the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  After situating his headquarters in the bottom of the saddle between the two knolls, he went to check on the wounded. Both men had been shot in the legs and were lying on their stomachs. The medic had already given them morphine. He knelt down beside them. “We’re gonna be moving you both back to the hilltop once Third gets into position. Hang tough, guys.”

  He looked up and saw Lieutenant Dike approaching and waved the Third Platoon leader to him just as an artillery round exploded far to the north. Jason lifted the radio handset and spoke quickly. “Redleg, one three, this is two six, drop one hundred and try it again. You’re still hitting long.” He glanced at Dike, who seemed mesmerized by the NVA bodies. “Jim, have your boys take the left side of the knoll and tie in with my guys on the right.”

  Dike bent over an NVA and stared in fascination. “I’ve never seen regulars up close.”

  Jason impatiently grabbed his shoulder. “Move your men in now. I’ve gotta get these wounded back.”

  Dike nodded absently and strode up the knoll. Stopping at the top, he pointed out positions for his men to occupy. Jason began to yell for him to stay low when rifle fire broke the silence. Dike spun around, clutched his neck, and tumbled down the slope, stopping by the NVA bodies. Jason ran to him, but he was already past help. The bullet had passed through his neck, severing the carotid artery. Blood was spewing from the wound like water from a miniature fire hose. Jason clamped his hand over the wound but Dike’s neck began to expand grotesquely.

  The medic knelt by Jason and shook his head as another artillery round exploded with a CRACK BaaLOOOM! Jason looked at the smoking, hot blood covering his hand and wrist. He spun around and yelled, “Bagley, tell the artillery to fire for effect and keep it coming!”

  Taloga screamed from the hilltop, “They’re attacking!”

  Captain Elliott sat on his rucksack and listened to the radio reports. He had been writing the information in his notepad. Johnson’s platoon had made the first contact at 0700, and Dike’s had linked up at 0730. He had sent five men from First to their perimeter with extra ammo and a machine-gun team, and they had linked up at 0745. The enemy had attacked the perimeter twice but had been repulsed. The casualties numbered twelve dead, including Dike, and fifteen wounded, with an estimated forty enemy killed.

  The First Platoon leader looked over Elliott’s shoulder. “Sir, don’t you think we should join the Second and Third platoons? Jay said they were just barely holding on.”

  “It’s almost over,” Elliott said. He looked up from his notepad as if upset with the distraction. “The A-1Es are going to be here in just a minute, and the gooks will pull back. The worst is over … we won.”

  “Sir, you heard what Jay reported. The artillery fire is almost useless. It’s hitting in the canopy and exploding too far up. The tree limbs are taking most of the shrapnel. The helicopter gunships can’t spot the perimeter because of the trees, and their fire is worthless. Shit, sir, Jay is begging for help. The bombers can’t do any good if they can’t get a fix on Johnson’s position. We’re all he’s got that can really help.”

  Elliott stood up and looked at his watch. “It’s zero eight hundred. By eight-thirty, it’ll be over.”

  The RTO held out the handset. “Sir, the pilot is calling you.”

  Jason covered his head as the plane streaked over. Please, oh God, please! Please! The air suddenly disappeared and he couldn’t breathe. A whooshing noise, like the sound of a freight train going two hundred miles per hour, filled his ears, then the napalm heat wave struck. The wet forest floor began steaming, and a resinous smell, like that of model airplane glue, caused him to feel faint. He closed his eyes, then opened them again to reality. The line of wounded in front of him told its own story.

  He grabbed up the handset. “Six, have them drop again, but this time twenty-five meters closer.”

  The radio buzzed with static as Captain Elliott answered in a whisper. “That was their last run. We’ve only got gunships on station until another pair of fast movers get here.”

  Jason felt like smashing the handset. The gunships had already killed two of his men and wounded seven others. He lifted it and began to speak, but gunfire broke out. “God, not again,” he mumbled.

  Taloga yelled over the shooting, “They’re hitting the Third Platoon!”

