When Doing the Right Thing Made Us Targets
This story is part of Brothers In Arms — my collection of firsthand military memories, Vietnam stories, veterans’ experiences, and the strange bits of Marine Corps life that never made it into the history books.
This is Part Three of my Vietnam War memoir. If you’re joining this story here, the trouble began in The Theft Ring, Part Two of my Vietnam War memoir. That’s where I explain how we uncovered a theft operation involving fellow Marines, recovered stolen property, and turned the suspects over to our command. We thought we’d done our duty. We had no idea what was coming next.
We had caught the thieves.
Recovered the stolen property.
Turned the suspects over to our chain of command.
As Marines, that’s exactly what we had been taught to do.
Instead, we became the problem.
It started almost immediately.
All of the men except us two and one other Marine quietly moved out of our hooch.
No explanations.
No arguments.
They simply packed their gear and found somewhere else to sleep.
Nobody wanted to be associated with us.
Then one of the Marines we’d arrested made good on the threat he’d shouted while we were marching him to the command post.
“Kill them. They can’t testify if they’re dead.”
At first I thought it was just talk.
I was wrong.
The Threats Became Real
At first, I thought the threats were just talk.
I was wrong.
The Marine Who Wouldn’t Move
When the other Marines began moving out of our hooch, one man refused to leave.
He had two reasons.
First, he had a corner location he liked. He was settled in, and moving meant giving up a spot he wasn’t likely to get back.
Second, he thought the threats against us were nothing but bluster.
He wasn’t about to let a bunch of loudmouths scare him out of his own hooch.
Then one night, he was shot and wounded by automatic fire from outside directed at our hooch.
We put a field dressing on his wound and a military ambulance carted him away.
I never saw him again.
The scuttlebutt afterword around the compound was that he’d been evacuated to Japan for medical treatment. Whether that was true, I never found out.
I don’t know what became of him.
But I remember thinking about those two reasons he’d given for staying. He liked his corner, and he didn’t believe the threats were real.
Suddenly, neither reason seemed very important.
And neither did the idea that we were dealing with nothing more than empty threats.
I could understand his reasoning. After all, we were Marines and we were armed. We weren’t supposed to run away from threats.
Two Other Incidents
On another night, we began hearing disturbing reports about two other Marines who had been shot and killed.
We didn’t know either man.
The story that filtered down to us was that they had sneaked out of the compound to visit prostitutes in a nearby village. According to that account, they were shot by our own security personnel while attempting to sneak back inside, supposedly mistaken for enemy infiltrators.
That was the explanation circulating at the time.
But there was another rumor.
Some believed the two Marines had been deliberately targeted and killed in a case of mistaken identity. That whoever wanted us dead had gotten the wrong men.
We had no way of knowing which story, if either, was true.
We didn’t witness the shootings. We didn’t know the victims. And we had no evidence connecting their deaths to the threats against us.
For all we knew, the stories themselves might have been intended to frighten us even more.
But consider our situation.
We had exposed a theft ring involving fellow Marines. One of the suspects had openly threatened to have us killed. Our hooch had emptied out because nobody wanted to be associated with us. And now one of the few Marines who had refused to leave had been shot.
Whether the reports about those other two Marines were true, exaggerated, or deliberately circulated to intimidate us, the effect was the same.
We were scared.
And we had good reason to be.
The enemy was supposed to be outside the wire. We were beginning to fear the men inside it.
Whether it was meant for us or simply another warning, nobody had to explain the message.
We were living on borrowed time.
The isolation became almost as frightening as the threats.
At the mess hall nobody would sit with us.
One Marine looked at us and said,
“We don’t eat with dead men.”
That sentence has stayed with me for more than fifty years.
We had done exactly what everyone had wanted.
Every Marine had complained about the thefts.
Every Marine wanted the thieves caught.
But once we caught them, we became the enemy.
That’s when I learned another lesson the Marine Corps never taught in boot camp.
Sometimes doing the right thing comes with a price.
