The flight to Charlie Company’s LZ took ten minutes, saving the men of Alpha Company from humping ten hours to cover the same distance on the ground.
The new LZ was much smaller and was only large enough to accommodate two helicopters at the same time. The insertion was almost as fast, with both platoons together on the ground within one minute of the first helicopter touching down.
The men moved into the tree line and waited for the rest of the company to land. It did not take long for the comments and innuendos to begin.
“Look out, here comes bad-ass Alpha to save the day.”
“Yeah, that’s right! If you sorry fuckers hadn’t left your wounded behind, we wouldn’t have to come to bail your sorry asses out.”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck your mama.”
“Leave mothers out of it.”
“Why should I? It’s her fault for raising an asshole.”
Only a handful of individuals engaged in this banter, and it appeared to be more of a personal vendetta between those men. Different groups of Charlie Company soldiers lay in the shade of the jungle surrounding the LZ. One such bunch of men huddled together in the shadows of a large bamboo hedgerow. They were smoking cigarettes and paying little, if any, attention to what they saw or heard between the two groups. However, once the CP landed twenty minutes later, it all abruptly came to a halt.
One shirtless man wearing a green bandanna tied around his head and several necklaces of peace beads around his neck, approached the LZ, a radio operator following on his heels. He rushed out to greet Alpha Company’s Captain.
“Morning, Joe, glad you’ve come.”
“Hello, Henry, glad we’re able to help.” The two men shook hands and walked back into the thick vegetation.
Captain Joe must have known the Charlie Company Commander well, as he was not surprised or taken aback by the lack of professional appearance.
After reviewing the plan and coordinating the search, both companies moved out in separate columns, heading deeper into the jungle.
The chopping noise heard overhead continued as two gunships kept pace with the moving search party. They flew lazy circles nearby and stood ready to provide additional firepower in the event of an enemy attack. An officer from Battalion HQ also buzzed around in a small Loach helicopter at treetop level. From above, he directed the two companies in their every move. The search turned out to be no more than an endless hump through the jungle as they continued to move deeper into the bush.
“I can’t understand how we’re supposed to sneak up on the enemy while we’re making this much of a racket,” Larry stated.
“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” John added.
“At least they know we’re coming. Maybe they’ll run and hide.”
“Don’t you Cherries know anything?” Zeke spoke up. “We’re going to be very lucky if Charlie doesn't ambush us.”
“Give them a break,” Scout complained. “Don’t you remember when you were a Cherry?”
“I do, but I wasn’t as fucking ignorant.”
“Yeah, so you say! In reality, none of us was any different when we first came here. We were all scared and full of questions.”
Zeke did not respond and instead continued forward in silence.
At 1700 hours, the gunships left and both companies split up to find a separate night defensive position.
When they were five-hundred meters apart, Captain Joe stopped Alpha Company and set up a large perimeter.
Everyone was exhausted. The men dropped their ponchos onto the jungle floor without any concern for the condition of the ground beneath.
When John applied some bug juice to his exposed skin, he winced in pain. After looking closely, he discovered dozens of razor-like cuts on his face, neck, and arms. Surprised, he called for Doc.
“How did this happen?” He asked Doc.
“You most likely got them from the elephant grass this morning. The edges are razor sharp and cut through the skin unknowingly. It stings like hell when alcohol in the bug juice washes over them.”
“Don’t I know it!” John added.
Doc pulled a tube of ointment from his pack and squeezed a small dab of white cream onto his finger, wiping it across several slits on John’s arms and face. “That should do it,” he said after administering the first aid.
“Thanks, Doc.”
“No sweat, my man. I have to go now. Just about everyone else is having the same problem so it’ll be awhile before I can rest.”
“Take it easy, Doc,” John called to the departing black medic.
Soon, Larry and Wild Bill dropped in at John’s position.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Larry asked.
“Doc said I was cut from the elephant grass this morning.”
