Joseph Giannini - U.S. Marine 1967-1968

Joseph Giannini served with the U.S. Marine Corps 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines in Vietnam from 1967-68. Joesph grew up in Long Island, New York, graduated from Hofstra University and served with the First Battalion, Third Marines. He is retired from his criminal law practice of more than 40 years and has been a member of VVAW since the first Gulf War. Joseph writes short stories and hosts GUNG HO a show on public access television that discusses Veteran’s issues.

Poncho Rotation by Joseph Giannini

Dead Marines were wrapped in their own ponchos and quickly choppered away: Out of sight out of mind.

It's 3 a.m. I'm due in court at 10 a.m. to sum up for the defense in the most difficult case of my career. A Panamanian ex-con has been indicted for Murder One in the shooting of an undercover New York City Police Officer and the Attempted Murder of his partner. For the year leading up to the trial the shootings have been on the media's front burner. The coverage has been intensely prejudicial to my client and our line of defense, going as far as to mock me on the nightly news.

We are a month into the trial. The prosecution is claiming that my client attacked an officer working anti-crime and that during the ensuing struggle he disarmed and killed the officer with his own revolver. The surviving partner has already testified to the above. He has also testified that during a wild shootout, my client tried to kill him too. However, all the forensic evidence-- autopsy, ballistics and crime-scene investigation--indicates that the officer was killed by a distant shot. A shot that deflected off a hard object, possibly a car bumper, and into the officer's back. Most damning to the prosecution, my private investigator has found an eyewitness who contradicts the surviving partner's version. Our witness has testified that she heard a shot, went to a window and saw a white male fire more shots toward several men who were in a scuffle up the block. This shooter could be the surviving partner or another police officer.

Before the trial began, I visited the District Attorney's office many times to examine evidence and get additional discovery. On several occasions I ran into the surviving police officer. Each time, he bowed his head and looked away from me. Strange reaction. I'd seen it before. But where? When?

The huge case file--testimony transcripts, discovery documents and copies of exhibits--is spread across our dining room table. I've read it all and cannot find a way to shape it into a story to tell the jury. I believe, based on the evidence and lack of evidence, that the police are covering up a scandal: The accidental killing of an off-duty police officer by his off-duty partner or another, unknown off-duty officer during a shakedown. Suddenly I start to remember an incident from many years ago. A killing. A cover-up. It's coming back to me. The past is reaching up to the present, revealing the truth. I couldn't see it because I was blinded by my own guilt. I know now I must go back.

At 10 a.m. I stand and begin my summation. Two hours later I take the jury back In Country. To August 1967. Every Marine sent to Nam had to do a 13-month tour. Each had a rotation date. The day he would leave the field for home. Dead Marines, in most situations, were wrapped in their own ponchos and quickly choppered away. We called this poncho rotation. This practice left their friends without a chance to properly mourn them. I suspect that this quick removal of the dead Marines was calculated: Out of sight, out of mind.

I arrived In Country in early July 1967 and joined the First Battalion Third Marines, aka The Home Of The Brave. I took command of the 81-mortar platoon. Their platoon leader had just been killed in the DMZ, aka the Dead Marine Zone. A week later I was reassigned to a rifle platoon, Bravo One, B Company. When I picked up Bravo One I had the good luck to get an outstanding platoon sergeant. I knew as soon as I met Staff Sergeant Head that he was a survivor. Better stick close. Up to mid-August our platoon had suffered only four WIA's, three to booby-traps and one from friendly artillery.

The sun is starting to cast shadows as Bravo Company moves onto a small hill next to a deserted village. High ground has distinct military advantages. I get a radio call from the Company Commander, Captain Landes.

"Bravo One this is Bravo Six, over."

"Bravo Six this is Bravo One, over." "Bravo One come on up, out."

I join the Company Commander and the two other platoon leaders. Captain Landes says, "We're setting in. Three-man holes. I want each platoon to send out a four-man listening post. Code name: Snoopy. Follow me I'll show you your platoon sectors." We go off at a quick pace.

