CHAPTER 6

They did not look at each other while they spoke but only squinted ahead toward the building. “Why we goin to this fuckin briefin?” Egan asked. “I mean, why this briefin? We never go to briefins.”

“We never go,” Brooks answered, “because we always … we’re always in the boonies.”

“L-T, you been ta briefins before. You know they aint goina say nothin.”

“Come on, Danny. You really can’t tell. We might get something. Besides, the colonel wanted a good showing for the Third Brigade CO.”

“Shee-it. REMFs givin the briefin only do it so they can kiss the colonel’s ass. And the colonel, he only goes cause he likes to have his ass kissed.”

“Maybe so.”

“They already worked everythin out in the TOC before. Or in the colonel’s office or in the general’s hootch while the old man’s ballin some gook whore.”

“Shhh. Looks like they’re already underway.”

In the 101st Airborne Division (Airmobile) it was not atypical for a battalion from one brigade to be placed under the operational control of another brigade for short duration assaults. Airmobility produced a functional efficiency in the deployment of forces which previous warfare had never matched. The helicopter made it possible for entire battalions to be under the operational control of one commander in one area one day and under the control of another commander in an area a hundred kilometers away the next day. If the men didn’t have to disembark and slowly trudge by foot about the jungle mountains it would almost be possible to have only one set of boonierats. The army could have twice the commanders with their command posts and maps and charts and electronic surveillance devices and half the ground troops and simply airmobile the troops, op-con the boonierats, in a continuous hopscotching. Troops would no longer belong to a commander but to several commands and the casualties of one real unit could be spread over the various on-paper units. The quicker infantrymen could be moved, the fewer infantrymen would be needed. Theoretically there would have to be more support and transportation troops and the endless deployment, redeployment, redeployment from fight to fight might be hell on the soldiers. That was reality for the one-in-ten American soldiers in Vietnam who were the infantry. One-in-ten was the lowest ratio of line soldiers to support troops in American military history.

The 7th of the 402d was the division reaction force, the cooling unit to be extracted from its AO at any moment and inserted about a hot spot until cooled then extracted and inserted again. Brooks and Egan felt uneasy in the Third Brigade rear. They entered the briefing hall as unobtrusively as possible.

“Gen-tle-men,” a young second lieutenant was saying, “the governing mission of this operation is to conduct airmobile operations in support of the Armed Forces of the Republic of Vietnam, to locate and destroy enemy units and base camps and to interdict enemy movement into the lowlands. Our operations provide the secure environment which is enabling the GVN to pursue the national objectives of political stability and socio-economic development. In support of this mission we will be operating from two headquarters; the main headquarters here at Camp Evans and an advance light TOC on Firebase Barnett. The topographic briefing will be delivered by Sergeant Marquadt. Sergeant.”

Egan and Brooks mingled silently with the company grade officers and enlisted men standing behind the seven rows of seated personnel. The room was bright, lighted by three rows of fluorescent lights and the glow through the translucent shades drawn across the window openings. The room was stuffy. Several senior NCOs sitting in the third and fourth rows were smoking pipes. EM in the back smoked cigarettes. The air about the lights and by the shades was tinted blue. People were shuffling in the chairs and shifting from foot to foot behind. Voices murmured.

The Third Brigade commander—self-named Old Fox—sat sideways in his chair in the front row. The remaining seats in that row were vacant. The second row was occupied by the battalion commander from the 7/402, Lieutenant Colonel Oliver M. Henderson—The GreenMan—and by various commanders from artillery and supply units. In the third row sat the Air Force and Vietnamese liaison officers, intelligence and operations officers and NCOs. Behind these were more staff personnel, officers, NCOs and clerks and in the last rows the company and battery commanders and platoon leaders who had arrived early enough to get a seat. Standing, leaning against the windows and the back wall and against each other were the majority of lower ranking enlisted personnel and late arriving junior officers. Among these were several men from Company A including Jonnie ‘Pop’ Randalph, platoon sergeant of the 2d platoon, Lieutenants Frank De Barti and William Thomaston, platoon leaders of the 2d and 1st platoons, respectively, and Clayton ‘Whiteboy’ Janoff, a squad leader from the 1st platoon who’d only come to accompany Lt. Thomaston.

