Category: Real men
Shot down in a hostile landing zone, blasted apart, and stabbed through the leg, Gary Wetzel still fought his way back to an M60 machine gun. What happened next earned him the Medal of Honor and made his Vietnam story almost impossible to believe.
Gary Wetzel’s Medal of Honor Fight Began in a Huey

Gary Wetzel was born in 1947 in South Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In 1965, he was an 18-year-old soldier working in ordnance. He enlisted for three more years to serve as a door gunner on UH1 Huey helicopters in Vietnam. Wetzel was assigned to the 173d Assault Helicopter Company near Ap Dong An.
A group of four Australian helos flew into Wetzel’s firebase and got badly shot up for their trouble. Most of the hostile ground fire they had taken originated a mere kilometer from the perimeter.
Realizing the imminent threat this represented, Wetzel’s commander put together a quick reaction mission to seek out the local VC force and eliminate it. On January 8, 1968, PFC Wetzel climbed aboard his Huey and charged his M60 machine gun. They took off as a flight of fourteen aircraft. Ten were American UH1s. The four Australian helicopters took part as well.
The Guns Gary Wetzel Carried Into a Vietnamese Killing Zone

By 1968, Vietnam was a mature war zone. That meant weapons were absolutely everywhere. The M16 was and is a solid combat rifle. However, at 39 inches overall, it is a bit bulky for the confines of a tactical helicopter.

The XM177E2 was the stubby carbine version of the M16 that was just seeing widespread issue to Special Forces troops. It would yet be a while before there were enough carbines to filter down to aviation units. In the meantime, Wetzel and his mates scrounged whatever they could find.
The US gifted untold tons of WW2-surplus ordnance to the South Vietnamese. Among these weapons were huge numbers of vintage M3 Grease Guns as well as M2 carbines and Thompson SMGs. Many of these weapons ended up available for barter among American troops.

Among aircrews, folding stock Kalashnikovs were prized but hen’s-teeth rare. I have heard of captured cut-down RPD belt-fed machine guns being used as well, but they were about as common as Bigfoot or fiscally responsible Congressmen.
Flight crews not infrequently tucked an M79 40mm grenade launcher into their birds for a little serious thump. However, WW2-vintage .45ACP submachine guns were not uncommon. Wetzel packed a Tommy Gun himself.

The Thompson really was a niche tool. Those big, fat .45ACP rounds lost energy quickly at long ranges, and the thing was heavier than Aunt Edna’s prize Christmas fruit cake.
Additionally, the ergonomics were all wrong, so it took some attention to technique to run the gun accurately and well. However, for a generation raised on Saturday afternoon gangster movies, the Thompson carried some undeniable sex appeal.
RPG Impact: Gary Wetzel’s Huey Falls Into a Kill Zone

Standard Operating Procedure had Huey gunships in the lead to sterilize the landing zone with machine gun fire and rockets.
However, in this case, the gunships inexplicably fell behind. Wetzel’s slick was one of the first aircraft into the LZ. As they were on final approach, VC streamed out of the jungle like ants and opened fire. Wetzel noticed the RPG-2 rocket just before it impacted his aircraft.
I used to fly Army helicopters myself. They are amazingly capable machines. However, they were never designed to withstand hits from anti-tank weapons. The RPG struck the Huey solidly in the left front. Wetzel’s pilots got the stricken bird to the ground more or less intact, but they were in a world of hurt.
One of the pilots had his legs shot to pieces. Wetzel and his crew chief wrestled the stricken officer out of the aircraft and took cover behind the disabled machine. At that moment, one of the VC threw a Combloc grenade that exploded among them.
The blast liberally peppered Wetzel with shrapnel and shattered his left arm, leaving it dangling uselessly at an unnatural angle.
One Arm Ruined, Thompson Roaring: Wetzel Fights Back

So, imagine the scene. One moment, you’re making a low-level approach into a hostile LZ. Next, your aircraft is shot to pieces, and your pilot is bleeding to death. Then the VC blows your arm off. Most normal guys would have just rolled over and quit. However, Gary Wetzel was no normal guy.
The VC soldier who threw the first grenade was now readying a second. Firing his Thompson one-handed, Wetzel stitched the man up, causing him to drop his primed grenade. The little sputtering bomb exploded among the attacking VC and caused a brief lull in the incoming fire.
Wetzel and his crew chief took advantage of the respite to get tourniquets on the legs of the grievously wounded pilot. Then Wetzel noticed half a dozen VC struggling to remove his M60 from its pedestal mount on the side of the crashed helicopter. Once again, taking his Tommy Gun in his one remaining good hand, the badly wounded gunner took out all six with a long full-auto burst.
Despite their best efforts, the young pilot bled out and died. This was more than Gary Wetzel had signed up for this day. Now simply angry, he stuffed his useless left hand into his pistol belt so it wouldn’t flop around while he ran, stood up, and charged back over to the smoldering aircraft.
Back to the M60: Gary Wetzel Charges Through Enemy Fire

