Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition

by Podlaski, John

  In the bush, firefights and mortar attacks were the preferred backdrops for many of these deliberate assassinations. In the rear areas, some of these disgruntled soldiers tossed grenades into officer shitters and into their quarters when the opportunity presented itself. John did not personally know of any such events occurring in the units he had been in, but his recent dealings with Bozo made him realize why someone would even consider committing such a despicable act.

  During Basic Training and Advanced Infantry Training, an individual who regularly got the platoon in trouble and made them suffer for something he did were given a ‘blanket party’ as a warning that his fellow platoon members were unhappy with him and wanted him to straighten up. The message, delivered during the wee hours of the night when everyone was asleep, was a message never forgotten. Several individuals participated in the doling out of this punishment. They placed a bar of soap into a towel, and then holding it by the four corners, created a ‘swinging persuader’. The procedure was choreographed by one person directing the others. Two people carried a blanket to cover the target and hold him down while the others beat him about the body with the swinging bars of soap. It usually lasted for less than a minute and then everybody quickly retreated to their bunks, feigning sleep. When the target pulled the blanket off, no one was standing there. Sometimes these warnings worked immediately and the message was understood. However, there were times when a second blanket party was necessary before it finally sank in. Drill Sergeants noticed bruises on a recruit but never questioned or intervened in this process.

  A little after three in the morning, the two guys on radio-watch shook John awake. “Sarge, Sarge, wake up!”

  John sat up quickly, trying to focus in the total darkness. “What is it?”

  “We just heard tubes firing to our front.”

  The hilltop above suddenly exploded as mortar rounds began landing; one exploded every ten seconds. The grunts were wide-awake after the first round detonated, continuing to watch the light show above.

  John unfolded his map, covered himself with his poncho liner, and then turned on his red lens flashlight to review his preset locations. He took a compass reading and saw that it was very close to preset six.

  “How far away do you guys place those tubes?” He asked from underneath the blanket.

  “I’d guess about three hundred meters,” responded one of the two men.

  John uncovered and saw the L-T already moving toward them on his hands and knees.

  “Better call in for the big guns to silence those tubes. Tell Fuzzy to reference preset six, then add one-hundred and move left one-hundred from that location. You can adjust the fire after the first rounds hit.”

  Initially, John could see a look of disbelief on the L-T’s face in the flash of each explosion. He could not believe that the lieutenant actually smiled when reaching for the radio handset. The L-T called in the mission to Stud, who was already in contact with the artillery unit on the nearby firebase. Three artillery rounds landed in the expected location, but the mortar tubes continued to fire. The L-T added another fifty and left fifty. Seconds later the next barrage came in and the mortars stopped. The sequence was repeated twice more before the fire mission was terminated.

  “I just wanted to make sure we got them,” the L-T said meekly after the end of the fire mission.

  “Good shooting, sir!” Several men offered up whispered congratulations.

  He was all smiles now and scooted up close to John so that no one else could hear their conversation. “Sergeant, I’m sorry. You were right.”

  “No need to apologize. Just help me to do my job.”

  “You got it.”

  John felt good about what had just happened. Twelve mortar rounds exploded on the hilltop; not one person was hurt, and it looked like the Lieutenant had finally seen the light. It was turning out to be a great day.

  The two men got along just fine from then on. No more bickering or threats to each other, and the L-T showed more trust and respect for John’s suggestions. They finally worked together as a team.

  It was like that for the next two weeks. First Platoon moved from mountain to mountain, changing tactics and direction from every hilltop.

  Unfortunately, unbeknownst to them, they set a clear and predictable pattern to their movements.

  Resupply had occurred three times since arriving in the valley, thus exposing their position each time. Those NVA scouts hiding out in the hills and jungles monitored First Platoon’s location and daily route of travel; it would not take much thought to predict where the next resupply would take place.

  The platoon had been very lucky so far, and had managed to kill eight NVA soldiers with mechanical ambushes during those last two weeks. They had yet to encounter a booby trap or fire their weapons, and fortunately, suffered no casualties.

  John was nervous during his last resupply in the field, with the war officially being over for him in just two days. He hoped the lucky streak continued, but made no assumptions.

  After the resupply was complete, First Platoon crossed the hilltop and followed a ridge leading to the valley floor. They were only thirty minutes into their hump when the lead squad triggered a booby trap. Providentially, the tripwire pulled the grenade into a tree before exploding, thus shielding the men from the explosion and most of the shrapnel. Two men suffered minor wounds; the medics attended to them while the file of men continued their descent. The point man was now exceptionally vigilant, and several minutes later came upon a second trip wire. Upon investigation, they found another grenade attached to the second trip wire. They cut the wire and continued forward, but shifted their line of travel to a higher portion of the ridge. They moved less than one-hundred steps when Chris discovered a third trip wire, once again attached to a grenade.

  The L-T and John felt this to be much too much of a coincidence and were apprehensive about continuing along the same route. They decided against venturing any further and returned to the hilltop.

  Only two options remained at that time: first, spend the night in the current location where the resupply had taken place; or second, move downhill the way they came up earlier, then set up their NDP in the valley.

