Caeca Invidia Es
Staff Alumnus
BY TONY PERRY
THE LOS ANGELES TIMES
BAKER CITY, Ore. -- Chuck Mawhinney attempts a disclaimer.
"I just did what I was trained to do," he says in a tone that is neither defensive nor boastful. "I was in-country a long time in a very hot area. I didn't do anything special."
The numbers suggest otherwise. By all accounts other than his own, Mawhinney is a master of one of the most dangerous, deadly and misunderstood roles in the military. In 16 months as a Marine Corps sniper in Vietnam in 1968 and 1969, he killed 103 of the enemy. Another 216 kills were listed only as probables because it was too risky to take time to search the bodies for weapons and documents.
No other Marine sniper in Vietnam had more confirmed kills of Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army regulars than Mawhinney. Yet for more than two decades after he left the Marine Corps in 1970, nobody except for a few fellow Marines knew of his assignment.
Other snipers have written books or had books written about them. Mawhinney always figured war stories were for wannabes and bores. At home in Oregon, he never told even his closest friends about what he did in Vietnam.
But a tell-all paperback by a friend and fellow Marine sniper -- Dear Mom: A Sniper's Vietnam, by Joseph Ward -- finally flushed him out.
Even in an age of million-dollar, computer-driven missiles, the ability of one man to kill another with a 20-cent bullet is a much prized skill among military forces. In the ugliness of war making, the sniper is assigned to harass, intimidate and demoralize the enemy, make him afraid to venture into the open, and deny him the chance to rest and regroup.
Mawhinney is now in heavy demand within military circles to describe his techniques, his emotions, his assessment of what he accomplished from ambush.
At first embarrassed and annoyed at losing his privacy, Mawhinney reluctantly decided to tell a cold tale of killing in service to country.
"Once I had a Charlie [slang for Viet Cong] in my scope, it was my job to kill him before he killed me," said Mawhinney, now 51 and retired from a desk job with the U.S. Forest Service. "I never looked in their eyes, I never stopped to think about whether the guy had a wife or kids."
A routinely deadly shot from a distance of 300 to 800 yards, Mawhinney had confirmed kills at more than 1,000 yards.
"It was the ultimate hunting trip: a man hunting another man who was hunting me," he said. "Don't talk to me about hunting lions or elephants; they don't fight back with rifles and scopes. "
He would much rather be talking sports or deer hunting with friends. But for two years in a row he has been the top speaker at an international symposium on sniping, held near Washington, D.C. So what changed his mind about never rehashing Vietnam?
First, because anonymity was no longer an option, he decided he could help change the public image of snipers as bloodthirsty assassins. A good sniper, Mawhinney said, saves more lives than he takes because he undercuts the enemy's will or ability to fight.
Second, going public offered a chance to say something that someday might help some other scared serviceman stay alive.
He was invited last year to talk to snipers in training at the Marines' Camp Pendleton and the Army's Fort Carson in Colorado.
"I give them Chuck Mawhinney's three rules of becoming a good sniper: Practice, practice and more practice," he said. In Vietnam, the enemy put a bounty on the head of U.S. snipers. Mawhinney carried a sidearm with a round to fire into his temple rather than be captured.
Mawhinney joined the Marines and shipped out to Vietnam during the heavy fighting that followed the Tet Offensive in early 1968. As a sniper, Mawhinney had an uncanny ability to gauge distance, moisture, weather and terrain -- factors that determine how much a bullet will rise or drop during flight. He had the patience to wait hours for the right shot. He was scared but exhilarated.
"Normally I would shoot and run, but if I had them at a [long] distance, I wasn't worried," Mawhinney said. "I would shoot and then lay there and wait and wait and wait and pretty soon somebody else would start moving toward the body. Then I would shoot again.
"When you fire, your senses start going into overtime: eyes, ears, smell, everything," he said. "Your vision widens out so you see everything, and you can smell things like you can't at other times. My rules of engagement were simple: If they had a weapon, they were going down. Except for an NVA [North Vietnamese Army] paymaster I hit at 900 yards, everyone I killed had a weapon."
He eventually became disillusioned with American objectives in Vietnam. Still, he extended his tour of duty twice to help keep his fellow Marines alive. After 16 months as a sniper, a chaplain thought he was suffering combat fatigue. His killing days were over.
Assigned as a rifle instructor at Camp Pendleton, he found that after having been in combat, life in a training battalion, with its spit-and-polish emphasis, did not suit him. He left the corps and returned to rural Oregon, determined to put the war behind.
Within three days of returning, he had a job with the Forest Service, working on a road maintenance crew. He never spoke of Vietnam; after a while, nightmares of the war went away.
"I felt I was finally home, not like when I would come home on leave from Vietnam and knew I had to go back to that hell," he said. "I'm not a guy who looks back. Vietnam was something I had to do in that part of my life. I try to do everything 100 percent. If you're a sniper, that's the only way to do it, if you want to stay alive."
