In Atmore, Alabama, there is a wing of a correctional institution named Holman Unit, which contains the Honor Unit for Veterans Incarcerated. The vet who oversees this unit is Craig M., in charge of remedial education and matters of the spirit. Over the years, Craig has received kudos for his work on behalf of Holman Unit vets. But before making a bad choice that would alter his life forever, he was a member of the 173rd Brigade LRRPs, November Company, of the 75th Rangers.
While in Vietnam, Craig’s area of operation was in Binh Dinh Province on the South China Sea coast, to Kontum, Darlac, and Pleiku provinces in the west. This area had seen heavy fighting and several large battles. The biggest battles fought by Craig’s sky soldiers involved whole North Vietnam Regular Army regiments against Craig’s company-level units in the Dak To mountains. There was a song by “Big & Rich” called “The 8th of November,” about one of the battles there. Other famous battles in that area included Cemetery Hill, Death Valley, and Hill 875.
Craig recalls a hot, sweltering day under the jungle canopy. Birds and monkeys screeched as his recon squad came down the thickly bushed and vine-covered slope. They were all close to exhaustion, yet each was in fighting trim after six months of humping the boonies and carrying heavy rucksacks with ammo, chow, and gear.
At the time, Craig was over six feet tall and weighed 140 pounds. He was the grenadier, carrying an M-79 grenade launcher. It was a 40mm, breech-loaded, single shot, spring front leaf sighted weapon that weighed 7.9 pounds. It could throw a bursting/shrapnel projectile with a 5-meter killing radius out to 250 meters, but was really only accurate at ranges under 200 meters. It also fired colored flares and smoke for signaling, white phosphorous grenades to burn and destroy bunkers, and tear gas canisters to harass/subdue.
For Craig and his band of brothers, it had been another frustrating week of chasing the elusive “Mr. Charles.” “We were trying to close on with a group said to be company size, which had been terrorizing one of our friendly villages,” Craig said. “The VC would rape the women and decapitate the village chief – and at gun point, would remove the children. The children were made to carry away hundreds of pounds of rice and manioc, and to walk first through areas suspected of being mined. If they lived long enough, they were brainwashed into becoming Viet Cong, and sent back to their home villages to tell other children about the glories of the ‘revolution’.”
Craig’s recon squad consisted of only five young men. The oldest was called “Pop.” He was a 26-year-old paratrooper-rifleman. Though he often got out of work details by pretending to be old and broken down, he really was one of those guys who could do the work of two men without any wasted motion. Then there was the whiner. He was the only man that should have been left in the rear. They got rid of him by leaving him at the flight line (chopper pad) in Da Nang.
The most respected man in the platoon was the squad’s point man who they called Frenchie. He was from an old Huguenot family in Maryland, and like many others, his father had been in World War II. He was on his second tour and really knew “bush craft.” Then, there was the squad leader, the third squad leader Craig had served under. They rotated fast, getting wounded or killed frequently, often while looking out for their troops. Craig was the radioman when he first came to the Raiders platoon. In a light and fast recon squad, an M-60 machine gun was seldom used.
One day they were jumped by a large NVA unit. What ensued was a running gun battle in an attempt to fight their way clear. Going down a ravine, Craig got separated from his team, and several of the enemy stayed on his heels. While the pursuers may not have had him in visual sight, they could hear him running through the jungle and fired in his general direction. Craig got farther and farther from his team, and too far from a pick-up site. The normal plan for winding up in bad guy territory was to slow down and start using the stealth and silence learned in training. Using those skills, he made it back, climbed over a ridge, swam a cold stream, climbed up to a ridge line, and looked over a long jungle valley. Here, Craig made a cold camp. When dawn rose, Craig could see a U.S. Army compound. He dodged and snaked his way up to their wire. He then fired a red pen flare, and this marked the beginning of when the war became serious for him.
I’m glad Craig made it back. We’ve been friends for a long time. Throughout my years of advocating for veterans with barriers, I have been honored by prestigious awards for my work. But the award that still has the most meaning for me is the 2007 Eagle Award from the veterans of the Holman Unit in Atmore, Alabama. Craig now wants to devote the remainder of his days to assisting Veterans in need and at risk.
It is my hope that he’ll be given that opportunity, as he’s already done so much for his brothers at Holman.
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