the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  * * *

  Lieutenant McDonald gathered six men from Delta Company behind a fallen tree. “Men, I’m sending you out on a patrol up the hill to knock out the snipers. They must be the ones that are calling the mortars on the perimeter and keeping the choppers from coming in. Take two grenade launchers and knock their dicks in the dirt.”

  The sergeant in charge of the patrol inspected each of the men and their weapons. He drew a sketch of their route in the red clay and then told them how they would accomplish the mission. Five minutes later, the patrol began crawling forward. They had made it only twenty yards from the fallen tree when an NVA machine gun opened up, catching two of the men in the open and killing both instantly. A third soldier tried to drag one of the men back and was stitched across the shoulders. His screams were drowned out by the impact of three mortar rounds that hit by the fallen tree.

  Stunned, McDonald stood up and yelled to the survivors, “GET BACK! GET BACK!”

  Jason’s hands were trembling as he ignored the yelling and shooting and concentrated on finding the bleeding artery in a soldier’s groin wound. The paratrooper had been blown out of his foxhole by a mortar round. The skin on his right arm had been peeled back, exposing muscle, but the groin wound was worse. Jason was using a paper clip he had found on his sweat-soaked notepad. His hands were covered with blood as he pushed aside damaged tissue and slipped the clip over the cut, bluish-purple artery. The middle-aged sergeant writhed on the ground held by a curly blond soldier who had lost his helmet. Jason used black sewing thread and a needle he had gotten from a dead soldier’s rucksack to try and sew the artery closed. Sweat stung his eyes as he slipped the needle into the slippery artery and pulled, but the knot slipped through. He quickly wiped his hands on his fatigue pants, then tied two knots on top of each other and tried again. The knot held. He inserted the needle again but felt a tap on his shoulder. The curly blond shook his head. The sergeant was dead. Jason leaned over without thinking and bit the thread in two, saving as much as possible. Then he moved across the bloody ground to the next soldier, who had lost three fingers from rocket shrapnel.

  Private Bui Ngoc Duong placed a belt of ammunition into his machine gun and ordered the new replacement to sweep up the expended casings. Duong had been waiting all morning for an attack and was relieved when only six Yankees crawled out of their perimeter. The men who had attacked his bunker the day before and killed his two comrades must have died during the night and not told anyone the location of his bunker. The small patrol had snuck out of its position and crawled directly in front of his firing port. They had been easy targets.

  He looked at the scared replacement and patted his shoulder. “If they come again we will do the same thing. I built this bunker and it is very strong.”

  The soldier glanced at the dried blood on the wall. “The senior sergeant said the Americans threw in grenades. How did you survive?”

  Duong pointed at the grenade sump. “Kicked the grenade into the hole. But it will be different next time. I have added wood and made the firing ports smaller. They will have to throw their grenades from in front of the ports. If they attack in force and come within close range, just keep shooting, even if you do not see a target.”

  An artillery round exploded just behind the bunker, knocking both men to the clay floor. Duong grabbed the confused replacement and pulled him toward the tunnel. Another round exploded almost in the same spot. Duong spit dust from his mouth. “Follow me. We are going to the shelter dug into the side of the tunnel.”

  Ty saw a body and froze. He stepped forward cautiously and saw four more lined up in a neat row. Gauze bandages covered with dried blood and NVA equipment were strewn all around the day-old corpses. He studied the footprints next to the bodies and continued moving. He had moved ahead only fifteen steps when a voice rang out from behind him. “Hold up!”

  Lieutenant Salias walked forward sweating profusely. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Ty pointed at the footprints on the trail. “Sir, these prints are at least six hours old. The dead dinks are just like the others we’ve found. They were left to be picked up later. We’re not going to be ambushed here.”

  Salias pointed his finger at Ty’s face. “I told you before, we’re following orders. We’ve found thirty-five bodies so far, confirming the NVA are massed in this area. We will stop and send out screening patrols to check our flanks!”

