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HAVOC STRUCK: BROACHED AT DUC PHO

November 16, 1967: Duc Pho RVN The USS Outagamie County was busted up at Duc Pho, so we were told. Nevertheless, the old CC and its 4.0 crew didn't have a worry. We were filled with the spirit of success, loathe of failure. After all, the Clarke had been doing Vietnam for nearly a year. We started out in January and had already endured our share of shit, done our turn at gun runners and snaking inland where Charlie lived and GI's died. None of that had done us harm. Other "T's" had been mortared, hit with rockets, and mined in places where we had been. But not us--we were unscathed until this day, when a raging sea and a bit of bad timing put us out of action. According to the Dictionary of American Fighting Ships, our mission was relatively simple. Still there was one major complication: a 15 minute tide window within which time we had to beach and rescue RVN troops who were being pushed to the sea by the Viet Cong. The DAFS report states further that after broaching, Clarke County was "zeroed in on" by enemy mortar fire, and that subsequently the ship and its rescue vessels remained within close range of enemy "small arms and artillery fire" for 16 days. For that experience, we earned the combat action ribbon. ***The Clarke was not alone at Duc Pho. Another LST made the same approach and with nearly the same catastrophic result. However, that ship retracted after the first missed landing and turned safely to sea. Anyone who remembers the name of that "T" can e-mail me.*** ***According to George Swofford, former Clarke IC, the other ship was the USS Iredell (sp?) County. Thanks George, It was nice seeing you again at the reunion.***

HIGH TIDE, HIGH SEAS, HIGH RISKS To be sure, we had done this before--rammed our bow into the mud of a beach. Only this time we had to do that a little faster. But there was more than timing to deal with at Duc Pho, and we realized that right away. The first indication that the beaching would be more difficult than expected came when we struck a sandbar just off the targeted landing zone. But that had happened before, and we knew how to undo the problem, retract. However, retracting used up precious time, time we coudn't waste even though our turn-around was relatively quick. Perhaps five minutes of the tide window remained, or so we thought. Actually, the tide was at its lowest during the first approach; on the second attempt to land, the tide was racing in, and with heavier seas than expected. In other words, we were coming in at the time we should have been backing out. Despite that little difficulty, we charged ahead, bound by the commitment to complete our mission. Again, I was on deck near the fantail and in-charge of the anti-broaching detail, a handful of men who manned quarter-wires which, ordinarily, prevented the ship's stern from heaving to and onto the beach. Unfortunately, this was no ordinary circumstance, and the sea was far rougher than before. Wave amplitude and frequency were substantially increased. Even so, we remained on target for the LZ. Moments later, it was clear that we were headed into deep fucking shit. The ship was groping for that beach like a struggling sea turtle, paddling ever closer but not close enough. Abruptly, it stopped. But unlike the first grounding, which was fairly smooth, this time there were twelve foot seas pounding the starboard side, causing the ship to shudder and yaw as it somehow lurched forward. For a while, it continued to inch ahead as though to beat the sea on the way to another miraculous success. But that was not to be, beacuse the stern was rapidly turning to port. The ship was broaching. Nevertheless, and in spite of what seemed an inevitable outcome, the crew remained resolute. We had never known or accepted real failure and we didn't intended to do that at Duc Pho, where stuck on that beach we would be sitting ducks for VC mortars and artillery. So once again--optimistic by tradition--we accepted the notion that "the impossible would simply take a little longer." And we continued to believe that simply because we thought the sandbar beneath us and the incoming tide were the only obstacles to retraction--and by that time, a retraction was the best we could expect--but in the way instead was an unknown cause for continued disaster. Things simply got worse.

BROACHED

CRASHING WAVES, FLOODING TANK DECK Things got worse because in short time the sea took the helm, and it was steering the Clarke to shore, sideways. But this can't happen, I said to myself. And for a short while, it seemed as though this major calamity wouldn't really happen, that we would again get out of a serious jam. I considered the fact that the stern anchor was still at work, assisting in retraction, and the screws were still churning. To reak free, all we needed then was hard work and a bit of that good luck. After all, we were trained for this, damage control. "The best performance in ten years," the AOTU instructors had told us. Now, every moment of that experience was in play. Mooring cables were strained in a futile effort to right the ship. Damage control teams, now fully aware of the situation--flooding below decks--raced to pump water from the voids. Water? Where was that coming from? Obviously, it was coming from holes in the hull. The real question was how did the ship get holed? Later on, we learned the answer. Meanwhile, crewmen like Larry Biddle were running P250 pumps on deck as raging waves crashed down on their shoulders. On the forecastle, BM1 Roberts was yelling out orders to jerry-rig this and haul in that. Nevertheless, the sounds and efforts of men who sought desperately to save their ship were cries unheard, deeds undone by an unforgiving mother nature. Thinking back, I can hear her laughter as though mimicking that old tv commercial: "It's not nice to fool with..." Yeah, well...sometimes, the bear gets you. And the disaster at Duc Pho was caused by one big bear clawing away at our bottom and ripping out holes that allowed tons of water to pour into the tank deck where life jackets floated like flotsam from a sunken vessel. Fortunately, we were grounded, stuck in the sand and couldn't sink.

ENSIGN FADAL OVER THE SIDE Something went wrong with the starboard shaft. So, Ensign Fadal volunteered to go over the side and into the black water to assess the problem. Heavy surf pounded the starboard side as we lowered the brave officer. Quickly, he was out of sight and thrashing against the current to get a glimpse of the screw. He never signaled: we simply knew when he'd been down long enough and hauled him in. He was a mess, a battered mess. But he reported the damage--the stern anchor cable was entwined around the shaft. And for his trouble, Fadal received a mild concussion. He was lifted off by chinook, though he begged permission to stay with the ship.

HEAVE AROUND HANDSOMELY Obviously, we were not getting off that beach on our own. Not with the dscovery of a 180-foot long hole below the water line, and the bottom of the ship snug into the shore. So a sea-going tug arrived, and it shoots a shotline with a messenger attached to a 5" hawser and its steel towline. However, we didn't have the power to haul in the hawser, much the less a steel cable spanning 500 yards. Nevertheless, we tried. Cries of "Heave! Heave! Heave around handsomely, lads," and the fear of being stranded after nightfall, was all the urging crewmen needed to lay their backs into pulling that towline onboard. But it was no use. Sixty men were barely able to move it. The line inched along pitifully during the tug-of-war between men and nature. Daylight was quickly waning, so as soon as the eye of the hawser cleared the bullnose, we dropped it on a bit and hoped to hell that would work. But it didn't work. The line parted almost as soon as the tug started to tow. Its steel towing cable fell into the sea, along with our hopes. "Well, what else do you have in mind?"

THE "MIKE" BOAT (LCM)

Where did the big holes come from?

A landing craft mechanized, similar to the one above, was sunk along the shoreline at Duc Pho. Reportedly, that incident took place a year before the Clarke's November '67 attempt to land on that beach.

The 601's skipper wanted a survey. However, intelligence reported that the boat was removed. Not so. It was there still, just below the surface. And like a giant can opener, that m-boat's rusted metal shards opened up the Clarke's portside. At the same time, a 12ft., raging sea pounded the starboard side, forcing the ship to ride against the boat as she moved ashore. So instead of a puncture wound, the m-boat cut a 180 ft. laceration in the ship's skin, well below the waterline.

Unfortunately, no one knew that at the time. Yet it was this simple fact that created the most serious damage to our ship.
(photo--fas.org)