By What is Sure to Follow

by Donald Burton

  After the first night, the team had been issued surgical masks to help them stand the smell. Eyes found nothing kept him from smelling the sweet, putrid smell of blotted, rotting human flesh.

  Between the Army, Marines, Australian units and ROK Marines involved, more than forty-six thousand men were fighting the armored NVA Division, pushing them back across the river into North Vietnam.

  It took almost twelve days to reclaim the last of the bodies; the total casualty count for 2nd Battalion Fourth Marines was a numbing 1933 of the battalion’s two thousand men. Of those, nearly all were KIA. The vast majority of those killed–died the first day of fighting when they ran out of ammo and got over-run. The Recons, including Luke, had lost a lot of friends in those few days. Posthumously, seven Medals of Honor would be awarded recipients for their acts of valor during the action, the most ever awarded during a single action in the history of the nation.

  Because they were so busy, the men didn’t have any time to seriously ponder the task they were doing or to think emotionally about the deaths. When they were able to take a break, it was usually long over due and they fed themselves or slept.

  As the operation came to a close, Eyes found he had no tears for his fallen friends, nor did he have any emotions. He was barren, with nothing left to give. Sitting with Johan on the fantail of the Iwo Jima one night, staring out to sea, Eyes felt ashamed that he was glad it wasn’t any of his team that bought it. “But that’s the way it is. Let as many of them die as they want,” he offered the night air, smoking a cigarette in the darkness. “I just don’t fuckin’ care any more.” His words floated out onto the darkened sea where no ears could hear them. Johan did not move or speak for a long moment.

  “But Eyes, each of those bags could be you or me. Doesn’t that bother you? Somebody like you or me, damn it,” said Johan with as much energy as he could muster, which was not much.

  “But they’re not, Johan. We’re still here. All of us are okay, and we are going to survive this shit and fly the freedom bird home.”

  Eyes was beyond questioning the fickle occurrences of this crazy war. He didn’t care what happened to people he didn’t know. He saw enough of them dying, so what. Finally he smiled a weak, mirthless smile at the attitude he now felt. As he stood up to leave, he took a deep breath of salt air and then crushed out his cigarette, tossed the butt into the sea. “Come on Johan. It’s time to get some sleep.” Johan nodded and silently followed Eyes back to their berthing area. Without speaking, they turned in and were soon asleep.

  Waking the next morning early, from what seemed like a nearly sleepless night, Eyes felt a strong urge to get back out in the field–to be a fighting Marine once again. He figured once there he could extract his own revenge. All he wanted was the chance. He felt sure his team felt the same way, although he didn’t ask.

  The smell of death still clung to the ship even though the bodies had long since found their way Stateside, a grim reminder, even though no reminder was needed. No one who had taken part in it would ever forget. The shipboard routine for Eyes’s unit returned to normal. Lieutenant Macky had the platoon exercising again, constantly. Within a few days replacements started arriving, obviously all cherries. Eyes and his team ignored them all–they actually shunned them–and drew closer together.

  Two weeks passed as the hot days and nights fused together. Lieutenant Macky insisted that Luke take R&R. “Sims, you’ve put it off for the last time,” said Macky. “Now I’m ordering you to take R&R.”

  Luke nodded as he recognized the tone, knowing arguing was now useless. “Yes, sir. I hear you. I’ll make a deal with you, sir,” replied Luke.

  “You can’t get out of it again, Sims. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’ll go if I can stay in-country. Camranh Bay, or China Beach, someplace like that.

  “That’s fine. As long as you take a breather–away from here,” replied Lt. Macky. “I’ll see to it. Pack your gear.” Luke nodded. The next morning Luke left for a week at China Beach.

  While on R&R he kept to himself most of the time; he lay on the beach during the day and drank at the Enlisted Men’s Club at night, again mostly drinking by himself until he was well on the way to being drunk. Then he joined other small groups of Recons as they drank; he sat off to the side listening to their stories, seldom speaking as he drank.

