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"Jesus, Mary, Get Me There!"
The True Story of an American War Hero
by Jeremias Wells
Introduction
When a society no longer respects and honors
the fighting men willing to shed their blood for its principles,
the fault lies not with the fighting men but with society itself.
Ingratitude is a subtle vice, but a vice nevertheless. Saint Thomas
Aquinas says that a debt of gratitude is a moral debt required by
virtue. In recent decades, the American view of moral justice has
been sadly lacking.
Civil society has not always been so callous.
Ever since the rise of Christian culture, Christendom has held its
warrior-knights in high esteem. Not only that, they were a basic,
creative force that molded Western civilization, as a study of the
Crusades will attest. A knight of the Middle Ages went to war in
a spirit of self-immolation for the glorification of the Church
or the common good of temporal society.
Through the centuries, the admiration and
appreciation for the fighting man survived a series of revolutionary
and philosophical setbacks that severely affected Christendom; that
is, until the arrival of communism. As the latter evil gained in
influence, a commensurate decline in the will to fight followed.
Time and again, the communists won victories because sufficient
support from the printed page and the movie and television screens
had effectively disarmed the American and Western fighting spirit.
Yet the Pattons and MacArthurs of the world continue to step forward,
ready to face death rather than betray the ancient ideals of the
warrior. The following story represents our part in honoring that
crusading spirit.
Background
At the end of World War II, the United States
and its allies began a series of appeasements to communism that
virtually insured more armed conflict. In China a civil war broke
out between the communists and the government of China under Generalissimo
Chiang Kai-shek, who had been our staunch ally against the Japanese.
Under the guise of unity, the United States insisted that the communists
be brought into the government. When Chiang refused, George C. Marshall,
initially ambassador to China, then secretary of state, cut off
all aid to him despite the fact that the communists were being amply
supplied by the Russians. As a result, the communists took over
all of China.
This proved to be disastrous for future Pacific
engagements, for the Reds now had a large reservoir of trained,
well-armed men to draw upon. As a result of World War II treaties,
Korea was divided between the communist North and the American-supported
South. In 1950 the North Korean Army stormed over the border and
was on the verge of throwing all Free World troops into the sea
when General Douglas MacArthur personally took charge. In a brilliant
and carefully concealed maneuver, he made a surprise amphibious
landing at the port of Inchon under extremely difficult circumstances
and eventually drove the North Koreans all the way to China. When
the Chinese communists moved into position to counterattack, MacArthur
was flatly told not to make any bombing runs against their staging
areas or in any way hinder their lines of supply and communication.
President Truman subsequently fired the "Old Soldier"
for publicly declaring that in warfare there is no substitute for
victory. His replacement was succeeded by General Mark Clark, who
signed an armistice in 1953 with the original borders restored.
General Clark lamented that he was the first United States Army
commander in history to sign an armistice without victory.
During the early 1960s, the communists moved
against South Vietnam, which was also divided between the communist
North and the anticommunist South. The scenario was roughly the
same. By March 1969, the United States had a troop strength in South
Vietnam of 541,500. At no time did the American forces make any
determined effort to destroy the enemy's capacity for making war.
When Richard Nixon entered the White House in January of 1969, he
was principally concerned with withdrawing American troops and getting
North Vietnam to the peace table. North Vietnam was principally
concerned with crushing its enemy.
In studying the peace negotiations of this
period, one could easily be lulled into accepting the sophism that
to save lives was worth a compromise with the communists. That may
seem reasonable only when we forget the famous and oft-quoted warning
of Pius XI: "We cannot contemplate without sorrow the heedlessness
of those who seem to make light of these imminent dangers, and with
solid indifference allow the propagation far and wide of those doctrines
that seek by violence and bloodshed the destruction of all society."
The enemies of Christendom never stop; they continue to forge ahead
peacefully or otherwise. During the Easter Offensive in 1972, Colonel
(at the time Captain) John Ripley and the Third Vietnamese Marine
Battalion decided to step into the process and bar the way.
