General Duc listened to the radio report from Hill eight hundred-seventy-five and stared blankly at the wall. Again victory had been lost by his improper planning. The battle today had gone badly. The Second Battalion of the 174th was unable to split the attacking force. Their efforts had been heroic, but the Americans showed they were fighters. The effort was not followed up quickly enough by a second attack, for the battalion commander and his staff were killed by artillery. It had taken too long for the senior company commander to reorganize the battalion, and they had lost the element of surprise. The American artillery and bombs had decimated the remaining men before they could mount another full-scale attack, but then the impossible had happened. It was fate. An American bomb had fallen inside their own perimeter. The report he had just received from Colonel Huu confirmed his suspicions. The bomb had done considerable damage to the Americans, who had no overhead cover. The air strikes and artillery had ceased pounding Huu’s fortifications for thirty minutes, meaning the American communications and command element must have been temporarily knocked out of action. It was then that he should have attacked with a reserve force … but he had no reserve. The remaining men of the Second Battalion were en route to the base. The Third Battalion was broken into platoon- and squad-size elements with no means to contact them and coordinate an immediate attack. He had let the plan run him again. He should have left Colonel Huu a battalion from the Sixty-sixty for exploitation. If they had been hidden a kilometer away, they could have …
He put the thoughts out of his mind and faced his operations officer, who was seated at the table. “Inform Colonel Huu that his message was received and that he is to be congratulated for stopping the American attack. Tell him I am sending two more mortar platoons to assist him in pounding the American perimeter. The plan he and I discussed is to stay in effect. Hold as long as possible but do not remain until overrun.”
Colonel Kinh knew what the general was really thinking and pointed at the map. “We have a battalion from the Thirty-second within five kilometers of Hill eight hundred-seventy-five. We could have them move tonight and attack at first fight and …”
General Duc smiled sadly and raised his hand. “No, my friend, the chance of exploiting the freak accident is over. The tiger is wounded and more dangerous than before. The smell of his own blood makes him fierce. Surprise is gone, and he knows his enemy is worthy. He will not underestimate us and will give as much as he takes.”
Kinh sighed and leaned back in his chair. “We had him, we had the bastard.”
“Perhaps,” the general said softly as he walked to the door.
It had been the cries for help that had made Jason leave the tree. He didn’t know how long he had stood praying that it would all turn out to be a nightmare, that he would wake up and talk to Harper and Father Mike again. But the screams assured him it wasn’t a dream. He had tried to ignore them. He had even covered his ears. But they wouldn’t go away. Young men needed him. Again.
He walked to the perimeter’s front line and spoke calmly to the panicked soldiers, who had thought everyone had been killed or that they were about to be overrun. One soldier killed himself with a pistol just as Jason approached his hole. The trooper’s legs were both gone and he hadn’t been able to take the pain. Jason moved from position to position calming the scared and hurt. He did so simply by telling them the truth. He admitted to them that it wasn’t going to get any better and that they would have to fight to stay alive. They would have to forget their own fears and help each other, because only together could they survive awhile longer.
A flare popped overhead, exposing a standing soldier who made no move to take cover. A young, wounded paratrooper pleaded for him to get down, but Jason just walked to the next foxhole. “You men dig in deeper and oil your weapons,” he commanded softly.
A sergeant looked up at the officer, who looked huge in the golden light. “Is … is there enough of us left to hold the fuckers off?”
“There’s at least you and me,” Jason said and kept walking. “And that’s by God enough.”
The sergeant’s eyes flickered in the swaying light, and he woke the specialist next to him. “Wake up, damn it. Clean that weapon and oil it.”
A soldier ran up to Jason just as the flare went out. “Sir, they need you up at the new CP. They found out you were still alive and told me to find you.
“Who’s ‘they’?” Jason asked.
“Sir, Lieutenants Shiler and McDonald. They’re the only officers left who aren’t dead or hurt real bad. They’ve taken command of the perimeter and need your help.”
