Into No Man's Land

by Ellen Emerson White

  The third squad with the recon guys was missing, and the LT from 2nd Platoon was all set to lead a rescue party. It was really brave — but he got wounded on his first trip down the ridge, and died from a bullet to the head. So his platoon sergeant plunged down the side of the ridge by himself to go find the rest of the missing guys. He came back carrying one, and said that the others were all injured — or dead. Turns out we’d driven the retreating NVA right through their flanking position. A few people went back with him to get the rest of them, including — this time, I wasn’t quite as surprised — good old Pugsley. That guy is a Marine.

  Man, I was surrounded by Marines.

  With 2nd Platoon backing us up, we could have taken the rest of those NVA. I know we could have. But just as we were getting ready to assault, the word came down from Regiment Command for us to pull back and return to 881S immediately.

  I was so pumped up that I thought I had heard wrong. Didn’t they know that we were about to win? How could they call it off? We’d lost about half of our guys — and we were just supposed to walk away? Most of us were ready to go ahead and assault no matter what the brass said — but more air strikes were coming in, and the skipper got us focused on securing a new LZ and evacuating our casualties. We did it — but we weren’t happy. And then some.

  What was left of the company limped through the main gate on 881S right before it got dark. The battalion CO, and some other officers, were standing there waiting for us, but they knew better than to say anything. You’ll never hear anything quite so loud as a bunch of absolutely silent — and completely furious — Marines.

  I’ve had it. I’ll write the rest tomorrow.

  January 23, 1968

  God, I’m tired. Bebop and I went out alone on an LP last night. We lost so many guys on 881N, that we’ve gone from 4-man LPs down to 2-man. So, from now on, we’ll get to be twice as scared out there as usual, I guess. We thought we heard movement, more than once, but it was never anything definite enough to call in. We stayed on full alert all night long, watching and waiting, and expecting the whole NVA to open up on us at any moment.

  No word on how many of the guys we evacuated the other day survived. From our squad alone, we lost Shadow, Apollo, Rotgut, Smedley, Perez, and Fox. Seven Marines died out there on 881N, and we medevaced about forty others. So, that just leaves me, Bebop, Mooch, Pugsley, and the Professor. Our new platoon commander — Gunny Kowalski from 1st Platoon — moved a guy named Twerp (guess why) from the 2nd Platoon into our squad. He got paired up with the Professor so that we’ll have two guys to man each of our three positions. Twerp’s pretty small, but I know he’s a tough kid, because I saw him in action out on 881N. No worries there.

  And even though I’m not really trained for it, I’m the new squad machine gunner. But you’d better believe I’m also going to hang onto my M16. Can’t have too much firepower.

  Anyway, I never finished the story about that night (I guess it was the 20th?). When we got back from the battle, they gave us a couple of hours to eat some C rations and maybe grab some sleep. Then, the whole hill went on full alert. Obviously, the CP knew something we didn’t. But that’s nothing new. We just assumed they were expecting some kind of big attack.

  Since we’d already had such an eventful day.

  Bebop and I stood in our fighting hole, taking turns sipping from a canteen cup of cold coffee. The hill went on 100% alert pretty often. It seemed darker than usual — maybe because I was so tired. Tired and wired. It wasn’t raining, but there was lots of fog around.

  I don’t think either of us were ready to talk about the battle yet, so Bebop and I talked — really softly — about home. He’s sure his girlfriend, Nina, is cheating on him, because when he first got in-country, she was writing to him almost every day. Now he’s getting letters from her less and less often. The way I see it, the Corps doesn’t even manage to resupply us with enough water out here. How likely is it that they’re getting our mail to us on time, either? I also reminded him that I don’t even have a girlfriend, so at least he has someone to miss. He didn’t like that logic much, and when I thought it over, I wasn’t crazy about it, either.

