the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  Two instructors were on top of him before he could raise his head. “You all right?” asked one of the wide-eyed sergeants.

  Ty got up slowly and checked his movement. “Clear, Airborne Sergeant.”

  Two more sergeants were kneeling over the other man. One stood up and shook his head. “That’s one lucky dumb ass. He busted his leg and wrist but don’t have no internal injuries.” The sergeant looked at Ty and put out his hand. “Good thing you pulled your reserve so quick, or I’d be up all night filling out paperwork on two dead paratroopers. Good job and thanks.”

  As Ty extended his hand, he realized he wasn’t shaking. He had never really been scared because there hadn’t been time. The previous weeks’ instruction had been drilled into him so thoroughly that he had responded without thinking. He smiled and pumped the surprised sergeant’s hand. “No, Airborne Sergeant, THANK YOU!”

  Ty stood in the first row of assembled men on the edge of the drop zone. Thirty feet in front of the formation was a crowded set of bleachers holding family, friends, and guests of the graduating class of paratroopers. The sunny December day held a tinge of crisp, cold air, but no one minded. It was a perfect day and a perfect place to graduate. Frayar Drop Zone had felt the boots of over a half-million paratroopers as they struck the grassy field and defied death. World War II, Korea, and now Vietnam: the old grass field ringed by pines was the true birthplace of all American paratroopers.

  Ty looked around him at the yellow grass, feeling as if he were on honored ground. It seemed fitting to graduate on the ground where his dad and uncle had also made their jumps so many years before.

  The Airborne School commander concluded his speech and raised his head proudly. “It is my privilege to now pronounce you, men of Airborne Class 46 … UNITED STATES PARATROOPERS!”

  Ty had never experienced such a rush of pride. He seemed a foot taller and totally indestructible. He swelled out his chest and pulled out the special wings from his pocket. He’d had the wings on all the jumps. They had been his good luck charm.

  A formation of Black Hats, holding small boxes of parachute badges, lined up beside the formation. The commander spoke into the microphone: “INSTRUCTORS … AWARD THE PARACHUTIST BADGE! Ladies and gentlemen, if you have loved ones or friends in the formation, please feel free to move forward and pin on their wings.”

  Master Sergeant Cherry strode toward Ty with a smile. He stopped in front of him and took out one of the badges he’d brought, but Ty held out his special wings. “Sergeant, my dad and uncle were pinned with these wings. My uncle died in Italy, and my dad didn’t make it back from Korea. They’re real special to me.”

  Cherry took the wings from Ty with reverence. “Private Nance, you’re making me a very proud man today. These wings are a true tradition. We in the Airborne are the best because of tradition. Son, welcome to the fraternity of the few.”

  Ty held his bruised chin up proudly as the sergeant pinned the wings over his heart. Tears rolled down his face unashamedly. He knew there were two Chosen standing beside him, beaming with pride.

  21

  The tall, gray-haired general topped the crest of the familiar knoll and sat down at the base of a huge sayo tree. It was thirteen years ago, in this exact spot, that he had ordered his mortars to fire their final barrage on the French garrison at Dak To. The general’s three regimental commanders sat beside him in silence as the division operations officer spread out a map in front of the group.

  Binh Ty Duc, commander of the First Division, North Vietnamese Army, pointed at the large American outpost two kilometers distant. “Thirteen years ago I was commander of the 108th Battalion that destroyed the French garrison just to the left of the airfield you see before you. Today we begin planning for the destruction of our enemy again. The Americans are strong in numbers and in combat power. We will defeat the enemy’s numbers and power by luring him out of his bases and fighting him on ground of our choosing. We will be everywhere, and he will not be able to concentrate his forces or his power. The Americans are single-minded with their doctrine of the offense. Should they believe this important area is threatened, they will send their units in strength to seek us out. This is precisely what we want.”

  Colonel Nguyen Van Huu, commander of the 174th Regiment, dipped his head reflectively. “General, I was but a platoon commander in the first revolution, but I know the American firepower and air support is far superior to that of the French. All of our units have had major casualties from their massive artillery and air support. What you say is true, we can break up their strength in numbers, but we cannot break up their dedicated fire support.”

