15 Months in SOG

by Thom Nicholson

  Houmg and I settled down beside an old roadside shrine. It gave us shade and some cover if any snipers were thinking of plinking away at us. For a couple of hours, it stayed quiet. The reports from the men coming down the hill were always the same: “Negative sign of enemy.” I had hopes the men would make it all the way to the bottom without seeing any sign of the enemy.

  Around 1000 hours, old Houmg, who was watching the hill while I listened to the radio, pointed up toward the hill. “Dai Uy, look.”

  Shading my eyes, I could see several men rappelling down a rocky slope about five hundred feet above me. They would stop partway down the face and, dangling from their tiny safety lines, poke at openings in the rocky face of the sheer bluff.

  I was just about to say something about how exposed they must feel when shots rang out, and the men scooted on down their ropes, disappearing into the trees at the base of the sheer face. “Contact,” the radio needlessly informed me. “A Company has been fired upon. There’s a casualty. He’s fallen off his rappel rope.”

  “Who was it?” I queried. I was grateful my old unit was on the far side of the mountain.

  “Lieutenant Brice. He fell into a rocky crevasse, and his current location is unknown.”

  “Roger,” I replied. “I’ll see if we can send some men up to help you look for him.” The firing above me had quieted. “Anything further on the contact?”

  “Negative. They shot at us from some small openings in the face of the cliff. They must have pulled back. We don’t see anything now.”

  I got on the radio and called the Marine command post. Quickly, I reported what had happened to the CCN troops. The Marine commander made no promise when I asked for men to go look for Brice. “As soon as we’ve swept the hill, I’ll make some available.” It was the best I could get from him, even though I wasn’t sure that Brice was dead. Later, when we finally found him, it was clear he had been killed instantly, but at the time, I was plenty agitated at the Marine CO. I struggled to control the sharp retort that flashed to my tongue. He was obviously more concerned about his men and their mission than my man.

  Rather than get myself into trouble, I slammed the phone into its cradle and stomped away, back to my little spot in the shade of the shrine. Everyone was tense and alert, but nothing more happened until some of our men came out of the trees at the bottom of the hill. I went over to Captain Woods, the A Company commander. I explained what the Marine colonel had said.

  Woods was sweaty and tired, but didn’t get upset. “That’s okay. Sergeant Iverson was still on top of the cliff and saw him fall. He says he can find the spot. I’m sending a recovery team after him now.”

  “Any chance he’s still alive?”

  Woods shook his head. “I don’t see how. He was right in front of the opening where the VC shot from, and he fell well over a hundred feet into rocks. Goddamned SOBs. Shot him without warning. It was plain murder.”

  I nodded sympathy, but wondered if Woods thought he’d ever be warned before the enemy opened up on him. This wasn’t the Old West or anything, but I understood his feelings. We tended to put a different slant on things when we were the getters, rather than the givers. I went back to my radio. Houmg was signaling that somebody wanted to speak to me. It was the Marine colonel. He wanted to see Captain Woods over at his command position. Woods instructed the men who were going after Lieutenant Brice, and then headed down the road toward the Marine CP (command post).

  I went over to the latest group of men to come down the mountain. One of the American sergeants was smoking a cigarette while he relaxed in the shade.

  “How was it?” I asked.

  He blew a heavy stream of smoke into the hot air. “Rugged. There’s ten thousand little holes all over the damned place. Charlie can come and go at will. We’ll never be able to shut him outta here, no matter what we do. We’d have to take cement and cover the whole damn hill solid.”

  Woods came back from his meeting with the Marine. “The Marines are going to send men into the caves along the base. We’re the reaction force if they get into trouble.”

  “Oh, shit. I knew they would. Those poor grunts are gonna get hammered now, you watch and see.”

  “Nick, I’m gonna go up and stay with my other two platoons. Do me a favor and take over Brice’s platoon here, will you? You make the decision on what to do. I’ll call you if we need you for anything.” He took off at a trot, leaving me trying to frame a good reason why I couldn’t comply with his request.

  I watched while numerous heavily armed Marines carefully entered the big hole that was the main opening into Marble Mountain. They moved deeper into the cave, while I brought my platoon up to the entrance and deployed them where they could fire into the huge opening. Then we waited.…

  It didn’t take long for Mr. Charles to react to the uninvited incursion into his stronghold. Echoing throughout the cavernous mountain was the sharp cracking of rifles. The high-pitched crack from the M-16 and the deeper ker-pow of the AK-47s. Fumes of tear gas stung my eyes, and through their white clouds stumbled the ghostlike silhouettes of men running out of the opening. The VC had done just what I feared. They had waited until the Marines got deep inside, and then opened up on them from hidden nooks and crannies. It was a miracle that most of the men involved got out alive. The tear gas had done what the Marines had hoped. It had given the pinned-down Marine grunts inside a chance to get up and run like hell for the exit and safety.

