Sandy,

Please don’t be discouraged at the slow mail. You know I love you; it hurts when you sound so depressed. I count the days until I’ll have you in my arms again, Darling. Please take care and remember me in your prayers.

—Richard

29

High-Angle Hell

September 1970

Bravo Company rejoiced to leave the fire base tar baby and be thrown into the jungle briar patch. Sun, heat, fire base discipline, and general hustle and bustle would be exchanged for shade, silence, and independence in triple-canopy jungle.

Bravo would make a direct exchange with Delta, replacing it in the field as it replaced us on the fire base. Delta Company had been following a well-used trail in the jungle, finding little to report except the trail itself. Only VC would use a major trail such as this, slicing through remote regions. Delta had not yet discovered its purpose and preferred to stay until it had, but it had been out for over a month and was due to rotate back to the fire base.

The exchange was especially complicated. Two trees had been cut with C4, creating a single-ship LZ. One load of Bravo’s troopers was inserted and one of Delta’s taken out, over and over again. The single chopper hovered at the top of the jungle canopy, 100 feet above the ground, settled straight down for 50 feet, turned 90 degrees, and settled another 50 feet before landing. Eight Bravo troopers exited and eight Delta troopers got on each time. Going back up was the reverse of the delicate process. The method was dangerous, and it required three hours to complete the exchange.

Captain Lee Hyslop and I talked for fifteen minutes.

“We followed the trail for three days,” Lee said, pointing towards the ridgeline.

“Find anything?” I asked.

“Nothing to report, but you’ll see. This trail is heavily used, and there aren’t any civilians out here, so it has to be an infiltration route.”

“No sightings?” I asked.

“Not yet, but they’re close. I didn’t want to do the exchange today because we’re already here. I don’t know if they knew we were here. We moved fast, but I worry about an ambush."

“If they didn’t know you were here before, they know it now.” I shook my head. Three hours of helicopters going in and out would wake the dead. “I’m surprised they haven’t tried to shoot down a chopper. If one crashed here, we’d be stuck with our companies split and no landing zone.”

Lee said, “You have more than half your guys in. I’ll go out on the next one. Make sure the rest of mine get out, will you? If anything happens, anybody still here will stay under your command.”

“Thanks for the brief, Lee. Good luck at the fire base, and kiss the Mad Italian on the cheek for me.” I slapped my butt with my free hand.

Lee smiled, gathered up his radio operators for the next extraction, and left me with my thoughts. I decided to look at the trail and took a couple of nearby riflemen and my radio operators, Jim Johnson and Don Verruchi (both were always attached to me by the radios they carried) to examine it. Sure enough, the footpath was worn down to the dark earth and was sufficiently wide for a person to easily pass without touching jungle brush on either side. It reminded me of the Appalachian Trail in the eastern United States, but it wasn’t nearly as inviting.

By the time the exchange was completed darkness and a driving rain had settled over us. I moved the company a short distance from the LZ to set up defenses for the night. It was our first night back in the jungle; everyone was alert. Even the newest trooper recognized the nature of the situation created by the commotion made in exchanging companies that advertised our presence. That, combined with the indications of presence on the trail, aroused a feeling that we were being watched. We knew the 33d Regiment frequented the area. I concentrated on Lee’s fear of walking into an ambush and determined not to.

We started out early next morning, anxious to get some distance from the spot where we had entered the jungle. Following a breakfast of dehydrated rations, I directed two platoons and the command group to follow the trail, with one patrol sweeping each side of it. The terrain was quite hilly. Movement off the trail by the security platoons was not difficult, because the ground under the mahogany jungle was open. Tall hardwoods formed a dense canopy that kept the sun off the ground, making it dark and shady underneath, with little ground vegetation. Open space allowed vision for thirty meters most of the time. Visibility worked both ways. Trail watchers would find it easy to follow our movement while remaining out of sight. At times I felt eyes watching me—and I didn’t like the feeling. The hair on the back of my neck would stand up when triggered by especially strong suspicions.

While I was pleased to be away from the fire base, I was uneasy about our situation. Delta Company really should have been left on the trail. The noisy exchange allowed anyone to know exactly where we were and to calculate our strength based on the number of helicopters going in and out. The math was simple, the consequences were dire.

Bravo Company moved several kilometers along the trail in a driving rain. We entered a semiopen area unlike the high canopy of the mahogany jungle, a clearing overgrown with low trees with trunks of two to three inches in diameter. This would have served as a better LZ for our exchange. We stopped to set up a patrol base, while platoons scouted in several directions.

One platoon worked each side of the trail, another formed a perimeter around the command group, and the 4th Platoon swept a 100-meter-diameter circle around us.