by Eric Meyer
I bunched my fists but kept them at my sides. If I slugged a famous journalist, I'd get a couple of years in the stockade. Even worse, he’d get a story to make him even more famous. No contest. I kept the fists by my sides.
"I care."
"What're you going to do about it?”
“My job. I’m here with these guys to locate tunnel entrances and the enemy.”
He looked around as if he was checking for a signpost that said, ‘This way to the Vietcong tunnels.’ “Are you certain there're VC tunnels in this area? Because if they’re here I have a job to do, just like you. That’s to report to the readers back home how you found them and how you deal with them."
Morgan stepped in. "Look, Butcher, like he said, we believe there are tunnels around here somewhere, and maybe we’ll find them or maybe we won’t. But it won’t be your story."
"Why not?"
“Because you won’t see anything.” He explained about Jesse Coles, the tunnel rat, "If we do find anything, he’ll go down, and try to locate the VC. It’s dirty, dangerous work, and if there is any action, it'll be below ground."
His chin jutted out. Maybe he thought he was General Patton reincarnated. All that was missing were the two ivory-handled revolvers. "I can go down into the tunnels. I have a powerful flashlight and plenty of flashbulbs for the camera. I'll bet there’s a good story waiting right beneath our feet."
It sounded like a good idea to me, sending the irritating bastard to his death. Knowing the way Coles felt about reporters, I had a shrewd suspicion Butcher would be about to take on his last assignment as a journalist. At least in this world, but Morgan interceded.
"It's no place for a civilian. Believe me, those tunnels are scary places."
He snorted. "You think I'm scared of the VC?" He pulled off his pack, reached inside, and pulled out a gun. A big chrome plated Smith & Wesson revolver, the .357 Magnum. Not quite Patton’s two ivory-handled .45 long Colt single action revolvers, but close. Besides, Patton was also known to carry a Smith and Wesson .357, "How about this? Any of those gooks show their faces, and I'll blast them."
For the first time I saw Coles crack a smile. It was more of a twitch of the lips, and if I hadn't been looking closely, I would’ve missed it, but I knew what he was thinking. If he went down into a tunnel with that showy hand cannon, within hours it would wind up hanging on the wall of the local VC commander. Who'd probably be using Butcher’s body to fill a rut in the local track. “Nice gun.”
“Damn right it’s a nice gun.”
“What’re you gonna shoot, centipedes?”
“What?”
Coles told him about the poisonous insects, centipedes and scorpions, fire ants, and any amount of bugs and nasty things that could make a man’s life a misery, and mighty short. Butcher mulled it over for several seconds and wisely decided to stay on the surface.
"There's sure to be a story. I can’t believe all the VC are underground. After all, they tell me they're retreating east after that bombardment. Jesus Christ, have you seen the pounding they’re giving them? I don’t see how there could be a single enemy soldier left alive. I've seen photos, clear as day. Agent Orange strips away the foliage so there's no place for them to hide, and it's just a matter of time before we get them all.” He looked east with a worried glance as he suddenly worked out a bombardment in the east meant they were heading this way, “How long before they get this far? Do you think they could be getting close?”
"We’ll worry about them when they get here," Morgan said, his voice tinged with amusement, "First we take care of this situation. If there are tunnels, they could be filled with VC, so we need to locate the entrances. Watch for booby traps. Don't forget what happened to Harrison. And if you do see a tunnel entrance, leave it alone and report back to me."
We spread out. Morgan and Butcher went to search the derelict hooches, and Tam stayed with me. We passed the north end of the village, walking out into the thick foliage, with good reason. She understood the jungle and the mindset of the VCs, so she’d know where to look for a tunnel entrance. We didn't find anything, which surprised her. Butcher seemed relieved, regarded it as a victory, and fired questions at us in a high-pitched, excited voice. As if this was a game we were playing purely for his benefit. Or perhaps he thought he was a kid again, playing Cowboys and Indians. I hadn’t the heart to explain to him the enemy weren’t pretending. Besides, their guns fired real bullets.
