CHAPTER 29
24 AUGUST 1970
They did not see the river until they were in it. The night was black beneath the mist. The entire valley floor was wet swamp. Egan led the small group east from Campobasso then south. No one spoke. They sloshed through the bog. The rain and its camouflaging noise had ceased. They moved slowly though there was little time.
Behind Egan was Cherry and behind him, Pop. Further back were Snell, Nahele and McQueen, then Denhardt, Doc Johnson and Minh and finally Woods and Calhoun. Essentially the patrol consisted of Alpha’s best boonierats, best medic and only scout. Their mission would require the best. They moved with the stealth of a lone cat until Egan fell into the river with a noisy, ear-splitting splash.
Rover Teams Claudia and Stephanie had returned to Campobasso shortly past midnight. The others would return between dawn and dusk on the 24th. Brooks, FO and El Paso spent the night debriefing Claudia and Stephanie along with Pop’s team, Ellen, and then briefing them all on the next mission. “We need a physical recon of the knoll,” Brooks had said. He asked for volunteers which was his style. When he wanted a man to do something he made the man want to do it. He made his boonierats feel good, feel special. All nine volunteered. They were hungry for more action. It showed in their eyes. Doc too volunteered though he did so because he was afraid for these crazy men, afraid they would need his services. And Minh volunteered because he wished to stay with Doc. Brooks accepted them all.
As they discussed the mission a series of engagements progressed slowly up the west side of their AO. First RT Mary’s MA detonated. Jenkins radioed the results almost immediately. Three NVA killed or wounded and now dead, and two rifles captured. A few minutes later RT Irene sniped and killed an enemy soldier and sent half a dozen fleeing north. They did not pursue. The same enemy squad ran into RT Beth set up across the trail. In the ensuing firefight Beth killed two. Juan Rodriguez was wounded though not seriously. Alpha’s four-day total now stood at forty-seven NVA KIA versus one US WIA.
The briefing continued while the fighting went on to the west. The recon team would move east then south to the river. Three men would cross traveling as lightly as possible. They would recon the knoll as much as possible, before dawn, then recross the river and return. They could decide among themselves who would go, Brooks said, though he suggested they pick the strongest swimmers. They should leave Campobasso by 0330, in ten minutes.
Brooks was concentrating well now. He did not think of conflict. Nor did he think of Lila. And the DEROS/Extend question also had dissolved. He would DEROS when the GreenMan was through with him which should be in as little as four days. Now he did not have to think of those things. He had only to think of Alpha, the valley, the knoll and the NVA. Brooks concentrated on the topo map, buried himself beneath a poncho and with a flashlight stared at the map until it engraved itself on his mind, until it told him what the land already knew, what the enemy must do. He moved Alpha on the game board in his head and he saw the NVA counter his move. He tried his unit there and saw the pitfalls. He moved the NVA. No, they would not do that. I wouldn’t do that if I were them. That’s a bad move. He moved them again. He attempted alternative after alternative and he countered each. They would be out for Alpha. He knew that. Alpha had been their nemesis. They would play extra hard to destroy it.
Major Hellman radioed. “Where in the name of hell are your resupply lists?” he demanded. “Charlie, Delta and Recon are ready for resupply but Alpha hasn’t even checked in with S-4. What the hell are you doing, Lieutenant?”
Brooks kept cool. Hellman was only the XO. The GreenMan would be, might be, flexible enough to allow Alpha to postpone resupply and carry out Brooks’ plan. Brooks had Cahalan compile the lists. They needed food for seventy-four men, clothing, socks, dozens of personal items. They needed radio batteries. Not just the normal replacement number but enough to replace the reserve they carried unknown and unexpected by the command. And they needed ammo. Claymores, frags, 60 and 16 rounds and 79 rounds for the new XM 203 over/unders.
“Call it in,” Brooks said. “Tell them we’ll resupply last.”
The recon team moved fifty meters upriver from where Egan had splashed in. They set up a small perimeter and ambush five meters from a red ball/river intersection. They had spent an hour moving 800 meters. It was 0430 and they were behind schedule. Egan, Cherry and McQueen stripped off all excess gear. They would not attempt to engage the enemy. They had, at best, two hours to cross, to observe, and then to get the hell out. They carried no rifles, no radio. Each man carried three frags and a bayonet. They removed their boots and tied them to their waists then eased into the dark current. False dawn lightened the sky but the knoll, indeed even the south bank, was invisible through the fog. They swam. Cherry led, breaststroking quickly, quietly. He reached the far bank, crouched in the shallow water and awaited the others. McQueen swam into him. Then Egan. They put their boots on, crawled up the bank and waited soundlessly. Then they moved very slowly, very quietly away from the river. They listened to the river current babbling over tiny snags at the bank. The sound faded as they dissolved inland. With each step they paused. They crossed first one trail, then another, then a red ball. They headed south, then west until they were behind the knoll. To that point the valley floor had been about like the valley floor everywhere they had walked: grass, discontinuous brush, secondary scrub and bamboo. Now it changed. It rose steeply, almost a cliff. Egan led the group farther west across the base of the peninsula of the knoll. All the while they climbed. Not so steeply now. The vegetation changed. It resembled the ridge foliage and it was silhouetted against the clearing sky. At mid-peninsula they discovered two parallel trails. The paths were narrow and ran toward the top. Beyond the second trail there was a trench. It also ran toward the top. They crossed it and burrowed into the undergrowth and sat. Egan checked his compass. He checked his watch. It was 0520.
On the far side of the river Minh, Doc and Snell sat next to each other trying to stay warm. Snell had camouflaged his radio by sticking to it six pieces of grass, just enough to break up its square appearance, and he had pushed the set as far from himself as the handset cord would allow. He sat and waited too.
