“Exactly. What do you think this bunch is going to do under fire?”
“I sure the fuck hope they don’t freeze up or turn tail and run.”
“Me neither. I wish the L-T would use his head and keep us sitting tight for a while.”
“I mentioned the same thing to Sixpack. He went over to talk to Rod about it. I think that may be a possibility.”
“I hope so. Hey, gotta go, I’ll catch up with ya’ later.”
“Okay. Stay cool, Doc.”
Sixpack returned a short time later with a grin on his face. “He bought into it. We’re moving off the trail right here.”
John smiled broadly. “All right, Sixpack - way to go!”
“Take a bow yourself. I wasn’t even thinking about speaking up; you planted the seed and I just ran with it.”
It was only three in the afternoon, but Rod sent word down the column to pull off the large trail and set up an NDP. Some of the old timers smiled at the change in plans.
Once settled in, four LP teams of two moved out in different directions, two-hundred feet outside the perimeter, watching and listening to the surrounding jungle.
At 1800 hours, John sent their current coordinates to the CP, informing them it was their NDP for the night. The nearest platoon was three clicks away so there was no risk of bumping into them.
There were no other pathways intersecting the larger trail they were following; mechanical ambushes covered the approaches from both directions. Both sides of the trail were dense jungle, requiring the point man to cut a path to their NDP. The men also planned to set up several manually operated claymore mines and trip flares between the NDP and the main trail itself. Overall, the location was quite a find; the soldiers were very satisfied with the outcome.
The following day, First Platoon stayed put, rotating the LP’s every two hours. Rod had already informed the captain that patrols were out and the only evidence found so far were signs of usage on the main trail. He was also pleased that they had left mechanical ambushes on the trail. Captain Fowler wished Rod happy hunting and signed off.
The soldiers knew they had a good thing going and maintained strict noise discipline, conducting necessary conversations only in a whisper. They spent idle time cleaning weapons, reading, sleeping, writing letters, or listening to transistor radios with earphones. The quietness was unsettling, however. The enemy knew Americans were in the vicinity, the landing choppers having announced their arrival the day before. Some of the old timers actually believed the enemy knew their whereabouts, but were choosing not to engage them yet.
Most of the troops wrote letters home expressing their excitement about the division pulling out of Vietnam and returning to the states through Hawaii. The soldiers repeated the same information to everyone in their address books; hands were cramping and the men had to take breaks before starting on the next one. Everyone asked those back home to say a few prayers on their behalf.
That evening, John sent the same coordinates to the CP, then learned that the other platoons were continuing their movements throughout the area and staying in new locations for the night. They had all been lucky so far, not one encountering the enemy during the past two days. Perhaps it was true that the VC were really trying to avoid the Americans.
On the morning of the fourth day, First Platoon packed everything up and left their home of the previous three nights, heading back to their original LZ for resupply. Seeing no movement on the trail during this time, Sixpack and the L-T felt it was safe, allowing the men to travel on it during their return to the LZ. Fourth Squad had the point and the single file of men moved slowly, maintaining a distance of ten feet between one another. It was an easy hump, as every rucksack and canteen was almost empty.
First Squad brought up the rear of the column, with Rod and John positioning themselves between the First and Second Squads. When the troops were within a hundred feet of the clearing, they suddenly heard two earsplitting explosions, seconds apart. The ground shook and soldiers instinctively dropped, seeking protective cover. They heard no rifle fire, but did hear cries for help and movement on the trail ahead. Through the settling dust and smoke cloud, they were able to make out soldiers lying on the ground, writhing in pain, some trying to stand or crawl to the side of the trail. The concussions were so loud, they temporarily deafened those closest to the explosions; others further back were dazed by a piercing ringing in their ears.
“Medic! Help! We got people hurt up here!” someone called.
“Come on, Polack,” the L-T raced to the front of the column.
Stunned, John got to his feet and rushed to join Rod, with Sixpack and Doc close behind him.
