15 Months in SOG

by Thom Nicholson

  “Shit, man. We’re not big enough to take on a company. I only brought thirty-six men.”

  “I know, Dai Uy, but sooner or later there’s gotta be some stragglers or somethin’ headin’ south. We’ll just have to find a place where we can see the road without them seeing us. Then, it’s just a matter of gettin’ lucky.”

  I nodded. “I guess so. Okay, lead us to a good spot for an RON. I wanna be on the trail at daybreak tomorrow. The quicker we get to the road, the quicker we can get an ambush set up.”

  For that mission, we had to bring several boxes of Italian Green along. The heavy boxes of booby-trapped mortar ammunition were supposed to be left near ammo dumps or troop bivouac spots. As soon as Mac and I were satisfied we had all the poop we were gonna get from Sergeant Boker, I signaled for the men to gather their gear and get ready to move.

  “The first trail we come to,” I whispered to Mac, “we’re dropping this crap. We’ll make our own ammo dump.” It wasn’t too long before we crossed a tiny little path, and we quickly put a pile of mortar rounds out in the middle of it. If I had to guess, I’d say the stuff is still there, molding away in the jungle. The idea might have sounded good at headquarters, but the pukes who thought it up never had to hump eighty-pound boxes of booby-trapped 82mm mortar rounds through steaming hot jungle. As I mentioned earlier, I had a real heartburn with the concept.

  We went into our RON perimeter a few hours later, alongside a footpath that appeared to be heavily used. I set up the classic L-shaped ambush, and we settled in for the night. Like all trips into the bush, we had to suffer through the unceasing assaults of bloodthirsty mosquitoes and no-see-ums. The first night was always the hardest. Bugs and nerves made sure nobody slept, and the dawn always seemed a long time coming. In my case, the bugs’ absolute rapture over the taste of my blood made worrying about the enemy a distant problem. We didn’t take insect repellant on operations because of its distinct odor, one that Charlie would recognize. All I could do was roll down my sleeves, pull a mosquito net over my face, and suffer.

  Like every morning before or since, dawn finally came, and we moved out toward the waiting rendezvous with the enemy. He was close; everyone could sense it, so we moved slow and careful.

  We headed for a spot I had picked on the map that seemed ideal for an ambush site. It was about six klicks according to the map, maybe eight klicks’ actual travel distance from where we were. But, it took us all day. That’s how thick the jungle was. We came to a particularly tangled section of jungle and slowly penetrated into its dank interior. Suddenly, the column came to a halt. “What the hell’s the matter?” I hissed up the line toward the front. “Get moving, the day’s almost over.”

  “The point’s stuck,” came back down in reply. “We’re gonna have to back out.”

  “Hold it right there,” I commanded. “I’m coming up to the point. Pete, you take charge of the main body. I’ll kick some ass and get us started again.”

  I moved up, fighting my way around the file of immobile soldiers jammed up like commuters in a freeway pileup. I finally inched my way to the front of the column. We were completely surrounded by a gigantic growth of wait-a-minute vines. These were famous throughout Vietnam as the toughest, thorniest, nastiest bushes ever grown by the devil. The thorns were sharp and long and resisted any movement once some poor soldier got caught in one, hence the name.

  I’d never seen such an abundance of wait-a-minutes in one spot before. The area to the front and side was one impenetrable barrier of pain-giving thorn branches, some several inches thick, twisted and tangled together. “Goddamn,” I exclaimed to the point squad leader, Sergeant Garrett. “How did you get in this mess?”

  “Fuck me like a virgin if I know, Dai Uy,” he answered, gasping for breath from the exertion necessary to cut a path through the thorny impasse. “We just sort of got in and couldn’t get out. Now it’s so thick all around us that we can’t go any way but back the way we came from.”

  He was right. There just wasn’t any way to go ahead, or even sideways. I carefully worked my way back to the rear of the column, and we backtracked until we could see a way to circumvent the hazard. We had to circle several hundred meters to clear the worst of the stuff. By the time we made it to a spot I liked on the map, it was well after sundown. I pulled everyone back into a good location to RON, and we spent another night slaking the thirst of the insects.