Egan and Brooks found an open space at the center of the crowded rear section, stood side by side in an informal parade rest and faced forward. “Hey,” Egan nudged Brooks, “can you believe this REMF mentality?” Brooks did not respond.

“Thank you, Sir,” Sergeant Marquadt said insolently. The sergeant approached the podium with an extended chrome swagger. Behind the podium and indeed covering most of that wall of the building was a topographic map of northern I Corps. The map was fourteen feet wide, eight feet high. It was a composite of twenty-eight smaller topographic maps, each covering a grid of 27.5 x 27.5 kilometers. At the top the DMZ was depicted by two roughly parallel lines seven kilometers apart. The Laotian border was marked in red to the left. Jungles were in dark green, clear forests in light green, lowlands and swamps in white with light blue symbols for rice or marsh grass. The entire map had a brown under-hue from the thin topographic lines circling up to the mountain peaks and opening down the valleys, becoming denser as the terrain steepened. To the right was the Gulf of Tonkin in pale blue. Various areas were dotted with red triangles indicating hilltop firebases.

The maps were of a scale of 1:50,000. Infantry units carried those sections in which they operated. Artillery units used the maps in their FDC (Fire Direction Control) to plot missions. At the base of each map, in the key printed in English and Vietnamese, were the disclaimers: DELINEATION OF INTERNAL ADMINISTRATIVE BOUNDARIES IS APPROXIMATE, and DELINEATION OF INTERNATIONAL BOUNDARIES MUST NOT BE CONSIDERED AUTHORITATIVE.

“Gentlemen,” Sergeant First Class Emil Marquadt boomed, “the operational environment is a long occupied, extensively developed and heavily defended supply and logistic base, staging area and communications and transportation center. Resident forces include administrative, logistic, quartermaster and transportation units with organic security as well as some tactical units …” Aw, come on, Man, Egan thought, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “… Central to the landform of this operational area and determinant to the direction of attack is the Khe Ta Laou river valley which runs generally east-west.”

Sergeant Marquadt swung his chrome swagger and slapped the map. He was a large heavy set man with a ruddy, slightly disfigured face.

“Gentlemen, this valley is twelve air kilometers long. With the exception of this one major bow the river runs straight through the valley.” Marquadt traced his statement on the map with the tip of the swagger. “The headwaters of the river and the origin of the valley are in the rugged terrain here, to the east.” His voice rose and fell as he traced up and down the terrain. “The floor of the valley varies in width from 200 meters at its narrowest point to about two kilometers where it enters the Da Krong plain,” he boomed. “The Khe Ta Laou will be the single most useful navigational aid for aircraft flying under conditions of restricted visibility.”

Marquadt belched into his closed left fist and glanced at the brigade commander sitting isolated in the first row. The commander gave no indication of recognizing Marquadt’s presence at all. The sergeant quickly continued. “There is a distinctive feature, a single, very high tree on a knoll where the river bows, which can be located visually from anywhere in or above the valley. It will serve as good navigational reference. You might want to note it on your maps at YD 148321.

“The valley floor is a brushwood area consisting of grass, bushes, secondary scrubs and elephant grass. The brushwood is discontinuous and varies in density from extremely heavy to moderate. In areas, particularly in the eastern end of the valley, this vegetation forms a canopy covering the river.

“The landform of the ground north of the Khe Ta Laou …”

Egan yawned loudly. He stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders. He looked around. Mick, he said to himself, these are the assholes who control your life. Fuck em. Twenty-six en a wake-up.

“Gentlemen,” Sergeant Marquadt bellowed, catching Egan’s attention again. He was looking toward the back of the briefing hall where the infantrymen were easily distinguishable from the staff and rear personnel by their worn rumpled uniforms. “I spoke personally with several LRRPs (he pronounced it “lurps”) and they asked that I convey to you …”

“Sergeant,” the brigade commander interrupted gently without turning, “may we stick to the topography of the valley?”

“Yes Sir. Excuse me, Sir.” Marquadt regained his composure and continued with his prepared remarks. “The north wall is covered with single-and double-canopy jungle. The single-canopy forest averages twenty meters in height with scattered …”

I wonder what he was going to say, Egan thought. Egan looked at Brooks and he could see the L-T was also distracted.