Looking back, I realize how little recruit training could prepare us for situations like this. In Boot Camp Didn’t Prepare Me for Vietnam, I wrote about the enormous difference between what the Marine Corps taught us and what we actually encountered overseas. Nobody had prepared me for the possibility that doing my duty could make me a target among my own fellow Marines.
Asking for Help
After our fellow Marine was wounded and the disturbing reports about two other Marines reached us, we stopped worrying about prosecutions.
We didn’t ask to be sent home, just requested transfers to other units.
The answer was no.
Officially, there hadn’t been any murders.
We were told they were accidents, unrelated to our situation.
“Friendly fire.”
That explanation didn’t square with what we had seen, but admitting otherwise would have meant acknowledging serious problems inside the command.
Whether anyone wanted to admit it or not, morale, discipline, and careers were all on the line.
A Letter Home
Running out of options, I wrote a letter to my father.
I told him something no son ever wants to tell his parents.
If anything happened to me, it probably wouldn’t be the enemy who killed me.
It would be another Marine.
I had no idea what Dad would do with that letter.
He immediately contacted Headquarters Marine Corps in Washington.
My command responded by assuring him I was exaggerating the danger and that my concerns were unfounded.
That only convinced my father something was very wrong.
He wrote again.
And again.
Each letter created more problems for me but by that point all I was trying to do was to stay alive. I slept fitfully with a loaded M-16 on my chest and started at any strange noise.
The Lieutenant
Eventually I was ordered into my commanding officer’s office.
I didn’t know what to expect but when I snapped to in front of his desk what I got was not a thank you for exposing thieves, he was red with fury.
In a snarling tone I was informed that because of my actions I would be considered a substandard Marine.
Actions? Catching thieves? Isn’t that what you are supposed to do?
I was told my career was effectively over.
Promotion?
Forget it.
Transfer?
Forget it.
I was even warned that if I continued making accusations I could face a dishonorable discharge.
I stood there listening in disbelief for a few minutes.
Then something inside me snapped.
I realized I had nothing left to lose.
I relaxed.
Pulled up a chair.
Sat down.
Smiled.
I was tempted to put my feet up on his desk but managed to resist the temptation.
He exploded.
He started in on me by demanding I get back on my feet and assume the position of attention, at the same time screaming at me, calling me a sub-standard Marine, that he was going to see to it that after his evaluation of me I would never be promoted beyond the lowly rank of E-3, Lance Corporal. He even threatened me with a court martial!
I looked him in the eye and calmly said,
“LT, I have seen the elephant, I’m not afraid of your BS. And standing at attention is a mark of respect, which you do not deserve. You are just pissed off because I went over your head to command when you refused to believe our lives were in danger when you knew damn well these recent shootings were related to our situation. Now the Colonel is blaming you because you are the man in charge. You can deny it until the cows come home but shit flows uphill in the green machine LT!”
I continued my defense by telling him I was forced to go outside the chain of command because he was treating me like the bad guy when all I did was expose a theft ring. I even asked him who he was trying to protect. I calmly advised him not to do anything stupid by trying to accuse me of being a slacker, “If you think you’ve got problems now, if I report any of your threats back to the Colonel, your ass is in a sling. You’ve already told me previous to this nonsense that I was the kind of Marine you wanted under your command. I’ve got the commendations and outstanding marks on the fitness reports you signed to prove it.”
After huffing and puffing he realized I had him cold.
The meeting ended exactly as you’d expect, his last orders to me were to “get the fuck out of my sight”
I never saw him again.
A few days later someone handed me a new set of orders.
I was going back to the United States.
At the time, I thought I had finally escaped Vietnam.
It would take me decades to realize Vietnam had no intention of letting go of me.
For years afterward, I carried memories of Vietnam that refused to fade. The constant danger, the betrayal, and the feeling that I could never completely let my guard down became part of my life long after I returned home. I discuss those lasting effects in Living With PTSD: A Marine Explains It, where I explain what living with the psychological consequences of war has meant for me.
