Casca 11: The Legionnaire

by Barry Sadler

  This was a reconnaissance mission, not a killing patrol. They were to avoid action if possible. Langer had been ordered by Captain Boissy of the 1st BEP try to locate where the staging area for the next Viet attack would be coming from. If they could spot that then they would be able to zero in their guns on the area and have an air strike standing by to blast the hell out of them.

  Xuan moved slow but steady, twisting in and out to avoid the grasping claws of thorn bushes and branches. Behind Langer was Dominic who was very good at silent killing.

  Langer and Gus knew about his circus career but didn't know what had brought him to this place. It was the deaths of two of his female partners during his shows that had led him to accept the hospitality of the Legion in order to avoid embarrassing questions about his love life.

  They had made a semicircle after leaving their own perimeter and were now nearly three kilometers to the northeast of their outpost in the woods between Isabelle and the fortifications of Dien Bien Phu. Langer gave a low hiss to catch Xuan's attention and indicated to him to find a place to take a break. Xuan led the way unerringly to a spot where they had a clear view of Dien Bien Phu below them. They could also watch the muzzle flashes of Viet snipers taking pot-shots. Langer removed his field glasses from their case and held them to his eyes. Taking his time, he made a slow scan of the area spotting enemy positions and marking them on his map. Thanks to the clear night and a full moon the extra strength of the binoculars enabled him to observe clearly anything that wasn't concealed by trees and brush. A man could learn a lot if he just stayed in one place for a time and watched. If he knew how to analyze what he saw, little things could mean more than they appeared to. Dominic stayed a bit behind them, lower down on the hill in a clump of brush to make sure that they hadn't been seen or followed. It took some time but finally Langer caught a glimpse of something that looked to be important. A line of Viets came out of the trees and were crossing a clearing several hundred meters below them heading toward the junction of the hills between what had been the villages of Ban Ten and Ban Nhong Nhai. What made them of interest was that they were carrying stretchers and Langer could see several of them with bags hanging from their shoulders by straps. He made a note of their direction and pointed them out to Xuan. He raised his hands, held up one finger and touched his watch with it. Xuan nodded his head in agreement at the unspoken order and slid off down the hill after the stretcher bearers. Langer needed to have his suspicions confirmed, but for now all he could do was wait. He had given Xuan one hour to return. If he wasn't back by then they would leave and hope that Xuan could make it back to Isabelle on his own.

  A rumble of man-made thunder rolled over the hills as a barrage of Viet artillery rained destruction down on the main base. It was answered by a like response from the deceased Colonel Piroth's own heavy guns. Each fired three salvos then fell silent to let the lesser arms have their chance. Eighty one and 60mm mortars from both sides reached out for each other in the dark as their spotters tried to figure out the location of their enemies. They followed the thin trail of fire left by the burning charges on the tails of the mortars as they streaked silently overhead to land with dull thumps in either the bush or on a sandbagged bunker. A distant shriek came from the hill to the left where one of the bombs had hit, and then all was silent again, each side waiting for the next event.

  After ten minutes, Langer snapped his fingers twice to signal Dominic to come up. The Italian slid on his belly and came up beside Langer. Even in the dark, Dominic's teeth appeared to be twice as white and large as anyone else's had a right to be. He didn't ask where Xuan was and really didn't care. He knew that Langer would do the right thing. He had wondered about his sergent more than once. Though the man had been with the Germans he didn't really seem to be one of them and he spoke Italian, though he used phrases that were sometimes very old fashioned. He also had an accent that he couldn't place. But then, many who spoke several languages had accents that were a blending of the tongues they knew.

  A night bird screamed somewhere. Its cry faded off into what sounded like the laughter of a hysterical woman. A chill ran through their bodies, now that they had been still long enough for the body heat of their exertions to ease off. A thin breeze slipped over them to cool their sweat. Dominic sucked the back of his teeth wishing that he was back in Rome on the Via Veneto, having coffee and watching the round hipped girls of Rome walk past him. These Oriental women! Their butts were too small for a man to get a good grip on. He wanted to feel the fullness of a ripe European woman again.

  Langer checked his watch. Xuan still had twenty minutes to go then they would have to leave. He didn't like staying in one spot too long. It was always easier on his mind when he was moving. He shifted around to where he could get a look at the dark shadows of the mountain behind him. His face touched his submachine gun. The smell of gun oil was not unpleasant. He thought to himself, take care of your weapons and they will take care of you. The dark shadow that rose behind them was where the artillery fire of the Viets came from. He wished that he was able to pinpoint them, but the Viets were clever, and most of the time they fired from the opposite side of the mountain so their muzzle flashes couldn't be easily seen. And they moved their locations frequently. A single crack jerked his head around. His eyes tried to pierce the gloom looking for its source. It came again and he breathed a bit easier, lowering his weapon but still ready to fire if need be. A dark form detached itself from the base of a mango tree and swiftly moved up to him. Xuan lay down beside him. Langer could smell the sweat on him as the small man tried to control his breathing. They spoke in hushed whispers. Once Xuan had made his report, Langer motioned for them to begin the return journey to the dubious safety of Isabelle. They still had two hours till dawn; he didn't want to be caught out of their positions when the sun rose. Dominic took his place at the rear of their mini column as Xuan led the way again, taking them back along a different route than they had used on the way out. It was wise never to use the same path twice if it could be avoided. Patterns were certain death sooner or later. They all knew it, and made no protest when the way back was rougher than the one they'd come out on.

