Chapter 4
Denial and Disaster: America's Disastrous First Response
Despite overwhelming evidence that Hue had fallen to a massive enemy force, American leadership remained in denial. General Westmoreland reported to Washington that only "approximately three companies" of enemy troops were in the city - underestimating their actual strength by a factor of twenty. This deadly disbelief would cost many American lives.
At the American base in Phu Bai, eight miles south, commanders with no sense of what had happened dispatched two companies of marines - just over three hundred men - against ten thousand enemy troops. Captain Batcheller's convoy encountered intense enemy fire as they entered Hue city. Approaching the An Cuu Bridge with its satchel-charge holes, they raced through what resembled "a town in an old Western movie," taking heavy fire from both sides.
At a traffic circle surrounded by abandoned ARVN tanks, the marines dismounted and immediately came under fire from all directions. Batcheller, against his training, rushed to help a wounded man and was hit with three rounds in his arm and leg, suffering a broken femur. Tangled in barbed wire, he shouted to Gunnery Sergeant John Canley to take command.
The plan to cross the Truong Tien Bridge into the Citadel fell apart immediately. The damaged bridge couldn't support tanks, and ARVN tank crews refused to move. Captain Meadows and his men had to cross on foot, exposed to enemy fire. As they reached the bridge's midpoint, the NVA opened fire, killing and wounding many marines. When they turned onto the gate road, they came under devastating fire from the Citadel walls.
Meadows quickly realized the mission was hopeless. With over half his company casualties - seven dead and forty-five wounded - he ordered a retreat. During the withdrawal, Meadows personally rescued Private Gerald Kinny, carrying him single-handedly under fire, though Kinny later died.
By nightfall, Hue had completely fallen, though American commanders refused to acknowledge the reality. General LaHue and MACV leadership dismissed the Tet Offensive as futile despite evidence that a large, capable enemy force had seized control of Vietnam's ancient capital.
Chapter 5
Behind Enemy Lines: Life Under Communist Control
As the Alliance flag flew over the Citadel, Communist forces consolidated their control of Hue. The Front established its field headquarters at Tu Dam Pagoda, an ornate seventeenth-century tower unlikely to be bombed due to its historical significance. Liberation Radio broadcast appeals throughout the country, calling on people to rise up against the "traitorous" government, establish revolutionary control, and punish "cruel lackeys" of the regime.
The young commissars set about remaking Hue - condemning Western fashions, confiscating property, and putting citizens to work digging trenches and tunnels. Some families were instructed to create fake weapons from painted bamboo to intimidate American forces.
Initially, many residents displayed red flags to show support, but the mood quickly changed as the Front's detailed lists of "enemies" guided systematic purges. These targets went far beyond government officials to include specific individuals like policemen, bus drivers, shop owners, and even restaurant patrons. What began as "justice" against puppet regime servants quickly spiraled out of control.
Writer Tran Thi Thu Van documented the civilian horror: her musician uncle killed by artillery, families executed for possessing televisions mistaken for communication devices, Vietnamese-American toddlers murdered by VC soldiers who smashed their heads against walls as "children of American imperialists." As she observed from across the river, "Dong Ba market has become flat ground" while downtown disappeared under smoke and dust. With each explosion, "dust and bricks and tiles fly up... as if a gigantic firecracker explodes, throwing corpses up into the air."
Many foreigners weren't so fortunate. Steve Miller and Steve Haukness were arrested - Miller was later found executed, shot in the back of the head. Three German doctors and two French missionaries were killed despite their nationalities. Foreign service officer Philip Manhard and several American contractors were paraded through the city and marched to Hanoi, where they remained prisoners until 1973.
Chapter 6
The Journalists' War: Bringing Truth to Light
As official denials continued, journalists risked their lives to document the truth about Hue. Gene Roberts, the new New York Times bureau chief in Vietnam, had arrived just a month earlier. Before his deployment, White House National Security Advisor Walt Rostow had confidently told him the war was effectively won thanks to "IR8 rice" - a genetically engineered strain that would transform Vietnam's agriculture and economy. When the Tet Offensive erupted, Roberts sought transportation to Hue and became the first reporter to accurately describe the situation.
His New York Times report revealed that marines controlled only "two square blocks of the smoking city" while enemy forces maintained a tight grip on Hue. His reporting captured the desperate atmosphere where civilians pressed against buildings and ran across intersections to avoid fire, and where the line between allies and enemies was sometimes just a street width apart.
French photojournalist Catherine Leroy took even greater risks. After being captured by Front soldiers, a friendly officer had her released, returned her cameras, and invited her to photograph his victorious men in staged combat poses. When she finally reached the MACV compound with marine escorts, Leroy embraced CBS correspondent John Laurence, exclaiming, "I love zees fucking marines. Zey save my life!" Her dramatic photos would soon appear on the cover of Life magazine.