  Just before we turned in, I gathered all the Americans around me, and we went over the next day’s plans.

  “We’ll use the bramble bush as our rally point if we get hit and have to bug out,” I told them. “Get back in there and hole up. We’ll not have to worry about any VC coming up on us without our knowing it.”

  “Damn right about that,” Sergeant Garrett, the first squad leader, mumbled. “Pull a couple of branches over our trail, and Charlie will never know we was there.”

  “Sergeant Boker, how far to our objective?” I looked at the recon team leader.

  “ ’Bout three hundred meters ahead. Just on the other side of this hill. I scouted it just before you got here. It’s perfect for an ambush. There’s a walkin’ trail built along the far side of this big hill, with a steep drop-off to a creek at the bottom. We can get in position above the trail, in good cover, and still be close to it.”

  I nodded. “Okay, first thing tomorrow, we’ll sneak in slow and easy, set up the ambush, and see who comes along. I don’t want any firing, and for sure don’t let your men move around once we get in position. I’ll start the shindig with my trusty little ol’ silenced pistol, and we’ll see how it goes from there. Now, get some sleep, if you can.”

  I spent another night fighting a war against the bloodsuckers, losing it badly. The morning sun was a welcome visitor. “I’m gonna be bled dry before we even get a chance at a snatch, the way these bugs are after me,” I grumbled to McMurray.

  The recon team took off, and we settled in to await their signal to move up. In about an hour we got the call. “I’ve found a great spot,” Sergeant Boker called back. “Head out at a direct 180 from the RON, and we’ll pick you up just before you reach the trail.”

  “Roger,” I whispered back. “Any activity on the road?”

  “Negative. All quiet.”

  I got the platoon going and stayed up front with Lieutenant McMurray. “We’ll run into the recon team just ahead. Don’t get trigger-happy,” I cautioned.

  “Gotcha, Dai Uy,” was all he said. Mac knew his business, but it made me feel better to remind him.

  Sergeant Boker suddenly stepped out of the bushes with one of his Yards. His unexpected appearance almost made me forget my own advice. The brush was as thick around there as anyplace I ever saw in South Vietnam; fighting would have to be at extremely close range. That meant it would be easy to lose anybody after us, as well.

  “We found a great spot, Dai Uy,” he reported. “Follow me.” He headed off to the right, down the steep hill.

  Sure enough, it was a great spot for an ambush. The trail followed the side of the huge hill, and the far side was a steep drop-off, covered in heavy brush. Two small ridges came down almost to the edge of the trail, giving a perfect spot for the snatch team—McMurray, Pham, and three Montagnard soldiers. Sergeant Garrett had the rest of the platoon on the second ridge, where he could cover the snatch and our retreat up the hillside. To watch our backs, I put Sergeant Boker and his recon team on top of the hill above me. It was tactically sound, and it got him away from the trail. I certainly didn’t want him or his men, instead of my platoon, grabbing a POW. Once everyone was situated, we settled down to wait for some poor schmuck to come diddy-bopping down the trail. My plan was that I’d shoot him in the leg with the silenced pistol, grab his ass, and beat feet to the pickup point. Then, fame, fortune, and a fabulous time would all be mine. I silently hummed a tune as I waited for my gold mine to arrive.

  By the end of the day, I was all out of tunes, and we hadn’t seen a soul, except for high-flying fighter-bo
mbers headed somewhere along the myriad of trails that comprised the Ho Chi Minh trail complex.

  At dusk, I pulled the men back to the place where we’d spent the previous night. The men had laid at the ambush site all day, and biological functions had to be attended to. Besides, we couldn’t do any good after dark since the enemy would probably lay up until morning. We really needed daylight to snatch and run.

  “So, we were unlucky,” I said to McMurray after we settled in for another night. “Maybe tomorrow. The only thing is, I may be dead from loss of blood. What is it about me that these damn mosquitoes love so?”

  “Shit, Dai Uy,” Sergeant Garrett laughed as he listened to me complain. “These Vietnam bugs are smart. They know better than to get after us dust-grubbin’ foot soldiers when there’s blue-blooded officers around to gnaw on.”