“… at the western end of the valley, here, there is a thumb of Laotian territory protruding into the Republic of Vietnam. Highway 616, a major artery of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, runs up this peninsula and connects with supply routes in the hills near Lang Kerie, here, at YD 020295. From this junction …”

Why’d the Old Fox cut the dude off, Egan asked himself. Fucken typical.

“… Gentlemen, these are the highest mountains in I Corps. It will be rough out there …”

That’s what he wanted to say, Egan said to himself.

“… Or you can look east down the Rach My Chanh across to the Sông Ô Lau. Looking east you will be able to count eleven ridges, each lower than the one closer to you. Eleven ridges with the shadows of twelve valleys reaching east to Hue. Gentlemen,” the voice boomed to the back of the room again, “from this perspective, you are standing on the 12th and highest ridge, with your back to the 13th valley.”

“What the fuck’s this guy saying?” Egan’s whisper exploded.

Brooks attempted to quiet him with a stern disapproving glance. “L-T, what the fuck did you bring me here for?” Egan snarled through clenched teeth. “I ken read a fuckin map. I don’t need this fucker tellin me the fuckin valley runs east ta west.”

“Hush up, Danny.”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

“Sshhh.”

“… There is a paucity of natural helicopter landing zones in the operational area,” Marquadt continued.

“What’s that mean, L-T?”

“Scarcity. Means we’re going to have to cut them.”

“… the few which do exist,” Marquadt said, “are usually one-or-two ship landing zones requiring hovering approaches and departures and are so obvious they will probably be defended or booby-trapped. It will be desirable and necessary to construct new landing zones. Insertion LZs for the airmobile combat assault will be constructed with USAF-delivered weapons at locations jointly selected by ground force and air mission commanders.

“Gentlemen.” Marquadt closed his chrome swagger. “Thank you.”

People shifted. A mumble rose in the hall. Brooks and Egan straightened, stretched their backs. Egan was pissed. Marquadt sat down. The young lieutenant introduced a nervous buck sergeant in heavily starched fatigues. The buck sergeant was from the weather service.

“Sir,” he nodded to the brigade commander, “today’s forecast for the coastal staging area and headquarters area is continued hot, humid and partially cloudy. Humidity: 60 to 90 percent. High Tuesday was 97 degrees; low 81 degrees. Today’s high was 99 degrees; low 80 degrees. Sunrise tomorrow is 0635 hours; sunset 1924 hours. Rainfall to 1500 hours today has been zero; for the month 1.42 inches. Valid period of this report is 1500 hours 11 August to 1500 hours 12 August. Screaming Eagles have been in Vietnam 1850 days.

“The operational area is affected by winds, clouds, precipitation and ceilings of both the northeast and southwest monsoons during seasonal transition. Weather over the operational area: Cloudiness will occur over the Annamite Mountain Range. Ceilings will average 2500 to 4000 feet. The border areas will experience mostly scattered clouds …”

Egan was going nuts. He felt trapped.

“… if the primary winds come from the southeast scattered thunderstorms and showers with bases of 3000 to 4000 feet will develop over the operational area by mid-afternoon …”

Egan looked at Brooks. Brooks seemed to be listening intently. Egan squeezed his hands into fists.

“… fog, rain and clouds will characterize the early morning weather and may preclude employment of close tactical air support. Visibility in the afternoon will be sharply reduced by a combination of natural haze and flying into the sun.”

Rufus Brooks heard only portions of the weather briefing although he made a conscious effort to pay attention. His thoughts distracted him. The buck sergeant sat down and the second lieutenant introduced Major Homer J. Walker, Third Brigade Intelligence Officer, to recount recent activity and to establish an intelligence basis for the operation.

