By What is Sure to Follow

by Donald Burton

  During one of their breaks, Hardy offered some advice to the new men. In a whisper he said, “If you don’t put some salve on those fuckin’ cuts soon, by night fall the infection will probably put you in the hospital–if we had a fuckin’ hospital.”

  “That bad, huh?” commented Johan as he reached for his rucksack to get his sulphur ointment. Luke and Waldo both nodded and followed the advice and quickly put medication on their dozens of exposed thin cuts. Then the team was on the move again, cautiously moving north.

  The team followed the windy trail as it snaked its way through dense forest, often skirting around huge trees and deep ravines. Near a rise Jarvis stopped abruptly and motioned everyone down. Everyone faded into the bush without a sound. Luke watched as Jarvis dropped back to Sikes, still ten yards ahead of his position. The two put their heads together briefly. Then Jarvis nodded and headed back up the trail slowly, leaving his rucksack behind.

  Luke worked his way up to Sikes. “What’s goin on, Sarge?” he whispered, only inches from Sikes’s ear.”

  “Jarvis heard a strange noise up ahead. He’s gone to investigate,” whispered the Sergeant in reply. Luke nodded and fell silent; no more talking was necessary. The team remained hidden, awaiting Jarvis’s return.

  Several long minutes elapsed as the team waited. Jarvis then appeared ahead on a small rise. He waved his arm for them to follow. Cautiously the team worked its way toward him, weapons at the ready, grabbing Jarvis’s rucksack along the way. Slowly Jarvis lead them up the narrow trail, crossing a small stream that was a few inches deep and went another few yards as the trail turned left. Then he stopped. Luke noticed he held his weapon at his side. Luke copied his example and then followed Jarvis’s gaze. Up ahead Luke could see a pit dug in the path. He heard a slight noise coming from it as he cautiously walked closer. The team bunched up as they neared the edge of the deep hole. Lying on its side in the bottom of the pit was a large deer. It was skewered on a bed of stakes that covered the floor of the eight-foot deep excavation. Several of the stakes went all the way through the huge deer.

  The animal was getting weak. It looked up, pleading to them with its sad eyes.

  “Someone kill the poor thing,” Johan whispered.

  “Can’t,” replied Jarvis in a subdued emotionless voice. “If we shoot it the whole area will know that we’re here. If we cut its throat, a passing VC patrol will find out. No, we can’t do anything–except make tracks away from here. Pronto” Sikes nodded his agreement. Without further comment, the team skirted the pit and proceeded on its way. Johan shook his head as he passed by the opening and continued up the trail.

  Late afternoon found the team nearing their destination: a steep incline overlooking a long valley that went generally from north to south. Vines and thick green vegetation claimed the area. Quickly Sikes chose a spot about two-thirds the way up the steep hillside for their observation post, on the edge of the densest portion of vegetation. It afforded them maximum view and safety. The high ground was needed for their radio transmissions as well.

  Because of the remoteness of their laager, a communications relay post had been set up on a hilltop to the south and east of them in South Vietnam. All messages were to be sent there for relay back to the Command Operations Center.

  Within moments of their arrival, Hardy began a radio check with the relay post. Everyone watched, knowing the importance of having solid communication from their concealed position. Into the small PRC-25 radio–commonly referred to as a PRICK 25 by the Recons, or sometimes just PRICK–he spoke softly, “Tango Victor, this is Rose Wing for Comm check, over.”

  “Rose Wing,” said a crackly voice quickly in reply. “This is Victor One. We hear you five by five.”

  “Roger, we hear you the same,” replied Hardy to the expected response, “Over and out.” Everyone relaxed a bit.

  Once Luke’s housekeeping chores were done–preparing his area–he found himself dying of thirst. He knew he had to conserve water. Each man carried his own supply. Luke had three canteens on his webbed belt. He drank from the first. The bitter taste assailed his senses. He made a horrible face and wondered if he’d ever get used to the taste. He doubted it. After filling the canteens that morning at a stream they crossed, he had put two Halazone (water- purifying tablets) in each. The water may have tasted bad, but at least it wouldn’t kill him. Luke wondered how unsafe the water really was.