* * *
Jason stepped down into the crater and lifted the poncho. Lieutenant McDonald from Delta Company and Lieutenant Shiler from Alpha were sitting under the poncho, using a red-filtered lens flashlight to look at a map. Until now, the two officers had been platoon leaders, but the circumstances of their present situation left them commanding their respective companies and in charge of the perimeter.
Shiler swung the flashlight into Jason’s face. “Damn, are we glad to see you. How you doin’, Jay?”
Jason pushed the light away. “All right. Good to see you guys, too. What’s the status?”
“Not good,” McDonald said tiredly. “The only communication we have with the battalion commander is over Lieutenant O’Cary’s radio. He’s wounded real bad, but he’s staying in contact with them. As far as artillery, we’ve got one forward observer RTO in Alpha Company.
“And the casualties?”
McDonald lowered his head. “Of the sixteen officers, eight are dead and the rest of us are wounded. A couple are bad, like O’Cary and Remington. I couldn’t get a good count, but I’d estimate at least forty killed by the bomb and another forty from the earlier attacks. We’ve got about another hundred wounded. In other words, two-thirds of the battalion is dead or hurt. There aren’t any officers left in Charlie Company, so Platoon Sergeant Krawtzow has taken charge. The men were real shaken up and a few panicked after the shock over the accidental bombing wore off, but it looks like most have calmed down.”
Shiler folded his map. “We’ve formed this command post and are consolidating the radios. We need to know what the hell is happening and to keep the old man informed. I’ve got a casualty point being established, but we need to get the perimeter tightened up. Jay, I want you to get this command post organized for us, while me and Mac make the rounds and start getting the perimeter ready for an attack. I need to see what we look like and plug the necessary holes.”
Jason set his rifle down and took off his helmet. “You guys go on. I’ve got it.”
Ty awoke to a tap on his shoulder and rolled over. “I’ve got radio watch already?”
Hammonds sat down beside him. “No, I just got off pulling the duty in the TOC. Pack your shit, Cat; you’re going with us. I talked to Salias and he gave the okay.”
Ty sat up. “Why the change of heart?”
Hammonds stared at the ground. “In the TOC they’ve got a radio on the Second Batt’s frequency. It’s worse than was reported. An Air Force jet accidentally dropped a bomb in their perimeter, and it hit in the middle of the CP and medical evacuation point. They lost all the company commanders except one, who is seriously injured, and most of the other officers and senior NCOs are KIA’d or WIA. Just a few lieutenants are running things, and it looks like the battalion is holding on by its fingernails. One of the officers was on the radio and was giving the report to their battalion commander. The colonel got real emotional and wanted to know who he was talking to.” Hammonds shifted his eyes to Ty. “It was your brother.”
36
Jason shivered and pulled the poncho tighter around his shoulders. The sounds of crunching artillery and the thunderclaps of impacting bombs weren’t registering in his brain anymore. He had stayed awake all night to take turns with Lieutenant O’Cary giving situation reports to the battalion commander and adjusting artillery and air support. O’Cary had lost a lot of blood but had refused
to leave the radios. He said it was the only way he could keep fighting. The wounded officer had finally drifted off to sleep a few hours ago.
Jason’s jaw was sore and his teeth were chattering. The early morning cold had crept into his bones, and he didn’t think he could move unless someone helped him to stand.
The cold was bad, but he didn’t want the darkness to go away. Within the blackness he didn’t have to see the death and destruction. He wanted the sun’s warmth, but he dreaded its light.
“Jay? Is that you?”
Jason recognized Lieutenant Shiler’s voice and could see his faint outline above on the lip of the crater. “Yeah, Joe, come on down.”
Shiler climbed into the hole and lay back in the soft earth. “Any news?”
“Yeah, the old man says the brigade commander is sending in the Fourth Batt to relieve us. He’s also sending in resupply birds at first light and wants us to try and clear an LZ the best we can.… How are the men doing?”
