by Patrick Ford
“I think so,” said Bell. “They’ve lost a lot of men, and they’ll want some blood. Why do you think they waited so long, Boss?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. My guess is they’re part of the mob attacking the ARVN. They probably sent a few back to finish off our Huey. They probably thought it would be an easy job. They may have been expecting most of us to be dead; but the chopper didn’t burn, so they waited for some more of their pals to turn up.”
“Well, then,” said Bell, “We have put a spoke in their wheel. There must be at least thirty dead out there.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Jack, “how dry do you think that grass is?”
Bell smiled, “You’re a devious bastard, Cap’n, if you don’t mind my saying so. It’s long and it’s yellow on top. If it had a good ignition source, it might burn well.”
“Okay, that’s what we’ll do…”
Jack left them at stand to. He thought the next attack was not far away. His sentries to his rear reported no movement. Funny, thought Jack, I would have wagered they might have tried to sneak around behind us. He found Reuben, the man with the grenade launcher, and explained what he wanted. They waited.
It took an hour, not long before dawn. The clouds had lifted and there was a quickening breeze blowing across their front from right to left. “You bloody little beauty!” said Jack to himself. They came at a shambling run, illuminated by the flares, scythed down again by the M60s.
“Okay,” said Jack, “do it!”
PFC Reuben began firing grenade after grenade at the wreck of the helicopter. It took four rounds; then the remaining jet fuel ignited with an explosive ‘whump’. Driven by the breeze the flames raced across the top of the yellow grass, illuminating a scene from hell. NVA were running hither and thither. Many were on fire, some of their grenades exploding on their bodies. The M60s continued the slaughter. Soon there were no enemy in sight. “Cease fire,” shouted Bell, “change magazines, lock and load!” They stood to until dawn. The clouds had lifted; there was sunshine. In front on a blackened field were the smoking bodies of more than 100 of the NVA soldiers.
* * * *
Mendez was working at his radio, fiddling with the tuner. Suddenly, there was a burst of ground noise, some static, some music. Then he found their regimental net. They had communications again. The heavy cloud that had caused temperature inversions all day yesterday had blown away on the breeze. “Delta Ten,” the set squawked, “come in Delta Ten, how do you read me?”
Jack grinned at Reuben, with his M79. “Piss poor, Private Reuben, you wasted three!” Reuben grinned back. “Practice makes perfect, sir.”
Their problems were not over. Delta told them there would be a three-hour delay for extraction. A medivac was on the way. The others would have to wait. The NVA had been repulsed from their forward positions and the ARVN was counter attacking. Jack realised immediately that this meant they might have some very nasty visitors before too long as the NVA fell back. He called a conference with his NCOs. He told them of the latest intelligence, and then he asked for comment. Corporal Minelli said, “They will know exactly where we are now and our approximate strength. That is, if there were any survivors from last night.” There was general agreement on that.
“Right,” said Jack. “I reckon we should abandon the ruins and move into the tree line. We can leave a fire burning in the church and other equipment to make them think we’re still there. Then we can set up a good position in the trees where we’ll be able to enfilade them.” He turned to Bell. “Get the men up there right away, Sergeant, set up the M60s. You may have to cut some smaller trees down to give them a better field of fire, and make sure the fields overlap. Send me Reuben as you go. Go out the back of the church and head away from the ruins for a hundred yards into the jungle. Then double back and set up your positions. They might have somebody watching.”
“You got it, Captain.” Bell was on his way. Reuben came down the rise. “How many grenades do you have left?” Jack asked him.
Reuben chuckled, “Them boys done bought me a whole case. Must be at least a dozen left.”
“Okay,” said Jack, “go and help dig in, and then I want you near me.” Reuben ran off. As he did, the wop, wop, wop of rotor blades announced the arrival of the medivac chopper.
They carefully loaded the wounded pilot into the machine. “Right,” said Jack, “You go next, Baker, then Riley.” He turned to the co-pilot. “Okay, mate, you had better go too, this is not your fight.” The WO said, “I didn’t hear that, sir. You’re going to need as many men as you can get. I can shoot too. Give me a rifle and I’ll help out.”