Major Walker seemed the absent-minded scientist who finds briefing his colleagues on his work a distraction from the work itself. He spoke laconically into the papers he held on the podium. “Ah … in the past several months … as I’m sure you’re all aware … enemy activity in our western AO has increased significantly. Let me, ah, recount, ah,” the major shuffled pages of notes, “ah, some of the activity. The NVA apparently is trying to muster an offensive up here in response to the recent Cambodian thrust. As you know that operation, for the American units involved, ah, ended 30 June. Screaming Eagles of the 3d of the 506th op-conned to the 4th Infantry Division participated in the areas around Prek Drang. Very successfully. Since then we have uncovered apparent build-ups both directly below the Demilitarized Zone and along the Laotian border. During the second and third weeks of July aircraft of the 2d of the 17th engaged an estimated 400 new enemy soldiers around Khe Sanh killing, ah,” the major fumbled in the pages again, “209 of them. Elements of the 3d of the 187th discovered a mass grave on 25 July by Ba Da at YD 295315. They observed numerous bodies but stopped the search and did not obtain a definitive body count because of the smell.

“Activity during the first eleven days of August has increased significantly along a frontal corridor from Firebases Airborne and Goodman in the south up through Maureen, Ripcord, O’Reilly, Jerome and Barnett. On 1 August, the 2d of the 17th killed ten enemy south of Firebase Jerome. Three kilometers north of Goodman the 3rd ARVN Regiment engaged an estimated …”

Neither Egan nor Brooks could sustain interest in the report.

“… killed and five 12.7mm machine guns captured … On 6 August D Troop 2^nd … the ARVN Hac Bao … Thirty-six cases AK-47 ammunition, one hundred 82mm mortar rounds and 15 rucksacks. The equipment was evacuated … Four 122mm rockets impacted in Hue City at an ARVN detention center killing 14 detainees and wounding 89 … On 9 August Fire-base O’Reilly … ARVN Regiment engaged and killed 11 NVA … vicinity of Firebase O’Reilly reported sighting 800 NVA on a ridgeline. In response to this sighting 26 tactical air strikes and 36 aerial rocket artillery sorties were expended in the target area …”

There was something significant, Brooks thought.

“… Three nights ago, Ranger Reconnaissance Team Quebec 16 reported spotting four 5-ton and five 21/2-ton trucks filled with troops coming up the road to Ta Laou at YD 091329. That road is indicated on your maps as a footpath. The reconnaissance team did not engage the enemy …”

Trucks to Ta Laou? Brooks asked. That’s only ten klicks from where we’re going.

“… Evans, 122mm rockets impacted in three locations about the base during the past week resulting in the destruction of one UH-1D helicopter … Remote area monitors have shown heavy activity in the area of your objectives. Magnetic and acoustic detectors indicate some movement of heavy equipment in the Khe Ta Laou valley. Our newest gadget, ah, the XM-3 Airborne Personnel Detector Device or People Sniffer, indicates a massing of human beings in the Khe Ta Laou valley.

“Captured documents and PW interrogations indicate the following units and strengths within the operational area: 7th NVA Front Headquarters, estimated strength 200; 812th NVA Regimental Headquarters, estimated strength unknown; 5th Infantry Battalion, 812th, estimated strength 600; and the NVA K-12 Transportation Battalion, estimated strength 200 …”

Would you like a shot at an enemy headquarters? Brooks thought of the GreenMan’s question. He wouldn’t. Not a Front-size headquarters?

“… Lastly, the Government of Vietnam National Elections are scheduled to be held 30 August. The number of VC/VCI related incidents against the local populace of Thua Thien Province has increased significantly from 38 in July to 23 in the first ten days of this month. There has been a slight increase in sabotage and assassination incidents and a significant increase reported for propaganda with indications the NVA may try to disrupt the elections.” The major looked up from the podium, glanced then nodded toward the Old Fox and returned to his seat.

Daniel Egan had nothing but contempt for the briefing officers. Shee-it. I’ve heard all this crap before. These guys with their little black boxes. One dink sits by a box with his cooking pots and walks back and forth and they got a whole regiment moving into a valley. Egan shifted his weight and with the movement his thoughts shifted, fell to his feet. Egan’s feet were already sore from standing. If there is one thing of importance to an infantryman it is his feet. Egan caught himself listening to various portions of the briefing and criticizing everything he heard. His feet irritated him and the briefing made his feet hurt worse. During the meteorological section he cursed the irrelevance of the forecast. He had spent enough time in the mountains of northern I Corps to know that neither mountains nor weather nor commanders cared about or respected his feet. Fuckin rains in the mountains all the fuckin time. When it aint rainin it’s so fuckin socked in ya can’t get a bird in fer resupply half the time. Early morning showers! That man’s got his head way up his ass. How come ever time we go out it’s raining on our heads and soakin our feet? These poor feet. Took me all my R&R to get em clean and then they weren’t really clean an that fucker’s got the brass balls to say early morning fog and showers.