  Every morning during R&R he woke up wishing he was back with his team out in the bush–kicking ass and taking names. On the morning of the eighth day he caught a ride on board a CH-53 heavy transport chopper back to Da Nang. Mid-afternoon the daily mail chopper dropped him off at his firebase. He was home, home with those he cared about, and ready to kick ass and take names.

  9

  A SLAPPING SOUND WAS HEARD, AND THEN A VOICE CRIED, “Son of a bitch!” The outburst of words filled the cramped, dimly lit hooch. “Fuckin’ bastards,” continued Hardy vehemently as he smashed a mosquito poised on his arm.

  “You need some Vaseline for that one,” offered Jarvis sarcastically.

  “Yeah. That was a big fuckin’ one.”

  Jarvis watched as Hardy studied the blood smear on his arm, now the only trace of the deceased mosquito.

  “You know how big the mosquitoes are over here?” Jarvis said with a grin.

  Knowing the routine, Hardy said tiredly, “No, how big?” “Big enough to stand flat footed and screw a turkey.”

  Hardy grunted and shook his head. He couldn’t believe Jarvis would waste energy on such a dumb joke. No one else had the energy to speak. It was just too damn hot and humid.

  Escaping the sweltering heat was an insurmountable task for the Marines. Like everyone else serving in Vietnam, the Mad Dogs endured it as best they could, taking it one day at a time, counting the days until rotation Stateside.

  Most days it seemed to rain just long enough to replenish the moisture necessary to keep the humidity hovering around the 100% mark. Some days the rain never reached the ground; it evaporated in the hot, thick air.

  Eyes had quietly noticed Hardy’s actions and he ignored Jarvis’s joke. He looked away. He lay motionless beneath his mosquito net, closed his eyes, and listened to the mosquitos buzzing outside the flimsy looking net suspended above his head.

  The weather was the least of Eyes’s problems. As a result of 2nd Battalion’s misfortune, he withdrew even further into himself. On edge and unable to sleep was his constant mental state; reoccurring thoughts of the massacre kept coming back to him. Nightly he awoke, alone and shaking in a cold sweat as his dreams replayed the shocking images. He lay unable to sleep for hours afterward. Exhaustion usually consumed him shortly before dawn and he slept. Each morning when he woke he had hardened a little more, as his mind tried to build a barrier that not even his dreams could penetrate. Fear that the replacements arriving daily might die caused him to shy away from them. He completely refused to make friends of the new replacements–knowing that they might soon be dead, and that he would have to carry that friend in another body bag. He also didn’t want to have to rely on a cherry when the chips were down,

  Even though Eyes failed to notice, the rest of the Mad Dogs reacted the same–they built a barrier between themselves and the rest of the world–anything that could hurt them further and they drew even closer together.

  In their work, their focus and attention to detail, their skills and their teamwork brought them even greater successes, fueling their spreading reputation. The newly arrived cherries, hearing the stories of the Mad Dogs’ exploits, tried hard to make conversation with them.

  “Hey!” someone shouted. It was a new man trying to get Johan’s attention. Hearing the shout, Johan stopped as he neared the chow tent. He turned to face at the man, looking around to see who the man was speaking to. He saw no one else. Johan stood expressionless, waiting. The man spoke, slowly at first, unsure of himself. “You’re one of the Mad Dogs ain’t ya?” Excitement hung on his every word.

  Johan, known for his compassion to all, looked away. Then
he shook his head slowly from side to side. Not looking at the man again, he snapped his loud reply. “Fuck off, boot.” The new man visibly drooped his shoulders as he watched Johan walk away.

  News of another mission changed the Mad Dogs’ mood and lifted their spirits. Electricity almost sparked in the air. The team’s mood focused almost instantly into a state of readiness. Even as the hot and humid summer night tried to zap their vitality, the team quickly concluded the mission briefing and excitedly readied to leave.

  Once airborne they fell into their routine, exhibiting the same attitude as riders of the New York subway: bored, detached.

