Squad members finished dinner and had last cigarettes before heading out within the hour.
John ate beans and franks from a C-Ration can when he suddenly dropped the can and started to shake as if he had just walked into an ice cold freezer.
“What’s up, Polack?”
“I was just thinking back to the four of us on that trail less than thirty-six hours ago. We walked way beyond that fork in the trail.”
“Are you wondering why we weren’t shot at?”
“Yeah, Scout. You have to wonder if they saw us and just let us go, hoping that a larger group would follow afterwards.”
“We’ll never know and you can’t spend time thinking about those kinds of things. It’ll drive you crazy!”
“Did you ever almost get into a car accident and then later when you think about what might have happened, you get all shaky and shit? It’s uncontrollable and you can’t stop.”
“Adrenaline does that to you. It’s kind of like getting into a situation where you have to decide whether to stay and fight or run. Your body sends this blast of energy to help you through the panic, and if it’s not used, it has to go somewhere. It starts to bleed out and give you those kinds of reactions. That’s most likely what’s happening to you right now. It happens to everyone and I wouldn’t be concerned about it.”
“Maybe it was just luck that we got though that one, huh?”
“It’s very possible, and no different than those seven enemy bodies laying out on the trail. If we had done our job, they would have been lucky on that day too. Unfortunately, their ticket was pulled and it was time to go.”
The two squads quietly departed under the cover of darkness and moved along the trail toward their designated ambush sites just inside the jungle.
John thought to himself that this was surely the spookiest thing he had ever done in his whole life. Pitch black, the light of the partial moon offered little comfort as it rose into the night sky.
At point, Frenchie used a Starlight scope and stopped periodically to check their front. The rest of the grunts in the single file held onto the shoulder strap of the man to his immediate front. It worked well when leading this group of blind men through the inky black terrain.
They slowly grew accustomed to the darkness and could see somewhat in the shadowy environment. Nobody spoke; communications were limited to pushing and pulling of shoulder straps. Even so, they could travel at a satisfactory pace. However, once they turned and entered into the triple canopy, they lost all vision again.
John mentally compared this hump to walking through a Halloween haunted house, where you felt your way along, waiting for something to jump out and surprise you. But getting surprised here could very likely result in death.
Once they reached their destination, the men stepped off the trail and into the thick underbrush. The first order of business was for the men to set out claymore mines covering the trail to their immediate front. Once in place, each member of the ambush team unrolled their spool of electrical wire and backed away to a safe distance. They remained within an arm’s length of each other and tried to sit on the ground as quietly as possible. Both squads remained in that position until sunrise.
Every chirp, crack, and croak solicited a reaction from the stealthy soldiers, but as nervous and jumpy as they were, they still managed to maintain noise discipline and did not overreact. They were fully aware that if a firefight was to develop, and it became necessary for the teams to retreat, it could be disastrous.
The next morning, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that nothing had happened during the night. They waited until seven before starting back to rejoin the balance of the platoon.
As they stepped back onto the trail and began walking toward the exit of the jungle, Nung stopped suddenly and motioned for everyone to get down. There was a hint of wood burning in the air and the sound of laughter and chattering to their left. Nung raised his right hand with two fingers, forming the ‘Victory sign’. He pointed to his own eyes, and then extended his arm to point into the bush and raised four fingers. Sixpack was already moving toward the front of the column to where Nung squatted. After watching the explanation, Sixpack rose to his knees and peered through the brush toward the stream. There, he could clearly see four VC, sitting around a small fire on the bank, two AK-47 rifles leaning against a nearby tree.
The Americans were already in a column on the trail; Sixpack used hand signals to organize them into a firing line. Meanwhile, the RTO quietly informed the rest of the platoon that they had the enemy spotted and would be engaging. On Sixpack’s signal, everyone started firing toward the shadows near the stream.
There was a flurry of activity and flashes of movement around the campsite. No one returned fire, and the squads seemed to enjoy being the aggressors for a change. Now it was just a matter of sweeping through the area and counting the bodies.
Suddenly, several enemy soldiers opened fire on the Americans from their left flank. They were well concealed and hidden near the fork of the trail. The last two Americans closest to the enemy, were immediately hit and fell to the ground. No longer sensing a threat to their front, the grunts jumped into the brush and began returning fire. This ambush lasted no more than a minute; the firing stopped just as abruptly as it had begun. Amid the chaos, the RTO did not even have a chance to inform the L-T of the ambush. Nevertheless, there was no mistaking that something was terribly wrong when the sound of AK fire reached the NDP.
The two wounded forward soldiers were crawling along the edge of the trail to safety. When the firing stopped, the squad retreated and carried the two men from the jungle.
Lt. Ramsey was the first to bump into the retreating men out on the main trail. He quickly organized a defensive perimeter and requested a Medevac chopper. Then he began to outline the next plan of action with his squad leaders. The other grunts kept an eye on the jungle.
One of the wounded took a bullet in the left arm, the other in his back. Their wounds were not life threatening, and both men would return to Cu Chi after a short hospital stay.
