Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition

by Podlaski, John

  “Now, if I can get serious for a moment, I have a great deal of admiration for you men, and I commend you on your performances during our ambush the other day.

  “As you know, we were caught by surprise and suffered dearly as a result of it. These nine men paid the ultimate price.” He motioned to the rifles below.

  “Later that day, after we were withdrawn, our Sister Companies in the battalion swept through the ambush sight without having to fire a shot.

  “There were many caches and hundreds of documents uncovered. It appears that we had stumbled into the Division Headquarters for the VC Seventh Regiment. We’re not sure as to the strength of the enemy we encountered during the battle, but the sweep confirmed eighty-seven dead bodies.”

  A cheer rose from the crowd as the young soldiers congratulated each other.

  “Furthermore, there were immense trails of blood leading away from this complex in all directions. Our sister companies will continue their patrols through the area and try to hunt the rest all down.

  “Now, for the bad news. This battle has reduced our strength to a level that battalion doesn’t feel is effective. So - I know this is going to break your hearts - battalion is recommending that Alpha Company not return to the bush tomorrow.”

  The crowd was ecstatic. Boony hats flew into the air and cries of joy drowned out the captain’s pleading voice. It took several minutes for the crowd to settle down before Captain Fowler could continue.

  “Gentlemen! There must be a misunderstanding! I didn’t say we weren’t going to the field.”

  The joyous celebration ceased as the men looked to one another, asking if they had heard him correctly.

  “That’s right! We will be going out into the field tomorrow, but we won’t have to hump on patrols for a bit.”

  Inquisitive looks from the crowd prompted him to explain in further detail.

  “Tomorrow, Alpha Company will depart for the Iron Triangle.”

  A look of anxiety spread across the faces of the old-timers in the group that knew of this evil place.

  “As many of you already know, the triangle has a reputation of being the most hostile of all areas within the division’s area of operations. Every time our units patrol through this vicinity, heavy opposition meets them. Delta Company and the Corps of Engineers have spent the last week clearing out a large area in the center of it all. We will be joining them tomorrow and help to build a new firebase. The brass has already named it Lynch.

  “This firebase is very important, as it will provide added security and firepower to those forces patrolling through the Triangle. We will not have to hump, but after a couple of days of digging and filling sandbags, you will all wish you were back in the bush again.

  “Choppers will pick us up at eight in the morning. Enjoy your last day of leisure. That’s all I have.”

  Most of First Platoon cleaned rifles in the tent and prepared equipment for the following day’s move.

  “That must have been one hell of a mess. Can you imagine piling up eighty-seven bodies?”

  “Who knows for sure how many bodies there actually were Larry,” Doc answered. “Especially if they were following battalion protocol.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s not a secret that the VC carry their dead away with them after a firefight.”

  “I’ve been a witness to that myself.”

  “The policy is something like this. We get credit for a kill if we find a puddle of blood measuring more than four inches in diameter, a weapon found lying in the jungle, and of course, a body always counts.”

  “Damn, I didn’t know that,” John confessed. “I always thought a body had to be present.”

  “As you can see, that’s not always the case.”

  “If that’s true, why didn’t we get credit for all the blood and body parts from our mechanical ambush?”

  “I don’t know, Polack. We didn’t stick around long enough to measure and count all the dried blood and body parts. Besides, it was a couple of days after the fact anyway.”

  “Those fucking lifers are the only ones worried about a body count in this goddamn war anyway,” Scout volunteered. “Did any of you see the company tote board today?”

  “What about it?” Wild Bill asked.

  “Major Stone was having the battalion clerk add to the figures while he stood there verifying the numbers.”

  “So what’s the big deal? That’s just normal lifer bullshit.”

  “He was doing this during the church service,” Scout replied.

  “I still don’t see your point.”

  “The clerk was next to me during the service and we were talking about Zeke, when that lifer motherfucking major came over and yanked him away.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Wild Bill, I wouldn’t joke about something like that. The poor kid didn’t even have a chance to ask him if he could wait until after the service.”

  “What a sorry fucking thing to do.”

  “I’ll say,” Doc added. “That shit could have waited.”

  “That’s not all of it,” Scout interrupted.

  “You mean there’s more?” Larry asked.

  “Yeah. It was not even five minutes after the clerk had finished that some General showed up. As soon as he stepped out of the jeep, Major Stone guided him to the tote board. The General’s face lit up like a flashbulb when he saw the figures. He cracked a big grin and shook the major’s hand. Then, as they were walking into the building, the General slapped Major Stone’s back a few times as if he was single-handedly responsible for the body count.”

  “I’d like to know what kind of story he told the General.” Wild Bill frowned deeply. “All he did during the ambush was to fly around overhead in that helicopter of his watching the fireworks below. What a jerk! Did your clerk buddy have anything to say after returning?”

  “He never did. I did catch a glimpse of him while the captain was talking to us; he was carrying coffee and cake to the major’s office.” The men could only shake their heads in disbelief.

  Just then, a stranger walked into the tent and approached those nearest the entrance.