To Minh the wait was terrifying. The Americans were becoming restless, too restless with him. They had begun looking at him as if he were a gook. Even Brooks had changed. Oh yes, Minh thought. He had felt it. He could feel the hungry eyes on him, the cold breath of these crazy men. Doc is my only friend, Minh told himself. If it were not for Doc they would destroy me. Minh thought about the North Vietnamese. They had developed greatly from the time three years ago when Minh knew them.
They will kill all these Americans, Minh thought. And they will kill me too. It is as Doc said, a suicide mission. Perhaps I should slip off into the jungle. They would love to capture me. How easily I could rid myself of these American fatigues and become one with them. Oh, what am I thinking? They too would murder me. They would torture me as they did my City of Hue. It is only with Doc that I am safe.
At Campobasso they waited too. Night was passing. Had the recon got off all right? Brooks wondered. From the ambush vantage point Snell had reported watching the three vanish into the fog and dark at midstream. That’s balls, Brooks thought. Egan, Cherry, McQueen. Balls. The goddamned biggest brass balls in the Nam. No company should be without boonierats like those.
False dawn had come and gone. First light was approaching quickly. The scattered rover teams were becoming restless. For days they had lost themselves in thorn thickets and beneath mist. For days they had paid no attention to time. They had become disoriented. Time had lost its sequential pace. Beneath the mist day and night lost contrast. The boonierats slept when the sky was coal black and when it was slate gray. They moved with equal ease day or night. Within their sections they pulled guard in shifts, ate in shifts, slept in shifts. Each shift lasted no more than two hours. Had they been on a spaceship with no night or far beneath the sea with no day they would have been equally time disoriented. Only one thing kept them from total insanity, saved them from the burden of being lost in time: to most of them it meant nothing. Time was not measured in sunrises and sunsets, not in days. It was measured in shifts and resupplies and operations and tours. For the rovers the operation would not end until they conquered the knoll or were destroyed trying.
As the sky lightened the knoll materialized above them. They had ascended to a height where the fog was thin. Below them ground mist and blackness obscured even the closest foliage. But above, above there was a shadow, a black blur against a gray fog sky, an immense black blur which seemed to envelop them. The sky became brighter. The top of the blur was a single tree so immense it seemed to dwarf them and the knoll.
Cherry heard them first. There seemed to be only a few. They moved quietly though casually. Cherry hefted a grenade and stared through the brush at them, at them approaching. Egan laid his hand lightly on Cherry’s, then more firmly. He motioned downhill and froze. Cherry dared not turn to look. Now he heard the second group too. He heard Mc-Queen breathe. The groups met on the trails before them. Those descending yawned. They handed something, scopes, to those climbing. They chatted softly, easily, then parted, those climbing, continuing up, those descending, continuing down. Then one stopped. He walked to the side of the trail and looked into the trench. He squatted, looked at the trail edge, then at the trench again. He called softly to the others but they had gone. Quickly the soldier picked up a handful of dead leaves and scattered them over the spot he had scrutinized. Then he relieved himself. Cherry could see his urine steaming. He was nearly urinating on McQueen. When he finished he strolled down into the mist and darkness.
* * *
Rover Team Jill arrived at Campobasso at 0620 hours, just after first light. They were restless, hungry, exhausted. Jax was wired. For ten minutes neither Brooks nor FO was able to ask a question. Finally Jax shut up long enough for the debriefing to begin. What had they seen since their contact with the mortar teams? Who, what, when, where? Details. Details. Brooks wanted more pieces of the gameboard. He and Jax reviewed the topo map. He noted every trail, every enemy sighting. He noted the times. Then Brooks, FO and El Paso connected the dots again. Where were the little people? Where do they come from? Where do they go? What would they know about Alpha from the contacts? Could they pin down Alpha’s location? With the earlier morning contacts the engagements of the last four days made a box around Alpha. Could the NVA still think, did they ever think, that the contacts were made by elements of Delta coming down the cliffs and Charlie coming up the valley? Very unlikely, Brooks thought. It was time to go.
“Brown,” Brooks called his command net RTO.
“Yes L-T.”
“Take these three to the berm. Let them sleep for the next six. You pull guard for them. Okay?”
“Roger that, L-T.”
“Make them sleep,” Brooks said. “If you need anything send a runner. Conserve your batteries.”
“L-T,” Cahalan called. Brooks looked at the krypto RTO. “It’s Major Hellman on the hook. He says he can have log birds at our station at dawn plus thirty.”
“What?”
“The resupply, L-T. Hellman’s got our shit already to fly.”
“Augh fuck. FUCK resupply! When’s the GreenMan coming back?”
“I don’t know, L-T.”
“Tell that assh …, tell the major we’ve got too many men out on X-rays. Tell him better than half the company is out humping and won’t be in before, ah, noon.”
Cherry emerged from the water onto the river’s north bank alone. He was winded from the swim. About his waist he had the end of a heavy rope. He crawled into the vegetation and put his boots on. It was 0720, thirty-one minutes after sunrise. The river and the valley floor were still cloaked in mist but it was thin and above was light. The sun was out.
“Sssstt. SKYHAWKS,” Cherry called.
“SKYHAWKS yer cherry ass,” Pop whispered back. “Where in hell’s Egan en Queenie?”
“Here,” Cherry said quickly. “On the other end a this.” He untied the rope from his waist. Urgently he said, “We’re goina need everybody to haul it in.”
“They daid?”
“Goddamnit, Pop! No. Course not. They’re guiding the cart. Now get em over here. The dinks are goina be madder’n hell when they wake up.”
“What?”
“Git.”
Pop scrambled back into the brush and in seconds had Snell, Denhardt, Calhoun, Doc and Minh heaving on the rope. Nahele and Woods moved up the trails to pull security.
“Pull,” Cherry began a soft cadence. “Pull. Pull. Pull.” The rope came toward them.
“What the fuck is it?” Calhoun asked.