Meanwhile, draft-dodging journalist Mike Morrow wandered the Citadel battlefield unarmed, witnessing the war's moral contradictions - marines ignoring a dying enemy soldier one moment, then risking their lives to save wounded civilians the next. Now smoking three packs and drinking a pint of whiskey daily, the cynical former Dartmouth student had concluded the war was immoral and pointless.
These journalists' unflinching accounts began shifting American public opinion. Even Walter Cronkite, who had faithfully reported progress in Vietnam, began questioning the official narrative, telling viewers that dispatches from "that pathetic country tell a somewhat different story" than the allies' claims of breaking the offensive's back.
Chapter 7
Big Ernie's War: Turning the Tide in Southern Hue
The night before leaving for Hue, Lieutenant Colonel Ernest "Big Ernie" Cheatham had a rare opportunity for a combat commander - time to think. Learning that LaHue had been feeding marines piecemeal into Hue for three days with devastating results made him furious. Colonel Stan Hughes told him bluntly to "attack through the city and clean the NVA out" with minimal intelligence.
Having never fought in a city, Cheatham studied two field manuals: "Combat in Built-Up Areas" and "An Assault on a Fortified Position." The basic strategy was to stay off streets, using walls as both protection and pathways by blasting through them rather than going around. When encountering enemies in buildings, the approach was simple: flatten, gas, or burn the structure, then send in riflemen to clean up.
Cheatham assembled an arsenal of heavy weapons unsuited for jungle warfare but perfect for urban combat: Korean War-era bazookas, six 106 recoilless rifles mounted on small "mule" vehicles, gas grenades, gas masks, flamethrowers, and C4 explosives. His convoy to Hue included these weapons plus two Dusters and trucks filled with volunteers from rear positions eager for action.
It took Big Ernie Cheatham four days to fight his way to the Phu Cam Canal - long, bloody days with fierce clashes at each municipal building, but once begun, the advance proved unstoppable. Cheatham established a devastating pattern: first bombarding targets with mortars (his "sledgehammer"), followed by gas clouds, then tanks, Ontos vehicles, 106s, bazookas, and finally marines.
Cheatham brilliantly used tanks as blockers, sending them alone up front to draw enemy fire and expose positions. The Ontos, though more vulnerable, provided devastating firepower - Cheatham would stand beside it, calmly pointing out targets before it fired its six big guns, rocking backward with each blast before speeding to safety. The enemy soon fled at the mere sight of its spotting rifle.
For the marines, urban combat proved brutally different from jungle fighting. Traditional flanking maneuvers meant death in open courtyards. Buildings had to be cleared from bottom up rather than top down as they'd trained. They avoided pre-zeroed doors and windows, instead blasting entry holes with bazookas, then clearing room by room with grenades and coordinated fire patterns.
Chapter 8
The Citadel's Last Stand: America's Bloodiest Urban Battle
While Cheatham's forces made progress in southern Hue, the battle for the Citadel proved even more challenging. Major Bob Thompson first glimpsed the fortress on February 11 from across the Huong River. It looked fearsome - designed for defense with its wide moat, narrow bridge approaches, and eleven gates topped by gun towers. The Front had occupied most of it for twelve days, establishing a revolutionary government and fortifying positions.
Thompson, a tall, fit, serious 37-year-old from Mississippi with no combat command experience, was ordered to enter through the Hau Gate on the north wall. General LaHue dismissively told him the "mop-up" would take only days and instructed him not to take orders from General Truong, despite Truong's greater experience and knowledge of the Citadel.
The assault began disastrously. When Thompson's depleted marine unit tried to cross the river, their first Mike Boat attempt was turned back by intense fire. Lieutenant Nick Warr, leading Charlie One platoon, felt his testicles retracting from fear as they zigzagged around Hen Island. When they finally landed north of the Citadel, one marine vowed never to get back on "them fucking boats" even if he had to swim across the river and walk back to Phu Bai alone.
Inside the Citadel, the marines faced a nightmare of urban combat. The city existed in a gloomy palette from chalky white pulverized plaster to the oily black of dried blood. The constant roar of gunfire and explosions was periodically overshadowed by naval shells from warships anchored miles away in the South China Sea, their projectiles as heavy as small cars whistling overhead before shaking the earth upon impact.
The battle's turning point came with the assault on Dong Ba Tower. Captain Myron Harrington was ordered to take the tower with his undermanned Delta Company. Despite being reduced to just two platoons, Harrington led his men along the inside fortress wall. His hopes that the tower might be abandoned were quickly dashed when Lieutenant Conrad and two others were hit by a rocket while scouting from a balcony. At four in the afternoon, with Corporal Whitmer's squad in position, Harrington ordered the attack. As the tank provided covering fire, marines rushed the tower from both sides.
