Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  He shook his head. “My orders were clear, Hoffman, no involvement of any U.S. forces north of the DMZ. It’s not negotiable.”

  “I thought not,” I replied. “In that case I’ll contact my people, we’ve got a light aircraft on the field, a Cessna, big enough to carry out Goldberg and Anderson. If we can find a field or even a road we can get it down and back off again. May I suggest we move out and travel until we find a suitable landing area, then I’ll return with Sergeant Bond and try the radio.”

  “That sounds okay to me. You’re a good man, Hoffman.”

  “For a Nazi,” I smiled.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  We started out, this time the two casualties had to be completely carried in litters made from branches with our waterproof shelters stretch over them. Two men carried each of them, it was hard, heavy and slow going. Paul and I took a turn when they tired and I was impressed by the sheer strength of these Special Forces men, the task of carrying the litters through the jungle was an act of torture. We’d travelled about seven miles when we came to an open space. I asked Cady to halt the men while Paul and I went to check the clearing. It was feasible, just. Barely six hundred feet long, it was strewn with broken trees, low hillocks of earth thrown up by some sort of subterranean creatures and a variety of rocks and debris deposited over hundreds of years. But it was flat, it would have to do. We took the map coordinates and I explained to Cady that his men would need to set to work to clearing it as much as humanly possible. Then I set off with Jack Bond to make contact with Tan Son Nhat, leaving Paul to supervise the runway clearing.

  We hiked back the way we had come, it took us three hours to travel the seven miles through dense jungle. Finally we arrived at the tiny clearing where we’d camped the night before. We’d tried to camouflage it but I guessed it was obvious we’d been there, it seemed unlikely that we could mask our stay sufficiently to fool the noses of the Viets that would be tracking us. Bond got the radio out of his pack and switched it on to warm up, I checked my watch.

  “When you start transmitting, we have a maximum of three minutes, then we cut the transmission and head out fast.”

  “They’re that quick are they?” he said to me surprised.

  “This is their country, Jack, not ours.” I replied softly. He nodded and bent to the radio to dial in the frequency of my Tan Son Nhat radio. Then he turned to me. “That’s it, Jurgen, she’s all yours.”

  I picked up the telephone style handset and pressed the send button.

  “Hoffman for Drexler, do you read?”

  I waited as the static hissed back at me, and then called again. Still no reply.

  “Are you sure the radio is okay, Jack?”

  “Certain, yeah, it’s working one hundred percent.”

  Then a voice crackled out of the earpiece. “Jurgen, is that you?”

  “Johann, listen, and listen fast, we only have a little time before they triangulate our position. I need the Cessna brought to the following coordinates to bring out two casualties. Can do?”

  “Of course, Jurgen. Where are you?”

  I’d already calculated our position and worked out how to encode it. “Can you look up my birthdate in the files?” I asked him. There was a brief pause. “Of course.”

  “Good. Add that to our business bank account number, that’s where we are.”

  There was a hesitation, then his voice came back, uncertainly. “Roger that, I’ll do my best. I’ll get the plane moving straight away, I prepared it ready, I suspected it might be needed.”

  “Don’t leave today, you won’t be here until after dark and we can’t light the landing strip. Leave at first light and time your arrival for mid-morning. We’ll put down a smoke marker. Is the C-47 operational yet?” Another pause. “Yes, I think so.”

  What wasn’t he telling me? Presumably that he wasn’t confident about making it, but there was no time to discuss it.

  “Johann, you are able to make the flight, aren’t you? “Er, sure, I think I’ll find it.”

  I checked my watch, time was up. I desperately wanted to ask about Helene but it could endanger our mission even more. “Hoffman out.”

  I cut the transmission and gave Jack the handset.

  “That’s it, we need to move fast, they’ll be searching for us and we need to be as far away as possible.”

  He nodded and stowed the radio in his pack and we set off. When we reached the track that led back to our group we continued for another mile laying a false trail. Then we cut back to the original track and went on to find our group.

