As told to Bob Poliquin, Managing Editor ~
This story shall the good man teach his son…
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother. (Henry V)
On May 12, 1966, 1st Marine Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment (1/9), Bravo Company lost radio contact with the 14 Marines of 1st Squad in Hoa Tay, Vietnam. Hoping for the best, 2nd Squad, led by Sun City’s SSgt Earl Davis, went looking for them. It wasn’t long before an Army observation pilot flying a Cessna Bird Dog* spotted 2nd Squad and dropped a smoke canister that he had written on with a marker. He warned Davis they were approaching a squad-size Viet Cong (VC) unit in the trench line. Thinking that the pilot was mistaken and had simply spotted 1st Squad, Davis and 2nd Squad pressed on.
Seeing what had unfolded below him and that the VC unit was actually between 200-300 enemy combatants in the tree line beyond the trench, the pilot returned and dropped a second canister, indicating unequivocally that 2nd Squad was approaching an ambush, the same ambush 1st Squad had walked into. He wrote, “I’m Calling Arty” on the canister. Little did the pilot know he had just given these Marines an opportunity to spend decades with their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Nineteen-year-old Pvt Rueben Morales and PFC James Binkley, also nineteen, the only two survivors from 1st Squad, were left for dead by the VC who were searching bodies, taking weapons, and executing the obvious living. Morales had been shot in the head and neck and Binkley in both arms. When Morales realized that reinforcements could not get to them through the heavy fire, he grabbed Binkley and through the bullets and mortar rounds walked back to the Marine line.
Morales reported the next day from the hospital: “The radio was hit, and we couldn’t call the company. When someone tried to run, he was hit. I was dizzy, but I could see the Viet Cong coming toward us. I wanted to take it standing up. The other guys who could stand, stood up, firing away. The wounded were shooting, too. They fought all the way.”
Davis, who retired as a SgtMaj, recounts, “There are so many things that happened that day. For
one, it was reported that they were VC, but they were too disciplined and organized to be just VC. There had to be NVA [North Vietnamese Army] advisors with them. They fought well and they were extremely well supplied. We were fortunate to have only two Marines wounded in our reinforced 2nd Squad. By rights, none of us should have walked away.”
When the Marines regathered for the first time at the Vietnam Memorial in 2007, forty-one years after, the accounts started coming out. It was apparent that no one knew exactly what happened that day. Depending on when they entered the fight or when they left, because some were wounded and evacuated, every story was incomplete. At dinner that evening, one man looked over at Claudia Davis, Earl’s wife, and said, “If it were not for your husband, I would not be here today.”
A June 1966 Baltimore Sun article states, “One day Sgt. Davis hopes to meet the pilot of the whirly bird* that saved the platoon. That day may not come till victory is won and the Sarge and the boys are home.” But no one knew what had become of the pilot until recently. In fact, until December 2016, none of the surviving Marines even knew the pilot’s name. It turns out that Warrant Officer Don Medley is alive and well and living in Kentucky. Davis and the other Marines are planning to meet with Medley in Kentucky this May 12.
There was no Mt. Suribachi moment in this firefight. No taking ground, planting a flag, and holding ground. Vietnam was much different than WWII, without front lines or even a clear political or military objective. But as one Vietnam POW said to me, “You have to find something in life bigger than yourself. Something more important than just saving your own skin.”
These young Marines found something inside of themselves bigger than themselves. You won’t hear them talk about patriotism, but you will hear them talk about each other. Like the courage of LCpl Edgardo Caceres, a machine gunner in 1st Squad, who, when he realized he was gravely wounded and about to be captured or killed, pulled the pin on a grenade and threw himself over his machine gun, not wanting it to be turned on his Marine brothers. Caceres had only two days left in Vietnam, yet he had volunteered for this mission.
There are not many stories that begin sadly and bravely but end, if not entirely well, then at least in remembrance. Such is the story of The Lost Patrol. It is an account of how brave men were lost, how other brave men found them, how the survivors went separate ways, and how they found each other once again. It is a story of common struggle and uncommon valor, of shared suffering, and of men doing the best they could but always wondering if they could have done more. It is a story of a few — a band of brothers. It is a story good men teach their sons.
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world, draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my story. (Hamlet)
*It was mistakenly reported in both Stars and Stripes and the Baltimore Sun that Medley was flying a UH-1 helicopter.
SgtMaj Earl Davis, USMC, Retired, is a resident of Sun City Carolina Lakes and a founding member of the SCCL Marine Corps Interest Group. He was awarded the Silver Star for his actions on May 12, 1966.