  The Marine captain in charge of the search teams came up to me. “I have a couple of men down inside. I want your folks to cover me while I go after them. My guys are still fighting off the effects of the tear gas.”

  I had talked with the Marine officer earlier that morning. He was a good guy, and I wanted to help him if I could. “Okay, but we’ll have to wait until the CS clears. My men don’t have masks.” The captain, named Guenther, nodded. He was a fine-looking fellow, as opposed to most Marines, who were usually ugly brutes, at best. At least, compared to us handsome army types. With his tall, well-built frame and dark moustache, à la Clark Gable, he was probably a real lady killer.

  Captain Guenther continued. “I’ve got men KIA in a couple of different passages. The worst one is where I’m headed. I could use your help if you want to come along.” He stared at me with the hard question evident in his eyes: “If you have the balls for it, soldier.”

  Now, I wasn’t going to let any Marine outdo me, so of course I agreed. Bad mistake. Wouldn’t I ever learn?

  In a few minutes, the gas fumes cleared, and we carefully eased our way back into the cave. The lingering smell of the CS gas made our eyes water and our noses sting and run, but not to the point of quitting. Guenther sent one of his lieutenants and some of his men one way and turned down a different dark opening, with me, Houmg, and a couple of Marines right behind him. The rest of my platoon was spread around the inside of the big cave, to cover us as we came out.

  Just as we turned a corner, I turned and looked back. The bright opening of the cave beckoned to me. I think I was as scared as I have ever been. A cave is no place to be when bad guys want to shoot at you. The tunnel darkened in a hurry. Guenther turned on his flashlight and we followed its round glow deeper into the bowels of the mountain.

  Guenther whispered to me. “My man’s right up here. He’s dead, I’m pretty sure. Be real quiet. The VC are all over the place.”

  Well, he sure didn’t have to tell me to be quiet. The only sound I was making was the panicked wheeze of my breath as I tried to fill my lungs with the acrid air. It was utterly silent and pitch black. The menacing gloom of our surroundings pressed down upon me like the mountain itself. The tunnel narrowed. We were forced to crawl on our hands and knees.

  Suddenly, by the light from the Marine’s flashlight, I saw that the passage in front of us opened up again, and lying there was the still form of the dead Marine. I was third in line, and as the first two stepped out of the constricted passage, the VC opened fire. They were shooting down
at us from positions in a big cavern that opened out beyond the tunnel. The flashlight was immediately extinguished, and all we saw was what we could see by the bright muzzle flashes from the rifles. There was quite a bit of light, as everybody seemed to be firing as fast as they could. The total effect was pure chaos. Later, I had a hard time dancing at a disco, the effects of the lights were so similar to what was happening in that cave.

  Crawling as fast as I could, I headed for the opening of the tunnel. I didn’t have any cover where I was. Bullets screamed around me as the hot lead ricocheted off the rocky surfaces, and the occasional tracer left its fiery red or green glow around the circuit. I don’t mind saying I was really terrified by then, but the worst was yet to come.

  I had almost reached the exit of the crawl space when I felt a hairy, prickly movement all over my back and head. I’d brushed the top of the tunnel, and it was covered with cave spiders, similar to hairy, oversize daddy longlegs. Several had fallen on me and were running around, doing a very good job of scaring the living hell out of me. I had to clench my teeth to keep from screaming like a madman. I was so terrified, I disregarded the whizzing bullets and jumped up in the tunnel opening into the cavern so I could brush and shake the terrifying creatures off of me.

  Of course, the bad guys spotted me in the flashes and turned their guns my way. The splattering of bullets against the wall at my back alerted me to my hazard, and I dove for the cover of a small boulder, about twelve inches high, that I saw out of the corner of my eye. It was all that stood between me and the zipping bullets of the VC. More than one hit it, and bounced away, screaming in frustration at the miss. I was so scared, I couldn’t fire back. I just lay there shaking, trying to get control of my terrified body and force it flatter against the rock floor of the cave.

  About the time I calmed down enough to breathe without wheezing, the VC pulled back. They didn’t want to fight it out to the finish, just convince us to leave them alone. I certainly was convinced. As the firing stopped, Captain Guenther rushed over to his KIA and started pulling the body toward the opening to the tunnel. Houmg turned on his flashlight and shined it upward, toward where the VC had fired at us. That was a very courageous thing to do if they were still there. They were gone, thank goodness, and the reflected light gave us enough vision to get out of there. I had recovered my functions enough to help, so I grabbed hold of the dead man’s web gear and together, Captain Guenther and I dragged the limp body back the way we came. I was very careful not to touch the top of the tunnel with any part of my body. One go-round with the hairy spiders was enough for me.