  It was considered a very difficult assignment because of the unusually high traffic in the area, the number of booby-traps set and, most importantly, because of the counter-insurgency activity present. That was a nice way of saying that the VC had people out looking for recon teams. Eyes shrugged as he remembered that an Army Green Beret unit had just failed to return seventy-two hours earlier and was presumed dead or captured. An eight-day mission was scheduled. Soon the chopper hovered over the jungle, awaiting the exit of the Marines.

  Luke was the last of the team to Rapidrope to the ground. A quick scan by Sikes showed that everyone made it safely. Each man had checked his own gear and then knelt on one knee and waited for the signal to move out. A check of the compass and map by Sikes told Eyes they were ready. As Sikes was about to give the signal to move out, Johan signaled danger somewhere up ahead. Instantly they vanished into the greenery without a sound. Within moments it was clear to everyone what the danger was; they had dropped in almost on top of an enemy patrol. From their hiding places the team watched as the frenzied group of VC searched the area ahead of them–a good forty yards from the nearest Marine. The area was partially covered with low lying dense shrubs and the rest was clumps of smaller bushes in a grove of thin, hardwood trees. Thick clumps of ferns grew everywhere, providing good cover for the camouflaged Marines. The terrain made the VC’s task almost impossible. The chance of being found was slim, if they stayed put and remained quiet.

  The VC had heard the whoop, whoop of the chopper, but obviously hadn’t seen it. They were searching where they thought the sound had come from. In the heavily wooded, hilly terrain, sound was distorted. And it was working in the Recon Team’s favor.

  Because of the fastness of their insertion, it was also very difficult for the enemy to be sure the chopper wasn’t just on patrol, unless they had a visual on them, which Sikes now seriously doubted. As the Marines watched from their hiding places, the mood of the VC changed as their search turned up nothing. Eyes noticed their relaxed mood develop. They began talking noisily amongst themselves at first and then gave up the search a few minutes later, rushing off into the total darkness. Eyes heard one of them say, “you imagine dragons spitting fire too” just before he saw them vanish into the forest.

  Sgt. Sikes signaled the Recons to keep their places. They remained concealed for over an hour–watching and listening–Sikes figured the VC might have left a man behind, just in case.

  Cautiously, Eyes crawled over to Sikes. Sikes knew what he wanted; he was eager to search for the lone sentinel. Speaking in hushed tones, almost begging, Eyes asked for permission to scout the area. “Oh come on, Sarge. We can’t spend all night here. Someone’s got to do it. How about it?”

  “Okay,” he finally relented. “But be careful. Don’t step in shit. You hear me?”

  “Sure. I’m always careful, Sarge.” Then without a sound, Eyes disappeared into the darkness that was both damp and dry.

  An hour elapsed before Eyes reappeared, walking upright down the trail toward his companions. His weapon was casually slung back on his right shoulder. The team recognized his walk; there was nothing to fear. They all stood up and brushed themselves off.

  They gathered excitedly around him. Eyes spoke calmly. “They didn’t leave anybody around here. I found their camp a couple of clicks up the valley. Dumb assholes. They didn’t even have a real guard posted. Some dumb ass kid. No need to worry about them anymore.” With a sneer as he wiped the blade of his knife ceremoniously on his pant leg. Electricity charged the air, almost sparking between the men. Almost in unison everyone looked down at his belt. The new additions to his collection were noticeable, which by now went a considerable distance around his waist. Hardy simply nodded.

  “Good job, Eyes,” offered Jarvis. “Remember, next time leave some for me.”

  “Yeah, right. Sorry, I forgot, bro.” Eyes added a slight laugh.

  Sikes looked nervous. “Okay, enough talking; let’s move out. We’ve got time to make up. Schmidt you take point. Eyes hang back here with me for a minute.”

  “What’ up?” Eyes asked, keeping his voice low as the other men headed off down the trail.

  “Just wanted to know what you saw in a bit more detail,” replied his sergeant softly as they began their walk.

  “Let’s see. There were eight, make that seven adults and two young boys. The men carried AKs, new Russian models, and the boys had bolt action relics. I threw all the weapons in the thick reeds in the stream. I hid the bodies in the brush too. Well, all except one head. I couldn’t spend any more time looking for it. It was probably right in front of me, but I didn’t see it. It looked like they were waiting for something. Don’t know what.”

