“Everything go okay?” Junior asked.
“Except for that damn phone scaring the shit out of me, it wasn’t too bad.”
Junior smiled and moved to the front of the bunker.
“Get some rest and I’ll wake you at midnight for your next shift.”
A half-hour passed and John had just dozed off when the sound of a large explosion caused him to jump from the air mattress and move aimlessly through the bunker. “What’s happening?” He hollered in a panic, “Are we getting hit?”
Junior reached out and grabbed John by the shoulder. “Damn, John, settle down. We’re not being attacked.”
John stopped, undecided about what to do next.
“Sit your white ass down and catch your breath,” Junior ordered. “You just scared the fuck out of me by jumping up like that.”
“I – I didn’t mean to,” John stammered.
“I know you didn’t, but you sure got a lot to get used to before you go out into the bush.”
John tried to catch his breath and heard voices from the center of the compound: “Adjust right one-five degrees, charge four, six rounds hotel echo, fire.”
He suddenly realized that the destructive rounds were firing outward and were not enemy rounds coming at them. “Man, those big guns are really loud this close up. Why are they firing anyway?”
“The CP said that Charlie Company spotted flashlights about five-hundred meters from their location. They’ve asked to fire several 105mm rounds around the area and will send out a patrol in the morning to investigate.”
A distant and deep crump, crump, crump noise interrupted Junior’s train of thought when the artillery rounds landed several miles away. A buzzing sound also came from the same direction, almost like a circular saw cutting across a wood board.
“What’s that new sound?” John asked.
“It’s probably a Cobra Gunship. We’ll know for sure in a minute.”
“Now, how in the hell can you tell that from this distance, especially in the dark?”
“You’re a question machine. Just keep facing in the direction that you heard the shells hit. If we’re lucky… look, there, see it?” Junior asked, pointing to a long, thin red line in the sky; it extended from somewhere in the air to the ground.
“Get some Charlie Company!” Junior cheered.
After a second, the end of the red line raced to the ground, and the sky went dark again. These ‘lightening strikes’ continued for a few moments and then stopped for good.
Every fifth round on a belt of ammunition was a ‘tracer round’, chemically treated to leave a gas vapor trail. When fired from the mini-guns of the Cobra, the rate of fire was so intense those rounds appeared as a solid line to the target.
“Wow, that looks pretty,” John volunteered.
“It is to us, but you can bet your ass the VC doesn’t think so. They say that when a Cobra flies over a football field firing that mini-gun, you’ll find a bullet in every square foot of that field.”
“Damn!” Was all John could say.
After the show, things quieted down and John returned to the air mattress, wide-awake. The rest of the night continued without incident and he became accustomed to some of the nighttime sounds of war, making it easier for him to relax.
The next morning at six o’clock, they were relieved from guard duty. Both decided against breakfast, and instead, headed straight to the hooch to get some sleep.
When John awoke at eleven, Junior was already gone, so he headed toward the mess tent to get a bite of lunch. He did not have much time to spare, as the road security team was leaving at noon.
In the mess tent, John was surprised to see Bill standing behind a serving table, dishing out mashed potatoes from a green insulated container.
“Hey, Bill, got stuck with KP, eh?” He ribbed.
“Yeah, but it ain’t bad. It is just like slopping the hogs back home. All I gotta do is pass out this food. The cooks do all the pot and pan washing.”
“That doesn’t sound all that bad. Were you able to sleep last night with all that racket going on?”
“I slept for shit, John, and lost count of how many times I bounced into the air from my cot.”
“You should have seen me! I was on bunker guard last night with that black guy, Junior. Talk about jumpy. It was a real bitch for me.”
“What are you doing this afternoon?” Bill asked.
“I have to go out on road security detail in forty-five minutes. I understand we’ll be back by seven, so maybe we can get together then, okay?”
“Sounds good; don’t do anything stupid while you’re out there, Polack. I’ll look for ya later.”
