Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition

by Podlaski, John

  The day after his Medevac, the squad received two new replacements. BJ grabbed the first one off the chopper and made him his assistant gunner. He was quite happy with the M-60 and asked if it was okay for him to keep it. John was quick to agree, thankful he didn’t have to lug the heavy weapon around anymore.

  A new Second Lieutenant also arrived and took over the First Platoon.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Lt. Stryker, but we call him Rubber Ducky.”

  “What kind of nickname is that?”

  “Just wait until we move out. He’s a real clown, and couldn’t lead cows to pasture.”

  “Sixpack is also back again as our squad leader,” Frenchie added.

  “How are you feeling, Polack?” Sixpack asked when seeing him with the squad.

  “Great, now that I’m back out in the bush.”

  “Good. How would you feel about being the squad point man for a while?”

  “What’s wrong with Nung and Scout?”

  “Nothing. I just want to give them a break for a while.”

  John responded without hesitation, “No sweat, Sixpack. I’ll give it a try so they can catch a break.”

  “Good. Here you go,” Sixpack handed him a machete and compass. “We’ll be moving on a heading of 220 degrees. I want you to follow as close to that course as possible for about two-thousand steps. Just take your time and keep your eyes open. You know the rest of us are depending on you to get us where we’re going in one piece.”

  “I’ll get us there. You can count on me.”

  The entire company was still in a cocky mood; not one person had fired his weapon during the last thirty days. Stored paperback books and transistor radios found their way out of rucksacks; reading and listening to the radio helped them to pass the time. The practice had been taboo for as long as anybody could remember. Yet, none of the officers challenged anyone.

  John found that long humps through the thick jungle were the norm every day. The point man had a dual role: first, clearing a path for the rest of the column to follow, and, second, watching for the enemy and booby traps. Wild Bill walked a few steps behind John, keeping an eye overhead, as well as on the surrounding area. John hacked and swore at the stubborn growth and could not help but keep a wary eye out for Banded Krait snakes along the way. He’d finally stumble into an occasional clearing, only to start hacking away some thirty feet later. John kept the column headed in the correct direction, but had lost count of his footsteps long ago.

  Sensing his dilemma, Wild Bill came up behind John and whispered, “Don’t worry about the footsteps. I’ve been keeping count. Just focus to your front and in cutting your way through this shit. I’ve got your back, man!”

  The grunts no longer thought of the never-ending jungle as Vietnam. Instead, they imagined themselves trapped in a large, bush-filled box, constantly walking, and never being able to reach the other side.

  During one of the following days, Rubber Ducky lived up to his name. After choosing a place to bush for the night, the Cherry L-T wanted to confirm their location. Being quite certain of the coordinates, he asked Firebase Kien to fire a white phosphorous round, expecting it to explode three-hundred meters away and one-hundred feet in the air. Lt. Stryker, stood with compass in hand, ready to take an azimuth on the exploding cloud of white smoke. He was expecting the explosion to the right of their perimeter.

  When picking out coordinates for a fire mission, it is essential to know where the firebase is located in relation to your target. If a unit is in the artillery round's trajectory path, a slight miscalculation - or even a shot malfunction - could result in serious injury or death. Unlike High Explosive rounds that detonate on the ground and throw shrapnel in every direction, a white phosphorus-marking round contains powder that ignites in the air. The carrier, a four-inch wide by sixteen-inch long hollow projectile, continues along the line of flight for another two hundred yards. It would not explode upon impact; instead, the projectile would hit the ground at one-hundred miles an hour and continue to bounce and roll until it ran into an immovable object or until the law of physics allowed it to stop on its own. If somebody stood in its path, a direct collision could result in instantaneous death.

  The phrase “fire in the hole” sounded around the perimeter, alerting the men. All were aware of the imminent explosion in the air, but they did not know exactly where it would detonate.

  They heard a faraway sound of artillery firing to the east; the 105mm artillery round from Kien was on its way. The white phosphorus round exploded harmlessly in the air 150 yards away, the growing white cloud of smoke visible only a split second before they heard the detonation. Unfortunately, the cloud was not on the right side of the perimeter as planned, it exploded to their front.

  "Shit, we're not where I thought we were,” Rubber Ducky exclaimed. He was pointing his compass in the direction of the smoke, unaware the NDP was in the round's trajectory path.

  Suddenly, there was a strange noise, like someone blowing into the top of an empty soda bottle: VROOOM, VROOM, VROOM, the sound became louder as it closed in on First Platoon’s perimeter.

  Sixpack knew exactly what it was and shouted, “Take cover! Incoming!” He jumped behind a tree, ensuring some protection between himself and the incoming projectile.

  Many of the men around the perimeter scrambled for cover; others simply dropped to the ground and covered their heads. The hollow projectile came tumbling through the overhead foliage - hot and smoking. It crashed to the ground and threw up a wave of dirt, before launching back into the air and mowing a path through the thick jungle foliage. The projectile hit a tree and then ricocheted, bounding toward the overnight position of two new Cherries. Both had been sitting on the ground, watching the projectile in awe as it crashed into the center of their NDP. When it suddenly changed course and careened toward them, there was absolutely no time for either to react. The long side of the smoking cylinder was parallel to the ground when it crashed into both of them with a deep thud, knocking them onto their backs. The projectile bounced over the men and tumbled along the ground for twenty or more feet before stopping; the wet jungle foliage hissed loudly under the unwelcome ten-pound object.

