We were about to examine three terrifying accounts regarding the most aggressive M60 machine gunners to serve in Vietnam, and the horror escalates with each event. Through these specific narratives, you will witness how lethal and gruesome this role truly became, what duties were required when operations fell apart, and the ultimate price paid.
You will also discover obscure details regarding the weapon that became a cinematic legend and military icon, explaining why the troops hauling it into combat held such a lovehate view of it. Following the Second World War, American commanders looked enviously at the magnificent generalpurpose weapons fielded by Germany.
They observed the infamous MG42 and MG34. They recognized the supply chain nightmare caused by issuing too many different firearm types to their infantry, ranging from heavy, medium, and light machine guns to carbines and submachine guns, all jumbled within one squad. You might see officers carrying Thompsons, several troops holding M1 Garans, others with M1 carbines, a bar operator, plus an M1919 gun team.
now attempt supplying specific ammunition to everyone across the battlefront. The Germans demonstrated that their MG42 worked across various assignments in heavy or light setups attached to tanks or vehicles utilizing a rapid barrel swap method that offered immense flexibility. The United States lacked a comparable system and logically desired one.
Consequently, they began designing it. They took inspiration from the MG42’s belt feed mechanism and ergonomic features found on the FG42 paratrooper rifle, then applied American engineering standards. Essentially, they merged the superior qualities of those German inventions into one firearm. The result of this combination would soon be vividly nicknamed the pig by those unlucky soldiers assigned to lug it through combat zones.
Once this generalpurpose concept moved toward implementation, NATO nations decided they need not utilize identical machine guns. Yet, it would be beneficial if ammunition was standardized so allies could share supplies during another world war. The cartridge selected was the famous 7.62x 51 mm NATO.
By 1957, following exhaustive testing, the US Army officially adopted their new design as the M60 machine gun. It was finally scheduled to supersede the M1919, the BAR, and even the antiquated water cooled M1917, which somehow remained in use. The M60 utilized gas operation, firing from an open bolt fed by disintegrating metallic links, and included what was theoretically a quick change barrel feature.
However, this quick aspect proved slightly problematic in reality. It weighed approximately 23 lb, which is heavy for jungle patrols lasting days. Yet, it remained one of the lightest weapons in its category back then. It was more compact and 10 lb lighter than the M1919. It cycled roughly 550 to 600 shots per minute, sending about 10 bullets down range every second, providing sufficient suppression without exhausting ammunition or overheating as rapidly as the MG42 did.
Troops trained relentlessly, anticipating conflict with Russia in Europe during those tense cold war decades. However, somewhat surprisingly, the M60’s initial combat experience occurred in Vietnam, where it would see extensive usage. Before analyzing the first account, we must understand what it meant to haul this beast into the bush and why it became the squad’s most hazardous assignment.
Adopting tactics from the Wemock, the M60 required a three-man crew. The gunner fired and carried the weapon. The assistant managed barrel swaps and reloading, taking over the gun if the operator fell. The third soldier had the worst duty. Vividly labeled the mule, he served as ammo bearer, hauling more weight than anybody else while sticking near the men attracting battlefield chaos. You see, the M60 7.
62 62 NATO round proved far superior in dense foliage compared to the standard 5.56 mm fired by the M16 as it punched through heavy vegetation, retaining enough energy to neutralize targets hiding behind it. Thus, North Vietnamese and Vietkong forces learned to fear the machine gun, realizing it must be silenced immediately to win any engagement.
Consequently, M60 gunners suffered some of the highest casualty figures alongside radio operators and pointmen. The enemy understood that eliminating communications and heavy firepower was the priority when initiating ambushes. Compounding the danger for gunners, their silhouette was distinct from afar. Even if they survived the initial volley when a trap was sprung, the unique acoustic signature and dust kicked up by the bipod exposed their location the instant they fired, drawing all return fire.
There is a statistic suggesting M60 gunners possessed a 7-second life expectancy after pulling the trigger. While this likely sounds like hyperbole intended to frighten recruits, the reality was deadly enough without exaggeration. Radio men and officers were taught to avoid standing near M60 teams because a single well- aimed RPG or mortar could eliminate the squad’s key assets simultaneously.
Keeping that context in mind, here is the first narrative. On January 31st, 1968, during the opening of the TED offensive, a 20-year-old specialist named Dwight Birdwell served in an armored cavalry troop of M113 carriers and M48 patent tanks when his unit was redirected from another task and hurried to defend Tanson Mute Air Base near Saigon, which was under surprise assault.