Jack did not argue. He was glad of the extra man and proud that he had inspired him to put himself in harm’s way when he could have taken the easy way out.
Jimbo protested that he, too, could stay. Jack knew he was too badly wounded for that and ordered him aboard. Before he boarded, Jack could not resist his long awaited questions. “Jimbo, where is Susan? What happened to the baby?”
Jimbo said, “Worcester Massachusetts. You have a little girl. Details later.” He climbed reluctantly into the aircraft.
PFC Riley said, “What the hell, this is my chance to be a hero. I’m staying too. You are the best officer I ever served with, Cap’n. I won’t fly away and leave you here to do my fighting for me.”
The medivac chopper rose and darted away towards safety. Jack thought of the young pilot who had gotten them down safely despite his wound. I hope he makes it, he thought. I hope he sees his Momma soon. He walked through the ruins to the tree line. Sergeant Bell had done a good job with his dispositions. Now all they had to do was bait their trap and wait. Sweet Jesus, he prayed, bring us that Huey first.
They had set a fire in the church and left a number of ration-packs on top of the remnants of the stone wall. A helmet and a water bottle sat a short distance away. It was the best they could do. They settled down to wait. An hour later, the flank scout spotted movement off to their left. The enemy came into view in skirmish formation, about platoon strength, thought Jack. Two NVA scouts came into their field of fire. They halted. One turned and scuttled back to the main body of his comrades. A few minutes later, four men came forward carrying a tube and base plate. Shit, thought Jack, a mortar, just what I do not need. If they toss a few of those at us, the tree bursts will cause havoc. He crept down the line to the left hand M60. Minelli was on the gun, with the diminutive cowboy from Billings his number two. “Okay, Corporal,” he said, “line up that mortar crew. When the shit hits the fan, hose them down immediately.”
Minelli nodded. Jack went back down the line telling each man to hold his fire. No matter what, they were to wait until he gave the order. To Reuben he said, “Can you hit that mortar from here?”
“I reckon so,” he replied.
“Good, when the M60 opens up, throw every grenade you have at it.”
The other NVA were approaching the church now, crawling towards the blackened field. One of them put up a hand, and bought it down in a chopping motion. The mortar crew went into action. They rained about ten rounds down on the church. The remains of the roof imploded, sections of the old walls teetered and collapsed. Shit, thought Jack, thank God we weren’t still in there.
The NVA rose, and charged at the ruins. Twenty yards brought them into Sergeant Bell’s killing zone. “Fire!” roared Jack.
He saw the mortar crew jerk like puppets on strings and go down in a hail of bullets. Grenades began landing among them, throwing bits of metal into the air. Then both M60s began to sweep the field, Most of the NVA troops fell in the first fusillade, the remaining dozen or so fled past the burnt out Huey and down to the cover of the river. They had hardly fired a shot at the Americans.
Only then did they hear the helicopter. It arrived along with a gunship to provide cover. It wasn’t needed.
Ninety minutes later, they were back at their base. As they landed, Jack could see about fifteen officers drawn up to watch. Jack was l
ast off, making sure all his men were together. They were a sorry looking lot. Blackened faces, bandages, some limping from their heavy bruising. As they began to walk away from their Huey, the officers came to attention and saluted them.
One of them was a General.
Chapter 9
Homecoming
Nui Dat, Phuoc Tuy Province, South Vietnam—1967
Brigadier Freeman sat at his desk and read the communiqué. He was out of a job. The Australian Government had decided to commit another battalion of infantry and attached units to South Vietnam. A Major General was coming to take overall command. Freeman had been posted home, and he wasn’t sorry. However, there were a few loose ends to tie up, and one of them was waiting outside. He picked up his phone. “Okay, Corporal, send in Captain Riordan.”