  To my profound relief, we retreated without any further trouble and soon were outside the cave, watching the other recovery party emerge, carrying a very badly wounded Marine with them. I had a bad case of the shakes and put my hands in my pockets to hide the tremors from the dusty Marine officer beside me. He seemed to take the chaos and terror in stride, increasing my admiration for him.

  “Thanks, Nick. That was a close one.”

  “Yeah,” I answered. “I thought for a minute there that we were in our graveyard.” I picked up a slab of marble rock and handed it to Houmg. “Hang onto this. I’m gonna have it made into a tombstone.” And I did just that. I still have the marble. I had a desk nameplate carved on it by one of the many marble workers that lived around the area. It is in my office.

  The CCN search team finally found the body of Lieutenant Brice, and we wrapped up the operation. I doubt if we hurt any of the enemy, but we never knew. The Marines burned a load of long-lasting nausea gas in the opening of the cave complex, and we got the hell out of there. I don’t think it made much difference to Charlie. He would just use another entrance until the effects wore off.

  I shook hands and said good-bye to Dan Guenther, my brave Marine comrade in the darkness of Marble Mountain. Imagine my surprise and delight when twenty years later, in a checkout line of a store, my brother ran into him. In the course of their conversation, Dan related the story I am telling now and that I had told my brother. We had a great reunion the next spring when I went out to Denver. It generated many memories that had been long forgotten.

  That was my last trip out of CCN with guns on. My DEROS day arrived. I made my good-byes and headed off to Cam Ranh Bay to catch a flight home to America. I suffered through the bureaucratic jumble of forms and paperwork, and, finally, it was my turn to go.

  I stood outside the receiving room watching the big Pan Am 707 glide in for its landing. The rest of my fellow passengers waited inside the air-conditioned building, but I wanted to savor the sounds, smell, and sight of Vietnam just one more time. I watched the new arrivals filing off the plane, their time in country just the opposite of mine. I thought about the tour I’d just completed. A swirling mixture of emotions fought for dominance.

  Pride. I had done what few other men will ever do. Once, when I was young and lean and a mean fighting machine, I had taken men into Indian country, and brought them back. When the bullets cracked past their faces, their eyes turned to me for guidance. I experienced a powerful, almost godlike feeling. They lived or died according to my decisions. I pray I made the right ones, and mostly, I think I did.

  Sorrow. I tasted the bitter dregs of regret. The loss of those I had grown to love as only men thrust into the jaws of death can love another man. I flogged myself with guilt. I had lived when so many better men had not. Why was that? Who decided the final roll of the dice? What cosmic force caused them to crap out and not me?

  Anger. I felt the blood rush of anger. Anger that we were wasting our time, our money, our sweat, and most important, our blood in a futile conflict that our leaders didn’t have the will to win nor the guts to retreat from.

  Anticipation. I glowed with an aura of anticipation. I would see my loved ones soon. Could I ever tell them what it was like? Would I ever want to? Mostly, I just wanted the familiar warmth of loved ones surrounding me, scouring away the filth of war from my brain with their TLC. It would help me to be whole again.

  Weariness. I was tired. I was worn physically and mentally. War does that to you. You wear down like a cheap windup clock. The emotions dull, and life goes into remote control.

  I swallowed against the throat-tightening choke of sadness. A phase of my life was over. I had never felt more alive than when I put it all on the line and stayed whole. I knew I would never come this way again. I knew I would leave the army rather than return to a war nobody back home cared enough about to finish. Which is exactly what I did when they tried to send me back a year later.

  I had come to that place proud, confident, sure of my priorities and commitments. I came there trusting in the commands of those appointed over me by virtue of elected office or military rank. I doubted that I would ever again be able to trust so completely someone merely because he was “in power.” I would never again ask what I could do for my country without asking why should I? I was returning a far different person and knew my feelings and attitudes had been dramatically changed by my experiences. For better or worse would have to be determined. But forever different.

  The door opened, and the men inside started filing out, anxious to get on the “Big Bird Back to the Land of the Free.” It was time to load up. I walked under the arch that proclaimed from this side, FAREWELL TO VIETNAM. My head was high. I was only crying on the inside.

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  REMOTE CONTROL

  by Andy McNab

  A former member of the Special Air Service crack elite force, Andy McNab has seen action on five continents. In January 1991, he commanded the eight-man SAS squad that went behind Iraqi lines to destroy Saddam’s scuds. McNab eventually became the British army’s most highly decorated serving soldier and remains closely involved with intelligence communities on both sides of the Atlantic.

  Now, in his explosive fiction debut, he has drawn on his seventeen years of active service to create a thriller of high-stakes intrigue and r
elentless action. With chillingly authentic operational detail never before seen in thrillers, REMOTE CONTROL is a novel so real and suspenseful it sets a new standard for the genre.

  Published by Ballantine Books

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