CHAPTER 18

“Let’s go over it again,” Brooks said to Cherry, Roberts and Moneski. All four had cigarettes going.

It was late afternoon. The last of the patrols were just returning to the company position. The men who had remained behind had already dug foxholes and most had eaten. The returnees ate, rested for a few minutes, then picked and shoveled at the resisting earth. It was a repeat of the motions from the day before except this time it was more complex and more confused and they were more tired. The boonierats were back in the boonies without any vestige of REMF mentality.

“Dude from 1st Plt got’m a gook,” they whispered to each other. “They sayin he blew the dink’s head clean off.” Even the two squads from 3d Plt which had remained on 848 were whispering it back and forth. “New cherry in 1st Plt KIAd one NVA.” It excited them all.

The clearing of fields of fire and the digging in continued. Lt. Hoyden, FO, called in DT and H & I coordinates. De Barti and Thomaston checked the NDP shape to insure overlapping fire then chose the men for LPs.

“Tell me exactly what you saw,” Brooks said to Cherry. Moneski had already traced the red ball’s location on Brooks’ map. “Which way were they heading?”

“He was coming straight up the trail,” Cherry said. Cherry’s eyes were like those of a deer run at night by dogs and frozen in the powerful beam of a poacher’s light.

“He? I thought there were two. Now, try to remember,” Brooks interrogated.

“There must a been two,” Cherry said. “I think I saw two but I don’t remember seeing the second one.”

Egan and Thomaston had come to the CP and were now squatting behind Cherry. Thomaston kept touching his M-16 which he carried in his left hand. Egan massaged a frag on his belt. “I’m gettin too short for this shit,” Thomaston said.

“How many days you got now?” Egan asked him.

“Twenty-seven en a wake-up,” Thomaston said.

“Twenty-four en a wake-up, you cherry,” Egan laughed.

“There was at least three,” Roberts said.

“Did you see them?” the L-T asked.

“I didn’t see nothin but I heard two AKs open up and that first dink woant firin.”

“God,” Cherry said. “I felt like a subject in a sensory deprivation experiment. I felt like I was hallucinating.”

“Close your eyes and try to picture it,” Brooks said. “What did the second man look like? What was he carrying?”

Cherry shut his eyes. “We were sitting there for about twenty minutes and I was very conscious of the sounds my, ah … my watch was like ticking real loud and I heard a twig snap.”

“I heard it too,” Roberts said.

“Try to see the second man,” Brooks encouraged.

“I saw this guy. He had shorts on and he had a rifle with a wood stock. I lifted my 16. Then I brought it back down and switched the selector to automatic.”

“Yeah. I watched him do that,” Roberts said. “So I did the same.”

“He kept coming. He’s motioning like this with his left hand.” Cherry waved his left hand back and forth behind and below his hip.

“Can you see his hand?” Brooks asked.

“No,” Cherry said. “All I can see are his eyes.” Cherry opened his eyes and jerked around quickly and started to rise.

“It’s okay,” Brooks stopped him. Cherry looked at Brooks, through Brooks, beyond Brooks. “It’s okay,” Brooks said more casually. “Look, jungle tactics are basically two-dimensional problems—time and coordinates. We’ve got to work things so we don’t run into the enemy when he’s set up. We want to come up behind him or we want him to walk into us when we’re set-up. If he second-guesses us we’re in a world of hurt. That’s why it’s important you remember every detail.”

Cherry repeated the part about two enemy rifles opening up and the hand signal the first man had made but he froze up when he tried to remember anything beyond looking into the first man’s eyes.

“What happened when you went down there?” Brooks asked Moneski.

“I took half the squad down to check it out,” Moneski said, “and Smitty pumped another six or eight rounds inta him.”

“Was he alive?” Brooks asked.

“I don’t know but he wasn’t when Smitty finished. We stripped him and took his bag an weapon an skyed.”

“He didn’t bleed much,” Roberts said. “Never saw nothin like it. First round musta stopped his heart cause he just had all these little holes in him but there wasn’t much blood. They coulda been made by leeches. Cept his head.”