“You’ll see,” Cherry gasped. “Pull. Pull.”
They pulled. The mist was too thick for them to see the far bank but they heard the clatter and the splash and the tension on the rope quadrupled almost pulling them all into the river.
“Pull. Pull. Pull.” Cherry continued the cadence.
They pulled, they strained. The rope came toward them steadily now. They grabbed forward, pulled back. Then, about mid-stream, it appeared, or they appeared. McQueen and Egan seemed to be hanging on, guiding it, keeping it from capsizing. The damn thing was half-boat, half-cart. An amphibious cart with a bow rope. There were double bicycle wheels on each side, half-out of the water. The inside appeared full. The cargo was heaped high though it was covered with a tarp. The recon squad pulled harder. Cherry quickened the cadence.
“I’ll be dipped in shit,” Snell laughed. All of them began chuckling.
The cart wheels hit bottom on the near side. McQueen and Egan lurched for the bank and scrambled into the covering vegetation. “Get it up and get out,” McQueen spurted the words out.
“They’ll be here, there,” Egan pointed across the river, “any minute.”
They rushed. Four of them slid down the bank and surrounded the cart. They pushed and lifted. The others pulled on the rope. The cart seemed to weigh tons. The wheels lodged against the bank. The cart wouldn’t climb the steep mud wall. Three more boonierats slid into the current. Seven lifted. Pop and Minh pulled with all their might from the top. All strained. The wheels dislodged from the muck. Boonierat feet sunk in deep. “Up,” Cherry whispered. “Up. Up.” Up they surged. Up rose the cart, up over the lip. On its wheels it shot forward, nearly running Minh over. The boonierats clambered up the bank. They caught the cart and rolled it away from the river, up a narrow trail, then in under cover. Cherry whipped the tarp off the cargo. There were seven 122mm rockets, four rocket boosters, four vehicle mount radios and an envelope of documents.
“What’s that one say, Minh?” Doc asked.
Snell had radioed the haul to the CP immediately after they had set up a perimeter. “You got a what?” El Paso had asked.
“An amphibious cart loaded with one-two-twos and radios,” Snell reiterated.
No one in Alpha, no one in the battalion, no one in the entire brigade, had ever seen an amphibious cart. The concept of it gave the NVA greater logistical flexibility than anyone dreamed they had. A cart like that would eliminate the need for bridges or ferries or boats, Brooks realized. Brooks radioed the GreenMan. He was still away from the station. “Say again, Over,” Major Hellman had Brooks repeat the description a third time. Then he ordered Brooks to have his men rig the cart for extraction. He would come in with the GreenMan’s bird himself and lift the cart out.
Pop and Egan attached the bow rope to the cart’s stern corners, jerryrigging a sling for the extraction. Then they filled in at the perimeter allowing Doc and Minh the freedom to translate at least a few of the documents before the envelope was taken away with the cart.
“What’s that one say?” Doc repeated.
“This says,” Minh translated as he read, “‘the great American people are behind us and against their own army. The firebase they call O’Reilly is already making American newspapers. The people of the United States are up in arms against their Imperialist War Lords. We should take strength from the proletariat, our comrades in America. If we are strong we can repeat the effectiveness of Firebase Ripcord on the American people and their Congress.’”
“This is fucked,” Brooks moaned to himself. “Why in hell didn’t they just look at it? Report it? Fucken Hellman. He’s going to bring a bird in here. That’s it. It’s over. They know our exact location, our exact plan.” Brooks called in El Paso and FO and Monk, Moneski, who had just arrived with RT Danielle. He settled himself down before he addressed them. Then he fed them his thoughts and apprehension.
El Paso acted frustrated and angry and sympathetic. This time he was no help. FO plotted the recon river crossing and suggested an immediate barrage on and about the river’s south bank. Brooks agreed and had FO call Armageddon Two to lay it on. The Monk, weary from his rover team ordeal, shrugged. “Aint no problem,” he said. “Have em push the cart upstream a klick.”
“Of course,” Brooks agreed. He lit up. “Hey, sure, of course. Monk, that’s genius. El Paso, get Pop on the hook.”
Alpha’s recon team moved reluctantly. The ground mist was thinning with every passing minute. It was no longer dark or gray on the valley floor although visibility beneath the fog was still less than twenty meters. Pop led the patrol. Egan and Cherry walked a double slack. In order to move the cart they had to stay on a trail and expose themselves to the potential of booby traps, ambushes and snipers. They moved slowly, laboriously. They took turns pushing and pulling. The cart rolled easily but the exposure was terrifying. Each of them bitched separately. Sometimes they bitched in twos.
“Pop smoke. Over,” Hellman radioed.
“Pop smoke,” Snell whispered to Egan. Egan set off a deep green smoke grenade and the smoke billowed and mixed with the mist. “Smoke out. Over,” Snell radioed back.
“I see Lucky Lime. Over,” Hellman called.
“That’s affirm,” Snell verified the color. He could hear the helicopter making its passes. First high, then low.
“Pop smoke,” Hellman ordered again.
“What the fuck,” Snell cussed. He tossed out, a purple canister. “Smoke out. Over.”
“I see Goofy Grape. Over.”
“Roger that, Red Rover. Goofy Grape. Over.” Then aside, “Goofy Fucker.”