  Jason ran down the line of wounded toward the platoon’s sector and could hear the chattering of AK-47s. The din was like a rifle range, with a hundred rifles firing at once. He tripped over a tree root and stumbled forward, stopping himself just short of a small, deep crevice. He hadn’t noticed it before and backed up cautiously. The split, which carried runoff from the saddle, had eroded a narrow trench that ran down the side of the ridge. It was a good twenty feet deep and had ugly, twisted roots sticking out from the inside walls. He bypassed it and began climbing up the hill, when he saw at least ten NVA were climbing up the steep slope of the ridge. They were only twenty yards away. He ran up to the crest and fell beside the left flank. The entire platoon was facing northwest, shooting at NVA who were behind trees no more than fifty yards away.

  Grabbing the soldier next to him, he screamed and frantically pointed. “They’re coming up over there! Get the next five men and tell ’em to swing around!”

  Jason shoved the soldier toward the other shooting men and pulled out two grenades. He crawled a few yards until he could see the NVA clearly. They were climbing barefooted up the steep slope on all fours, their AKs slung over their shoulders. They had almost made it to the top when Jason pulled the pin on the first grenade and tossed it underhand. Then he tossed the second and ducked. The first blast knocked three men over, and they slid down the slope. The second exploded directly in front of an NVA, whose body seemed to disintegrate. Jason rose up firing at the stunned men and was joined by three more soldiers of the Third Platoon. The NVA could do nothing but hug the slope and slide down, praying a bullet didn’t find them before they reached a tree or some cover.

  Jason emptied his magazine and was reaching for another when a horrifying thought occurred to him. The other side! They would be trying the same thing on his side of the perimeter. He jumped up and slammed in a new magazine. Motioning for the three men to follow him, he had taken only a few strides when he heard the first shots. The NVA popped up in perfect line and swarmed over the wounded and his headquarters element, shooting the screaming men. Jason fired from the hip as he ran toward them.

  Elliott nervously looked at his watch and motioned the First Platoon leader to him. “Ruffin, take your platoon down and reinforce the others. And take a squad from weapons platoon with you to carry back wounded. Report as soon as you link up.”

  The lieutenant glanced at his watch. It was nine-fifteen. He stared at Elliott with disdain. “Aren’t you coming, sir?”

  Elliott turned his back, afraid to face the accusing stare. “Uh … no, I’ve got to monitor the radios and keep the battalion commander informed. Go on, hurry up!”

  * * *

  Taloga knew something was different but couldn’t figure out what. The silence! All the shooting had stopped. He raised up and looked down the ragged line. He couldn’t tell who was dead and who was alive. They all looked the same, lying in the shallow holes they’d dug with their hands and the butts of their rifles. He began crawling to get a head count of effectives.

  Jason stared into the freckled face of Bagley and pried the handset from his hand. The young soldier’s eyes were open and staring into eternity. He had been killed instantly, shot in the heart and head. The radio was dead as well. Jason stood and looked at the bodies lying in a row. The NVA had killed half the wounded, including Bagley, the medic, and two men from the First Platoon. He sighed, knowing grief was wasted. There was nothing that could be done now.

  Taloga walked wearily over to him and sat down beside an NVA body. “Sir, I just checked our platoon and the Third. We’ve got only twenty-one men left between us who ain’t been shot up. Nine or so of the wounded can still shoot and
I’m leavin’ them on the line. The Third’s radio got hit, so that just leaves ours.”

  “We don’t have any,” Jason said. He shut his eyes and let himself sink to his knees. “Bagley and Doc both bought it. The radio is gone.”

  Taloga looked at the remaining wounded and shook his head. “Out of sixty men, we have just over twenty left. Where the hell is the rest of the company? Jesus, we’ve been beggin’ for help.”

  “We can’t worry about that now,” Jason said. “We’ve got to tighten the perimeter and get the badly wounded off the line.” He took a deep breath and got back to his feet. “Send the walking wounded down with the badly hurt, and I’ll have ’em move the dead and consolidate the other wounded. Get ammo redistributed and strip our dead of anything we can use. Might as well get the dinks’ ammo, too; we can use AKs if we have to. Come on, let’s get our people movin’ before they start thinkin’ it’s a lost cause.”

  Taloga raised his head. “Is it? Is it over for us?”

  Jason clenched his teeth, trying to find a source of strength, and looked into the bloodshot eyes of the sergeant. “Not yet.”