  Hammonds walked up and spoke over the officer’s shoulder. “Lieutenant, we’ve fucked around long enough with these stupid screening patrols. The Second Batt needs us now!”

  Salias shifted his anger to Hammonds. “Shut up, Hammonds! You know nothing about NVA tactics. Any fool could see we are being set up for an ambush.”

  Hammonds glared back. “Any fool wouldn’t have sent the Second Batt against an entrenched enemy on a fucking hill. Since when did you officers get so damn smart on NVA tactics? You been reading the casualty lists?”

  “Enough! When this is over I’m pressing charges for insubordination.”

  Hammonds smiled cruelly. “And I’m pressing charges for stupidity.”

  Salias turned around. “Get the screening patrols out!”

  Ty could hear the artillery making impact on the hill ahead. He slowed only a moment to check his bearings and began walking up the slope. He felt strange. The hill’s slope was just like Red Hill’s. He took three steps and knew he was close. A GI jungle boot was lying on the trail. He moved closer and bit his lip. The boot still had a foot inside, which was covered with ants. He pointed toward the boot without taking his eyes from the trail and kept walking, still with the strange feeling he had been there before. Hammonds kicked the boot off the trail with his foot and followed.

  Ty had seen bodies before, but this time it was different. This time he looked over the dead soldiers lying alongside the trail to see if one of them was his brother.

  Ty had not counted the dead men he had passed but he could envision what had happened by the way they lay. The NVA had overrun their positions and had shot them as they passed by. One machine-gunner was still clutching his gun as if protecting it from harm. Ty stopped, seeing the first NVA body among the paratroopers. This corpse was unlike the others; it still had color and wasn’t ashen. He was a fresh kill.

  Ty yelled ahead, “FOURTH BATT COMING IN … DON’T SHOOT!” He took several steps and broke out of the thick vegetation into a semiwasteland. A shiver ran up his back. Four men stood up from a foxhole only twenty meters away and waved him forward. Ty couldn’t believe their faces—they looked dead. They were the same gray color as the bodies he had passed. The closer he came, the more his insides churned. The filthy men stood with no expression or words. Their eyes were sunken back and lifeless except for a slight, dull glimmer that Ty knew was all the joy they were capable of showing.

  * * *

  Jason tried to tear the end of a towel with his hands, but he didn’t have any strength left. He lowered his head. The sun’s glare was suddenly blocked by a soldier standing on the crater rim. Jason looked up but couldn’t make out who the man was and put his hand to his forehead to block the glare. His eyes adjusted and he saw a smile. He hadn’t seen a smile in twenty-four hours. Jason stood and stepped closer. God, no! His eyes watered and he tried to speak, but his parched tongue was mired in sticky white cottonmouth.

  Ty forced himself to keep the smile despite what he saw. Jason was like the others. He had a gray pallor and his eyes were sunken. Below the right eye his cheek was slashed and swollen to almost twice its normal size. The gash was filled with dirt and was seeping yellow liquid. His brother was trying to talk but snow-white dribble was drooling over his cracked lips.

  He stepped down into the crater and hugged Jason, wanting to take away his misery. “I’m gonna get you outta this.”

  Jason held the water in his mouth, savoring it. The liquid was warm but worked like a miracle drug. He let a little seep down his sandpapered throat and rolled his eyes back, fe
eling the relief, as Ty and the others in his squad gave drinks to the wounded from their spare canteens.

  Ty sat down and handed him another canteen. “Drink it slow, but drink it all. You need it.”

  Jason took another swallow, feeling hope for the wounded for the first time. The water, Bravo’s medics, and the additional soldiers lifted his spirits, but the sight of Ty had sickened him. He didn’t want him there.

  Ty could see the worry in Jason’s eyes. “You look like you’ve been through hell. The other companies will be here in a little while, and we’ll get the perimeter expanded. We should be able to get the medevacs in this evening.”

