The Tigers weren’t given much time to unwind. Three hours after arriving at Carentan, they were hustled to a briefing in the mess area. Restless from their weeks in the valley, they wanted to head into town, but Colonel Austin and other officers were pressed for time, and the Tigers had no choice. Out there, the rules could be ignored, but on the base, the usual rigidity was maintained.
After they gathered, the briefing sergeant delivered the good news: the Tigers would not be returning to the Song Ve. That campaign was over. But the sergeant didn’t hesitate with the next bit of information: they would have only a few days for stand-down. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he said. They would be pulling out of Carentan on August 10 and heading in a truck convoy thirty-five miles north to the sprawling Army air base at Chu Lai and a new province—Quang Tin.
Unlike other assignments, this was not coming merely from battalion headquarters but from commanders in Saigon. Westmoreland and others were growing increasingly frustrated over intelligence reports showing thousands of enemy soldiers moving into the province. Despite intensive bombing of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, enemy soldiers were still traveling unabated down the route with weapons and food. With the Tigers carrying out surveillance, the battalion would be moving into the jungle terrain northwest of the air base to find enemy encampments. Because the area was seen as critical to the control of the Central Highlands, Westmoreland was adamant about stopping the movements. Secret Army estimates showed that 7,500 enemy soldiers per month were slipping into the South—mostly on the trails that wound through Quang Tin.
The development was not good for several reasons. First, it showed that despite the massive losses sustained by the enemy, the war was far from over. The North Vietnamese were not backing down. Since various units had arrived in the region in May, at least seventeen enemy positions had been set up in Quang Tin alone. Second, the deployment—if reported in the press—would be a blow to Westmoreland’s credibility with certain members of Congress and the American public, and generals rarely fought harder than when defending their own political turf.
The plan was for the Tigers to camp at Chu Lai and then break into teams on search-and-destroy missions. The new area of operations was much larger—ten times the size of the Song Ve Valley—and, in some ways, more treacherous. The terrain was covered by triple-canopy jungle, and most of the region was unknown even to the translators.
Beyond geography, Quang Tin was more challenging for two reasons: there were more North Vietnamese soldiers there than in Quang Ngai, and it was even more difficult to remove the civilians. In Quang Ngai, people lived in large population centers along the coast. Most of the villagers in Quang Tin were scattered across the province, with as many people living in the far western reaches, and for years the people had been building a system of earthen bunkers to stay safe from American sorties. The Vietcong had made significant inroads in the rural areas and had promised the people they wouldn’t force the villagers to leave their hamlets. The province served as a major artery of the Ho Chi Minh Trail—a massive patchwork of jungle paths, bridges, and underground passages where thousands of enemy troops were moving to the South undetected. No amount of bombing could destroy the trail. Even when a bridge was blown up, a new one was erected in hours by an army of workers devoted to keeping the trail open. For the North Vietnamese, it was a noble cause worth dying for.
Added to this was the fact that the people of Quang Tin had long been abandoned by Saigon. That didn’t mean they unanimously sided with the North. Indeed, many of the Buddhist leaders in the province had opposed the war. But such distinctions would matter little to the Tigers headed to the area. The enemy was more entrenched, and the villagers were less likely to leave on their own. And with Hawkins in the lead, there were only going to be more problems.
Before heading to the new operations area, the Tigers were given a day to get drunk and laid. Unfortunately for them, most huts selling alcohol in Duc Pho were sold out, and no new supplies were expected for days. After striking out, Carpenter and several Tigers stopped at a wood building that resembled a drive-through, with a large, open walk-up window and several picnic tables.
When Carpenter ambled to the window, a Marine behind the counter asked why the Tigers weren’t wearing helmets. “We don’t wear helmets,” a Tiger snapped.
The Marine then asked why the men weren’t wearing flags on their uniforms. Carpenter said the Tigers didn’t have to wear them and added that he wasn’t there to talk about uniforms.
“We just want some beer to last until tomorrow,” he said.
With his arms folded, the Marine stepped back and said he wasn’t going to sell them any beer. “Take off,” he said. But the Tigers weren’t going anywhere. They had been looking forward to getting drunk. Now that they had finally found beer, they weren’t going to let this Marine get in their way. “Fuck you, Marines,” said a Tiger. “You guys aren’t in there fighting the war. We are.”
Without warning, two Tigers hopped over the counter and started grabbing cases. When two Marines jumped into the fray to help their fellow soldier, the other Tigers stormed the building. They jumped on the Marines. Some grabbed chairs and began smashing them against the wall; others took out their Zippo lighters and held the flames up to the slats in the building. Within minutes, flames were running up the sides and to the roof.
As the soldiers ran outside and the building was engulfed by fire, the Tigers loaded the beer onto a Jeep and sped away.
Even after chugging Black Labels most of the night, Green and Ybarra couldn’t sleep. They staggered to their tents and immediately began talking so loudly the other soldiers were awakened. With their tours over in a few weeks, they would be given the option of signing up for another six months. Before starting their new tours, they would get a month’s R & R—anywhere they wanted to drag themselves. But they needed to make a decision soon.
From the briefing, Ybarra was looking forward to going to the new operations area. Green wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t see staying any longer than he had to in South Vietnam. He was already close to the edge, and he was looking forward to getting back to some form of sanity.
Ybarra glared at his friend. “What do you mean, man? You can’t leave now,” he snapped. Green wanted to tell Ybarra that it was over, that he just wanted to go home. But he couldn’t. Once again, Ybarra was challenging Green’s manhood, and Ken wasn’t going to let Ybarra get his way. Besides, if they stayed together, they could keep each other alive.
Ybarra was excited. “There’s more action up there,” he said about the new operations area. Besides, what was Green going to do back in Globe? Did he want to work in the mines? There sure as hell wasn’t much else. Here, he was part of something that was important. In Globe, he was nothing, and would always be nothing.
Green agreed. He hated the mines and didn’t want to spend his life frying eggs in the family diner. Globe was a dead end in a dead land. Vietnam it would be.
On the morning of August 10, the 150 soldiers in B Company crowded into the transport trucks idling along Highway One, followed by C Company. Last came the Tigers. One by one, the men hopped on the canvas-covered vehicles. Of course staying on base was easier, but now that the game was on, the Tigers were ready for it. “Most of us couldn’t wait to go,” recalled Carpenter. As the men readied themselves for the trip, they looked around to see who was in the trucks. Conspicuously absent was Wood. What they didn’t know was that the Tigers’ forward artillery observer had been ordered to pack his gear. He was no longer a Tiger. He was being shipped to another unit. His efforts to counter Hawkins were over. Any hopes he held of winning over the men one by one—men such as Bill Carpenter, Ervin Lee, and Forrest Miller—were over. This was how the Army was going to deal with his complaints about atrocities: transfer the messenger. The move was significant on many levels. Wood was a leader who reminded the others that, even in war, there was a code of honor—and without one, the men were not warriors but murderers. In combat units, one such person can make a difference, partly because he keeps the “weaker” soldiers from crossing the line. He is a constant reminder of what’s right. As the trucks pulled away, a key link in the chain connecting Tiger Force to the rule of law was severed.