The Fall of Camp A-555: The Vietnamese Army are one step closer to victory... (Vietnam Ground Zero Military Thrillers Book 4)

by Eric Helm

  Gerber saw that the VC defense of the west had collapsed and the enemy had fled. There were a couple of holdouts, men trapped in the ruins of bunkers or hootches, shooting at anything that moved. The strikers could handle the mop-up.

  Gerber turned to the north and ran along the side of a smoking hootch. He came to the body of a striker, felt the throat but could find no pulse. He glanced at the man and saw a massive wound on his right side. There were glints of white bone showing through the holes in the fatigue shirt, and Gerber thought that he could see a bit of the lung.

  He stepped around the dead man and kept going until he reached Dung’s hootch. He worked his way around it until he could look through the damaged door.

  “Coming in,” he called.

  “Come ahead,” said Anderson.

  Gerber stepped up and in. He glanced to the right and saw Dung’s body lying in a pool of blood. He noticed the two other men and then saw Morrow’s form in the corner where she would have the best protection from the shooting and shrapnel.

  “How is she?” asked Gerber.

  “Little worse for wear. Alive.”

  “Let’s get her to the dispensary,” said Gerber.

  Anderson got up. “I was waiting for the fighting to die down before I tried to move her.” He leaned close to Gerber so that Morrow couldn’t hear. “She’s been badly beaten. I don’t think she’s been permanently injured, but she’s not going to feel well for a week or so. Captain, she’s been raped, too, I think.”

  Gerber crouched next to her and took one of her hands. He squeezed it. “How you doing, Robin?”

  She turned her head and looked at him. She tried to smile but failed. “They hurt me.”

  “Yeah,” said Gerber. “I’m sorry about that. We’ll get you over to the dispensary and have Washington give you something.”

  Anderson jerked a blanket away from the foot of the bamboo mat, folded it lengthwise, and spread it out next to Morrow. He reached down, touched her shoulders and said, “Please shift over.”

  She tried to move but collapsed onto the bunk. Anderson stepped around and lifted her feet. Gerber, on his knees, moved close and slid his hands under her. On Anderson’s word he lifted and pushed. With Morrow’s help they got her onto the blanket, lying facedown.

  “One of you men help,” said Gerber.

  As Anderson picked up one end of the blanket, another man grabbed the other end. Gerber held the left side and the last striker took the opposite side. Anderson kicked the door open, and the men hurried out.

  They skirted the runway, staying away from the burning aircraft there. They cut across the helipad, dodged between the downed fire control tower and the command bunker. Some of the rubberized sandbags had caught fire from the flaming debris and had spilled their contents to the ground. The wooden frame around the doorway was pouring smoke.

  They worked their way around the side of the redoubt toward one of the machine gun bunkers. From inside Washington shouted, “Better hold it, Captain.”

  The four men moved as one, setting Morrow on the ground next to the redoubt wall. Anderson rolled a fifty-five-gallon drum next to her so that she was somewhat protected.

  Washington appeared, crawling around the edge of the bunker. “Sorry to stop you, sir, but we’ve got a bunch of VC holed up in the dispensary. Don’t know where they came from, but we’ve been taking periodic fire from them.”

  “Shit!” said Gerber. “I thought we had the redoubt cleared.”

  “Yes, sir. So did I. But they’re in there.”

  “Any of our people in there with them?”

  “No, sir. I think our people are all in the team house. I haven’t seen Crinshaw or any of his boys stick their faces out of there.”

  “Okay,” said Gerber. “Get the machine guns turned, and hose down the dispensary. I’ll take Anderson to the other bunker, and once we’re in place, we’ll use grenades.”

  “But, sir, that’ll destroy it. Ruin the medical supplies.”

  “I don’t give a shit. We’ve got more coming in as soon as we secure the camp, and I’m tired of fucking around.” He looked over his shoulder. He could barely see Morrow. “You got one of your medical bags with you?”

  “Always, Captain.”