  Jason took one more swallow before trying to speak. “Sta … stay in this hole and don’t get out for anything. There are more of them than …”

  The sound of an approaching helicopter stopped him in midsentence. Jason’s eyes shifted skyward just as a Huey popped up over the ridge and began its flare. Immediately NVA machine guns began firing, filling the air with tracers. The chopper dropped like a rock below the bullets, and four men jumped from the aircraft from fifteen feet into the debris. The bird seemed to hang for a moment then suddenly dropped lower.

  Jason jumped to his feet and pointed at the five men in the first row who were the most seriously wounded. “HELP ME GET ’EM TO THE SLICK!”

  Ty, Hammonds, and the others picked up the wounded in ponchos and ran toward the whining machine. The crew chief frantically grabbed the men like slabs of meat and tossed them to the vibrating floor. The Huey rose and the NVA machine guns opened up again. Banking left, the bird picked up speed and streaked down the slope.

  Hammonds stayed low as he ran back to the crater with Ty and Jason. “Sonofabitch, there’s at least ten machine guns out there!”

  Ty heard from a surprisingly short distance away the metallic thunk of a mortar firing. “Ooooh shit.” The men ran harder and threw themselves into the crater. The mortar rounds hit where the chopper had landed, throwing up clouds of dirt and whizzing shrapnel that sliced through the air. Ty tried to get up but couldn’t. Jason had thrown himself on top of him for protection.

  Jason rolled off and lay in the dirt, exhausted from the run. Ty sat up with a grin. “You’re still pretty fast in a crunch.”

  Jason rolled his head to the side and looked at Ty with cold, lifeless eyes. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  Ty patted his brother’s hand. “Somebody has to take care of you.”

  A runner crawled to the edge of the crater. “Lieutenant Johnson, the battalion XO came in on the chopper and wants all the officers to see him at the CP.”

  Jason got to his knees, feeling faint, and glanced at Ty. “You stay put.”

  Ty could see that he was about to fall over from exhaustion and grabbed his arm. “I’ll go with you.”

  Jason pushed his arm away and motioned toward the wounded with his rifle. “Stay and watch out for my men; they need you more.” He stood and climbed out of the crater without looking back.

  Ty exchanged worried looks with Hammonds, who shook his head. “He’s had it, Cat. When he gets back, make him get some sleep. I’m going to have the guys dig in around the wounded; you stay in this hole with your brother.”

  Major Shelly looked at the exhausted, filthy officers before him and passed around his canteen. He was still shaking. What he had seen had sickened him. He had never seen men in such horrible condition. The dead lay in holes with the living, and he hadn’t been able to tell them apart, except when the living moved. They moved and spoke, but they all seemed like they were in a trance. Their blank eyes had told him the battalion was finished. They weren’t capable of doing what the colonel wanted. Neither the colonel nor anyone else could understand unless they saw them.

  He glanced at the remaining officers, wanting to cry. He had been in the battalion for several months and still couldn’t believe so many of his friends and fellow officers had died. He shook his head and stiffened his back. He had to be strong and tell these remaining young leaders what the colonel had told him: they still had to think and act like soldiers.

  Shelly cleared his throat before speaking. “You men have done the impossible for long enough. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get in here earlier. The old man wanted me to tell you you’ve done a magnificent job and …”

  “Why didn’t he come in?” one of the RTOs whispered.

  Shelly continued, “… proud of your actions. I am now assuming command of the operation, and our first priority is to clear an LZ. We’ll get the wounded out, get resupplied, and then concentrate on taking the hill. The other two companies from Fourth Battalion are coming in this evening and will expand the perimeter. Tomorrow morning at first light, we’ll begin an even bigger expansion and clear the LZ. When the two companies arrive, I want our Second Battalion men to get some sleep. That’s it for now. When they arrive, we’ll have another meeting. Stay close to a radio so I can call for you.”

  Colonel Huu listened to the radio report as he studied the wall map. The first American company from a relief battalion had joined the perimeter. Observers located in trees had seen the men arrive, and scouts had reported two more companies en route.

  Major Vuc looked over the colonel’s shoulder at the map. “We could send another company to stop the other two.”

