Under Attack

by Eric Meyer

  The Viets opened fire and bullets crackled all around us. The AKs could fire on full auto, and the bullets came at us in a torrent almost as fierce as the monsoon. We were already diving for the ground, and I heard several screams behind me as some of the men took hits. I was already pumping out cartridges as fast as I could pull the trigger, and the VCs were backing into the jungle, but they were still shooting, long, scything bursts that threatened to tear us apart. If they’d run, things may have been different, but they didn’t run. They’d taken cover and were preparing to kill the round eyes who’d invaded their turf.

  We were trapped, unable to go forward, unable to go back, and they were pouring out bullets like they were going out of fashion.

  “Ray, we have to do something. These guys aren’t going to give up.”

  He nodded. “Bastards, if they won’t give up, we’ll have to persuade them. Cover me.”

  He snaked forward into the dense undergrowth, and I emptied my magazine, just as heavy firing tore through the jungle, and all of it aimed at the place where I guessed Ray had reached. I slammed in another fresh magazine and emptied it in record time. Pushed in my third magazine when he came sliding back out of the dripping greenery.

  “There’re too many of them. They have ammunition to burn, and before long they’ll come at us. Shit, we don’t have a damn thing to fight with.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Lam and Le had crawled up behind us, carrying the Degtyaryov with them, and Lam was busy unfolding the bipod readying the weapon to open fire. “What you want us to do?”

  Ray and I swapped glances. It was like a gift from the gods. And there was me telling them back at the village to leave the machine gun behind. “Where are the Marines?”

  “When the shooting started, they were too slow. Four of them are dead, one wounded, and Don Kray is trying to help him.”

  The AK-47s were blasting like crazy, shredding the jungle with a hurricane of bullets, and I suddenly remembered the AK-47s the Marines had carried. They’d be lying back there looking for suitable employment. Like Commie weapons killing Commies. I couldn’t think of a better use for them.

  “Le, crawl back, keep your head down, and bring as many of the AKs as you can manage. Lam, can you use that thing?” I said, glancing at the machine gun.

  “Safety off, aim at the enemy, and pull the trigger. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  “That should be enough. Le, get moving, they’re coming in.”

  She crawled away, and the black shapes were flitting through the rain-swept forest. It gave them an advantage in that we couldn’t see them that well to target them. Neither could they see us, and we were lying on the ground, heads down. If we offered them a target, they’d have to work damned hard to hit us.

  They were coming in fast, using the cover of the trees, the mist, and the driving rain. Ray and I picked off a couple, but the rest were like ghosts flitting through the jungle, impossible to draw a bead on. They were close when Lam shouted above the gunfire, “Carl, tell me when to fire.”

  I was so dumbstruck I didn’t reply for a moment, and then I shouted, “Fire! For fuck’s sake fire!”

  I heard her say, “There’s no need to shout and curse,” and then Lam got over her feminine indignation at the way I’d shouted at her. The Degtyaryov roared a long, continuous burst of 7.62mm bullets that tore through the jungle, through the mist and the rain, and through the black clad figures that were already screaming in triumph. They had us beat, and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it. Two American soldiers with semi-automatic rifles, and they couldn’t spit out bullets fast enough to take them all. In their eyes we were dead men, and they came on, ready to sacrifice whatever it took to reach us and kill us, until Lam fired, and everything changed.

  Men started to fall, throwing up their hands as they pitched backward to the sodden ground. A few turned and ran, which gave us easy targets, and Ray and I took full advantage. Le arrived back with two AK-47s, and she dropped the guns and fitted a fresh magazine into the Degtyaryov so Lam could keep firing. Le picked up one of the AKs and joined in. One moment there’d been a dozen well-armed VCs tracking toward a bloody encounter with the ARVN or the U.S. military, and the next we’d torn them into bloody ruin.