  Through the rest of the day we waited under the shelter of the jungle at the side of the field. From time to time aircraft buzzed overhead, hunting for us but none came near enough to have seen us. When night fell we tried to get some sleep, the rain had stopped and we were exhausted after the previous sleepless night. I woke up at dawn, as I usually did. Two of the men were already moving around, Cady and Woltz, the others were still fast asleep. Paul woke up and together we went to make a final check on the landing field. It was the best we could do under the circumstances, Drexler wasn’t an expert pilot, he had a pilot’s license but only used it to enable him to maintain and test fly the aircraft if he was working on. He wasn’t good enough, but he was all we had. Helene had a license too and she was a far better pilot than Johann, but she was in a hospital in the U.S., several thousand miles away and even if she wasn’t I would never have suggested her coming this far north on a risky rescue mission. It was all up to Johann Drexler.

  The rest of the men gradually woke up and the camp came alive as they busied themselves readying for the pickup later that morning. We brought Goldberg and Anderson to the side of the clearing on their litters. When the aircraft landed they needed to be loaded and sent away almost before the wheels stopped turning. Even if we allowed ourselves the luxury of a short break for the pilot, the Viets would definitely not. Their air patrols had increased and I became increasingly nervous that the Cessna might be detected and blown out of the sky.

  “He’ll get here,” Paul said, seeing my nervousness.

  “I hope so, sometimes he doesn’t seem to be able to find his way back to Tan Son Nhat.” He laughed and clapped me on the back. “He’ll be here.”

  An hour later there was still no sign of the aircraft, then suddenly we heard a low buzzing in the distance. I looked up and made out the shape of the Cessna flying just above treetop height, it was nearly on top of us.

  “Smoke!” I shouted to Cady.

  Someone popped the smoke marker and a plume of smoke rose into the air, bending to show the direction of the wind. The Cessna banked and went around again and lined up for a landing. Then it came over the treetops and dropped onto the field in a perfect three point landing. I was impressed, Johann must have been taking lessons. The aircraft expertly taxied to the end of the field and turned into the wind ready to take off as the men ran out with Goldberg and Anderson. The aircraft door opened and a man stepped out. It wasn’t Johann Drexler.

  The man that was piratical in appearance due to the black eye patch, collected during one of his numerous crash landings. Ritter von Schacht. I must have looked like a goldfish, my mouth opening and shutting. “Ritter, what the hell are you doing, where’s Johann?”

  He laughed. “Did you want an amateur flying over the DMZ, Jurgen? Johann came to see me, said that he didn’t think he’d even find you let along land the aircraft. Naturally I offered my own expert services.”

  “So he’s ok, Johann, no problems? He should have run this past me, Ritter.”

  “Of course he’s ok, he’s fine. He’s just not a pilot, Jurgen, a fair engineer, maybe, but hell, did you want Johann to pilot this plane so far north? You know he’d never get here.”

  I grinned and we shook hands. “No, you’re right, poor old Johann, he’s not the best pilot or navigator in the world. Thanks, Ritter, I appreciate this.” He shrugged. “Any time, my friend.”

  I could smell alcohol on his
breath, but that was the man, he drank heavily though never when he was flying.

  A shout came from the men, they’d loaded the casualties, Frank Burr was going to care for them on the long journey back to Saigon.

  “You’d better go, Ritter, I’ll see you back in Saigon.”

  “Take care, my friend. Johann is worried about you.”

  “Half the North Vietnamese Army is worrying about us, Ritter.”

  He looked worried. “Will you get back ok, do you want me to get Johann to prepare the C-47 and we could fly back and pick all of you up?”

  I grinned. “I’ve always got back in the past, haven’t I? Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine.” He nodded. “Don’t be overconfident, Jurgen. Be very careful. Use the radio if you need me again. Where are you headed?” I told him about the old airfield outside Khe Sanh.

  “Could you bring the C-47 to pick us up there?”

  I could have asked Harkins to provide transport within South Vietnam, but his headquarters was riddled with leaks and I preferred to keep the operation to ourselves.

