Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition

by Podlaski, John

  “That’s pretty cool, and now you both lucked out and got into the same company over here.” Junior held open the makeshift door of the hooch and followed John inside.

  “This is some weird shit,” John stated, looking around. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.”

  “It sure beats sleeping under the stars; you’ll do enough of that out in the bush.”

  This ‘hooch’ was as big as an average-sized bedroom in the modest wood-framed bungalows of John’s neighborhood back home. It was constructed from wooden artillery shell crates (each measuring two-feet long by one-foot high by two-feet deep) which were filled with dirt and sand and stacked atop one another, forming the walls of a room that was twelve feet across by seven feet in height.

  A picture collection, mainly comprised of Playboy centerfolds in simple wooden frames and protected by clear plastic covering, hung on the walls. This display reflected the efforts of a seasoned soldier who may have already gone home; the newest picture was over a year old.

  The ceiling had a base of flat steel plating that traversed the walls and supported six layers of green sandbags. Several four-inch thick wooden beams, spaced evenly throughout the hooch supported the heavy roof. A hundred-bulb string of holiday tree lights hung overhead and provided the only source of light.

  The cool dampness of the hooch was a relief from the stifling, muggy heat outside. The air was still and without circulation, but the sweet smell of burning incense emanating from a corner covered the predominantly musty odor throughout.

  “Junior, just how strong is this thing?” John asked, glancing around the shelter.

  “I don’t know. Never seen one destroyed. I have heard that it will take a direct hit from a mortar and stop bullets, but those 122mm rockets and RPG’s wreak havoc with bunkers and hooches. I wouldn’t want to be in here then.”

  “Did this place ever get hit?”

  “Yeah it did; twice at the beginning of last month. Normally, there’s only an infantry platoon providing security for the firebase artillery unit. On that particular day, though, an entire company of soldiers spent the night in the firebase, making it really overcrowded. During that night, the VC put Sappers in the wire. One was careless and hit a trip flare, and it immediately lit up the whole damn area.”

  John listened, captivated, while Junior continued to relay the details of the assault, fascinated by Junior’s knack for storytelling.

  “Bunker guards began a mad minute, shooting at shadows all around the perimeter. The rest of the company joined in the firing after reaching the surrounding berm. Now, people have told me that the sight and sound of all that firepower was awesome. Only one mishap occurred when several claymores went off at the same time; the explosions created a powerful, bright light that temporarily blinded the men on that side of the perimeter. Even with their eyes closed, the outline of the explosion remained and continued to affect their vision for a solid fifteen minutes. They said it was like staring at a bright light bulb for thirty seconds, and then closing your eyes - the glow remained for a long time. Hundreds of tracer rounds, fired during the attack, added to the whole fireworks display. There were strings of moving red lights that flew across the ground and ricocheted into the sky after hitting the ground. The next morning, patrols discovered six VC bodies in the wire, and several blood trails leading away from the firebase. Then, two nights later, after the company had returned to the bush, the firebase was hit with twenty mortar rounds, but only a couple of our guys got hurt and there wasn’t much damage.”

  “Where’s the company now?” John asked at the end of Junior’s account.

  “They’re in a place called the Hobo Woods, finding VC and booby traps all over the place. In the two weeks they’ve been there, they’ve killed twelve of the enemy and found a couple of caches. But we lost a bunch of guys too; some might be back in a week or so.”

  “When do you think I’ll be going out?”

  “They were just resupplied this morning, so you missed your chance. You’ll most likely go out on the next one in a couple of days.”

  “Will you be going out, too?”

  “Nah, not for a while. I caught some shrapnel in my leg last month.” Junior lifted his pant leg to show John two raw and scabbed cuts on his calf. “I’m still restricted to light duty and pull bunker guard each night until I can walk without pain.”

  “Wow, how did that happen, Junior?”

  “We were mortared during one of our resupplies.”

  “Were you really scared when you got hit?”

  “Scare me? Hell yes, it scared me. Brother, I thought the bottom of my leg had been blown off.” Junior hesitated for a moment as he replayed the incident in his mind. “I was happier than shit when I found out there were only two pieces of shrapnel, but they went deep into the muscle. I had to learn how to walk again - it still hurts like hell.”

  There was an awkward silence for a moment, John cleared his throat and started to ask another question before Junior cut him off. “I know you have a lot of questions. I did too, when I first got here, but save them for later. Okay?”

  John bit his lip, took a deep breath, and conceded to Junior with an affirmative shake of the head.

  “We should go and see the Executive Office (XO). He’ll want to meet you and know that you’re here.”

  Junior led the way out of the hooch. The sudden brightness stopped John in his tracks. Shielding his eyes, he stood there for a moment in the doorway until his eyes adjusted.

  “That’s why you got to get some shades like me,” Junior quipped. “Not only do they make you look good, but they help at times like this.”

  Both men smiled and began moving again. Junior reached into his pocket and pulled out some dirty and crumpled military bills. “Come on, John, I’ll buy you a cold pop.”

  “You know, that’s really funny. This is the first time I’ve heard somebody call soft drinks ‘pop’ since joining the Army. It’s been ‘soda’ from day one and people look at me like I’m crazy if I ask for ‘a pop’.”

