Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition

by Podlaski, John

  At 1100 hours the next morning, First Squad huddled together, chatting nervously about the anticipated mission. Zeke, however, had not joined them. He sat alone in the shadows of a bush, whittling intently on a small tree branch with his Bowie knife. Tan and green shavings collected around his feet as each stroke of the silver blade sent another into the air. The ground surrounding Zeke took on the appearance of a woodshop floor, but nobody in the squad attempted to interrupt him.

  “Zeke sure is depressed,” Frenchie noted, stealing a glance in his direction.

  “I don’t blame him. You saw him yesterday morning. He was happy as hell, until Sixpack dropped the bomb on him.”

  “Why wouldn’t they let him go in on the resupply?” Larry asked.

  Doc said, “Beats me. If it was my decision, he would have gone in.”

  “One man isn’t going to make a difference on this mission!”

  “I don’t think that’s the reason,” Scout pointed out.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Captain Fowler knows the mechanical on the trail was Zeke’s. Maybe he thinks he’s doing Zeke a favor by keeping him out here one more day, so he can see the results of his work.”

  “Do you think he really cares? Zeke is so short he’s become paranoid. All he wants to do is get out of the bush. If the captain thought of this gesture as a favor to Zeke, then he should see how happy Zeke is right now.”

  “Like the man said yesterday, he’s okay and still has his shit together. If we hit anything on that trail, he’ll be the first to react.”

  “I think he will too, Doc.”

  Sixpack approached the group. “Okay, saddle up! We’re moving out in five minutes.”

  “Is there anything we should know before leaving?” Scout asked, rising to his feet.

  “Yeah! The firebase will start firing artillery in a few minutes. So don’t dive for cover and start yelling ‘incoming’.” The group laughed nervously.

  “They’ll continue to lay it on while we move forward. Then when the rounds stop, a squadron of Cobra helicopters will move in to cover us from the air while we sweep through it.”

  Zeke still had not joined the group. Sgt. Holmes frowned after looking in his direction.

  “Hey Zeke!” The sergeant called. “Are you okay?”

  There was no answer. Zeke continued to stare at the ground, drawing circles in the soft dirt with the sharply pointed stick.

  Sixpack walked over to him and patted him on the shoulder. “What’s bugging you?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about not going to the rear yesterday.”

  “You got it.”

  “What’s the big deal? It’s only one more day.”

  “That’s not the point. If any other lifer or officer were in my place, the colonel would have made a special trip in a Loach to pull him out of the field. They give a shit less about me. A Specialist Fourth Class doesn’t rate any special attention. So why should they care?”

  “You’re making too big an issue out of this. Nobody in that base camp will survive the bombardment that’s coming. After we count the bodies, we’ll be in Cu Chi in time for dinner.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?” Zeke questioned. “Sixpack, you’ve already spent a tour of duty here. Have you ever swept through a base camp after artillery dropped a ton of munitions on it?”

  “I know what you’re getting at.”

  “Damn right you know what I’m getting at. Not once have I just been able to go in and count bodies. Those slant-eyed bastards wait for us. Every time we do it, they put us in a world of hurt. What makes you think it’ll be any different this time?”

  “I don’t know how it will turn out. But I’m not going to let that stop me from doing my job. If it means a firefight, then, by God, it will be a firefight. We’ve all had the proper training and experience to deal with this kind of situation. Just do what your instincts tell you and you’ll be fine.”

  “Bullshit! Training and experience don’t mean shit in the Nam. It’s all luck. And today I don’t feel like I have any left.”

  “You’ll be okay, Zeke. Just keep your cool and don’t try anything foolish. I need you. The rest of the guys are counting on you. Sixpack waved toward the squad.

  “Yeah, come on, Zeke. You can do it!”

  “What’s six more hours compared to forty-nine weeks?”

  “We need you, Zeke!”

  Zeke blushed after hearing the words of encouragement. He smiled nervously, placed the rifle across his shoulder, and moved to join the rest of the men.

  “What the hell? I can’t let my brothers down. If you need me that much, I’m yours.”

  Upon reaching the point in the trail where the mechanical ambush had exploded, Lt. Ramsey ordered the First Squad to check the vicinity.

  “Look under rocks if you have to. I want this area thoroughly searched. We’ll secure both ends of the trail so you won’t have to keep looking over your shoulder.”

  “You got it, L-T.” Sixpack turned to the others. “Let’s get this done!”

  He led the men through the devastated area. One-hundred feet of leveled vegetation was all that remained to the front of the blown claymore mines. The small steel balls damaged several of the larger trees on the opposite side of the trail; bark was missing and white sap was still leaking from the incisions. Five craters along the trail marked the location of each mine, each large enough to bury basketballs. A mixture of brown and red dirt coated the surrounding green vegetation.

  “Sarge, I found something,” Wild Bill said, looking at the ground on the other side of the trail.

  “Looks like wheel impressions from a cart,” Sixpack guessed after seeing the ruts in the ground.

  “There’s two sets,” Wild Bill pointed out. “One appears to be coming from the base camp, and the other, which is sunk deeper into the trail, appears to be returning.”