“Isn’t it a bitch?” Wild Bill stated. “You don’t know the cuts are even there until you use bug juice. Next time we are in the high grass, keep your sleeves rolled down and your collar up. It’ll be warmer, but you won’t get as many cuts.”
“What kind of shit do you guys think we’re going to get ourselves into tomorrow?” Larry asked.
“I can’t even begin to imagine,” John replied.
~~~~~
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alpha Company arrived in the area where the ambush took place just after 0900. There was no question a firefight took place here; brass casings from weapons of both sides littered the trail, glistening in the sunlight like dropped gems on this narrow, bloody path.
The captain halted the column and dispatched Third Platoon to recon the immediate area while everyone else took a break.
The sun blinded the men as it neared its apex in the hazy, blue sky. Most sought refuge from the hot, burning rays; John, Larry, and Wild Bill moved from the trail and took a seat in the shade of a small palm tree. A light, refreshing breeze blew steadily through the palm trees. Leaves swayed gently, allowing tiny spots of sunlight to dance on the faces of the three young men.
“I can’t begin to imagine what happened here three days ago,” John commented.
“I know what happened,” Wild Bill began. “See those brass casings on the trail?”
“Yeah.”
“Most are from AK-47s.”
“So,” Larry asserted, “Charlie Company was ambushed. There should be more rounds from the Russian-made weapons.”
“That’s not the point,” Wild Bill searched for the right words. “Any time you are ambushed by the enemy, you try to break contact by returning more fire, then regroup to either attack or withdraw. I could only spot a handful of M-16 casings, which means Charlie Company did very little firing after they were hit.”
“But look at all the bloodstains on the trail and leaves; they can’t all belong to the missing soldiers.”
“You’d be surprised at how much blood a body loses,” Wild Bill continued. “Two or three guys hit in the right places could have created all this mess.”
The rest of the squad, led by Sixpack, walked over to join the three men in the slowly disappearing shade.
“We’re going out with a squad from Second Platoon on a patrol,” Sixpack informed them.
“What’s the deal?” Zeke asked.
“The entire company is splitting up to search through a specific area within a grid. Our area is two-hundred yards up this trail. Once we get there, we will fan out to the left of the trail and sweep the area on our way back. If any of you spot something, holler, and we’ll check it out.”
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Zeke said, rising to his feet.
Fourth Platoon was staying behind to secure the equipment, remaining on alert and ready to reinforce any of the small groups if they got in trouble.
After moving up the small trail for fifteen minutes, the two-squad patrol made a turn to the left and cut their way through the vegetation. The last man in the column passed the word along when he entered onto the new footpath.
“Hold it up!” Sixpack raised his righ
t arm to signify a halt when the word reached him. Leaving his position in the column, he moved forward toward the point man. “Close it up some,” he instructed, trying to get them on line for the sweep. “Keep about ten feet between yourselves. Come on, get this line evened out.” Sixpack paced back and forth in front of the row of nineteen soldiers.
That part of the jungle was not very dense and consisted of knee-high elephant grass and shoulder-high bushes. However, a hundred feet to their front, several thickets of bamboo rose up from the earth. As large as houses, the green, thorny, and leafy hollow stems were entwined tightly in the impassible clump of vegetation.
“Okay, let’s move out,” Sixpack ordered. The row of men began moving forward in a slow, controlled march.
As they advanced, they whipped at the grass with their legs and poked into the bushes with rifles. John was unsure of his duties as he moved forward at a leisurely pace.
“Hey Zeke!” John called to the soldier on his left.
Zeke broke formation and walked over to him. “Will you shut the fuck up?” He was pissed and his manner caught John by surprise.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I thought with the gunships and Loach flying around, the VC knew we were coming anyway. I’m not sure what to look for and I don’t want to pass over anything important.”
“Aw, shit man,” Zeke sighed, “just look for signs of somebody having been through here. See if you can spot any broken branches, blood splotches on leaves, or loose dirt on the ground.”
