by Eric Meyer
He shook off the feeling. It had to be just coincidence. “Madame Vo, if you think it best, we will wait. Mang, stand down.”
The tiny female tunnel fighter gave him a brief smile, and there was no pleasure in it. She’d prevailed, and she’d known he had no choice but to agree with her. When she spoke, it was with the weight and authority of Hanoi behind her.
“Very wise, Commissar Trinh. If they find this place, do you think they’ll send a man down here?”
A shrug. “I’d be surprised if they didn’t.”
“Good. We will bait a trap for them. Perhaps one will be a tunnel rat.” She put her hand over her back and wriggled in the tiny space to make sufficient room for her to withdraw the sharpened bamboo from the sheath on her back, “When he comes, I will kill him. And when he dies, they will send more men and more helicopters. Commissar, we can win a great victory here today. After their bombs and shells, they will assume we’re beaten, and they’ll be careless. We will repay them tenfold for their bombs and their bullets and their napalm.”
She explained what she had in mind. Trinh would assign one man to pretend to emerge from the concealed tunnel entrance close to where the Americans waited. It was an old trick, and the Americans invariably fell for it. When they saw him, he’d look startled and drop back down into the tunnel. Meanwhile, Madame Vo would emerge from another entrance with Mang’s squad, who’d pretend to run deeper into the jungle. The American soldiers would give chase, and she’d creep close to the first tunnel entrance and be ready with the bamboo stake for when the tunnel rat emerged.
“Make sure you disguise the entrances to the lower levels so the American finds nothing. When he comes back out, I will be waiting.”
“What about the reinforcements, and the helicopter if they send one?”
She gave him that sweet smile again. “The chance to kill many of our people will be irresistible, and they are certain to send in troops and at least one helicopter. We will destroy them. Commissar Trinh, I want you out there to inspire our men to fight like they’ve never fought before.”
“Me?”
“Comrade Ho Chi Minh will hear of your bravery, that I promise.”
He stuttered a reply. “You…you…you mean you want me on the surface?”
“Yes, get ready to go out there. With you leading the attack we cannot fail. They will be here soon, so we must wait for the right moment.”
* * *
Master Sergeant Morgan opined we were likely in the clear.
“I’m pretty sure we lost them. We’ll rest up for awhile longer and then push on. Unless we hear a helicopter overhead, in which case we may be lucky and grab a ride home in style.”
I was uneasy, peering into the tangled depths of jungle, and now the artillery had ceased, the area had gone quiet. Except for the thousands of insects, birds, and other forms of wildlife I didn’t want to think about. Like that centipede, and I shuddered. Vietnam, they were welcome to it. I got to my feet and strolled around, and I could feel something prickling at my spine. It wasn’t a centipede, not this time. More of a sixth sense, a feeling of impending doom, but no matter how hard I looked I saw nothing to suggest the enemy were close.
The noise of a helicopter suddenly pierced the jungle canopy, and I jogged back to where Morgan was preparing a smoke flare. He’d positioned himself beneath a patch of blue sky, a break in the jungle canopy, and when he considered the aircraft was close enough, he popped the smoke flare. It soared up into the sky, and moments later the helicopter appeared overhead. It was still high, which was no surprise, for they’d be suspicious. More than once the North Vietnamese had aped our soldiers requesting assistance. When the aircraft hovered low, they’d hit it with rockets, heavy machine gun and small arms fire.
Morgan stood in plain sight and waved, and Murray and Goff joined him. They were three clearly American soldiers in stained ODs, and that was enough for them. The helicopter, a Huey gunship dropped lower. The door gunners were leaning out, staring down at the jungle, and their fingers would be on the triggers, ready to cut loose a stream of 7.62mm rounds the moment they saw anything they didn’t like. There was plenty not to like in Vietnam. They’d also be trying to contact us by radio, but when they got no reply, we had to hope they’d realize our radio was u/s. And hope they didn’t decide we were something else they didn’t like.