“He was one big gook,” Moneski said. “He musta stood five-ten, maybe even six foot. I bet he was Chinese. He was clean too. And he had a fresh haircut, I think. Least what was left of his head looked fresh cut. We didn’t stay there long. I think the dinks dee-deed too.”

“He was carryin about twenty-five pounds of rice,” Egan said from outside the circle. “Rice, one lacquered gook rice bowl, two spoons, two extra uniforms, a can of AK rounds, six Chi-com frags, gas mask, sleeping blanket and a bunch of papers. That’s a lotta shit for a dink dude on patrol.”

“They’re movin,” Thomaston said.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Brooks said. “He may have been the rice bearer for his squad. They may have been a mortar squad and the men behind him might have had the tube and base plate.”

“I think they’re movin back in here,” Thomaston said.

“Maybe they were goina mortar us,” Egan said.

“Yeah. Maybe. Damn, I wish I knew what that second man was carrying. Cherry,” Brooks said, “I want you to think about it. If you remember anything let me know immediately.”

“Yes Sir,” Cherry said meekly. He stood.

Egan rose and put his hand on Cherry’s arm. “Go down to our spot,” he said. “I set up behind Jax, over there. You’ll see it.” Cherry lit another cigarette.

The two squads from 3d Plt did not reach the NDP until 1830 hours. It was cooling and clouding up as they trudged in. The valley was thick with fog, the white mass rising steadily up the escarpments. Above, the sky was clear. The breeze rising from the valley carried wisps of the fog which tumbled about the peaks like ghosts and vanished into the drier air.

The helicopter that was to have picked up the civilian photographer from 848 had been hit by small arms fire while leaving Bravo Company and it had flown directly back to Camp Evans to have the damage assessed. The squads had no choice but to wait until the GreenMan’s C & C bird landed and picked up the photographer and his escort. By then it was 1700 and the squads had had to hump to the new NDP and with double and triple ammunition loads. The trail had become more slippery with use and they struggled hard to be silent, moving at double time, trying to be off the trail before dark. When they marched in and dropped their rucks and the extra ammo they were drenched with jungle slimesweat head to foot. The green canvas of their boots was black with wet and white-ringed with salt stains. Armpits and backs and crotches were soggy. They collapsed silently about the CP.

With them were the dog handler and the dog. If the men of 3d Plt were sweat-drenched and breathing hard from the hump, the dog handler was doubly soaked and winded. He had not known which unit he would be sent to when he had packed his rucksack and, as was scout dog team procedure, he carried four days’ rations for himself plus four days’ for the dog. He carried extra ammo, not trusting some units to resupply him, knowing he would be at point behind the dog on most moves, on the worst moves. He also carried twenty quarts of water, another forty pounds. He sat, said not a single word, not even to report in to the company commander. The dog lay by his side, alert, relaxed, silent. The lightest ruck was carried by the civilian correspondent, Caribski, who had spent the past two days with 3d Plt but now wished to travel with the company CP. He looked weary and wet and spoke little though he listened to everything happening in and about the CP. His escort, the PIO officer from 3d Brigade, looked scared and let it be known he did not like being in the bush. The military correspondents, Lamonte and George, set up a separate sleeping position just beyond the CP. Lamonte removed the camera from his neck and went about photographing every detail of field life. George sat alone trying to overhear the CP talk and finally fell asleep.

The weird lonely music again seeped up from the valley. “What the hell is that?” Snell uttered irritably as he and Ridgefield and Nahele came to socialize at the CP.

“That is traditional Vietnamese funeral music,” Minh answered. He was studying and translating the letters and documents from Cherry’s KIA.

Snell looked at Ridgefield then Nahele and all three whispered in unison, “Funeral music!”

“Oh yes,” Minh smiled. “It comes from 3d Brigade Psychological Operations helicopter. They try to warn the enemy that we are coming to get them.”