  They found the hilltop unsuitable for their needs. The ground was extremely hard and rocky, making it an unlikely candidate for an NDP. After a short break, they moved off the hilltop for a second time.

  Their movement stopped after descending 150 feet, and finding yet another booby-trap. This time, however, it was on the same trail they had created when climbing to the top earlier. It finally dawned on the men that the enemy had them trapped on the god-forsaken hilltop. After discussing their situation with Cap over the radio, he suggested that the First Platoon remain on the hill until morning when choppers could evacuate them from their prison and drop them onto a new hilltop. John would remain on board and fly to the rear to begin out-processing and leave for home.

  There was little doubt in anyone’s mind that plenty of trouble was coming their way after dark. John and the L-T repeated the exercise from their first night together and chose preset targets for artillery, then called them in to Fuzzy. Meanwhile, everybody else tried desperately to dig a hole in the rock-hard ground. Their only rewards were small oval holes no more than a foot deep, and blisters that broke and bled. Unlike the other hilltops, this one had higher brush and thicker foliage around the crest of the hill, which made it impossible for anyone to see the activity on the hilltop from below. One or two of the men had given up and had already scouted out the conditions fifty feet down the side of the hill.

  “Sir, Mikey and I scooted down the hill a bit and found the ground much softer and easier to dig in. We should consider moving off the hilltop and ring the hill down where it’s softer.”

  “How far down?”

  “Fifty feet, sir.”

  “You know, L-T, they make a good point”, John agreed.

  “We can sneak down, dig foxholes, and then set up some claymores and trip f
lares all around the perimeter. We’ve got enough bodies to set up a ring of foxholes about every twenty feet or so.”

  “What about the booby traps that were left for us?”

  “The men will have to probe the ground as they’re moving downward and inform anybody if something is found.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Being on this very hilltop without any protection will be more dangerous.”

  “Sarge,” Mikey interrupted, “it’ll be perfect down below because there are some outcroppings of rocks there. We can set up under them and have some kind of overhead protection when the mortars start dropping on the hill.”

  “Are you willing to take the risk with all the booby traps we’ve found so far?”

  “L-T, we’ve already gone there and back and haven’t seen anything big that could really hurt us – they’ve only used grenades.”

  “Let me get the squad leaders together and see if we have their support. Mikey, I already know your decision. I’ll be back in a short.”

  John gathered the men around and explained the options. There was no need for discussion; everyone thought the plan was an excellent idea, even if it meant being alone all night with their closest neighbor twenty feet away.

  Maintaining a low profile, each man crawled down the hillside to his assigned location. It was true; the earth was much softer and easier to dig in there. Not everyone was fortunate enough to find rock outcroppings close by, but nevertheless, they dug their foxholes deep enough to protect them during what would surely be a sleepless night. They collected and used dead tree limbs, large rocks, and anything else they could find to fortify their positions. Trip flares and claymores were set out only ten feet to their front - dangerously close - but that was as far as anyone cared to venture out in the thick vegetation. In addition, they could trigger the mines from deep within their foxholes.

  When nightfall arrived, the men were confident that they had been stealthy enough in setting up their NDP. The thick shrubbery and high vegetation provided excellent concealment for all of their activity and movement. Of course, since they would not be able to communicate with each other above a whisper, they would be on one-hundred percent alert and tasked with protecting their portion of the wide perimeter. The L-T would initiate a signal and send it around the perimeter once an hour to ensure everybody was awake and okay. They did not expect a ground attack, as the heavy vegetation made that highly unlikely. Instead, they were more concerned about the expected mortars and rockets that would be raining down upon them very soon.

  John felt exceptionally tense at having to spend his last night in the bush in this kind of a situation. He was frightened - much more so than on his very first night in the bush. The sergeant prayed, asking God to watch over him on this - his final night - in the field. This was not how his life was supposed to end.

  He thought of Zeke, Bill Sayers, Junior, and Sixpack, remembering how their lives had affected his. He also thought about those fellow Wolfhounds who had transferred to other units, wondering how they were making out. They were all his friends and brothers and he hoped to see them again sometime during his lifetime.

  Once again, his thoughts traveled back to his family and girlfriend, who were anxiously waiting for him to come home. He was aware that - if he were lucky enough to survive this night - the folks back home would never have any understanding of all that he’d been through.

  At midnight, the sound of mortar tubes firing from the jungle below interrupted his reflections. Everyone on the side of the hilltop knew the mortars would hit within seconds. They prepared for the worst, and then cringed in fear when the rounds began exploding on the hilltop above. Some of the men pulled their bulky rucksacks into their foxholes, employing them as shields. There were no screams of pain from the men around the perimeter; instead, some of the newer Cherries could be heard emotionally calling out for their mothers. The barrage lasted ten minutes, focusing on the center of the hilltop. Their luck continued to hold out, not one person was hurt thus far.

  The L-T was directing artillery, using the preset positions that he and John had plotted earlier. They were not sure if the artillery rounds found the mortar team or not; however, the rounds landed close enough to scare the enemy away for now.