The VC had not been idle throughout all of this. They marshalled in the treeline and prepared for a massed attack.
The enemy well appreciated that the greatest strength of the American military was its essentially unlimited close air support. If they had any hope of defeating the American assault, they had to get in close, too close for helicopter gunships and fast mover jets to lay down effective supporting fires. What happened next would determine whether Wetzel and his buddies lived or died.
Under suffocating enemy fire, Gary Wetzel charged across the open rice paddy toward his pedestal-mounted machine gun. Communist bullets sleeted across the space by the hundreds. Then one of the charging VC stabbed him through the leg with a bayonet, knocking him to the ground.
I saw an interview with Gary Wetzel where he related what happened next in his own words. His left arm was essentially shot off, and he had just taken a bayonet to his leg.
His chest was thoroughly ventilated with shrapnel, as was his remaining good arm. He claimed he had no idea how he cleared the distance to the downed helicopter. He just said that the bayonet wound knocked him to the ground and that the next conscious memory he had was behind his gun.

The aircraft was dead, but Wetzel’s pig was just fine. He also had access to plenty of ammunition and was savvy enough to run his gun one-handed. Despite multiple horrific wounds, PFC Wetzel poured fire into the enemy emplacements. He eventually suppressed and then destroyed the VC gunners that had taken them under fire.
Bleeding Out, Wetzel Still Dragged His Buddies to Cover

With the major threat eliminated, there was still plenty to do. The VC kept shooting into the LZ, and there were scads of American wounded. Despite having his arm blown to pieces and having taken a stab wound through the leg, PFC Wetzel dragged injured American troops across the slippery mud of the rice paddy so that the medic could work to stabilize them. He lost consciousness several times due to his own bleeding, but refused to stop until his fellow soldiers were behind cover.
PFC Wetzel was eventually medevac’d. He lost his left arm but saved an LZ full of GIs. Here is his Medal of Honor citation:
Gary Wetzel’s Official Medal of Honor Citation
“Sp4c. Wetzel, 173d Assault Helicopter Company, distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Sp4c. Wetzel was serving as door gunner aboard a helicopter which was part of an insertion force trapped in a landing zone by intense and deadly hostile fire. Sp4c. Wetzel was going to the aid of his aircraft commander when he was blown into a rice paddy and critically wounded by two enemy rockets that exploded just inches from his location. Although bleeding profusely due to the loss of his left arm and severe wounds in his right arm, chest, and left leg, Sp4c. Wetzel staggered back to his original position in his gun-well and took the enemy forces under fire. His machine gun was the only weapon placing effective fire on the enemy at that time. Through a resolve that overcame the shock and intolerable pain of his injuries, Sp4c. Wetzel remained at his position until he had eliminated the automatic-weapons emplacement that had been inflicting heavy casualties on the American troops and preventing them from moving against this strong enemy force. Refusing to attend his own extensive wounds, he attempted to return to the aid of his aircraft commander but passed out from loss of blood. Regaining consciousness, he persisted in his efforts to drag himself to the aid of his fellow crewman. After an agonizing effort, he came to the side of the crew chief who was attempting to drag the wounded aircraft commander to the safety of a nearby dike. Unswerving in his devotion to his fellow man, Sp4c. Wetzel assisted his crew chief even though he lost consciousness once again during this action. Sp4c. Wetzel displayed extraordinary heroism in his efforts to aid his fellow crewmen. His gallant actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of the U.S. Army and reflect great credit upon himself and the Armed Forces of his country.”
Source: Congressional Medal of Honor Society, Gary George Wetzel recipient record and official citation.
Gary Wetzel Comes Home: A Medal of Honor Legacy

Gary Wetzel returned home to Milwaukee after he recovered to take a job as a heavy equipment operator. This guy is a freaking animal, the kind of amazing American hero who made America what it is today. This one-armed military machine would not quit when quitting was the only reasonable thing to do. In so doing, he showed us all what it truly means to be a man.
Manly Stuff