“Well shee-it,” Doc said. “Here all aftanoon I thinkin some dude got a radio. You know what I mean? Shee-it. I couldn’t believe a dude be humpin a radio out here.”

“Minh,” Brooks called over, “just what have they been saying all afternoon?”

“They are saying SKYHAWKS is a mean battalion,” Minh smiled. “They are saying Screaming Eagle soldiers are coming down from the hills to clean up the valley and that NVA soldiers should surrender.”

Jackson dug a two-man foxhole and arranged a sleeping area while Silvers pulled guard ten meters below in an old NVA fighting position. When Jax finished digging he went down and relieved Silvers. It was unusual to separate the two positions by that great a distance but the slope on the perimeter forced them to move up for sleeping. Jax slipped his legs into the tiny NVA hole. He laid his M-16 across his thighs and laid out two bandoleers of magazines and four frags. Silvers had left him two claymores which they agreed should not be deployed until it became darker. Jax removed his helmet and from it took the unopened letter from his brother-in-law. The envelope was soiled and perspiration from Jackson’s head had caused part of the return address to run blue-black. Jax removed his bayonet from its sheath at his left calf. He slid the blade gently below the envelope flap and split the paper.

August 4, 1970

Dear Brother Billie,

Our people have suffered too greatly for too long a time. They suffer more greatly now as a result of families being disrupted by that filthy Vietnam War. Your own lovely wife is with child as you foolishly, pathetically play soldier-slave to white men in a white man’s racist imperialist war. It is impossible for you to support your family on a soldier’s pay. Your wife suffers. All our women suffer. Your sweet sister suffers but not like your wife. Your sister’s man is home, your wife’s man is gone. Black women suffer from discrimination in jobs and education. Without their men they cannot, they are not allowed in this society, to support themselves.

Billie, the situation is critical. Your Black Brothers and Sisters in the United States are opposed to the war in Vietnam. We want our troops to return home. Nixon escalates the war. Out of one side of his foul mouth he talks peace and with a forked-tongue he orders our troops into Cambodia. American Blacks know the president does not care what we think, what we want or what we need. He’s playing games with us. The military, big business, the government, they are all controlled by white racists. From us they want only our votes and our money. Nay, Brother Billie, they want one thing more—they want our beautiful Black children to fight their racist unjust war. Our Black Brothers carry a share of the Vietnam burden disproportionate to our percentage in America or our percentage in the army. Blacks sustain casualties out of all relation to their numbers. Doesn’t that tell you something?

We’ve had it. We are tired of being used. We pay taxes so white pigs can murder our yellow Asian brothers or force them to defend themselves by slaughtering Black Americans. Fuck Nixon’s War. Fuck the bombing and killing of our oppressed Asian brothers. Say No.

My brother, we are veterans, we are soldiers, we are civilians. We believe the time has come for all Blacks and Yellows and Browns to unite in our common struggle against repression. The white government of the United States orders Asians murdered, calls out troops against its own people, shoots its own students. Systematically the pig machine oppresses Black people, forces them into economic abasement and injects propaganda and prejudice into every corner of the white majority community. This pig machine has propagated a vengeful myth of its own altruism and with that myth it justifies the destruction of Vietnamese hamlets.

Nixon has played a game on the people. Congress and the courts have become unfunctional. People are fed officialese, federalese double-talk from the highest levels. And the press. What is its function? What’s being reported has nothing to do with what’s really happening.

Vietnam is all lies. The motherfuckers in this administration want us to believe the war can’t be stopped, that the world situation is so complex if we pull out it will be like pulling the plug in a bathtub and America is the water. They say they’re trying to negotiate. They say the North Vietnamese are liars. That’s lies. The war can be ended now, today. You could be back here with your wife in a week. If that low-down dirty motherfucker Nixon wanted to stop the war all he has to do is call the pigs in the Pentagon and say, ‘Pigs, bring the troops home.’ Let the Vietnamese people rebuild their own country the way they want it, not the way we want it. That’s all the fucker’s got to say. And if he don’t say it, Billie, then he’s going to burn. He’s going to burn with all them white racist pigs that keep him up there.