“Why worry about loose dirt?”
“It could be a tunnel entrance, shallow grave, or maybe a weapon cache. Just be careful not to touch anything,” Zeke cautioned.
“Thanks, Zeke.”
Zeke rendered an irritated expression before returning to his position in line.
Now understanding his task, John continued to search, but couldn’t help being distracted by the drama down on the ground. Hordes of insects moving over everything fascinated him. Several columns of large black ants moved in the same direction, carrying leaves, pebbles, and twigs.
After following the ant caravan for thirty seconds, he came upon an area swarming with the small insects. It was not a social event for the many colonies of ants, but a war between the black ants he was following and thousands of vicious red fire ants. Reinforcements for both sides poured into the quagmire from all directions. It was a fierce battle. Fresh troops steadily arrived, joining in the fight, others departing, carrying dead or wounded comrades in their jaws or on leaf stretchers.
When John suddenly looked up, he found himself at least forty feet behind the row of soldiers. In a panic, he leapt through the battlefield like a child playing hopscotch.
He returned to the line and then heard Sixpack holler from an unseen position to his left.
“Stop where you are and work your way towards me. Somebody find the L-T.”
Zeke sprinted toward the sound of Sixpack’s voice. “What did you find?” He asked upon arriving.
“Looks like a cache.”
Zeke and Sixpack worked carefully, gently probing for booby traps with knives before clearing away some underbrush and matted elephant grass from the side of a tree.
“There’s stuff buried here!” Zeke yelled.
“Careful,” Sixpack cautioned, “let’s wait until the L-T gets here.”
Meanwhile, the line of soldiers had collapsed and gathered around the two men. Before any of them could ask questions, Lt. Ramsey arrived with the other two squads, forcing his way through the crowd.
“What is it, Sixpack?” He asked.
“Looks like a cache, L-T.”
“Okay, give us some room and back away,” he said to the surrounding mob. “Bob, get the captain on the horn. Tell him we might have found a cache, and I’ll get back to him as soon as possible,” Lt. Ramsey ordered his RTO.
While the three men further probed the entrance, the balance of the platoon moved away to set up a small perimeter around them.
With the large hole in the ground exposed, Sixpack reached in and felt around.
“All clear, it’s not booby trapped.” He then lifted out a fifty-pound sack of rice from the hole.
“Shit, man, there’s enough in here to supply an enemy platoon for a month,” Zeke declared.
“What a find,” the young lieutenant stated. “Let’s empty this hole and see what it all amounts to.”
“Polack, Frenchie, Scout, Wild Bill, come here!” Sixpack called.
The four men left their positions on the small perimeter and hustled over toward the sergeant.
“What’s up?” Scout was the first to ask when arriving.
“We’ve got to empty this hole. Set up a line to my left. Zeke and I will pull everything out of the hole and pass it along; you guys stack it where the L-T tells you.”
“How much is there?” Wild Bill asked.
“I don’t know. We can’t see the bottom,” Zeke answered.
As the lieutenant supervised, the human conveyor emptied the contents of the hole.
“Bob, call the captain and ask him what he wants to do with all this shit,” Lt. Ramsey ordered. “Make sure you tell him there’s enough to fill a chopper,” he emphasized and then watched Wild Bill walk by with another large bag of rice in his arms.
Sixpack raised his head above the rim of the crater.
“Hey L-T, seems to be another cavern down there. Do you want me to check it out?”
“Go ahead, but be careful.”
The eight-foot deep by six-foot wide pit looked like a miniature silo. Grooves chiseled into the rocky brown clay wall resembled rungs of a ladder from top to bottom.
Sgt. Holmes cautiously made his descent back into the hole and upon reaching the bottom, dropped to his hands and knees. First, he removed his thirty-eight caliber automatic pistol from a shoulder holster and unclasped the flashlight from his harness belt, setting the rest of his equipment to the side. Following the beam of his flashlight, Sixpack slowly moved forward on his forearms and knees into the four-foot-by-four-foot entrance in the wall. He held the flashlight far to the side and away from him, hoping that if the enemy spotted the light and fired at it, it would thus miss him. He could return fire by aiming directly at the flash of the other weapon.