Upon returning to my platoon, I call up Staff Sergeant Head, the Platoon Sergeant, Sergeant Falafeni, the Platoon Guide and my two squad leaders. "We're setting in. Sergeant King your squad has a listening post. Four men. Code name: Snoopy One. OK follow me." As we move, I indicate where to put each fighting hole and each of the two machine-gun teams. We dig in. Eat C-rats. Divide our night watches. Just as the sun is about to disappear behind the distant mountains to our west, Bravo Six radios down: "Stand to." I relay the order to Bravo One. Every Marine stops whatever he is doing, gets into his fighting hole and faces outboard. This is an important ritual that we perform every dusk and dawn. I order "Lights out." No smoking. No fires. No unnecessary noise. Out here, any kind of light can be seen from a great distance. Even whispers travel very far. The LP is sent out one hundred meters into the deserted village.

I've got the 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. watch. During every watch I walk the lines several times, to make sure at least one Marine is awake and alert in each fighting hole. I start my first round and as I approach the first machine gun team position someone whispers, "Be careful Lieutenant, it's steep and slippery here." I recognize the voice as Machine Gunner Joseph Listorti.

I remember the first time we met. I had just taken over the platoon and made my first amphibious landing with them. We advanced over a wide beach to a long line of very high sand dunes. We stayed in the dunes and dug in as night approached. Sometime during that dark night I walked the lines, for my first time, with Platoon Sergeant Head. During the walk we stopped at the first machine gun position and a Marine said to Head, "How's the new Lieutenant?"

Head replied, "I don't know, why don't you ask him yourself?"

Then from the same Marine, "Oh shit, I mean sorry Sir."

Head turned to me and said, "Sir this is machine gunner Joseph Listori"

I walk by, check the remaining positions, and return to mine. The night is cloudy and moonlit. It's two a.m. and very quiet. I decide to check the LP again. "Snoopy One this is Bravo One. If clear click twice if not click once." One click. I reach over and shake awake Staff Sergeant Head. "We have movement by the LP." He gets Sergeant Falafeni and they run off to make sure everyone is on alert. I look up and down the lines. Marines in fighting positions. I notice the machine gunner to my right has moved forward to get a better field of fire. The platoon knows to hold its fire. Suddenly there's a racket of small-arms fire from the village. The LP has made contact. I crouch lower as rounds start whizzing into our lines. Without permission Snoopy One is moving back. I shout "Hold your fire, the LP is coming in." The firing stops.

I hear "Corpsman, Corpsman" coming from the machine-gun team to my right. I run over. Staff Sergeant Head is already there. Snoopy One is coming through our lines. I bend down and kneel alongside the downed gunner. Blood is oozing from his left eye. I hear his soft moaning.

"He's dying." Sergeant Head says, then adds "Lieutenant, look at his helmet." He points to a small hole in front and says, "This wasn't an AK-47 round, this is a small-caliber round, an M-16."

The moaning is barely audible.

I look around for Snoopy One. They are standing nearby. I approach and ask, "Did you get any incoming?" Bowed heads. No eye contact. No response. In that instant I realize that their fear made them panic. Their panic caused them to run, firing wildly into our own lines.

Staff Sergeant Head calls me back to where the machine gunner has fallen and says, "He's dead. Do you know who it is?"

"Joseph Listorti."

Sergeant Head then says, "Lieutenant, Joe has already finished his tour and was rotating home on the next chopper." I didn't know. We wrap Joseph in his poncho. I hear the medevac chopper coming for him. It's quiet now. Joseph Listorti is on his way home. I'm thinking about his mother and father waiting for him. His suffering over. Theirs is about to begin, unbearable and unending. I'll report his death as killed in action by enemy fire.

Under my command the platoon has suffered its first killed in action. A bad omen. Joseph Listorti had completed his tour. Killed by another Marine. I'll go crazy if I keep thinking about this. I won't be able to function. I'll get killed. Or, worse, cause other Marines to get killed. I'll block this out. I'll push Joseph's death and my guilt down into a dark space and keep them there. Suddenly my left shoulder begins to twitch. It stops about a minute later. Then my right eyelid starts. It doesn't stop twitching until I'm on a plane back to the World.

Joseph's father and mother went to their graves not knowing the truth about his death. His three sisters still believe he was killed by enemy fire. I never told anyone that a fellow Marine killed him. I covered it up. And that is just what happened here.

I turn from the jury and face the spectators. I raise my right arm and point to the surviving police officer and say, "There's the guilt."

End note: My client, Renaldo Rayside, was acquitted two days later.