Think about it. Rap about it. Soon we will strike. Brother Billie, I am calling on you to join Black America. Join me, my Brother. Don’t take orders. Strike! Rap with your fellow soldiers. Get them all to boycott the war from where it will hurt the white racist machine most. State-side GIs are protesting. Blacks are leading the underground. The revolution is coming. It is at hand.

Marcus X

P.S. Billie, my brother-in-law and in-blood, I want you to know we all here are concerned for your safety. Also your father is ill. I think he would rest easier if his son was home. I know your sister and I would feel better with you here. And your wife is concerned for you and your child. Pap’s body has been broken and worn out by slaving for white pigs all his life. All his life he has carried the guilt of his Blackness, ashamed and humbled wherever he went. Do you remember crossing through the swamps to watch he and my uncle the year they were shackled in a road gang. They were puny and unfighting in their loathsome Blackness, guilty and doing penance with shovels and rock hammers for their Blackness. Billie, be proud. They will kill you if they can. They will kill you either outright or within your living body IF YOU ALLOW IT. If you wish to be a soldier, be a soldier with us. Come home. Your wife and father and your people need you.

The letter ended there. Jax quickly scanned the jungle before him then reread the postscript. That was new. Marcus always talked about burning the government but never before had he mentioned Pap. Jax tore the postscript from the letter and stuck the paper in his helmet. A barely perceptible welling choked him. He folded the letter in half and placed it on the ground so it stood like a tent. He took a book of matches from his pocket and burned the letter. He scattered the ashes and reburned the few leaves of paper that had not been consumed in the original fire. He rescattered the ashes in standard boonierat procedure for destroying written material which might prove somehow useful to the enemy.

Cherry sat on the ground by his rucksack, sat with his knees’ drawn up to his chest, his hands tightly around his boots. He was in the midst of shattered palm fans and branches. His rifle lay in the brush out of reach. Egan had already dug their foxhole. Cherry sat. A shiver ran up his spine. He closed his eyes and put his face into the crook of his arm. He moved his face to his knees and put his hands over his ears trying to close out the activity around him. He let his body slump back beneath the clutter of vegetation.

Around him men were eating or smoking. Only a few were still digging. He closed his eyes more tightly. He could still see that face. The man stepped forward slowly, cautiously. He moved silently, a good jungle soldier. Cherry could see the man’s eyes, his straight black hair, his alert yet relaxed unsuspecting face. The soldier stepped forward eliminating much of his jungle cover. He continued to approach, up the red ball. Cherry could see him clearly, his dark eyes clearly. Cherry could see the soldier’s face above the sight of his own weapon. “Our Father, Who art in heaven,” Cherry began mumbling, “hallowed be Thy Name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven …”

“Hey, Cherry,” Numbnuts called approaching him from the perimeter.

“You can’t call him Cherry no more,” Silvers called up.

“Right on,” Numbnuts said now standing just outside Cherry’s clump of brush. “What’s your name?”

“We could call him Dago,” Silvers said.

“That’s okay,” Cherry replied sitting up, “I’m kinda useta Cherry.”

“Well shee-it,” Numbnuts said sticking out his hand. “Congratulations, Cherry.” He was exuberant. “Hey, how was it down there? I heard you blew his head clean off.” Numbnuts spoke quickly, with a big smile. “Jesus, I wish I’d been there. Maybe we coulda got another gook. Ya know, I coulda dropped a coupla thumper rounds behind em. Bet that woulda sent those bastards scatterin.”

Cherry looked at him while he spoke. Numbnuts’ hand was still outstretched. Cherry looked into Numbnuts’ eyes then he turned away.

“I gotta dig in yet,” Numbnuts shrugged. He stood waiting for Cherry to say something, stood there nervously for half a minute then mumbled as he left, “Jesus. If I’d only been there with my thumper.”