The road security team positioned itself on the top of a small knoll, three miles from the nearest village. Using binoculars, the six men took turns at watching the road and the surrounding rice paddies. The view was so unobstructed, they could see for five miles in any direction.
Throughout the entire afternoon, at least thirty kids surrounded the soldiers at any given time. Most of them were hustlers who tried to sell them anything from soda and whiskey, to women, chickens, and dope. It was like a flea market with everybody making sales pitches. The time passed quickly.
One of the soldiers, a pimple-faced, blonde-haired teenager reading a comic book, looked up and commented to the group, “Be very glad that the kids are out here with us today.”
“Why is that?” John asked.
He dropped his book and looked John in the face. “If they weren’t around, then something would definitely happen out here. The villagers know when Charlie is around, and are smart enough to not let their kids be caught in the middle of a firefight,” he remarked before returning to his ‘Archie’ comic book.
The security team returned to the firebase at 1930. It was later than expected, but the cooks held back some food for the late arriving details. The small tent was crowded so John took his tray of food back to his hooch. When he walked in, Junior was waiting for him.
“Come on, man, I’ve got twenty-five minutes before guard duty, and we’ve got a lot of packing to do before then,” Junior said.
“I didn’t have a chance to eat yet,” John protested.
“That’s too bad. I promised the L-T that I would help you get ready for the bush. You’re going out tomorrow and I won’t have another chance before you leave.”
“Oh, alright . . . let’s get this over with,” John whined.
“First thing we have to do is fit this aluminum frame to your back. All your possessions will be carried on your back so you better make sure it’s comfortable.”
Junior removed the frame after adjusting it properly and then attached an empty ammo can to the bottom of the frame. “Put all your important shit it here, like your wallet, camera, radio, writing paper, and anything else that you want to keep dry and uncrushed.”
Once filled and with the waterproof lid clamped into place, Junior attached John’s rucksack to the top of the frame, allowing the bottom to rest on top of the ammo can.
“John, the main thing to remember is to keep this thing balanced. Everything will have its own place. You’ll have to get rid of this air mattress,” Junior said, tossing it to the side. “It squeaks and makes too much noise in the bush.”
“What will I have to sleep on?”
“Your poncho and the ground, just like everybody else.”
“Aw, that blows!”
“Hey, man, this isn’t a Boy Scout outing,” Junior scolded, “Now, go through this case of C-Rations and pick out the meals you want to eat for the next three days, but take just enough to get by. Don’t take any breakfast meals; it will cut down on the weight. All you’ll really need in the morning is coffee or cocoa, and they don’t weigh shit.”
John separated the meals and placed them on the bottom of the ruck. Next, they rolled up the poncho liner and stuffed it inside, covering the cans of food. There was barely enough room left to fit two claymore mines, wires, and clackers into the pack.
John pulled the flap over the bulging ruck and then secured it tightly, utilizing the pouches on the rear and sides of the rucksack, stuffing them full of packets of cocoa powder, sugar, coffee, plastic utensils, heat tabs, and cigarettes.
They added four one-quart canteens next, placing two on each side of the ruck for proper balance and then tied four smoke grenades and trip flares to the straps on the back of the ruck. The handles of six grenades fit nicely into the metal rings on the front of the web harness for easy access. The last thing they did was roll up the vinyl poncho and tie it to the underside of the ammo can with two shoelaces.
“Well, it’s packed. Try it out,” Junior suggested.
John put on his web harness, looped the bandolier of ammunition around his neck, and then tried to pick up his rucksack. Surprised, he was unable to lift it beyond his knees.
“Goddamn!” He exclaimed, struggling with the pack while trying to swing it onto his back.
Junior laughed. “My man, there’s a trick to it,” he said and reached to stop John so he wouldn’t hurt himself. “Put it back on the ground, and sit down with your back against the frame.”