  He chuckled smugly, and settled in the little spot he’d made for the night, his head and rifle pointed away from the center of the camp, the way we always slept, ready to take on any unexpected enemy assault.

  “If I thought these bloodthirsty bastards had that much savvy, I’d field promote you to general, my good Sergeant,” I grumbled as I tried to make myself as inconspicuous and comfortable as possible.

  The next day was as unproductive as the one before. We spent it lying quietly, suffering the sun and bugs, without any sign of foot traffic. “I wonder if the NVA has quit sending troops south?” I complained that night. “Maybe the war is over, and they forgot to tell us?”

  I scratched in the dirt while describing my next bright move. “Let’s split up tomorrow. I’ll stay here with ten men, Pete, you and Sergeant Boker each take ten and cover the next two trails to the west. If anybody snatches or gets hit, we all pull back to the extraction LZ together. We’ll put up a stand there if there’s a bunch of ’em. Sound all right to you?”

  They all agreed it was as good as any other plan they could think up, so we settled in for another night battling the bugs.

  The next morning, we split up, and I took my bunch back to the same place we had spent the last two days. By mid-morning, the other two teams were in place along smaller trails to the west, and we sweated out the hours.

  About two, I thought I heard the faint popping of gunfire. My men did as well, and their eyes turned to Pham, who was waiting by the radio. “Snatch Six, this is Five. Over.” It was Pete McMurray.

  I grabbed the radiophone and whispered a reply, “This is Six. Go ahead. Over.”

  Pete’s voice came back, excitement in his every word. “This is Five. We have a score. Headed back to the LZ. Over.”

  The lucky little bastard, I thought to myself, Why wasn’t it me? I answered softly, “Roger, Five. Any pursuit?”

  “Negative, Six. There was just four of the little mothers. We popped three and grabbed one. We’re headed out now for the Lima Zulu.”

  I acknowledged and put in a call for Sergeant Boker’s team to pull back to the LZ as well. He rogered, and I turned to signal for my team to wrap it up, when Pham grabbed my shoulder.

  “Dai Uy,” he whispered and pointed with his head. “VC come.”

  Sure enough, two dudes came waltzing around the corner, rifles casually slung on their shoulders, jabbering it up like Mutt and Jeff on a Sunday walk in the park. I had to make a quick decision. Did we take them, or lie low and scoot as soon as they disappeared down the road? I knew we didn’t have much time, but I wanted my own POW badly, so I gave the signal we were going to make a snatch and waited in the bushes by the edge of the road.

  As the two soldiers got close, I took a quick look around. Not another soul in sight. It was going to be a perfect snatch, better than John Wayne did in the movies. The two unsuspecting targets walked closer and seemed oblivious to us.

  Grinning in anticipation, I eased the bulbous nose of the silenced pistol free of the bush I was hidden behind, aimed and fired. Sfitt! The sound was hardly loud enough to bother a skittish cat. My .22 hollow-point round took the first guy right above the ear. He started folding like a limp dishrag, just barely alerting his companion that anything was amiss. The second fellow was just starting to turn when I popped him in his right knee. He fell with a shallow squeal, more like a startled baby than a wounded man. Pham and I were all over him before he even reached the ground. I grabbed his rifle, and Pham smacked him on the head two or three times with the leather sap he was carrying. The wounded man was out like a light.

  I threw his rifle to Pham and gathered up the limp body, throwing it over my shoulder like a sack of flour. The skinny NVA didn’t weigh a hundred twenty pounds; I would have no trouble carrying him to the pickup point. I was so excited I was almost whistling in glee. I had my POW! I suppressed an urge to shout out Tarzanlike in victory.

  Just as I reached my hand up to the others for help back up the steep bank, I saw Pham’s eyes widen. I glanced in the direction he was looking. Coming around the bend was the whole fuckin’ NVA Army, or so it seemed. They saw what I was up to and, touchy bastards that they were, they reacted badly to the little drama unfolding before them. Their rifles were quickly being swung onto shoulders, and their scowling faces showed no appreciation for the humor of the situation.

  “Jesus Christ!” I screamed. “Give me a hand. We gotta get outta here.”

