Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition

by Podlaski, John

  He was not trying to embarrass anyone, but by this point could barely contain his laughter. “Nobody is going to get shot on this range. I’m firing twenty feet over your goddamn heads, which is an extremely safe distance.”

  He turned and addressed the half-dozen soldiers standing on the firing line with him. “Get your asses back out on that range with the others.”

  The men hung back, stalling. One of them even turned around and kicked at the dirt, hoping to create a dust cloud large enough so the sergeant could not see him. Finally, after some coaxing and encouragement, they all walked back to mid-range and lay in the dried creek bed with everyone else.

  “Okay, let’s try this again,” the sergeant yelled when they were all safely in place.

  The group remained in that prone position for almost an hour as Staff Sergeant Jones fired the different enemy weapons. Aside from the AK-47, his arsenal also included an RPD Machine Gun, SKS Rifle, and a Chicom Pistol. When he was confident that his class had learned the lesson for the day, he called out, “The demonstration is over; everyone come back to the firing line.”

  The Cherries stood up, brushing themselves off before walking toward the awaiting staff sergeant.

  Once they were clear of the firing range, he gathered them together. “Okay men, are there any questions regarding the sounds you’ve heard today?”

  Not seeing any hands, he continued.

  “That’s good, I must have been real convincing. Before we break for the day, I have one final demonstration for you.” Staff Sergeant Jones walked over to his Jeep and emerged with yet another strange weapon.

  “Gentlemen, this is a Rocket Propelled Grenade and launcher, called an RPG for short. It is very deadly and feared most by the mechanized and aviation units, although, the enemy uses them in routine fire fights too. It is just like our LAW and can penetrate seven inches of armor before exploding. This weapon is responsible for shooting down helicopters and destroying or disabling APC’s and tanks as well. Unlike the LAW, it has no back blast so the shooter does not have to worry about a clear field of fire behind him. Now keep your eye on the practice bunker to your front.”

  The RPG resembled a four-foot green pipe with a long, orange, pineapple-shaped missile sticking out from the front. There were a couple of extra rounds lying on the ground, each resembling a pineapple attached to a stick.

  Jones leveled the weapon, aimed through the sight, and fired. The men could clearly see the speeding missile and its trailing exhaust; they watched it all the way to its target. When the round hit, the impact created a cloud of dust a microsecond before the entire structure exploded outward. The results were much more devastating than that of the LAW demonstration the day before. Debris scattered further away; rebuilding would take twice as long.

  “Holy shit,” Bill exclaimed, “look at what that thing did.”

  “Wow, that is some awesome weapon,” John added.

  “How do you stop something like that?”

  “By shooting the fucker before he fires that damn thing!”

  “What if you don’t see him first?”

  “Then when you see it bearing down on you, either jump the fuck out of the way or take a second to kiss your ass goodbye.”

  The next few classes were the most intriguing of the entire week – dealing with enemy booby traps and their deployment.

  Sergeants Jones and Ramone were the primary instructors.

  “Most of the time, booby traps are very cleverly concealed and remain undetected until it’s too late,” the black sergeant began. “In these classes, we will make you aware of the many different types of booby traps and how to avoid them. You must also take precautions against supplying Charlie in the field.”

  This statement baffled the Cherries, “Who in their right mind would do that?” Bill questioned.

  “Shhhh, listen, and he’ll probably tell us.” A person, sitting behind Bill, whispered, poking him playfully in the center of his back.

  “Use extreme caution when using trails and roads, entering village huts and tunnels, uncovering caches, moving around on rice paddy dikes, and on frequently used landing zones. These are all coveted locations for booby traps.

  “Most of their booby traps are intended to maim and not kill. Charlie uses them for two reasons: the first is to slow down a unit, and the second is the probability of shooting down the unarmed helicopter when it arrives to evacuate the wounded.” Staff Sergeant Jones finished the introduction and stepped to the side.