John dropped the pack and sat on the hard-packed ground. He slid backwards across the dirt, stopping when his back touched the frame.
“Place your arms through the straps and pull yourself up by grabbing hold of something. If you can’t locate anything, then turn over onto your knees and try to get up that way.”
John secured the frame to his back and managed to pull himself up, taking hold of a support beam next to him. Once on his feet, he weaved from side to side and almost toppled over before Junior reached out and grabbed him.
“It’ll take some time to get the feel of it. Try walking around some more,” Junior encouraged.
The longer he stayed on his feet, the easier it appeared. After a couple of minutes, John was certain he could manage without falling flat on his face. He flashed a wide grin to Junior.
“How does it feel?”
“Not bad now. These sixty pounds don’t seem all that heavy once you get used to it.”
“Get used to it?” Junior laughed loudly. “Bro, listen up, I’ve been humping a ruck for four months, and I still ain’t used to it. Wait until you start humping that thing out in the bush. You will swear to God it weighs three-hundred pounds. It won’t be long before you cut down to one meal a day and look for other ways to make the load lighter.”
Junior looked at John with admiration for the way he tried to conceal his strain under the heavy load.
“Okay, now put the ruck down. Later, you can practice more. I only have a couple of minutes left to finish up.”
John dropped the ruck to the ground and looked at Junior in disbelief. “I thought we were all done.”
“We’re done with the ruck, but now we have to get you ready. Take off your shorts, socks, and belt, and get rid of them,” Junior ordered.
“Get rid of them?” John asked. “Are you joking?”
“No joke, my man. Believe me when I tell you that you do not need them in the bush. With all that humping and sweating out there, you will rub your balls raw if you wear drawers. And not wearing a belt will prevent the ticks and leeches from getting under your belt line and burrowing into your skin. Socks will only give you problems in the bush. Without them, your feet will stay drier and you will not have as many blisters. You can either take my word and do it now, or learn it the hard way.”
John was not interested in arguing with Junior, so he started removing the items as Junior had suggested. When finished, he reached for his tray of now-cold food.
“Not yet, brother,” Junior cautioned. “We still have one last item remaining on the checklist.”
“Now what else could be left?”
“Take your shoelaces halfway out of your boots.”
Without questioning him any further, John untied his first boot and looked up to Junior with a look of uncertainty. “Why am I doing this? I’m not interested in braiding my shoelaces. This silver chain around my neck is all the jewelry I need,” he stated sarcastically.
“Would you just knock off the shit and do what I tell you? I’m already late for guard duty,” Junior shot back.
“Okay Junior, now what?” He asked when both boots were half laced.
“Take the dog tags from the chains around your neck and attach one to each shoelace. Then, retie your boots.”
“Won’t they get all muddy on my boots?”
“They’ll get muddy, all right. At least they won’t rattle as they do now hanging from your neck. You’ll find out how important noise discipline is in the bush.”
John sat back and stared at Junior after tying both boots. “I’m afraid to ask, but are we finally through?”
“Yeah man, go ahead and eat your chow. Try and get some practice with that ruck tonight; it’ll make it a little easier on you tomorrow.”
“’Sorry I was so impatient, Junior. All bullshit aside, I really do appreciate all your help. I couldn’t have done it by myself.”
“That’s okay, what are brothers for, anyway? Someday, you’ll be able to help out a Cherry and he’ll be grateful and thank you for your help and understanding. Like I told you yesterday, we have to take care of each other.”
Junior gathered his gear for guard duty and was about to rush out of the door when John intercepted him. “Junior!” He called, placing his hand onto the black man’s shoulder. “I’m starting to get a little uptight. Will it be really bad out there?”
Junior stopped cold. “No sweat, you’ll do just fine. Respect and listen to the old timers who have been here for a while, and do exactly what they tell you. Who knows, it might be weeks before you have your first firefight, and then again, it may be tomorrow. Just don’t go out there thinking you are John Wayne, because it will get you killed. Get some rest tonight and don’t worry about it. I gotta go. I’ll see you in the morning before you leave.” Junior turned with his gear in hand, and quickly dashed out through the doorway.