He led a reconnaissance team during a mission near Phú Lộc, Vietnam, in 1967. During the engagement, Capers sustained multiple wounds while directing his men and coordinating their evacuation under intense enemy fire. His actions were instrumental in saving the lives of every member of his team.
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Pity it took so long to get it to him! (Almost 60 years!!) But that’s the problem with the Blue Max. In that sometimes you get it ASAP & other times it’s almost too late. I say that it’s just pure BS and a few officers need a blow torch pointed at them. Grumpy
A couple of real STUDS in my book! Grumpy
Forced to dig his own grave in Iraq, Fabrizio Quattrocchi answered his killers with one final act of raw defiance. This is a hard look at death, faith, courage, and the Italian who refused to die quietly.

Death, Faith, and the Question Fabrizio Quattrocchi Forces Us to Face
Today, we are going to talk about some pretty dark stuff. Death rightfully makes people uncomfortable. It is the innately unknowable nature of the thing that leaves folks so predictably discomfited. We all have theories. However, by definition, if somebody is talking about it, they’ve not yet actually given it a whirl themselves.
Any proper discussion of death touches upon issues of faith. As anyone who has read my work for more than a week will appreciate, I have strongly-held opinions on that subject. I am an unabashedly evangelical Christian. I wear Jesus on my sleeve. My faith informs everything about how I approach both my life and my inevitable demise.
My conclusions are drawn from some fairly extensive life experience. I have come face-to-face with my own mortality a couple of times and found peace waiting for me there. I have also attended a fair number of deaths professionally. Here are two representative examples.
Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes: Death in Trauma 1

Patient 1 was a gladiator. He rolled into the inner city ER where I worked, having been shot in the right chest some fifteen minutes earlier by a fellow thug armed with a .380ACP handgun. He was fit, muscular, and covered in gang tats. He was also coming absolutely unglued.
This desperate young man shouted, screamed, and flailed. It took five of us to restrain him long enough to get him situated on the bed in Trauma 1. And then the most amazing thing happened.
Over the next few minutes, his entire demeanor changed. He went from fighting us to begging us. “Please don’t let me die!” was a common refrain. And then he gradually acted like we weren’t even there.
As the blood steadily filled his chest, this horrified kid began praying with every fiber of his being. He shouted, “Please, Jesus, don’t let me die!” over and over and over. Then he arched his back, blood poured out of his mouth and nose, and he died. We did everything we could, but it all just happened too fast.
A Peace That Passes All Understanding: A Veteran’s Final Hours

I met Patient 2 in the VA. He was a Korean War veteran. In his prime, this man had been a hellraiser. He abused drugs, alcohol, and women at every opportunity. Then he found Jesus.
This gentleman was a Messianic Jew, and his Christian conversion changed absolutely everything about him. He walked away from alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs in an afternoon. Then he successfully resurrected his family. When I met him, he was dying of a squamous cell carcinoma of his sinuses that had metastasized to his lungs. The horrible treatments for his ghastly disease had stolen his sense of sight, smell, and taste, and rendered him nearly deaf. Now his lung mets were drowning him slowly, one drop at a time. Despite the horrors of this man’s sordid state, he was inexplicably happy. This guy was about to meet Jesus face to face, and he was like a kid on Christmas Eve.
I did the best I could to make him comfortable, but the poor man was both blind and dying. There were only so many options at my disposal. For a medicine man, these cases bring their own unique challenges.

On our second day together, he spontaneously took my arm and pulled me close. I assumed he wanted to tell me something or other that he needed. He then inexplicably pulled his oxygen mask off and immediately began turning blue. With his dying breath, this unimaginably miserable guy actually prayed for me.
He prayed for my family and me and my ministry in the hospital. He prayed that I might find the same peace and joy in Christ that he had found. This amazing dude prayed until he literally could no longer speak. As you might imagine, this experience moved me. I replaced his oxygen mask, thanked him sincerely, and left for home with quite a lot to think about.
The following morning, with my arm around his wife’s shoulders, I watched this extraordinary man die. I had known him all of three days. He met his end with dignity, peace, and hope. Attending his death was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. Draw your own conclusions.
The Incredibly Intrepid Italian: Who Was Fabrizio Quattrocchi?
Fabrizio Quattrocchi was born on 9 MAY 1968 in Catania, Italy. He trained as a baker before eventually finding work as a security contractor in Iraq. In 2004, Iraq was an absolute hellhole. However, in chaos, there is profit. There was money to be made in this space. Quattrocchi was an old-school mercenary.