  An hour later, a second barrage began. Most assumed it was in response to not seeing Medevac choppers arrive to evacuate the wounded. The mortar team tried once again to find the Americans, now firing from a different location in the valley. This time, the shooters moved the rounds across the hilltop and over the sides near their foxholes. First Platoon responded with an artillery barrage of its own, silencing the tube after only two salvos. The Americans had been spared a second time – nobody was hurt.

  At 0230, a third attempt to inflict damage upon the Americans failed once again. This time, the mortars focused more to the side of the hill, moving them down toward the valley. Some secondary explosions were heard - most likely their own booby-traps exploding harmlessly below them.

  The L-T had reacted each time the tube fired and continued to fine-tune his return fire, moving the rounds around in an attempt to find the mortars. Overall, the enemy had fired over thirty rounds during their three barrages, and the Americans had fired twice that many artillery shells back at them. Both sides were unsuccessful in finding one-another, so their luck continued to hold.

  Daybreak was only a few hours away and John counted the hours left in the field. Quiet once again, it was anybody’s guess what would happen next. All hoped the mortar crew had given up for the night and would not pursue their attempts to find the dug-in platoon. They needed to remain vigilant, as sufficient time remained for enemy sappers to creep up and find them.

  A whisper sounded from John’s neighbor to the left, “Sarge, you okay?”

  “I’m good!”

  “L-T wants a sit-rep from the perimeter. He also says to stay on your toes and watch downhill for movement. Pass it on.”

  “Got it!” John communicated with his other neighbor and found him to be in good shape, too. The men relayed the message from hole to hole, until it came back to the L-T again.

  A sudden and loud noise in the valley instantly drew the attention of those soldiers that were in position on the northern side of the hill. It sounded like a rush of air, similar to the sound a bottle rocket makes after lighting the fuse, but decibels louder. After a few seconds, another such loud ‘swooshing’ sound reached the men from the same area. “Rockets! I saw two pairs firing away from us,” whispered John’s neighbor. “The L-T also saw them launch and will engage with artillery.”

  John looked out from his foxhole, quite concerned about the rockets, as they were a first for him. He had neither witnessed a launch nor seen the effects afterwards.

  Two back-to-back explosions, mere seconds apart, sounded on a hilltop about a mile away from the First Platoon’s location. The detonations were much louder than artillery, even from that distance. A light flickered on the horizon, the bright glow on that hilltop growing as the seconds ticked away. Suddenly, the first of several artillery rounds landed in the valley, six-hundred or so meters away, near the suspected rocket launchers. There were no secondary explosions and the fire mission terminated after three salvos into that area.

  A loud whisper startled John, “Sergeant, the L-T wants you to meet him on top of the hill.”

  John’s curiosity was aroused and he wondered why the L-T would even want to meet on the hilltop with all the rockets and mortars firing throughout the valley. He put on his ammo harness, took his flashlight, map, and weapon, and started to ascend the fifty feet to the summit along the pathway they had created earlier. The L-T was waiting for him. “Sergeant, let’s go back to the foxhole I’m sharing with the RTO. We can talk there.”

  The two men scurried down the pathway and moved as quickly and quietly as possible through the pitch-blackness.

  “L-T, is that you?” A voice inquired from below.

  “Yes, Spencer, Sergeant K
owalski is with me.”

  They reached the two-man hole and joined the RTO who sat on the back ledge of his foxhole, letting his feet dangle into the blackness of the hole. Spencer held the handset to his ear.

  “Anything change, Spencer?”

  “No sir, still the same.”

  “Sergeant, something’s not quite right. Earlier when I tried to contact the battalion FO in the CP to coordinate the fire mission against the rocket launchers, I couldn’t reach Fuzzy and had to call the firebase directly.”

  “Did you try contacting the captain?”

  “Yeah, there’s no answer there either.”

  “I’ve been able to speak with Second and Third Platoons, but haven’t had any luck contacting the Fourth or the CP,” Spencer volunteered.

  “Who was on the hill that just got rocketed?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Spencer, switch to the battalion net and see if there’s any traffic there.”

  The RTO dialed in the frequency and listened intently. “Sounds like Fourth Platoon is on the horn with battalion.”

  “Let me have the handset, Spencer.”

  Somebody from the Fourth Platoon spoke directly to the colonel, but John did not recognize the voice. When he heard the call sign, he knew then that it was the platoon sergeant. Four rockets had landed on the hilltop; there were many injured and dead. Only the one radio survived, leaving the sergeant to try to coordinate everything at the same time. The colonel responded that he would direct all support units to use the company frequency, making it easier for the sergeant and everyone else.

  Flares started popping over the glowing hilltop, hanging in the air and providing much needed light to those below. A number of gunships came on station and circled overhead; only their running lights were on, the red beacons moving about like fireflies. There was no need for them to fire yet, but their presence allowed the pilots of the Medevac helicopters to feel more secure during the evacuations. In fact, several red flashing lights were aligned in the sky and moving toward the hilltop at that very moment. One by one, they dropped out of sight as they landed, then reappeared in the sky seconds later, executing tight turns and heading back the way they came.