  “I know the feeling. I still call it ‘pop’, too.”

  The young men were suddenly aware that it was good to hear their hometown lingo across the world from Detroit.

  They came upon a tent filled with cases of soda and beer. Just inside the entrance, cans of soda filled a fifty-five gallon barrel to the brim, smothering them in quickly melting ice.

  “Better get them now while they’re cold,” said the soldier who managed the store.

  “He’s got that right,” Junior agreed, “enjoy it while you can. There’s nothing cold to drink in the bush. Everything will be either piss warm or hot.”

  Junior paid for the two drinks. John quickly opened his can and took several long swallows.

  “Whew! This hits the spot!” John proclaimed, then wiping his mouth with an arm sleeve.

  “Not bad for a dime, right?” said Junior. “After you’ve been in the bush for a month, you’d gladly pay ten dollars for an ice cold pop.”

  They finished the drinks and threw the empties into a nearby trash barrel. Junior led the way to a large bunker in the middle of the compound; it was the main communications bunker, where battalion personnel constantly monitored activity in the field. They walked down several steps and entered a room. One of the walls had several maps pieced together into one large map, representing the battalion’s current area of operations. A small red ‘X’ marked the individual locations of each unit in the field; at least thirty of them were scattered across a single area of the map. Several PRC-25 radios lined another wall; a lone soldier looking bored sat idly on a stool and waited for one of them to come to life. He would not have long to wait, it was already late in the day and soon the patrols would begin calling in their night defensive locations. Once deciphered, the soldier could update the map with his grease pencil.

  “Hey, L-T,” Junior called out, “we have us a new Cherry in the First Platoon. Do you have time to meet him before I help him get s
quared away?”

  “Just a second, Junior,” a first lieutenant mumbled from behind a handful of reports. His face, disfigured slightly on the right side, looked like he had experienced a fire during childhood. “I’ll be right there.”

  The XO stood about six feet tall, and could not have weighed more than 150 pounds. His custom -tailored uniform was starched with neat creases that could probably have cut paper. Even his boots were spit-shined and gleaming.

  Until a few weeks ago, he had been the First Platoon’s leader and had humped the bush with them for nine months - three months longer than normal field duty for an officer. The colonel had to force him out of the field to serve as the XO for the company. He only had six weeks remaining in country before heading home. His job at the firebase was to liaison between the grunts (infantry) in the field and the rear, making sure the troops received everything they needed. Another part of his duty was to write letters to the families of soldiers killed in the company.

  He walked over to John and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Lieutenant Dobry. Kowalski, isn’t it?” John took his hand and shook it warmly.

  “Yes sir,” the Cherry responded.

  “Welcome to Firebase Kien. While here, be sure to pick Junior’s brain and gather all the information you can from him. He has been in Vietnam a while and knows many of the tricks used in the bush.” Junior smiled upon receiving this recognition.

  “Tonight, to get your feet wet - so to speak - I want you to accompany Junior on bunker guard. This will give you an opportunity to learn a few things and get your eyes accustomed to working in the dark of night.”

  “Great, at least I’ll have some company for a change,” Junior exclaimed.

  The L-T continued, “Then, tomorrow afternoon, you’ll accompany a team going on road security. Trucks will transport you about six clicks (kilometers) up the road to a knoll overlooking the main highway to Saigon. The team provides security for the passing convoys. They have been going to the same place for the last two weeks and nothing has happened thus far, so you might actually enjoy the experience. Your team leader will brief you before leaving right after lunch.”

  “When will I be going out to the field?” John asked.

  “The day after tomorrow, when the company receives their next re-supply.”

  After a brief moment of silence, Lt. Dobry asked, “Do you have any more questions for me?”

  “No, sir, I don’t. But if I think of any, I’m certain Junior will be nearby to answer them.”

  “That’s good enough for me. Junior, would you take John over to Supply and help him draw out the rest of the equipment he’ll need for the bush?”

  “No sweat, L-T.”

  “And be sure to give him a hand packing his ruck,” the L-T added.

  “Shit, sir, it was already on my list of things to do.”

  The Lieutenant looked at his watch and noted, “It’s almost dinner time, and you two should head out and grab a quick bite first. Remember, you’ve only got a little more than an hour before you have to report to your bunker.”

  “Yeah, can’t work on an empty stomach,” Junior agreed, patting his stomach.

  “I’ll see you two later then. Have a good night.”

  “Catch you later, L-T,” Junior responded. John waved and nodded his head slightly in response.

  “Junior, the L-T appears to be a real decent officer.”

  “That he is, and he doesn’t act like the other lifers here. You’ll find all the officers in the bush to be like him. You’ll see what I mean when you get out there.”

  After dinner, they headed to Supply and drew out the items that John would need for the field. It took the two of them to carry everything back to the hooch. Only fifteen minutes remained before they had to report for the night guard duty.

  “We need to get your stuff together for tonight and head on out. It’s almost that time,” Junior said, noting the time on his watch.

  “What do I need?”