Numbnuts walked down to Silvers and said to the squad leader, “What the fuck’s the matter with him? What’s he think they sent him over here for, ta kiss gook ass? Man, we’re s’pose ta kill people.”

Cherry lay back again. He closed his eyes again. Again he could see the NVA soldier behind the thick vegetation. Again he prayed.

Silvers put his hand on Cherry’s leg. Cherry startled, stared up savagely. “Take it easy, Breeze,” Silvers said soothingly. Cherry slumped back. “Take it easy, Man,” Silvers repeated. “If it’ll make you feel better you probably saved a lot of our lives. You probably busted up their party for us tonight.”

Cherry took a pack of cigarettes Egan had given him from his fatigue shirt pocket. He pulled two cigarettes from the pack, stuck one behind his right ear and lit the other. Then he shook his head.

“It’s okay,” Silvers reassured him again.

“I could a just shot him in the leg,” Cherry said. “I didn’t have to kill him.”

“I don’t know,” Silvers said. “I’ve never been in that position. The whole time I been over here I never’ve seen a live gook. That’s no shit. I been in the boonies seven months and I never’ve seen a live one.” Silvers spoke slowly, soothingly. “I’ve seen maybe a hundred dead ones. I don’t know if I ever shot any. There’s a good chance I may have but I never had any in my sights. Ya know how it is during a firefight. You just fire into the brush with everybody else. When it’s all over, maybe there’d be a body.”

“Why are you saying this to me?” Cherry asked him quietly.

“I guess I’ve been watchin you,” Silvers said. “I feel like I’ve known you for a long time. Like you were my cousin back in the World.” Cherry sighed. Silvers continued. “If I’d just got here and just fired up someone I think I’d want someone to talk to.”

“Thanks,” Cherry said simply. He wanted to return the gesture to Silvers, felt he had to share something with him. At the same time he wanted to be left alone. He just did not wish to think or to be. He wanted to melt away.

“How far should one go to support other human beings?” Silvers asked. “How far should one go to help another striving for freedom from political or economic or religious repression?”

“I don’t know,” Cherry said apathetically.

“That’s really what this is all about, you know?”

“Do you know what I was thinking?” Cherry asked. “I was thinking there’s a meaning to all this. Maybe every man creates his own meaning. Maybe every man’s his own God.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Silvers said. “There’s a balance between fighting and giving way. Between supporting others and letting others be trampled. My mother’s side of the family was in Germany in the thirties and they yielded and they suffered in the forties. That was brother against brother. They were as German then as I’m American now. Everybody just sat back and appeased the Nazis. At some point a man, a people, have to stand up and fight.”

Silvers left. Egan was sitting next to Cherry. Somehow he had arrived, seated himself and removed a can of Cs from his ruck and begun eating, all completely silent and undetected.

“Don’t mean a fuckin thing,” Egan said nodding toward Silvers.

Cherry startled again. “Where’d you come from?”

“CP.”

“When?”

“Couple minutes ago.” It was becoming dark under the canopy. Cherry could still see the perimeter guards but all color had faded and now everything was gray. Light and noise discipline automatically went into effect—boonierats cupped their cigarettes as they smoked, the digging stopped, voices lowered. Egan continued eating something from the C-rat can. He had not heated it. When he finished he cut the bottom from the can and crushed the tin. Then he checked Cherry’s radio. He said nothing. That increased Cherry’s jitters. Cherry had even waited for Egan before eating, expecting to help prepare a meal. Now Egan was finished.

Egan removed from his rucksack the letter he had been writing to Stephanie. He read the last lines and began writing again. As he wrote it became darker and darker. Cherry sat still beside him and in the advancing darkness Egan seemed to fade, dissolve, until his only presence was the faint sound of his writing.

“How can you do that?” Cherry whispered.

“Do what?” Egan whispered back.

“Write. I can’t see a thing.” Cherry was very cautious about the volume of his voice.

“Why do you have to see it?” Egan said. He sounded very relaxed.

