteful duty.

We all hated LPs. Four Marines out in the dark, trying to stay alert, trying to stay alive, knowing that if the enemy approaches, it’s the LP’s duty to alert the base and in doing so has an almost 100 percent chance of being discovered and killed.

We hated everything about it. Leeches, and rain and mud, and dark, dark, nothing to see beyond the reach of your arm. Trying like hell to stay awake.

But it was our turn, so when the platoon commander told me we would be running the LP with a team of RVN Rangers, I wasn’t happy; but who cared besides me? I was ordered to lead the other seven members of the listening post out to the end of the air strip where two slit trenches awaited our stay for the night.

The Rangers didn’t speak English, or if they did, none of them volunteered to talk to us and none of the Marines knew Vietnamese beyond Dien Cai Dao which we bastardized to Dinky Dao, and the French word Beaucoup to Boocoo.

But just before dusk died, we arrived and set up in the two trenches. The whole scene seemed menacing to me: two teams, can’t talk, different cultures, dark coming, North Vietnamese out there creeping around, maybe just beyond our position. A wall of tall jungle grass stood close to our front. I remember thinking that if the enemy came at us, we wouldn’t see any of them before they burst out within a few feet of where we sat.

I assumed my Vietnamese colleagues were whispering the same thing that I told my team, to keep an eye on that wall, to keep ears open, keep eyes moving, because when one stares at things directly in the dark, the immovable moves.

I felt lucky because all the men in the team, my American team anyway, had been in-country for at least three months and had been on a lot of night patrols, ambushes, and LPs.

One of the things about being a low-ranking grunt is that you never get enough sleep, so when we went out on LPs, even though the upper echelon expected us all to stay awake all night, we took turns watching and operating the radio which we employed on a regular basis to report that the situation was all secure.

Dark slammed down and we watched. I noticed all the Rangers sat ramrod straight, wide awake. I imagine now, their eyes big as half dollars.

When dawn broke and a weak morning light hinted at rising, I woke the team and looked at the Rangers. They glared at us Jarheads, and one of them took his right index finger and made a sign as if cutting a throat. I remember thinking that no one was dead, so no harm done, no worries. And we got some sleep, even if it was fitful and edgy with the lurking threats.

I called into the platoon radio operator and told him we were coming in. We made sure the four Marines were in front. The Vietnamese Rangers came in the rear so that no Marine mistook them for NVA sneaking in.

Sometime later, I am not sure how long, a few days, a week—sometimes I wish I’d kept a diary—the Rangers and the NVA got into a firefight out beyond the perimeter of the base. I think it was an attempt to stop the NVA from shooting a recoilless rifle into our lines. The Ranger unit’s officer was killed.

They sent our platoon, or part of it, out as security or backup or relief for the ARVN Rangers. We went out and into a bamboo thicket so dense you had trouble seeing the men on either side. We were ordered to dig in but I do not think any of us dug in. We sat down on the ground and in anticipation of battle, we looked at bamboo. Bamboo to the front of us, to the side of us, to the back of us. Thick and stifling and dreary.

Gunfire and screaming rose from the unseeable front and we waited, the moments like hours. Then on a trail nearby, we heard chatter and laughter and soon a group of men appeared that we could see as they got close to our positions. They giggled and I wondered if it was from the relief of still being alive after tons of fear released itself and they retreated. When they passed, I saw they were our allies. They carried a body, and then more men appeared toting a recoilless rifle, either a 57mm or 81mm.

After they passed us, we returned to our positions.

Later, when the sun went down, another Marine and I were called up to the platoon command post. When we arrived, two ARVN Rangers waited in the trench with a covered body on a stretcher. It was the ARVN Ranger officer killed earlier that day.

The lieutenant told me to escort them up to Graves Registration—the morgue—so that some Marine on watch back at rear echelon units didn’t kill them because they looked like the NVA.

It was an overcast night which I think was a boon to us; no light to expose us to the enemy.