The Attack
By the Spring of 1972, the North Vietnamese
Army (NVA) had completed its buildup and was ready to mount a largescale
attack on South Vietnam. As part of the assault, two infantry divisions,
30,000 soldiers with tanks and artillery support, began to cross
the boundary between the two countries and attack south along Highway
1, the main north-south artery. They would first have to seize a
highway bridge over the major water obstacle, the Cua Viet River
just north of the town Dong Ha. Only the Third South Vietnamese
Marine Battalion was in a position to block the critical avenue
of attack and buy some valuable time. To the 700-man battalion was
entrusted the awesome task of stopping, or at least hindering, 30,000
North Vietnamese.
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The small number of remaining Americans now
in ground combat were assigned to South Vietnamese units as advisers.
Few men were better qualified to provide assistance in this nearly
impossible assignment than Captain John Ripley of Radford, Virginia.
A graduate of the Naval Academy at Annapolis, he led a rifle company
through a year of intense combat in 1967. Ripley then served an
exchange tour with the British Royal Marines. After returning to
U.S. forces, he graduated from both the Army's Airborne and Ranger
schools and trained with the Navy's frog men in underwater demolition
teams.
Having trained in four elite units, Ripley
now joined one of the finest units in the Vietnamese Marine Corps,
itself an elite division. Major Le Ba Binh commanded the Third Battalion
and had a record every bit as impressive as his American adviser.
Wounded on a dozen occasions and decorated many times, he was noted
for leading his men from the front as would be expected from a member
of the aristocratic warrior class.
The Third Battalion was composed of four
rifle companies. Two of them and Captain Ripley spent the night
before Easter Sunday at an abandoned combat base just west of Dong
Ha. The NVA knew they were there, for they pounded the compound
all night long with heavy artillery fire. The rounds came screaming
in four or five a minute. The Vietnamese got little sleep; Ripley
none.
As the day dawned with an overcast sky, Ripley
went out and examined the shell craters. The artillery fire was
being directed away from the camp toward Dong Ha. He called his
radio man to give a report to his own headquarters. Nha, the young
baby-faced Vietnamese, approached with long-range whip antenna waving
back and forth. In the months they had fought together, the two
had become inseparable. Neither knew the other' s language well,
but facial expressions and a common danger made words unnecessary.
By that time Nha could read Ripley's mind.
Ripley grabbed the handset. Headquarters
relayed the orders, "Fall back on Dong Ha and defend the bridge.
I'll give you more information when I can." Binh's bodyguard,
a powerfully built, rough individual who was known as "Three-fingered
Jack," appeared and told Ripley that Binh wanted him at his
command post. Jack was one of those quiet, alert veterans that command
respect, a fearful enemy and a welcome ally.
Binh had decided to deploy the two immediately
available companies along the south bank of the Cua Viet River.
One company would cover the main bridge used by the north-south
traffic along Highway 1. It had been built by the Sea Bees five
years earlier to carry the heaviest American weapons and equipment,
including tanks. The other company would cover a much older bridge
just upstream that could only carry light equipment. Binh told his
Marines to dig their holes deep. There would be no fall back positions.
They had to hold the riverbank.
The two companies formed a column with Binh
and Ripley leading the way and headed for the bridge. Another radio
message warned, "No time for questions, expect enemy tanks.
Out." When they reached Highway 9, which ran along the south
riverbank and intersected with Highway 1 at Dong Ha, it was clogged
with thousands of refugees and, what was worse, deserters by the
hundreds. All of them had only one thought in mind: to get as far
away as quickly as possible.
Binh's radio contact informed him that the
rest of his battalion plus a regular Army of The Republic of Vietnam
(ARVN) tank battalion of about 40 tanks would rendezvous with them
one mile west of the town. The medium tanks would be somewhat outgunned
by the heavier Soviet T-54s, but they were certainly better than
no tank support at all. The tank battalion commander, an ARVN lieutenant
colonel, was waiting at the rendezvous point with his American adviser,
Major James Smock. The former was less than enthusiastic about staying
around and required constant urging to cooperate.
Nha approached Ripley. It was headquarters
again: "Our outposts can hear the tanks coming. They are traveling
in the scrub terrain just off the roadway, but sooner or later they
are going to have to get back on Highway 1 to cross the bridge."
"Don't we have any air up, to tell how
many?" Ripley asked.
"None yet. Low ceiling."
"Come on. We must have a thousand feet
here."