  “Looks like the dinks came out and picked up the pieces,” Zeke declared upon reaching the two men.

  “There are puddles of dried blood all over the place. The ambush did some real damage here.”

  “Hey, guys! Come and take a look at this.”

  The men rushed over to see what Larry had found. John was the first to arrive, “That’s so gross! What do you make of it, Doc?”

  “I need a closer look.” Doc moved forward, swinging his arms wildly to bat away swarms of flies that had gathered on that portion of the tree. “It’s definitely human bone and tissue. There’s more over here!” He pointed out several smaller pieces strewn about the area. “The largest piece I can see is about as big as a cigarette lighter.”

  “Thanks, Doc. Let’s all get back onto the trail and try to figure this out.”

  “How many do you think the ambush caught?” Larry followed Sixpack, pinching his nose with two fingers to escape the stench, his voice sounding an octave or two higher.

  “We might have caught a squad or maybe two.” Sixpack hesitated, and then turned to see why Larry’s voice had changed. “Why in the fuck are you holding your nose?”

  “I can’t stand the smell. It’s like walking through a butcher shop full of spoiled meat.”

  “It is dead meat. You’ll get used to it!”

  “The fuck I will.”

  “I don’t like this one bit. There’s not one body to be found, yet the evidence is overwhelming that the mechanical blew a bunch of them away.”

  “That’s because there’s a lot more VC left and they came out and picked up the pieces, Sixpack. Remember, that mechanical blew during the artillery barrage, so there were survivors, and they’re probably waiting for us in the bunkers.”

  “The artillery in Kien just spent fifteen minutes dropping more rounds on that base camp. They couldn’t have survived a second barrage.”

  “They survived the first time and because of that, they will survive this time too.”

  “Nobody really knows for sure, Zeke. We’ll ha
ve to take our chances.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Let’s get back to the rest of the platoon,” Sixpack suggested, ignoring Zeke’s remark.

  “What did you find, sergeant?” Lt. Ramsey asked upon their return.

  “The whole area is wasted. We found evidence of death, but couldn’t find any bodies.”

  “That’s good news!”

  “We also found signs of a cart having been on the trail.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No, sir. There are two sets of tracks. One of them is sunk much deeper into the trail, as if a great deal of weight was moved.”

  “Thank you, sergeant. I will pass that onto the CP. Right now, we had better get a move on. The rest of the company is in position to sweep the base camp.”

  The platoon had moved up the main trail, veering onto the smaller path that led into the encampment. Nung called to Sixpack, “Sergeant, look!” He pointed to the upper half of a tree on the right side of the trail.

  The platform in the tree, where Sixpack and Nung had spotted the enemy lookout earlier, was still in place and unscathed by the many artillery rounds.

  “I don’t believe it,” Sixpack shook his head in disbelief.

  When reaching the outer perimeter of the base camp, the rest of the company was already sweeping toward them through the massive area.

  The full barrage of artillery had hit here. All in all, First Platoon counted seventeen bunkers; none intact. Unlike the underground complex, they did not find tunnels, caches, or important documents lying around. A strong odor of burnt wood and musty soil hung in the air.

  “See how those VC screw with our heads?” Frenchie remarked. “I know we should have had a big body count here, but like always, they just take their dead away and leave us to guess at what happened here.”

  “I’m with you on that! At least we give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt us after a fight. All they have to do is count the number of Medevac’s coming in to pick up our dead and wounded.”

  “Let’s do some grave hunting!”

  “No fucking way, Frenchie,” Sixpack replied. “We sit tight until the L-T returns. Maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to move out toward the LZ.”

  “I’ll buy that,” John remarked.

  Lt. Ramsey returned ten minutes later. “There’s nothing here so go ahead and break for lunch. Afterwards, we will head north and cut a trail through the jungle to our new LZ. With luck, we’ll be in the rear before nightfall.”

  “All right!” The squad cheered unanimously.

  Even Zeke allowed himself to smile as he sat down and prepared to eat his meal of C-Rations.

  The company split into platoon-sized elements heading in the same direction, two hundred feet separated each of the four columns.

  First Platoon had only moved five hundred feet when coming upon another large, well-used trail. Lt. Ramsey dispatched a squad to investigate while everyone else took a short break.

  “Lieutenant, you aren’t going to believe this,” the squad leader informed him.

  “What is it, Hawkins?”

  “This is the same trail we’ve originally been following, it winds around the base camp and moves back in this direction.”

  The L-T pulled out a map from his pants pocket and studied it. “This part of the trail isn’t on the map, either,” he informed the young buck sergeant.

  “We’d better be careful, sir!”

  “Fuck this trail. Let’s just get to our LZ.” Lt. Ramsey returned the map to his pocket. “Hawkins, have your point men stay on a heading of thirty degrees. The LZ should only be three clicks away.”

  “Roger that.” The black sergeant turned and jogged back toward the front of the thirty-five-man column.

  The men in the column were moving along at a leisurely pace when the sudden sound of gunfire and explosions on their right flank forced the men to the ground to seek protective cover.