  He shrugged. He wasn’t about to find out. He took another short drink of the cloudy liquid before putting the canteen away. Then he thought about the mission briefing again.

  Scheduled as a five-day mission, it was considered a relatively short time in the bush. Missions often lasted twenty days or longer. Nonetheless, he reasoned, even a short operation could be dangerous. The possibility of having their radio transmissions detected meant they would use the radio only if they saw something of major importance, or if they got into trouble. No daily radio communications from the team was expected. This bothered him, but he knew the rules. At 0930 each morning they were to listen passively to the radio for instructions. Otherwise they were to take copious notes for the report they would make upon their return.

  The radio operator also had another assignment–he was to scan the airwaves for enemy radio transmissions. His radio was specially adapted to do most of the job for him. Several of the team were fluent in Vietnamese, including Luke. They took turns listening.

  Because of their location, no fires were permitted. Cigarette smoking was not permitted either; any VC down wind would smell the sweet American tobacco.

  “Everyone had better grab something to eat while we’ve got the chance,” Sikes said, loud enough to be heard by everyone. The food was K or C rations, a little of each. Luke nodded his agreement, grabbed his food pouch and started to read the labels on several of the C-rats as he decided on his meal; he couldn’t believe the dates on them.

  “Hey Hardy,” Luke whispered. “Look at these dates–1948, 1949 and ’53,” he said, showing the cans to Hardy next to him.

  Hardy nodded, then without a smile whispered, “You got the newer stuff. I ate some fuckin’ crackers with a 1942 date a while back. They made a fine fuckin’ turd.”

  “You’re kidding,” replied Luke, still whispering.

  “Naw. You’ll get some. Anyway beats eatin’ fuckin’ lizards and slugs,” Hardy said softly as he pretended to hold a lizard by the tail above his head and then swallow it.

  “You’re right about that,” Luke responded.

  Quietly the men resumed eating. Talking carried great distances in the quiet jungle, even whispering. Only necessary talk was permitted on patrol, and then only in hushed tones. Most of the time hand signals were used. Each man had his job and he performed it without consulting with the others.

  While on watch, Schmidt spent hours scanning the trails for movement, as did Luke when it was his turn. At night they all took turns using the single Starscope to watch the trails. The green images of the bulky infrared scope made the night landscape look like day, only a little strange and very grainy. Luke enjoyed using it.

  Jarvis and Sikes circled their hill early on the first afternoon. Physically checking the intersection of the two trails was their main purpose, but surveying the general area was also important. Examination showed the trails were used regularly. One of the trails was big enough that trucks could use it, although it looked like none had used it recently; it would be slow going for a large vehicle, but one could squeeze through. The other trail was much smaller and came in from the west. It too seemed to be used often; in places it was a dark tunnel–the vegetation had grown together over the trail at a height of ten or twelve feet.

  Everyone agreed that the A0 (area of operation) looked “prime”; they were probably on to something. Now all they had to do was wait. At first Luke thought it was an adventure, but that passed quickly. His boredom grew as his hours of surveillance produced nothing. He took his turn on watch and then tried to sleep, never fully able to
doze. Between the heat and the insects nibbling on him, he felt miserable. Trying to get his mind off his condition, he wrote Sheri a short letter, which he planned to mail when he got back. In it he spoke of the weather, the damnable insects and how much he missed her, never telling her he loved her, though wishing he could.

  The only diversion Luke found to the boredom were the insects. They seemed determined to make of meal of him no matter what he did. The bug juice–insect repellant–didn’t work; it seemed to attract them instead. He noticed everyone had the same problem. Everyone ignored the little bastards until they could take it no more, then if they were totally concealed, they lashed out, brutally destroying the pests.