  We talked about our families, too — more than usual. Bebop’s sending most of his money home to his mother, so that she can pay bills, and the extra combat pay bonus we get really helps out. That made me feel like a jerk, because I’m so lucky. Yeah, I send almost all of my paycheck home to my parents, but they just put it in the bank for me. Bebop’s father had a good job in one of the car factories up in Detroit, but he got hurt and can’t work anymore. So, his mother is having a lot of trouble making ends meet — especially since Bebop has two little brothers, and a little sister, too.

  He thinks Molly sounds maybe too smart (he’s read a couple of her letters), but definitely cool. I’d say he’s right, in both cases. Brenda is cool, too, but in a totally different way. She married my brother-in-law right after she graduated from high school, and was pregnant by Labor Day. It’s weird to think that she’s only a little bit older than me, but already has a three-year-old — that’s Jane, and a ten-month-old baby — Gregory. That’s what she wanted, though. My parents weren’t happy about it, because even though neither of them went to college, they wanted all three of us to go. Well, maybe that’s why they want us to go. Looks like they’re out of luck with two out of three of us, so far.

  My father was pretty upset about Brenda getting married so quickly, because Hank is five years older than she is, and is one of the firemen in Dad’s engine company. Brenda met him at a barbecue at the firehouse when she was only sixteen, and they fell for each other right away. Molly and I kind of had fun helping her keep it a secret until she was old enough to marry him. My father would never have given her permission to date someone that much older. My mother is pretty easygoing, but she wouldn’t have liked it, either. I think Hank’s a good guy, but my father always looks worried and says he takes too many chances on the job.

  “You going to be a fireman?” Bebop asked.

  Was I? “Probably, yeah,” I said. “As soon as no one lets me play football anymore. Can you make a living playing the sax?”

  “Yeah,” Bebop said. “Lots of cats do. Just not a real good living.”

  “Well — I’m going to buy all your albums,” I said.

  Bebop laughed. “You better.”

  God, it was dark out there. I couldn’t see a thing. A couple of times, people shot off flares, and while you can’t help looking up at them, it messes up your night vision for a few minutes. And anything that makes it harder to see . . . is a bad thing.

  It made good military sense to me that the NVA might hit us that night — why not go after a much smaller unit that’s reeling from a tough battle? — but I was sure they would wait until later. Three, maybe four, in the morning. When we’d be even more tired, and probably less alert. The skipper says we killed at least 100 NVA out on 881N, and as far as I could tell, there were still hundreds more firing at us. Our company probably went up against a whole battalion, maybe more. But our howitzers, plus the big guns at the main base, had been pounding the jungles for hours now, and maybe that would discourage them.

  But those NVA fight hard — you have to give them that.

  Right after midnight, we saw a couple of red star cluster flares over Hill 861. That got our attention, since they’re right across from our position. Kilo Company mans that hill.

  “Those aren’t ours, are they?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Bebop said. “Maybe it’s —”

  We heard the sound of mortar rounds leaving tubes — and then crashing into 861. It seemed to go on and on, and we just stared with our mouths open. It was really weird — like having a front row seat to watch a war.

  Gunny Kowalski came by to warn us to stay extra-alert. If the NVA were going after 861, it was a good bet that they were coming here, t
oo. So Bebop and I made ourselves focus on our own lines, gripping our rifles, ready to respond to absolutely anything. We had our claymore detonators spread out on a dirt shelf we’d dug near the top of our hole, and a row of grenades lined up, too. We even had elbow holes dug, so we could lean forward and be perfectly steady when we fired our weapons.

  Then, the NVA launched a full-out attack on 861. We could hear machine guns, AK-47s, RPGs, grenade explosion, and even high-pitched orders being screamed in Vietnamese. Kilo Company was fighting back, so now we heard American weapons, too. Red and green tracers were zipping back and forth, and it was like watching one of your own worst nightmares come to life.

  “Man, those cats are in it,” Bebop said.