“How can you write without seeing it?” Cherry asked again.

“I know what it looks like,” Egan answered. “I know where the paper is and where my hand is so I know what it looks like.”

“You got all the answers to this place, don’t you?”

“What?” Egan said.

“You got all the fuckin answers, don’t you?” Cherry accused. “What would you a done where I was today?”

“Ssshhh. Keep it down. You mean on the water run?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

“I could a shot him in the leg. I didn’t have to kill him.”

“You could be dead too.”

“I could a just nicked him. I killed him. I killed a man today.”

“You killed a soldier,” Egan said softly. “Since when is a soldier a man?”

“By comin here,” Cherry lamented, “I said I wanted to kill a man. That not only do I condone killing but that I actively support … wanted to kill. I think I always knew that too. I just fooled myself into thinking I came here to observe this.”

“You tryin ta be the good guy?” Egan said snidely.

“I didn’t have to kill him. I think I must of wanted to kill.”

“You’re gettin flaky.”

“I don’t have the right to play God over another man. Nobody’s got that right. I actively supported this killing today. This genocide.”

“Where’d you say you were from?” Egan interrupted.

“Connecticut. Bridgeport.” Cherry said the words deliberately, slowly. He had been working himself toward a frenzy.

“Northeast? Industrial city?”

“Yeah.”

“Arms?”

“Ah … I think so. Yeah, sure. Sikorsky Helicopter. Avco Lycoming. They make the engines for the Hueys.”

“Colt? M-16s?”

“No. That’s in Hartford.”

“Lots a war industry jobs in Bridgeport and in Connecticut though?”

“Yeah.”

“Is building weapons actively supporting and wanting to kill?”

“I don’t know. That’s different.”

“Ever know anyone who said no to doin their job?”

“Yeah. My brother Vic split for Canada when they tried to draft him.”

“Give the fucker my regards. I can respect that. I can’t respect the fuckers makin weapons then callin us baby burners. They eat my shit.”

“I killed a man in cold blood. I coulda’screamed. I coulda fired high.”

“You’d be dead. Look asshole, this is a clean war out here. There’s no villes, no women, no children. No civilians. You got friendly forces and enemy forces. There’s no My Lais up here. When someone’s killed he’s a combatant. And whether he wanted to be here or not he decided to condone the rules of the game and he best ass goina abide by the consequences.”

“Shee-it.”

“That’s the way it is, Breeze. Nice-en-clean. Nobody here but soldiers. Man-to-man. You beat your man today. Maybe he’ll beat you tomorrow.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ha. Can’t see gettin blown away for a piece a land nobody wants, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, get yer fuckin weapon then.”

“Lamonte,” Brooks whispered. In the dark he had left the CP and walked the six or seven meters to Lamonte and George’s sleeping position.

“Yes Sir,” Lamonte answered. George was surprised the commander knew their position.

“Lamonte, are you and George on the clearance record at theTOC?”

“Hell yes.”

“With 3d Brigade?” Brooks questioned.

“Hell no,” Lamonte muttered. “1st Brigade.”

“We’ve been opconned to 3d. They can’t find a copy of your security clearance. The Old Fox wants me to confiscate your film and send you in with first resupply.”

“Confiscate my film? What’s that asshole think we’re doin out here? You gotta be kiddin.”

“Nope. That’s what they told me.”

“Aw, L-T. You know me. Can’t you tell them to check it out with Division PIO? We’re on record with Division.”

“They said they did. Division didn’t know you were out with a 3d Brigade unit, they said. I told them you travel with us all the time. They said not in 3d Brigade’s AO.”

“Aw fer Chrissake.”

“Lamonte, it’s nothing to worry about. 3d Brigade’s just pulling a power play because they think you’ll scoop their story.”

“Oh, fuck this shit. I been humpin two days out here. Come in on the CA. Workin my ass off to get some decent shots and they want to confiscate my film.” Caribski, the correspondent, crept closer to get the story. Brooks returned to the CP, and Lamonte and George and Caribski and the PIO escort from 3d Brigade discussed the situation and Caribski and Lamonte agreed to meet in the rear to discuss censorship. Then they all crept over to the CP for the nightly meeting.

