User:Polar Eastwind/sandbox

I was a crew member of the Point Orient serving with the Coast Guard in Division 12 of Squadron One.

It was 0330 the morning of August 11, 1966, and the Point Orient patrolled its designated Operation Market Time area of 1A2; the adjacent area west of 1A1. It was at that time the Point Welcome was illuminated by flares dropped from a C-130 that circled overhead in search of targets of opportunity. Below the American C-130, serving as Tally Ho controller, spotted two small junks along the shore in the orange glow of the flares, just south of the entrance to the Ben Hai River; the third target was the Point Welcome, which was running dark.

Only a few hours earlier, on August 10, the crew of the Point Welcome was engaged in several games of poker on the small mess deck, and against military rules, I suspect drinking while on patrol. The mood was festive with Tim Page sharing his stories with the crew who were eager to share theirs. The day had been a vacation cruse for Page, enjoying the warm waters of the Tonkin Gulf, swimming with his new Coast Guard buddies earlier in the day. After the game some members went topside to have a few more drinks and smokes in the evening air. Eventually everyone retired, leaving the executive officer Lieutenant Junior Grade Rose Bell, Gunner’s Mate Third Class Mark McKinley and Engineer Second Class Jerry Phillips in charge of the mid-watch; 0000-0400hrs.

At first Lieutenant Bell, who was sitting in his chair on the bridge probably smoking on his cigar, did not quite grasp the danger of being illuminated only three-quarters of a mile south of the DMZ (Demilitarized Zone). By the second flare, Officer-of-the-Deck Bell became concerned and began to point the patrol boat southward away from the 17th Parallel and increase his speed. If alcohol was a factor in an error of judgment on his part can only be open to my speculation, but delay of action and the appearance of an enemy boat in flight sealed the fate of the Point Welcome. At 4,500 feet, with a wake of 200 yards long, the cutter appeared to be fleeing.

Meanwhile Lieutenant Bell sent Gunner’s Mate McKenney below to wake the skipper. “Captain! Captain! Captain!” McKenney yelled as he entered the officer’s quarters, his face reflecting the glow of the flares streaming in through the portholes, “Were being illuminated!”

Barely out of his bunk and on his feet a 20-mm round from the Air Force jet ripped through the cutter and ignited the gasoline cans that were on the fantail. Immediately Bell, still on the bridge and taking no evasive action other than running south in a straight line, hit the general quarters button to alert all members of the crew of the danger at hand.

Reaching the bridge, Lieutenant Brostrom pushed his way around Bell and grabbed for the microphone and radioed CSC in Da Nang, “Article, this is Article India, am being illuminated and attacked by what I believe is Vietnamese aircraft. Have received hits.”  Hearing this exchange, the Point Caution radioed if the Point Welcome was in need of assistance, to which the captain of the Welcome replied, “Affirmative. I have taken hits. Request assistance.” The Point Caution was about 18 miles south of Welcome’s position in 1C, answered that she was heading to her assistance. The mid-watch of the Point Orient heard the frantic call for help, sounded their general alarm, and proceeded to aid the stricken craft.

The sound of the claxon broke into the dreams of the sleeping members of the Point Orient. A member of the watch came below decks and informing the crew of the situation. Hastily dressing myself I bolted to the upper deck and manned my 50-caliber machine gun on the port side, aft. I could see in the distance flares hovering in the direction we were traveling to. At this point, maybe fifteen miles away, the range of the flares would not have any effect on us; realizing the danger of being mistaken for an enemy trawler or junk, our captain turned on all deck lights.

Back on the Point Welcome it was only getting worse. Lieutenant Brostrom made an attempt to signal the incoming aircraft, but before he could was decapitated by one of the jet’s rockets, slashing through the aluminum superstructure. Lieutenant Bell was severely wounded during the attack, was given a shot of morphine, wrapped in a sheet and tucked under the chart table on the starboard side of the bridge.

Stepping over the captain’s body, Chief Boatswain’s Mate Richard Patterson took over control of the cutter and began to make erratic course changes, coupled with speed variations to elude being hit. During the attacks the steering was damaged, requiring the Chief to manipulate the boat through varying the speed of the twin engines.

Because of the steering problem, Engineer Second Class Jerry Phillips probably went below into the engine room to check out the situation. On his way below decks Phillips was struck in the midsection and falling backward on the ladder, lingered with his wound, but died shortly after. The mess deck was setup as a makeshift triage area; blood, flesh and despair were everywhere.

Tim Page was among the severely wounded, but his recollection of the chaos, as written in his book Page after Page, painted a picture of himself as the only person who had a presence of mind during this ordeal. The other members of the crew told a different story, saying that he was self focused and panicked by the thought of loosing his Rolex watch.