  “Just take your air mattress, poncho liner, web belt, your 16, and throw the rest of your stuff on the cot.”

  With those items in hand, they left the hooch two minutes later.

  The perimeter is actually a four-foot high earthen berm, created by a bulldozer when constructing the firebase. It circled the many hooches, tents, and smaller bunkers of the compound. Twelve standard -sized bunkers, eight-feet cubed, were evenly spaced on the perimeter. Supplementary firing positions, nothing more than semi-circular metal culverts covered with sand bags, stood in between each bunker.

  To their front, rows of spiral barbed wire extended outward for fifty feet. Single strands of wire, pulled taut at ankle length were interspersed within the other coils.

  Trip flares, hanging metal cans with stones, and claymore mines completed the defensive perimeter. Hundreds of detonation wires snaked along the ground through the sharp barbed wire, connecting the claymore mines to triggering devices within each bunker.

  A green rectangular box with a telephone receiver cradled on top was also standard equipment within each bunker. A wire attached to the landline phone connected each bunker to the Command Post (CP). During the night, they would contact each bunker periodically to ask for a situation report (sit rep). In turn, anyone on the perimeter could use the same phones to contact the CP for special needs or requests of illumination after seeing or hearing movement within the wire. Mortar crews were on alert all night, as it was usually the busiest time of their watch.

  Junior showed John another standard piece of equipment - the Starlight Scope. It looked like a telescope, three inches in diameter and twelve inches long. An infrared light source within enabled the viewer to see in the dark, although everything appeared in a green hue.

  Their bunker was number five.

  Junior walked to the small opening in the front of the bunker and pointed out to the wire. “The claymores within our area of responsibility are spread out across our front and all points forward,” he said, redirecting John’s attention to several devices lying in a row across a sandbagged shelf under the firing ports. “These are the detonators for each mine. You’ll notice that only the center ones are pointing straight ahead and those on either end are pointing in slight angles to either the right or left.” Junior indicated to them to ensure John understood the difference. “These detonators point toward the mine in that direction. So if you see something in the wire, pick-up the right one, remove the safety and squeeze it.”

  John lifted one of them for a closer examination.

  “Now, as you can see,” Junior continued, “the clackers are similar in design to the V-shaped exercise grips a person might use to strengthen his hands and wrist, except these offer very little resistance and only a small amount of pressure will collapse the handle. We usually squeeze those two or three times in quick succession until the mine blows.

  “This is your first night out here so don’t panic and start blowing up the whole place just because you hear something. Wake me if you get spooked. And above all, don’t fall asleep during your watch.”

  John consented with a nod and then looked out into the wire, trying to familiarize himself with the scenery to his front, making a mental picture of everything he saw. Of course, it would all look totally different to him when it was pitch black outside.

  Meanwhile, Junior cranked the handle on the landline, waited a few seconds, then spoke into the mouthpiece, “This is number five, manned and secured for the night.”

  After Junior returned the handset, he looked over to John. “Another thing I forgot to tell you was not to smoke or light a match in the open. If you must have a smoke, then you have to cover up and light it like this.”

  Junior placed a cigarette in his mouth then covered himself with the poncho liner. When he emerged, the lit cigarette was invisible in his cupped hands.

  “That’s how you do it,” he continued, “To smoke it, cup your hands over it with the filter sticking out between your thumbs like this.”

 
The flaming portion of the cigarette was invisible in Junior’s cupped hands; only the butt stuck out.

  “You have to bend over low to the ground to take a drag. You’d be surprised how far a lit cigarette or flame can be seen at night; a sniper only has only to sight in on the glow for a perfect head shot.”

  John tried it.

  “My man,” Junior said, complimenting him after the demonstration. “You’ll get better with practice.” Junior looked at his watch and said, “We’ll take turns at watch tonight and split it up every two hours. This way, we can both get some sleep during the night. You can have the first shift; wake me in a couple of hours. You have any questions?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Okay. Don’t fuck it up now.”

  Junior lay on the air mattress and covered himself with his poncho liner. It was beginning to get chilly in the bunker, so John covered his back and shoulders with his own poncho liner and then moved upstairs to the top of the bunker. Sitting with his feet dangling from the roof of the bunker, he quietly looked out into the wire.

  It was dark enough for the shadows to begin playing tricks on his eyes; he was nervous and jumpy. As the shadows continued to move, John slowly lifted the Starlight Scope to his eyes, hoping not to make any sudden movements that would result in a volley of bullets fired in his direction. Through the scope site, he was momentarily relieved to see that the shadows were only the leaves of a distant tree shaking - and not VC sneaking up on him.

  At nine o’clock, John retreated to the inside of the bunker. As he entered, the landline buzzed. This startled him, as he had already forgotten about the phone. Taking a few deep breaths, he walked over to the buzzing phone and lifted the handset to his ear.

  “Hello?” he said meekly.

  “Number five, this is the CP. Give me your sit rep,” ordered the voice on the other end of the line.

  “This is number five, all clear,” John reported.

  “Roger out.”

  He replaced the handset onto the cradle then returned to continue his vigil in the darkness. At ten o’clock, he woke Junior and took his place on the air mattress.