“Yes, well, many men have died, and more surely will. You will serve out your tour, and that is the final word. Accept it.”
Jason could see the self-righteousness in the doctor’s eyes. Any further argument would be wasted. The man had found his “perfect example,” and he wouldn’t back down. He lay back on his pillow. This doctor was like all the others who hadn’t been there and could never comprehend real war. To them war was like the movies and Life magazine photos. But movies, books, and pictures couldn’t capture the smell, sound, confusion, or feelings. Nothing could capture war. It was like filming only one play of a football game to represent the entire four quarters. Nobody truly understood except those who were there, living it every second, minute, hour, and day. The doctor didn’t know where he was sending this “perfect example.” But Jason knew. He was going back to hell.
* * *
General Binh Ty Duc paced back and forth in front of the large wall map as Colonel Kinh briefed him. “… and the Seventy-fourth Regiment reports five of their defensive positions have been found by the Americans, but none of the tunnels were discovered. The Sixty-sixth reports seven positions found, but again no tunnels discovered. The Americans find the bunkers and trench lines but make no effort to destroy them. We must assume they believe we will not use them.”
General Duc stopped in midstride. “I want our units to resume construction of their positions. The Americans may stay for days or perhaps months, and we cannot get behind schedule. The rains have slowed us enough already. Have the units post scouts for early warning and pull back if the enemy approaches. I also want selected scouts to follow the Americans, shadow them wherever they go when they are in our sector. Keep a map posted of all their movements so that we can track their presence. This will be good practice for the master plan.”
Colonel Kinh rose from his chair. “General, there is one final matter: the Sixty-sixth Regiment’s attack. You said you wanted to discuss the battle with me after some time had passed.”
General Duc ran a hand through his gray hair. “The major who ordered the attack was a fool, losing so many men, but …” He looked at the map and tapped the ridge where the battle had been fought. “Xuan disobeyed orders, but the battle was a lesson for us all. The Americans were slow to react and sealed their soldiers’ fate. They had their units too far apart to properly support each other. They have learned nothing from the mauling. They still make the same mistakes, and we could maul another of their separated units should we decide to. I want the lessons we learned from the battle given to every company and battalion commander. When the time comes, they will be confident in attacking the Americans.”
Kinh nodded and picked up his writing pad. “You asked weeks ago, ‘Could the enemy be so arrogant?’ I believe we found our answer by their recent movements. They seemed to have forgotten they lost an entire company.”
“They haven’t forgotten,” Duc said. He walked to the hut door and looked out at the camp activity. “They just don’t believe we can do it again. Their army is blind because of their poor intelligence. I have overestimated them, but I have learned. Their intelligence will now become my ally.”
Ty smelled the freshly tilled soil and brought his hand up. Caddy tightened his grip on the M-79 and kept his attention on the frozen point man. Ty’s eyes shifted to the right as he swung his rifle. He couldn’t see the bunker, but he knew it was there. He slowly backed up to Caddy and lay down, keeping a low profile. Hammonds crept up to him and whispered, “What ya got?”
Ty motioned up the ridge. “Can you smell it?”
Hammonds lifted his head, taking in a deep breath, and immediately lowered himself. “Fresh-turned dirt. Yeah, I smell it. Shit, what ya think? A bunker or trench line?”
Ty shook his head. For the past week they had been walking the top of the chain of mountains along the western side of Cigar Valley and had come across numerous defensive positions. All had been occupied recently, but no one had seen a single NVA soldier.
Hammonds passed the word back for the lieutenant to come forward. When Jenkins arrived, he ordered Hammonds’s squad to cover as third squad moved forward to check out the situation. The third squad moved only thirty yards before finding the first bunker.
The platoon reached the crest of the hill at noon after finding four bunkers and a partially dug trench line. Ty watched from inside the first bunker as the rest of the company came up the hill. He had crawled inside and stood on the firing step looking through the firing portal. Caddy joined him and peered over Ty’s shoulder. “The dinks sure are dumb. They dug the firing hole at an angle instead of in front where they could see us coming from farther away.”