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"Freedom has always existed in a very percurious balance. And when buildings stop blowing up, people’s priorities tend to change..." Enemy of the State
THE LOS ANGELES TIMES
BAKER CITY, Ore. -- Chuck Mawhinney attempts a disclaimer.
"I just did what I was trained to do," he says in a tone that is neither defensive nor boastful. "I was in-country a long time in a very hot area. I didn't do anything special."
The numbers suggest otherwise. By all accounts other than his own, Mawhinney is a master of one of the most dangerous, deadly and misunderstood roles in the military. In 16 months as a Marine Corps sniper in Vietnam in 1968 and 1969, he killed 103 of the enemy. Another 216 kills were listed only as probables because it was too risky to take time to search the bodies for weapons and documents.
No other Marine sniper in Vietnam had more confirmed kills of Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army regulars than Mawhinney. Yet for more than two decades after he left the Marine Corps in 1970, nobody except for a few fellow Marines knew of his assignment.
Other snipers have written books or had books written about them. Mawhinney always figured war stories were for wannabes and bores. At home in Oregon, he never told even his closest friends about what he did in Vietnam.
But a tell-all paperback by a friend and fellow Marine sniper -- Dear Mom: A Sniper's Vietnam, by Joseph Ward -- finally flushed him out.
Even in an age of million-dollar, computer-driven missiles, the ability of one man to kill another with a 20-cent bullet is a much prized skill among military forces. In the ugliness of war making, the sniper is assigned to harass, intimidate and demoralize the enemy, make him afraid to venture into the open, and deny him the chance to rest and regroup.
Mawhinney is now in heavy demand within military circles to describe his techniques, his emotions, his assessment of what he accomplished from ambush.
At first embarrassed and annoyed at losing his privacy, Mawhinney reluctantly decided to tell a cold tale of killing in service to country.
"Once I had a Charlie [slang for Viet Cong] in my scope, it was my job to kill him before he killed me," said Mawhinney, now 51 and retired from a desk job with the U.S. Forest Service. "I never looked in their eyes, I never stopped to think about whether the guy had a wife or kids."
A routinely deadly shot from a distance of 300 to 800 yards, Mawhinney had confirmed kills at more than 1,000 yards.
"It was the ultimate hunting trip: a man hunting another man who was hunting me," he said. "Don't talk to me about hunting lions or elephants; they don't fight back with rifles and scopes. "
He would much rather be talking sports or deer hunting with friends. But for two years in a row he has been the top speaker at an international symposium on sniping, held near Washington, D.C. So what changed his mind about never rehashing Vietnam?
First, because anonymity was no longer an option, he decided he could help change the public image of snipers as bloodthirsty assassins. A good sniper, Mawhinney said, saves more lives than he takes because he undercuts the enemy's will or ability to fight.
Second, going public offered a chance to say something that someday might help some other scared serviceman stay alive.
He was invited last year to talk to snipers in training at the Marines' Camp Pendleton and the Army's Fort Carson in Colorado.
"I give them Chuck Mawhinney's three rules of becoming a good sniper: Practice, practice and more practice," he said. In Vietnam, the enemy put a bounty on the head of U.S. snipers. Mawhinney carried a sidearm with a round to fire into his temple rather than be captured.
Mawhinney joined the Marines and shipped out to Vietnam during the heavy fighting that followed the Tet Offensive in early 1968. As a sniper, Mawhinney had an uncanny ability to gauge distance, moisture, weather and terrain -- factors that determine how much a bullet will rise or drop during flight. He had the patience to wait hours for the right shot. He was scared but exhilarated.
"Normally I would shoot and run, but if I had them at a [long] distance, I wasn't worried," Mawhinney said. "I would shoot and then lay there and wait and wait and wait and pretty soon somebody else would start moving toward the body. Then I would shoot again.
"When you fire, your senses start going into overtime: eyes, ears, smell, everything," he said. "Your vision widens out so you see everything, and you can smell things like you can't at other times. My rules of engagement were simple: If they had a weapon, they were going down. Except for an NVA [North Vietnamese Army] paymaster I hit at 900 yards, everyone I killed had a weapon."
He eventually became disillusioned with American objectives in Vietnam. Still, he extended his tour of duty twice to help keep his fellow Marines alive. After 16 months as a sniper, a chaplain thought he was suffering combat fatigue. His killing days were over.
Assigned as a rifle instructor at Camp Pendleton, he found that after having been in combat, life in a training battalion, with its spit-and-polish emphasis, did not suit him. He left the corps and returned to rural Oregon, determined to put the war behind.
Within three days of returning, he had a job with the Forest Service, working on a road maintenance crew. He never spoke of Vietnam; after a while, nightmares of the war went away.
"I felt I was finally home, not like when I would come home on leave from Vietnam and knew I had to go back to that hell," he said. "I'm not a guy who looks back. Vietnam was something I had to do in that part of my life. I try to do everything 100 percent. If you're a sniper, that's the only way to do it, if you want to stay alive."
------------------
"Freedom has always existed in a very percurious balance. And when buildings stop blowing up, people’s priorities tend to change..." Enemy of the State