  “Okay. I want you to take a look at Robin and see if there is anything you can do for her. Dung or one of his cronies whipped her, and her backside is a mess.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Washington scrambled up the side of the redoubt, leaving deep footprints in the soft earth. He disappeared into the bunker. He reappeared a moment later and worked his way to Morrow. As he crouched over her, the M-60 in the bunker opened fire, riddling the dispensary.

  There were a couple of return bursts, the rounds burying themselves in the sandbags of the bunker or the earth of the redoubt. As the hammering from the M-60 continued, joined by M-14s and M-2 carbines, Gerber and Anderson dodged across the entrance of the redoubt. They moved up and over, dropping to the rear of the machine gun bunker there. They entered it and found it empty except for the body of a VC soldier who wore only black shorts. It looked as if all his equipment had been taken from him as he died.

  “Shit!” said Gerber. “I hadn’t expected them to strip the bunker. How many grenades you got, Cat?”

  “Six or seven.”

  “Here’s what we’ll do. Try to blow the end off the dispensary, and then use the grenades that we have left to force Charlie out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s going to be tricky, trying to land the grenades so that the sandbags don’t absorb the shrapnel and force of the explosion.”

  A voice from outside called, “Need some help?”

  Gerber recognized Fetterman and called back, “What you got?”

  “Flamethrower.”

  “Good Christ, Tony, get up here.”

  Fetterman slid into view and then dropped into the bunker. He eased his way around because of the tanks strapped to his back. “What’s the problem?”

  “Just burn the back off the dispensary. The Cat and I’ll take care of the rest of it.”

  “Yes, sir. It’ll only take a second.” Fetterman moved back to the entrance, braced himself so that he was looking at the rear of the dispensary. The bunkers had been positioned with the assumption that the Americans would hold both the bunkers and the redoubt so that Fetterman had an excellent view of the dispensary.

  He pulled the trigger, and the compressed gases forced the napalm stream out. It covered the back of the dispensary. Fetterman shifted and hosed down the side as well. A couple of shots were directed at him from the dispensary, but they missed.

  Then a volley slammed into the bunker. It came from Gerber’s quarters. Fetterman didn’t hesitate. He whirled and pulled the trigger, setting the Captain’s hootch on fire. A man sprinted from the door, and the machine gunner in the other bunker cut him down.

  A second burst came from Gerber’s hootch and then a piercing scream as the flames engulfed the whole building. Apparently a second man had not run.

  Gerber remembered the tunnel that connected his hootch with the command post where the firing controls had been. He turned and said, “Tony?”

  Fetterman understood the question. “No problem, Captain. I collapsed the tunnel before I vacated that position. If there is anyone in your hootch, they won’t get out that way.”

  At that moment six men burst from the dispensary, their weapons firing. Gerber jammed his rifle out the firing port, against the edge so that he could see back into the redoubt. He fired rapidly. The M-60 in the other bunker opened up, spitting ruby tracers at the men. One by one they fell, sprawling into the dirt.

  Gerber then dodged around Fetterman and out the rear of the bunker. He slid down the outside of the redoubt and moved across the entrance to where Washington crouched with Morrow.

  “How is she?”

  “She’ll be okay, Captain. Her injuries, while extremely painful, are not life threatening. I gave her a shot.”


  “Good.” He looked up as Novak appeared beside him.

  “Most of the camp is secure, sir,” he reported. “Damage has been held to the maximum.”

  Gerber rubbed a hand over his face. He noticed suddenly that there was very little shooting going on — an occasional round fired, or the explosion of a round cooking off in one of the burning bunkers. Now that the sun was up, he could see the damage to the east side of the camp. It didn’t seem that there was a structure left standing that wasn’t burning. Black smoke billowed everywhere.

  Inside the redoubt the fires in the dispensary and his hootch had spread so that the Americans’ quarters were burning, too. The top of the team house was beginning to smoke, indicating that it would go up soon.

  “Cat,” called Gerber, “get those people out of the team house before they fry.”