When reaching the front of the column, Doc jumped into action, assessing each man, spending only seconds before moving on to the next one. Doc called to Sixpack and others with instructions on how to stabilize the wounded soldiers. If they had no pulse, he did nothing and moved forward. They applied tourniquets to legs and arms, and bandages wherever needed.
“Polack, get us some Medevacs. We’ve got six urgent, and four routine,” Rod called out.
John quickly informed the CP of the booby trap and requested Medevacs to their location.
“Sixpack, send out some men and get this fucking LZ secured. Tell them to watch out for more booby traps.”
Sixpack picked ten men and sent them scurrying across the LZ to secure the tree line on the other side. Then, he ordered two men back the way they came to secure the rear. Some of the new Cherries stood around looking confused, not sure what to do next, seemingly in shock.
“You guys!” Rod pointed to the group. “Get your heads out of your asses and give Doc and the others a hand with the wounded. Get some ponchos for litters, then help move the injured up to the LZ.”
A few jumped quickly toward the wounded, relieved to be of some assistance. Others began searching under the rucksacks of the downed soldiers, gathering up the available ponchos. John remained on his feet, a step behind Rod wherever he went.
It took fifteen minutes to transport the casualties to the LZ. Friends of those wounded knelt beside them, offering words of consolation, while Doc continuously checked over his patients.
The radio handset came alive and a quivering voice called out, “Sierra-one, this is Angel-five-zero, on your net, come in.” The helicopter pilot’s voice sounded like he was slapping at his throat while talking.
“This is Sierra-one, over,” John replied into the handset.
“Roger. We are your angels of mercy. Our ETA is three minutes.”
“Roger, Angel-five-zero, standing by.”
John announced, “Birds will be here in three minutes. Get ready!”
“Sierra-one, Angel-five-zero. What is the extent of your wounded?”
“Sierra-one, we have six on litters for urgent Medevac; two have sucking chest wounds and four are amputations. Four others are routine and are currently stable with upper and lower body wounds. We also have two KIA, over.”
“Roger, we’ll take your two sucking chest wounds and one of the amputees on this first pick-up. Angel-five-five will touch down behind me and take the other three urgent. We will return for the others within fifteen minutes. Go ahead and pop smoke.”
“Pop smoke, James!” John instructed one of the two guides on the LZ. James pulled the pin from his canister and tossed it several feet behind him.
“Angel-five-zero, smoke is out.”
“Roger, we identify yellow smoke.”
“That’s affirmative.”
“Roger that. We have you in visual. Is the LZ cold?”
“That’s affirmative.”
“Sierra-one, we’ll be coming in from the west. Have those wounded ready so we can get them out as quickly as possible.”
“Wilco, out.”
While John stood at the edge of the tree line watching the two birds on their approach, his radio came to life once again. “Sierra-one, Lightning-six-niner, over.”
“This is Sierra-one
.”
“Roger, Sierra-one, what’s the status of your LZ for our angels of mercy?”
He looked up, surprised to see two Cobras circling overhead. “This is Sierra-one. It’s cold, over.”
“Roger. We will remain on station until all your wounded have been evacuated. If you need anything, just let us know.”
“Wilco. Sierra-one, out.”
Ten minutes later, Angel-five-zero called to inform John that he was three minutes out and planning to evacuate the remaining wounded.
Seconds after leaving the LZ, the Medevac called to John, “Sierra-one, this is Angel-five-zero. I will be leaving your net in a minute. Your wounded are in the best of hands at the 93rd Evac Hospital. A team from Graves Registration will be coming out within the hour to pick up your KIA.”
“Roger”.
“Angel-five-zero, appreciate what you did.”
“No problem. Glad we could help. Hope all of your people make it. Good luck! Angel-five-zero is clear this net.”
“Sierra-one, Lightning-six-niner.”
“Go ahead, Lightning-six-niner.”
“Roger. We will be leaving the area and heading back to our coop. Is there anything you need before we leave?” John looked to Rod, who shook his head negatively.