  General Duc smiled and patted the tree behind him. “The sayo, teak, and ironwood are our friends and protect us. We will defend only the thickest hilltops. We will dig our bunkers and tunnels deep. We will force the Americans to attack on the narrowest of ridges and have our defenses in depth. Our enemy will find us and pound us but will not hurt us. He will attack, and we will be waiting. When he finally brings all his power to bear and attacks again, we will fade away to another position. Plan your defense for the offense. The Americans will be broken up and strung out, vulnerable to our concentration of strength at their rear or flanks.”

  He pointed at the map. “I have assigned sectors for each of your regiments. You have one week for selecting and planning your defensive positions. Send your company and platoon commanders to your sectors within the month and begin constructing your positions.”

  Colonel Thong, commander of the Sixty-sixth Regiment, studied the map and looked up. “Comrade, when will the Americans come?”

  “They could come anytime,” Duc said, looking at the view below him. “But we will only fade away until we are ready. General Giap has given me ten months to prepare. Use your time to the utmost and dig deeply. The positions must be able to withstand the heaviest of their bombing. Use the tunnels that we used thirteen years ago. They are on the map. Expand and reinforce them.”

  The meeting ended ten minutes later, and General Duc dismissed his commanders to return to the Cambodian sanctuary, one day’s march away. Colonel Kinh, the division operations officer, collected the map and sat down beside him. “You didn’t tell them the plan was a diversion.”

  Duc picked up a handful of red soil. “Men who know they are a diversion will not dig deep enough. I will tell the commanders once the positions are ready.”

  Colonel Kinh sighed and leaned back against the tree. “It is difficult to understand the grand plan of General Giap. I know you must be disappointed in not leading the major thrust.”

  Duc nodded in reflection. Thirteen years ago he had also been assigned a diversionary tactic while the main elements moved to ring Dien Bien Phu. “We must do our part, or the grand plan will fail. The Americans must commit their main forces and leave the cities unprotected so that our forces can infiltrate and cache the necessary equipment and men.”

  “But the cost?” Kinh said with a worried expression.

  The general rose and glanced one last time at the base. “The cost will be paid in blood by both sides. When the Americans come to these mountains, my First Division will make them pay heavily. American power will ultimately prevail and they will claim victory, but in reality, they will have lost. We will be the real victors, for we will have given our brothers in the south time to prepare the cities for the Tet offensive one year from now. The grand plan will succeed, just as it did thirteen years ago. The cost, my friend, must be paid.”

  Jason tried to focus his eyes and looked at his watch, knowing there must have been a screwup. It was only 2:30. The company had gotten to bed only two hours before. Nobody would start training at 2:30 in the morning. He ignored the lights that had just been turned on and lay back down.

  “WHAT THE HELL YA DOIN’ IN BED, GOLDILOCKS?”

  Jason began to raise his head to see who was yelling at him, when suddenly he felt his mattress being lifted. He hit the floor in a sprawl and looked at spit-shined jungle boo
ts. He slowly looked up. Apparently it wasn’t too early. The pressed jungle fatigues and black beret on the gnarled sergeant standing over him meant BIG trouble.

  “GET UP, RAGBAG. TELL ME WHY YOU’RE IN BED! ARE YOU QUITTIN’?”

  Jason sprang to his feet and faced the meanest man he’d ever seen in his life. Staff Sergeant Childs, his Ranger class tactical NCO, had made his introduction the day before by having all the incoming students low crawl with their bags on their backs through the gravel to the barracks. Jason had just flown in to Columbus and had taken a cab to the Ranger Department to report for inprocessing. He was one of several who had to low crawl in his civilian clothes. Childs was only five feet eight inches tall and couldn’t have weighed over 155 pounds, but he was all bad. He had the look of a cranky range rider whose wrinkled face showed the years of too much riding drag. He never smiled and never said anything without sounding like he hated everybody and everything, especially Ranger students. Childs had a permanent pissed-off expression that seemed to change only to higher degrees of pissed off.

  Jason braced himself into the position of attention and fell back to the only response he could honestly give. “No excuse, Sergeant.”