I led the other Marine along with the two Vietnamese carrying the stretcher and reported to Graves Registration. Either a corporal or sergeant began to write out paperwork. Right then, the sound of footsteps running came from a hall. I looked around, nervous, wondering why someone would be running. Another Marine burst out of that hall and ran across the room, his arms up like a wide receiver in a football game, and right behind, a foot, all by itself, came flying out. He caught it like he was on his way to a touchdown. Something dropped. I looked. The two Rangers were gone. The stretcher lay on the ground, the body as unaware as any dead man. I laughed at the situation. Maybe I was sick, but I laughed as did my mate and the Marines working there, some of them morbidly dulled after dealing with a deluge of body parts, blood, and dead men.

Outside, I found the two Rangers squatting in the trench. The light leaking from the mouth of the hatch lit their eyes, which were glazed in fear. Maybe they were worried that whoever used to own that foot would be haunting the place and the men who worked there, forever. We, the Americans, thought the Vietnamese feared the spirits of the dead. Most of my comrades and I did not believe spirits of our dead hung around after the end, or that the spirits even cared.

The month ticked on. One catastrophe to another, one day to night, to day. Death and fear lurking in the shadows.  Maybe those were the spirits we needed to fear.

One of the irritating things about the Siege was the lack of chow. C-rations were our mainstay and over time we adopted our favorites. Pound cake, canned peaches, chicken noodle soup, and beans with franks are some I remember as being palatable.

During the month of February, chow, like mail from home, got scarce, we went down to two meals a day, and on certain days, even less.

So, when the platoon commander ordered me to take a procurement patrol up to the supply dump, I was  more than ready. During combat, in the Marine Corps, you don’t steal what you need, you procure.

The dark night hung on us like a cape. We worked our way between our behind-the-line units so as not to draw attention.

We came at the dump from the back. There was a wire fence. We defeated that obstacle. Inside, large pallets of stacked goods covered with tarps were arranged in neat and tidy rows. We had to search beneath the tarps for food.

Finally, we located a pile of stacked cases of C-rations and started gathering a couple of cases per man. There were seven or eight of us. We got canned fruit, and grapefruit juice, too.

We eased back to the fence and just before exiting the supply dump, someone demanded, “Who’s there?”

Everyone froze. A Marine came out of the dark with the business end of an M-16 pointed at us.

None of my people wanted a confrontation. We certainly didn’t want to get shot in our own supply dump after surviving the hellacious incoming we’d been experiencing.

I gave him the password.

He looked at the cases of food and told us to drop them.

I asked him his plans.

He said, “Turn your asses in.”

I said, “Man, we need chow and we were ordered to come down here and procure some food.”

“Who gave that order?”

I didn’t want to incriminate the platoon commander, the platoon sergeant, or anyone else.

One of the other Marines got into a conversation with the guard about his home, his accent; maybe they were from the same locale. I do not recall.

The conversation veered to how long he’d been in-country. He said, “Outta here tomorrow.”

I said, “Man, you are so short. Why don’t you just let us go?”

He shook his head and frowned.

Someone managed to dig up some MPC (military payment certificates) and flashed them in the guy’s face. He looked at the money, he looked at us, he looked at the rations.

He took the money.

We delivered our bounty to the command post and the lieutenant told us to return to our squad area.

We went back, disappointed because we had nothing.

Later, the platoon right guide came around and dropped off a couple of cases of C-rations. No fruit, no juice.

The rations were so old, from the time of the Korean War in the ‘50s, it was hard for us to eat them. But we did.

And we survived, most of us, to live a few more minutes, a few more days, maybe all the way until we again stood inside the good old USA.

~ By Ken Rodgers

_______________________________

Thank you for reading, and for honoring all Vietnam War veterans by sharing our films and stories with friends and other veterans. 

BRAVO! Common Men, Uncommon Valor can be viewed on Amazon Prime. We also have DVDs available, which can be ordered on our website at https://bravotheproject.com.

You can find information about our companion film featuring eleven courageous spouses of combat veterans from various eras at https://imarriedthewar.com. I Married the War can be viewed on Amazon. DVDs are also available via the website.