The plan was to repeat exactly what the platoon did a few days before. Cobra support helicopters would come on station; the grunts would fire several hundred rounds into the jungle and then move in to sweep the area again.
They found blood all around the campfire, and the two weapons still leaning against the tree unscathed. Frenchie and Scout picked them up and slung the rifles over their shoulders. The First Squad continued its sweep and began following the small stream into the jungle. They moved against the flow and began to notice a red tint in the water.
“Blood in the water,” Scout pointed out in a whisper, leading the squad upstream. Those following acknowledged him with a quick nod.
The stream was shallow and less than six inches deep; the bottom littered with small stones, leaves and twigs from the surrounding trees. Minnows scurried through the clear liquid and water spiders darted across the top, trying to keep out of the way of the advancing soldiers.
“Looks like someone was dragged through here,” Frenchie noted, pointing out the disruption on the streambed. There were three and sometimes four parallel troughs, two inches across, burrowing through the stones and leaves along the fifteen-foot wide stream.
Scout raised his right arm to stop the column. “Sixpack, we’ve got bodies up ahead.”
Sixpack moved forward to join Scout. “We’ll check them - the rest of you fan out and see if you can find any more.”
“There’re two here and another one about twenty feet forward.”
“Looks like these bodies were hit multiple times. There’s no way they made it this far alone.”
“That would account for the skid marks along the bottom of the stream. They were helped or dragged deeper into the jungle.”
“I wonder why they dropped them here after carrying them this far?”
“It might have happened when we fired the mad minute before entering the jungle again, they probably neede
d to get away quickly to save their own asses. Did you also notice that there are no weapons lying near these bodies?”
“It could be the same bunch we opened up on around the campfire; we’ve got two of their weapons.”
“Yeah, but somebody took whatever that third guy was carrying.”
“I agree.”
“That means there are more of them around here someplace.”
After searching the bodies and taking everything of importance with them, the squad followed some new blood trails along the side of the stream. They led away from the stream and finally ended after a hundred feet or so.
“So where did he go?” John asked.
“It looks like he just disappeared.”
“That’s what’s so frustrating about this place. It’s like the earth just swallows them up.”
“You’ve probably hit it right on the head,” Sixpack said, scanning the nearby area. “Remember that underground tunnel complex and hospital we found earlier? I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another one somewhere around here.”
The squad concluded the search of the area and formed back up with the rest of the platoon at the fork in the trail. They were running low on ammunition, and the L-T was worried that another prolonged firefight would cause them to run out.
Lt. Ramsey gave the order for the platoon to return to the NDP to bed down once again for the night. He already planned for a resupply of ammo the first thing in the morning. Afterwards, the platoon would return and create a new NDP close to the fork in the trail.
First Platoon had to carry enough rations for the next five days. The captain wanted to minimize their exposure, so they could work effectively in the jungle during that time. The enemy was very aware of the protocol for resupply and knew that if a unit were in the area, helicopters would be landing every three days. The men hoped they would become bolder and come out into the open when they thought no Americans were around.
Every day, they moved deeper into the jungle, following the stream in its westward tract. They set up nightly NDP’s near the stream and dispatched ambush teams to watch nearby trails and open areas.
Following a stream provided the men with an ample supply of drinking water, thus cutting down on the weight they carried during the humps. The water looked clear, but upon closer investigation, small, barely visible creatures were swimming in it. Nevertheless, each man filled his canteens and dropped in two iodine tablets, which were used to kill the bacteria in the unsanitary water. It left a bitter taste, but there was no alternative. Some of the luckier warriors had pre-sweetened Kool-Aid sent to them from home, which made for a flavorful thirst quencher. Nobody hoarded their treasure, openly sharing their Kool-Aid canteens with fellow squad members.
During the next five days, the men did not see another human being. The routine of moving daily and sending out ambushes at night without contact was boring the troops. Some soldiers were becoming over-confident and cocky, letting weapons hang to the side during humps and even talking louder than they should.
A resupply was scheduled to take place on the following day, but the colonel asked if the unit could get by for at least one more day, possibly two. He truly believed that his strategy would work and result in some body count.
Sixpack and the other squad leaders checked with their men on food status and found that they could squeak by for another couple of days. When Lt. Ramsey informed the colonel of this, he was very pleased with the feedback.
The next two days proved uneventful for the platoon, as it had been ever since they started following the stream. It was the consensus that the VC were aware of their presence, but were staying underground, or possibly vacated the area all together.
Lt. Ramsey arranged for an early morning resupply in an LZ near their original NDP for this mission. Later that morning, after receiving hot food, clean clothes, ammo, mail, and other supplies, First Platoon would be airlifted to a new Area of Operations (AO), where the colonel believed the potential for kills were promising.
The platoon left early in the morning and humped back to their first night’s NDP. Although the men moved at a swift pace with empty rucks and canteens, it still took them three hours to exit the jungle.