The helicopter hovered over their location, the rotor wash pushed the ground mist away creating a hole in the fog. The sun was blinding. The pilot rocked the ship side-to-side enlarging the hole, giving Major Hellman a chance to see the ground and the cart and the troops below. Egan stood atop the cart. He was holding up a loop in the rigging. The crew chief stood on one skid directing the pilot down. Major Hellman stood on the opposite skid. “Great job,” he screamed into the roar of the helicopter engine. On the ground Doc and Minh watched him. The other boonierats had set up a wide, loose security perimeter. Doc signaled Egan that the lines below him were okay. “Great job,” Hellman screamed again. He threw a half-full mail sack toward Doc and waved. Egan secured the rope loop to the hook on the belly of the Huey and signaled the crew chief. The bird rose slightly, then more. The lines became taut. Egan jumped from the cart and grabbed his M-16. The bird lifted, rotated. The cart rose and swung. The bird gained altitude. The ground mist closed back in. Doc had grabbed and opened the mail bag. He had seen it purely by accident. On the very top there was a letter for Egan. He reached in and pulled it out. The squad reformed quickly. Doc stared at the letter. Pop urged the squad to leave quickly: “To the north and then west,” he said.
“South to the river,” Egan said. “Better cover.” Doc smiled. He grabbed Egan and handed him the letter. Doc was grinning broadly, happy for Egan. The return address simply said Stephanie.
Mortar rounds began falling and exploding.
Brooks had completed the debriefing of RT Cindy and was almost finished with Suzie when the recon team took its first casualty. RT Suzie had made no contacts in the four days of hide-n-hit. They were the only team who not only had no kills but also had no sightings. Why? What had they been doing? How had they operated? The team consisted of Harley, Andrews and Hill, all good soldiers from Whiteboy’s old squad. Brooks pried. He found no irregularities. Perhaps Egan’s team, which had been to Harley’s east, had halted the traffic before it reached RT Suzie. Brooks did not push it too far. He did not reprimand, did not show disappointment. Brooks himself was critical of other commanders he called “bodycount mad.” He did not want to be categorized with them. He dropped the subject, briefed the three boonierats on the upcoming mission and dismissed them with “Good job. Thanks. Get some rest. Conserve your batteries.” He would, however, watch them more closely. Had it not been Whiteboy opening up with his machine gun on nothing who halted the move off Hill 848? The sound of mortar rounds exploding upriver halted his thoughts.
Minh was the first one hit. The first mortar rounds exploded very close and the boonierats hit the dirt. The second and third rounds exploded among them. And Minh was hit. He was hit in the back of the head and neck and up his left side. Blood gushed from his head. Doc was on him immediately. Inaccurate automatic weapons fire raked their general area from a distance.
Mortar rounds began exploding again. Metal sliced into Snell’s legs. He had been on the radio to Brooks with the first explosion. He groaned, grunted. Then it did not hurt at all. He checked his legs. He could see splinters of tangled feet but he could not believe they were his feet. Pop was next to him with his compass out. More rounds exploded on them.
“Augh fuck,” Snell moaned. “I’m sorry, Pop. Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“Quiet Rover Four, X-ray. Over,” Pop called.
“X-ray, Four. Over.”
“We dashin november. Enemy fire coming from our sierra fifty-five degree whiskey. Range maybe five hundred meters. Over. Out.”
From Campobasso Brooks radioed the GreenMan. FO radioed Armageddon Two.
Doc tied three camouflaged battle-dressings to Minh’s head. Blood was coming from Minh’s nose and running over his face in wide bright streams. “Get em on my back,” Doc told Denhardt. He lifted the small Vietnamese scout and fell in behind McQueen. Egan was leading them due north almost at a run. They hunched low and ran through the grass and brush. Cherry and Pop helped Snell in a kind of double three-legged race. Mortar rounds continued exploding all about them.
“Fucken gooks,” Egan hissed. Fucken gooks en fucken Hellman en his fucken bird. Egan’s mind raced as he broke through the vegetation like a mad fullback. We shoulda blown the fucken thing. They’re aimin in on the extraction spot. Can’t see us. Can’t have one a their units here, right here. Egan slowed before an area of low brush. His thoughts caught up to him. They wouldn’t mortar their own people. Egan had been pumping his thighs high, breaking through brambles, leaving a mashed clearing behind him. The others had followed blindly in his wake. The NVA mortars moved east, then west. Now they were being walked north. They were falling behind the squad. Armageddon, the 105 howitzer battery on Barnett, shot out a salvo of counter-battery fire. Then another. Armageddon worked rounds quickly back and forth over the area Pop had designated to Brooks. Then the howitzers fired at coordinates FO had called in earlier. The mortars ceased with Armageddon’s third salvo.
Doc had Minh on the ground. He knelt at his side and ripped the small scout’s shirt open. Minh’s back was a blotted mass of blood. Doc put his ear to Minh’s chest. Egan rushed down to help. Cherry raised Minh’s legs. Behind them Calhoun and Pop radioed Dust-Off. Nahele and McQueen cut Snell’s pants and boots off and tied tourniquets at the tops of his thighs. Denhardt and Woods spread out for security. Doc raised up onto his knees. For half a second he stared blankly at Egan then at Minh’s tiny chest. Doc cocked his right arm and smashed Minh’s chest with his fist, smashed down hard jolting the ceased heart. He ran a finger up Minh’s abdomen to the sternum, moved up two finger widths, set the heel of his hand and compressed. “Breathe em,” Doc ordered Egan who was already around to Minh’s head. Egan checked Minh’s mouth and cleared rice vomit from the airway. Gently, trying to stay clear of the wounds, he lifted Minh’s neck and pushed his head back, then rechecked the mouth and airway. Egan covered Minh’s mouth, squeezed Minh’s nostrils, and blew quick hard breaths. He could feel the air inflate Minh’s lungs. Doc continued pumping on Minh’s chest, compressing, releasing, sixty times a minute. Egan settled down to inflating Minh’s lungs every five seconds. They got their rhythms and settled in. “Check them dressings,” Doc ordered Cherry. “Come on,” he snapped when Cherry hesitated.