Iraq, Captivity, and a Hole in the Earth
Operating in a war zone is the most dangerous of human pursuits. That’s why the money is so good. With so many heavily armed folks running about with deeply held political and theological agendas, people invariably get hurt. Quattrocchi, along with three fellow Italian soldiers-for-hire named Umberto Cupertino, Maurizio Agliana, and Salvatore Stefio were captured by a lunatic mob called the Green Brigade of the Prophet.
Quattrocchi and his buddies were working for DTS Security LLC. DTS was incorporated in Nevada and run by a former Italian Marine/French Foreign Legionnaire named Paolo Simeone and Italian lawyer Valeria Castellini. They tried to get their guys back, but DTS was a company, not a nation-state. It takes some serious resources to recruit, train, equip, and employ SEAL Team 6. For a time, at least, these four poor guys were on their own.
The Green Brigade of the Prophet felt they needed to make an example to ensure they were being taken seriously. As a result, they forced Fabrizio Quattrocchi to dig his own grave. These homicidal losers then placed a hood over his head and made him kneel in the soft earth next to his hole. Like all professional nut job psychopaths, they had also set up video recording equipment to preserve the moment in all its gory glory. It really is tough for me to visualize raw, unfettered hate on this scale.

I’ll Show You How an Italian Dies: Quattrocchi’s Final Defiance
Quattrocchi knew exactly what was about to happen. He had, after all, just dug the hole. He was in a place that would rightly terrify all sensible people everywhere. Quattrocchi was about to face his own mortality, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.
Tragically, lots of folks have been there before. Some beg for their lives, imploring their captors for mercy. Others spit venom from the precipice of the abyss. Quattrocchi, for his part, clawed at his hood so he could see the men who were about to take his life and shouted, “Vi faccio vedere come muore un Italiano!” This translates to, “I’ll show you how an Italian dies!” One of the terrorists then stepped forward and shot him through the back of the neck. At least it was quick. Quattrocchi was 35 years old at the time of his death.
The Rest of the Story: Rescue, Honor, and Controversy

American forces later raided the safehouse where they were being held and rescued the three remaining Italian security contractors along with a Pole named Jerzy Kos. Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi personally approved the mission in advance.
Italian President Carlo Azeglio Ciampi awarded Fabrizio Quattrocchi a posthumous Gold Medal for Civil Valour. This award demands a specific documented act of bravery to be eligible. Quattrocchi’s defiance towards the men who murdered him seemed more than adequate.
Curiously, not everyone in Italy felt this way. Almost all Italians rightfully reviled Saddam Hussein and Muslim fundamentalist terrorists in general. However, most Italians also disapproved of their country’s involvement in the Iraq War. Then, as now, much of the civilized world would sooner ignore such problems in hopes that they would just go away.
Quite a few Italians had lost their lives amidst the tumultuous fighting in the Middle East. Folks from across the Italian political spectrum griped that their particular people had not been afforded comparable accolades. Whatever. Fabrizio Quattrocchi was a freaking animal, no matter the metric.
Ruminations: What Fabrizio Quattrocchi Left Behind

There are some cruel jokes levied at our brothers in France and Italy.
Fabrizio Quattrocchi: How an Italian Dies
What is the world’s shortest list? A compilation of contemporary Italian war heroes. Such stuff stems from a deplorable tendency by much of modern Europe to eschew the manly arts.
Nowadays, good old-fashioned patriotism is denigrated as nationalism, something to be avoided no matter the cost. Europe looks at the monsters in the gates (I’m talking to you, Vladimir Putin and the Iranian theocrats) and fails to take action because they have convinced themselves over decades that what they have is no longer worth defending.
The Union Jack is arguably the most compelling national standard on Planet Earth, yet many modern Britons hate it because they have been conditioned to view their own flag as a symbol of oppression. Such national self-flagellation will not take them to a good place in a world so liberally populated with hate-fueled psychos like the Green Brigade of the Prophet.
Fabrizio Quattrocchi was a proper man to the end. He faced his death and those who were killing him with poise, power, and defiance. The scumbags who murdered him are rightfully gone and forgotten. The world is objectively way better off without them. As we corn-fed Americans wax introspective regarding how to comport ourselves when faced with uncertainty and violence both at home and abroad, might I recommend we actually take hints from a certain brass-balled Italian baker? Fabrizio Quattrocchi showed us all how to die well.
