“Y’all need to be careful out there tonight,” he stated without missing a beat. “We saw beaucoup signs out on the trails today; a blind man could see that Charlie – and I mean lots of them – are out there just diddy-bopping along like they own the place.” Finished with the greeting, James moved to Polack, and they began the ritual while he continued, “This be a bad mofo, my brothers, the smell of death is everywhere. Every hair on the back of my neck stood tall the whole time we humped today. There was also something in the air... hard to explain... a feeling! You know the one you get when you think somebody’s laying back and watching you from the shadows?” Finishing his greeting, James stepped back a couple of paces.
Polack and LG both listened intently and could only shake their heads in affirmation while waiting for James to continue.
“Well, that’s how it was, my brothers. We didn’t see any of them today, but I do know for sure the man’s out there, scoping us out and putting a plan together. You brothers keep your heads down and don’t be no heroes out there.” James raised the can of Coke and chugged it until empty.
“Damn, this shit is good! You want me to get y’all one?”
“No time, James, but thanks for the offer, brother,” LG responded for the pair.
“Well, look here,” James drawled, crushing the empty Coke can and tossing it into the nearby garbage barrel. “I just wanted to make sure I caught y’all before leaving so I could throw some luck your way! I’m hip about spending the night in the dark jungle, especially as part of an LP – I do know it can be a motherfucker! The beast is out there and will try to fuck with your head. Stay sharp, be strong, and don’t let it in!”
Polack and LG smiled and chimed together in responding, “Thanks, brother man!”
“We’ll be cool,” Polack added.
“Well, alright then! See y’all in the morning.” The three soldiers slapped low outstretched hands and James turned to leave. Before walking away, he looked up to LG’s head,
“I like what you doin’ with the new ‘do, brother. Lookin’ good!” The compliment resulted in an enormous smile from the tallest of the trio. “But that hat got to go, my man!” LG’s smile quickly disappeared, replaced by the frown he’d worn earlier. James raised his right fist and softly beat it against his chest once then walked away toward the mess tent shaking his head back and forth in amusement.
The two men returned the salute and then turned to one another.
“So what you think, Polack?”
“About what? Your hat?”
“Naw, man! Fuck the hat!” LG kicked at the ground in retaliation, his toe upending a divot of dirt that sailed toward his partner, found its mark, and covered his boots in a shower of red dust.
Polack jumped in surprise. “What the...?” he started to say in annoyance, but stopped when he saw LG’s wide grin. Both men burst out laughing and after a few seconds slapped hands before resuming gathering their supplies.
LG was first to speak up,
“Come on, bro, let’s be serious here.” The tall man spread out his hands, palms up, in a pleading gesture.
Polack’s demeanor changed.
“Okay, okay! Lay it on me,” Polack conceded, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his trousers and appearing more attentive.
Polack couldn’t help but notice that the scene surrounding the two men was a beehive of activity. Dusk was only thirty minutes away, and troops across the firebase were scrambling to prepare for the coming night. Artillery crews worked on the battery of six Howitzers. Men were busy removing 105 mm rounds from storage containers and tossing the empty wooden crates onto the other side of the wall of sandbags surrounding the guns. In the morning, a work detail would fill these with dirt and use them to build living quarters for others on the firebase.
The teams leaving the firebase at night would travel lightly without the extra weight of rucksacks, helmets, and food. Each man would carry only the bare necessities: weapons, extra ammo, trip flares, claymore mines, grenades, camouflaged poncho liners tied to the back of their web gear, and one PRC-25 radio per group. The heat and humidity took a toll on everyone during the day, but the nights were extremely chilly and damp. Poncho liners kept them warm; soldiers cocooned themselves, using the liners as shields against the jungle bugs – especially the swarms of mosquitoes. All four ambush squads carried an M-60 machine gun and extra belts of ammo; each member also had a single belt of 100 rounds to support the gun.