  A few minutes passed and then Sergeant Ramone walked before the class. “Many booby traps used by the enemy are armed with pressure release devices. A person is safe when standing on one, but the second he steps off, the sudden drop in pressure will explode the charge. You could lose a foot, leg, or even die from shock.

  “One of the most feared of all booby traps is the Bouncing Betty.” The infantry soldiers perked up at this revelation, leaning forward, anxious to hear more.

  “Buried, it has a tripping device sticking out of the ground. This mine has two charges: one will propel a balloon-shaped explosive charge upward, and the second will explode at waist level – throwing shrapnel into the stomach and groin areas. If you survive, chances are excellent that you’ll be left without your manhood to start a family.”

  Many of the men reached down and checked their genitals, as if they were doing so for the very last time. Each looked at his neighbor with pursed lips and wide eyes, shaking their heads incredulously.

  “Some of Charlie’s booby traps include American-issued items. At times, the infantry soldier is hot, tired, and gets lazy. The long patrols in this climate will force many to discard items to lighten the unbearable loads. They may throw away belts of ammunition, grenades, claymore mines, and M-79 rounds into the jungle.

  “However, some of these items can also be left behind quite by accident. After a break on the side of a trail, you may get up and unknowingly have an item fall off or out of your rucksack. Charlie makes it a point to search those trails thoroughly.

  “He loves to find grenades, as they are the easiest to convert into a booby trap. All he has to do is to tie them to a tree, attach one end of a trip wire to the pin, and run it across the trail. The thin fishing line is hard to see, but is strong enough to pull the pin from the grenade when somebody walks into it.

  “Favorite scrounging areas for Charlie are those locations where Americans get resupplied and those of a former night defensive position. GI’s always have an abundance of supplies and seldom use all they get. Unwanted C-Rations, detonation cord, and personal effects lay discarded throughout these areas. Some are buried, but most are not.”

  Sergeant Ramone broke in to continue, “A claymore mine is an anti-personnel plastic mine, eight inches wide by five inches high, and one inch thick. It contains hundreds of one-quarter inch steel balls embedded into the cover, and when detonated, they blow outward, covering an arc of 130 degrees; the killing zone is within thirty feet. Every soldier in the field carries at least two of them, which are set up during the night around defensive perimeters. Sometimes, the soldiers are rushing and forget about them, leaving them behind.

  “Heat tabs, used for heating water and food, are another simple luxury a soldier can’t live without in the field. Most of us hate C-Rations as it is, and eating them cold is out of the question. After running out of heat tabs, some soldiers have cracked open the claymore mines and removed the plastic C-4 explosive to heat their food. If it is not compressed, it burns like gasoline. Then, no longer needing the casing with the embedded steel projectiles, the grunts have thrown them away into the jungle. Now what do you suppose Charlie does with them when finding such a prize?”

  The class responded in unison, “He makes booby traps!”

  “Correct! The United States Armed Forces has fired millions of artillery and mortar rounds since their arrival in this county, and occasionally, some are duds and do not explode. Charlie is very resourceful in finding them and converting them in
to booby traps as well. He will hang them in trees or lay them on the side of a trail, arming them in one of two ways: by a trip wire or command detonation device. This kind of booby trap can waste an entire platoon.”

  Jones cut back in, “We’re all creatures of habit, and many soldiers are injured because of it. At least one of every five soldiers will either pick up or kick a can if it is seen lying on a trail. Charlie knows about this strange American habit. He will booby-trap anything that may appeal to the curiosity of young soldiers or to the fortune hunters looking for souvenirs.

  “The punji pit is another type of booby trap. They vary in size from one foot to six feet deep. Pointed stakes as round as pencils line the bottom of the pit. Their tips, dipped in shit, can be fatal if they break the skin. These pits look very natural in the middle of a path once twigs and leaves cover them.