Shiler closed his eyes. “What’s left of them are freezing to death and thirsty as hell, but I think we can hold the perimeter with what we’ve got. If the dinks had a big force they would have attacked during the night. If we can hold out till the Fourth gets here, we’ll make it. The dinks have got to be hurting as bad as we are with all the arty we’ve hit them with.”
He sat up tiredly. “Jay, when it gets light I want you to check on the wounded and give me a report. We’ll let O’Cary run the radios. Our first priority is going to be getting them out of all this; they’ve had to wait too long as it is … Jay? Jay, did you hear me?”
Jason lowered his head in the darkness. “Yeah.”
Two B-40 rockets swooshed across the perimeter and impacted into the trees. The explosions startled Jason, and he threw back his poncho and readied his rifle. He shivered as he looked at the gray sky above him. He knew he had a duty to perform, but he felt too weak. His arm ached and his face was throbbing. All the excuses passed through his mind, but he forced himself to stand and peered over the crater rim. It was worse than he had imagined. The landscape looked as if an atom bomb had been dropped. Scattered among the leafless, battered trees that remained were equipment, bodies, parts of bodies, and trunks and branches, blown down and splintered as if they had been dropped from a thousand feet. Steeling himself, he crawled out of the crater toward the rows of wounded.
He checked each man. Three had bled to death during the night, including the young RTO, Reddy, who had helped him pass out ammunition. There were over sixty men lying in rows, but twenty-three were very seriously wounded. They had glazed, vacant eyes and were still shivering from the night’s cold. Some had been bandaged, but most had their wounds covered with towels, T-shirts, or ponchos.
Jason wanted to go back to the crater and put their misery out of his mind, but their sunken eyes stopped him. Their pain tore through his heart, telling of their untold suffering and despair. There was nobody left to help them. There had been thirteen medics in the battalion; eleven were dead and the remaining two were wounded. Someone had to take charge of the wounded and give them hope.
Jason’s face turned to stone, and he began searching the nearby dead for their first-aid packets and anything else he could use as bandages.
“Delay! What the hell you mean delay?” the irate company commander blurted into the radio handset. He listened intently and pushed the side bar. “Yes, I understand we’re short of aircraft, but goddamn, this is an emergency. Can’t we get some help from other units?”
Hammonds backed out of the bunker on hearing the response and shook his head at the absurdity. He walked over to his squad and sat down dejectedly. Ty sat up with the rest of the men wanting to know what was holding them up.
The sergeant spit into the dust. “It’s all fucked up. We can’t get enough aircraft to carry us in. The aviation unit that supports us has had six birds shot down and five more shot up so bad they can’t fly. The damn brigade staff won’t ask the Fourth Division for help because us Airborne prima donnas take care of our own. It’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard of.”
Ty got up and walked to the command bunker’s entrance just as the captain tossed down the handset and picked up another one. “Papa Victor Six, this is Yankee Bravo Six. We have a problem with aviation and have been delayed at this location for at least two more hours. I need your support in calling higher and finding out about getting us some birds, over.”
The battalion commander’s voice came over the speaker. “Bravo Six, this is Victor Six. I don’t accept what I just heard and will investigate now. Be prepared to move immediately. Out.”
Ty knew that the old man was as perturbed as his captain and would make things happen. The sky had been full of helicopters all morning. Surely it was just a minor snafu that the brass could fix.
Hammonds looked up as Ty approached. “Well?”
Ty sat down and leaned back on the sandbags. “The battalion commander is fixin’ it.”
Colonel Huu shifted his bloodshot eyes to the operations officer. “What is our status?”
Major Vuc ignored the rumbling of the artillery impacting above them. “The first bunker line is so close to the Yankees the artillery has barely touched them, and they have reported light casualties. The second bunker line has damaged bunkers on both ridges but reports they are clearing the damage and will be operational in six hours. The trench line is partially caved in, but work parties are clearing the dirt and making them passable. The third defensive line has had the most damage, and we will not be able to rebuild the bunkers. All tunnels are cleared, and the casualties overall have been light.”