They hovered a while longer, a crewman dropped a small package from the door, and the Huey flew away. Morgan ran to retrieve it, and they’d written a message.
‘Impossible to find suitable LZ, and we’re running low on fuel. Am returning to Cu Chi Base Camp to refuel. Request you move eight hundred meters west, and we’ll send something to get you out. Good luck.’
Eight hundred meters west, that was the direction we’d just come from, and it was the last place we wanted to return to. Charlie could be there in strength, and besides, our artillery had been churning up the place with continual barrages that had only just ceased. It was like escaping from a burning building and being told you couldn’t be rescued until you went back inside.
“We don’t have any choice. Everybody on their feet. We’re moving out.”
He was tired, and with the prospect of rescue imminent, it was no surprise he’d forgotten to take the usual precautions, like putting a man on point in case the enemy was waiting for us. The enemy was waiting for us.
* * *
“Commissar, they’re getting away!” Mang shouted
Trinh turned quickly. “Which way are they heading?”
“West.”
Before he could acknowledge, Madame Vo appeared from further down the tunnel. She’d been preparing the ambush and now her plan had gone awry. It didn’t seem to matter for she smiled.
“This changes nothing. We will hit them from a different direction. All it means is we won’t need a decoy. You saw the helicopter overhead. They will have flown away to bring back reinforcements. We have them,” she snarled, her eyes gleaming so bright they seemed to almost light up the tunnel, “Now is the time to strike and wipe them all out. Keep most of our men out of sight, and when the reinforcements arrive, we will take them by surprise. Commissar Trinh, this is your moment. Go out and lead your men to victory!”
He didn’t have any choice, and he made for the tunnel entrance where Mang’s squad was waiting. “Go, get out there, and kill!”
One by one they climbed through the hatch, and he was the last to reach the surface. They were already running toward the Americans, who hadn’t yet noticed them, and he was thankful he was in the rear, with plenty of bodies between him and the American bullets. Half the men sprinted around to the flank, in an attempt to cut them off. He stayed with the rest, dropping back a little in the rear. They’d almost reached them when one over-enthusiastic fool opened fire. The Americans immediately threw themselves flat and returned fire. He also dived for the ground as two men in front of him went down, and he screamed at the rest to keep running and keep shooting.
* * *
The VCs had attacked too early, for which I was thankful. If they’d waited another minute we’d have been out in the open, and they’d have cut us to pieces. We hadn’t taken any casualties while the enemy had lost at least two men. As I watched, two more went down, but we were firing single shots, conserving ammunition. If they came at us in a rush, we were in deep shit. A flicker of movement on the flank made me turn my head, and I shouted a warning.
“Hostiles coming in from three o’clock. I count eight, no, ten.”
“I’m on it,” Byrd grunted, sounding eminently satisfied. We were almost out of ammo, but he’d managed to save a single belt for the M-60. They were racing along a narrow trail, probably a game trail. Over time the passage of animals and humans had cleared a path through the tangle of trees and vines, giving good visibility, and for the M-60 it was like pouring water into a funnel, or bullets into a hostile pack of Communists. Less than half survived the initial hail of bullets.
Some were wounded, and th
e unwounded helped drag them away. I turned back to face the frontal assault, and they were darting from cover to cover. Hitting them when they appeared through the trees like ghosts was almost impossible. I ejected the magazine and counted five bullets, plus one in the breech. Six rounds, and I suspected the others were also short. I looked for Morgan, and he’d just fired two bullets at an enemy who appeared for a fleeting instant. Both missed.
“Sergeant, I need ammo.”
“We all need ammo. Don’t shoot if you can’t be sure of hitting the target.”
No shit.
“If we stay here, they’ll bring out more men and we’re done for.”
He grunted, “We don’t have a choice. If we go out into the open, we’re done for only much quicker.”
I glanced at the bodies of the men Byrd had wasted with the M-60. It wasn’t just bodies. Each of them carried a weapon, and those weapons lay on the jungle floor. The owners had no more use for them, but who gave a shit about the owners? We needed guns more than they did, and they were lying there, like harvested wheat.
