Operation Apache Snow: A Personal Recollection

This post contains personal recollections of the May 13, 1969 battle in the A Shau Valley region of Southern Vietnam, during the Vietnam War. It may be upsetting to some readers.

2019 marks a year profoundly laden with military anniversaries. June 6 signifies the 75th Anniversary of D-Day, the Battle of Normandy, which lasted from June 1944 to August 1944, resulting in the Allied liberation of Western Europe from the control of Nazi Germany. Code named Operation Overlord, the battle began when some 156,000 American, British and Canadian forces crossed the English Channel and landed on five beaches along the heavily fortified coast of northern France. The battle signified the beginning of the end of World War II, as by late August northern France had been liberated, and by the spring of 1945 the Allies had defeated the Germans, declaring an end to the Nazi invasion.

The Battle of Hamburger Hill is another famous turning point from 50 years ago, during the Vietnam
War. Fought by United States Army and the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) forces against the People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN), the ten day battle lasted from May 10 to May 20, 1969, and was a part of the larger Operation Apache Snow, and targeted Hill 937 in the A Shau Valley region of the Thùa Thiên province, located in Southern Vietnam.

Although the Battle at Hamburger Hill resulted in a devastating number of American causalities, and is generally thought of as the defining moment that released a torrent of anti-war sentiment in this country, a lesser known, but strategically significant battle, also a part of Operation Apache Snow, was simultaneously raging on a nearby hilltop, in the center of Fire Support Base Airborne. That is where my story begins.

It was Friday the 13th of May, 1969. My mortar platoon, Company E, was attached to the 101st Airborne Division of the 2nd Battalion, 501 Infantry. Company A/2-501 was providing security during the construction of Fire Support Base Airborne. This Support Base was being established because of the numerous contacts with the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) forces in the A Shau Valley area, as well as the amount of arms and food caches found during search and destroy missions. The erection of the base was part of the larger three-part mission, Operation Apache Snow.

Although my memory is very clear about some of the details from that morning, other details have become obscured by these 50 years - and probably for the best. There are some accounts that give a more detailed overview of the attack, but I will only elaborate on my personal experience.

I had perimeter duty/night watch from 3:00 until 4:00 am that night. As I got up from sleeping on the ground to report to the perimeter, another member of my platoon, who had just arrived in-country a month earlier, took my place on my poncho. I and another member of my squad were sitting on the trunk of a large tree taken down during the clearing of the hillside. I was sitting on the log with both legs in, towards the base, and he was unfortunately straddling the trunk when the first explosion shattered the relative calm. We were both knocked inward toward our camp, our weapons flying away from us. My squad member lost his leg in the explosion and I can still hear the pain ripping from his voice as he fell. I have been afraid many times in my life, but never as much as during those next two hours. The adrenaline rushed through me, my heart began beating wildly, seemingly out of my chest, and in that moment my only thought was that I was going to die.

With my head down and no weapon in sight, I began to low-crawl as fast as possible toward the center of the mortar pit, when I hit another downed tree. I looked up, my eyes locking on to a Vietnamese “sapper” about to fling a satchel charge towards me. Sappers were elite members of the PAVN, whose mission it was to infiltrate and attack airfields and firebases. Their purpose was to wreak havoc by throwing satchels, lobbing grenades, or by any other means necessary in order to erupt a camp into chaos. The sapper was dressed only in a loin cloth, with a white headband around his forehead. From the light of the flashes I could see he was covered with some sort of oil or pitch as camouflage. I turned my head to the left, raised my right arm as cover, and prayed. The charge landed a foot or so to my right, and exploded straight up, except for a small amount of phosphorus, which stung like hell, as it scorched my right armpit. My ears were ringing unbelievably, and I realized later they were bleeding and perforated. I didn’t move and don’t know what happened to the sapper, although we found one who may have been him, in the center of the perimeter at daybreak. It was not uncommon for the PAVN to sacrifice their own lives to complete a mission.