  There was no response, but Gerber saw the big man appear and sprint for the team house. Gerber turned his attention back to Novak. “You got a casualty list yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Okay. We’re going to have to see if any of Minh’s LLDB team survived. Any who might be on our side. They can help sort this out. Minh should be in on the first chopper. Bates arranged to get him recalled from Saigon.” Gerber looked around and yelled, “Bocker?”

  The commo sergeant appeared. He was carrying an M-2 carbine. The sleeve of his uniform was torn, and there was dirt smeared across his face. There was a ragged stain of blood on the front of his shirt.

  “You hurt?”

  Bocker looked at the blood and smiled. “Not mine.”

  “Good. We got any working radios?”

  “Take a few minutes more, but I think I can get the uniform up. Providing the antenna isn’t down.”

  “Do what you can. Don’t waste a lot of time on it. Worse comes to worst, you can use one of the Prick-10s and see about getting assistance in here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tony?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get on the radio as soon as we find one that’s working and get the Air Force to hit the open area south of the camp. They might get someone. And see if you can get Justin and Sully’s people in. They don’t need to stay out now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gerber looked down at Morrow. Then he glanced around the camp and realized that it was gone. Burned. Everything was either burned or in the process of burning. There was no firefighting equipment on the camp. There were some fire extinguishers but nothing to deal with the problem that he had now. All he could do was watch Camp A-555 burn and hope that no one was killed in the fires.

  He saw Crinshaw and his men coming across the open area of the redoubt and wanted to duck away but knew it wouldn’t work. Crinshaw would find him sooner or later.

  As he got close, Crinshaw shouted, “I want my aircraft to get off this camp. I want it now.”

  Gerber shook his head. He was tempted to tell Crinshaw to take one of those that was burning on the runway but said instead, “Transport will be arranged as soon as the wounded are evacuated.” He didn’t tell Crinshaw that one of his Hueys had survived the assault. Gerber was going to pull one of the pilots aside and talk to him about flying the most seriously wounded out.

  “You just hurry it up, boy,” said Crinshaw. “Now where can I wait?”

  Gerber looked past the general at the destruction around him. The commo bunker seemed to be in about the best shape. He could see that one of the walls had fallen in and that some of the sandbags were smoking where flaming debris had landed.

  Gerber shrugged, “I don’t know, General. Take your pick of locations. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a camp to worry about.”

  “Looks like you ain’t got shit,” said Crinshaw.

  “You might be right about that,” agreed Gerber, “but there are some things I’ve got to do.” He turned his back on Crinshaw and headed toward the remains of the Tai area. There was a large group of men standing around there in a dazed state, and Gerber wanted to get them spread out. No sense in giving a Charlie with a suicide complex a chance to take a bunch of them with him.

  He felt Crinshaw’s eyes on his back but didn’t care. Too much had happened during the past few hours, and there was too much to do. In an hour or two he would worry about Crinshaw, but right then all he wanted to do was survey the camp, see if he could get a count of the dead and a muster list. Then he would worry about Crinshaw and his staff. But not until then.

  CHAPTER 20

  U.S. ARMY SPECIAL FORCES CAMP A-555

  In the hours since the last VC had fled into the elephant grass and fields south of the camp, many of the fires had burned themselves out. The aircraft that had crashed onto the runway were smoking debris no longer recognizable as aircraft. Almost every hootch in the Vietnamese and the Tai sections of the camp had burned. There were walls of sandbags where the hootches had been and piles of black smoking rubble inside them. The bunkers had been destroyed; most of them now resembled craters. The fire control tower lay on its side, the platform on top shattered.

  Inside the redoubt the destruction continued. The dispensary was gone. Gerber’s hootch and the quarters of the other Americans had burned to the ground. The team house had finally collapsed in on itself. The only thing that had survived was the refrigerator. It was blackened by the fire and the door handle had melted away, but the kerosene engine still ran.

  Washington had set up shop on the helipad, figuring he was going to have to evac everyone who was hurt, after the Huey that Crinshaw’s staff had arrived in took off for Saigon with wounded. He had used everything that he had carried in his medical bag, everything that he had scrounged from the first-aid kits, and was reduced to giving the wounded water. Dust-Off ships had been in four times, taking the badly wounded out. Morrow had refused to go on any of those ships, claiming that men shot in combat deserved first priority.