Intelligence reports indicated a minor enemy squad, but actually over 1,000 North Vietnamese troops had infiltrated, establishing ambushes along Highway 1. As Birdwell’s column of M113 carriers and M48 patent tanks neared the air base, they were abruptly hammered by intense crossfire from both roadsides with NVA forces hidden in flanking structures.
In the ambush’s initial moments, the lead tank was crippled, blocking the path, while Birdwell’s tank commander suffered severe shrapnel wounds. Despite the mayhem, Birdwell responded instantly. Under heavy rocket and small arms fire, he exited the loaders hatch, pulled his injured commander from the turret, and moved him to relative safety behind the hall.
With his superior evacuated, Birdwell re-entered the M48 and assumed command. Standing exposed from the waist up in the Koopa, he targeted the enemy using the tank’s 90mm cannon, blasting high explosive shells into strongholds. The main gun jammed twice during the desperate close quarters brawl. Each time, Birdwell manually cleared the fault.
At one stage, he ejected a scalding unfired shell from the brereech with bare hands, burning himself to get the cannon operational. He also utilized the coaxial 50 caliber and his personal M16 from the open hatch, doing whatever was necessary to suppress the attackers. His resistance broke the initial charge, creating a safety zone behind the vehicle where wounded troops could hide.
However, the NVA started maneuvering to flank the stalled convoy. Dozens of hostiles closed in on the tank’s left, utilizing vegetation and buildings to encircle Birdwell. Since wounded troops lay near the left rear, Birdwell could not rotate the main gun there without crushing his own men. So, he did the unthinkable.
He climbed fully out of the turret onto the tank’s roof, completely exposing himself to secure a firing angle. Standing a top his vehicle amidst the ambush, he fired his M16 down on the advancing NVA squad, halting their rush toward the wounded. Once that threat was repelled, he returned to the hatch, firing until the tank completely exhausted its ammunition.
By now, his radio system was destroyed, but he wasn’t finished. A US Huey helicopter transporting Birdwell’s squadron commander had been downed, crash landing nearby on the road. Birdwell noticed the wrecked helicopter and saw a chance. He dismounted his empty tank, sprinting through enemy fire toward the crash site.
Reaching the helicopter, he retrieved the door gunner’s weapons, two M60 machine guns, and ammunition crates. Birdwell grabbed both M60s and every belt he could carry. Running back to his tank through the barrage, he passed one M60 to another trooper, mounted the second a top his tank, and engaged the enemy at pointblank range.
For several minutes, he reigned fire on NVA locations with the salvaged weapon, utilizing it to replace his tanks armament. Then, at the peak of this clash, a massive explosion erupted right in front of him, likely from an ammo box detonating or an enemy RPG. The blast obliterated the M60 in his grip, shattering the receiver.
Shrapnel tore into his hands, arms, chest, and face. Bleeding heavily and momentarily dazed, Birdwell refused to retreat. He took cover in a drainage ditch, continuing to engage with his M16 and scavenged grenades. When a medevac helicopter landed and officers ordered him aboard, Birdwell boarded then hopped off the other side to resume fighting on foot.
Severely injured and low on ammo, he moved between disabled vehicles, gathering munitions from wrecks to distribute to anyone fighting. He organized a small team, led a counterattack, crawled past the American perimeter, and tossed grenades into NVA clusters at close range. He stayed on the line until reinforcements finally arrived to save his battered troop.
Only then did he permit himself to be evacuated. Birdwell’s stand was vital in averting catastrophe. The North Vietnamese assault was part of the nationwide Tet offensive and his solo actions helped hold the air base. He suffered burns to his hands and shrapnel wounds to his torso and face but recovered.
For his valor, Birdwell initially received the Distinguished Service Cross. His commander recommended him for the Medal of Honor, but due to paperwork irregularities potentially motivated by racism against Birdwell, a Native American, the nomination was rejected. Then it took 50 years to rectify. On July 5th, 2022, President Biden awarded Dwight Birdwell, then 74, the Medal of Honor at the White House, five decades after the battle.
Now, Birdwell’s M60 was destroyed by hostile fire. But many gunners lost weapons to mechanical failures, often at terrible times. You see, during trials, the M60 suffered one major stoppage every 2,000 rounds, a statistic ignored before deployment. The issues worsened in the jungle.
The most notorious malfunction was the runaway gun where worn sears caused the weapon to fire uncontrollably after the trigger was released until the belt ended or the assistant twisted the ammo belt to snap the links. This might not sound disastrous, but in combat it absolutely was. You waste precious ammunition in the jungle. You risk hitting friendlies as the gun jumps wildly, firing without control, potentially overheating until it fails catastrophically or explodes.
