The hill was alive with fire from hidden positions. He didn’t wait—he charged straight into it, one foxhole at a time.
The perimeter had been breached, and the guns were under attack. Through fire and chaos, a corpsman moved from man to man—refusing to stop.
Three men lay wounded in the open under relentless fire. He went out to them—again and again—until the fire finally took him. 19 March 1969
Pinned down, outnumbered, and under relentless attack—his company was on the edge of collapse. He moved into the fire, turned the fight, and brought them all back.
The ship was engulfed in fire, its decks alive with exploding bombs. A chaplain stepped into the inferno—not to escape it, but to hold the crew together.
The ship was burning from within, explosions tearing through steel decks. Below, hundreds of men were trapped with no way out—until one officer went back into the fire.
His tank was hit. The crew bailed out. He stayed—and drove straight at an enemy gun alone.