  The ten men in my covering squad opened fire, and the NVA did the same. The bullets of both were passing about a foot over my head. It was as close as I ever was to fainting from fear, but it gave wings to my feet. I charged up the steep slope, still carrying my precious cargo, the rest of my men shooting and retreating right behind me.

  There was a lot of shooting going on, but I don’t think either side hit anyone from the other. My guys were fast catching up with me, burdened as I was, but I was not about to drop my golden prize, no matter how much he impeded my progress up the hill. We passed the only semiclear spot on the hill just before we went over the top, and some joker on their side took a shot at us with his RPG (rocket-propelled grenade), a bazookalike antitank weapon the NVA liked to use as much as we used the M-79 grenade launcher. It played hell with troops in the open, and that’s what I was at the moment.

  The RPG hit behind me about twenty yards. The noise temporarily deafened me, and I felt a stinging in my back, and wetness on the backs of my legs. I must have taken some shrapnel from the blast, but everything still worked, so I kept running. Even with my load, I was pulling away from the angry NVA soldiers, who didn’t like chasing us around in the bush. It probably meant they would be late to their next stop-off station and a chance to rest their weary feet; those dudes had probably been on the trail for three hundred miles or more, headed on foot to the war.

  “Head for the wait-a-minutes,” I gasped to Garrett, who was in the lead. “Then, cut left and circle the worst of it. If we’re lucky, Charlie will rush in and get stuck, just like we did.” I was whistling for breath.

  Garrett nodded and kept on humping, not bothering to waste his breath answering me. He led us right to the center of the stuff and peeled off, leading us around the thorny hazard. As the last man made the turn away from the sticker bushes, Garrett threw some branches on the path we left. It might fool the NVA long enough for them to get caught in the wait-a-minutes.

  Sure enough, we came out the far side well in front, with the curses and shouts of the entangled enemy sounding ever fainter as we headed for the rendezvous with our comrades and the soon-to-arrive helicopters. “Pham,” I gasped, “call ell-tee Mac. Tell him to get the extraction choppers on the way. We’re being chased and will arrive in two-five minutes.”

  After an exhausting run through the dense jungle, we reached the desired spot and joined the rest of my soldiers anxiously waiting for us. Did they look lovely, watching our rear from hasty fighting positions as we ran up the hill toward them.

  I leaped over a fallen tree and dropped my prize next to the tied-up soldier who was McMurray’s POW. He didn’t look any too happy at his predicament, but he was money on the hoof, so what did I care
.

  “How long we got?” Mac asked, looking at the bush behind me.

  “I think we got way ahead of them,” I answered, looking back nervously at the way we had just come. “We led them into the wait-a-minutes.”

  “Good,” McMurray replied. “The extraction choppers are inbound. We’ll be history in twenty minutes.”

  I twisted to look at the back of my legs. “Oh, God,” I moaned. “Lookie at all this blood. I must be hit bad. Check me out.” I pulled up my shirt, a sudden chill of fear shaking me right down to my deepest core. I just hoped I’d survive until I could get back to Da Nang and the Medevac hospital.

  “You ain’t hit bad, Dai Uy. Just a little nick on your back. It’s hardly bleeding.”

  “Well what the hell? How’d I get all this blood on the back of my legs?”

  Pham was rolling over my POW. “It belong to VC. He dead, Dai Uy.”

  “Fuck me to death! He can’t be,” I cried as I hurried to my prize. Pham was right, my golden POW was deader than a mackerel. A piece of shrapnel had damn near taken off the top of his head, and it was his blood that was all over me. I’d carried the dead man all that way, while he dripped all over me. I was devastated; my prize was gone, NVA were looking for us, and choppers were on the way. My live POW had become dead meat.

  The choppers came, and we scrambled on, flying away from the bad guys, who were still probably hung up in the thorns. My glum face was quite a contrast to the happy countenance of McMurray’s. He was already talking about his trip to Taipei.

  “You know,” he gushed, “I missed my regularly scheduled R & R because of my bout with dysentery. This’ll make up for it.”

  Hell, what could I say? I’d already had two trips out of the combat zone. I couldn’t pull rank on him and take this chance away from him.

  Making the best of a bad situation, I smiled and replied, “You got it, Ell-tee. Do a couple for me.”