Once Egan’s thoughts broke from the briefing, he relaxed. He allowed his thoughts to play in his mind. His eyes closed, then opened then closed almost all the way, open just far enough to allow a sliver of light to enter. A drop of saline solution filled the slit and the light passing through it was refracted into a blur rainbow. It pleased him. If he could only keep his eyelids perfectly still. Images formed in the wash of color. His eyes flinched. The minute images were lost, new ones formed. He forced the image into the shape of a girl, a young woman. The image was not clear. The harder he tried to focus the more his eyelids jumped. He lost the image. He took a deep breath, exhaled very slowly and thought of his girl back in the World.

He could not conjure up a picture of her but he could think the image in words and describe the way it should be or at least the way he thought it had been. There had been times when he could not think of anything or anyone else and yet there were times, months at a time, when he did not think of her at all. He had not seen her for almost two years. They wrote each other sporadically. He kept her letters in the ammo can at the base of his rucksack. Whenever he wrote it seemed a letter from her crossed his in the mail. They were very similar, yet they never seemed to be able to occupy the same space at the same time. Of all the people he had ever known it was for Stephanie he harbored the warmest feeling. Thoughts of her warmed his insides. She and only she had ever brought a warmth to his soul. Before her he’d felt an adolescent, a person only half-developed. With her he had been a man fulfilled. After her, without her now, there was a hunger, a craving for something else to bring out the fervor.

I love you, he whispered to her image. He heard himself say it in his mind. But it was just words now and there was no feeling attached to them. The warmth was not there. Perhaps it had been too long. Fuckin lady. Always on my mind. She comes up and I can’t tune her out. Stephanie. Goddamn you, Stephanie. It aint fair. I gotta think of you all the fuckin time and I don’t even know if you ever think of me. Women! They aint nothin but unhappiness.

The second lieutenant introduced Major John Serpico, Third Brigade Operations Officer. “Thanks, Billy,” the major said to the young lieutenant. “Gentlemen,” he hissed. He had the voice of a large snake. “Gentlemen,” the major hissed again to settle the rumble of voices that had arisen. “You are all familiar with the Khe Ta Laou Valley as so ably described by Sergeant Marquadt.” He spit the word “ably” with contempt. “Gentlemen, I would like to tell you what we are going to do to that valley. First, though, allow me to explain to you where you will all be.

“Barnett will be occupied for the duration of this operation by Battery A, 2d of the 319th Artillery, one-oh-five millimeter howitzers and by Battery C, 2d of the llth, one-five-five millimeter howitzers. Barnett will be secured by Company C, 7th Battalion, 402d Infantry. The Recon platoon of Company E, 7th of the 402d will be on-site reinforcement for the infantry units that will be in the valley. The above artillery units will stage from here at Evans. Company D, 14th ARVN Artillery, one-oh-fives, will remain on Barnett. Working north of the hill and the ridge will be the 2d Battalion, 3d ARVN Regiment of the 1st Infantry Division, ARVN. The 2d Battalion of the 1st ARVN Regiment will redeploy to areas surrounding Firebases O’Reilly and Ripcord.

“Now, Gentlemen, very quickly we come to the essence of the assault on the Khe Ta Laou. Intelligence suspects there is a regimental or larger size NVA headquarters someplace in the valley and that someplace is suspected to be in or around the center of the valley or on the cliffs. It will be the mission of the 7th of the 402d to assault various locations within the Khe Ta Laou and to break up the little tea party the NVA is having there. The 7th of the 402d will stage at LZ Sally tomorrow morning. If the weather in the valley is clear Company A will CA to Hill 848 at YD 198304. Company B will be inserted on a mesa LZ just west of Firebase Barnett at YD 174329. Company C will be airlifted to Barnett. Company D will CA to Hill 618 at YD 145335. The Recon and mortar elements of Company E will be airlifted to Barnett where the reconnaissance platoon will become the first reinforcement element if any of her sister units need a hand.