Just then a sizable Sargent named Bronco, who was from Hawaii, bounded over the tree and landed next to me. He was unarmed and bleeding slightly, and growled, “Cavallo, we need to help Sargent Parker up by the mortar gun or we are all going to die!” After all these years I can still hear the hoarse accent in his voice, intermingled with fear and a touch of sheer panic. Realizing he was probably right, and glad for a direction, I ran to the mortar. Sgt. Parker was standing there, as he did for the next two hours, like a statue in my mind, similar to the image at Iwo Jima, firing illumination round after illumination round into the night sky, so the troops could see the enemy forces. I asked “How can I help?” He turned and said, “I need more rounds.” The ammunition storage was several yards away down an S curved dirt pathway, so I and another squad member, John Conlon from Massachusetts, went crouched down to the ammo dump. When we got there, I grabbed a machete and began chopping wildly at the boxes, trying to open as many as I could.

Suddenly, three to four trip flares detonated about twenty feet from us, in the concertina wire. I broke open a box of hand grenades, and Conlon and I both grabbed some, tossing them in the direction of the flares. After a few long seconds, silence. That area had become quiet again, and we renewed our task of bringing round after round of illumination and ammunition to Sgt. Parker. Conlon and I worked in shifts, cradling the rounds in each arm and crawling on our bellies, using our elbows and knees to propel us, in what’s known as an Army low-crawl, back and forth from the ammo dump to Sgt. Parker, so he could continue to illuminate the area.  What seemed like moments was actually a two hour battle. The night was pitch black, except for the radiance coming from the illumination rounds. Men were screaming; mortars, rocket propelled grenades (RPGs) and gunfire ripped through the base, and although I could not see the smoke, the air stank of artillery smoke. It was chaos. Conlon and I were focused on our task, both of us knowing that to stop or stand would mean a certain death.

After an hour or so, a United States Army helicopter named “Spooky,” armed with rocket launchers and two M50 machine guns, appeared suddenly in the sky. Descending like an angel from above, it began reigning havoc on the outside of the perimeter, causing the explosions and gunfire to finally subside. The enemy was in full retreat. The sound of the explosions, the closeness of the gunfire, the screaming and moaning, and the smell of burnt skin will stay with me forever. At daylight the sight of the carnage was devastating; from the wounded that needed to be helped onto the helicopters, to the dead that needed to be placed in body bags. It was our job to gather any body parts so they could be sent back to be identified. I understood then, from that moment, the reason behind separating our dog tags, taping over them in black, and threading one in each of the laces of each boot. The most point of clarity for me that next day was to realize that the platoon member who took my place on the ground and on my poncho to sleep, was killed by a machete in the attack.

After being airlifted by medivac, I was treated and then released back to assist in the aftermath of the Battle at Hamburger Hill. An interesting note about the PAVN sapper found dead at the perimeter - he had been shot twice in the foot, but the bullets had exited through his chest. I was later told that M16 bullets ricochet off bones inside the body and can cause an exit wound anywhere.

I have been told in jest by a couple of library staff members that I look nothing like the pictures of me as a younger man. “You’re not the real Dick Cavallo, you look nothing like that young man in the pictures,” they would say. In a way they are right, the 21 year old boy died that night, and a man was born.

The pictures are my own, taken of me and other squad members in the A Shau Valley. The last photo was taken while I received the Purple Heart and the Army Commendation Medal. I also received the Bronze Star for having served in this campaign in Vietnam, and the Combat Infantry Badge, which are all displayed proudly in my office.





For more information on the Battle of Hamburger Hill, take a look at some of the items in the library’s collection.

While a work of fiction, the movie Hamburger Hill (1998) portrays the ten day battle through the eyes of the members of Bravo Company.  The film stars Don Cheadle, Dylan McDermott, and John Irvin.

Samuel Zaffiri’s book, Hamburger Hill, May 11-20, 1969, is perhaps the most detailed work about the battle and is illustrated with photos and maps.

James Edward Wright’s Enduring Vietnam: An American Generation and Its War explores the war in terms of the impact the war had on the soldiers who returned and their families.  It highlights what many called quiet acts of courage, including one in a detailed personal narrative of the Battle of Hamburger Hill.

Lastly, the library system owns the complete collection of the Ken Burns documentary Vietnam, including the DVD set, soundtrack, and books.

- Richard J. Cavallo, Administration