“Sarge, the guns are lying there, where they died. I’ll grab them.”
“Don’t be a fool. They’ll…”
I was already running, shouting to Byrd to cover me. I reached the bodies and scooped up four AKs and several spare magazines clipped to the webbing of the fallen men. Before I could head back, a long burst of incoming fire made me throw myself to the ground, and Byrd replied, sending a score of bullets to keep their heads down.
“I’m nearly out of ammo. Make it quick, Carl.”
I made it quick, carrying the rifles and the magazines, and Byrd shouted, “Hit the deck!”
A stream of bullets punched through the air over my head. Behind me I heard the screams of men he’d hit, and he shouted, “Move it, I’m out.”
I scrambled to my feet, ran toward him, and threw myself down beside his empty M-60. I tossed him an AK-47 and a spare magazine and crawled toward where Morgan and the others were desperately trying to stem the tide of VCs who were coming at us like mad dogs.
“Take these,” I grunted, passing over two AKs and the rest of the spare magazines. He nodded his thanks, tossed one to Danny Goff, and turned back toward the enemy. The extra weapons and bullets made a difference, and for a time we were holding them. Tam crawled next to me, and she clutched her automatic. I didn’t need to ask about her carbine. Like the rest of us she’d be out of bullets and down to the last few rounds.
We weren’t going to make it. There were too many of them, and we didn’t have enough bullets. The AK was a crude, crappy weapon that flung out bullets in a haphazard fashion, jerking in my hands as I tried despairingly to find and hit a target. They’d melted into the jungle, still coming nearer, but staying out of sight. Their plan was obvious. They’d be almost on top of us and then hit us in a single overwhelming charge.
We weren’t quite done for. The helicopter clattered overhead, and I was looking up at Jamie Erskine’s UH-1C. The door gunner stared down at me, and a moment later he opened fire, firing into the maelstrom of enemy fighters, streams of lead tearing through the foliage. The VCs, those who were still alive, began to melt back into the gloom. Some were still shooting at us, forcing us to keep our heads down, and we watched and waited as the door gunners hammered at their targets.
The firing finally died down. They’d gone, and we stared at each other, astonished to be alive.
Morgan got to his feet. “We need to keep moving to the LZ where they can pick us up. What the…”
* * *
Trinh had retreated into the tunnel, and he’d seen most of his squad decimated. A man next to him had been torn apart by heavy gunfire from the helicopter, a close thing. He was shaking with terror, but they weren’t done. While he’d been above ground, more men had arrived from distant tunnel systems. Summoned by Madame Vo, the tunnel was crowded with men, clutching their assault rifles and waiting. He smiled when he saw one man close to the entrance holding an RPG-7. His anger grew; the fool was skulking down here when he should be on the surface bringing down the helicopter. All thoughts of Madame Vo’s strategy vanished from his mind. He wanted that helicopter brought down before it fired at him again with its machine guns, and he screamed, “Get out there and hit that fucking helicopter. Bring it down. I want to see them burn.”
The man was already clambering to the surface when Madame Vo shouted, “Not yet!”
Too late, the man was out in the open, missile pointed up to the sky, and the Huey floated into the crosshairs. He launched, and the rocket traveled a short distance before it impacted the tail boom. Immediately, the aircraft began to rotate out of control, and he grinned down the shaft where Trinh was looking up at him.
“Commissar, it is done. The helicopter is dead.”
* * *
The rocket tore into the tail boom, and I could see Erskine fighting with the controls, trying to bring it down for a soft landing. He did a magnificent job, but when the tail boom of a helicopter is destroyed, magnificent isn’t enough. It hit the jungle canopy which gripped it for several seconds and crashed down for a hard landing less than fifty meters away. We ran toward the wreckage to get the crew out. Erskine was already fighting to extricate his co-pilot, crushed against the windshield.
The two gunners were dead, beyond help, their bodies broken and bloody. I helped Jamie with his co-pilot, and we dragged him out and pulled him further away.