  First Platoon hunkered down and awaited further instructions. The source of the gunfire was unclear, but it sounded like all AK-47 fire, and it was escalating. Seconds later came the distinct sounds of M-16 and M-60 machine guns returning fire - exploding M79 rounds and grenades added to the already hazardous noise levels.

  Word passed along the line for each man to keep his head down; Second Platoon stumbled into another bunker complex and set off an ambush. The fight was taking place about two-hundred feet to their right flank. Lt. Ramsey continued to relay information as he received sit reps from the engaging platoon. The captain communicated initial strategy to support Second Platoon.

  First Platoon was the column farthest to the left and needed to protect Second Platoon’s left flank. Third and Fourth Platoons would do the same on the right side of the battle. When the captain gave the word, each flank was to squeeze toward the center and overpower the ambushers. Sixpack was already crouched and moving down the line of men, stopping at each prone soldier to organize and coordinate individual positions. He intended to create a small horseshoe configuration in order to cover their forward, right and left flanks. Even at that distance, bullets popped overhead and tore apart anything in their paths, many impacting into the ground nearby.

  John sprawled on the ground, unable to move. His mind told the body to go, but it would not listen.

  Suddenly, numerous dry branches snapped and bushes rustled to their left flank.

  Zeke was the first to rise to his feet. “Gooks!” He yelled, firing from the hip in that direction on full automatic.

  Screams of both surprise and pain came from the unseen invaders, who quickly retaliated by sending a barrage of hot lead in the direction of Zeke and the First Platoon. Rounds flew overhead in both directions and dirt showered over the men as bullets hit the ground near them. The noise was deafening, making it impossible to communicate verbally.

  On instinct, First Platoon reacted quickly. The machine gunners began firing in a wide arc at a knee-high level. Others quickly joined in and fired in the direction of the unseen but advancing enemy. Frenchie fired beehive rounds from his M-79 grenade launcher, Scout tossed grenades, and Sixpack took well-aimed shots at shadows from behind a large tree. Nung and Wild Bill lay prone on the ground, firing their rifles at arm’s length above them. Larry still tried to maneuver into position, not yet firing his machine gun.

  John made his move to what he thought was a more secure position. Rising to his knees, he dove into a clump of bushes behind an old tree trunk to face the oncoming threat. In his haste, he jammed the barrel of his M-16 into the soft earth and found it tightly lodged under gnarled, protruding roots. As he struggled to free the weapon, bullets began flying in his direction, narrowly missing him and ricocheting from the tree trunk. John was numb with fear. Without access to his gun to defend himself, his sense of vulnerability was overwhelming. He buried his face into the ground, helpless to stop the flow of urine seeping down his leg. He lay motionless until the incoming fire subsided.

  Larry’s machine gun finally joined the fight. He fired five-second bursts into the jungle to his front, attempting to cover an arc of about forty-five degrees. It was only then that the enemy fire subsided enough for John to free his rifle from the tangle of roots. Dirt and mud were packed tightly into the barrel. He knocked it against the side of the tree a few times, to no avail.

  He wondered if the weapon would blow up in his face if he tried to fire it, but there was no alternative. He took a couple of deep breaths, positioned the rifle on the far side of the tree, lowered his head to the ground, and pulled the trigger.

  The rifle recoiled, almost falling from his hands. John examined the barrel and found the plug gone. He pointed the rifle in the general direction of the AK-47 shooting and fired three-round bursts from overhead, emptying his first magazine in a matter of seconds.

  Red smoke from several exploding canisters around them fogged the area. Snaking lazily through the air, it served to identify the friendly positions for Cobra helicopters, which
circled above the firefight.

  The ground shook, and debris rained down upon them as the gunships launched rockets into the area where the enemy fire originated.

  Incoming fire at the First Platoon suddenly ceased when the first of many rockets exploded in the midst of the enemy.

  “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” The squad leaders yelled repeatedly along the line until the last of the Americans stopped firing his weapon.

  First Platoon’s fight was temporarily over, their enemies either dead or forced from the area. The rest of the company continued to exchange sporadic gunfire with a concealed enemy; however, the sound of their battle was also winding down.

  Sixpack yelled, “Sound off! Anybody hit?”

  “I don’t know, I can’t see anybody else this low to the ground, but I’m okay.” Larry responded.

  Sixpack conducted a roll call of his squad. All answered but one, there was no reply from Zeke.

  “Somebody find Zeke and see if he’s okay!”

  “Last time I saw him, Sixpack, he was just ahead of me. I’ll take a look,” Scout offered.

  After a few minutes passed, Scout called out from an area twenty feet away, “I found him, but it’s not good. He didn’t make it.”

  “Can you pull him back to us?”

  “I could with some help. His body is wedged in between some bushes.”

  “Polack, Frenchie, and Doc, grab a poncho and go give Scout a hand!”

  The three men low crawled to where Scout waited.

  When John reached the location and saw Zeke’s lifeless body, he turned and vomited uncontrollably. The other three men tugged and pulled at the body, trying to free Zeke from the jungle’s grasp and lift him onto the poncho.

  “Come on, Polack, we don’t have time for that!” Frenchie barked.

  “He doesn’t have a face left,” John managed to blurt out.