“Gentlemen, each unit commander will receive a more detailed plan as to the exact pick-up times and his individual objectives. I would like to say at this time the following: this operation has become necessary, in part, due to the recent siege of Fire Support/Operations Base O’Reilly. It appears that the logistical and command support for the NVA operation against O’Reilly comes directly out of the Khe Ta Laou. During this time of troop withdrawals, Gentlemen, we must insure the safety of our units, our rear areas and the coastal lowlands. Thank you.”

The briefing continued through its various stages with Signal and each of the supply and aviation units going into details of their preparation and available faculties. Each artillery unit reported on the number of rounds it had on hand. Tracker and Scout Dog unit leaders reported on the health and strength of their units. The Air Force liaison officer made a brief statement. The longer the briefing lasted, the more the listeners shuffled and fidgeted. Virtually every speaker addressed the brigade commander only and with information certainly cleared by him in previous private sessions.

Lieutenant Brooks looked at Daniel Egan and he could see that Egan’s mind was someplace else. Brooks glanced at Pop Randalph who was leaning against the wall staring at the drawn shade. Whiteboy seemed to be sleeping. The lieutenant sighed. In the seats before him were the backs of men’s heads. Ordinary heads. There was nothing special about the back of a man’s head, nothing to differentiate it from the back of the man’s head to his left or right or to his front. Some of the heads were larger than others, some had more hair, one or two looked a bit square or triangular or cone-shaped. A few had dark black or brown plastic ear pieces from glasses aiming behind them. The Third Brigade commander had dark hair cut so short it looked like a five o’clock shadow. Colonel Henderson’s blond hair was slightly longer than the Old Fox’s stubble. The tips of his ears shone pink against his golden fuzz. There was one thing Brooks noticed about all the seated men which did stand out from the backs of their collective heads—all the seated men had white skin. For a time he thought about that but it did not really interest him anymore and soon he found himself simply staring at this ear or that bald spot and wondering what it was like to hear through that ear or what was going on under that bald spot.

The more Brooks stared at the backs of the heads the less he saw and the more his thoughts drifted. When a man spends long periods of time alone, and for all the camaraderie of the infantry, infantrymen while in the jungle spend most of their time alone, a man conditions his mind to be the place where most of his time is spent. Themes develop. An infantryman easily falls to thinking about his themes. Sometimes they are dreams, sometimes desires, sometimes compulsions, sometimes obsessions.

I met her in an unusual way, Brooks said to himself as if he were telling the story to a stranger. I had this friend, Tony, from playing basketball. We were close and I got to know him and his family very well. Tony came from one of the old Italian families that lived off Columbus Avenue in North Beach. We used to go to his house on weekends. Brooks paused. Maybe he’d tell the story to Egan. Tony came to my folks’ flat in Oakland once but I think he felt uncomfortable and we never went back there. I think whites are usually more uncomfortable in black neighborhoods than blacks are in white neighborhoods. I’d been to Tony’s house so many times I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. This time we’d gone up to his house for the weekend and his mother made us go to church with her. She took us to Peter and Paul’s, an old Italian cathedral with candles in little red glass cups and statues all over.

Anyway, I met her indirectly through Tony, at a mass in the cathedral. There were all these little old Italian ladies in black in the first few rows on one side. On the other side are a dozen little old Chinese ladies. Behind the old ladies the church was full of lots of families but Tony’s mother decides we’re going to sit right up front. I think she might have wanted to let some of those devout old dagos know she was saving this heathen’s soul. I’m not feeling bitter, hey, she was Tony’s mom and she was always nice to me. Up we go to the front. I’m the only person in the church who’s wearing white or has black skin. I was very self-conscious. I think even Tony was too. Not about me. Just about being in front of all those people and having them staring at the back of our heads. I glanced around some, standing, kneeling, sitting, trying to see if there were any other brothers in the church or if there was anybody who was taller than these little ladies who were all about five feet tall. Over among the Chinese ladies there is a Chinese family all sitting around one little lady and they have a sister with them—not a nun—a really beautiful black lady, and she is looking at me. Right in the middle of a Dominus Nabisco, those are the people who make the wafers, I begin to giggle and so does this sister so when all these people get up to go to the altar we both get up. I thought Tony would fall off the pew, so I said to him I’d be at the back of the church or I’d meet him outside, and this lovely lady and I head to the back of the cathedral. I swear to God, that’s how we met. Two blacks in a dago church in the middle of Chinatown.

