John hesitated for a second, and then switched his rifle to full automatic, firing, even before bringing the stock up to his shoulder. The kid heard the loud click made by the weapon’s selector switch and dropped quickly into the high grass and out of sight, before John was even able to fire. John fired several short bursts into the area where he last saw the man. Changing magazines, he increased the arc, extending his bursts to cover as much of the area on the other side of the crater as possible. The rest of the squad quickly formed at his side, weapons ready, facing the clearing.
“What’s up?”
“I had a VC in my sights on the other side of that bomb crater, but he dropped into the grass before I could get a clean shot off. Now I don’t have a clue where he may be and don’t know if I hit him or not.”
The squad split in two, circling around the bomb crater from both sides, cautiously approaching the spot where their point man saw the VC soldier. John was the first to find the VC’s canteen lying on the ground and noted that a bullet traveled through the plastic vessel. Water was still seeping from the opening and quickly soaking into the earth.
“You may have hit him. Maybe he fell into the water.”
“I didn’t hear a splash, Malcolm.”
Ski called out from ten feet beyond, “I found some blood on the trail here, leading deeper into the jungle.”
Fresh blood droplets were visible on leaves at the entrance of the four-foot wide pathway.
“Let’s see if we can find him!” Sixpack motioned up the trail with his rifle to the men standing around.
John resumed his position at point, continuing to follow the fresh blood spots along the trail. After a hundred feet or so, the splotches thinned out and then finally ended forty feet later. The men searched the immediate area for the enemy soldier, who might have either left the trail or fallen dead beside it.
Satisfied he was nowhere around, the squad backtracked along the trail, looking for signs that may have been missed earlier, possibly showing where their elusive quarry may have left the trail.
John discovered a couple of bloody leaves on the ground next to a small pathway leading away from the trail. He hadn’t noticed it earlier as he was focused on the thin trail of blood on the ground. This was the evidence they were looking for; John called Sixpack forward.
“Check this out. It looks like he backtracked and ducked up this trail.”
“Okay, let’s take it slow.”
John started up the small pathway but did not see any more blood after the first dozen steps. He continued forward, his eyes intently searching the ground for any telltale sign, Ski following only one step behind. Suddenly, John felt the pull of fishing line across his chest and heard a pinging sound.
“Booby trap!” John yelled. Turning quickly, he gave a surprised Ski a hard shove backwards. Losing his balance after a couple of steps, Ski fell to the ground. John instinctively covered his head with his arms and dove into the foliage, away from the “ping” sound, almost landing on top of Ski. The rest of the squad members immediately sought cover after hearing John’s warning. An explosion filled the air.
John felt a burning sensation in his right arm even before hearing the explosion or hitting the ground. Turning onto his back, he noted that he was bleeding in several spots, the pain searing like somebody was holding lit cigarettes against his skin.
“Doc, I’m hit!” he called out from his prone position.
Seven other men rose from the ground and tried to assess what might have just happened. Sixpack, BJ, and Tex looked through the area and then provided security while Doc checked on his new patient. The medic made a quick diagnosis and started working on the wounds.
“It ain’t bad, Polack. Shit, you’ll be back with us before you know it.”
Ski stood next to Doc, looking down at John, his face showing concern. The gang member then took a knee next to Doc and held out his hand to John. “Hey, man, I owe you one. When you pushed me out of the way, you saved my life.”
Doc looked over to Ski. “The Polack did that?”
“Yeah, he shoved me backwards and yelled ‘booby trap’ before it went off. I was caught off guard and fell right on my ass.”
“Are you hit?”
“I don’t think so. Do you see anything?” Ski stood and turned in a complete circle.
“Nope, don’t see a thing.”
Ski bent over and grabbed John’s good hand, shaking it reverently. “I’m serious, man. Thank you so much.”
“I don’t even remember doing that. It must have been instinct. I’m glad you’re not hurt.”
Sixpack exited the area where the booby trap had exploded. “Man, that’s twice you lucked out. Your elusive friend planted a grenade with a trip wire in a tree.”
“What do you mean “lucked out”? Shit, I’m hit.”
“That ain’t shit. Fucking scratches is all. A few stitches and your ass will be right back out here with the rest of us.”
“It might not look that bad to you, but it sure hurts like hell.”
“It looks like he got even with you for shooting him.”
“Damn, how far away from the path did he set it - twenty feet?”
“Shit, no. It should have killed you. He laid it in a tree about chest high right next to the trail. I guess he was expecting you to be watching the ground and set the wire up high where you weren’t looking. When you pulled on the trip wire and the pin came out, the grenade was supposed to fall out toward you; instead, it dropped behind the tree, which absorbed most of the blast. That’s why I said you lucked out again.”
“Jeez, thanks.”
“What do you think, Doc? Will he live?”
“Oh, hell, yes. There’s a lot of blood but it’s not bad at all. He caught three pieces of shrapnel in his right arm. The surgeons will dig out the steel and patch him up as good as new. Go ahead and request a dust off, but make it a routine.”