Jack entered and saluted. He was feeling good. His wounds had almost healed, and he had had a week’s convalescent leave. The Brigadier looked up. “Sit down, Captain. I have been reading your action report about your little dust-up at Bien Long. The Yanks, with their usual black humour, are calling it, ‘The Bien Long BBQ’. They were impressed with your coolness under fire and your decisive action. They want to give you a medal. The ARVN are happy as well. They say your action tied up NVA forces and took the pressure off them. They want to give you a medal, too. I do not want to give you a medal; I have given you a medal. Army HQ has approved my recommendation to award you the Military Cross. Congratulations. Moreover, you have a posting back to your old Regiment. We feel you have done your bit.”
* * * *
Jack couldn’t believe it. He was going home at last!
But first, he was going to visit Jimbo at the hospital. He couldn’t wait know more about Susan and their baby. He’d had no chance to get away since they had returned from Bien Long. He’d had to write combat reports on the action and the performance of his troops. He mentioned the heroism of their pilot in getting them down safely and made special mention of the men who had refused medivac in order to remain with the squad. Finally, two days later, he was free to go.
He was glad to hear the pilot was going to make it. Riley was going home, classified as unfit for combat. He was a regular so the army had made him a Corporal and arranged a posting to a supply depot in Kansas. Riley got his Purple Heart, and like all the other members of his squad, the Bronze Star. He was going home a hero.
Jack asked for some time with Jimbo Baker. He was going home, too. Torn ligaments in his shoulder would take a long time to heal. It was unlikely he would ever fill a combat role again.
Jimbo was eager to talk to him. “Sir,” he began. “I had it all wrong about you. Thanks for saving my life.”
Jack smiled at him. “Forget about the sir, Jimbo. We are going to be related as soon as I can get to Susan. Tell me all that has happened to her and our little girl.”
Jimbo smiled. “May, 1965. She called her Jacqui, after you. She’s a cute little kid. Mom just spirited us out of the country. I am sure she was almost out of her mind. She was terrified you and John Starr would marry the girls and she would never see them again. She’s treated both of them badly. John came to Worcester and married Sarah, but Mom made it so hard for him, he cleared out and went to Wyoming. Suzie has always believed you would come for her. She’s never stopped loving you, Jack.”
Jack was filled with joy. He had never doubted their baby would be a little girl. Now they would finally be united to return to Ballinrobe.
Jimbo told him about the letter from Helen that he now knew was a forgery. “Mom was really paranoid by that stage,” he said. “I was only a kid. I didn’t know what to do. I’m glad you found me, Jack. I might have killed you.”
Jack smiled. “Bigger men than you have tried, mate. What will you do now?”
“I’ll go home. I have a long convalescent furlough. Depending on how I heal, I might just stay on in the army. I doubt if they’ll send me back here. They tell me I’m a regular hero.” He grinned.
“Okay,” said Jack. “I’ll wish you goodbye now. I have to pack and catch a ride to Sydney. I should be in Boston in about three weeks or less. I hope you will be home by then. You will have to come to the wedding.” Jack wasted no time. He sent a cable to Susan. It was short and to the point:
I AM COMING…stop… MY LOVE IS NEVERENDING
…stop…JACK
Then he sat down and wrote her a twenty-page letter.
Worcester, MA, USA—1967
Susan and Jacqui were reading stories when she heard the doorbell. She opened the door to find a Western Union man. “Telegram for Susan,” he said. “Are you Susan? That’s all it says.”
She took the yellow envelope. What could this mean? She opened the telegram. She read it twice, disbelieving, then she felt her knees buckle. She almost fell, grasping the doorknob for support. “Oh,” she breathed, “Oh, thank God, Jack has found us!”
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Jacqui was standing behind her, anxious and near tears.
Susan fell to her knees and enfolded her daughter in her arms. “Oh, darling, there’s nothing wrong. It’s Daddy! He’s found us, baby! And he’s coming for us. We’re going home to Ballinrobe.”
“Why are you crying, Mommy? You should smile.”
And she did.