  Huu shook his head as he sat down. “No. If we did that, the helicopters could land. We need every man in position to stop the helicopters. The three additional Yankee companies will not change anything. They can only attack up the narrow ridge and haven’t room to maneuver additional men. Contact the mortar sections and have them ready to fire a concentration at first light tomorrow morning. I want the snipers to notify us as soon as they see the Yankees preparing to attack. I will radio the general myself and tell him of the situation.”

  “Will you tell him we will be able to hold?” Vuc asked.

  Huu smiled, feeling confident. “Yes.”

  * * *

  Ty turned around in the darkness and pulled the poncho up around Jason, who was still sleeping despite the constant pounding of artillery and the popping of flares overhead. Jason had come back from the meeting and had told the wounded that tomorrow an LZ would be cleared and they would be going home. Afterward he had argued, but Ty had made him lie down and sleep.

  Hammonds crawled into the crater after checking the rest of the squad. “Cat, how’s your brother doing?”

  “He’s still crashed.”

  “Good, he looked like he was about to drop. Shit, they all did. The wounded are the worst I’ve ever seen. Jesus, some of them have already got gangrene setting in. I don’t know how they’ve made it this long.”

  Ty nodded, still sickened by the sight of American soldiers using T-shirts and underwear as bandages and having to use safety pins to close wounds. Their silence was the toughest thing to take. They didn’t make a sound, as if it didn’t matter or no one cared.

  Hammonds scooted closer to Ty for the warmth. “What do you think our chances are in taking the hill tomorrow?”

  Ty rested his cheek on the rifle stock. “I’m gettin’ my brother out of here tomorrow … screw the hill.”

  General Binh Ty Duc rose from his bed unable to sleep and lit the kerosene lamp. He picked up the opened letter from General Giap that had arrived by courier and reread the penned lines one more time. Giap praised his efforts and those of the regimental commanders. The letter reported that the infiltration into the cities and the caching of ammunition was going on undetected. The success of the Tet offensive would be a direct result of the diversions in the highlands.

  He tossed the letter to the floor and walked outside into the darkness. He could hear the rumble of artillery only ten kilometers from where he stood. His men were holding a red clay hill that had no value, and yet the Americans were dying trying to take it. The battle was an aberration of logic. He was no longer a military leader concerned about strategy or tactics, but rather a politician using his men to send a political message. The American
military leaders were doing the same. They had ordered the hill to be taken only to prove they could.

  Jason awoke to the sound of a mortar round exploding close by. He was drenched in sweat although he was shivering from the cool night air. The screams in his dreams wouldn’t go away even when he awoke. Then he realized that he wasn’t dreaming, that someone was crying out hysterically. He sat up and felt in the darkness for his brother, but Ty was gone. His stomach shriveled into a knot and his heart pounded in fear. The screaming stopped, and he could hear heavy breathing and the noise of men running. They were coming toward him. The ground shook with the impact of another mortar round, and dirt clods fell like hailstones. The sound of breathing was louder, as if the approaching men were almost on top of him. He raised his rifle, pushing off the safety.

  “Take it easy, we’re almost there,” said a familiar voice. Jason lowered his weapon, shaking so badly he dropped the M-16 in the dirt.

  Ty and Hammonds dragged an injured man into the hole and Ty yelled out, “Mediiiiic!”

  Hammonds flipped on his red-filtered flashlight as other men came over the lip of the crater carrying two more wounded. Ty pulled out his knife and cut the right pant leg of the soldier he had carried as Hammonds panned the light on the man’s thigh. A six-inch gash in the flesh was spouting a thick stream of blood.

  Jason reached down and pushed the light closer. He put his fingers into the wound, feeling for the artery, and pinched it closed. Then he looked at Ty with detachment and in a strange voice said, “Tie a tourniquet just above the wound.”

  Ty looked into his brother’s face, not knowing him, and quickly took off his belt. Jason showed no expression or emotion, although his fingers were inside a human being, keeping him from bleeding to death. It was as if he were in a trance.