  “Of course, just call up and I’ll come and get you, Johann can take the right hand seat.” I nodded and he climbed through the door of the Cessna, it seemed overcrowded already with the three men inside the tiny cockpit, Frank Burr sat in the front seat.”

  “Can you fly, Frank?” I asked him as Ritter strapped himself in. He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  I slammed the door, another pilot would have been welcome but Ritter was more than capable. He throttled up and the Cessna began to roll, he saluted and I waved back. Then it picked up speed, took off and headed due south, barely clearing the treetops as it left the clearing. I looked around, Cady was standing beside me.

  “Captain, we need to move, fast. They’ll be down on us now, we don’t have long.”

  “We’re all set, Hoffman.” He turned to his men, they were waiting expectantly.

  “Let’s go.”

  *****

  "Everything depends on the Americans. If they want to make war for 20 years then we shall make war for 20 years. If they want to make peace, we shall make peace and invite them to tea afterwards."

  Ho Chi Minh

  People’s Army of Vietnam Militia Self-Defence Force Headquarters, Hanoi

  It was a smoky room, windows grimy, the furniture worn and repaired many times. Quan glanced up at the two junior officers standing before his desk. One was Nguyen Minh, nephew of his sister’s husband. His uniform was smart, polished, his attitude suitably deferential in the presence of his commanding officer. But he was useless, weak, despised by his men for his reluctance to take tough decisions and lead from the front as was normal in the People’s Army. Sub-Lieutenant Van Thanh, standing next to him, ten years older than Nguyen, a tough, competent veteran who had fought in the French war as a private soldier but without connections would find it hard to advance beyond his lowly rank.

  “You know about the Americans that have illegally crossed our border and kidnapped two prisoners of the State?” Both men nodded.

  “These criminals should be hunted down and shot,” Nguyen broke in enthusiastically.

  Quan looked at him for a moment. “I totally agree, Lieutenant Nguyen, what are you doing about achieving that very desirable end?” Nguyen reddened and stammered. “Well, Sir, I am of course awaiting your orders.”

  “You mean you’ve done nothing?” Quan asked him.

  Nguyen nodded.

  “Sub-Lieutenant Van?” Quan asked the older man. “My men are all standing by for your orders, Sir. I’ve personally drawn weapons and ammunition from the armoury and rations for five days.”

  Quan nodded. “Excellent. Lieutenant Nguyen, perhaps you could follow Van’s lead, if it’s not too much trouble?”

  “Yes, Sir, immediately. Nguyen inwardly cursed the junior man, he’d lined up a good night of cards in the city for tonight and his favourite girl would be waiting for him when he finished.

  “Very good. You will leave in one hour.” Nguyen felt his stomach lurch, it was a disaster.

  “I want both of you in Dong Hoi as fast as possible,” Quan continued. “Make yourselves available to the local militia commander, he is expecting you. Dismissed.”

  “Colonel,” Van said suddenly. Quan looked at him irritably. “What is it, Sub-Lieutenant Van?”

  “The Americans, if we find them, what do we do with them?”

  “When you find them, Lieutenant, I want them dead. Is that clear?”

  Both officers saluted and left the office.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seven

  If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich

  John F. Kennedy 1961

  We pushed on fast, turning south to head for the DMZ, we were climbing now into a low mountain range. When we stopped for a rest Paul checked the maps and talked to Beckerman, we had less than seventy miles to travel. We were about to cross a rough track that led into the foot of the mountains when we heard the sound of a vehicle. Cady signalled for the men to take cover and we waited while the Russian built Zil came into view. We waited for it to go past but the vehicle stopped fifty yards from our position and the soldiers dismounted. We counted eighteen NVA regulars in all, fifteen privates, two NCOs and a lieutenant. The officer barked orders and the men began unloading their equipment from the lorry, a medium machine gun, a Soviet SG43 Goryunov and a mortar that they started to assemble on a stand. I looked across at Cady, he’d gone white, frozen into almost a statue. I inched over to him. “We have to take them out, Captain, we won’t get past them,” I murmured. “Either we kill them or they’ll kill us.”