The guy couldn’t stop shouting questions, putting us all in danger by alerting any of the VC if they happened to be around. There was something else we were all aware of. If he survived, and they didn't kill us, he'd slant his story to make sure at least one of us wound up as the villain. People liked to read about how many American soldiers in Vietnam were vicious killers, nothing better than psychos. It made for sensational reporting, when the truth was, we were just ordinary Joes doing our best to stay alive. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t the kind of guy you’d want to stop a bullet for. Morgan eventually tired of his continual shouts and threatened to break his jaw if he didn’t shut up.
When he angrily retorted he’d complain to General Westmoreland, Coles put him wise, "You won't be complaining to anyone, Mister. I'll find you a tunnel, push you inside, and feed you to the VC. Believe me, you wouldn't like that."
He shut up and we continued tiptoeing through the jungle. Our senses at a high pitch, nerves jangling like banjo strings. Waiting for a shot to crack out from deep in the green foliage. Waiting for a horde of screaming Communists to charge out from nowhere and gun us down in a storm of bullets.
Tam and I wandered through the thick foliage, and I was starting to get nervous. Clutching my rifle in sweaty hands, ready to shoot the moment I saw a movement. Any movement. Tam felt the same way, her rifle cocked and ready, and I wondered if she could shoot. After all, she wasn’t who she was supposed to be. Lieutenant Tam Bao would have received at least basic training in how to shoot a rifle, but there was no reason to suppose his sister had any weapons training. If we ran into the enemy, would she know how to pull the trigger? Would she be prepared to pull the trigger? She’d better be prepared. The Iron Triangle was the preserve of the VC and the North Vietnamese Army. They wouldn’t be too far away, and they wouldn’t hesitate to open fire. Someone once said, ‘he who hesitates is lost.’ Around here, he who hesitates is dead.
She seemed to read my mind. "You're wondering if I can shoot?"
A shrug. "Something like that."
"I learned to fire a rifle at a young age after my father insisted on it. At the time he owned a rubber plantation not far from here, and we suffered frequent attacks from the Communists, so he said I needed to be able to defend myself. I can fire a gun, Private Yeager, as well as strip it and reassemble it as quickly as any man."
"I'm glad to hear it."
I was about to ask her something more, but she held up a hand for me to stop, and we both knelt on the ground. She’d heard something. Animal or human, it could be either, but she stayed frozen for several minutes. I was about to ask what she’d sensed when she put her lips close to be to my head and murmured, "He's here."
"Excuse me?" I wasn't sure who she was talking about. I mean, was it Ho Chi Minh or General Vo Nguyen Giap?
"It's him."
I got it then. "Trinh?"
"Can you smell it? It’s a faint odor, like patchouli. He uses it as some kind of insect repellent, I believe. Or maybe to treat a skin condition, I’m not certain.”
“Maybe both?”
She smiled. “Whatever the reason, I’d know that smell from anywhere. I tell you he's here."
"Underground?"
"Probably, and if he’s here, he’ll have a large number of guerrillas with him. I’d guess we’re about to come under attack.” She peered into the darkness, her gaze trying to pierce the foliage, and her voice dropped to a scared whisper, “They’re all around us.”
I scanned the jungle, and it was empty, or it looked that way. I looked dow
n, but of course I couldn’t see below the ground. I glanced back to Morgan, who was with Butcher where they’d just emerged from the village. Byrd was covering them with the M-60, and Goff and Murray were coming in from the south. Apart from that, there was nothing.
“Tam, you’re wrong. They’re…”
The machine gun fire spat a hurricane of bullets into the trees, and the rest of us opened up on the same patch of jungle. I waited for Trinh’s legions to come pouring out of the dark, green curtain. We were dead. I knew we were dead. They’d come for us from beneath the earth to pluck us into the depths, the messengers of the Devil. Recruiting sergeants for the Angel of Death.