Ty backed up, allowing his friend a better view. “They ain’t so dumb. Look to your far left and you’ll see the other bunker. It’s covering this one. They’d blow anybody away who tried to attack from the front. They put their firing ports at angles so we can’t spot them until it’s too late. If there’d been somebody in here, he coulda waxed the third squad. If we would have come up to help, the other bunker woulda had us dead in their sights.”
Caddy shivered. “Damn, Cat, this is a meat-grinder. You’d better give one of your stay-alive classes on this thing. I’ll get Hammonds and the L-tee.”
Ty was sitting on his rucksack eating a C-ration fruitcake, when he saw the company commander walking straight for him. He knew he was in trouble—he was still wearing the NVA officer’s pistol.
The captain stopped in front of him. “Are you the one who showed your platoon the bunkers’ fields of fire?”
Ty knew he should stand up to answer, but then the pistol would be visible. He remained seated and looked up. “Yes, sir.”
“Outstanding initiative, young man. I have your lieutenant giving the other platoon leaders the same class right now. This is exactly what we need—an appreciation of enemy positions. One of these days, they might decide to stand and fight.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Aren’t you the one who found the rice cache that … damn, you’re still wearing the pistol!”
Ty rolled his eyes. He was going to miss the pistol. It had become a part of him, like his rucksack and M-16.
The captain broke into a smile. “Hell, I don’t blame you. I’d have kept the damn thing, too. Just don’t wear it back at base camp, or the S-2 will hang you on a cross in front of the mess hall as an example.”
Ty relaxed and stood when he realized that the company commander was one of the good officers who didn’t play by the dumb rules. “Thanks, sir.”
The captain held his smile. “No sweat. What do you think about all these empty positions we’ve been finding? It doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“Most of ’em aren’t finished,” Ty said, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe they’re waitin’ until they have all their positions done to start stopping us. Sir, I do know one thing: we have dinks following us. The other day, our platoon sent out a clearing patrol around the company’s perimeter, and I saw sandal prints over the ones we had made going into the perimeter. There are four of them on our tail.”
The captain’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t told that!”
Sergeant Hammonds watched the last of the company depart and nodded for Book Man to get a commo check. The soldier raised the radio handset to his mouth. “One six, this is wild cat one, commo check, over.”
Immediately he heard a response: “Roger, wild cat, I got ya lickin’ chicken, out.”
Book Man looked at Hammonds strangely and whispered, “He said something about licking chicken.”
Silk leaned over and grabbed Book Man’s shirt and pulled him to within inches of his own face. “Cherry, we done went over the lingo wid yo’ dumb ass. Lickin’ chicken means ‘loud and clear.’ ” Hammonds sat beside Silk and motioned Book Man down. Silk leaned back against the bunker wall. “Man, you gotta talk to Cat about his mouth. Dis stayin’ behind shit is for da fuckin’ birds. Da company is headin’ for resupply and we is headin’ for trouble.”
“We need to see if the dinks are following us,” Hammonds whispered. “We’ve got commo with the rest of platoon, and they’re not going far. Just cool it and keep quiet. Keep your eye on Book Man, too.”
Ty peered through the firing port knowing his hunch would be proven or disproven within ten minutes. He brought his rifle up and pushed off the safety.
Caddy looked through the firing port on the other side and shook his head. “Cat, why in here? I hate it in dark, small places.”
Bugs, sitting against the far wall, nodded. “Yeah, Cat, this bunker stinks like fish sauce. How come we couldn’t wait on the outside?”
Ty kept his eyes on the first bunker, where Hammonds and the rest of the squad were located. “No place to hide. You two shut up and … we got company.”