  Gerber had been by to talk to her once, laughing when she had reminded him that it was his fault. He had told her to stay in the camp where she would be safe. He had laughed because her words cut to the bone. She was absolutely right. It had been his fault. But then the decision had been the correct one. He just didn’t argue the point with her.

  From there he had split the men into teams to get the camp into some kind of shape. He included the strikers and LLDB members who had come in with Smith and Tyme about an hour earlier. They were working to restring the concertina wire outside the camp and were attempting to get a couple of the key bunkers ready for nightfall.

  That finished, Gerber strolled the camp again, surveying the damage. There were bodies lined along the runway. The ones covered by poncho liners belonged to the strikers killed in the attack. Those tumbled into heaps at the south end of the runway belonged to the enemy.

  Gerber stopped and stared at the long line of covered bodies. Somehow that made them seem more dead. Lying in the dirt where they fell was one thing, but when the graves registration people came through and picked up the bodies, it somehow made the death more real. More final. Gerber wouldn’t have been able to explain it to anyone who asked. It was just something that he felt.

  Bocker approached and announced, “Choppers are inbound. I think this is General Hull’s party. Asked for permission to land and made it clear that, if it’s inconvenient, they’ll divert.”

  “No,” said Gerber. “Tell Hull he’s welcome. Advise him to shoot to the south end of the runway. I’ll get Crinshaw and we’ll go meet the aircraft.”

  Bocker smiled. “Old Billy Joe is hopping mad. Was screaming at me for not getting the radios working sooner so that he could get out. Threatened to have us all sent home or to LBJ.”

  “I might remind you that Crinshaw is a general officer.”

  “Yes, sir. There’s no accounting for some things.”

  Now Gerber smiled. “I try to chew you out diplomatically and you turn it around on me.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll tell General Hull that you’re expecting him.”

  Gerbe
r watched Bocker walk back to the commo bunker. He had set up the radios on the outside of the bunker, using the PRC-10s to complement the single UHF radio he had managed to fix.

  Moments later the captain heard the sound of helicopters in the distance and turned to look. He raised a hand to shade his eyes. He hadn’t noticed how hot or how bright it was until now. He watched the helicopters approach. He saw Crinshaw leave the commo bunker, three of his flunkies in tow. Crinshaw stopped near the ruin of the fire control tower, glanced into the sky and then pointed out the helicopters. Crinshaw changed direction then, moving rapidly toward Gerber.

  “Captain,” he shouted. “I’ll want to catch a ride back on those choppers. You arrange it.”

  Gerber looked away and then back at the general. “Not my choppers, sir. You’ll have to make your own arrangements.” He turned to walk away.

  “Captain Gerber,” snapped Crinshaw, “I have had about enough of your attitude. I want you to think about that.”

  Gerber stopped and spun. Behind Crinshaw Gerber could see the smoking ruins that had been his camp. Flanking him were the bodies of the men killed. Crinshaw had swooped in without coordination, had violated a dozen regulations with his actions and now was demanding that he be put on the first available transport. Gerber just couldn’t see it.

  Before he could speak, the lead aircraft crossed the wire on the northern side of the camp and hovered down the runway, over the wreckage of the crashed helicopters and the remains of Crinshaw’s Huey. The rotor wash caught the edges of some of the poncho-wrapped bodies, flipping the covering back, revealing the dead. Gerber looked at them and then at Crinshaw but didn’t speak.

  The lead ship touched down, and as the pilot rolled off his throttle, General Hull stepped out. Hull, wearing a helmet, clean fatigues and a holstered pistol, surveyed the ruins and then stepped to Gerber.

  “What’s the situation?”

  “Well, General,” Gerber began, “as you can see—”

  Crinshaw forced himself between Gerber and Hull. “We managed to hold the camp, General,” said Crinshaw. “I directed the fighting in the redoubt and would now like to get back to Saigon. I have important duties to perform.”