"Believe me, pal, we are doing all we
can. Every fire base up there is catching it and some have gone
under. You have to hold the bridge and you have to do it alone.
There is nothing here to back you up with."
Ripley's American adviser contact continued
to give him bad news. Practically all resistance north of the bridge
had been wiped out, which was probably the source of the ARVN deserters
clogging the road along with the refugees. Then came the final blow:
"We finally got a spotter plane in the air. They have tanks
and armored personnel carriers stretched along Highway 1 for miles.
Must be at least two hundred."
Ripley shouted back, "We can't stop
that many. We have to blow the bridge at Dong Ha." At first
his superior on the radio hesitated. The top brass back in Saigon
wanted to save the bridge. In the end, Ripley's logic prevailed.
A weary voice responded: "You are right. We can't authorize
it, but you have to blow that bridge. Get moving that way and we
will send some demo up to you."
As they approached Dong Ha, they saw the
results of the destructive firepower of the enemy's heavy artillery.
Corpses lay dismembered and forgotten along the roadside. Dead livestock
and overturned carts were strewn in all directions. Then the artillery
started again, countless guns firing together and shells exploding
all over the town but only the town. It was being blasted off the
map. Everything came to a halt along the highway.
The tank column could not go forward and
it could not stay where it was. They backed off to the west and
swung around to the southeast and entered what was left of the town
from the south. The shelling alternately intensified and then thinned
out. At the outskirts, the tank commander refused to go any further
but after more arguments agreed to let two tanks accompany the dynamiters.
As a parting remark, Binh told Ripley to send a message to his superiors:
"There are Vietnamese Marines in Dong Ha. We will fight in
Dong Ha. We will die in Dong Ha. As long as one Marine draws a breath
of life, Dong Ha will belong to us." A hundred yards from the
south end of the bridge, Ripley, Smock and Nha prepared to go on
alone.
The Bridge
Captain Ripley studied the bridge through
his binoculars. It was built simply but massively. The bridge's
basic strength lay in its steel I-beam girders that held up the
superstructure. They ran longitudinally, that is, in the direction
that the traffic would flow. Each girder stood three feet high,
and the flanges extended three to four inches on either side of
the vertical member. There were six of them across with about three
feet between them. With all that steel, Ripley thought to himself,
the Sea Bees could have built a battleship.
These hundred-foot long girders sat on top
of massive, steel-reinforced concrete piers (intermediate supports)
that rose 20 or 30 feet out of the river. At both sides of the river,
the hundred-foot spans connected with the abutments (end supports).
In thickness, the piers ran between five and six feet. They would
easily have withstood any explosive power then available. The trick
was to set the explosives in such a way as to knock one set of girders
off the piers, thus dropping a hundred-foot span into the river
- no small task but possible by a soldier with the proper training.
Fortunately, Captain Ripley had received the necessary training
at Ranger School.
Ripley surveyed the scene directly in front
of him. Along the near river bank, two companies of Binh's Marines
were dug in. Across the river on the north side, there had to be
thousands of NVA troops infesting the area. Halfway down his slope,
sat a bunker built up with sand bags left over from some previous
battle.
The three stood up and made a dash for the
bunker. As they ran, the fire from the north side increased in intensity
and accuracy. They dove for the bunker just in time. Several shots
thudded into the sand bags right in front of them. Ripley decided
to leave Nha here, where he could make reports to headquarters just
as easily, and not expose him to any more danger than necessary.
He then attracted the attention of a squad
leader at the river bank. Through sign language, he asked him to
provide cover for the last leg of the journey to the bridge abutment.
In a short period of time, Binh's Marines had a steady base of fire
hitting NVA positions on the north bank.
The two officers broke from cover and ran
straight for the bridge. Again the fire increased as they neared
their objective. A heavy, tank machine gun kicked a spray of dirt
in front of them. Ripley drove himself harder and harder. When he
safely reached the bridge abutment, he almost collapsed from the
exertion. He wondered how much longer he would have to keep going.
The Demolition
The explosives were waiting for them, about
a dozen pine boxes and an equal number of canvas haversacks. Ripley
read the stencil on the three-foot boxes: DEMOLITION-TNT. Each box
contained 150 blocks that looked like gray industrial soap. The
haversacks contained plastic explosives to be used in conjunction
with the TNT.