Within minutes, Doc had the injured man’s arm bandaged and they all returned to the main trail to wait for the Medevac. The soldiers sat to the side smoking cigarettes. Sixpack received word that a chopper was on its way and should arrive shortly to pick up the wounded warrior.
“Well, Polack, you got your first Purple Heart. How does it feel?”
“Fuck the Purple Heart. That was one award I was hoping not to get while here. I’m glad though, that it wasn't worse.”
“You’ll heal up fine and after you get the stitches out, we’ll probably all meet up in Cu Chi and drink some beers together.”
“What do you mean, Sixpack?”
“We’re about due to pull an R&R soon - maybe even this week!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, if we get there before you, we’ll save you a few beers.”
“Thanks a lot.”
John was on his second Medevac trip to the 93rd Evac in Long Binh. This time the ride was much more pleasant, under the circumstances. He could relax, knowing his condition was not one of life or death.
The burning sensation in his arm stopped after the embedded hot steel cooled off. All that remained was an aching reminder of the injury that throbbed with every heartbeat. He was confident that it would pass once he received a shot of painkiller at the hospital.
When landing at the Evac hospital, the same scenario played out as the last time he arrived. A crew waited, but instead of a gurney, they had a wheelchair ready this time.
After removing the shrapnel, the surgeon closed the wounds with several stitches each. John was resting comfortably in the ward within an hour of his arrival.
In the morning, the same surgeon cleared John and released him from the hospital. Now familiar with the area, he walked across the road to the 90th Replacement Center, wondering if a repeat performance would take place with the Cherries on the ride to Cu Chi. This time he played his experience down, however, saving the newbies from a nightmare that night. He didn’t feel the need to mention his Purple Heart to them. He laid back, relaxing, and quickly fell as
leep, leaving the Cherries filled with curiosity.
Upon his return to the division base camp, the battalion aid station changed John’s bandages every morning, keeping his wounds clean, adding antibiotics to prevent infection.
Alpha Company flew in to Cu Chi on John’s fourth day at the base camp. The men were talking excitedly about their upcoming in-country R&R at a place called Vung Tau, a town located on the shores of the South China Sea, not too far from Saigon. There, the grunts could forget their fears for two whole days. John was released and able to join the company on the short vacation. The medics instructed him to keep the wounds dry, giving him a small satchel of ointment and bandages to take along on the R&R.
After arriving in Vung Tau, the men quickly claimed their bunks in the R&R barracks, donned bathing suits, and then rushed out to go swimming in the South China Sea. Every person wore identical trunks and carried a fresh green towel. It was surreal to see over 150 soldiers in yellow bathing suits, rushing all at once toward the sea, frolicking through the sand like groups of kids. They kicked sand at one-another, tackled best friends, and then dunked one another in between the massive rolling waves. John sat in the warm sun, watching all of the fun, and suddenly wished his girlfriend were there to see it all. An intense wave of homesickness filled him once again, as he thought back to all of the summer afternoons they shared at the beach on Belle Isle in Detroit. He thought, too, how much his ol’ buddy Bill Sayers would have loved swimming in the South China Sea.
John was one of the last to venture out onto the sand and did not plan to join in the roughhousing with the others. Instead, he sat on the sand just a few feet from the crashing surf. After a short period, he entered the sea and tried with great difficulty to walk along the shoreline in shallow water no deeper than his knees. He found the water refreshing, squatting down to a height where the waves washed over him, remaining protective of his arm and raising it high enough to keep it dry. The salty taste of the sea spray surprised John. As a Michigander, many fresh water lakes surrounded him, but he had never been in an ocean before. The taste reminded him of those times when he had a sore throat and his mother forced him to gargle with warm salt water.
John wandered along the shoreline and unexpectedly experienced a sensation that he never had before. Even though he was in shallow water, he felt a force pulling his feet away from the beach as the waves returned to the sea. He dug his heels into the sand, hoping to stop his skid into deeper water. It proved to be a futile attempt. His feet continued forming shallow trenches along the soft, sandy bottom, the current pulling him away from shore, becoming stronger with each step. John had always been a strong swimmer, participating on swim teams during his youth, but he was not sure if just letting go was the right thing to do at this moment. He started to panic and called out for help.
Two nearby soldiers were just passing when they heard him call out.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” One of them shouted over the sound of the pounding surf.
“There’s an undertow or something here in the water and it’s pulling me away from the beach! I can’t make it stop or get away!”
“Relax, man, you’re caught in a riptide. You have to walk out of it.”
“I’ve been trying to do that!”
“Don’t try to walk to the beach, man. Stay in the water and walk along the shoreline until you don’t feel the pull anymore.”
John turned and moved nervously in the direction he’d come earlier. The two soldiers on the beach were only about fifteen feet away, remaining on the sand and watching his progress. It took all of his physical strength, but after completing twenty of the hardest steps he ever took through water, he found the pull suddenly gone and his panic subsided. He turned and quickly exited the sea without any effort.