The medical evacuation helicopter was in the air within three minutes of notification. It headed inland from Camp Evans and rendezvoused with two escort Cobras above the Rach Mӯ Chānh River. The artillery unit on Firebase Barnett fired half-battery harassment salvos once each minute until the Dust-Off reached the valley. Pop handled the Dust-Off systematically. He established direct radio contact with the medevac pilot and gave him an approximate 265° vector from the firebase. A firebase RTO came on the net and informed the pilot, “We have winds at 90°, five to seven knots.” Pop took over again. He briefed the pilot on the tactical situation. “There aint a friendly in a klick radius. Over.”
“Roger that,” the pilot answered. He asked several questions about the LZ and about the wounded.
“Low brush area to our november,” Pop said. “Ground fog burning off. It’s still maybe ten feet thick. When your skids hit the fog you’ll be right atop us.” Pop kept up constant directions. Nahele took Snell to the south edge of the pick-up site. McQueen, Denhardt and Woods secured the north side. Calhoun relinquished the radio to Pop and moved east. Pop moved into the low brush area. All the time Doc and Egan rhythmically worked over Minh’s body.
“You can quit,” Cherry said. “He’s dead.”
Neither answered. Neither stopped. Cherry lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and let it out. He took another drag then held the smoke for Doc. Doc scowled and shook his head.
“Doc,” Cherry said matter-of-factly. “He’s dead. I can see his brains. They spillin out all over.” Cherry reached over to Minh’s head. He flicked up the edge of the field dressings. A blood pocket beneath released. The blood flowed thickly onto the earth. A mass of bloody gray-pink-white sponge-like tissue followed it. Cherry lifted the dressing higher exposing the opened side and back of the head and neck. Egan stopped the inflations. He stared at Cherry. Cherry’s eyes were intense, crazy.
Doc continued the compressions. His eyes were shut. He was crying. Cherry looked closely at Minh’s head. He poked a finger into the cavity. “That’s the cerebrum,” he said. He leaned closer. “That’s the area of the brain stem. That there must be the medulla oblongata. And this back here is the cerebellum.”
The sound of helicopters returned to the Khe Ta Laou as it had not been since the operation’s sixth day. Charlie, Delta and Recon were all resupplying. Chinooks resupplied the firebase. The day became hot. The sky cleared. Only a vestige of ground mist remained about the valley, mostly along the river and at valley center. Alpha was together, all seventy-two boonierats at Campobasso. The last of the rover teams had arrived at noon. The recon team returned at 1230 hours. Brooks continued to tell Hellman and the GreenMan that Alpha was split up all over. “But on their way back in … right now,” he said. If they’ll just stay out of here until we debrief, he thought, then we’ll have the munition to delay resupply.
“This I want to hear step-by-step, minute-by-minute,” Brooks said when he had them together. He and FO and El Paso along with all three platoon lieutenants debriefed the recon team. Pop looked very weary. Doc did not speak. McQueen was glassy-eyed, Cherry indifferent. He had bruises on his face, “from slamming his face into the ground when the mortars fell,” he said. Egan’s hands were bandaged. “Maybe from the cart,” he told Brooks. In his pocket was the letter from Stephanie. He wanted to get away to read it in private but Brooks wanted to debrief. At first the debriefers had to drag details from them. Slowly they all came around, came to, and began to tell and retell what they saw. Egan went into great detail about watching the changing of the guard or the observers at the knoll. He told them about the two parallel trails a meter apart and about the trench. “Before we skyed we checked out the trench,” Egan explained. “They got land-lines running up the side. That’s what the dude who pissed on McQueen was coverin.” The questions continued. Numerous inquiries were directed to the subject of the scopes. McQueen had had the best view but he still had not seen them clearly. They all speculated and FO said he was certain if the dinks had nightscopes for patrols, they would have nightscopes for the observers on the knoll.
More details. Where did the trails and trench go down to? The recondos were not sure. “We circled back goin downhill and a little farther west,” Egan explained. “Then we hit the red ball. That thing had so many cart tracks, Man, I can’t tell you. My guess is it feeds a bunker complex and my guess is the complex is at the bottom of that knoll. They aint goina have shit up top except the OP.”
More questions. The shape of the slope? The steepness of its sides? Again the team could not say for sure. “Map looks right to me,” Cherry ventured. He spoke awkwardly, working his jaw with great effort to control the words. “It’s maybe steeper than the map indicates.”
“Yeah,” Egan agreed. “The whole thing seems higher too. Map’s got its top at two hundred meters, only sixty meters higher than the river. I’d guess it’s more like a hundred. Those trails and the trench were almost exactly on a north-south line.”
Back they went to the trails, to the guards. McQueen said he guessed only half the guards changed at a time. Four came down, four went up. “Bet they had four more up there,” he said. “They changed at 0530,” he added. “If we hit em we should hit em at the end of their shift when they’re gettin ready to quit. 0500 or 0515.”
“I love it when you guys are thinking,” Brooks smiled. “They must have an incredible vantage point from up there when the valley’s clear.” He scratched his scalp. “They could see the entire valley. They could … with scopes, they could have seen us when we came off 848.”
The debriefing continued. Egan told them all the story of the cart. It had been so simple, he said, that it made him feel silly. “It was like a college prank,” he said. They had followed the first red ball away from the knoll to where it intersected a second road that seemed to head upriver. They followed the second for 400 meters and found the cart parked, just parked, at the edge of the trail.
They looked around and found four soldiers asleep nearby. Egan and Cherry watched them as McQueen pushed the cart up the trail. It rolled very easily. When he was what they estimated a hundred meters away, they left the enemy and caught up to McQueen. Then they simply rolled it to the river and Cherry had swum across with the bow rope. It had been the easiest part of the recon, the easiest mission he had ever had. They had all laughed about it until Hellman decided he wanted to extract the damned thing. “You know the story from there,” Egan said glumly.
