The two weeks since leaving Kien had been rather enjoyable. Even Rubber Ducky was content and not bothering anyone. If a new recruit had arrived during this time, he would have been stunned by the amount of free time the soldiers had, and the folks back home would have never believed it.
However, as always, all good things came to an end. First Platoon received word to pack up and get ready to move out later that morning. Not wanting to hump the C-Ration cans through the jungle, the platoon traded enough for cold sodas and then buried the rest.
Alpha Company continued moving in a westerly direction and soon found themselves cutting their way through the dense jungle once again. The four platoons still operated separately with missions of their own. First Platoon moved to an area just outside of the free-fire zone and planned to keep a medium-sized village under surveillance. Intel suspected this village to be sympathetic to the VC cause. They were hoping to catch the enemy out in the open and possibly uncover a cache of weapons or food.
Sixpack organized small three-man patrols and sent them to locations providing good vantage points of the village from all directions. The men had to be invisible, and yet keep a close eye on the occupants during the day. Prior to returning to the NDP, mechanical ambushes were set to cover possible avenues of travel to and from the village into the jungle.
The routine continued for three days without the soldiers seeing anything strange or out of place. On the fourth morning, First Platoon was ordered to sweep through the village in force and to search everywhere for tunnels or caches.
When the Americans entered the village just after daylight, they were surprised to find the villagers expecting them. The first village hut had a large cardboard sign attached to the wall that read, ‘Alpha Wolfhounds – Go Home’.
“Looks like they have the welcome mat out,” Sixpack smirked.
“How in the fuck do they know about us?”
“Yeah, this ain’t right. It just ain’t right!” Scout mumbled.
“They seem to know all about us and we don’t know a damn thing about them!”
“They’ve got intelligence groups, too. And if what our brass suspects is true, we could be in a world of hurt.”
Rubber Ducky was beside himself and it was evident that the sign shook him up. He started pacing back and forth in front of the group, unsure of what to do next.
Sixpack instructed everyone to split up into three-man teams again and to check out every hut, container, and especially under each bed, for evidence of the enemy being there. The L-T quickly joined up with Sixpack and stayed close to him.
The villagers were not happy to see the grunts searching through their possessions. Some offered ugly sneers in retaliation to their invasion of privacy; others wore a sinister and amused glare on their faces as if mocking the soldiers for their efforts.
Not one villager resisted or spoke, even when prompted by Nung to answer his questions. They appeared defiant but did not do anything to threaten the soldiers.
The grunts were very cautious and yet very thorough. Many of them had bayonets attached to the end of their M-16’s, and, using the weapon as a probe, they poked into large containers of rice, bales of hay, into the ground under beds, and into the straw walls and roofs of the huts.
It took almost six hours to complete the sweep, and once again, the grunts came up empty handed.
“Shit, they knew we were coming so they must have hidden everything.”
“Where, Polack? We looked everywhere.”
“I don’t know. Maybe they came in during the night and carried everything away into the jungle.”
“That does make sense, but we won’t be able to prove it.”
“Wait a minute, Polack, you may have hit on something,” Sixpack stated and called over the L-T. “Polack thinks the VC moved everything out of the village during the night. It all makes sense now when you think about it. They knew we were here and most likely the position of our mechanicals, so they only had to go around them. I think we should leave our NDP for a new one and then set up nightly ambush teams around the village for the next few days.”
“I like that plan.” The L-T responded. “However, we’ve got to get resupplied before we can pull off something like that.”
“Agreed. Run this past the captain and see if he’ll sanction it. We can set up for the resupply right here and then move out, heading back the way we came in, and circle back later.”
The captain liked the idea, too, but felt it was too large of an undertaking for a single platoon, so he dispatched Second Platoon to link up with them. Both were to meet after the resupply, about a mile away, in the jungle and out of sight of the village. There, the two groups formulated plans for the nightly ambushes and moved closer to the village.
Both the first and second nights were quiet. A full moon shone, which helped with their night movements and deployment, but they feared the VC were aware of their plan and were choosing to stay away.
Just after one in the morning on the third night, one of the villagers on a bicycle triggered a mechanical ambush on one of the trails leading away from the village. He was carrying a pouch with papers that warned the nearby VC to stay away until the Americans left the area. The papers also stated that they knew the Wolfhounds had the village under surveillance and had ambush teams within the vicinity. The villagers would let them know when it was safe for them to enter.
“How in the fuck do they do this? Why don’t we just go in and tear that place apart?” Frenchie asked, visibly upset. “Those cock suckers are all VC sympathizers!”
“It won’t do us any good. We now know there aren’t any military supplies there, and there surely aren’t any VC around either. This message proved it,” Sixpack held up the letter as proof.
“I just wish I could get my hands on them. They’re all playing us for fools.”
“Right on, Frenchie! They’re all Commies in my book.” Wild Bill pumped his fist into the air to support his brother.