Scanning the camp, Polack noticed individual groups of four soldiers strolling toward the eight perimeter bunkers. Weapons and web gear hung limply from their shoulders; lightweight poncho liners poked out from under arms, some rolled and others just gathered up into a ball. Most carried a single green sock in one hand, usually filled with C-Ration canned desserts such as peaches, apricots, pound cake, or pecan rolls – popular treats, but difficult to obtain. Those highly-prized items were frequently used in bartering with others for something the men might need to help get them through the long, boring night: books, magazines, letters or writing materials, which stuck out of pockets all around. Most soldiers hoped to read and write what they could before it became too dark to see. Troops tossed empty soda cans into nearby trash barrels in passing and shared laughs among themselves en route. They pulled guard duty in the bunkers from 1800 hours until 0600 hours – two men on, and two sleeping, switching every two hours.
Farther away, other foursomes played “grabass” and horsed around, tossing pebbles at one another, then snatching each other’s boony hats while playing “keep away”: a single moment of innocence and an opportunity to act like other boys their age back home.
Before long, it’s shift-change on the bunker line and time to relieve the two soldiers who’ve been there since daybreak. They’ll be given just enough time to catch a meal at the mess tent, and then relax a bit in a square, makeshift structure fabricated from artillery wooden crates, perforated metal planks (PSP), dirt, and sandbags. Each of those windowless units was large enough to provide shade and shelter for a squad of soldiers sleeping in hammocks. Fortunately, they were newly constructed, and rats hadn’t had a chance to move in yet. Sleep would come easy for them until the scavengers invaded!
“I’m talking about what James said about all the gooks out there,” LG ranted, breaking through Polack’s observations. “It’s going to be bad enough out there in the pitch black jungle with us having to fight bugs and creatures, and lay there and smell that rotten, dying shit because of that damn weed killer they sprayed all over, and now we gotta worry about gooks sneaking up on us this close to the firebase.”
“Relax, G. Tonight won’t be any different than all the other times we pulled LP or went out on night ambushes. Nothing has changed, my man.”
“Yeah, but this is the Triangle, bro. The area’s got a rep, and folks sayin’ there’s nothin’ but gooks and death everywhere.”
“So it’s got a rep – big deal,” Polack looked directly into LG’s brown eyes. “We’ve been in places just as bad, if not worse.” LG’s eyes glinted; a questioning look crossing his face. Polack continued, “Did the Hobo Woods have a rep?”
“Yeah,” LG mumbled.
“What about the Michelin Rubber Plantation?”
“Yep.”
“Xuan Loc?”
“Okay, okay, I get it!” the gangly soldier groaned. “All of the ‘Nam has a rep.”
“And we’re still here, right?”
“You right, my brother,” LG acknowledged, “but tonight just feels different to me.” LG looked at the ground, awaiting encouragement.
“It should feel different.” Polack emphasized. “This is a new place for us, and it’s the first time we’re going outside the wire. Neither one of us knows what’s out there. The unknown will try to fuck with us tonight. I know it can be a bitch. Just don’t freak out on me, G!”
LG looked at his partner. “You mean to tell me that this shit don’t bother you?”
“I didn’t say that,
bro. I hate the night. Always did! The night scares me more than the gooks,” Polack hesitated for a moment, trying to vanquish the disturbing sensation he felt. LG stood in place, wide-eyed, listening intently and looking stunned. “I do feel better knowing that you’ll be out there with me, G. And tonight, we only have to hide and listen. We’ll be invisible, and the Beast won’t find us. Let it go, brother!”
LG looked relieved. “Yeah, you right, we’ve got each other’s backs. Fuck the Beast!”
The two men slapped hands again.
Polack looked toward the main gate and noted that the rest of his group was painting up. “We need to finish up here and head over to Rock’s squad for our final check.”
LG glanced over to the gate and rolled his eyes, “It’s time for make-up.” He stepped in front of Polack with two camouflage sticks, immediately rubbing alternating black and green stripes on his friend’s face and hands. When no more white skin was showing, a satisfied LG handed the sticks to Polack and waited for him to reciprocate. “Now we almost the same color, brother!”, he grinned.
