Tired and hungry, the GIs took a break while helicopter gunships refueled and officers decided what to do. When MacGill’s command helicopter landed on a nearby rooftop, the major spotted two American MPs firing at the VC across the street. MacGill jumped out and joined them. He gave them ammo for their M-60 machine gun and watched as they shot at occasional VC running among the buildings. Then MacGill saw a VC come out of a building, hide his rifle, remove an identifying red armband and raise his hands in an attempt to pass for a civilian. The major leveled his rifle and squeezed the trigger, dropping the man.

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Smaldone, meanwhile, used the downtime to scout the VC-held building that commanded the approach to Phu Tho Racetrack. He felt very confident that a 106mm round or two could reduce the place to submission or rubble, whichever came first. He collected two cavalry crewmen and took them on foot to his concealed observation spot just opposite the building. Once there, he showed them exactly where he wanted them to drive up with their APC, and how they could get a shot at the building.

At 1630, Smaldone set his plan in motion. His infantrymen opened up with everything at their disposal. Rifles, M-60s and M-79 grenade launcher rounds splattered the building. The Americans poured out an incredible volume of fire. They wanted to make absolutely sure that the VC would keep their heads down and have no chance to aim an RPG when the cavalry APC rumbled forward into the street. In the meantime, the APC crew members drove their track up, positioned it in the street and then opened fire as quickly as they could.

In his helicopter, Major MacGill was just taking off from the building rooftop when the cavalry fired its recoilless rifle. ‘Debris from the [VC-held] building went about a hundred feet in the air right in front of the chopper,’ he said. ‘It scared the shit out of us. The secondary explosions started a horrendous fire, and I got on the radio…requesting that they call the fire department. I was worried about burning down all of Cholon!’

In a frantic rush, Smaldone led his men across the street onto the racetrack. Adrenaline coursing through their veins, they were psyched up and ready to kill at close quarters. But the enemy fire was desultory at best. With their machine gun strongpoint obliterated, the VC chose to melt away into Cholon. Phu Tho Racetrack belonged to the Cotton Balers, at the cost of one man killed and several wounded. The racetrack proved to be an ideal landing zone and a good base from which to operate in Cholon. Shortly after dark, helicopters brought in reinforcements, Cotton Baler grunts from Bravo and Charlie companies.

In the morning the Americans began a methodical, street-by-street battle for Cholon. It was the kind of fighting their World War II veteran fathers would have recognized. The Cotton Balers made no impulsive moves or reckless charges.

They systematically worked their way from building to building, blowing holes, clearing out rooms and rooftops. At every step of the way, they called on the full range of support from the APCs and helicopter gunships.

At one point on February 1 the VC tried taking back Phu Tho. American machine guns, small-arms fire and gunships cut them to ribbons. The enemy’s best hope now was to hole up in buildings and look for good ambush opportunities. The Communists were tough and did the best they could, but this kind of fight played to the Americans’ strength. The VC and NVA were at their best when they held the initiative, moving through advantageous terrain as light infantry, attacking small American units and perhaps pinning them down, at least until American firepower support came into play. But in Cholon, the Communists were cornered and basically at the mercy of the Americans.

For five days, the Cotton Balers slowly but persistently cleaned the VC out of Cholon. The work was dirty and exhausting. Soldiers choked and coughed in the dust of ruined buildings. They struggled to endure the seemingly endless house-to-house assaults. All the men sweated out the chance that a VC sniper, well hidden somewhere, might be staring down the sight of his rifle right at them at any moment, ready to squeeze the trigger. The grunts took no chances; they sprayed the place with as much ordnance as they could, engaging the enemy in the American way of war, firepower-bullets, not bodies.

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