  He shook his head. “Christ, I don’t know, there are a lot of them. An SG-43, a mortar, shit, I don’t know.”

  His men looked across at him, they’d faced odds as bad as this earlier. The unstated feeling was like an axe hanging over us. He’d lost his nerve, bottled it. The taut infiltration and desperate fighting withdrawal from Son Tay had finished him, probably the forced landing was the end. But we had to deal with the soldiers or die here.

  “Captain, if I may, I’ve been in this situation many times before. If you would maintain the perimeter, I’ll organise the attack.”

  He looked bewildered, but after a few moments nodded. “Yeah, you do that Hoffman, you do that.” I wormed across to where the other men were crouching down behind some rocks, Paul was peering through a narrow fissure to keep an eye on the Viets. “The captain has asked me to organise an attack on these soldiers, does anyone have any problem with that?”

  They grinned and shook their heads. “He’s calling his broker to check his options, is he?” Woltz murmured. We all smiled politely.

  “We need to destroy the mortar and the machine gun, we can’t get any further while they’re intact. What’s the grenade situation?”

  They pooled their grenades, we had a total of seven. I explained my plan of attack, it was simple. Russo and Beckerman would take the machine gun, two others would hit the mortar, and in each case the second man would give covering fire as the grenades were thrown. Paul and I would pin down the rest of them with sub-machine gun fire.

  “Is that clear, any questions?”

  “Yeah. Jurgen, were you an officer once, you seem to know what you’re doing?” one of them asked.

  “I was an SS-Sturmbannführer, that's a major, I commanded a company and later in the war a full regiment of the SS-Das Reich Panzer Infantry. I served on the Eastern Front and later in the French Foreign Legion as a Senior Sergeant.”

  “Yeah, I reckon that qualifies you to take the lead. What about Paul?” Beckerman asked.

  “He was also an SS-Sturmbannführer in SS-Totenkopf, after that we served together in the French Foreign Legion where he was also a senior sergeant. A company, Second Battalion, 13th Half Brigade, if you’re interested.”

  “Right, so you’ve both seen some action?” I grinned. “Some.”

  “And the lorry, what do
we do about it?”

  “Ride back across the DMZ on it, if we can deal with the soldiers.”They looked across at me. “They don’t look like beginners,” I warned them. “There are no guarantees on this one. We just don’t have a choice. We fight or we die.”

  They crawled into position, Paul and I loaded our sub-machine guns and made ready with a pile of spare clips next to each of us. I wistfully thought about the old days when we’d have an MG34 general purpose belt fed machine gun in close support. But we were well armed, it would have to do. I looked around, they were ready. I nodded at Paul and we poked the barrels of our guns over the rocks and pulled the triggers.

  The first bullets smashed into the Viets, they scattered instantly. Loud explosions sent shock waves back towards us, hurting our ear drums. The machine gun and mortar disappeared. The surviving Viets had taken cover back in the rocks and began returning fire. I admired their skill, they were damned good to have recovered so quickly. Eight of them had fallen in our ferocious ambush but that still left ten to fight back, ten skilled and hardened communists who would probably be veterans of the Indochina war with the French. More to the point, they outnumbered us.

  “We’ll have to destroy the lorry,” I shouted across to the men. It was not the way I’d planned it, but if they got away in the lorry we would be in lot more trouble. Two of our men shifted their aim and the lorry sagged on its springs as the bullets hammered into it. Every tyre was riddled, it wouldn’t follow us south.

  “Paul. Get Cady, we’re pulling out,” I shouted at him. He nodded and crawled away and came back with the Captain who looked almost as if he was sleepwalking. I gave the order and we retreated towards a gap in the rocks that led away from the battle, still firing at the Viets. We conducted a fighting withdrawal for half a mile, pursued by the vengeful Vietnamese. “What the fuck went wrong?” Russo asked as we ran.