  Childs stepped closer, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Ragbag, ‘no excuse’ is not an answer in my class. You say ‘I fucked up,’ or you say ‘I quit.’ I hope the hell you say ‘I quit’ so I can get rid of your long-haired ass.”

  Jason stared at him. “I fucked up, Sergeant.”

  “Yeah, ya did,” Childs said. He backed up and pointed at Jason’s head. “You got too much hair and ya stayed in bed when the lights came on. You see me in fifteen minutes when we have our company formation. I got somethin’ for ya.”

  Jason got dressed, wishing he’d gotten a shorter haircut. During his leave he had gotten himself in prime condition but allowed his hair to grow out. He ran down the barracks steps and fell into the formation of 210 Ranger students who were trying to get over the shock of getting up so early. He saw Sergeant Childs in front of the formation and jogged over to him.

  Childs saw him coming and motioned to a nearby pine tree. “Goldilocks, report to that tree and tell it ‘no excuse’ twenty-five times to get it out of your system.”

  Jason headed toward the tree and began complying, as Childs bellowed, “FAT MAN, REPORT TO ME!”

  An ex-football player from Texas A&M broke from the back of the formation and ran to him. The soldier was six feet five inches tall and towered over Childs. “Sergeant, Ranger Miller reports!”

  Childs shook his head. “NO! YOU ARE FAT MAN. How much you weigh, Fat Man?”

  “Two hundred and forty-two pounds, Sergeant.”

  “Fat Man, you will report to me every day and give me a status of your weight problem. You will see me before every meal, and I’ll help you become a lean, mean fightin’ machine … MOVE OUT!” Childs paced a few times in front of the company, looking at the new class with disdain. He finally stopped and rocked back on his heels. “Ragbags, today you begin the course. You have no rank and no status. Ten of you will quit within the next hour. City Team is bad news and don’t like wimps. You’re gonna do an hour of PT, then go on a little run that’s gonna kick your ass. Fifteen or so of you won’t make it and will be gone. Ragbags, City Week is designed to make you miserable, sore, tired, and pissed off. It is a week of misery to see if you really want to be here. You can beat the City Team with motivation.”

  Childs pointed to the student company commander. “Move ’em out, ragbag!”

  Jason helped a fellow student up the barracks steps and started back down to help another one. Childs had not exaggerated. The Ranger instructors who made up the “City Team” were animals who didn’t know fatigue. The hour of exercises went nonstop from push-ups, sit-ups, flutter kicks, mountain climbers, bend-and-reaches, and body twists, then started over again. The three-mile run was at a fast pace and took its toll. Childs had been wrong about the losses; the company had twelve men quit, and another twenty-one fell out of the run.

  As he was leading a young artillery officer up the steps, he heard a voice behind him.

  “GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT WIMP!”

  Jason turned to face Childs, who had strode around the barracks. “He’s cramped up, Sergeant.”

  Childs snickered. “The only thing cramped up on him is his brain housing group. Let him go! He makes it on his own or he doesn’t make it! Come here, Goldilocks!”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Childs moved closer and spoke in a surprisingly moderate tone. “Ragbag, I noticed you’re in good shape. That’s fine, but it ain’t gonna do any good trying to help these wimps that are hurtin’ already. They’re gone—they just don’t know it yet. Tomorrow is worse, and the next day is even more miserable. Let ’em quit now or they might hurt themselves.”

  Jason couldn’t accept the sergeant’s fatalism. “Sergeant, if we help each other, we can beat it.”

  Childs frowned and shook his head. “What’s your name, ragbag?”

  “Ranger Johnson, Sergeant.”

  “Well, Ranger Johnson, you’re gonna learn a good lesson in the next couple a days. If you’re still here at the end of the week, come see me and tell me what ya learned.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Master Sergeant Cherry strode into the work shed and stopped abruptly just inside the door. Six new grader shacks stood in a row directly in front of him. “What the …”

  Ty didn’t see the sergeant and walked from the back room carrying a sheet of plywood. Cherry broke into a small smile. “Nance, is your first name Noah by any chance?”

  Startled, Ty spun around, almost dropping the wood sheet. “Oh, sorry, Sergeant Airborne, I didn’t see you. What’d ya say?”

