When we think of amphibious assault, one of the first images most of us get from John Wayne World War 2 war movies or of the now classic “Saving Private Ryan” is of a boat hitting the beach. The front ramp drops.  American Marines or soldiers charge off the boat into a hail of machine-gun bullets.

As the second week of my summer training in 1965 at Camp Pendleton begins, combat Marines are already in South Vietnam. And those Marines did, in fact, hit the beach in a Mike boat. The ramp dropped.  But the Marines calmly waded ashore on a peaceful beach near Da Nang Air Base. The scene was, in fact, an anachronism, a throwback. The Vietnam War in general and the helicopter specifically radically changed amphibious assault. Our training this week would reflect some of those changes.

Up at 5 am, brief PT, then morning chow. Back at our Quonset hut, there was a tangible urgency driving the activity. We began to pull together all our combat gear. Each man was issued 4 C-ration meals which we broke down and packed in our haversack. We filled our 2 or 3 canteens with water.

By mid-morning, our platoon was in formation in front of our huts with the rest of our company. Our gear was either on our body – like our flak jacket and helmet – or in a neat pile in front of our feet.

A line of big diesel 6-bye trucks pulled up, and we piled on with all our gear. Our battalion had the standard structure of a Marine battalion. But, being a reserve battalion, we only had a headcount of about 400 Marines vs. of full-strength battalion of 800 to 1,200 Marines.

Our convoy drove for awhile then approached a small landing strip. We off-loaded the trucks and got into platoon and company formation. We saddled up our approximately 50 pounds of gear and marched to one end of the airstrip. We halted, dumped our gear, sat down in the dirt and waited. Hurry up and wait. The Marine Corps way.

Sitting uncovered in the hot sun, we were soon sweating. Guys smoked. Some guys pulled out one of their C-ration meals and ate things like cheese and crackers. Soon, some guys were sleeping. I smoked and listened to rest of the guys participating in a favorite Marine pastime: bitching and complaining.

It must have been nearly 2 hours when we heard a growing roar coming from the direction of the ocean. We could make out a bunch of helicopters heading our way. As they approached the airstrip, the helicopters formed a single-file line and landed on the tarmac. The helicopters were CH-46 Sea Knight double-rotor helicopters. Each helicopter could carry 17 to 25 fully loaded combat Marines.

Platoon sergeants counted off groups of 20 Marines. We saddled up and hurried toward our assigned helicopter. We climbed the lowered ramp into the helicopter. A helicopter crewman handed us each a life vest. The engine and rotor-noise was deafening. As soon as our helicopter was loaded, we took off. The cool wind felt good after the heat.

We headed west and soon we could see the Pacific Ocean. Soon, there was nothing but blue water under us. After about 10 or 12 miles we could see a ship. It was an amphibious assault ship called an LPH – and aircraft carrier for helicopters.

We landed on the flight deck. The ramp was lowered and we exited the rear of the helicopter. A sailor in a bright-colored flight suit led us toward the island, through a hatch and down 2 flights of stairs to a large compartment. The walls, floor (deck) were steel as was the ceiling. The compartment was filled with triple-stacked racks: rectangular metal tubes with rounded edges with canvas stretched drum-tight and suspended by thin metal chains. There was no mattress, no pillow and zero privacy.

The compartment was big enough for 60 or more. Our platoon was around 42 or 43 so we picked a rack and stacked our gear on a shared rack. When I lay on my back, my feet hung over. Having encountered the same problem in bootcamp, I quickly adjusted.

Settled-in, Gary, Eric and I went exploring. They wouldn’t let us on the flight deck which was a beehive of helicopters unloading and newly arriving Marines being led below decks to their compartments. We soon found the hangar deck which was also a frenzy of activity. Finally, we found some calm on the fantail. The ship was moving at a good clip, so there was a fresh breeze. In all 360 degrees, there was nothing but blue Pacific. I had never experienced that before.

The fantail was a calm place. The 3 of us smoked and stared at the huge wake churned up by this ship which was nearly 900 feet long.

Someone found us and interrupted our reverie. We had to get back for a platoon meeting. After the meeting, we joined a huge line waiting for evening chow. Sailors got to eat first as they had work to do. Given the fact that we had about 400 Marines waiting for chow and we would not start eating until after the sailors were done, it was going to be a wait. It was well over an hour before we side-stepped down the chow line with our metal trays. The food smelled good and the sailors serving the food were cheerful.

With loaded trays, Gary, Eric and I found an open table. As I started to eat, I realized I was ravenous. We were all so hungry we didn’t talk much until our trays were clean. The food was delicious.

After we finished evening chow, we found our way up to the flight deck. All the helicopters were parked and secured to the flight deck. The moving ship provided a fresh ocean breeze. To the west, the sun was beginning to set. For me, it was a beautiful experience. All 3 of us were in a mellow place. Not saying much, we enjoyed the moment. We walked up the flight deck to the bow. Looking down from the bow, we could see flying fish jumping out and sailing a surprising distance down the trough of the bow-wave. The wet scales of the flying fish caught some of the red of the departing sun. I felt privileged to have experienced the moment.

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