In the morning, everyone struggled with their gear and stumbled out of the main gate toward the helipad. When the Cherries arrived, every one of them immediately fell to the ground, exhausted. Alpha Company was not in a position yet to accept the re-supply, so the group had to sit in the hot sun and wait for over an hour.
The engines started, thus signaling an end to the uncomfortable wait. The Cherries awkwardly got to their feet and quickly boarded the choppers to wait once again. John and Bill found themselves sitting in positions identical to those of their first helicopter flight. A look of dread and despair came over them.
“Maybe our rucksacks weigh enough to hold us in.”
“Let’s loop arms anyway. It seemed to work the first time.”
“Okay, at least we know what to expect this time.”
When looking toward the gate, John could see Junior running through the whirlwind toward his chopper.
“Thought you’d leave without me saying goodbye?” He yelled over the noise of the engines.
John could only shake his head and try to force a smile.
“Good luck, Polack! I’ll see you soon.”
It was the first time that Junior ever called John by his nickname. John knew at that moment that, not only was Junior his mentor, he had also become his buddy.
The door gunner motioned for Junior to back away. The RPM increased wildly and the chopper began to rise. In an instant, Junior was gone.
~~~~~
CHAPTER SIX
The choppers flew at a high altitude over the deep green jungle and hills. Occasionally, they passed over clearings on the peaks of hills - prior landing zones created by soldiers with C-4 explosives or possibly the result of dropped bombs and fired rockets from past encounters with the enemy.
It was ironic how beautiful everything appeared from this height; it seemed to be a tropical paradise - like photographs seen in a National Geographic magazine. There’s a war going on here? How can that be? Unfortunately, for those a
board, it was the one and only time they would think of this place as paradise.
During this sightseeing excursion, each Cherry sat nervously on the chopper with his weapon held tightly in his hands. Eyes displayed fear, and they cast frenzied glances throughout the aircraft. Most chewed gum, moving their jaws rapidly in nervous anticipation of landing in the hostile bush for the first time. The speed of the choppers seemed slow from this height, but in reality, they were traveling over one-hundred knots per hour.
After twenty minutes in the air, a chimney of yellow smoke rose from the corner of a small clearing ahead. The door gunners, alerted to the impending landing, moved into action. They raised the machine guns toward the surrounding jungle and peered over the top for any signs of the enemy.
The chopper banked slightly and began to drop toward the smoke-filled clearing.
“Nice knowing you, Bill,” John said, looking into Bill’s sympathetic eyes.
“Likewise, buddy” Bill responded.
Two soldiers, stood sixty feet apart in the waist-deep elephant grass, holding their rifles high overhead – the pilots bore down on the men and landed just to their front. Once down, groups of soldiers dashed into the clearing and ran toward the choppers.
“Get the fuck off the bird and hurry into the tree line,” one of them hollered over the noise to the helicopter full of Cherries. He pointed toward a large bamboo thicket on the edge of the clearing.
The Cherries pulled themselves across the floor and leapt from the chopper, running as fast as they could toward the protective cover of the jungle tree line. Once there, the eight soldiers bent over at the waist, gasped for air, and awaited instructions. The new arrivals, fascinated by the group of soldiers in the clearing, watched intently as they unloaded the choppers. They pushed and threw everything out of the doors and onto growing piles on the ground, emptying the supplies in thirty seconds. The guide-on soldier, patiently waiting in front of each chopper, gave the pilot a thumbs-up sign when everyone was clear of the aircraft. Acknowledging, the pilots prepared for departure. The whining pitch of the turbines increased and the chopping sound made by the rotors intensified; on cue, the pilots jerked their birds back into the sky.
Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition Page 9