  Cherry looked over the shacks as he stepped closer. “I know before I went on Christmas leave I said build me six shacks, but I didn’t mean do it overnight. One a week would have been fine. Damn, when did you do all this work?”

  Ty set the board down and shrugged his shoulders. “Over the holidays. There wasn’t much else to do. I’m making a few signs for the parking area … hope you don’t mind.”

  Cherry shook his massive head. “Hell no, I don’t mind. Damn, Troop, you build whatever you want.”

  Cherry turned to leave but stopped at the door. He was responsible for training five hundred paratroopers a week but never really knew the men he trained. They were just faceless bodies passing through on their way to war. Nance reminded him that each man was unique.

  He turned around. “Nance, you did a good job. I could give you plenty of projects, but that wouldn’t be fair to you. You’re not shipping out till the first of February, so we need to use that time and get you some good training. I’ve got some buddies teaching here on post who will show you some combat skills that you’ll need. Come see me this afternoon, and I’ll set it up. You can stay in the headquarters barracks and go full-time to the classes.”

  Ty frowned. “Sergeant Airborne, I’d just as soon work here than sit in some classroom for thirty days and get out of shape.”

  Johnson leaned against the door frame. “You ain’t no student, so quit calling me ‘Sergeant Airborne.’ The guys call me ‘Coach.’ You ain’t gonna be in any classroom. My buddy runs the Scout Dog Tracking School. You won’t have to mess with the dogs, but they have some of the best classes on tracking there is in the Army. They’ll take you out on patrols and show you the ropes. That’ll increase your odds in coming back from da Nam.”

  Ty sighed in resignation. He knew the sergeant was trying to help him. “Okay, Sergeant Air … Coach, but do me one favor: don’t tell your friend I’m a carpenter.”

  Childs waited inside the mess hall until Fat Man appeared through the door. “Fat Man, get your tray and follow me.”

  The big soldier followed Childs as he walked him through the food line, stopping in front of the servings. “Let’s see, bacon and sausage … no, too fattening. Fried potatoes? No, too fattening. Eggs? Yeah. Put on half a p
ortion of scrambled eggs for him.… Good. Now, let’s see. Pancakes? No, too fattening. Toast? Yeah, one slice.” Childs let the cook put a piece of toast on Fat Man’s plate, but he reached over and cut off the crust. “Crust is fattening. Fat Man, drink three glasses of water and stay away from the coffee and salt. And Fat Man, don’t be askin’ for food from any of your buddies. Move out!”

  Jason hid a smile as the soldier stared in horror at his meager rations and walked to a table.

  “FAT MAN, REPORT TO ME!” Childs bellowed.

  Bob Miller broke from first platoon in a dead run. He slid to a halt in front of Childs, stirring up a gravel dust cloud. “Sergeant, Fat Man reports!”

  “How much you weigh today, Fat Man?”

  “Two hundred and thirty-five pounds, Sergeant!”

  “How much you weigh yesterday, Fat Man?”

  “Two hundred and thirty-six, Sergeant!”

  Childs shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. “We’re falling behind in our Ranger diet plan, Fat Man. See me before you eat breakfast. Oh, by the way, I have a little something for you to carry today.” He pointed to an old wooden footlocker behind him. “That footlocker is your buddy. I want you to carry it all day. MOVE OUT!”

  Jason stood in the first platoon and couldn’t help but smile as Miller ran over and easily picked up the footlocker and tossed it to his shoulder. Miller was an infantry second lieutenant like himself and had been a first-team tackle for the Aggies. He ran back to his position beside Jason and executed an about-face. The end of the locker hit Jason in the back of the head, knocking him forward to the laughs of the other men.

  Childs began his pacing. “Ragbags, we have lost fifty-two wimps. Today you completed the last day of City Week. This morning, after chow, we’re loading buses and going to Camp Darby, where we begin patrolling training. You will get only two meals a day and little sleep. This phase is the single most important part of Ranger School. You will learn the basics of patrolling, which you will be using through the rest of the course. Stay awake out there and learn what they teach you. Company commander, move these ragbags to chow.”