During the afternoon Campobasso turned into a hot fetid swamp. The boonierats who had been rovers attempted to sleep. They were weary, wet, as odorous as the swamp itself. Their eyes had sunk deeper into the sallow hollow sockets of their faces. Tongues swelled in dry mouths. They were out of decent water. They were filthy. The slack period gave them the time to realize it and the heat highlighted it. CP soldiers pulled LP/OP, platoon personnel who had remained at Campobasso pulled berm guard. Mosquitos rose in swarms by early evening. The place, like the entire north valley floor, was infested with land leeches. And the insect repellent had again run out. The sleeping boonierats wrapped ponchos around their heads and over their hands. The mosquitos and the leeches found their way in. The entire company was nauseous and spent. Everyone, that is, except Egan.
Egan had his letter from Stephanie. And what a letter. He wanted to scream, to holler in joy. He took her picture from his wallet. He had not looked at the picture in months. Now he caressed it, ran a gentle finger down her cheek. The photo had cracked and faded. It had been wet for so long, mildew grew on the back and on the edges. Egan wiped the paper carefully. God, she is beautiful.
My Daniel (the letter began. It was dated August 13th, 1970. It had crossed his in the mail.) Do you know what a soul looks like? It looks like a tree with branches, a sapling but with many branches that extend throughout one’s body. To some people you show an extremity, a leaf. To others you let them lie in the branches. Well, when you came along I let you look at the whole thing. You asked me if you could take it for a day or so and examine it. You had seen the whole thing so I said, sure and you plucked my soul leaving only the roots behind. But before you returned the next day something must have happened and you did not come back. I didn’t get my soul back and I’ve been without one ever since. I thought I might grow a new one from the old roots but that takes so much time. It would be easier if you would bring my soul back. Oh Daniel, I’ve been thinking of you so much. I worry about you. Please write to me. Tell me you’re all right. I know your time there is almost over. When will you be home? Can I meet you at the airport? I’m dying to see you again.
Love,
Stephanie
At 1640 hours on the 24th of August sixteen mortar rounds landed within the perimeter of Firebase Barnett. Two American soldiers were killed and three wounded. At 1730 hours the NVA hit Delta wounding five Americans. One enemy soldier was killed. Through it all Brooks continued to be hassled by Major Hellman, then by the GreenMan. It took four calls but finally he convinced the command his plan was sound. He spoke with them only over the krypto radio and still he spoke in code.
“Red Rover, Red Rover. The game is to be played on the Ides plus ten on the home court. The spectators should arrive by five. Goodyear over the stadium standby. Left forward driving to the hoop, center feeding. Over.”
“Quiet Rover this is Red Rover,” the GreenMan answered. “The Star-Spangled Banner is over. Play ball. Over. Out.”
“L-T,” Doc whispered after the transmission.
Brooks looked at the medic. He did not look good. He looked worse than most of the others. “What’s up, Doc?” Brooks said trying to lighten his mood.
Doc shook his head slowly and said, “L-T, this a suicide mission. Aint none of us gonna come back we cross that river again.”
“Doc,” Brooks said soothingly yet with encouragement, “we’ve got Charlie Company two klicks west. They’ll move in at dawn. Bravo’s two and a half klicks east but they’re tightening down right now. They’ll NDP less than two klicks from our objective. Recon’s on the side of 606 squeezing down. They’ll be two klicks away. Those dudes in Delta are right above us, and thank God they’re going to stay there. FO’s got an arty prep lined up. We’ve got Tac Air and a pink team on call. This’ll be a piece of cake. And I’ve got really good news. We’re going to blow an LZ on the knoll and be extracted. We’re scheduled for a week of firebase duty.”
The afternoon bore on. The sun had turned the swamp to steam. The steam wilted the boonierats. There was very little to do except lie and wait and hide. Because of the knoll observers Brooks had instructed Alpha to stay beneath cover and not move. The steamy stillness was as torturous as the cold stillness. Perhaps it was worse for in the cold wet they were stalking, trapping, ambushing. They had been the hunters. In the heat they waited and hid and knew that the NVA were now hunting. There was little to do except clean weapons and sleep and read the mail Major Hellman had thrown to Doc.
El Paso received his monthly letter from Father Raul. It contained inconsequential and insignificant news. His mother was well though worried as always. Cherry received a letter from his mother and father. His father said he wanted him to know that he was very proud of his son. There were assorted letters and small packages for twenty-eight others. There was nothing for Brooks.
El Paso confiscated the Newsweek that had come for Leon Silvers. It was the August 10th issue. He read the articles dealing with Vietnam and those about world politics. Red China, it was reported, was about to establish full diplomatic relations with Yugoslavia. The USSR had tested a Minuteman SS-11 ICBM which had decoy warheads and radar fooling metallic chaff. South Vietnam’s President Thieu had finally agreed to devalue the piaster against the dollar. Ah, here’s an interesting one, he said to himself.
HANOI TAKES NO CHANCES
Bombing raids against North Vietnam have been halted (except for a rare strike to protect scout planes) since November 1968, but Hanoi is not relaxing. It still maintains a net of 4000 Ack-Ack artillery and machine gun sites, almost 500 radar points and 40 batteries of Soviet missiles.
“Goddamn little rice-propelled bastards sure seem well equipped,” El Paso mumbled. He jumped to the sports section. Vince Lombardi, coach of the Washington Redskins, formerly of the Green Bay Packers, had been hospitalized with cancer of the colon. Mexico’s in the running in World Cup Soccer.
Jax slinked over cautiously and handed El Paso a stack of newspaper clippings he had received with a short note from his brother-in-law. “How far we from O’Reilly?” Jax asked.
“Fifteen klicks,” El Paso answered. “Maybe, give or take two. Why?”
“Shee-it. Read this, Man,” Jax said pulling one article from the stack. El Paso read the UPI article:
RED BUILD-UP IN NORTH OF VIETNAM
Saigon—Heavy fighting between North and South Vietnamese forces was reported yesterday in the jungled mountains of the far north near Ripcord, the abandoned United States artillery base.