  Ruffin followed his point team as they cautiously walked down the ridge. Twice he thought he heard movement to his right flank but motioned his men forward, determined to link up with his sister platoons. The point man began to make his way up a slight rise when he saw three NVA standing by a tree with their backs turned. They were talking loudly as if arguing. Ruffin joined the point man, and both men fired, ending the argument. He lowered his smoking rifle and motioned his men forward.

  Jason sighed with relief as Ruffin walked over and shook his hand. “Sorry we took so long. The old man kept thinking the dinks would pull back.”

  “Jesus, we’re glad to see you,” Jason said. “Now we can get the hell out of here. I’ve got over twenty wounded. I figure you can protect our rear as the weapons platoon and us carry the wounded back up the ridge.”

  Ruffin lowered his eyes. “Jay, I’ve only got five men from the weapons platoon with me. The rest of weapons and headquarters didn’t come. The old man is still back at the hill with them.”

  Jason’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. He looked at the wounded men and lifted his head. “Bill, they’re going to overrun us here. We gotta get back to the rest of the company.”

  Ruffin motioned for his radioman and took the handset. “Six, this is one six. I have linked up with the Second and Third. We are taking the WIAs and falling back to your location.”

  Lieutenant Ruffin adjusted artillery and had his men take up positions on the knoll with the dead as Jason and his men organized litter teams. In ten minutes the Second and Third Platoons, carrying their wounded, were moving back up the ridge, with the squad from the weapons platoon leading. Jason topped the second small knoll and breathed easier. Every step was closer to making it back home.

  Taloga caught up to him and motioned over his shoulder. “The First just left the knoll and are following behind. We …”

  CRACKCRACKCRACK, CRACK CRACKCRACKCRACK CRACK!

  Jason fell to the decaying soil as bullets passed inches over his head. The screams of his men echoed through his brain with the sound of the AK-47s. He shut his eyes, pressing himself into the ground and wanting to disappear. He thought of sunlight and the quiet of Red Hill. God, he just wanted silence—no more sounds of gunfire, dying, and pleas for help. No more screams, no thinking or moving, no worrying.

  He opened his eyes and forced himself to his knees. The gunfire was coming from up the ridge. The NVA had cut them off. He yelled for his men to pull back. The only thing that he could do was form a defense behind the second knoll with his remaining men and have Ruffin’s platoon stay on the first one. They would have to wait for reinforcements. The saddle would have to again serve as the location for the wounded and CP. He stood despite the fire and looked at Taloga, who was staring at him as if Jason had lost his mind. Jason shook his head with anger. “I know what you’re thinking’, but not yet. NOT FUCKIN’ YET!”

  Captain Elliott stood on the edge of the knoll and listened to the gunfire down the ridge. He had just radioed the battalion commander and reported that his three platoons were surrounded. The colonel had promised two companies for reinforcement, but they wouldn’t be there for at least two hours. There were no landing zones nearby, and the companies would have to walk to reach them.

  He cursed himself for spreading the gas crystals on the hilltop, rendering it unusable for a landing zone. He knew by the sound of the exchange of weapons fire that his men would run out of ammunition long before the rescue force arrived. He turned around and spoke dejectedly to his weapons platoon sergeant. “Form a perimeter and prepare for an attack. Have three of your men dig a foxhole large enough for me and the two RTOs.”

  The sergeant nodded and began to turn around but stopped. “Sir, we could try and break through. We’ve got enough men to do it.”

  Elliott lowered his eyes. “It’s too late. They’ll be coming for us next. Start digging.”

  Jason heard the swooshing noise over the gunfire and ducked. The Chinese B-40 rocket hit a nearby tree, exploding and throwing out its deadly shapnel and wood splinters. The men at the base of the tree didn’t move or cry out. They were beyond feeling; they had been killed several minutes before during a frontal assault. He inserted his last magazine and let the bolt slam forward. He knew the remaining men couldn’t hold off the next attack. Most were out of ammunition. Lieutenant Ruffin had sent a runner from the other knoll and reported that he was wounded and that his men were running low on ammo. The captain had radioed that reinforcements were coming but wouldn’t arrive for several hours and that they were to hold on.

  He crawled back from the crest and walked down the slope to Sergeant Taloga, who was tending the wounded. He put his hand on the sergeant’s back and whispered, “I want you to take two of the lightly wounded and try and make it back to the company commander.”