  Suddenly, screams of pain echoed across the NDP from the two Cherries. Doc and others ran toward the sounds, knowing the men were going to be hurt badly, but hoping for the best. Both had only been in the bush for a couple of weeks, and nobody knew them other than their fellow squad members. Doc and a couple of the other soldiers took field dressings from the Cherries' web harnesses and administered first aid to the shocked men. Doc worked feverishly to stop the flow of blood gushing from the almost severed leg of one of the men. Once the tourniquet was in place, he started checking for other injuries. The other Cherry had a broken right forearm; jagged, white bone, about an inch long, was poking through his skin in between the wrist and elbow. Both men had broken ribs, burns, and lacerations on their upper bodies.

  A Medevac chopper with a jungle penetrator arrived within twenty minutes to evacuate the two injured soldiers. Both men were going to live, but it was a costly price to pay for a foolish mistake. The brass called this a "friendly fire” accident.

  Rubber Ducky defended himself and blamed the firebase for the error. If he had any remorse, he surely was not showing it.

  Similar errors in judgment continued and the platoon members wanted him out before anyone else got hurt. Several men heard through the grapevine that there was a bounty on Lt. Stryker’s head. Many hoped he would voluntarily leave the field because if a firefight erupted first, one of the grunts would most likely take a pot shot at him.

  John was soon comfortable in his new role as point man and found it to be challenging. He did not have to perform this role every day, as the position alternated between the four squads in the platoon. The best humps were those through light vegetation, where he could focus on his surroundings and not worry about exhausting himself while slashing a path through the jungle.

&
nbsp; When First Platoon finally exited the triple canopy jungle, they found the area saturated with trails and showing heavy activity. During the week, the men set up booby traps and ambushes, but always came up empty.

  The company remained in the vicinity for one more week before battalion brought them to Firebase Kien so the men could celebrate Thanksgiving.