“Look, guys, we’re still in a no fire zone, but we were justified in killing this guy because he violated the curfew. We can’t just go into that village and rough everyone up. It would be wrong and we’d all suffer the consequences eventually. You can’t cover shit like that up.”
“Fuck it, Sixpack! At least it would get us out of this stinking war. Besides, what can the brass say if we just burn down a couple of the hooches? At least it’ll show the villagers that we’re pissed.”
“The brass may not say anything, but it’ll turn the good villagers against us, -if there are any there - and make us play right into the Communists’ hands. You people know the enemy preaches to the villagers that we are really the aggressors in this country, anxious to burn and pillage their land. Just keep cool. We’ll eventually catch them.”
“I hate to admit it, but that makes sense.”
“I know it does, Frenchie. You learn from your mistakes. Ever heard the saying ‘once burned, twice shy’?”
“What kind of mistakes are you talking about, Sixpack?”
“On my last tour, the company I was with made a mistake. It was almost the same situation, except that there was a sniper there. We jumped to conclusions and burned down most of the friendly village. The next time we came back into that area, we lost a bunch of good men. The VC had convinced some of the villagers to join them for revenge. Afterwards, they went out of their way to booby trap and ambush us every chance they got.”
“What makes you think the same thing will happen again?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve got to spend another eight months in this country and I’m positive we’ll be working in this area again sooner or later. I’d rather not take that chance.”
“Aw, Sarge, I thought you were all gung-ho and shit!”
“No, I’m not, but you all ought to take a look at yourselves. Things that you used to overlook are starting to bug you. Most of you are short and have less than two months to go before going home. I know you’ve all been through a lot of
shit in the last ten months and the lack of action lately is getting to some of you. You guys need to stop being so restless and keep a cool head. Remember what happened to Zeke when he lost his head?”
“Yeah, literally,” Scout muttered, snickering.
“You’re an asshole!” Sixpack’s face harbored a scowl and he bit at his lower lip. “You just better keep your shit in order. The first of you motherfuckers that gets out of line, I’ll personally kick your ass.”
“Oh yeah? Come on, motherfucker!” Scout challenged and moved closer to the sergeant.
“I don’t believe it. Sixpack’s turning into a real lifer.”
“Frenchie!” Sixpack looked at him with glaring eyes. “I’m no more a lifer than you are. I’m just interested in living and keeping you all alive and in one piece. I may not have anybody back home waiting for me, but I do know that you all have wives and girlfriends waiting. What you do when you get out of the bush, I could give a fuck less. But right now, you do as I say!”
Doc stepped in and stood next to Sixpack, facing the angry pair. “He’s right. Go and cool off somewhere. If you want to pursue this any further, then come see me and I’ll hear you out. Come on now, we’re all brothers here and need to keep our shit tight. There is absolutely no reason whatsoever, to be talking shit to each other like you are. The enemy’s out there!” Doc pointed toward the village.
“Okay, Doc. You’ve always been straight with us. I’m good with it.”
“Thanks, Scout. Now see if you can talk some sense into your buddy, Frenchie.”
“No need to. I’m okay for the moment.”
BJ and John stood dumbfounded and could not understand why the men were so agitated all of a sudden. They sat there the entire time listening, but were too afraid to interfere. They were shocked, as it was the first time that such fallout had occurred within this tight knit squad, and it worried them. The next few hours were spent in a sullen air.
An announcement that afternoon brought the troops some much-needed relief. Alpha Company would return to Cu Chi and had an excellent chance of seeing the Bob Hope Christmas Show the following week. Battalion wanted the Wolfhound Company to patrol through a couple of suspect areas first and then hump to Kien, which would only take a little more than three days. A hurried resupply would take place later that afternoon so the company could get moving and cover the planned three-mile hump before nightfall.
Frenchie and Scout approached Sixpack and Doc during the resupply and made an awkward attempt to apologize for their behavior. Both admitted that getting short was beginning to affect them. It was not the lack of contact during the last month that was upsetting, but instead, it was an uneasy feeling, a sense of foreboding that something bad was going to happen soon. Then again, maybe it was just short-timer’s paranoia.
The men made amends and everything was back to normal by the time the company left the LZ. The total distance to Kien was almost ten miles. It would be tough-going in some areas, but nobody complained, as they looked forward to seeing the famous comedian and the usual bevy of beautiful American women who accompanied him on these USO tours. Most every soldier in the column had seen Bob Hope’s Vietnam Christmas Show on TV during the last couple of years, but actually seeing the show in person would be an exhilarating experience. Each man already fantasized about the show, thinking of ways to be visible on television. Surely, friends and family would be watching from home, and seeing them on TV would be a wonderful Christmas gift.
The route to the firebase would take the company through the same area where the suspected large enemy buildup had been two weeks earlier.
As there had been no earlier signs of the enemy, the troops’ confidence level remained high. They expected a trouble-free hump.
On that first night, each platoon dispatched a five-man team to ambush different nearby trails. Since First Squad stayed behind, they gained an extra hour to read or listen to Christmas carols on transistor radios. The songs felt surreal and out of place in these surroundings, like hearing them in July. It was difficult to get in the holiday spirit, and it was hard to believe that Christmas Day was only five days away.