The PRC-25 radio attached onto an aluminum frame with a “quick drop” harness. When engaged, it allowed the RTO to dump his rucksack quickly in the event of an ambush or some other emergency. That night, however, LG left the frame behind and instead connected a strap to the 26-pound radio, letting it hang from his right shoulder. To balance the weight, a canvas bag filled with baseball grenades and two claymore mines hung heavily from his left shoulder. Polack carried a canvas bag on each shoulder, both filled with flares, grenades, one claymore mine and smoke grenades.
LG snatched his rifle from the wall of sandbags and held it by the handle in his right hand.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
“Let’s do it!” Polack shot back.
They walked to the gate and got into line with the nine other soldiers in Sgt. Rock’s squad. The non-commissioned officer wore a holster bearing a .45 caliber pistol on his hip and completed a personal inspection of each man in the line. When he came to LG, the esteemed NCO quickly reached up with both hands and snatched the sides of LG’s boony hat, forcefully yanking it down hard. The brim bottomed out on the man’s ears; the crown strained to fit over the thick puff of hair, forcing clumps of unruly frizz to poke out comically from the sides. LG was stunned and stood with his mouth agape, mollified and speechless.
“This isn’t the time to make a fashion statement, LG!” Sgt. Rock snarled. He folded his muscular arms across his barrel chest, backed up a step and glared into the tall soldier’s eyes, soliciting snickers from the line of soldiers.
LG, embarrassed now, decided to leave his hat right where it was. He looked down and stammered meekly, “Sorry, Rock!”
Rock pursed his lips and nodded to the man,
“Don’t do that again, troop!”
When Rock walked away, Polack couldn’t resist and stifled a chuckle.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, bud!”
LG could only scowl at his partner, still taken aback at what had just happened.
Sgt. Rock spread a map out on the ground.
“Okay guys, gather around and listen up.”
Firebase Lynch stood on a patch of land not far from the city of Xuan Loc and within the footprint of an area identified as the Iron Triangle. Three lines were drawn on a map outlining the 125 square miles of thick forests and rubber trees. The three points of the triangle connected the towns of Ben Cat, Ben Suc, and Phu Hoa. The Boi Loi and Hobo Woods bordered the Triangle along one side and the Fil Hol and Michelin Rubber Plantation on the other. The Iron Triangle was known to be an enemy stronghold filled with miles of tunnels, underground hospitals, training centers, base camps and rest points dating back to before World War II. In the early part of the war, American and Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) forces destroyed most of the villages in the Triangle and relocated those families to new facilities in a different area of the country. Much of the Triangle became a “free fire zone” meaning that curfews didn’t apply and anyone out and about was considered the enemy – soldiers were expected to shoot there first without requiring clearance. Those remaining villages on the outskirts of the Triangle were extremely supportive of both the Viet Cong (VC) and North Vietnamese Army (NVA) troops, making the fight to drive out the enemy almost impossible. The Triangle was always a major gateway between the infamous Ho Chi Minh trail in Cambodia and Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam.
The Iron Triangle had lost much of its concealment over time, a result of the U. S. military spraying a defoliant called “Agent Orange” throughout the zone. A majority of the foliage had since rotted and decayed, leaving swatches of thinned out and barren earth in its wake. All the porous tree stumps became havens for red ants, spiders, horseflies, and other crawling insects, which feasted on the rotting vegetation. Red ants stung unmercifully; horseflies left painful welts after biting their victims, and a hundred different varieties of spiders sent chills down the spines of young soldiers from both sides.
However, a large portion of the jungle within the Triangle remained intact and continued to provide concealment for hundreds of active infiltration routes. The U. S. Army deemed it necessary to build a firebase and inserted the 1st Battalion Wolfhounds of the 25th Infantry Division into this quagmire to once again try to stop the flow of fresh enemy troops and supplies.