“That’s a negative. Thanks for hanging around.”
“Roger. Take it easy down there. Lightning-six-niner, out.”
The earlier sense of foreboding felt by many of the old timers was well-founded. It was now clear the enemy did not want to fight the Americans head on, but left a calling card for them instead.
The VC purposely booby-trapped the trail, knowing the Americans might return to the LZ for either a resupply or a pick-up. Claymore mines were part of their booby trap; two of them went off immediately and the third detonated a few seconds later. The entire Fourth Squad, except for the uninjured point man and his backup, had been in the blast zone.
Sixpack approached Rod and John. “Are either of you wondering why the first two guys in the column weren’t hurt?”
“Is it possible they may have stepped over a trip wire and the third guy in the line tripped it?” John asked.
“It’s highly unlikely for something like that to happen.”
“Something just isn’t right with this booby trap, Sixpack. We know they used claymores. Let’s organize a search and poke around through the brush on both sides of the trail.”
Sixpack took four men and moved into the brush on one side of the trail while the L-T, John, and four others entered the jungle on the other side.
Ski was the first to spot a pair of brown wires running along the ground, not far from the exploded mines, heading deeper into the jungle.
"Sixpack, L-T, I found something,” Ski called out, waving for the men to join him.
Sixpack closed in on his position as the L-T and John crossed the trail, moving toward them.
Without saying another word, the four men followed the wires for fifty feet, suddenly stopping when reaching a small cleared out area in the jungle. On the ground lay three empty C-Ration cans, some scraps of paper, and two clackers (devices to detonate the mines) attached to the end of the two pair of wires.
“The mines were manually detonated by whoever was sitting here and waiting patiently for us to come by. He let the first two guys pass and then blew the mines separately, hoping to catch the L-T and RTO in the killing zone.”
“Motherfuckers!” Rod angrily kicked at the C-Ration tins. Sixpack interceded and quickly took a hold of the officer. “Easy, Rod, haven’t you learned not to kick at things in the bush? They might be booby-trapped!”
Rod hesitated, and then realizing his error, looked apologetically at the tall sergeant, “Aw shit, Sixpack. Sorry about that. Thanks!”
“Little cock-suckers blew the mines and then just slipped away during all the confusion.”
Rod suddenly looked up as if having an eureka moment. “Sixpack, we need to stop the resupply and move someplace else. No telling how many of them are watching us right now.”
“That’s a hell of an idea, Rod. I’ll gather the troops while you and Polack find another place and call in the new coordinates.”
They knew of a suitable LZ about two clicks to their north, away from the trail and anybody who might be watching them. All agreed that moving somewhere else was the best idea, especially after discovering the clackers. Had they not found them, the resupply would have taken place as scheduled, and God knows what might have happened next when the chopper landed and everyone bunched up out in the open. Mortars would have been a solid choice, thus avoiding physical contact with the Americans, possibly hitting a helicopter and dozens of troops with well-placed rounds.
When humping to the new resupply LZ, First Platoon chose to cut a path through the jungle instead of following one of the wide trails. It was still dangerous choosing this approach, because of the possibility of stumbling into a fortified bunker complex before reaching the LZ. This hump wreaked havoc on everyone’s nerves, and those walking up front felt extremely jumpy and were overly cautious. It took almost all afternoon to reach the LZ for their resupply.
Because of First Platoon’s ambush, Captain Fowler issued a new directive to the company, changing the SOP (Standard Operating Procedure). He had heard from many others about their premonitions and feelings about the VC watching them. He suggested his men play a game of hide-and-seek, hoping to outsmart the enemy. The plan was for each platoon to set up their NDP and go about their normal practices for that time of the day. They must be convincing in their actions, making it appear that they were staying there for the night. Then, at about 2200 hours, the platoons would quietly pack up, and under the cover of darkness, move to a new location. The daily patrols looked for suitable locations no closer than three-hundred meters from the current NDP. When settled into their new locations, FSB Kien’s artillery unit would fire H&I (Harassment and Intimidation) rounds all around them to keep the enemy off balance. The next morning, every platoon would lay out mechanical ambushes to cover all the avenues of approach to their day lager area. They remained in place for the day, and then moved again under the cover of darkness to yet another new location. The H&I firing would start up again later that night.
