The Last Road Home

Snake and I started to work missions regularly, in the bush for a few days and back to recoup for a couple. We would set up in places Snake knew should have traffic crossing from the north. He taught me how to read grids on a map and how to call in artillery. It wasn’t unusual to come across big groups of NVA troops, too big for the two of us to take on, so we’d plot the position and call in the heavy guns. After passing on the coordinates, we’d ask them to “fire for effect,” then adjust and watch the results. When the soldiers scattered, we’d usually manage to catch a couple away from the main force and pop them. Other times we worked with the long-range reconnaissance boys, getting out ahead of them and scouting, which is where the “scout sniper” name came from. Generally we had six or seven days in the bush on those missions.

Snake and I were drinking coffee at the firebase one morning after working along the border three days. He looked over his canteen cup. “Son, you’re about as natural at this job as I’ve ever seen.”

“You got that ability to adapt to circumstances without getting rattled. That’s a good trait for a shooter, and not a bad way to live your life. Most cherries out here in the jungle in the dark are pissing-in-their-pants scared. You like this shit.”

I poured the rest of the bitter, strong coffee over the dirt and lit a smoke. The memory of standing outside Mr. Wilson’s window with my finger on the trigger came to mind. “Shit, Snake, I think I’ve been training for this all my life.”

Monsoon season started in late October, and rain came daily, cold rain that made “creeping” miserable. It was almost impossible to see much with clouds and no moon. We started using a small starlight scope, what snipers called the “green eye,” for seeing in the dark.

The week before Thanksgiving, the recon captain sent Snake and me to work around Con Thien, a place that nudged the DMZ. Marines called it “The Hill of Angels” because so many were getting killed in the place. We walked four days to get there and scout the situation.

The open ground around Con Thien looked like a red, muddy mess. The North Vietnamese desperately wanted to take out that base and the one at Gio Linh so they’d have a free run south. Marine camps at Con Thien, Gio Linh, Dong Ha, and Cam Lo made up Leatherneck Square, and their job was to block the movement. There was a lot of killing going on in that square. The NVA were getting a lesson on what a crowd of mean-ass marines were capable of.

Due to the lousy weather and heavy clouds, dark came early. We eased down closer and north of the marine outpost. I was nose to ass with Snake because it was black as gunpowder moving along a footpath through the middle of the elephant grass. Suddenly Snake’s right hand shot out behind and hit me in the face. I stopped. He reached until I gave him my hand, then inched me forward. He squeezed me to stop. I didn’t move my feet but lifted up to get my head next to his. He whispered into my ear. “Something’s caught on my boot.” He moved my hand down his right leg. “Use your fingertips and see if you can touch it, but whatever you do, don’t pull.”

I held the wire steady as he slowly inched his boot backward. “Doing good, son. Just a bit more.” He whispered. “Relax and you’ll be fine.” The pressure on the wire eased when his boot came clear. He moved away and lay back in the grass. “God almighty. If you smell anything, don’t worry, it’s just the shit in my britches.”

We moved off the path and worked farther toward the base. At daylight, we could see the NVA dug in beyond Con Thien. They had trenches full of soldiers facing the marines. “Damn,” said Snake, “got to be battalion strength. They want this place bad.”

We continued to circle, trying to find a place closer to the NVA but not in a crossfire spot between them and the marines. Finally, we decided on a giant deserted ant mound; it offered us cover before the cleared open space around the fire zone. Snake moved the glasses slowly along where the NVA were grouped.

“Well, look at that,” he said. “They’re setting up a recoilless. Damn thing must be an antique, but it’ll blow some serious holes in shit.” He handed me the glasses to look.

I got a call out, and we waited for the white phosphorus target shell to arrive. It landed long and I adjusted with the artillery boys. The next one landed right in the middle of them.

“About what I think too. You keep watching that bastard on the saddle. Let’s see if I can discourage them a little.” Snake focused his scope. I watched through the binoculars. The NVA soldier directing the towing of the big gun never heard the shot before it tore into his jaw and his head snapped sideways.

“Thanks, Junebug. Tell them boys on the radio to blow their asses to hell. Let’s see how many we can get before we got to go.” We chambered round after round, taking our time as the artillery poured in, and NVA scattered away from the big gun. By the time they turned their attention our way, seven lay on the ground. It was time for us to get out of Dodge.