Then came the tendency to shear rims off fired casings, leaving a shell stuck in the chamber, jamming the gun solid. You had to pry it out with a cleaning rod or knife from the muzzle end if you hope to resume shooting. That requires time you lack when people are shooting at you. In early variants, it was also easy to accidentally unlock the barrel while traversing thick brush.
Vegetation would snag the latch lever, partially disassembling the weapon, causing the barrel to fall off unnoticed. Worse, it might disconnect but remain loosely attached, and you wouldn’t know until you attempted to fire. Then you faced bigger issues than just the ambush. Consequently, M60 gunners learned to clean weapons religiously, doing everything to avoid jams.
They fashioned handles from coat hangers for hot barrels, reinforced pistol grips with wire and duct tape because they broke easily, and ensured gas systems were oiled, clean, and tuned perfectly. Then there was the allegedly quick barrel swap. Gunners were taught to change barrels after 10 minutes of sustained fire or 400 to 600 rounds of rapid fire.
However, in reality, they usually waited until rounds started cooking off in the chamber from immense heat where the firing sound changed, signaling the final opportunity to swap before disaster struck. But here’s the issue. Inside the heat of combat, likely while receiving fire because you stopped shooting, you had to release the lock lever.
You twisted out a glowing red barrel with nowhere to grip except using an asbestous mitt or cloth. Then you inserted the fresh barrel, locked it, and resumed. Severe burns were common for gunners and assistants. In early models, designers apparently forgot the barrel needed a handle. So when you learn Richard Pitman’s M60 jammed at a critical moment, understand this wasn’t rare. It was almost anticipated.
On July 24th, 1966, during Operation Hastings near the DMZ, a marine company moved through dense forest where trees reached 90 ft and a single trail cut the undergrowth. 21-year-old Lance Corporal Richard Pitman was a squad leader near the columns rear. He had nearly been disqualified for poor vision, but persisted to join the Marines, proving himself a solid infantryman.
As the unit descended a wooded slope, the lead element walked into a professionally planned trap. Without warning, mortar explosions and heavy automatic fire slammed the columns front from hidden NVA bunkers. The enemy force was likely battalion sized with overlapping fire zones designed to trap Marines in a lethal kill box.
The lead platoon took heavy hits. Many men fell wounded or dead instantly, and survivors were pinned, screaming for support. Pitman was in the rear, 50 yards from the ambush, a position called Tail End Charlie. Hearing the screams and gunfire ahead, he immediately grasped the situation. The forward marines desperately needed suppression to counter the enemy’s overwhelming volume.
Pitman didn’t waver. He traded his M16 for an M60 from a nearby weapons squad, which happened to be the only working machine gun available. He slung ammo belts over his shoulder and sprinted up the trail directly into the kill zone. As he charged, the enemy spotted him. Intense fire erupted from both sides of the path with NVA troops at close range trying to drop him.
Pitman fired the M60 from the hip while running, spraying the jungle edges to keep attackers back. He silenced at least two enemy crews during this solo run. Reaching the front, he found chaos, wounded and dead men on the ground, survivors hiding behind meager cover and the NVA pouring fire into the zone.
Pitman pushed into the center of the madness and opened up. Standing fully exposed on the trail, sweeping the M60 back and forth, he hammered NVA locations with long bursts until they kept their heads down. Under his cover, other Marines began dragging wounded men back to defensible spots. Pitman’s fire was the only factor preventing the enemy from finishing them.
Then between 30 and 40 North Vietnamese soldiers emerged, charging the Marine position to overrun them. Pitman stood his ground, meeting the assault headon, cutting down several attackers before the rush collapsed. But amidst this intense shooting, after hundreds of rounds, Pitman’s M60 finally failed.
The weapon likely fouled or overheated, and the last working Marine machine gun in that sector was dead. Pitman didn’t stop. He dropped the useless M60, snatched an enemy submachine gun from a fallen NVA soldier, and grabbed a .45 pistol from a wounded Marine. He continued firing, alternating between the pistol and captured weapon, refusing to let the enemy regroup.
The ferocity of his defense confused them, and after taking heavy casualties, they pulled back. Pitman fired at the retreating troops until both guns were empty, then threw his final grenade. The company lost 18 killed and 82 wounded. Remarkably, Pitman survived without serious injury, almost unheard of after charging alone through pointblank fire.
A platoon sergeant later credited Pitman with saving his life and many others. Pitman received the Medal of Honor from President Johnson in 1968, serving 23 years in the Corps, retiring as a master sergeant. He struggled for years with memories of that day. Seeing friends die, wondering if his actions mattered. Only decades later, hearing from survivors did he accept his M60 charge was the difference between life and death for those Marines.