Ripley decided to cut the girders loose at
the first pier, a hundred feet from the abutment. His problems began
immediately. The Sea Bees, to prevent sabotage to the under section
of the bridge had constructed a chain-link fence on the river side
of the abutment topped with three coils of razor wire. Ripley had
to crawl over the razor wire.
He chose to work on the downstream side of
the bridge. Most of the infantrymen on both banks had dug in upstream,
where they had more open space. The Marine captain climbed the fence
and grabbed the bottom flanges of the I-beam. He then swung his
feet up and hooked his feet on the flange.
He began to inch himself along the beam.
His legs took a beating. The razor wire sliced numerous cuts into
his legs which bled profusely. Through the wire he went. He was
sweating heavily. The sweat rolled into his cuts and they began
to burn. At last, he was through the wire.
With 90 feet to go, Ripley let his feet drop
free and proceeded by hand-walking down the girder, swinging forward
hand to hand. Arriving at the pier, he made an attempt to catapult
himself up into the space between the outboard girder and the next
one upstream. His legs would not cooperate. His energy was gone.
Hanging only from his hands, they began to ache. Either he flipped
up between the two beams soon or he would fall into the river. Once
again; he almost made it that time. On the third try the heels caught
the flanges. Then he twisted around until his body was spread-eagled
between the two beams. He set the two haversacks of satchel charges
and crawled on his elbows and knees back to Major Smock and the
fence.
The major passed the first two boxes of TNT
and two more haversacks through the razor wire, which cut the major's
hands and arms. Spread-eagled between the two girders, Ripley placed
the boxes on the flanges and dragged the load, which weighed more
than 180 pounds, back to the pier, where he set the charges to the
first boxes of explosives.
Once more he dropped down, holding onto the
bottom flanges with only his hands. Swing back and forth, build
momentum, leap, grab, catch the heels and then muscle into the channel
opening between the next two girders. When his legs and lower body
fell below the beams, the communist riflemen fired up into the steel
girders, with rounds ricocheting all over. Nothing hit him. Once
up into the channel he was safe.
For the next two hours, Ripley worked his
way back and forth setting the charges. When he finished, he crawled
back through the razor wire, dropped to the ground and lay there
for a while gasping for breath. Yet he had only accomplished the
first part of the heroic undertaking. The exhausted Marine had to
go out there again and set the detonators.
Ripley would have preferred to use electrical
blasting caps and wire, but none were to be found, only the old-fashioned
percussion caps and primer cord. To make things more difficult,
they could not find any crimpers. Ripley had to crimp the caps onto
the cord with his teeth. Since the shiny cylinders would explode
if gripped too hard in the wrong place, a slight miscalculation
would blow his skull apart. He remembered that back in Ranger School
an instructor had placed a detonator inside a softball and set it
off. The explosion blew the cover, stuffing and string all over
the place.
Carefully he placed the cap into his mouth,
open end out and put the primer cord in the open end. He slowly
bit down. It worked. The second time would be easier, but he had
to fight off overconfidence, so he remembered the softball. Now
the Marine captain was ready to go back out again.
This time the enemy was waiting for him.
He crawled through the razor wire and dropped below the girder.
The communists immediately opened fire, far heavier than before
with hundreds of rounds bouncing off the girders. Over and over,
he prayed to Our Lord Jesus Christ and His Blessed Mother, "Jesus
and Mary, get me there! Jesus and Mary, get me there..."
Just as he reached the upstream box of TNT,
a tank shell hit the girder about two feet away. The angle was too
flat and it bounced off and exploded on the south bank with a violent
crash. The vibrations almost knocked him into the river. He set
the detonator into the plastic explosive and lit the other end of
the cord with a match. He had measured enough cord to allow about
thirty minutes.
The girders of the Dong Ha bridge were three
feet high and about three feet apart.
Ripley worked his way over to the downstream
side and repeated the process and then hand-walked back to the fence.
He realized that he had exceeded all normal human endurance, so
again turned to God and His Mother: "Jesus and Mary, get me
there! Jesus and Mary, get me there..." He climbed back through
the razor wire once more and fell to the ground near the abutment
in a bloody heap. He was so tired that he could hardly lift his
arm.