The NVA scout stopped on the trail and stood for thirty seconds, listening. He shifted his AK-47 and motioned to the others. Three men walked up the trail single file, all wearing packs and light green uniforms. The scout took several cautious steps and looked at the bootprints. He spoke to the soldier behind him, pointing in the direction the company had departed. The second soldier nodded and motioned the scout ahead. The scout took one step and Ty shot him between the eyes. The rest of the NVA never fired a shot or raised their weapons. Their bodies were riddled by small bullets that entered and rolled or flipped end over end, causing massive damage.
Ty kept the still forms covered as Caddy and Bugs crawled out of the bunker and approached the killing ground.
The company commander put down the handset and faced the small group of men. “The stay-behind ambush was executed perfectly. The battalion commander is very impressed and is notifying all the other companies to do the same. I wanted to thank you men personally and tell you that the documents and letters you got off the dead are very important. We already know the NVA you ambushed were members of the Sixty-sixth Regiment. Keep up the good work. By the way, PFC Nance, you are now a specialist fourth class. I just promoted you. The resupply bird brought in some cold Cokes, and I told your Lieutenant to save you all two apiece. Go on back to your platoon and celebrate.”
Silk walked beside Ty as they made their way down the hill toward their positions. “Cat, next time youse get an idea, youse tell me and I’ll tell the ol’ man. Maybe I can get me some rank, too, man.”
Jason sat on his cot and looked at the distant mountains through the open flap. When he arrived three days before, he had found out about the big shake-up. The battalion commander and company commanders had all been relieved after his company had been decimated, and Alpha was already back to full strength, filled with men from other battalions. Taloga had been sent to the jungle school as an instructor, and only a few men remained of the original company. He got the impression that the incident was an embarrassment and everybody wanted to forget it. Not a soul had mentioned a word or asked him a question about the battle.
He headed for the mess tent, where a movie was scheduled, but he stopped when he saw a long line of men waiting to get into the canvas theater. He almost turned around and went back, but he felt a wave of anger. The waiting men were field soldiers who hadn’t seen a movie in months. He strode past the line and pulled back the tent flap. Sitting in folding chairs were the clerks and supply personnel of the unit. “Who’s in charge?”
A sergeant first class rose up from his chair with a beer in his hand. “I am, sir. What’s the problem?”
Jason gestured toward the line of men. “There doesn’t seem to be enough room in this tent for all the men who want to see the movie. Why don’t you move the screen outside so everybody can see it?”
The sergeant frowned. “Sir, if you want a chair, I’ll get you one, but the rain could start anytime, and we don’t show outside flicks.”
“Who is ‘we’?” pressed Jason.
The NCO rolled his eyes. “Sir, if you’ve got a complaint, see the S-1. He makes the rules. I run the projector.”
“Where is he?” Jason asked, not liking the man’s surly attitude.
“You can find him up at the Officer’s Club.” The sergeant turned his back and nodded toward the clerk to start the projector.
Jason stepped to the table and shut off the machine. “YOU, Sergeant, find the S-1! In the meantime, I’m taking charge.” Jason pointed to the first four soldiers in line. “You men move the screen outside, then turn the table around and move it closer to the end of the tent. If it rains, the projector won’t get wet.” Jason walked down the line stopping halfway. “Men, you will all see the movie tonight, but you might get wet. I know you’ve all been wet before, being line dogs, so it’s no big thing, right?”
The paratroopers yelled out their approval and gathered around the screen. Jason signalled the clerk to start the movie and sat down near two PFCs. They were wearing filthy uniforms and stank of sweat and jungle rot. Jason breathed in deeply, feeling for the first time like a soldier again. Their stink reminded him how he and his men used to smell. There was nothing like it. No one could understand but those who lie in the mud, sleep outside, swelter in the jungle heat, and shiver at night. Nobody but line dogs felt pride in their filth. They knew the real war. They knew there was no glory, no reward, no end.
28
Move it, Cat, we’re the last ones.”