  That’s for sure. Made me wonder if the guys on 861 had been watching — and listening to — our fight on 881N all afternoon, with the same kind of horror and fascination. Seeing all of the flashes and flares and tracers cut through the darkness was really eerie. I knew men were fighting and dying over there, but I also knew we had to hold our hill, no matter what, so we wouldn’t be going over to help them. Same reason they hadn’t been sent out to help us.

  Our 81mm mortars were firing a few rounds over to the northwest side of 861, but it wasn’t enough to help much. I guess the skipper wanted to keep plenty in reserve in case we needed them to defend ourselves.

  The red and green tracers were mixed up all over the top of the hill, which meant that the NVA had broken through and were inside the perimeter. Kilo was really in trouble. I couldn’t figure out why the NVA wasn’t coming up after us, too. We’d know it was starting if any mortar rounds came up here, but so far, nothing.

  The battle went on and on — and our hill stayed quiet. Our mortar guys stepped up the pace of their firing, and now we were sending a steady stream of support over to 861. It was pretty amazing — they just sent out hundreds and hundreds of rounds, hour after hour.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Gunny Kowalski came back. He seems old to us, I guess, but this is only his second war. Gunny Sampson — what a good, tough old guy he was — had thought that made Kowalski just a beginner.

  “Let’s go, boys,” he said. “The 81s need us.”

  It sounded like they were doing just fine on their own, but, okay. Maybe we were going to haul some crates of fresh rounds over to them from the ammo bunker. But that wasn’t it, either. They were firing so many rounds, so fast, that the guns were overheating. That’s really dangerous, because first, the rounds they fire won’t go where they’re aimed, and second, the whole thing might melt or blow up on them.

  The best way to cool the guns — other than not firing them anymore — is to pour water on them. Except they’d already used all the spare water on the hill. Since no one knew when we’d get resupplied again, the skipper wouldn’t let us contribute our canteens to the cause. So, the mortar guys poured all the spare juice they could find on the guns. Sometimes resupply sends us these cans of pretty sour orange, pineapple, and grapefruit juice. We drink them, but for some reason, they usually just make you more thirsty, so we don’t always bother.

  The guns were still overheating, and there was only one kind of spare liquid left on the hill. Yep, you got it — every guy on the hill took turns urinating on them. Pretty gross, but it did the trick. The guns were able to keep firing all night long, with the guys singing “The Marines’ Hymn” over and over to keep their energy up. But I’m sure not sorry that I didn’t have to stand next to them for hours.

  Between the fire support they were getting, and their own weapons — and guts — Kilo Company drove the last of the NVA out of their perimeter at about five in the morning. When we got the news that Hill 861 was secure, you should have heard the cheers! Our whole hill started shouting at once. Everyone’s yelling “Get some!” and “Semper fi!” and all that. It was great to see the good guys win.

  In fact — oh, great, here we go again.

  Later —

  I forgot to mention that for the last couple of days, since the battle, we’ve started having a bunch of mortar attacks. That was one just now. Snipers are taking shots at us, too. We wear our helmets all the time, and keep our flak jackets fastened all the way up. We did that before, but now we’re serious about it. We’re all just walking targets, so we try to stay in our bunker — or, at least, in the trenches — during the daytime. If they see us come out, they start firing. It’s getting crazy.

  And I still didn’t finish the rest of the story from before. After 861 fought off their attackers, we were all really happy. We heard later that they had only 4 KIAs. Four is still too many, but from watching that insanity? I would have guessed ten times that many guys were killed, if not more. From our perspective, it looked as though the whole company was going to be completely wiped out. They medevaced about 30 guys, and another company got sent out to the hill next to them, 861A, for reinforcements. That way, they’ll be able to back each other up.

  So, it was heading on to 0530 in the morning, and we were sitting in the fog, eating breakfast. You know you’re happy when C rations taste good. I plowed through a can of cold chopped ham and eggs in about a minute. Our squad heated up some coffee, opened up cans of peanut butter, jam and crackers — everything was just A-OK in our world.