It was not long before the men had to pass the seven NVA corpses on the trail for the last time. Not everyone felt the need to look at them; only the Cherries were fascinated and curious enough to do so. Most gagged and some had to step off the trail to vomit. Maggots, flies, and ants were still hard at work trying to devour the decaying bodies; only a small amount of flesh and hair remained on the bleached white bones. The smell was not quite as strong as the week before, nevertheless, it was putrid. The skeletons still lay just as they fell; none of their comrades had returned by to bury them. That was a good sign.
The men showed no remorse - only satisfaction in knowing that these enemy soldiers would never shoot at them again.
When the resupply was over, everyone was actively packing supplies for the new mission. Doc was busier than most as he treated everyone for one ailment or another. He administered creams and ointment to fight ringworm, jungle rot, cuts, and bruises.
The L-T walked around the perimeter congratulating everyone for a job well done. He told them that First Platoon had received credit for twelve enemy soldiers killed, while suffering only two wounded and one illness. Battalion was ecstatic.
First Platoon had been lucky so far, and many of them wondered how long it would last.
~~~~~
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Six Huey helicopters, filled with members of the First Platoon, circled in a counter-clockwise direction over a small clearing in the middle of the dense jungle. As the grunts were transfixed on the LZ below, a Loach helicopter flew by as a decoy, skimming over the treetops around the open area and attempting to draw enemy fire from the surrounding tree line. If successful, the early warning helped to identify the location of hidden enemy troops, thus preparing the grunts for a potentially hostile landing under enemy fire.
“You know those guys doing shit like that must have balls as big as watermelons,” Frenchie yelled above the noise of the turbine engines.
“You ain’t shitting. I’d never fly around like that just waiting for somebody to shoot at me.”
“Yeah, but you’ll walk along a trail and do the same thing. Those air jockeys think that grunts have big balls. Wild Bill, show us yours!”
Stunned by Frenchie’s comment, Wild Bill was unable to respond. John, BJ, and some of the others began to laugh, momentarily relieved from their anxiety. It was short-lived, however, and the laughter stopped abruptly when green tracer rounds began flying through the air. A string of rounds from the tree line trailed the small Loach, the pilot taking evasive action to get away. Several new strings of green reached up from the same portion of the tree line, now targeting the circling Hueys.
“Shit! This mother’s hot,” Wild Bill cried, quickly turning to face John and BJ. “When the birds land, jump off, and get away from them as quickly as you can. The door gunner will be shooting at the tree line so do not run in front of him. When they lift off, start firing your gun into that same tree line. Okay?”
Both nodded.
The tiny Loach trailed smoke but managed to stay airborne. It dropped a red smoke grenade into the tree line, darted back up into the sky, and then passed on final instructions to the Cobra gunships before limping to base.
Two of the deadly birds dropped out of the sky and made a first
pass - one following closely behind the other, both firing mini-guns and rockets into the area with rising red smoke. Debris from the jungle rained onto the LZ as rockets continued to explode on their targets. Meanwhile, the Hueys had maneuvered into position so that their glide path for the insertion would be parallel to that of the supporting Cobras.
The formation was on its final approach, flying only fifty feet above the jungle, when the two Cobras launched a second assault upon the tree line.
As the gunships ke
pt the enemy’s head down, the six slicks formed a straight line on final approach into the hot LZ; door gunners on the enemy side of the aircraft fired into the tree line as they neared the ground. Once they touched down, the birds emptied in seconds. Soldiers dropped to the ground, firing their own weapons into the same part of the tree line.
John and BJ felt as if they were running in slow motion. Belts of machine gun ammo, about five hundred rounds each, wrapped them from their chest to their hips. Once clear of the rotors, both dove for the ground. The weight of full rucks, combined with both the machine gun and ammo, nearly knocked the wind out of John. He lay there with heart and lungs pounding wildly. BJ lay next to him with a look of absolute terror on his face.
The pilots knew they were sitting ducks in this hot LZ, and wasted no time leaving. Eager to get back into the air, one took off too soon, forcing the last of the troops to jump six feet to the ground. Luckily, no one was injured.
John extended the two bi-fold legs near the end of the barrel to support the weapon and started to fire his machine gun into the jungle to his front. While firing, BJ, his assistant gunner and ammo bearer, linked the individual belts of ammo together to keep the weapon firing.
The second sortie landed with the next group of Alpha Company grunts. Soldiers jumped off quickly, joining those already on the ground.
Suddenly, a large explosion sounded behind the grunts. A helicopter from the sortie was ablaze; shrill alarms sounded as the bird twirled slowly toward the ground. No sooner did it crash into the jungle at the far edge of the LZ, when there was a second explosion. A blaze of yellow and red flames rose into the sky, culminating in a fog of thick black smoke. Nobody saw the small pieces of fiery steel and aluminum flying across the LZ. Suddenly, there were screams of pain and calls for medics from an area near the crash site - in the same area where Third Squad had taken refuge earlier.
Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition Page 23