Brooks chuckled to himself. A slight smile crossed his lips. He glanced at Egan and continued telling the story. We slipped out of the church, giggling through the vestibule and down the steps. The sun was warm and it took the chill out of the rawness of the San Francisco morning. Across the street was a park. It was filled with people worshipping the sun or throwing Frisbees or jogging. We sat on the grass facing the cathedral and talked and watched for the people to begin coming out.

Brooks paused again. He stopped the narrative and tried to recall exactly what he and Lila had said that first morning five years ago. He could not remember. He tried to reconstruct a feasible facsimile of the conversation but it did not sound right. He could not remember. Why is it, he thought, you can remember the words of an argument word for word but you can’t recall what was said when the times were good?

Several nights before his wedding, he recalled, he told his father the same story about meeting Lila. He was sure he had remembered then what he and Lila had said. He and his father and his mother’s brother had been sitting in the kitchen of the Oakland flat. It had been a hot muggy night in September of 1967. They had been toasting him and teasing him and drinking more and more until all three were very drunk. Brooks paused and tried to recall the teasing and joking. Nothing. He remembered his father becoming bitter. “How you going to sup-sup-port that wench?” he slurred. “They aren’t going to pay you to play bask-basket-ball no mo.” The old man began to beat his fist on the table. “Know what you gotta expect? From life? A kick-in-the-ass. That ishn’t the half of it. They’ll turn you around en kick you in the balls and when you fall they’re going to kick you in the head. If you don’t hit em furst.” Then old George Brooks said something about technology making men obsolete and interchangeable and interchangeable meant dispensable and dispensable meant cheap and a black man was the cheapest throwaway that industry had. Brooks thought about that for several moments. He thought about remembering the bad parts of good times and it saddened him. Then he said to his father, “We’re even cheaper in the infantry, Pop.”

A rumble of voices rose in the briefing hall and everyone shifted and stretched and the seated men rolled their heads. The Old Fox had stopped a baby-faced second lieutenant in the middle of a sentence. “That’s enough, Lieutenant.” The young officer looked shocked and shattered and he was not sure if he should remain at the podium or if he should be seated. The Old Fox remained seated and facing the map with his back to the group. “Gentlemen,” he said in a low voice. “Thank you all for coming this afternoon. I have a few comments to make.” An absolute hush fell. Men let their cigarettes die. The roar of helicopters in the distance became the only perceptible sound.

“Gentlemen, I would like to stress the strategic importance of this mission.” The commander’s diction was perfectly measured. “Two months ago, one of my bases, Firebase Ripcord, came under siege by the enemy. For nearly twenty-five days you men heroically defended that hilltop while inflicting heavy casualties upon the North Vietnamese and while intradicting their movement and supply lines to the lowlands. During this time the news media continually reported our light casualties as significant and editorialized the reports—asking why we were defending a mountaintop in the jungle during this advanced state of Vietnamization.

“Gentlemen, we closed Ripcord not due to enemy pressure which was very heavy, but due to American media pressure which was stronger and against which we had no adequate defense. When we closed Ripcord we moved the men and the guns to Firebase O’Reilly. It took us less than ten hours to evacuate Ripcord and have O’Reilly fully operational. It took the enemy over three weeks to react and adjust to a point where the pressure on O’Reilly has drawn the attention of our friends in the press. O’Reilly, however, was turned over to the ARVN and our press friends could not care less about their success or failure. That is not the story they are looking for.

“Now, Gentlemen, we are moving back into the area to assist the ARVN. Gentlemen, this time, I am not going to stop. With the Ripcord and O’Reilly operations we sought only to neutralize the enemy, to disrupt him and to keep him in the mountains. With Barnett, Gentlemen, we are going to deliver a decisive blow.