  “However, many of them were dug during the 1950’s when the French fought here, and over time, they have long since rotted. If a soldier were to step into one of these older pits, the stakes would crumble and the most he would end up with is a sprained ankle or knee. These pits are rare and again, primarily used earlier in the war.

  “Do not accept bottles of whiskey or soda from the villagers, as many of them are VC sympathizers. They grind up glass and put it into the sealed bottles. The shards are so fine it is difficult to see them with the naked eye. If you drink from these bottles, the slivers of glass will tear up your insides.

  “For those of you heading out to the bush, let me leave you with a final thought. Burn or bury what you do not use. Never leave it behind for your enemy to find, because they will find some way to use it against you.

  “This concludes your in-country training. If you learned anything in the course that will save your life, then we have succeeded in our goals. At this time, we are asking that you return to your hooches, retrieve your gear, and fall out into the assembly area for the last formation. Once everyone is there, you will receive orders and transportation to your new units. Good luck everyone!”

  “What outfit are you going to, Bill?” John asked.

  “Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 27th Infantry.”

  “All right, so am I!”

  “Talk about luck, this is great! We’ve been together this long; it would be a shame to break us up now.”

  “Yeah, pretty cool, huh?”

  They picked up their gear and moved toward one of the trucks.

  “Where are you guys headed?” The driver called down from his cab.

  “1st Battalion, 27th Infantry,” they replied.

  “Hey, that’s the Wolfhounds, you guys really lucked out.”

  “Why is that?” John asked.

  “Shit, you haven’t heard? The Wolfhounds are the most ass-kicking outfit in this division. They’re so bad the VC post ‘WANTED’ posters with huge rewards throughout their area of operations.”

  “No shit!” Bill and John responded together. Excitement lit their faces.

  The driver announced, “Throw your shit in the back and jump on board, I’ll run you guys up the road to their area.”

  “Thanks!” The two men climbed on board and joined twenty other Cherries.

  When they arrived in the new area, the First Sergeant had been expecting them. He was waiting outside the orderly room; a gray building with a large blue board mounted to the front. On top, it read ‘Company "A” Body Count’ in tall white letters. Just below the heading, two eighteen - inch white painted bones formed an oblong "X"; a human skull hung over the center of the crossed bones. If the board were black, it would have looked like a pirate flag. In any case, it was apparent that the purpose of the board represented death.

  Beneath the skull and crossbones, the left column listed each of the platoons, and to their right, a column with four rows of numbers. First Platoon had the highest number of kills with thirty-seven. Fourth Platoon only had twelve.

  After the First Sergeant was certain that all the Cherries had enough time to scrutinize the tote board, he introduced himself. “Gentlemen, my name’s First Sergeant Michaels, but you can call me Top. I would like to welcome you all to Alpha Company, 1st Battalion Wolfhounds. As you can see by the number of combined kills, we are kicking ass out in the bush.”

  “How often do the numbers go back to zero?” someone asked.

  “We go back to zero each quarter, so what you see listed today is from July first until now. If there are no more questions,” he hesitated for a moment, and not seeing any hands raised, he continued, “When I call out your name, raise your hand, so I can see you, and I’ll assign you to one of the four platoons.”

  Top called four names before calling Bill and then John immediately after him. Bill was going to the Third Platoon and John to the First.

  “Way to go, buddy,” John consoled.

  “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

  “Let’s talk to Top after the formation and see if he’ll put us together in the same platoon.”

  “It’s worth a try and we don’t have anything to lose if he turns us down,” Bill agreed.

  “Tomorrow,” Top continued after completing the list of names, “you eight men will fly out to our forward Fire Support Base Kien. You will draw out weapons and all the other supplies needed just before leaving in the morning. When this meeting is over, you can head over to the platoon barracks and find an empty cot for the night. Signs on each building will let you know if you are in the right one or not. I want everybody back here in formation again at 0800 hours. Until that time, you are all on your own and welcome to visit the Service Club or PX down the road. You’re dismissed!”