  Then, we heard a funny sound. More than one, actually. Coming from the mountains in the west and zipping straight over our hill. Just as the Professor was saying he thought they might be rockets, we realized that they were heading for the main combat base, KSCB. We’d all been down there, so we knew that most of those guys weren’t even dug in. The bunkers were above ground, the mess hall, Charlie Med — it wasn’t like the hills, where we knew we were a target. We’d been digging in for weeks.

  Which doesn’t mean that our bunkers couldn’t be a lot better, too. But if you don’t have any stuff to build overhead cover, what can you do? You just build it up, the best you can. We have lots of long metal stakes that are used for supporting the barbed wire we string around the perimeter. If you put a bunch of them across the top of your bunker, you can cover them with a sheet of plywood or something — if we had plywood; which we don’t — and then layer sandbags on top of that. Or we fill empty wooden ammo crates with dirt, and pile them up there. But the stakes really won’t hold very much weight, so it’s risky. When it comes to overhead cover, the top priority on the hill is to protect our ammo bunkers. If a rocket or artillery shell ever hits one of them, the explosion might take the whole rest of the hill along with it.

  More rockets were shooting right over us, and mortar and artillery rounds were being fired, too. We couldn’t see KSCB too well through the fog, but we knew they were getting hit. Then we heard a huge explosion down there, followed by smaller, secondary explosions.

  “Must’ve gotten the ammo dump,” Mooch said.

  As we heard more and more explosions at odd intervals — not including the continuing stream of rockets and mortars — I knew he was right. That ammo dump, with literally tons of different ammunition stored there, must have taken a direct hit. Now the guys down there were not only under attack, but their own ammo dump was in danger of killing them, too.

  We were all ordered back on alert, just in case the NVA were planning to widen their attack. We could hear small arms fire, machine guns, and mortars off to the south, too. That meant they were either going after the Special Forces camp at Lang Vei, or Khe Sanh Village itself, where the Provincial Headquarters and most of the civilians in the area were.

  It was too hard to keep count, but about a hundred mortar rounds must have hit the main base during the first hour alone, with almost as many rockets flying in there, too. With the fog, we were really only able to follow the attack with our ears. Our arty and mortar guys were firing some rounds out toward Laos and 881N, but it was impossible to know where the North Vietnamese were located. We really couldn’t see anything, and the mountains and hills absorbed the
sounds so that they echoed in a confusing way. Later that morning, there was an explosion at KSCB so intense that our hill, four miles away, actually shuddered from the concussion.

  “What was that?” Bebop asked.

  I had absolutely no idea, but it must have been something big.

  When the fog finally began lifting at about 1200, the main base looked as though it had been destroyed. The airstrip was damaged, and most of the above-ground buildings and tents had been pulverized. Black smoke hung over the base, and we could see fires everywhere, especially near the airstrip. The smell of gasoline and burning fuel was really strong, too. We could see the same sort of damage down around Khe Sanh Village — and Hill 861 also looked pretty bad.

  I think we forgot that it was risky to be standing outside without the fog to protect us, because when we suddenly got hit with a volley of rockets, a lot of us were caught right out in the open. The NVA must have had our entire position zeroed in, because I think about half a dozen 120mm rounds landed inside our perimeter. Could have been 122mms — I’m not sure. But they both have a huge fragmentation radius, so if you’re not under cover, you don’t even have to be all that close to them to get seriously hurt by all the hot metal shards flying around in the air.

  Everyone was diving for cover inside the trenches and our bunkers, but one of the bunkers took a direct hit, which wounded three guys. Two more got riddled with shrapnel from one of the other rounds, which caught them halfway across the saddle, running at top speed. My whole squad raced out there to help move them safely into trenches, so the corpsmen could work on them. The guy Bebop and I carried was all messed up, but we lied and told him he looked okay. The worst part was that most of the damage seemed to be right around his groin. That’s the injury that scares us all the most. No one wants to get hurt, but we really don’t want to get hurt down there.