  “Excuse me; I’m looking for PFC’s John Kowalski and Larry Nickels.”

  “It’s time to write up the Cherries,” Wild Bill teased.

  “I’m Kowalski,” John raised his hand.

  “And I’m Nickels,” Larry added from the cot behind John.

  “Great! I’d like to take a few minutes of your time to ask some questions.”

  “Why, and who are you?” Larry asked.

  “I’m a reporter and the information will be used for an article in your hometown newspapers.”

  “Why? What did we do?” John asked.

  “You both earned the Combat Infantry Badge during that last firefight. You’re heroes and we’d like the people back in your home town to know it.”

  “I’m not a fucking hero,” John quickly protested. “I was scared to death during that ambush and pissed myself. Then, I spent the rest of the day puking my guts out. That doesn’t sound like something a hero does.”

  “Relax, Polack,” Doc interrupted. “It’s just a formality. We all had similar experiences during our first firefights, but you will get stronger as time goes on. This is a way of letting the people back home know that you are surviving and doing your best over here. It’ll also make your family proud to see an article about you busting your cherry.”

  The group laughed.

  “What’s this article going to say?”

  “Before I answer that, are you aware that the Combat Infantry Badge is the most coveted of all awards eligible to an infantry soldier? Some lifers in the rear areas would do anything to get one.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Wild Bill affirmed.

  “Many soldiers in Vietnam will never get one,” the reporter continued. “You have to earn it through combat. Moreover, regardless of what you did, or how you felt during the fight, you are still ent
itled to this award. The article will let the people know who you are, where you are from, what school you attended, and the year you graduated, who your parents are, and where you are located in Vietnam. The rest of the article will relate to the award itself and its origin. It’s good publicity, and the article will make your family proud. The format is the same for everybody, so all we have to do is to fill in the blanks.”

  “What the hell,” John conceded, “I’ll answer your questions.”

  “Good! Let’s get started.”

  Wild Bill stopped the PR man before he could leave.

  “How about writing a story about our sorry-assed Major Stone and the stunt he pulled today?”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Wild Bill and Scout related the earlier incident for him, making sure not to leave out any of the details. After several minutes of listening, the reporter closed his notebook and returned it to his shirt pocket.

  “I’m sorry, guys, but I can’t write a story like that. I can sympathize with you, but we don’t have all the facts and don’t know what really happened.”

  “What if I can get them for you?”

  “Don’t waste your time. Even if I wrote it, the editors would shit-can the article. They would tell me that it was in bad taste, and bad for morale. Besides, that type of behavior has always existed throughout the military, as well as in civilian life. A few assholes can ruin it for everybody else. Just chalk it up to experience and let go of it. Dwell on the good and forget the bad.”

  “What good can come out of war?” Doc asked the confident reporter.

  “Friendship and camaraderie are two that I know for certain.”

  “I agree that there is a bond that develops, but it’s more of a dependency on each other for moral support and strength than anything else. It’s the only way any of us will survive this insane war.”

  “That’s the point I’m trying to make. You’ve all shared your inner feelings with each other at one time or another. I would even bet that you’ve built such a trust between yourselves that you could confide in one-another and tell tales that you would not dream of telling anyone else. And you really haven’t known each other that long.”

  “The man has a point,” Scout broke in. “I grew up with a couple of guys who are still back in the world. I thought we were the closest of friends. But when I think about it now, you guys know more about me than they do.”

  “I agree,” Doc smiled. “You know I’d do anything for you guys. Hell, even Polack and Larry have become part of my life.”

  “You might not see each other after Vietnam, but I can guarantee you that each of you will remember this bond. So cherish it while you can.” The reporter looked at his watch. “I have to go. You guys take care of yourselves.”

  “You too!”

  He turned and walked out of the tent.

  Doc stood up and headed to where the other four men sat on two adjacent cots. He extended both arms outward, balled his hands into fists, and positioned one in front of each group.

  “Brothers!” he said,

  All reached up and hit Doc’s fists with their own.

  “We are, indeed!”

  That afternoon, Bill Sayers, John, and Larry managed to get together for a little R and R. They spent the next couple of hours drinking cold sodas and telling each other about the things they had experienced during the last month with the company. The three young men decided to walk over to the stage where the movie, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid’, was about to start. A western starring Robert Redford and Paul Newman as outlaws, the movie was humorous and entertaining - an effective diversion from the reminders of war around them - and they were reluctant to return to their tents.

  John and Larry found that almost everyone in the tent was either sleeping or writing letters. Not even a card game was taking place. For both men it was just too early to sleep, so they dug out their supplies and joined in on the community letter-writing.

  Both men were excited about the upcoming article in the local newspaper back home, and wanted to give their families some notice to watch for it. John had kept all his letters simple since arriving in country and had never written about narrow escapes or other dangerous events, tending to write about the weather, or answering questions prompted by TV news shows. One particular question from home was especially upsetting, as his mother asked if it was true that the U.S. was killing innocent women and children. John, taken aback by the inquiry, was afraid to ask any of his fellow soldiers for fear of reprisal by the group. He simply responded that he had never seen the enemy and seriously doubted that any were innocent woman or children.

