Two RPG rounds had hit the chopper; the crash killed everyone on board instantly. The Cobras responded quickly, launching an assault into the new target area. Artillery rounds also began landing in the jungle on the western side of the LZ.
The ground shook violently as each rocket and artillery round impacted. Three quarters of Alpha Company soldiers were lying on the ground of the open LZ, firing their weapons at the invisible enemy within the jungle. The noise was unbearable and the concussions made the men bounce slightly as if stretched out on a trampoline.
While the battle continued, the last of Alpha Company and the CP landed on the final sortie. Every time the birds came in, the door gunner’s machine gun barrels glowed from the extensive firing; it was a wonder they were still functioning.
Once the entire company was on the ground, the grunts spread out and moved into the jungle on the eastern side of the LZ. Security was in place. Word filtered back for the men to sit tight, as fast movers (jets) were on their way to drop bombs.
The Gunships had left the area and returned to Cu Chi for rearming; they would return if needed. It was too late to warn anyone when the jets began their runs. A loud “vroom” noise echoed and an ear-shattering explosion sounded before they became visible. The planes climbed straight up, the sun reflecting from their wings like flashing mirrors. Their bombs were right on target, and the entire western tree line was ablaze. The two Crusaders made two more passes and dropped each load of explosives deeper into the jungle.
The departing sound of the jet engines could still be heard when the captain jumped to his feet, rallying the company to cross the LZ and sweep through the smoking jungle on the other side.
He organized the men into a horseshoe formation, with Second and Third Platoons on the two sides, and Fourth Platoon at the base. First Platoon would stay behind to provide security for the CP, and to take care of loading the dead and wounded onto the Medevac choppers when they arrived.
The three platoons moved quickly toward the tree line hoping to catch the enemy, who may have been shocked and wandering around, disoriented. There had not been a sound from the tree line since the fast movers had dropped their payloads - that served as a confidence booster to those conducting the sweep.
A team from the helicopter squadron was preparing to land for an investigation of the crash site. The bodies of the helicopter crew, pulled earlier from the wreckage, were now lying with those from Alpha Company. Not much remained of the chopper and cargo, and the remains were no longer recognizable.
Lt. Ramsey greeted the squadron members somberly, offering his condolences. After briefing them about the battle, he pointed out the location of the crash site.
The men stopped for a moment at the bodies of their dead team members, offering a quick prayer before heading to the crash site - escorted by Sixpack and four other soldiers.
First Platoon was the leading unit on the ground and therefore, experienced most of the casualties; the other three platoons had only a few. Not counting the four crew members killed on the helicopter, Alpha Company suffered eight dead and fifteen wounded. Less than half of the casualties were from bullet wounds; shrapnel from the crash injured the rest. Some of the more seriously wounded men had pieces of metal protruding from their bodies. The medics dared not remove any for fear of internal bleeding. Instead, they did their best to pack the wound, stop the bleeding, and make the soldiers as comfortable as possible.
John, Wild Bill, and Frenchie walked through the temporary aid station to survey the casualties. They were surprised to come upon Bob, the L-T’s RTO.
“Bob, what happened to you?”
He winced in pain, wheezing and breathing heavily, upon hearing his name called. He was shirtless, and had several large pieces of bloody gauze covering the upper portion of his back. “That radio saved my life,” Bob said, pointing to the side.
The PRC-25 radio lay on the ground and looked like somebody shot a few rounds of buckshot into it. Bob’s rucksack also took a beating.
“Holy shit! Is all that from the crashed chopper?”
Bob nodded his head.
“What the fuck? Were you right next to it?”
“Naw, we were about thirty feet away when it crashed. The L-T and I were close to where the Third Squad had touched down, and it seemed like most everybody around me got hit except for the L-T, who was standing behind me.”
“The man owes you his life!” Wild Bill exclaimed.
“Seems that way - he’s already stopped by and thanked me ten times,” he tried to laugh but could only smile slightly, wincing in pain once again.
“What are they telling you about your back?” John asked.
“Doc thinks my lung is nicked and that’s why it’s so hard for me to breathe. But other than that, I’ll get stitched up and have some R&R at the 93rd Evac (Evacuation Hospital in Long Binh).”
The four of them shook hands. “Good luck to you, Bob - we’ll see you when you get back!” The three men continued walking along the line of victims.
John did not know any of the wounded; however, Frenchie and Wild Bill recognized a couple of men and stopped to chat. The visits were brief and they continued toward the line of bodies covered with ponchos.
It was then that the first Medevac chopper touched down to pick up the four seriously wounded soldiers. Just as soon as it lifted off, a second Medevac chopper landed to transport the remaining five out of the field and to the hospital. The rest of the wounded and dead would have to wait for the two helicopters to return.
The wind from the chopper landings had blown the ponchos from the deceased soldiers, leaving their bodies exposed. John and Frenchie ran to gather the coverings and returned with an armful each.