The game of hide-and-seek worked well for three days, but then it was time for them to be resupplied. Everyone worried that when the helicopter touched down, a red beacon would go off in the LZ, alerting the surrounding VC to their location.
Once again, the captain showed his creativity and scheduled a fly-by resupply for the company. He arranged to use several helicopters for this new scheme. All would fly at tree top level throughout the AO, some feigning landings in open fields, returning quickly and resuming flights at treetop level. The resupply would take place without any of the birds actually touching down. The crew would kick out food, water, and ammunition at treetop level from the moving birds, aiming for each platoon’s NDP. They hoped the charade was successful and would keep the VC guessing as to everyone’s whereabouts.
The Wolfhounds only had four remaining days in the bush before returning to Cu Chi and going home. During that time, small patrols went out during the early morning hours to set up mechanical ambushes on surrounding trails and paths. At last count, First Platoon had managed to leave ten of the powerful booby traps ‘live’ and abandoned; their locations passed through normal channels to the ARVN.
Alpha Company had been fortunate during the last several days. They did not have to fire a shot and nobody else got hurt. Nevertheless, it was an unusually stressful period.
Their last night in the bush was the worst, and everyone suffered equally. It was like a nightmare: sitting up in the pitch-black darkness, wide-awake, sweating profusely, hearing strange noises, their minds reeling, and being too afraid to move or close their eyes to sleep. Everyone’s grip on their sanity began slipping before the night was even half over. Many of the men chose to lean against trees and watch the surrounding area all night. The platoon ope
rated on one-hundred percent alert, yet nobody had ordered it.
They heard the explosions of three different mechanicals during the night. These made the men feel even more restless, knowing the VC were on the prowl. The enemies’ intelligence channels were just as good as the Americans’, so there was little doubt that the Communists were unaware of the Wolfhounds leaving in the morning. Some speculated that the enemy was moving into ambush positions around the many LZ’s and would wait until the choppers landed to withdraw the troops. Then, they would attempt to kill as many grunts as possible while they were out in the open.
None of the grunts wanted to be the final casualty in the field; that night they had grenades within arm’s reach and weapons sitting ready on their laps.
When the light of morning finally arrived, each man lay in the same position as he had the night before. The anxiety suffered by all during that fearful night was now evident on their faces. It was still too early, however, to celebrate and breathe a sigh of relief.
The soldiers packed and were ready to move out when given the word. Still spooked, not one of them attempted to light heat tabs and warm food or water, lest the enemy smell it and come looking for the source. Instead, they sat quietly, glancing at one another, speaking with only their eyes. There was an occasional wink just to show moral support.
At 0800, First Platoon received the nod to move out toward their LZ; birds would be arriving in thirty minutes. They only had to travel two-hundred meters, but it seemed to take forever for them to cover that short distance. Overly cautious - like Cherries on their first patrol - they arrived with only five minutes to spare.
Everyone was paranoid during the withdrawal, praying that an ambush would not erupt at any second. As a precaution, the door gunners fired hundreds of rounds into the tree line on both sides of the LZ during their final approach and when lifting off, not stopping until the birds were safely away. If the VC were waiting in the bush, the tactic surely kept their heads down.
There was no return fire, which was cause for a celebration. A loud cheer erupted from every chopper once they were heading for Cu Chi. For many, this was their last flight on a helicopter - and Mother Nature gave them a present. The passing terrain had taken on an aura of shimmering, brilliant colors; they sparkled and winked in the clear early morning sunlight, offering a beautiful, non-threatening vision of what a Pacific island paradise might look like.
Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition Page 34