  Bill and John struck out with the First Sergeant, who quickly shot down their request to be together. Disappointed, they departed in different directions, but agreed to meet again in front of the orderly room in fifteen minutes.

  “Are you cool with checking out the sights in this camp?” John asked.

  “I’ve been dying to see this place. Between those classes, eating, and sleeping, we haven’t been able to do shit in the last week, Bill drawled.”

  “Well, we better get started. We only have a half day to sight see.”

  Cu Chi was the main base camp for all units of the 25th Division, and it would take the rest of the day for them to tour the enormous base.

  “These rear echelon troops really have it made here. It’s like living in a big city,” John stated matter-of-factly while observing the surroundings.

  They found the PX similar to a large department store in the states. A person could buy anything from newspapers to television sets; it even boasted a catalog department.

  The Service Club included a library, writing rooms, a TV room, a small cafeteria, and individual recording rooms under one roof.

  The recording rooms were a little larger than telephone booths, but inside, a person could listen to his favorite record or cassette tape and relax in private. Many of the soldiers in Vietnam recorded letters to their families on cassette tapes and then mailed them home. Upon receiving a cassette, he could return and play it back on the recorders.

  Every night, the Red Cross female volunteers (Donut Dollies) conducted bingo games in the cafeteria. Since it was free, there was usually a large turnout. The prizes were small: normally, a wallet or a transistor radio, but the games were not important. Soldiers only went there to see these American female volunteers. Outside of the hospitals, this was the next best place to see “round-eyed” women.

  Just down the street from the Service Club, they found an Olympic -sized swimming pool with both one and three-meter diving boards. Bathing suits were available for anyone wishing to take a dip. It too, was crowded during this late afternoon.

  Further down the road, they discovered an authentic Chinese restaurant. Rumors had it that the food was delicious and a welcome change from the Army chow or Service Club hamburgers.

  During the tour, someone mentioned that the forward infantry companies came out of the field periodically and would
spend three days in Cu Chi to rest and recuperate (R&R). He said that resting in the security of the base camp was a great way of relieving the built-up stress after grueling weeks or even months in the bush.

  John lay wide-awake on his cot. Thoughts of leaving for the firebase in the morning rambled through his head. He had no idea what it would be like and the uncertainty continued to feed his anxiety. He flashed back to an earlier conversation with Bill just prior to calling it a night. Bill was nervous too, and expressed how sad it was that they would not have each other for close support any longer. However, Top assured them that their paths would cross on numerous occasions, not only in the field or in the firebase, but also during R&R in Cu Chi. He said that they should not take the separation, as though they would never see each other again.

  John was a pessimist and worried that every time something was going to change, it would not be in his best interest. However, he did realize that, in reality, nothing bad had happened to date. On the contrary, every change had turned out to be a good experience. Perhaps the odds would continue in his favor and tomorrow would be uneventful. He felt somewhat relieved and eventually dozed off, alone in the First Platoon barracks.

  The next morning, Top instructed the eight infantry Cherries to empty out the contents of their duffel bags onto the ground, telling them to toss all military clothing forward, one pile for fatigue tops and the other for pants. It was unnecessary for them to take fatigues out to the firebase; clean uniforms were usually available during each resupply. Of those remaining personal items, the First Sergeant cautioned the men to take only what they were willing to carry on their backs. After choosing the most treasured of keepsakes, the remaining items went back into their duffel bags for storage in the company supply building - accessible to the men whenever in Cu Chi.

  The company clerk, PFC Jimmy Ray, led the line of men to the supply building. First, they dropped off their duffel bags, then received weapons and a limited amount of gear. Each man signed for an M-16 rifle, a bandolier of two-hundred rounds of ammunition, ten empty magazines, a steel helmet with liner, two canteens, a canteen cup and web gear, which resembled a wide canvas belt, and a set of suspenders.