“For years the Khe Ta Laou Valley has been overlooked by allied commanders. I do not know why. Sergeant Marquadt did an excellent job placing this valley for us. This is a communications headquarters and a major supply distribution point. I believe, Men, that not only has the North engineered its operations against Ripcord and O’Reilly from this narrow gutter in the hills, but I am positive, and we have the intelligence material to back it up, I am positive, Gentlemen, that all major operations as far back as TET of ’68, and possibly earlier, have been directed from this untouched valley.

“We have intercepted some very revealing documents placing the headquarters for the 7th NVA Front within the Khe Ta Laou. The headquarters of the 812th Regiment is in the same complex. That’s affirmative. Many other NVA units have used this valley as a base area, a sanctuary. They return to Khe Ta Laou to rest and regroup and we overlook them. A major command and communications center and an R&R retreat and we overlook it. Have overlooked it. This valley is a tiny COSVN in the north and, Gentlemen, I want to destroy it.

“We have pursued this for three years and have never been able to find it. Think why, Gentlemen. This tiny valley, this narrow insignificant gutter, is surrounded by some of the highest mountains in all of Vietnam. This valley will be difficult to enter, hard to traverse. That is why it has remained isolated and untouched. We have been lazy.” The voice of the Old Fox echoing off the front wall of the briefing hall rose and fell. At one moment it seemed very excited, the next very flat. Always the words came perfectly measured.

“To the west the Khe Ta Laou virtually opens into Laos. To the north the plains are patrolled by a mechanized brigade with no ability to penetrate the ridges surrounding our objective. To the south we have the giant A Shau, a valley we have fought in every year since we—since Screaming Eagles arrived in Vietnam—a valley good for a battle but poor for headquarters. And between, Gentlemen, between.” The colonel clapped his hands together. He gripped each hand with the other and kneaded them together. “Between, the enemy has sat calmly for years, retreated for years to this narrow sanctuary too insignificant for allied forces to be concerned with.

“Gentlemen, I’m concerned. This will be one of my last operations before I rotate to a duty desk in Washington. I want to leave this country safe. I want to leave our area clean so when the ARVN assumes total responsibility for its own land, we will have left them with a chance for success and not with the seeds of failure.

“This is the last NVA stronghold in I Corps. We can kick the enemy out of our AO, out of this valley, out of I Corps and out of this country. Gentlemen, it is up to us. We are about to embark upon a historic mission. We must take the world, Gentlemen, as we find it and make it like we want it. We have the equipment, the mobility, the tactics. Air mobility has come of age. We have the planners, the commanders and the men who know how best to exploit this new ability to strike fast and strike hard.

“Gentlemen, the NVA does not want to make contact with troops of the Third Brigade. They do not want to make contact with the 7th of the 402d SKYHAWKS nor with any battalion of Screaming Eagles. A guerilla force must make contact on its own terms and the 101st no longer allows the North Vietnamese to specify the terms. Since the 1968 Tet Counter-offensive the NVA has lost too many men and too much equipment to Screaming Eagles for too little return, for no solid return. Word has come down from opposition commanders, ‘leave the 101st alone. Pick on easier targets.’ This has created problems for their field commanders. They can pick on the 1st ARVN Division but Screaming Eagles stand in close support of the 1st ARVN. NVA commanders in the field have decided to pull back, pick a few lax targets, a few targets to keep the media pressure on our backs, and to build their strength until we are too weak from withdrawals to respond.

“This is going to be a massive operation in terms of tactical impact, if limited in scope, manpower and equipment. For security, as always, no one has been told of these plans until this briefing. I am going to ask you not to tell even your men of the location of this operation or of the overall objective. We are on to something very significant. We do not want to make an announcement. If all we come up with is a few tons of rice, there is no point in having the press make us out to be fools. In hindsight, Cambodia was a very great victory, but if you’ve read your papers, the press has crucified us for not having reached our announced objective. If it had never been announced we were looking for a COSVN the incursion could never have been labeled as a failure. They were wrong but let us not fall into their trap. Let’s do it first and release the results later. Action, Gentlemen, speaks louder than words.

“Now is the time. Let us embark upon our rendezvous with destiny. Thank you.”