"Big Joe No. 1"

Moonlight helicoptering is not the only invention of U.S. Marine Corps Lieut. Colonel David Clement (see above). During his four-month stay in the mountainous jungles northwest of Danang, the lean, leathery, 40-year-old North Carolinian has applied the best of counterinsurgency techniques to the dirtiest of conditions.

Last April the Elephant Valley was deep, dark Viet Cong country. Paths and paddies were deserted by day; the rifles of Red snipers dominated the night. When Clement's battalion of marines moved in, they found the 20,000 inhabitants of the 100-sq.-mi. region sullen and closemouthed. Trade was at a standstill, bridges across the wild mountain streams had been blown, and no villager felt safe from Viet Cong terror. By applying intelligent compassion and tough soldiering, Clement has since converted most of the Elephant Valley from numbness to normality. "Someone has to win this war," says he. "To do that, we have to win the people. We've won a few around here." Clement's course in antiguerrilla warfare has been classic in both technique and results; his men have been deadly in battle, humane in the administration of the territory they have won.

After a series of bloody firefights, Clement's battalion captured the valley's major V.C. supply center, Le My, early last May. First thing they did was to rebuild two Red-blown bridges. Then Clement reopened Le My's market for the first time in five years; it now sells everything from tinned sardines to Japanese sandals brought in from Danang. Le My had had no school since 1958; last week, Clement inaugurated a two-room schoolhouse and exchanged greetings with its 100 pupils, who screeched "Big Joe No. 1" as he strode in. A dispensary manned by Marine Corps doctors and Navy corpsmen treats 200 Vietnamese patients a day. The Sea of People. Nor has Clement neglected fun: fortnight ago he wangled a one-night stand from the 3rd Marine Division band, and Le My bounced to the swing of Cole Porter's Can-Can. The affection of the local people has paid off militarily in that most valuable of commodities: intelli gence. Women now point out known Viet Cong leaders; old men report the laying of Red minefields. Local chiefs also aid Clement's men in the tough task of distinguishing Viet Cong from peaceful Vietnamese, accompanying the marines on sweeps and pointing out known Reds. Marines were waiting when two companies of Communists mounted a counterattack last June. After a three-hour fight, the Reds withdrew, leaving eight dead. Clement's men have also adapted to the technique of ambush; when his squads go off on patrol, a few men often peel off to remain as long as three days staked out on bug-ridden back-country trails. So far, they have killed as many as eight Communists a night by using such tactics. "We've licked the Viet Cong because we've surprised them more than they have us," says Clement. "They have neither the firepower nor the reserve to counter us. When we can swim in the sea of people as well as they can, then we're going to win."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.