  John bit the bullet and wrote that he had been in his first battle, and because of it, an article would soon appear in the local paper. He wanted to downplay it, writing that the event was a typical occurrence and that every infantry soldier received the award during his tour of duty. However, he already knew the news article would generate a deluge of questions in future letters from home.

  When John finished and packed everything away, he lay on his cot and prepared himself for day number fifty-two in Vietnam.

  ~~~~~

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  At three in the morning, the Division helipad bustled with activity. Battalion Supply needed to have all the equipment and supplies ready for transport prior to the infantry’s 0800 departure. Their only lift truck was broken, however, so moving the supplies by hand was the only option. Large nets blanketed the pad and trucks full of supplies sat idly to the side, lighting the area with their headlamps. Pandemonium reigned as rear echelon personnel moved around in mass confusion, carrying crates on their shoulders. Nobody seemed to know where they belonged. Supply sergeants and officers ran around with clipboards, trying desperately to organize the chaos and meet their schedule.

  At the deadline, only small portions of the total supplies were ready. The grunts, anxious to leave Cu Chi, became impatient and irritated by this delay.

  “What’s the deal, Sixpack?” Wild Bill asked.

  “It looks like we’ll be here awhile, so make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Why do we have to wait until the supplies are loaded?” Scout whined.

  “Because we’re flying in Chinooks, and the brass wants to limit the trips.”

  “Isn’t this just like the Army?” Doc commented. “It’s always ‘hurry up and wait’.”

  “You got that right,” Scout agreed. “Only I wish we could do our waiting in the shade. This hot sun is a bitch.”

  “Go to sleep and it won’t feel so bad.”

  “That’s a great idea, Wild Bill. I can use a couple more hours of sleep.”

  “Wake us when they’re ready to go.” Scout and Larry lay on the grass, using their rucksacks as pillows.

  “Don’t worry about needing a wake-up call. You’ll know when the birds arrive,” Sixpack smiled and continued to pace on the grass.

  The rest of the squad followed suit and tried to get in a few extra winks.

  Three hours later, Sixpack strode up to each man, kicking him on the sole of his boot. “Come on, you deadbeats, wake up! Birds are on their way.”

  “What the fuck?” Scout sat up quickly, unsure of his whereabouts.

  “There’s nothing like getting a suntan while fully clothed.” Wild Bill fanned his damp fatigue shirt in an attempt to cool off his sweaty body.

  “I know the feeling. Look at me! I’m soaked to the bone.” Scout mimicked Wild Bill in his cooling- off technique.

  Others, who had removed their shirts earlier, scratched each other’s back to relieve the itching caused by lying bareback on the grass.

  After a few minutes, the men in the First Platoon gathered their rucksacks and moved toward one of the large piles of supplies on the tarmac. Progressively louder chopping sounds from beyond alerted them to the approaching helicopters.

  The five giant birds - each looking twice the size of a city bus - had two large rotors overhead to carry the ship. They created
such a whirlwind during final approach that it temporarily blinded everyone near the landing zone. Of course, the supply personnel were all wearing goggles and seemed immune to the onslaught of debris. Once the birds were down, a large hydraulic ramp on the rear of each helicopter lowered to the ground, enabling each platoon member access to their respective transports. It was still extremely windy and dusty, but the level of visibility was sufficient for the men to move through the dust storm and board the aircraft. They sat on long fold-down planks running the length of the aircraft; their backs leaning into netting that lined the fuselage. Both rows of soldiers faced one another.

  In the meantime, the supply personnel were gathering corners of nets and securing them to a towing hook on the bottom of each monster machine. The Chinooks rose straight into the air at a very slow pace until the sling holding the net was taut and the bundle of supplies lifted into the air. The pilots reviewed their control panel gages to verify that the total cargo weight was acceptable and safe for them to fly before tilting the rotors slightly and flying away.

  The formation of Chinooks circled over a large, round clearing surrounded by dense jungle. Green heavy-duty construction equipment sat unattended throughout the brown and red dirt-filled clearing. The large helicopters turned into the wind and began their descent. Several piles of debris burned in the northern sector of the clearing and thick black clouds of smoke rose up toward the airborne formation.

  “Look at all that smoke! You can see it for miles.” John sat near the rear of the aircraft where much of the First Squad could see through the open ramp.

  “It’s a good beacon for the VC to follow, too,” Wild Bill pointed out.

  “Just like sending out smoke signals and offering a personal invitation to come and visit us,” Scout added.

  “What the fuck are we getting ourselves into?” Larry wondered aloud.

  Delta Company soldiers manned temporary guard positions encircling the entire clearing. Several massive bulldozers and graders from the Engineering Battalion had created the opening in the heavy jungle. In size, it equaled six combined football fields. The Chinooks first dropped their cargo in the center of it all, and then landed nearby to discharge the human cargo.