At 0300, the CP lost contact with Third Platoon’s ambush team. They tried several times to reach them, suspecting radio trouble since there had been no report of weapons firing or exploding mechanicals. They would have to wait for the answer when the team returned to the NDP in the morning.
Four hours later, all ambush teams had returned except for the team from Third Platoon. The concern for them grew as word quickly spread throughout the company.
“Dumb shits probably overslept like our own BJ did a little while back.”
“I don’t think so, Frenchie. I’ll bet you ten bucks they got lost.”
“You’re on, Wild Bill. I heard that Lt. Carlisle went out on that ambush. He’s the best navigator in the company so the coordinates he sent in last night had to be accurate within ten meters.”
“Aw, shit, I didn’t know that. Bet’s off!”
“No way, bro, you want to pay now or later?”
“Let’s see how it shakes out.”
First Squad joined three other squads from the company to search for the missing team. During the briefing, they referred to a map showing both their current location and the circled tentative location of the ambush team; six hundred meters separated the two red X’s. Each search team would target the identical coordinates, approaching from different directions. They would travel light and should reach the destination within forty minutes.
Sixpack’s Squad had the most direct route and stopped every two-hundred meters to fire a green handheld flare into the air; the other three teams followed suit. Standard practice was for a lost squad without communications to respond with a star cluster flare of their own after seeing a green flare. After eight flares, there was still no response from the missing five men.
It took almost an hour for the First Squad to reach the general area of the ambush site. The other teams were still en route and were about fifteen minutes out.
John was on point and beginning to feel uneasy. There was a hint of death in the air and it became more pronounced as they advanced. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all.
He felt a slight tug across his right shin and immediately froze in place. His breathing stopped as he realized what had just happened. A microsecond later, the disengaged trip wire allowed the circuit to complete and sent an electrical charge to the mechanical ambush. When he heard a popping sound, he braced himself for what may have very well been his last second alive. However, nothing happened. John turned his head, surprised to find himself standing alone on the trail; the squad had already sought protective cover. Hearing no explosion, they filtered back onto the trail and approached their point man.
“Polack, don’t move!” Sixpack cautioned. “I don’t know what you hit, but just stay right where you are.”
Too shaken to answer, John remained frozen in place. Sixpack and Wild Bill approached him very slowly, making certain to step in the same footprints that John had originally left on the trail.
“Did you step on something or trip something?” Wild Bill asked. Both he and Sixpack used knives to probe into the ground beneath John’s feet.
“I think I tripped something because I felt it brush against my leg.”
Confident that John was not standing on a pressure release mine or booby trap, the two men stood back up and returned the knives to their scabbards.
“Okay, there’s nothing under your feet. You can move now,” Wild Bill slapped John across the back. John inhaled deeply and took a few unsteady steps to the side of the trail.
“Look around for a trip wire. It had to be attached to something.” Sixpack inched his way up the trail, looking everything over with a keen eye.
The rest of the men scoured the two sides of the trail, looking for the thin strand of wire.
Frenchie was ten feet away and standing just off to the right side of the trail. “I found it!
” Upon hearing this, the rest of the squad joined him.
“Jesus!” Sixpack was surprised to see what Frenchie had discovered. “You guys keep your eyes open. Something’s really wrong here.”
The two men were looking at a stake in the ground with pieces of metal attached to it with rubber bands. A set of wires led back into the jungle; one was only two feet long, blackened at the end, and lying there on the ground just in front of a claymore mine. Four other mines were daisy chained together in the mechanical ambush. The blasting cap had somehow fallen out of the lead claymore and exploded harmlessly when John hit the trip wire. Had it been in place, the entire squad might have perished.
“Polack, you are one lucky motherfucker. I hope you have nine lives.”
“Thanks, Scout, but I don’t plan on making shit like this a habit. I’ll have to start keeping count of these close encounters.”
The men quickly disconnected the mines, gathering the supplies to carry back with them to the NDP.
“This is some spooky shit, Sixpack. VC didn’t put this booby trap together; it belonged to the missing team.” Frenchie’s voice quivered and he looked on edge.
Sixpack paced nervously and replied, “I agree that it belonged to the missing team, but two things are bothering me: why didn’t they take it down, and why wasn’t the blasting cap secured in the claymore? Keep your eyes open, people. Their night ambush position was around here somewhere.”
Just then, Fourth Platoon’s search team stepped out of the jungle and onto the trail and joined up with the First Squad. Sixpack took a few minutes to brief them before the eight men joined the others in searching through the jungle on both sides of the trail.
Suddenly, 150 feet away from the location of the mechanical, John came upon a sight that literally sent shockwaves through his body. He found the missing ambush team lying in the bush just four feet off the trail. They were not lost and did not have radio trouble. Each of them was parallel to the trail and spaced about five feet apart.
Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition Page 28