  Taloga shook his head. “I can’t leave you and the men. Get somebody else.”

  Jason forced a smile. “Nope. You’re just mean enough to make it. The old man respects you, and he’ll believe what you tell him. You’re the only chance we’ve got left. Tell him we can hold if he will break through with ammo.” Jason knew Taloga was going to refuse again and patted his shoulder. “Don’t argue with me, you know I’m right. Just do it and don’t look back. I’m counting on you.”

  Taloga put out his hand. “Good luck, sir.”

  Jason shook his hand warmly. “Thanks for everything you’ve done. Go on … I’ll see ya.”

  He walked back to the crest and minutes later watched his platoon sergeant slip down the west slope with two other men. He wished he’d said more to Taloga and asked him to look up his brother and tell him … No, he didn’t want Ty to know how he’d died. It didn’t matter.

  An out-of-breath runner ran up the slope and fell beside him. “Sa … Sir … L-tee Ruffin said the dinks are massing in front of his position. He says it looks like the big one, and he wants your help.”

  Jason nodded tiredly. “Tell him we’re on the way.”

  Ruffin pushed the NVA body over so he couldn’t see the man’s face and propped his M-16 on the dead soldier’s bare leg. He had ordered the use of the bodies as frontal protection. The sound of the Vietnamese voices down the ridge had told him he and his men were going to need all the help they could get. The NVA leaders were shouting commands, and by their numbers he knew the next attack would be big. There were no M-79 ammo or any grenades left. There were only two hundred rounds of machine-gun ammo, and his men were down to two magazines apiece.

  Jason crawled up beside Ruffin just as the NVA machine guns opened up and stitched the top of the hill. Ruffin tried to crawl backward, but his wounded leg was numb and wouldn’t respond. Jason grabbed his trousers and pulled him back.

  Ruffin rested his head in the dirt. “Jay, this is it; they’re going to keep us pinned down with machine guns until the assault force is almos
t on top of us. We could stop the bastards if we had grenades.”

  Jason could envision the swarm of NVA rushing over the top of the knoll and began crawling backward. “Bill, I’m going to set up a second defense line in front of the wounded so they don’t think we’ve abandoned them. Good luck.”

  Ruffin raised his head. “We did our best, didn’t we?”

  Jason stopped and looked into the watering eyes of the young officer. “Yeah, we did our best.”

  The suppressive RPD machine-gun fire lasted several minutes, then suddenly increased with the addition of two heavy machine guns that raked the top of the knoll, making it impossible for the defenders to raise their heads. Three platoons of NVA jogged up the ridge without receiving a single shot of return fire and deployed on line at the base of the knoll. The lead platoon commander raised his rifle above his head and screamed for his men to attack. The machine guns immediately ceased firing as the men ran up the knoll.

  Ruffin forced himself to his knees and readied his rifle to meet the onslaught. He saw the first of the attackers and screamed as he fired. “COME ON, YOU MOTHERFUCKERRRRRS!”

  Jason had six of his men positioned in front of the wounded in a last stand. He stood with a fixed stare as the first of the NVA swarmed over the platoon and ran down the slope. His men knocked eight of the enemy down, but it was like trying to stop a dam from bursting. The small trickle turned into an unstoppable flood. Jason raised his rifle and fired until it was empty. He picked up the AK he’d positioned by his feet but was knocked violently backward. He fell hard on his back, feeling as if his shoulder had been hit with a red-hot sledgehammer. Fighting to regain his feet, he stumbled to his right and suddenly dropped into darkness. His head banged into the side of the crevice wall as he slid down the narrow dirt chute, the roots tearing at his face and body. He fell ten feet before his shirt became snagged on a root and jerked him to a jolting halt. Screaming in pain, he fought to free himself, but he couldn’t move his arms within the tight confines. He looked up at the hole of light and heard the battle overhead. Suddenly, the light was partially blocked, and he could make out a face. It was one of his men, Sawyer, whom he had positioned in front of the wounded. The soldier lowered himself into the crevice, pulling a body over the top of the hole. Dirt fell into Jason’s face and he coughed. Startled, Sawyer almost lost his grip on the roots he was holding and looked down, whispering in disbelief. “You’re alive! Jesus, I thought you were dead, L-tee.”