The major tapped him on the back. "Look
what I found. But you won't need them now." He pointed to a
box of electrical detonators. Ripley looked at the caps and realized
that he had to go through the ordeal under the bridge once again.
He had always been taught to rig up a backup charge if one was available,
At this point, the substance of a man takes over. His moral integrity
triumphs. In fact, throughout the entire ordeal, it was the guiding
principle. So he returned again simply because to do the job right
demanded it.
While Ripley was again risking his life crawling
around underneath the Dong Ha Bridge setting up the backup charges,
Smock ran a couple of boxes of TNT down to the smaller bridge and
ran back again. Ripley had completed the wiring and lay on the ground
next to the abutment, too tired to move. Painfully, he pulled himself
up and, with a roll of detonating wire hung over his shoulder, staggered
along with Smock back to the bunker where Nha was waiting. The South
Vietnamese Marines unleashed a barrage of fire to cover them, yelling
encouragement as they went, "Dau-uy Dien! Dau- uy Dien!"
(Captain Crazy! Captain Crazy!)
At the bunker Ripley was glad to be reunited
with Nha. He looked around for a way to trigger the explosion since
they had no blasting box. Nearby was a burned-out truck, but the
battery appeared to be in good condition. Ripley tried several combinations
to set off the explosives. Nothing worked. The terrible thought
of failure came over him.
The captain would have to warn headquarters
to give time to others to regroup farther south. He would stay with
the Third Marine Battalion. Binh would never pull back. He had already
made that clear. The battle-scarred warrior would die at his post
with no forethought of death. From across the river, Ripley heard
the tanks starting up. The massive assault was ready to begin.
Then the bridge blew. The shock waves came
before the noise. The noise arrived, growing louder and louder in
a series of explosions that became one huge roar. The entire hundred-
foot span dropped into the river, leaving a huge gap in the bridge.
The time fuses had done their job after all.
The Aftermath
The battle continued to rage around Dong
Ha for days after, but the overwhelming forces of the NVA soon began
to wear out the defenders. Most areas in the north and south had
crumbled. A large group of communists were pressing down on Dong
Ha from the west. Binh's Marines were still dug in and holding,
with some of Smock's tanks and armored personnel carriers lending
support. Ripley was making desperate calls for artillery support
when a barrage of mortar fire raked the area, signaling an all-out
attack.
At that moment, a vehicle carrying seven
journalists and cameramen raced up. Completely oblivious to what
was going on, they jumped out and surrounded Captain Ripley with
microphones, asking one silly question after another. Ripley yelled
at them, "Get out of here; the NVA are attacking." A mortar
round exploded, throwing all of them into a pile on the ground.
Ripley crawled out from underneath the bodies. Some were dead; others
lay groaning and bleeding.
He looked around; then his heart fell. Nha
lay dead with a mortar fragment in his head. Major Smock was severely
wounded. All the South Vietnamese vehicles were pulling out. Ripley
was able to pile the wounded on them only with difficulty. Nobody
was staying around now.
When he went to load Nha's body on the last
tank, it moved away and disappeared. The beleaguered captain looked
up and saw the point men of several NVA rifle squads approaching.
He was going to die, but he was taking his dead radio man with him.
He put Nha's body over his shoulders and started walking, fully
expecting to catch a bullet any minute.
He heard rifle fire and looked up. Three-fingered
Jack and another Marine were firing away at his assailants. More
South Vietnamese Marines came over the embankment directly in front
of him and kept the enemy pinned down until he climbed up behind
them. Captain Ripley was safe.
A few days later the Third Marine Battalion
received orders to break through the encircling enemy and a few
weeks after that it was pulled out of action. Of the original 700
men, only 52 survived. By then Smock, Nha and Jack were dead. However,
they had succeeded magnificently in their task.
The ARVN regrouped and held a defensive line
ten miles south of Dong Ha. Thus the Easter Offensive was stopped
because the NVA failed to cross the bridge at Dong Ha. One cannot
but wonder that, if a few more men like Captain Ripley, Major Binh,
Major Smock, Three-fingered Jack and Nha, the radio man, had dedicated
themselves like the Crusaders of old, the communists could have
been stopped entirely. As it was, they were stopped for three years.
Related Article:
A Story of Exceptional Valor and Faith
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