KHE SANH, South Vietnam, Feb. 20 (AP)

A fragment from a North Vietnamese mortar round hit a Marine corporal in the head one foggy morning recently on Hill 881 South near here.

The wound was serious, but the fog normally lifted about noon and no one was overly concerned about getting in a helicopter to take the young Marine to a hospital.  The men of the 26th Marine Regiment's Third Battalion were angry that the corporal had been hit, but they were not too seriously worried about saving his life.

The fog didn't lift.  All during the afternoon, 30 mile-an-hour winds pushed the fog from the Balong Valley to the east and over the Khe Sanh base and Hill 881 South, four miles northwest.  Medics on the hill did what they could to help the corporal.  As night fell, they radioed the battalion doctor for advice.

Heavy fog continued throughout the next day.  The corporal, long in a coma, began slipping.  The supply of glucose being dripped into his arm began running out.  Without it, he would die.  Without hospital help he would die anyway.

At Khe Sanh, men of the Third Battalion studied reports of the corporal's condition.  Messages from the company, commanded by Capt. William Dabney of Gloucester, Va., became more urgent as night fell.  The fog was still thick.

Hill 881 South, like the other hill positions near here and Khe Sanh itself, is surrounded by a large North Vietnamese force.  The Marines can only move by air.

That night, the fog began breaking.  A radio operator reported excitedly: "I can see the stars."

A night landing on Hill 881 South was extremely hazardous but the risk was deemed worth it.  A helicopter with a doctor and a four-man crew took off.  Flares were dropped.  Ground flares were touched off during the next hour.  The helicopter had fleeting glimpses of the ground, but not enough for a landing.  A machine gun was firing at the helicopter.

"We've only got enough fuel for 10 more minutes," the pilot reported at last.

Finally, the helicopter began a slow descent through wisps of fog, looking for the landing zone.

An urgent voice broke in as the helicopter neared the critical point: "Be advised the med evac is now routine, repeat now routine."

Thirty-eight hours after the shrapnel had ripped into his skull, the corporal had died.

"Your Marines, the Purple Foxes, were flying the mission.  What a hell of a night!  Zero-zero was a kind description of the weather.  Wind about 25 knots, fog like baled cotton.  Your pilot told us it was like that for 500 feet, easy, above the hill.  Yet he came down through that.  He couldn't see our flares.  Hell, we almost couldn't!  He came down on our "guesstimates" to him over the radio, bringing him in by his noise.  The Marine, Cpl. Homer Taylor, Jr., died just as we saw his wheels a few feet above us.  Not worth the risk then, so we waved him off.  But he'd have come again, had we called.  We knew that."

It should be noted that our Corpsman, HN Ronald V. Bowling, remained by the side of Cpl. Taylor the entire time utilizing all his training and available medical supplies to save Cpl. Taylor’s life. 

"Meanwhile, Godspeed to all you former 'Purple Foxes.'  There was none better, ever, in my book.  And good luck!  You've earned it."

India Six Actual, Out

Clipping submitted by:
       William H. "Bill" Dabney, Colonel USMC(Ret)