“Thanks guys, I thought I was a goner!”
Both soldiers were familiar with riptides. “You did luck out, because some riptides will pull a person out to sea a mile from shore. We’ll notify the folks monitoring the beach so they post warning signs for everybody else. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine now. Thanks again!” John walked over to his towel and dropped onto it. Exhausted, his legs were cramping from his muscular tug of war with the sea.
Massaging his legs and working out the cramps, he continued watching the others out in the water. The waves were higher than he had ever seen in his life and many of the men bodysurfed to the shoreline. Thrilled, they jumped back into the water and swam out to catch the next big wave.
Groups of young soldiers, with friends riding upon their shoulders, were battling each other in a show of strength and balance in the waist deep water. Those knocked over, moved to the side, and continued watching the action until the last pair of men remained standing. It was good to see the guys lose themselves in the friendly competition. Roughhousing like any teenagers on a summer weekend, the war seemed a million miles away.
During the next two days, the men occupied themselves with floorshows, drinking, and whoring around; cash paid for the latter. Prior to leaving Cu Chi, the Alpha Company grunts had to sit through classes about preventative measures to take before having sex with the town hookers - many had venereal diseases, which ran rampant throughout the area. Officers also told them stories about a certain strain of VD called the Black Clap. There was no protection from it; even condoms were not effective, and there was no cure. It was said that if GI’s caught this strain, the government relocated them to some god-forsaken island out in the ocean, where nobody would ever hear from them again. That was enough to convince many in the group to abstain from such activities in fear of catching the dreaded disease.
The air-conditioned barracks alone were worth the trip to Vung Tau. If a person didn’t want to go outside, he could opt to stay in the barracks, enjoying the coolness during the day. At night, however, the ocean breeze cooled the town, making it very comfortable for the nightly movies on the beach, the outdoor floor shows, or just sitting and relaxing at a sidewalk bar or restaurant.
It was a wonderful time, but just like any vacation, it was over much too fast. The men departed Vung Tau by truck in the early afternoon, arriving in Cu Chi just in time for dinner. The following morning, it was business as usual, preparing for new missions.
Rod approached John that evening. “You know, Polack, maybe you should consider giving up the point for a while. I need a good RTO to handle the radio. How would you like to try carrying it for a while?”
He stood there and considered the offer for a brief moment before consenting. Carrying the radio would be more work at night, but in return, he would not have to pull night guard or go out on patrols unless the L-T was going. It was a no-brainer.
“Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
“Good. First, you need a clearance from the medics. Let them check you out and if they say you can return to the bush, then stop by and see Top. He’ll brief you on your new job and give you all the charts, pencils, and supplies you’ll need. You’ll be my personal RTO, which means that in the field you go where I go. Does that bother you?”
“Hell, no! It’ll be something different for me, and I’m sure it’ll be a little more exciting. At least I’ll have an idea of what’s happening out in the bush instead of guessing about it all the time.”
“That’s true. Thanks for taking it on. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Battalion medics did not see any problems with John’s arm. The stitches had dissolved and the wounds were healing nicely. They gave him a clean bill of health and a note lifting the restriction to give to Top.
After meeting with the First Sergeant and receiving the new supplies, he found it necessary to rearrange his rucksack and pack things differently. The radio came with a dedicated, quick release aluminum frame, which now required that he secure his rucksack over the back of the radio. If he had to move quickly or go out on light patrols, the rucksack could be detached in a snap. The added weight of the radio and two spare batteries increased his load by twenty-six
pounds, but that wasn’t much different from the M60 machine gun.
Excited with the new toy, John sat on his cot reading over the material while everyone else was busy socking down that last beer. He was afraid of becoming a burden in the bush and wanted to be certain of doing everything correctly. He experimented with the code indicator, making up coordinates, coding them, and then double-checking for errors before repeating the process again.
He turned on the radio and switched to the different frequencies in the area; he listed all of them on a notepad. He tuned in on the gunship frequency, Medevac frequency, and then to the various company frequencies, listening for a few minutes on each channel. The chatter was routine, nothing of interest going on.
Content that he would do well, he set everything to the side and waited for morning to arrive.
~~~~~
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Humping with the radio was much more difficult than John had expected; the extra twenty-six pounds felt more like a hundred. The backpack hung heavily from his shoulders; the thinner straps dug deeper into muscle with every step, cutting off the flow of blood, and numbing both arms. Only an occasional tingle reminded him that his arms were even still there. The extra padding of the towel around his neck did nothing to help cushion the weight.
Originally, John didn’t think that carrying the radio would be a big deal because the M-60 machine gun weighed more. However, when carrying the gun, he was able to switch over to his other shoulder whenever one started hurting. The radio, on the other hand, sat right in the middle of his back, with the combined weight evenly distributed over both shoulders. He occasionally bounced the backpack upwards, grabbing onto the straps - pulling them forward, shifting it to a slightly different position, allowing a brief reprieve to his aching arms and shoulders.
Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition Page 32