They began draping the corpses when John stopped suddenly upon reaching the middle row of bodies. He dropped the ponchos to the ground, took in a deep breath, and stared in disbelief at the corpse lying at his feet.
“Polack, what’s going on? You know this guy?” Wild Bill asked.
A single tear dropped from John’s right eye, leaving a trail on his dirt-encrusted face for more to follow.
“Goddammit! John finally mumbled. He dropped to one knee and placed his right hand on the forehead of the dead soldier; brushing it lightly from side to side with three fingers.
“Who is he?” Frenchie asked.
John shook his head and wiped the tears from his face with a shirtsleeve. “This is Junior Brown. He was from Detroit and lived a few miles from my home back in the world.” John began picking debris from Junior's black, curly hair, dropping the small twigs, pieces of leaves, and caked mud onto the ground. He looked up to the two, somber men, "This guy took me under his wing on the first day I arrived at Kien. He helped me with my supplies, showed me how to pack my ruck and how to keep it properly balanced for humping in the bush. I spent my first night in the firebase with Junior on bunker guard. He was an excellent teacher - I learned so much during those days with him! Without his help, I would have really suffered when I came out to join the company in the field.”
“Sorry, Polack!” Wild Bill and Frenchie left to cover the remaining four bodies, leaving John alone with Junior.
Junior’s body was lying at an awkward angle, his head almost severed, the left cheek resting on his shoulder. His fatigue jacket, was completely saturated with blood - still wet to the touch. Had the helicopter not crashed, he would still be alive and sitting here with the rest of First Platoon.
John continued his vigil over the body and smiled as he thought back to those earlier days together. "I will never forget you, Junior,” he whispered to the corpse. "I owe you, buddy. I owe you big time. I do promise to look up your family when I get back to the world, and will share my memories of you.”
Frenchie and Wild Bill held the extended poncho and moved closer to Junior’s corpse. “Hey, man, sorry, but he’s got to be covered up,” Frenchie offered solemnly.
John reached over and offered Junior a final "dap” on each hand befor
e standing up.
“I’m alright, go ahead,” John said in a shaky voice, backing away to give them room.
After the last chopper left with the corpses, the First Squad members headed back to the tree line where the company CP and remaining soldiers were located. Most of them just sat on the ground and relaxed against a tree. They expressed their sorrow and shared their hurt over the death or injury of friends, but silently were relieved that they were not among the injured. It was very quiet; the only sound heard was the squelch from the radios.
The rest of the company returned from their sweep after two hours, finding only spent ammunition. No bodies, blood trails, or bunkers provided evidence of the enemy having been there. Once again, they vanished.
The company would stay in its present location until the team had finished its investigation of the crash site; the grunts took advantage of this break to eat lunch. Many of the soldiers were relieved to be back in a ‘free-fire zone’; at least now they could fire at shadows without having to worry about hitting innocent bystanders or requesting clearance to fire.
“This shit ain’t right! Those fucking VC pop off some rounds, eliminate half of a platoon, shoot down a chopper, and then di-di (Vietnamese slang for run-away) out of the area before the heavy shit comes in.”
“I know, Doc, it’s like they’re psychic and always keep a step ahead of us. It burns my ass!”
“What happened to that small Loach that got hit?”
“Not a clue, Polack. I was so worried and focused on that hot LZ, that all I was thinking about was how to save my own ass.”
“You and everybody else, Scout!”
“I didn’t have time to think. I was so scared, my mind went blank, and everything happened in slow motion.”
“Did you leave some turds on the chopper?” Wild Bill kidded John.
“I may have, but don’t know for sure. Why don’t you come over and smell my ass and then tell me if I did?”
A laugh erupted from the small group.
Billy Joe sat off by himself, away from the rest of the squad. They all noticed him at the same time.
“Hey, guys, check out BJ. What’s up with him?”
“One of his close friends in the Fourth Platoon was killed today,” Doc volunteered.
“He didn’t say anything to me about having a friend in the Fourth,” John said.
Doc moved closer to the group and reported in a more subdued voice. “Seems BJ and this guy went through Basic Training and AIT together and both ended up here in Alpha Company. They actually both came out to the field on the same resupply chopper.”
“I have a buddy like that too; Bill Sayers is in the Third Platoon. Larry and Sixpack both know him.”
“I know that’s tough; it’s like losing a brother.”
“Losing Zeke was like losing a brother and I didn’t even know him all that long.”
“I know what you mean, Polack. A lot of these other guys in the company say that’s why they keep to themselves and don’t want to know your name or anything about you.”
“I’ve heard the same thing,” Scout added.
“These guys will tell you that it’s the only way to keep their sanity, and that if you die, then it don’t mean nothin' to them.”
“Yeah, but you know that’s a lot of bullshit, Wild Bill. I’m sure those people don’t have any super powers and have emotions just like the rest of us. So when fellow grunts are killed, it has to tear them up inside, whether they show it or not.”
“Hey, BJ, come on over and join us,” John called to his ammo bearer.
The new recruit looked up and waved him off. “I’m okay right here by myself.”