By February 21, with La Chu fallen and the southern wall captured, the Battle of Hue was effectively over. General Tolson's reinforced brigade approached from the west, and Front troops slipped away through the southwest gates overnight. Life returned to Hue with astonishing speed - civilians filled streets, sampans plied the river, and vendors sold food despite occasional gunfire.
Chapter 9
The Aftermath: How Hue Changed America
The Battle of Hue's greatest suffering fell upon civilians. The death toll among residents is officially recorded at 5,800, though this is almost certainly an undercount. Many died in bombings, shelling, crossfire, or were buried in collapsed bunkers beneath their homes. Over 80 percent of the city's structures were destroyed or seriously damaged during the four weeks of fighting.
Beyond accidental deaths, systematic executions occurred on both sides. The Front executed between 300 and 4,856 people according to competing claims. Douglas Pike, an American foreign service officer, studied mass burial sites immediately after the battle and estimated 2,800 executions. The Saigon regime conducted its own reprisals afterward, with no official count recorded.
Military casualties included 250 American marines and soldiers killed with 1,554 wounded, plus 458 ARVN soldiers killed and about 2,700 wounded. The Front lost between 2,400 and 5,000 fighters. The combined death toll exceeded 10,000, making Hue by far the bloodiest battle of the Vietnam War.
The Tet Offensive and particularly the Battle of Hue created an unbridgeable credibility gap between military leadership and the American public. The devastating images from Hue - a proud city reduced to ruins, wounded and frightened marines caught in merciless combat - directly contradicted General Westmoreland's consistently optimistic assessments.
The most significant blow came from Walter Cronkite, America's most trusted newsman, who visited Vietnam and concluded in his February 27 broadcast that the war had reached a stalemate. After reviewing the holiday attacks and showing images of Hue's devastation, Cronkite declared: "We have been too often disappointed by the optimism of American leaders, both in Vietnam and Washington, to have faith any longer in the silver linings they find in the darkest clouds."
President Johnson remained stymied by the war, lamenting to Lady Bird, "I can't get out, I can't finish it with what I have got. So what the hell can I do?" Though he abandoned neither the war nor Westmoreland, one month after the battle ended he announced he would not seek reelection.
From the perspective of half a century, the Battle of Hue and the entire Vietnam War seem a tragic waste. America's ideological approach ignored regional expertise and understanding. The battle should stand as a caution against war except for vital national interests. The heroism of those who fought remains undeniable, but the exploitation of their idealism by leaders who had lost faith represents a lasting American betrayal.
Chapter 10
The Faces of Hue: Personal Stories from the Battlefield
During the first week of fighting inside the Citadel, photographer John Olson captured what would become one of the most famous photographs of the Vietnam War - a Patton tank carrying wounded marines. The striking image showed seven marines in a tableau worthy of Rembrandt, with dark, muddy colors punctuated by shocking splashes of blood. At the center lay a pale, limp figure shot through the chest, appearing nearly dead.
Alvin Bert Grantham was that wounded marine. While manning his M60 from a house window in Hue, he was struck square in the chest by a rifle round that knocked him backward "like being hit by a bus." The bullet shattered his ribs and passed through his lung. After emergency field treatment, he was placed on a wooden door, carried to a tank, and evacuated while drifting in and out of consciousness from excruciating pain. At one aid station, he was mistakenly zipped into a body bag before someone realized he was still alive.
While believing he was dying, Grantham's thoughts drifted to childhood memories - a beloved metal tow truck his father gave him during a hospital stay, and Krystal burgers he'd shared with his friend Freddie after long mornings laying bricks. After multiple complications including malaria and typhoid fever, Grantham eventually recovered, married, raised a family, and built a successful career.
Many veterans struggled with readjustment after Vietnam. Steve Berntson found he couldn't wear his uniform in public, as hospital staff warned about antiwar protesters. When asked about his injuries, he initially claimed "industrial accident" rather than discussing Vietnam. About Hue, he reflected, "We won the battle, but we lost the war," noting the North Vietnamese successfully held the city for 25 days, capturing world attention.
Many Marine officers from the battle achieved remarkable success: Big Ernie Cheatham, Captains Downs and Christmas, Lieutenant Ray Smith, O.K. Steele, and Peter Pace all rose to become generals. Howard Prince retired as an Army brigadier general and became a professor at the University of Texas. Forty years after the battle, doctors removed an AK-47 round from beneath his kneecap.
The Vietnamese veterans interviewed displayed their decorations proudly, viewing Hue as just one episode in a long heroic struggle against foreign powers. Modern Vietnam is thriving with remarkably little resentment toward Americans, though it remains an authoritarian state where speaking freely about past grievances can be dangerous. Vietnamese veterans view the battle as just one episode in a long struggle against foreign powers, highlighting how differently Vietnamese and Americans perceive this shared history.