Ty broke his gaze from the mountains and followed Hammonds up the ramp of the C-130. He sat down on the red nylon seat and shut his eyes, knowing he was losing it. For the first time he didn’t have the feeling. His company had been humping the mountains southwest of Dak To for two straight months without a break. They had not lost a man, but the mountains had taken a toll on their bodies and minds. The NVA were there, and everyone knew it. They had felt them and seen their tracks and freshly dug positions, but the enemy hadn’t stood and fought.
Ty had constantly walked point, and next to the commander, had become the best-known soldier in the company. Every paratrooper breathed easier knowing the “Cat” was on point. His senses had become so finely tuned to the rain forest that he felt as if he were part of it. Day after day, walking alone twenty-five meters in front of the formation, the plants, trees, scents, winds, and light of the forest had become his closest friends. In the evenings he kept his distance from his squad and the others. Cigarette smoke ruined his ability to smell for a day. Loud talking or coughing caused him to cringe. Idle talk and laughter caused his mind to wander, and he had to force himself not to think about his other home. The men thought he had strange powers, but there was no secret to his success. The NVA were not as good as everyone thought. They made mistakes. Some had cut trees or bamboo too close to their positions. Others had collected the dead wood from around their positions for fires. Footprints, latrines placed upwind, freshly dug dirt, marks on trees from climbing—just one sign was all he needed. They had made their biggest mistake in leaving their defensive positions for him to study. They were victims of SOPs, just like the Army. Most of the bunkers and trenches were identical in size and spacing, depending on the hill or saddle on which they were built. He found position after position and saw that the enemy was constantly improving and upgrading. Connecting tunnels were being dug, as well as deep bomb shelters. It was clear that the enemy was preparing to fight. He told the company commander, who told the battalion commander, who told whoever would listen. It didn’t matter. Their mission was to find the enemy, not positions, but the NVA had not cooperated.
Ty had truly become the buffalo. He knew the enemy and placed himself in their minds and bodies. He knew what they did and what they ate. He had grown to love the feeling when walking point. He saw a man’s footprints and became that man. He could tell if the soldier was carrying a pack or limped, and he could tell if he carried a rifle or not. If he carried a rifle, his footprint on one side would be slightly deeper. When the soldier relieved himself, the spot he chose and the way he stood told him if the soldier was tired or fresh. A tired man wouldn’t walk very far away from the trail.
Ty hadn’t eaten a
full meal. He preferred to remain hungry. Hunger had sharpened his senses. He never used soap to clean himself because of the lingering smell, and he hadn’t bought along fresh uniforms for the same reason. The feeling had become an obsession that no one understood. Becoming the buffalo had become a way of life.
His slackmen had to be rotated every day because they couldn’t take the mental strain of trying to keep up. They always thought of the rain forest as an enemy. Their nerves would be shot at the end of a six-hour movement, and it would take them days to recuperate.
Lieutenant Jenkins sat beside Sergeant Hammonds and leaned forward in his seat to look over his men. “The troops look beat. This new operation couldn’t have come at a better time. I sure wish I could stay with you all the whole tour. I’m goin’ to miss you guys.”
Hammonds extended his long legs trying to get comfortable. “Sir, you’re not going very far. Hell, as company executive officer, you still can take care of us. I’ll tell ya, sir, I’ll protect rice fields for the rest of my tour as long as they aren’t in the mountains. I don’t care if there are ten divisions of NVA around as long as it’s flat.”
Jenkins chuckled and leaned back. “Don’t worry. Where you all are going is heaven compared to Dak To. The battalion is going in close to the coast, just west of Tuy Hoa. All you have to do is make sure this year’s rice crop is harvested without the VC screwing with the farmers. It’ll be skate duty after looking for the damn NVA. The VC in the area aren’t too organized, and the briefing I got from the old man yesterday was good news: the big brass think we’ve pretty much kicked their asses. The VC attacks have dwindled down to almost nothing the past months.”
“We’re winning?” Hammonds asked.
“Yeah, were kickin’ ass. The big brass are only worried about the NVA. Reports say there are boocoo of them coming down the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The problem is they won’t come out and fight, as well we know.”
the Hill (1995) Page 29