“I smell gasoline,” I shouted, “We need to get clear.”
He was in shock and not thinking straight. “My gear! It’s still inside the cockpit.”
“Leave it. It’s gonna blow any moment.”
We dragged him further away, and the blast tore into our backs, a high-explosive sheet of flame that ripped through the undergrowth. We both threw ourselves over the injured man to protect him and waited for the flames to subside. Morgan shouted did we need a hand, but I told him no. “They’re everywhere, Sarge. We’ll come to you.”
We did just that, and soon we were reunited with the squad. A unit left with little left to fight the enemy. We inventoried our ammo. A few rounds left in the AKs, a few for the M-14s, Tam had two bullets in her handgun, and that was it. Until Jamie called over to tell us he had a full magazine in his Colt M1911, seven .45 rounds.
“It’s better than nothing, Jamie, but you’d better shoot straight. Help could be a long time coming.”
He didn’t sound fazed. “I got out a Mayday before we crashed, and they’ll be here in no time.”
“Jamie, there’s a sizable VC force in this area. If they send in more Hueys, the bastards will just shoot them down.”
“They’ll send fighter-bombers to, you’ll see. I assume you don’t have a radio.”
“Courtesy of a VC bullet. No radio.”
“Pity, we could have done with guiding them in. But they know where we are, so all we need do is wait for them to arrive. We’ll soon be out of here.”
“More VC moving toward us,” Goff interrupted, “Shit, there’s a lot of ‘em.”
Jamie was supporting his co-pilot who’d sustained a massive wound to his chest when he was flung against the control column, trying to give him sips of water. With his free hand, he dragged out his Colt, and they were coming. Pouring out of the jungle, a black clad horde, screaming hatred and pumping out bullets, and all we could do was keep our heads down and hold our fire until the last moment.
“Not yet,” Morgan commanded, “Wait. Make every shot count. Nearly, okay, open fire!”
As volleys go it was pitiful. A few shots cracked out, and I was firing the AK I’d picked up. It ran out of bullets in the first few seconds, and we were trying to stem a tidal wave with a flimsy fence of rotten wood. Although we scored a few hits, they didn’t stop, until the stream of gunfire came from above. We hadn’t even known the aircraft was up there. A hurricane of bullets slammed into the charging enemy, and this time they checked. Threw themselves down, hiding behind tree trunks, and several dived into th
e bushes, which became their graves when the hailstorm of lead smashed down on them.
“Spooky,” Jamie shouted, “I forgot to tell you, they had an aircraft assigned to Cedar Falls, and it was close enough to divert.”
I looked up and saw it circling at one and a half thousand meters. While I watched, another stream of gunfire smashed into the enemy. A guy was standing in the open doorway, staring down through binoculars at the carnage they’d created, and I knew there’d be a guy inside sitting at a console tracking the enemy with high definition cameras, marking our position to keep us safe. But we weren’t out of the woods. Eventually, the gunfire ceased, and I afterward found out the Spooky had already been low on fuel when they diverted to help us. The black shapes began flitting through the jungle again toward us. I fired off the last of the bullets from my AK, the firing pin clicked on empty, and I reversed it, holding it by the barrel. The last stand, and when the bastards appeared in front of me, I’d whack one so hard, he’d have a headache all the way to the next Communist Mayday celebration. One by one, the rest of our weapons fell silent.
“Do we surrender or what?” Byrd shouted.
“Same difference,” Morgan gritted, “Die now, die in the next few minutes or hours. No way am I giving up. I’ll shove their fucking surrender down their throats.”
We stood up and prepared to fight hand-to-hand. The VC were boiling with anger after the Spooky had ripped them apart, and they rushed at us like slavering wolves. We were less than a minute from our final, cataclysmic fight, which would end in annihilation.
“This is it, show them how Americans can fight.”
Morgan’s words were a stirring call to action. We instinctively moved shoulder-to-shoulder. Tam was there with us, chin up, determined, and ferocious. These were her brother’s murderers, her rapists, and she wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of thinking she was afraid.