Chapter Four
MACV After Action Report – Lessons Learned
Although no two tunnel systems are exactly alike, a complex search by 1st Battalion, RAR, during Operation Crimp may serve as a good example. The main tunnel length in this case was approximately seven hundred meters, the longest straight stretch being approximately ten meters, and the shortest approximately one meter. Fifty-foot side tunnels or offshoots were located about one for every fifty meters. The average tunnel size was two feet wide and two and a half to three feet high. Other tunnels have been discovered, however, large enough to accommodate a man in an almost upright position. Airshafts are spaced at intervals throughout the system and are generally conical in shape, approximately twelve inches at the base and two inches at the top.
The skirmish lasted for no more than a few minutes, and when the shooting stopped, we were all alive. It occurred to me there’d been no incoming fire.
Tam looked at me. “They’re wasting bullets.”
I cupped my hands and shouted, “Cease fire. We’re shooting at ghosts.”
Corporal Byrd wandered over, and he wore a determined expression. “I saw them. I swear I saw them. I know I did.”
Morgan nodded. “Why don’t we go over and take a look?”
We found nothing until he came across a body and tipped it over with his boot. A small pig, dead, and lying beneath a heap of shredded foliage.
Goff grinned. “That pig wasn’t carrying a gun, Martin. He was unarmed, a non-combatant.”
“I’m Corporal Byrd to you, Private,” he snarled back, “At least I was on the ball. I saw movement when you guys weren’t even looking.”
“Sure, you’d be an asset to any cookhouse. Corporal.”
I held up a hand to stop them. “Guys, something spooked that pig. Maybe it was those VC we thought were underground back at Bong Trang.” I estimated the distance we’d traveled, around ten kilometers, “Maybe not, it’s too far to crawl. This has to be a separate enemy unit."
“We should move on,” Morgan grunted. “You’re right, this has to be a different outfit.” He started to walk away, and Butcher hurried after him to stay close.
I was in the rear, and I almost collided with Tam as she stopped walking. "No.” They came to a stop and stared at Tam, “The tunnels interconnect and run for many kilometers. Some are even large enough for a man to walk or run through almost without stooping, and if it was them who disturbed that pig it could be the same people."
"Ten kilometers away?"
“It's possible."
Morgan frowned. “Jesse, what do you think?”
"We haven’t found a tunnel entrance."
"No, but the Lieutenant recognized the scent of this guy."
He shook his head in disbelief. “You mean like aftershave. The VCs don’t wear aftershave. Come to that, I didn’t think they shaved, period.”
“This one does.” I said it to defend Tam. I’d no idea if the bastard shaved or not, although I looked forward to putting something sharp to his neck. Not a razor blade, something much bigger and heavier.
"Okay, we’ll check it out."
We scouted around the area where she’d noticed the scent. We were creeping through a dense mass of creepers and vines when it suddenly struck me. The village, they’d searched the place, but they hadn’t been in there long. I moved next to Morgan and pointed back to where we’d come from.
“Those huts are worth a second look. Now we know he’s around here somewhere.”
I was speaking in hushed tones, like he was a few feet away and might overhear.
“We’ll wait here and mosey around. Check it out and let me know if you see anything.”
Tam and I strolled back into the middle of the tiny cluster of hooches. She went into each one, stayed for a few seconds, and re-emerged. There were eleven hooches in all, and it was the last one where she beckoned me over, putting a finger to her lips.
"In here, it’s that same odor, patchouli."
"Stay here and keep alert. I'll inform Morgan."
He saw me coming and acknowledged, beckoning to the others. Corporal Byrd, Murray, and Goff had been watching, and they walked toward him in response to his gesture. Mark Butcher was with Byrd, perhaps feeling the need for the protection of the M-60, and when he saw them being called in, he cupped his hands to his mouth, "Did you find anything?"
Morgan tried to shut him up, but he started running towards the huts. "Jesus Christ, is this really it, the tunnels? I must get a picture."
He was halfway there when Coles stuck out a foot and tripped him. He went flying, and lay on the ground, winded and stunned. When he finally got to his feet, he worked out what’d happened.
"You bastard, you did that on purpose."
Coles shrugged. "I was trying to warn you, but you were shouting so loud I was afraid you wouldn’t hear me. So, I thought it best to stop you before you ran into a VC ambush.”