During the previous few days, recon patrols operating around the firebase had located different trails, all showing recent heavy activity, and some were within a couple of clicks of the firebase. The battalion leadership, concerned about their proximity, concentrated their efforts on these trails and kept squad-sized units patrolling within four clicks of the wire. Colonel Smith and his staff identified primary and secondary ambush locations and places where the LP’s could hole up each night. During the briefing two hours earlier, squad leaders were given small topographical maps of the area; routes were identified and final destinations circled with a red grease pencil. Team leaders would conduct final briefings with their teams just before departure, which is what Sgt. Rock was doing at the moment. He went over the assigned primary and alternate bush locations, radio call signs, and had the men conduct a weapons check. Just before leaving, Rock conducted another physical inspection of each squad member to ensure shirt sleeves were down completely, all exposed skin was covered with camouflage paint, all specified supplies were available, and finally, that nothing rattled. Afterward, the men hurriedly took last drags of their cigarettes before stomping the butts into the earth. Once outside of the firebase, there was no smoking, talking or eating until their return the following morning.
Rock led his squad through the gate, leaving the relative safety of the firebase. The engineers had plowed back the jungle 200 meters beyond the wire, providing those guards on the perimeter an unobstructed view to open fields of fire to repel enemy ground attacks. However, the ground was uneven and covered with large, deep tracks from the heavy equipment. Exposed tree roots, pieces of tree bark, branches and bowling ball-sized chunks of clay added to the obstacle course, making the march in the twilight hazardous for the single file of eleven soldiers. The point man followed a compass azimuth of 90 degrees (due east) leading into the jungle. Once they entered, most of the light disappeared, forcing the line of soldiers to tighten up their distance between one another and not lose sight of the man in front of him. After advancing along the trail for about ten minutes, Sgt. Rock stopped the squad when they came upon an intersecting path, then touched Polack and LG on the shoulder, and pointed silently to a clump of bushes about twenty feet to their left. The two men stepped out of line; the remaining soldiers began moving again, each man offering either a thumbs-up or a peace sign to the two soldiers as they passed. Within seconds, they had vanished into the darkness.
Polack led the way down the trail, moving twenty paces before stepping off and breaking a path through the chosen clump of thick brush until reaching a small hollowed out depression twenty more paces above th
e trail. This was a great spot for the night listening post. Two small trees, only inches apart, stretched up from the ground at the rear of the eight-foot diameter depression, their trunks, as thick as Polack’s thigh, would provide adequate back support for both men. Their position was encircled by thick, thorny brush, hanging vines, and other seemingly impenetrable jungle vegetation. One hundred feet overhead, the jungle canopy swayed gently in the breeze, releasing leaves to fall and gather on the damp ground.
Polack looked inquisitively at LG, awaiting his concurrence. LG quickly scanned the area and gave his approval by raising his right hand and giving Polack the “OK” sign.
With visibility at just ten feet, both men had to hustle and ready their position before it was too dark to see. Polack took the radio, placed it between the two trees, then double-checked the frequency. Finding the dials locked in the correct positions, he snatched up the handset, depressed the button on the side, and whispered into the mouthpiece, “Thunder 3, this is Lima Papa 1. Radio check, over.”
“This is Thunder 3, we have you, Lima Charlie, how me? Over,” a monotone voice responded, informing him that the transmission was heard “loud and clear” on the other end. The volume was somewhat blaring and metallic in his ear, but Polack recognized the voice belonging to Red, a member of the Alpha Company CP.
Smiling, he quickly turned down the volume and responded, “This is Lima Papa 1, have you same-same. Be advised we are in our designated position, over,” Polack answered quietly.
“Roger Lima Papa 1, stay safe, out.”
While Polack conducted the radio check, LG crawled out and positioned his two claymore mines so one pointed toward the large trail and the other to their front. He fed the wires back through the brush, plugged the ends into a clacker (arming device), and set them on the ground in front of the radio. After the commo check, Polack quickly crawled out diagonally to his left about thirty feet and positioned his claymore mine to cover the left approach of the trail. He returned after two minutes, armed his mine, then laid the trigger next to the other two. The three firing devices lay on the ground side by side, pointing in the direction covered by each mine. In the event that their position became compromised from one of those directions, the correct device was readily available and could be fired within seconds. The last thing they did in the quickly fading twilight was to straighten the safety pins on their grenades and place them in a row in front of the claymore devices.
When Can I Stop Running? Page 2