Sydney, New South Wales, Australia—1967
When the Qantas flight touched down it was early morning. There was a group of officers travelling together. They had orders to travel in civilian clothes; the Government did not want to upset the anti-war demonstrators. Jack was the junior officer, but the others had heard of the ‘Bien Long BBQ’. They gave friendly deference to him. As they left the plane, a Colonel said to him, “Want a lift, son?” Jack declined with thanks. He knew his mother had travelled to Sydney to meet him, but he was surprised to see Maree waving excitedly from the gallery. He hugged them both for a long time. Taking in his thin body and the new lines on his face, Helen said, “I must get you home and fatten you up.”
“Mum,” he said, “I’ve found Susan! I found her brother in Vietnam. He told me where she is; she’s been waiting for me. You don’t know how that makes me feel.”
“Yes,” she said, remembering the agony he had lived through, “Yes, I do. What wonderful news!”
Maree said, “Well Jack, your real life can begin again. We have a lovely hotel for you. Next week is the investiture. After that, it’s Ballinrobe for a quick look and off to America for you, I suppose. God, you must be excited!”
“Why don’t we get a cup of coffee,” said Jack, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent one. There is a cafe over there, let’s all sit down. I have lots to tell you.”
Jack related the events of the last few weeks to them. He told them how he had met Jimbo Baker by happenstance and how the boy had wanted to kill him. “His mind had been poisoned by his mother,” said Jack. He told them of the forged letter.
“I knew it,” said his mother, “I knew Susan wouldn’t do that. She loved us all too much.”
“There’s even more, Mum,” he said to Helen. “I didn’t know how to tell you then. I didn’t want to distress you, since I had no way of knowing if I’d ever find Susan again. When she left, she was carrying my baby. You have a granddaughter, Mum, a beautiful little girl. Her name is Jacqui.”
“Oh, Jack,” she said, now understanding even more the extent of his grieving, “and you’ve never seen her!”
“I have,” said Jack, “Oh, I have. In my dreams.”
Worcester, Massachusetts, USA—1967
When Jack’s letter arrived, Susan took it to her room, and with Jacqui on her lap, she began to read it to her. Jacqui didn’t understand much, but she smiled at the mention of Ballinrobe and the thinking place.
“Daddy, Daddy,” she said.
Susan read and re-read the letter until the thin airmail pages were tearing on their folds. She read about his undying love, of his great sadness, his despair that he would never find her. She read about his Vietnam experience, about how Jimb
o had wanted to kill him, about the action at Bien Long and how the helicopters found them that wonderful morning. She read about his visions at the thinking place, how they had kept his spirit alive, how they had guided him in his search for her and Jacqui, how they had strengthened his love for them.
Unbeknownst to her, he didn’t mention Karl, or speak of the other men he had killed, or of his bravery in rescuing Jimbo. His gallantry would be for others to applaud, for like many brave men before him, he was a modest man. Susan read all this and wept; and, as she wept, her hatred for her mother grew. Marci had destroyed Sarah’s happiness; she had nearly destroyed Susan and Jack. She had driven Jimbo into that madness in Vietnam, where he might have killed Jack and where his own life was very nearly forfeited.
When Marci came home, she found her daughter smiling at her. “Jack is coming for us, Momma,” she said, “He’s coming for me and Jacqui. He will take us home.” Marci was cowed, shaken, but she had one shot left. She fired it. “He cannot take Jacqui. Legally he is not her father, his name was never registered.”
“Momma, it was. I let you think it wasn’t; but I put his name on the form. There is nothing you can do to us now. Go away.” Marci left the room, grim-faced. Behind her on the table, she left a copy of USA Today. A headline blazed across the front page:
AUSSIE HERO SAVES U.S. SOLDIERS AT BIEN LONG BBQ
* * * *
Victoria Barracks, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia—1967
It was a beautiful day in the harbour city. The sun shone, and the water sparkled across its great waters, from Circular Quay to Manly. The parade ground, surrounded by crisp green lawns, had rows of chairs for guests. Helen and Maree were there, along with a couple of his old mates from school. Bob O’Connor was there with his new wife Margie.