His heart pounded and sweat poured from him as he inched along the claustrophobia-inducing corridor. Twenty feet later, he came upon - what he believed to be - the end of the tunnel. Instead, he found that it continued after a ninety-degree turn. Sixpack held his breath, cautiously peering around the bend.
“Well, kiss my ass!” He uttered.
To his astonishment, there was a trap door in the wall with light emerging from its cracks. Curious, he moved slowly toward it. Once there, he placed the revolver on the ground and unsheathed his Bowie Knife, using it as an extension of his hand to probe around the wooden doorway.
After a painstaking inspection, he found the door free of booby-traps and explosives. Sitting back on his heels, he took a few deep breaths, hoping to slow his rapid heartbeat.
After a minute, Sgt. Holmes regained his composure. Returning the large knife, he picked up the pistol and took hold of the trap door.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, pulling gently on the door. It squeaked loudly, startling him enough to mutter “Holy fuck!” He quietly closed the trap door and inched his way backward several feet. He found it impossible to turn himself around in the small confines of the tunnel, quickly crawling backwards toward the cache pit.
“Zeke, there’s one hell of a complex down here,” Sixpack gasped, standing and brushing the red mud from his clothes while trying to gulp air.
“Hey, L-T, Sixpack found an underground complex,” Zeke called from his position at the top of the pit.
“Tell him to get the fuck out of there,” Lt. Ramsey ordered. “We’ll call for a tunnel team.” The L-T rushed over to the rim of the hole and stood with Zeke.
After Sixpack reached the top rung of the earthen ladder, both Zeke and Lt. Ram
sey took hold of an arm and pulled him from the shaft. His uniform and hair were drenched with sweat and coated with red mud.
“Jesus Christ,” Sixpack began, “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” His heavy, labored breathing continued.
“Take your time, Sixpack,” the L-T insisted. “After you catch your breath, you can tell us what you saw.”
“Sir,” he began, and then struggled to breathe deeply, quivering as a slight and sudden breeze sent a chill down his wet spine. “I found a trap door at the end of the tunnel,” he continued. “And after checking it for booby traps, I pulled it open.”
Sixpack stopped again to fully inhale the fresh air.
“Come on, Sixpack, the suspense is killing me,” Zeke prodded.
“Don’t push him, Zeke,” the L-T cautioned, “he’ll tell us when he can.”
Sixpack smiled and continued, “When I looked through the door, there was a hallway large enough for me to walk down. Bright lights hung from the walls and lit up the entire complex. I can’t believe something like that existed underground.”
“Did you see anybody?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Good. It will be easier for the tunnel team when they arrive. ”Nice work, Sixpack!”
“’Just doing my job, sir.”
“Nevertheless, it was a hell of a job,” the L-T commended. “We need to comb the immediate area and look for breathing tubes in the ground, another entrance, or anything else suspicious.”
“I’ll get my men on that right away.” He turned to Zeke, “gather everyone up and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
“Will do!” Zeke walked to the perimeter, seeking out the rest of his squad members.
After the fruitless search, the platoon gathered around the various piles of supplies.
“Don’t touch anything,” Lt. Ramsey cautioned. “Everything is listed on this paper,” he said, waving it at the group. “Here's what we have so far: six fifty-pound bags of rice, three cases of U.S. C-Rations, sixteen mortar rounds, five AK-47 assault rifles, two pistols, one RPD machine gun.” The officer stopped briefly, then continued, “five crates filled with thousands of rounds of ammunition, seventeen B-40 rockets, fifteen grenades, various medical supplies, uniforms, eight pairs of Ho Chi Minh sandals, four shovels, three picks, and five empty NVA rucksacks and web gear.”
Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition Page 13