  Late on the third day, while Waldo and Schmidt were on watch, movement was spotted at the most northern extreme of the main trail on the valley floor below. Sikes was alerted with a shake; he had just fallen asleep moments earlier. They appraised him of the situation. Next, Waldo woke Luke, hitting him with a pebble in the thigh; he came alert with a startle. Watching, Luke saw Waldo direct Sikes where to look. Crawling over to Waldo from the thicket he had been sleeping in, Luke had a clear view of the scene. Half a dozen men slowly appeared out of the heavy shade at the northern end of the visible trail down below. All of them were clad in black pajamas, wearing conical straw hats. Each carried an AK-47; most likely their weapons were made in China. The Recons watched silently as the enemy headed southward down the trail–towards South Vietnam.

  After watching several long minutes, the team conversed in hushed tones. “Must be the forward guard for a larger force,” offered Jarvis.

  “Yeah. I agree,” said Sikes. “It’s the way they are acting–very slow and cautious, too cautious to be looking out for just themselves.” Hardy simply nodded his agreement. The team waited and watched, concealed still in the deep foliage.

  Minutes later the black clad figures completely disappeared southward down the trail. Nearly twenty minutes more passed before the anxious Marines spotted more movement. Two ox carts emerged from the north, leaving the afternoon’s long shadows as they came into the open. A dozen-odd gun carrying, black pajama clad figures escorted them. Luke tapped Sikes. “Look on the other side of the cart.” Wearing a gray regular military uniform, partially hidden by the cart itself walked a man. A pistol holster hung at waist height on his right side and he wore what Luke thought must be an officer’s hat. Sikes confirmed Luke’s thoughts with a nod. Sikes whispered, “A typical munitions transport, except for the NVA officer with them.” Everyone studied the scene further.

  “Usually an officer accompanies only larger shipments,” added Sikes as an after thought. Still speaking in hushed tones, he said, “Lately shipments have been kept small in case they are intercepted. So the officer shouldn’t be here. Ammunition must be getting critically short for them to assign an officer to accompany it.”

  Hardy, who was to Sikes’s left, nodded his agreement.

  Sikes continued, “We can’t break radio silence over two ox carts.”

  “How come?” asked Waldo. “Isn’t it what we came here for?”

  “Yeah, it is. But it isn’t a big enough prize to possibly give up our location to Mr. Charlie. We are here for bigger things. We’ll report this when we get back. A unit farther down the line will nail those bastards now that they’ll know they’re coming.”

  Nerves drawn tight, the Recons watched as the ox carts disappeared into the quickly approaching evening shroud of darkness. They all knew the ammunition would be used against other Americans in the weeks ahead, if the shipment got through.

  The next day passed without incident. The highlight of Luke’s day was eating the pineapple up-side-down cake in his C- rations. As he used his small P-38 can opener on the olive green can, he looked across at Hardy and whispered “One thing I never have figured out is how come they call this opener a ‘John Wayne’ anyhow?”

  “Well I don’t know, Pilgrim,” Hardy said in a soft Texas drawl, trying hard to sound like the Duke while still whispering. Everyone laughed in subdued tones or with no sound at all. Luke finished the luscious treat in three large mouthfuls. The inside of the can he wiped clean with his finger. Once sure that every morsel of cake was gone, he carefully dug a small hole and buried the can beneath a bush nearby. He did the same after every meal. When he was done there was no trace of his action.

  Far and away the worst part of the mission for Luke was the waiting periods. He saw Johan constantly writing letters when it wasn’t his turn to be on watch. “Who’s the letter to?”

  “Oh, just to my girl,” replied Johan in a whisper as he let a little grin cover his face.

  “What do you find to write about?” queried Luke further, thinking he might find something useful for his letters to Sheri.

  “I was just telling her about our routine. Nothing special. Why?”

  “Just wondering how you can write so often. I can’t think of much to say in my letters.” Luke frowned as he spoke. It surprised him that he could speak so freely about it.

  “I always have something to say,” replied Johan as he noticed that Luke looked uncomfortable. With that Johan picked up his pen and turned back to his letter writing.

  Luke sat still for a moment, watching him write. Then decided he would try to write Sheri. After his third attempt, he concluded he had nothing to say and put his writing materials away. Then Luke looked over at Waldo. Jarvis had just relieved him from watch. As he watched, Waldo took out the now familiar deck of cards and silently played solitaire. Luke wished he had a deck of cards. He was bored. Minutes later he was asleep.