Troops like Pitman relied on unstable machinery, so they improvised solutions far beyond duct tape and wire handles. The persistent issue was ammunition. The M60 devoured 600 rounds a minute, and battles lasted hours. Every soldier’s greatest fear was the gun running dry, so the whole squad carried extra ammo. Each man hauled at least 100 round belt, while the gun team split, 1200 rounds between them.
Remember, a 100 round belt weighed 7 lb, and the team carried thousands of rounds depending on the mission. All this was added to standard gear, water, and food carried through humid, hot terrain. Green units carried belts crisscrossed on their chests, like the cool photos Rambo later mimicked. But hiking through the jungle collected twigs and dirt, bending winks or casings, causing jams at terrible moments. So soldiers got smarter.
They packed belts in claymore bags, rigged improvised ready ammo holders on the gun, and wired cration cans under the feed tray to guide the belt. Some went further. They took radio backpacks, attached flexible feed shoots from downed helicopters to the M60, loaded the pack with linked belts, and fed the gun continuously.
It was heavy, but the gunner could fire without reloading until something broke or ammo ran out. Special units like long range reconnaissance patrols took modification further, actually sawing off the M60’s barrel and stock to save weight. Operating deep in hostile territory with small teams when they hit large enemy forces, they used this saw-edoff M60 to generate confusion.
The team would lay low, providing suppression, while the gunner with the shortened M60 stood up, spinning in circles, firing everywhere. The short barrel produced a massive flash and deafening noise. By doing this, they mimicked a larger force, using the chaos to break contact, but no modification changed what was fundamentally expected of M60 gunners.
When the squad hit an ambush, they were expected to open heavy fire immediately and push front, disregarding safety to pin the enemy so others could survive. Sometimes that meant making a choice you likely wouldn’t survive. Barely weeks after the Saigon battle on March 17th, 1968, 20-year-old Specialist Edward D’vor was an M60 gunner with the 9inth Infantry Division, sweeping the Meong Delta south of Saigon.
The terrain was swampy, low-lying, filled with canals, rice patties, and nepa palm clumps. Ground offering perfect cover for fortifications. D’vor’s platoon was the point element, meaning they would face resistance first. As they advanced through a marsh, they walked into a close-range trap. A hidden bunker complex in a Nepa palm thicket 20 m ahead opened fire, unleashing grenades, rockets, and automatic weapons simultaneously.
Additionally, the enemy detonated claymore mines in the kill zone. The spray of steel balls tore through Americans caught in the open. One soldier died instantly. Three fell wounded. All were hit in the ambush’s first seconds. D’Vor reacted instantly, disregarding bullets snapping through the swamp.
He raced forward until he had a clear line on the treeine’s muzzle flashes. He opened up with the M60, providing suppression almost single-handedly. His fire let other soldiers crawl out to drag wounded men back. D’Vor’s action allowed the platoon to regroup and treat casualties. Had he not laid down fire, anyone reaching the wounded would have been shot. The unit called support.
Within minutes, artillery hit the enemy, followed by gunships strafing the grove. Afterward, things quieted down. Believing the enemy suppressed, the commander ordered a squad to retrieve the American dead near the bunkers. D’Vor provided overwatch with his M60 as they moved. But as the recovery squad reached the site, Vietkong fighters opened up again with everything.
Automatic fire poured from multiple angles. The squad was trapped in the same kill zone, unable to retreat or advance. D’Vor knew if nothing was done, they would be massacred. He made his choice. Without hesitation, D’Vor rose and charged, moving directly at the active bunkers, firing his M60 from the hip.
His plan was to draw enemy fire onto himself so the trapped squad could escape. Platoon members yelled for him to stop, but he ignored them. He waited through the swamp, closing on the bunkers. At roughly 35 m, an enemy bullet struck his shoulder, knocking him into the muddy water. The impact dropped him hard, but D’vor didn’t stay down, ignoring pain and shouts to return.
He stood and continued the assault alone, firing bursts to keep the enemy suppressed. His one-man charge worked. Every enemy gun focused on the lone American charging headon. The Vietkong targeted D’vour, taking pressure off the pinned squad, allowing them to scramble to safety. D’Vor kept firing and advancing despite the odds.
He was close to the bunkers now, but exposed to multiple firing ports. As he closed in, more rounds found him. He collapsed roughly 30 m short of the complex. Witnesses say even in his final moments, D’vor tried to keep firing. Edward D’vor was 20 years old. His sacrifice allowed his squad to survive a massacre. His family accepted his postumous Medal of Honor from President Nixon in 1970.
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