  But at a cost. We returned to where Don Kray was cradling Tommy Jones, or rather the dead body of Tommy Jones. The rest of them were scattered on the ground. They’d been slow to react, sitting ducks when the VCs fired and cut them down with a slashing torrent of automatic fire.

  “He’s dead, Don.”

  He looked at the man with surprise, so shocked at the carnage he wasn’t aware what was going on around him. “They’re all dead, and I didn’t get off more than a half-dozen shots.”

  I eased the body away from him and lay it next to his comrades. “It’s not your fault. You’ve been banged up in that cave for so long, left without food and water, it’s amazing you’re still standing.”

  “I should have been with them.”

  I’d seen it before and felt it myself; survivor’s guilt, the feeling that you should be one of those men lying dead, and perhaps even given your life so they could live. We dragged the bodies into the jungle and covered them as best we could with earth and foliage. Not a permanent grave, but I made a note of the position so we could call in a recovery team to take the bodies back for their final journey.

  We’d done everything we could and continued our journey. Unencumbered by the Degtyaryov, which was out of ammunition, and with five men less than when we started. We walked in silence for an hour, and somehow the heavy rain didn’t seem so bad. Those Marines we’d rescued weighed heavily on us. They’d fought at Khe Sanh, been imprisoned in the most cruel and inhumane conditions, and had no sooner escaped than they run into more Vietcong and died.

  Don Kray was in shock, shambling along like a zombie, and there was nothing we could say to him. He was a corporal, the guy in charge, and now his men were all dead. He needed to grieve, and we gave him a respectful space.

  I caught up with Ray. “How do you rate our chances of getting there in time?”

  He gave me a grim look. “Better than zero. I’d say about one in a hundred.”

  “Okay, that’s better than zero.”

  We walked on, and we were all hungry. We should have checked the Vietcong we’d killed. They were sure to have carried food, but at the time we were just grateful to get away with our lives. And sad at the lives lost during that brief and bloody action.

  Le caught up with me. “Carl, why are you here?”

  “To stop the assassination of the President of the Republic of South Vietnam.”

  She shook her head. “No, I mean here.”

  “Here? I’m here because we killed those Viets before they killed us.”

  She looked irritated. “You don’t get it. I mean why are you here in Vietnam? I was talking to Ray yesterday, and he said you enlisted for a second tour when you didn’t need to.”

  “They promoted me, and the pay was better.”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  So I told her. About my wife who came to Vietnam at the end of my tour for some sightseeing, then we’d return to the States, never to come back to this pestilential place. She never made it, murdered by a Vietcong satchel bomb. So I signed up for another tour.

  “To take revenge?”

  In the dark, lonely moments of the night, I’d admitted the truth. I didn’t want to go home. Had nothing to go home for. “It’s a long story.”

  We hiked through the dense jungle past more abandoned rice paddies and saw nobody. Who would be out in weather like this? It was a tossup whether to walk or swim. With sodden clothes, weary, aching muscles, we plodded on until the light faded, and we found shelter for the night. A stone building next to a bridge over a river, more of a fort, and Ray identified it as dating back to the French Indochina war.

  “They built lots of these in strategic places, like river crossing points. The Vietminh,
as they called them in those days, attacked most of them and wiped out the garrisons. The poor bastards never stood a chance.”

  We went inside, and it had the rank stench of animal dung, suggesting this place was the den of some wild animal, but we were too tired to care. If a bunch of wild Vietnamese pigs wanted to share it with us, they were welcome. Once again Le and I spent the night huddled together for warmth, although we were too tired for anything other than rest.

  We hiked through the next day, and we had no idea of how far we’d come. Only that we were heading east, always east, to cut the coastal highway. The rain eased to a steady drizzle, but we were so dulled and exhausted we almost stepped in front of a long convoy of military vehicles. I grabbed Le and pulled her back off the road.

  “We’ve made it. We’re there.”

  She looked up and down the road, eyes wide, and mouth open with astonishment. “Is this really it?”