The ground mist was thickening and in lungs the heavy moisture combined with cigarette smoke residue. Tiny muffled coughs sporadically broke the stillness at the CP. It was dark and impossible to see. The moon had just begun rising. Behind the dense cloud cover the moon was gray-yellow, amorphous. With the exception of Egan, Jackson and Thomaston, all the platoon leaders and platoon sergeants and the regulars were assembled. Cahalan recited a review of the day’s intelligence. “At 0640 we discovered a bunker complex comprised of approximately 50 bunkers with overhead cover and 150 fighting positions,” Cahalan said. “The complex appeared to be complete on only three sides of the hill. All bunkers with overhead cover were destroyed along with significant amounts of enemy ammunition and equipment.

“Intelligence reports from battalion say we are about sitting in the middle of the 5th Infantry Battalion of the 812th NVA Regiment.” Cahalan paused. There was a round of muffled coughs. “Brigade reports a definite troop flow between this valley and the Firebase O’Reilly area. They say they’re not sure which way the major flow is going.”

“That figures,” Egan said from outside the circle. He, Thomaston and Jax had approached undetected in the darkness. “They don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.”

“Shut up, Sergeant,” Caldwell ordered.

Cahalan continued. “Brigade figures the dink we got today was part of the flow. A LOH fired up a sampan on the river at 131324, that’s about a klick en a half downriver from that big tree that sticks up. Aircraft from 2d of the 17th spotted an estimated two companies of opposition three klicks west of here. Air strikes and artillery were employed with unknown results. Bravo engaged three gooks. They followed blood trails until dusk with unknown results.”

“Sir,” Pop Randalph whispered in his high hoarse voice. “Sir, I bet they goan hit us tonight.”

“Probe us,” Egan said. “They’ll probe us first. They don’t know enough about us yet. They’ll probe us to figure out our setup and number.”

“It’s my feeling,” Brooks said quietly, “they’re withdrawing right now because we’re an unknown element.”

“Yeah,” Egan agreed. “They’ll want to probe us first.”

“We’ve had a lot of air activity,” FO inserted. “And you’ve been patrolling all over the place at once and still maintaining people here in their complex. They may think there’s more of us than there is. They know we had people here today and over at the LZ and on that peak to the november whiskey. My guess is they think we’ve got two companies right here. We’ve had enough birds to bring in two companies.”

“So they’re pulling back,” Brooks said. “Pulling back to pick at us, nibble on our flanks, then dig in later.”

“If that was a mortar squad the water run shot up this afternoon,” Thomaston spoke slowly, “they’re probably from that infantry battalion. Nguyen’s being pushed. He’s being pushed down and concentrated. He’s making a strategic withdrawal. He’s going to stop and fight someplace.”

Caldwell coughed. “Why don’t they just bring in the B-52s and cave the valley in?”

“Hey,” Brooks said. “Listen. We’ll work west down this ridge first then go down there, maybe cross the river and work the other side of the valley coming east. We’ll be real cool and spiral down toward that knoll in the valley floor and take a look. GreenMan’s made that our ultimate objective.”

“That’s one fuck of a hump, Mista,” Doc warned.

“We don’t have to jump right in there,” Brooks said, “but we’re going to move quick. We will move a lot. I don’t want to get bogged down on tee-tee caches while they snipe us to pieces. Let’s try to keep up the illusion that there’s two hundred of us here.”

While the meeting was in progress Minh had been analyzing the documents taken from the NVA soldier Cherry had killed. Minh had been just outside the CP circle. When darkness came he covered himself with two ponchos and continued reading and translating by flashlight. Two men had been stationed beside him to insure that no light escaped from the poncho hootch. Minh emerged into the meeting. “Lieutenant,” Minh called softly to Brooks.

“Minh,” Brooks looked toward the sound of the tonal voice in the dark, “have you found anything in those docs?”