  “What makes you think that?” injected Sikes, letting concern show in his voice.

  “Oh, you know. They were all kind-of watching the trail coming in from the north. Not like they were expecting trouble. Like they were expecting some friends or something. I heard one of them mention something about a meeting or party they were supposed to attend soon. At least I guess it was soon by the way he talked. Who knows?” Eyes confided in a whisper.

  Sikes nodded and grabbed his gear. Together they turned and walked down the trail, Eyes leading the way.

  The team spread out as they moved. No sounds could be heard except for the occasional whoosh of pant legs rubbing together. The team pushed hard to make up for the lost time, and to put any potential enemy as far behind them as possible.

  The morning rays of the sun splashed the tops of the hills to their left with brilliant light as they trekked on. Still a few kilometers separated them from where they should be. Sikes decided to hold- up until nightfall. Too close to their objective to be detected now, he had them move about half way up a hill to their right and dig in. After dark they finished their jaunt. The last couple of clicks took the most time. Jarvis found three separate snare traps; the trip wires were almost impossible to see–a sure sign they weren’t welcome here.

  Once settled in, Sikes made the customary thirty-second radio transmission at the prescribed time and waited for a reply. Hearing the acknowledgment, Sikes nodded and then everyone relaxed into their routines.

  The number of trails they needed to watch poised a problem. Sikes decided to split up the team–a tactic seldom utilized for obvious reasons. Jarvis and Schmidt were to stay where the team now sat, and the rest would move farther north, around the ridge, and higher up. It would allow them to watch three trails simultaneously. If the remote team saw anything they were to make it back to the others as soon as possible and report in. Otherwise everyone was to stay put for five days. The plan would minimize the chance of being discovered.

  The first full day and night was routine, not the case on the second. At mid day the jungle grew quiet; the ever-present birds and monkeys ceased their normal chatter. The team tensed as they began to examine their field of view, looking for whatever caused the silence. Minutes later Eyes saw its cause: a contingent of NVA snipers was slowly working its way towards him from the north, moving higher up on the ridge. He could see three of them, each with a high-powered rifle with scope slung over the back.

  Eyes’s shoulders tensed as he recognized the large scopes mounted on their rifles. He had heard about NVA snipers, but this was the first time he had seen one–much less the three he could plainly see now.

 
Maybe he hadn’t seen them all. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He knew the bullet fired by them wouldn’t say “occupant.” From out of the jungle the single shot would have his name on it. Eyes shook his head to clear it. He again studied the situation. He only saw the three men.

  The snipers were thirty yards apart, slowly skirting the hill, not worrying about concealment as they crossed an expanse of rocky out-croppings.

  “They don’t know we’re here from the looks of it, but they are definitely hunting,” Eyes said softly out loud. Leaning over slightly he tapped Waldo, who in turn nudged Sikes. It only took a moment for them to see what Eyes had seen. Without a word spoken, the team faded into the bush with their gear, heading for their teammates.

  No sooner had they informed the others of their peril, than they heard a twig snap in the distance. The sound came from the direction of the snipers, but close by, much closer. Quick action was all that would save them now. Charlie somehow was almost on top of them. With lightening speed they each shouldered their rucksacks and weapons and sprinted down the trail away from the advancing enemy. The number one concern was escape, not how much noise they made. They tried to keep the noise to the minimum as they ran, but they weren’t exactly quiet either–an occasional branch snapped as they pushed through the dense vegetation. The scraping sound of fabric was heard intermittently as the team made new trails through impenetrable foliage as they rushed to escape.

  It was difficult to judge if they could slow their pace so they didn’t. The safest thing to do was “make tracks.” Well into their second hour of hard trotting, Eyes, who was tail-end Charlie, heard a branch snap somewhere not far behind them. Mr. Charlie was still hot on their trail. Immediately he passed the word up to Sikes. Unless the number of pursuers was known for sure, it was best to keep up the pace, which they did. Charlie was too close for them to set an adequate ambush; so on they ran, trotting at a fast pace.