“Well then, we’ll have to come and join you.”
During the next two days, Alpha Company grunts conducted countless patrols and ambushes. There was no contact, which the grunts were thankful for; however, that did not please the colonel in his desire for body counts.
On the third day, the company commander received orders to move toward a new LZ for an afternoon resupply. Tomorrow, they would move in a different direction and work through an area they had not seen yet. The thought of having to hump heavy rucks once again did not appeal to many in the company, but everyone looked forward to the possibility of getting mail. It had been two and a half weeks without contact from family or friends, and most people there would walk ten miles for the chance to get a letter from home.
That resupply turned out to be one of the best. The battalion cooks put together enough hot food to feed everyone in the company twice. The olive green Thermos containers contained roast beef, potatoes, corn, carrots, and ice-cold applesauce and lemonade.
A defensive perimeter was in place around the LZ and squads rotated through the chow line before returning to their location on the perimeter. The hot food surprise definitely boosted morale for the company. In the past, those types of resupplies only happened on holidays. Everyone appreciated the kind gesture.
Once they had their fill of the fantastic meal, the grunts were given time to draw out new supplies. C-Rations were distributed and packed away, and piles of assorted supplies, including clean uniforms, towels, socks, canteens, foot powder, bootlaces, razor blades, chewing gum, toothpaste, toothbrushes, and all the cigarettes you could carry, were dwindling fast.
Enough special Red Cross packages were available to go around and split between the many squads. These treasures included ink pens, paper, postcards, envelopes, and Christmas cards from children back home.
John’s curiosity about the card he received was piqued and he quickly tore open the envelope. It was simple, with a picture of a white candle over a green Christmas wreath on the front cover. Inside, he found a short, hand-written, folded note:
Dear Soldier,
Our Sunday school gave money so we could send packets to you men who are fighting for our country. I hope they can be of use to you and make your Christmas a little merrier. I am ten years old and want to hear from you. Where are you stationed?
Wishing you a Merry Christmas and God’s blessing,
Phillip Huntley
R.R. #23
Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA
It was only the middle of October, but the kid's card touched John. He immediately started to write him a return letter:
Dear Phillip,
Thank you for the Christmas card. My name is John and I am only nine years older than you are. I hope when you are my age this war will be over and you will not have to go through what I am today. I live in the Detroit area in Michigan and cannot wait to get home in nine more months. The weather is very hot here – you probably would not like it. Halloween is right around the corner, I hope you have a good costume picked out. I will not see the leaves change color or snow fall while I am here so I hope you can enjoy the upcoming seasons for me. You can keep writing if you want – a letter from home always makes our day. Thanks again for writing, your new friend, John.
He put the letter into one of the new envelopes, addressed it, and lay it on top of his rucksack. Later, somebody would come around to collect the mail, taking it back to the rear with the rest of the unused supplies.
The crowd roared its approval around the perimeter when the company Clerk approached carrying two, over-stuffed, large red nylon bags. The platoon sergeants and squad leaders left their positions and circled around the young clerk, who had already organized the mail by platoons, thus making it easier to distribute.
Sixpack approached the squad with a couple of sealed boxes and dozens of letters for his men.
“Mail call! Listen up for your name. Damn, Polack, this big box and a lot of these letters are for you.”
He took the package and nine letters back to his position on the perimeter. He set the package to the side and eagerly tore open the first letter from home. He lay back against his rucksack and started reading the words. When he turned to the next page, a smile slowly developed and then he laughed aloud. John finished and returned the pages to the envelope,
tearing open the second one, which was from his girlfriend. While focused on the letter and reading the news from home, John did not notice the other squad members getting restless and whispering among themselves.
Finally, Scout called out, “Hey, Polack, what’s in the box?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s from my mother.” John opened the third letter and began reading it.
“When are you going to open it?”
John sighed slowly, then responded, “When I finish reading the rest of these letters.
“Come on, man, some of us didn’t get any mail. At least you could open it up and see what’s inside.”
“Yeah, Polack, aren’t you curious to see what she sent?”
John sensed all eyes on him and he became irritated by the interruption. He stopped reading and looked over toward the rest of the squad. “Will you guys just wait until I’m done with these? We have lots of time before we leave. Give me about fifteen more minutes.”
It was difficult for John to concentrate on the letters when those around him continued to groan and complain. John was aware that every time a package arrived from home, the normal protocol was for the recipient to get the first pick and then split the bounty with the rest of his squad. This way, everyone got to share in the celebration and receive a bit of the bounty. Nobody would be foolish enough to keep everything to himself too, because it would mean that he would have to carry around the excess weight.
John felt a pang of guilt and looked up from his reading. His fellow squad members looked like anxious kids on Christmas morning, trying to be patient while they waited for the signal to begin opening gifts. The sight was truly pitiful.
He set the letters on the ground and reached for the package. “Okay guys; let’s see what my mother sent us.”
There was a collective cheer and the men moved in closer to watch the ceremonious opening of the package from home.
Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition Page 24