  The team prepared to leave the area early the next morning. Sikes insisted that the area not show a trace of their visit. “It wouldn’t do for Charlie to find a Recon team had been laagered here, and for them to be able to learn from it, you guys. So clean it up and make it look like we were never here,” ordered Sikes calmly. No discussion was necessary. Everyone knew their job and did it.

  When it was finally time to leave, Luke studied the area closely. No trace of their last few day’s encampment existed, except for a few plants pressed flat against the ground. In a day or two more, he knew, the jungle would reclaim this hillside completely. He slung his ruck sack over his shoulder, grabbed his weapon and followed his team up the hillside.

  Scheduled to be picked up on a knoll about three kilometers southeast, they set a slow pace, having eight hours to cover the short distance. Their scheduled pick-up time was 1610 hours. If they missed it, an alternate place and time was already set for the next day. As mid-day approached, the pace of the men quickened, their mood changed. They were all anxious to meet the chopper and get back to civilization, meaning a hot shower, and safety. Not that where they were going would really be safe.

  Shortly after noon they approached the LZ cautiously. Their pace slowed. They started going in a zigzag pattern, avoiding any trails they came upon. Once within sight of the LZ, they held up in dense cover and watched the area for VC, spending over an hour studying it closely. It was nearly 1600 when they felt confident that no enemy lay in wait and cautiously closed the short distance to the LZ. What made the LZ unique was that the canopied jungle, thick in the surrounding area, was thin in the small area designated their LZ. The ground cover, consisting mostly of tall, broad leaf plants and shrubs, was so dense, even in the LZ, that a chopper couldn’t land, but it could get close enough to “extract” them. The elephant grass in the clearest portion of the LZ was over eight feet high. On the edge of the “clearing” the team crouched behind a stand of broad leaf bushes that had red veins in their leaves and waited.

  As the pick-up time approached, Luke grew agitated. Only when he heard the familiar sound of a chopper in the distance did a wave of relief rush over him.

  As the sound got closer, Sgt. Sikes removed a small flare gun from his top breast pocket. It was about seven inches long and made of a brass piece of tubular material with a spring-loaded firing pin in its center. A real simple devise, Luke noted
. After screwing a cylinder that looked like a BB gun CO2 cylinder into its end, Sikes fired it, aiming the green flair high into the mid-day sky. The flare burst above the jungle’ s canopy and arced above the open LZ. Instantly the chopper nearby came into view and swerved toward them. If they hadn’t fired the correct color at that precise moment, Luke knew, the pilot would have aborted the mission, leaving them stranded.

  The short burning flare disappeared from sight as the chopper slid in and began to hover directly over the clearing. Luke saw two crewmen, each manning their turreted .50-caliber machine guns, one pointed out each side of the thin chopper. The Recons rushed the last few yards toward the clearing. When the crew chief visually spotted them, he threw down a two-wide rope ladder. After a little maneuvering the end of it was within jumping distance from the ground. Jarvis and Schmidt jumped and grabbed it first try; both started climbing rapidly up its thirty-foot length. As soon as the bottom rungs were exposed, Waldo and Sikes grabbed hold and climbed skyward, quickly following their teammates to safety. That left Luke and Hardy on the ground. Luke found his hands sweating. His mouth was dry. He watched anxiously as his team mates climbed to safety. Everyone knew if Charlie was around the picture of a hovering chopper made too perfect target to ignore.

  As he stood waiting his turn, it seemed like time wouldn’t move, that his teammates were taking forever to climb the rope. Finally the rope was clear enough for him to grab hold. Hardy jumped ahead of him and began his climb up his side of the ladder. He already had his feet through the rope rungs when Luke jumped. Luke managed to get a firm hold with both hands, but was still dangling in mid air. Just as he got his right arm hooked securely through the first rung of the rope ladder, he felt a violent tug upward. The tiny aircraft rose into the mid-day sky rapidly. Intense pressure tore at his arm. Luke grabbed hold of his right wrist and hung on for dear life. At that precise moment, the chopper kicked it in high gear, engaging its jet turbine.