More than 1000 enemy troops are believed to be massing for an attack on a South Vietnamese base.
U. S. and South Vietnamese fighter-bombers and helicopters attacked the North Vietnamese positions with bombs, rockets and napalm throughout the day. First accounts made no mention of casualties.
SIGHTING
A newsman reported from the South Vietnamese First Division Headquarters at Hue that four battalions of North Vietnamese troops were sighted Sunday along a ridge a mile west of Fire Base O’Reilly.
O’Reilly is a former U. S. 101st Airborne Division base reopened by the South Vietnamese First Division in March. It stands atop a 1500 foot ridge less than five miles north of Ripcord, the 101st Division artillery base abandoned under heavy enemy pressure July 23.
The article went on about enemy troop movements from Laos into the O’Reilly area and about South Vietnamese attempts to break up the troop concentrations.
“They doan even mention us,” Jax moaned.
“We weren’t even here when this was written,” El Paso said. “It’s datelined the eleventh. What else you got?”
“Here one on the Soledad trial,” Jax handed him the article. El Paso began reading:
SOLEDAD TRIAL SITE IN DISPUTE
Presiding Superior Court Judge Carl A. Allen said yesterday he will do “everything he can” to have the Soledad Brothers murder trial transferred from San Francisco Superior Court to San Quentin Prison.
Trial of the three convicts—George L. Jackson, 28; Fleeta Drumgo, 25; and John Chutchette, 27, accused of last January’s slaying of Soledad guard John V. Mills, 26 …
Jax interrupted El Paso with “Here one on the My Lai Trial. Read the last sentence there.” Jax pointed it out.
“Man, that’s old news. That shit was on the radio when we were on stand-down.” El Paso went back to the Soledad article.
… Judge Allen’s comments yesterday stemmed from last Friday’s gun battle at the Marin County Civic Center in which Superior Court Judge Harold Haley was taken hostage in his courtroom by San Quentin convicts and shot to death.
Two of the convicts and a youthful confederate, Jonathan P. Jackson, 17, were also shot and killed in the melee. Young Jackson was a brother of George Jackson, one of the Soledad convicts …
“That ain’t nothin,” Jax interrupted El Paso again handing him a follow-up article from the next day.
THE MARIN GUNS—ANGELA DAVIS LINK
Purchase Records Traced
by Charles Raudebaugh
Investigators said yesterday that two of the guns used in the Marin County courtroom kidnapping tragedy last week were originally purchased by Angela Davis, 26-year-old former UCLA philosophy teacher.
Superior Court Judge Harold Haley of San Rafael and three other persons were killed in a gun battle which followed an attempt …
Jax interrupted again. “Whut we dowin ta end injustice?” Jax said to El Paso.
Doc came over and sat down with his two friends. He had heard Jax’ question and he repeated it as he sat. Then he said, “We are injustice. We bein injust just bein here.”
“You’re soundin like Jax,” El Paso told him.
“Maybe my eyes been opened,” Doc said.
“You’re feelin bad, Man,” El Paso said, “cause a Minh.”
“That’s right, Mista. Over Minh. Over Soledad. Over the Panther trial. Over Nam. Over Nixon. Over law and order. I had it.”
Egan had fallen into a deep sleep. He had wrapped his entire body in his poncho and snapped it tight from feet up over face. He had lain down beneath bamboo stalks, on his back, in his usual resting position, and he had fallen quickly to sleep. The afternoon’s still heat was blown away by an early evening breeze before the dream mutated, before the pleasures of a fantasized future with Stephanie transformed to terror. It did not happen all at once. They had been in a strange land. They were marching away from nothingness toward a dark medieval castle of heavy stone, damp and moldy and old, toward the last bastion of ignorance and hate. Somehow they had become the leaders of a revolt against established, protocolled forms of deceit. They were on the verge of storming the Bastille with their hordes of bedraggled followers when Daniel lost sight of Stephanie. Then it was all nothingness, empty, barren. His bones quivered, his teeth chattered.
“The last bastion of hate?” he screamed, cried. “Nay,” he moaned subdued. “It is not a bastion of hate. It is a bastion of wisdom and knowledge and love. Love and truth locked behind stone walls, hidden from a hateful world by massive enclave walls. What I lead is an army of hate set upon destroying it. Is that why you leave me? Are you inside? Were you a clandestine angel come to save my soul, and I, a recruiter for my devil? Why do I storm knowledge and love?”
The light flickered, flickered a single star in a black heaven. Then darkness and in the darkness the sapper. The star twinkled on the silver machete in his hand. It glittered on the blade as the dark form raised the huge knife higher, higher, cocked his arm and struck. Egan tried to move. He was immobilized, trapped in the poncho. The machete hit his face, it hit him across the eyes. Now he watched it from outside his body. The motion slowed. The blade severed his nose, his eyes, impacting on his brain slicing through severing the top half of his head cleanly.
Egan awoke startled, frozen. He dared not move. It was dark in his poncho cocoon yet light seeped in at several cracks. Slowly, very slowly he moved a hand to his head. He felt the side, the bridge of his nose for the cut. Slowly he opened the poncho. Cherry sat over him staring into his face.
Before they left Campobasso for the last time the boonierats of Alpha ate dinner. Most ate slowly. Several men were out of food but others shared the little they had left and no one went without. At the CP after the tactical briefing the old-timers silently prepared as elaborate a feast as their meager C-rations would allow. Everyone contributed something, pork slices, pineapple bits, B-2 units. Egan added the pièce de résistance, a two-pound DeBuque canned ham which he had received in a late Christmas package and had humped for seven months. “There aint been a good enough reason to eat it,” he whispered to the men about him. “But hell, with tomorrow probably being the L-T’s last day in the bush … well, that’s better than good enough.”