“Oh, yes Sir,” Minh said. “Lieutenant, I believe this man to be an important honcho. He was to carry instructions from the 7th NVA Front to the K-19 Sapper Battalion. The documents speak highly of the K-19 Battalion. They say K-19 is part of the 304th NVA Division and is now op-conned to the 812th which is same-same 5th Infantry. K-19 is part of an elite homeguard unit from Hanoi. They say K-19 guide carries battle streamers from the battle of Dien Bien Phu.”

“They’re going to hit O’Reilly,” Lt. Caldwell said. “My guess is they’re going to use the sappers to overrun O’Reilly.”

“What else do they say, Minh?” Brooks asked.

“The documents say it is important to the liberation effort for the 7th Front to combine with the siege of Firebase O’Reilly also many American deaths. They say this is very important for public reaction to hasten American withdrawals. They say the American assistance here is a blessing.”

There was a long pause. It was very quiet and no one even dared to cough a muffled cough. The ground mist was becoming thicker. The moon was slightly higher though still murky behind clouds. The jungle floor was intensely dark. Everyone was waiting for Brooks. He broke the silence. He spoke quietly yet very firmly. “Get back to your people,” he said. “We’re moving out in zero-five.”

SIGNIFICANT ACTIVITIES

THE FOLLOWING RESULTS FOR OPERATIONS IN THE O’REILLY/ BARNETT/JEROME AREA WERE REPORTED FOR THE 24-HOUR PERIOD ENDING 2359 14 AUGUST 70:

AT 0640 HOURS COMPANY A, 7/402 ENTERED AN NVA BUNKER COMPLEX AT YD 193304. THE COMPLEX COMPRISED OF 50 BUNKERS WITH OVERHEAD COVER AND 150 FIGHTING POSITIONS. CO A UNCOVERED A CACHE OF OFFICE EQUIPMENT AND PRINTING FACILITIES ALONG WITH SIGNIFICANT AMOUNTS OF SMALL ARMS AND MORTAR AMMUNITION. THE EQUIPMENT AND BUNKERS WERE DESTROYED. CO C OF THE SAME BATTALION DISCOVERED FIGHTING POSITIONS WITH OVERHEAD COVER ON HILL 711 AT YD 145296. THE POSITIONS WERE DESTROYED. AT 1117 HOURS TWO KILOMETERS WEST OF FIREBASE BARNETT CO B, 7/402 ENGAGED THREE ENEMY WITH UNKNOWN RESULTS.

ELEMENTS OF THE 1ST INFANTRY DIVISION (ARVN) SPOTTED TWO COMPANIES OF NVA REGULARS 800 METERS WEST OF FIREBASE O’REILLY. ARTILLERY WAS EMPLOYED WITH UNKNOWN RESULTS. THE 4TH BN, 1ST REGT (ARVN) CAPTURED AN NVA SOLDIER TWO KILOMETERS EAST OF FIREBASE JEROME.

AT 1430 HOURS THE C & C SHIP FROM THE 7/402 SPOTTED A SAMPAN BENEATH THE FOG OVER THE KHE TA LAOU RIVER. THE PILOT ENGAGED THE TARGET WITH ORGANIC WEAPONS FIRE WITH UNKNOWN RESULTS.

AIRCRAFT FROM THE 2D BN 17TH CAV SPOTTED APPROXIMATELY 150 NVA SOLDIERS ON THE SIDE OF HILL 636 FOUR KILOMETERS SOUTHWEST OF FIREBASE BARNETT. AIR STRIKES AND ARTILLERY WERE EMPLOYED WITH UNKNOWN RESULTS.

CO A, 7/402 AMBUSHED AN NVA SQUAD THREE KILOMETERS SOUTH OF FIREBASE BARNETT AT APPROXIMATELY 1540 HOURS RESULTING IN ONE ENEMY KILLED.

THERE WERE NO SIGNIFICANT US OR ARVN CASUALTIES.