"Bullshit! There ain’t no VC around here.”
“You want to bet your life on it? I’d just as see you dead and out of our hair, you asshole. It’s up to you.”
He didn’t reply, and I knew he’d added Coles to his shitlist. We crowded around the entrance to the hut. I went inside with Morgan and Coles, and Tam was standing over a primitive fireplace set against one wall, the only wall made of stone. The rest were bamboo and thatch.
She pointed to the hearth. "I believe the entrance will be under the fireplace."
“That don’t look likely.”
She reached down and pulled up a slab of rock. Underneath there was just bare earth, and he shook his head. “There’s nothing there."
She began kicking at the earth with her boot, exposing a sheet of tin. I stepped forward and helped to pull it out from the ground. Beneath there was just hollow blackness. The black echo the tunnel rats described, and I felt the evil emanating from that place. It wasn't just evil. It was a stench that was unbelievable, like a latrine that had been in use for several months and never cleaned after a severe outbreak of dysentery. It was clear the place hadn’t been used for some time.
Apart from the terrible stench, it was silent down there. Even Coles didn’t look happy. “There’s nothing. We missed them,” he grunted, “The bastards have gone.”
I looked at Tam, who shrugged. “I was sure they were here somewhere.”
“We all make mistakes.” I tried to be gentle, knowing what they didn’t know. She was a young woman, not some tough, hard-assed infantryman, all stubble chin, hairy chest, and muscular arms. Raring for a fight, or in some cases raring to avoid a fight, she was a girl, and they looked at me curiously as I spoke to her, “Don’t worry about it.”
Butcher’s grating laugh echoed from inside the doorway. “I don’t know why you listened to him. Fucking ARVN, I wouldn’t trust them to pour me a glass of beer. Waste of fucking space, they may as well go home if they could find the way.”
“This is my home,” she breathed.
“Yeah, well, you got it wrong, Lieutenant. Like you people always do.”
He looked at Morgan. “If this is the best you can do, we may as well go back to Cu Chi Base Camp, and I’ll find a unit that knows its head from its ass.” He shook his head in disgust, “I may as well embed with a bunch of blind men.”
He walked outside, and after a few seconds Morgan
shrugged. “There’s nothing here. We may as well get some fresh air. That stink is making me want to puke.”
We were out in the open, in the center of the village, and they chose that moment to attack. How in hell they managed to creep up on us without making a sound I’d no idea, although we guessed later that they’d emerged from a tunnel. One moment it was quiet, apart from Butcher’s moaning about stupid grunts, and the next they fell on us, a horde of shrieking, hate-filled VC spitting bullets and hatred in equal measure.
We were fucked. No cover, outnumbered, outgunned, taken by surprise, and we were looking at death in black pajamas. In a reflex action I pushed Tam back toward the hooch and stood in front of her, firing at the charging enemy, some unconscious, atavistic part of me telling me to protect the girl. I took a bullet in the side that spun me around, and I knelt on the ground to get my balance back. We were dead men, but I’d go down fighting these slant-eyed mothers first.
Chapter Five
MACV After Action Report – Lessons Learned
Experience from the U.S. 25th infantry Division indicates that in some cases the shafts are dug from inside the tunnel by rodents held against the tunnel roof in cages, the animals in turn burrowing to the surface leaving an extremely difficult to detect, but functional air shaft. Rooms approximately four feet by six feet by three feet in height were found every one hundred meters. Shells were provided along one side wall, together with various types of seats. These rooms were also found at the ends of secondary tunnels. At thirty to forty-meter intervals in the main tunnel wall, small offshoots were noted with bamboo back walls. Further investigation revealed excavation shafts leading to the surface from behind the bamboo walls. The shaft, however, being filled in with dirt after the adjacent tunnel section had been completed.
Corporal Byrd saved us. By a stroke of luck, he'd been reloading his M-60, maybe because he sensed he was about to see some action. Whatever the reason, he stood there like John Rambo, feet spread apart, boots planted firmly on the ground, facing the enemy and refusing to back off. Bullets hissed and spat all around him, but for some reason they missed.