  “It sure is.” I glanced at Ray. “All we need now is to flag down a vehicle and hitch a ride. Most of these trucks and jeeps will be heading toward one of our major bases, Hue, Da Nang, Quang Tri, and with any luck Dong Ha.”

  Despite our ragged, sudden appearance we were clearly American soldiers, and within minutes a truck pulled over next to us. A cheery driver leaned out the window and asked us where we were headed.

  “Dong Ha. You going that way?”

  “Am I hell? Where have you guys been? Don’t you know they’ve started a new major offensive? They’re attacking strategic targets all over Vietnam. Including Dong Ha.”

  “We have to get up there. It’s critical.”

  “You can forget it. I’m going to Quang Tri. I’ll take you that far, but no one’s going any further north. They’re fighting a major battle up there. The North Vietnamese regulars have attacked Binh An. That’s just north of Dong Ha Combat Base, and the base itself is threatened. They’ve closed it off. No one goes in and no one goes out. And they reckon the base could fall at any time. You want to ride to Quang Tri or not?”

  We climbed into the back of the truck, and he drove off. We were sharing the cargo space with crates and supplies, boxes of ammunition, food, mainly MREs, and I had to smile when I saw the case of condoms, with the approval stamp of the United States Military on the outside.

  Ray cocked an eyebrow at me. “Any ideas?”

  “None. Except with the base under attack, it’s almost certain the President will cancel the visit.”

  We drove for several hours until we reached the city of Hue. It lay partly in ruins after the Tet Offensive, and the marks of the bombings and shellfire were in evidence everywhere. The driver, a corporal whose name was Matt Lucas, drove into a Special Forces base established outside the city and began to unload supplies. He scrounged up a hot meal each of us, and even mugs of coffee that tasted like nectar. We were starting to dry out, and our aching limbs were beginning to ease. I was working out our next move when he came back.

  “I just heard the news. They’re sending Marines and Air Cavalry to reinforce the base, and they’ve locked down the approaches, so not even Ho Chi Minh’s pet cat could get inside. Apparently, the President of the Republic of South Vietnam is due for a visit, and he’s refused to cancel because it would be giving the Communists a moral victory.” He chuckled, “They’ll chase down every VC and NVA soldier within fifty klicks and teach them a hard lesson. There’s even talk of using B-52s to hit Communist bases inside Quang Tri province, so I reckon it’ll soon be all over.”

  I stared at him. “Matt, did I hear you right? The Presidential visit is going ahead?”

  “It is. No way will he give in to those bastards.”

  He went back around to the cab and started the engine. As we drove away from Hue, I was thinking hard, and coming up with no solutions. “He’s dead. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Chapter Eight

  General Dam Ho Hung of the PAVN 320 th Division sipped at his herb tea as the ground around his base trembled with the eruption of bombs and artillery shells. He cursed his superiors in Hanoi who’d given him this assignment so soon after the Tet Offensive resulted in tens of thousands of deaths and weakened the fighting strength of his Division. He’d lost over two thousand men during the abortive attack on Hue, and for little gain. The promised uprising among the peasants and workers in the South had failed to happen, and many of his contemporaries in Hanoi were reevaluating the reality of the conflict. People in the South didn’t want the North to ‘liberate’ them. Some were even suggesting that people in the South feared and hated the North.

  He smiled to himself grimly. That would all change when they achieved final victory. They’d insist the liberated peasants gave their new Communist masters a warm welcome. If they didn’t, they have to educate them and show them how.

  An officer rushed into his dugout, his aide, Captain Tran. “General, all units report they are ready to renew the attack on Binh An.”

  “Do we know what we’re facing?”

  “ARVN, Sir, two battalions of the 2nd Regiment. We will roll right over them.”

  “No Americans?”

  “None.”

  He returned a wolfish smile. “In that case, we will wipe them out and press on to take Dong Ha Combat Base. Nothing can stop us, Captain Tran.”