Chief Patterson, alone on the bridge, evaded a gauntlet of bombs, rockets and bullets as he traveled his zigzag course to safety. The Chief felt the only recourse to the situation was to run the Welcome ashore and abandon ship. Accomplishing the beaching, all crew members slid into the ocean waters, some swimming, while others were placed in the cutter’s life raft; Page and the South Vietnamese liaison officer were pushed into the raft, again counter to the photographer’s narrative of him going willingly.

The ordeal was not over, as they made their way toward the Vietnamese junk base at the mouth of the Cua Viet River, they began to receive fire from the South Vietnamese; they were between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Eventually the shore fire stopped when members of the Point Welcome yelled, “We are Americans.” About 0430, nearly an hour after the nightmare began, CSC in Da Nang got the word to all parties that the craft they were firing on was a “friendly.”

The Point Caution arrived first, began to take the dead and help the wounded survivors ashore where they were transported by helicopter to a field hospital at Hue. It was about 0450, just minutes before morning dusk, when we arrived. As we approached the Point Welcome four members of the Caution’s crew began to help carry the body of Lt. Junior Grade David Brostrom, held in a wool blanket, down from the boat’s bridge. Other crew members were feverishly clearing the decks of the damaged cutter of beer cans and the remains of several liquor bottles. No doubt the crew of the Welcome intended this chore for themselves the morning after, but fate dictated otherwise. The C-130 continued dropping flares, this time to aid in the recovery of the Point Welcome.

It was an eerie scene, the artificial light from the flares made the shadows of the men seem to jerk from side to side as the boats slowly nodded in the relatively calm waters. Despite all the activity, little sound was heard and everyone talked in hushed tones; we were in the middle of a tragedy and little cause for joy, except that we were alive. Dawn came at 5:43 and the sun was a welcome sight after a night of terror.

Chief Patterson, although wounded from a piece of shrapnel, remained with three other members of his crew on the damaged cutter for the trip back to Division 12 Headquarters in Da Nang. A few other members from the Point Caution joined them after basic repairs were made, and under their own power made the ten hour trip back to base; it was a matter of Coast Guard pride that she travel under her own steam.

The Point Orient followed at a reasonable distance along side Point Welcome, but slightly behind her lead; giving her the honor of leading. About a third of the way a jet came up on the damaged cutter and I saw one of the members of the Welcome’s crew sprint toward the rear 50-calibre machine gun. He had to be restrained from loading and firing the gun, no doubt suffering from the emotional trauma of the attack.

Once arriving at our Monkey Mountain base the Point Welcome was the first to dock along side the Point Ellis. We followed next. For the next few days the Point Welcome became the subject of curiosity even by the pilots of the “friendly fire” jets. Most of us thought that it was their macabre curiosity that brought them here, but they were part of the 37-witness inquiry, which began on the August 15 and ended on 23 August. The Board of Investigation was ordered by COMUSMACV to determine why this happened and to prevent a repeat. The Board’s findings were summed up by a statement to the Commandant of the Coast Guard that: "It is evident from the record that there was a lack of coordination between different component forces operating in the same area, and that existing orders and instructions pertaining to identification and recognition of friendly forces were not observed." I was never called as a witness because I was not directly involved, had I been called I doubt I would have mentioned the presence of alcohol on the deck of the Welcome for two reasons. One, my past confrontation with Coast Guard officials would have discredited me as a witness. Second, the Coast Guard code of silence would have united those who I would be giving testimony against in denying my claim; it would be one person’s word against eight. My theory begins with the addition of Timothy Page to the crew, followed by the need of  Lt. Junior Grade David Brostrom for recognition and the relaxation of the rules for alcohol based drinks on a Coast Guard cutter. This combination of seeking glory and the vanity of Brostrom caused a lapse in judgment, which ultimately resulted in a slow response to a challenge by Air Force jets; everything that followed could have been avoided. Chief Boatswain’s Mate Richard Patterson received the Bronze Star Medal with “V” for valor for his heroic action in maneuvering the Point Welcome and thus saving most of the crew from certain death. His action cannot be minimized or denied, he truly was a hero that day in August. He went on to retire in the Coast Guard and died on April 12, 2010 after losing his last battle with cancer.

This is my personal recollection of the events leading up to and surrounding the ill-fated Point Welcome and have been saved in my personal memoirs, and are to the best of my knowledge truthful. My sole reason for my disclosure was to set the record straight and perhaps offer some solace to the crews of the planes that were involved. Polar Eastwind (talk) 00:39, 16 January 2013 (UTC)