  It was not Cu Chi, but it was the next best thing, offering the grunts an opportunity to rest up for a couple of days. Sure, Thanksgiving was here, but to the grunts, every holiday was just another routine day in Vietnam.

  ~~~~~

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  What a big surprise! When waking on Thanksgiving Day, the grunts found the open area next to the mess tent had changed during the night.

  The cooks had erected a large tent with two dozen folding banquet tables set up in six even rows, and enough wooden chairs to seat a hundred people. Individual place settings were on the table in front of each chair – comprised of real plates, silverware, cloth napkins, and a menu on each plate. A banner, strung across the length of the tent, read “HAPPY THANKSGIVING, WOLFHOUNDS – ENJOY!” Several cardboard turkey centerpieces adorned the tables, creating some level of ambiance for celebrating the special occasion.

  During the meal, cooks continued to bring platters of turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, peas, green beans, dressing, turkey gravy, cornbread, muffins, and cranberry sauce to the tables. The heaping platters were passed back and forth between the grateful men. Pitchers of coffee, milk, and soda were in ample supply; dessert was fresh apple and pumpkin pie. It was a feast fit for a king, but humbly served to the warriors on this special day.

  The stand-down officially ended early Friday morning; Alpha Company was on the move once again. This time, instead of flying out in helicopters to their destination, the grunts humped to a location in the jungle just three clicks west of Kien. Intelligence wanted to confirm rumors of a buildup in that area for a possible attack on the firebase.

  Alpha and Bravo Companies would be blocking forces - Alpha lining up east to west and Bravo north to south along their right flank. Charlie Company would sweep through the area, flushing out the enemy and pushing him toward the waiting companies. Mechanical ambushes and trip flares covered potential and expected escape routes.

  Four Army snipers also joined Alpha Company on this mission. They chose positions behind their ranks that offered the best view of the approaching routes.

  Choppers inserted Echo Company (Recon) into the northern part of the jungle earlier that day in an attempt to locate and maintain surveillance on potential staging areas.

  The grunts itched for the firefight that had been a long time coming. They were more excited this time because, for a change, they could sit and wait for the enemy to walk into their ambush, instead of vice versa.

  In two days, Charlie Company completed their sweep through the jungle and joined up with Alpha Company. During that time, they had found absolutely no evidence of any buildup or signs of the enemy within the area. Battalion Loach helicopters continuously buzzed overhead at treetop level, but were unsuccessful at drawing fire from the jungle below.

  The mission was a bust. The men in the blocking forces remained in place until the next morning, then left for the new AO.

  Only Recon remained active within the area, the four-man stealthy teams stayed behind to observe and patrol through the checked areas, ensuring nothing was overlooked. The other companies remained close in case something significant was discovered.

  In the morning, Alpha moved to the outskirts of a village within two miles of the firebase. Here, they began the tedious task of searching villagers and checking ID cards again. Once finished, the company continued humping west, repeating the process with each village encountered.

  After three days - and now about six miles from the firebase - the company found themselves in an area with dozens of small villages. The search would take several more days to complete. First Platoon traveled the furthest and found an acceptable location for their NDP. It was inside the jungle, providing excellent concealment. They planned on staying there for the next week, dispatching daily patrols to check the many villages.

  Only two squads went out on the daily patrols; the other half of the platoon remained within the NDP. OP’s were in place outside of the perimeter during the day, an early warning given when observing approaching visitors.

  Boredom filled the idle days. Many of the men read and traded paperback books or listened to the American music channel from Saigon on AM radios. Poncho liners served as a playing surface for gin rummy and poker.

  On the second day, Nung returned from a patrol with what many considered a luxury in the bush. When reaching his sleeping position, he unpacked a blue nylon hammock and suspended it from two nearby trees. Next, he snatched his poncho from the ground, attached it overhead from the same two trees, and created a canopy, resembling a floating pup tent. It covered the hammock completely, yet provided enough head room underneath to sit upright on the suspended bed. The activity attracted the attention of just about everybody within the NDP. Several soldiers stood nearby, watching Nung work with deep curiosity. He took four small strips of cloth and secured one to each hammock rope by a knot, letting it hang between the hammock material and the tree. When done, he moved his ruck under the hammock, grabbed his poncho liner, and then maneuvered into the hammock, covering himself. After several seconds, Nung raised the side of the poncho roof and projected a wide, pleased smile.

  “Nung, where in the fuck did you get that?”

  “Villagers sell for ten dollars, MPC.”

  “No shit! They have any more?”

  “Have many to sell. Hammock is same-same used by VC. Now Nung will stay dry during nighttime rain and sleep much better.”

  “Why do you have those strips of cloth hanging from the ropes of your hammock?”

  “Rope get wet when raining, and without pieces hanging, water move to hammock and Nung get wet. Now water stop at knot and fall to ground.”

  “When can we get some for ourselves?”

  “You give MPC and Nung go to village tomorrow.”

  Several of the men made a mad dash back to their sleep areas, digging out their money from the waterproof containers secured to their rucks. When it was all over, Nung held almost three hundred dollars in MPC notes. Even Rubber Ducky agreed to purchase one.

  The next day, Nung returned with a rice sack full of the precious hammocks. After distributing them, everyone got busy, trying to mimic Nung’s shelter, sacrificing several green t-shirts to make enough “water stoppers” for the hammocks.

  The grunts were in their glory and looked forward to the night. Not sleeping on the hard ground and staying dry were luxuries in the bush, especially during the monsoon season.

  Most First Platoon NDP’s were located in wooded areas, so it would not be hard for anyone to “tie up” for the night. It would also save time when preparing a sleeping position at the end of the day. With no need to concern themselves with removing all of the obstacles from the ground, it permitted the men an extra hour to read or listen to the radio. The hammocks were compact and portable, and could be stored easily in pants pockets.

  The immediate area to their west had an abundance of bomb craters, filled with fresh rainwater now that the monsoon season was well underway. Sixpack designated two of the nearest craters strictly for drinking water, and the next two for bathing. However, each canteen of water still required iodine tablets. At least the grunts no longer had to worry about carrying the excess weight of five canteens or having to ration water for three days until the next resupply.

  Once again, Nung came up with another luxury item for the bush: an unscented bar of lye soap. They passed it from person to person, and it barely lasted an entire round. Some grunts who had been in country for a while, passed on the opportunity to bathe. Their rationale was that it was a wasted effort considering their filthy and torn uniforms, and that the cleanliness was sure to attract more insects
.

  The only item missing was a portable outhouse to bring them closer to civilization.

  Over the next several days, members of the First Platoon started trading with the villagers. After each resupply, they collected and saved many of the unwanted C-Rations, the meals incurring nicknames over time. Beans and franks were known as ‘beans and baby dicks, lima beans and ham were the ever dreadful ‘beans and motherfuckers, and scrambled eggs were simply ‘egg chunks,’ as the meal was usually solid in the can and had to be chopped apart when heating. Each soldier had to take malaria pills daily. Unfortunate side effects were gas, stomach cramps and diarrhea. Because of this, eating beans did not appeal to the men, so meals that included them were undesirable.

  The daily patrols took these unwanted cans of food into the various villages to trade and barter for items they had, ranging from ice-cold drinks and rice to live chickens. Villagers were very excited about the food choices and always seemed willing to work out a deal with the grunts. Whenever a patrol could bring back a chicken or two to the NDP, Nung took on the role of master chef. He used special herbs and spices and cooked over an open fire before shredding the meat and mixing it into cooked rice. There was always enough to feed the entire platoon and the grunts considered these meals a real treat.

  Time had moved quickly and the soldiers realized that Christmas was only two weeks away. Greeting cards were not available, so the grunts got creative and made their own. Rubber Ducky ensured that everyone in the platoon would send at least one letter or card home to his family for the holidays.

  There had been so much time available during the last few weeks for letter writing that most everyone had run out of things to write home about. Some letters simply read, ‘Hello. I am doing OK and everything is fine. Will write more soon. Love, so-and-so.’