Huu let the information sink in and prepared himself for the next report. “And what about the Third Battalion?”
Vuc knew the colonel was concerned about the men who were surrounding the Americans. They had no tunnels to protect them from the bombs and artillery. He allowed himself a weak smile. “The Third is doing much better than we had expected. They report their observers can clearly see the Yankee perimeter from their tree platforms and have been able to adjust our mortar fire very effectively. They also report they have dug in their machine guns and can accomplish their assigned mission of keeping the helicopters away. The infantry squads have not fared so well. They have taken heavy casualties from the bombs and have had to reorganize several times.”
Huu sipped water from a metal canteen. “What are the casualties of the Third?”
“Forty percent,” Vue said, erasing his smile.
Huu screwed the cap back on the canteen and stared blankly at the earth wall. His Second Battalion had lost eighty percent of their men to the American gunfire and artillery during their courageous attack, and now his Third Battalion was being slowly eaten away by the artillery. How long could they keep the ring closed around the Yankees?
He raised his head. “Contact the Third’s commander and tell him to concentrate on using the mortars and snipers. Have the infantry fall back to safe locations and consolidate to await further instructions.” He shifted his eyes to the major. “The Yankee perimeter is small and is an easy target for our mortars and rockets. Have our mortar crews dig three deep firing positions and then begin pounding the Yankee perimeter. They should fire for only a short time and move to the alternate positions to confuse the Americans as to their exact location. The infantry will be safe and will be my reserve to use when the time is right.”
Vue stepped to the table and took the colonel’s arm. “I will tell them, but now you must rest. Lie down and sleep; I will awaken you when something changes.”
Huu let himself be guided to the side tunnel, where hammocks were strung on sayo wood posts. He lay back in a hammock and looked up at his friend of many years. “How much longer do you think we can hold the hill?”
Vue ran his fingers through his short black hair. “We have taken the worst of their bombing, and they haven’t hurt us. With the supplies and good men we have … I believe a week. Perhaps longer.”
&n
bsp; The colonel shut his eyes. “The Tall One will be pleased.”
The gunships streaked in, firing their rockets. A Huey followed, flying at ninety knots just above the treetops. Jason held his breath, praying the bird had medical supplies and an LZ kit on board. The chopper began to flare when green tracers from the hidden NVA machine guns crisscrossed the sky searching for their prey. The Huey pulled up to escape but still had to fly through the green streaks that formed a wall of lead. Jason tensed as the bird took the hits and began to shudder. Dipping its nose, the chopper picked up speed and banked away in a hard turn, barely escaping destruction. He watched the helicopter until it disappeared, then turned to face the men to whom he had promised new bandages and morphine. Their stares were not from frustration or anger, but from acceptance. He spun around and strode toward the perimeter line to search more of the dead for water and first-aid packets.
A lone Huey landed and kicked up a cloud of dust beside the command bunker. Ty and the rest of the squad got on and in seconds were over the Poko River. He knew that when he got to Firebase 16 they would have to wait for the entire company before they could begin the hump, but right now it didn’t matter. At least he was getting closer.
Hammonds looked over at Ty and wondered how he could keep from screaming. Despite the efforts of the commander, the lone Slick was all they had to move out the entire battalion. A C-47 Chinook was supposed to help transport them beginning at one thousand hours, but it was clear that it was going to take all day for the battalion to be moved. The Huey could carry eight men and the Chinook thirty. The battalion was going in with three companies with a total strength of two hundred-seventy men. The plan was to assemble one company at a time and begin the march. Because the Airborne troops were too proud to accept help from legs, the Second Battalion of the 503d would have to hold another eight hours before being relieved.
the Hill (1995) Page 39