Brooks organized the dinner. Thirteen boonierats had remained at the CP, the now six CP members, Lt. Thomaston, Cherry, Jax and Egan from 1st Plt, Pop from 2d and Lt. Caldwell and Nahele from 3d. As Doc mixed a helmetful of mocha he said to Brooks and Jax, “Minh would a liked this. You remember that Cha Gio fondue stuff he made that night?”
“What stuff was that?” FO asked.
“This fondue stuff,” Doc said. “Minh made it with rice alcohol en vinegar en I think sugar. He had shrimp en beef sliced almost so thin you could see through it. You dip it in the boilin alcohol fo bout five second. That it. Sweet Mista. You aint never tasted nothin like it.”
Egan took charge of the meat. There was the two-pound ham and three C-rat tins of meat that smelled like dog food. Egan had poured a can of Cahalan’s pineapple bits and a can of Brown’s peach slices over the top and he heated the whole thing in a helmet on two C-rat can stoves using four heat tabs. Cahalan, Brown and Cherry held ponchos over and about this so the small flame could not be seen in the increasing darkness.
Egan stirred the contents slowly, trying not to dislodge the dirt stuck to the helmet. He was experiencing ominous premonitions like he had never felt before.
“Oh Man,” Thomaston called to Caldwell and Nahele where they stood over Pop. Pop was concocting a chipped beef on bread dish from a can of Beef with Potatoes, two cans of meat slices and a can of Beans with Meat Balls in Tomato Sauce. The bread would be B-2 Unit crackers. “Oh Man, oh Man. Firebase duty. Tomorrow night we’ll be kickin back lettin someone else do the humpin.”
“Goina get us some beer, Sir?” Nahele asked.
“You bet,” Thomaston answered. “On me. Hey Pop, what the hell you doing under there? That stuff smells like shit.”
“Well, I aint pissin in it,” Pop’s voice squeaked out from under the ponchos.
When the food was ready they assembled in two facing rows with Brooks directing the helmets of food and drink from the center of one row. All the helmets passed clockwise. The boonierats scraped the food into empty C-rat cans with their plastic spoons or fingers.
“Man,” Jax whispered. “This is good shit.”
“My compliments to the chefs,” Cahalan said.
“To the L-T,” Egan said.
“To Minh,” Doc whispered so only he could hear.
“Hey,” Brown griped, “I didn’t get any bread.”
“Au! Brownie didn’t get any bread,” Cahalan chided him.
“Here,” Brooks said breaking his last cracker in half, “take this.”
“Oh shit,” Brown said. “Thanks, L-T. I didn’t mean for you …”
“That’s okay,” Brooks said. “I had plenty.”
“Thanks L-T,” Brown repeated.
They ate slowly for infantry soldiers used to ramming the food in and swallowing without chewing, yet they still finished in less than five minutes. They sat in silence. It was too dark to smoke. No one wanted to leave. They all felt close. Brooks glanced at them all. It was a great company, he thought. Quietly Brooks rose, went to his rucksack and returned with a single can of Budweiser beer. With his B-52 can opener he made two small holes in the top, took a drink and passed it. El Paso drank, then Doc, Jax, Thomaston, Egan and Cherry. Cherry passed the can, one half full, to Caldwell. “You gotta be kidding,” the 3d Plt lieutenant said, grossed out by the half-dozen mouths on the can. He passed the can with two fingers to Nahele who took two sips. Pop, Brown, FO and Cahalan finished the can.
SIGNIFICANT ACTIVITIES
THE FOLLOWING RESULTS OF OPERATIONS IN THE O’REILLY/BARNETT/JEROME AREA WERE REPORTED FOR THE 24-HOUR PERIOD ENDING 2359 24 AUGUST 70:
BEFORE DAWN ON THIS DATE ELEMENTS OF 3D PLT, CO A, 7/402 AMBUSHED AND ENGAGED A REINFORCED ENEMY SUPPLY TEAM, VICINITY YD 145324, KILLING SIX. ONE US SOLDIER RECEIVED MINOR SHRAPNEL WOUNDS.
AT 0720 A RECONNAISSANCE TEAM FROM CO A DISCOVERED AN UNGUARDED ENEMY AMPHIBIOUS CART. THE CART WAS AN EIGHT BY THREE FOOT BOAT WITH A SOLID AXLE ACROSS THE BOTTOM. TWO BICYCLE-TYPE TIRES SUPPORTED THE CART ON EACH SIDE. THE RECON TEAM REMOVED THE VEHICLE FROM ITS DOCKAGE AND PULLED IT TO AN EVACUATION POINT. THE CART CONTAINED SEVEN 122MM ROCKETS, FOUR ROCKET BOOSTERS, FOUR RADIOS AND DOCUMENTS. THE CART AND CONTENTS WERE EVACUATED.
AT 0915 AN ELEMENT OF CO A, 7/402 WAS MORTARED VICINITY YD 158317. COUNTER BATTERY FIRE SUPPORTED THE GROUND FORCE. ONE US SOLDIER WAS WOUNDED. A KCS WAS KILLED.
FIREBASE BARNETT RECEIVED 16 82MM MORTAR ROUND IM-PACTIONS AT 1640 HOURS. TWO US SOLDIERS WERE KILLED AND THREE WOUNDED. AT 1730 HOURS AN ELEMENT OF CO D, 7/402 WAS AMBUSHED BY AN ESTIMATED REINFORCED SQUAD OF NVA. THE ELEMENT RETURNED ORGANIC WEAPONS FIRE KILLING ONE ENEMY. FIVE US SOLDIERS WERE WOUNDED AND EVACUATED.
ELEMENTS OF THE 1ST REGT (ARVN) ENGAGED AN UNKNOWN ENEMY FORCE IN THE AREA SOUTH OF FIREBASE O’REILLY KILLING 24 ENEMY. SIX ARVN SOLDIERS WERE KILLED AND EIGHT WOUNDED.