This concludes my three-part Vietnam series. Although my tour ended, the story didn’t. The years that followed would eventually lead to PTSD, a battle with the VA, and a deeper understanding of what many veterans carry long after the shooting stops.
Your Turn
In Vietnam, I learned that not every threat came from the enemy. Sometimes the hardest thing a Marine could do was stand up for what was right when everyone around him wanted to look the other way.
Have you ever done the right thing and paid a price for it?
Maybe you reported something that needed reporting, stood up against wrongdoing, or refused to go along with something you knew was wrong. Did the people around you support you, or did you suddenly find yourself standing alone?
For my fellow veterans: Did you ever witness intimidation, retaliation, or a breakdown of trust within your own unit? How did you handle it, and did anyone in your chain of command step forward to help?
And here’s a question I’ve thought about for more than fifty years: What does Semper Fidelis really mean when loyalty to your fellow Marines conflicts with doing what’s right?
Share your thoughts or experiences in the comments below. You don’t have to be a veteran to understand the importance of courage, integrity, and standing up for what you believe is right. Please respect the privacy of others when sharing personal stories.
Continue Exploring
My Vietnam tour eventually ended, but the experiences stayed with me. From the dangers of combat to the unexpected threats within our own ranks, those thirteen months taught me lessons I would carry for the rest of my life. Here are more stories from my years as a Marine and the memories that followed me home.
Sleeping With One Ear Open
When danger could arrive at any moment, even sleep became a challenge. How the constant vigilance of Vietnam followed me long after I left the war.
Boot Camp Legends
Before Vietnam came the rumors, traditions, and outrageous stories of Marine Corps recruit training. Some were funny, some were frightening, and some were almost impossible to believe.
Why I Became a Marine
Long before the theft ring, the threats, and the struggle to get home, there was a young man who made the decision to join the Corps. This is where that journey began.
When Vietnam Finally Came Home
The fighting may have ended, but the war didn’t disappear. A personal reflection on the lasting consequences of Vietnam and the long road toward understanding them.
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🪖 Bunker Rule
Semper Fidelis means Always Faithful. But loyalty doesn’t mean looking the other way when something is wrong. Sometimes the hardest test of a Marine’s character comes not from the enemy, but from the choices he must make among his own.
This story involves serious allegations, painful memories, and questions about military leadership, discipline, and the treatment of fellow Marines. Veterans may have different experiences and perspectives, and those differences deserve to be heard.
But here’s the rule: Debate the issues, challenge the decisions, and share your own experiences without attacking fellow veterans or their families. No personal threats, unsubstantiated accusations against identifiable individuals, or attempts to discredit another veteran simply because his recollections differ from yours.
Military humor is welcome, but the injuries, reported deaths, and suffering described here are not punchlines.
Inside this bunker, respect is mandatory. Agreement isn’t.
🪖 Bunker Notice
This article is a personal memoir based on my experiences as a United States Marine serving in Vietnam in 1969. It describes my recollections of exposing a theft ring, the threats that followed, our growing isolation, and my efforts to obtain a transfer through the Marine Corps chain of command.
The events are recounted more than fifty years later. Some conversations have been reconstructed from memory, and certain dates, sequences, and minor details may be approximate.
One Marine who remained in our hooch was reportedly shot and wounded. I never saw him again and later heard scuttlebutt that he had been medically evacuated to Japan. I was never able to confirm what happened to him afterward.
Reports also circulated about two other Marines who had allegedly been shot and killed on a separate night. We did not know those Marines or witness the incident. Conflicting accounts described either mistaken identification by security personnel or deliberate violence connected to the threats against us. I cannot independently verify those accounts, establish the circumstances of the reported deaths, or determine whether they were connected to our situation.
My descriptions of command decisions, threats, and possible retaliation reflect what I personally experienced, was told, or believed at the time. They should not be interpreted as independently established findings of criminal wrongdoing by any individual or military command.
This story is shared to preserve my memories of a difficult chapter of my Marine Corps service, honor those who served, and encourage thoughtful discussion about courage, integrity, leadership, and the lasting consequences of war.