  A shadow crossed the junior officer’s expression. “Orders from Hanoi, Sir. From General Giap himself. We are to press home the attack on Binh An, but we are to stop short of Dong Ha.”

  “Not attack the Combat Base? That is incredible, why not?”

  He shrugged. “They didn’t say, Sir. Just that there are tactical and strategic considerations that dictate we must keep out of Dong Ha.”

  General Hung felt his anger rise, and he was about to order confirmation of such a peculiar order when he thought again. An order from General Giap, the commander-in-chief of North Vietnamese forces, suggested something was going on. A parallel operation, so secret he couldn’t be party to it, and if he questioned an order from the very top, he was quite likely to receive a severe reprimand for not carrying out that order without question. The penalties inside the People’s Army of Vietnam were severe for those who failed to follow the official line. The Communist Party line, and he’d risen to a high rank by using his sensitive political antenna to know when to protest and when to obey without question; most importantly, when to shut up.

  “Of course, tell Hanoi we will take Binh An and go no further.”

  “At once, General. And the attack?”

  “Will take place in one hour as I ordered. Send the men to their forward positions.”

  “Yessir. There was one more thing, a curious report on Saigon Radio. Apparently, the President is due to pay a visit to Dong Ha Combat Base to show his appreciation for their efforts during our attacks during Tet. I wonder if our superiors are aware of this report? I mean, would it not strike a heavy blow at the Republic if we were to attack the base during the Presidential visit?”

  Hung’s antennae twitched even more powerfully.

  The President of the Republic of South Vietnam visiting the Base at such a crucial time? Of course my superiors are aware of it, but what puzzles me is how they plan to respond to it. One thing’s sure, they will respond. Quite how is clearly something above my pay grade.

  * * *

  We arrived at Quang Tri Combat Base just after noon the following day. We spent the night inside the secure compound, Army Rangers Special Forces base, and Ray was able to strike up a conversation with some of his former buddies. He came back after a couple of hours, and he’d obviously been thinking it through.

  “Carl, they have a radio here, why not use it to contact your boss at Tan Son Nhut? Face it, we’re not going to get there, so we need the military to handle this.”

  He had a point. We were close enough to Dong Ha to spit, but they’d surrounded the place with a ring of steel, and there was no way we’d get any nearer. I wasn’t sure I could trust Colonel Nathaniel Bader. Sure, he was honest enough,
but that was the problem, too honest. I could call him and tried to get him to understand what was about to happen to the President, but I’d tried before, and he’d dismissed it after contacting the South Vietnamese cops who assured him there was nothing in it.

  I guessed we had nothing to lose, and we went to the radio room. Ray persuaded the operator to put the call through. It took almost a half-hour before Colonel Bader came on the line, and he sounded pissed.

  “What’s going on, Mr. Yeager? What’re you up to in Quang Tri?”

  Of course he’d know where we were calling from. The radio call sign would have announced our location. I tried again to persuade him, gave him every reason for persuading President Nguyen to cancel the trip, and once again he told me he’d been down that route, and it was all bullshit.

  “Listen, I don’t know how in hell you got as far as Quang Tri, but you must know you’re in a shitload of trouble. Those two cops with you?”

  “They are, Sir.”

  “You busted one of them out of a police cell, and they have an APB out on her. She’s listed as an escaped felon, armed and dangerous. Shoot on sight.”

  “You’re kidding me!”

  “No, and you’re mentioned as an accomplice. ‘Attempt to detain and hand over to the U.S. military, but this man is also considered extremely dangerous, so approach with care, and do not hesitate to shoot if necessary.’”

  “They can’t do that, Colonel. Van Le is innocent.”

  “That’s not what they say. They’re also saying she kidnapped her sister, Van Lam. I don’t want to spell out how much trouble you’re in, but I require you to remain at Quang Tri Combat Base until we can work this out.”

  “But, Sir, the President…”