  The most delicate part of their mission was when they neared their own wire. That was when they had the greatest chance of being spotted by the Viets, and if they didn't identify themselves fast enough, they would have a good chance of being shot down by their own men. It wasn't unusual for the Viet Minh to know the passwords. They would torture them out of prisoners, using them to let them get close to the wire. Besides that, Hermann was on guard duty tonight and Langer didn't quite trust him not to take advantage of the opportunity and settle his score with them by overreacting a little when they came in. It had happened more than once that members of a patrol had been shot up by their own men upon returning.

  They stopped for a moment to catch their breath at the edge of a cluster of bamboo trees. Then Langer sent each of them off for a quick look to see if any Viets were close to them. They returned within five minutes, shaking their heads in the negative. They had seen nothing, which really didn't mean anything except that the Viets were well hidden.

  They would come back in on the southeast side of the camp and Langer hoped the defenders had their signals right. This time he took the lead. Leaving Xuan in the lead might make the patrol a bit more jumpy. Dominic moved up beside Langer and they left the bamboo trees on their bellies, crawling through knee high grass until they reached the ditch that led into the stream bed. Langer wished that he'd had some pads for his elbows and knees. All the crawling he had been doing for the last few days was wearing sore spots on them.

  They had about two hundred meters to go, fifty more until they reached the stream. Freezing in place, Langer sniffed the air. A wisp from the predawn breeze brought something to him. The smell of nouc nam! the pungent fish sauce that no self-respecting Vietnamese would dine without. As Xuan was behind him, that meant there was someone else up ahead that was, more than likely, not very
friendly.

  Dominic bumped into his heels and Xuan came to a dead halt. Pointing up ahead, Langer made a questioning gesture with an open palm. Dominic nodded in understanding and raised his own head to sniff the air. Xuan reminded himself where he was; it was too risky for him to take a chance on making any sound by passing Langer to take the lead.

  Langer loosened his combat knife in the sheath strapped to his boot, then moved on, keeping his belly raised a couple of inches off the ground so there wouldn't be any sound of his clothing or gear scraping the earth. He moved one careful inch at a time. The gully they were in took a turn to the right. He nearly put his hand on the hard rubber sole of a sandal made from a truck's tire. His heart stopped for a moment. He tried to focus his eyes to see further ahead, beyond the prone figure of the Viet Minh he was behind. He could make out several other shapes and in the shadows of a hollow he thought he could see the figures of several men bunched together. They were probably a group of sappers with bangalore torpedoes and explosives to blow holes in the camp's apron of concertina wire.

  If there was one unit, there had to be more. And there would be others to give covering fire to their comrades who would soon try to blast a path through the wire. That also meant there was more than one light machine gun out there that he couldn't see. He felt a hand on his leg and nearly jumped out of his skin. Dominic was touching him in a questioning manner, wanting to know what the hell was going on and why he had stopped again. Langer reached back with his Mats 49 and tapped Dominic twice on the hand, then twice more saying that he could make out four men for certain. Dominic did the same to Xuan. They were too near the enemy to hold a conference, so they just waited, ready to follow up on whatever Langer planned to do. Whatever it was, they knew it would happen soon. The false dawn was beginning to appear. From the bed of the stream, mist rose in ghostly tendrils over the high grass and drifted into every dip and hollow. A door opened in the camp, probably from the communications bunker, giving off a dim glow and then winked out seconds later as the door was shut. They had nearly fifty yards to go and they had to run for it now, before the Viets began their attack. If they didn't they would be caught between the two forces.

  Dominic and Xuan could sense Langer tensing. After fighting this long they didn't have to see things to know they were happening. It was like working with good musicians who had played together many times before. Instinctively, they knew what the next note from the others was going to be. The Viet Minh in front of Langer shifted his position a bit. Moving his leg, he nearly kicked Langer in the face. This one had to go. Langer lay his Mats 49 down and gently pulled his combat knife from his boot. Raising up on his fingertips and toes, he cleared his body from the ground, his belly wet from the damp of the mist and his sweat. He moved his legs up under him quietly, ever so careful not to make the slightest sound. Then, with a half sliding motion, he covered the Viet's body with his own. One hand went for his mouth to shut off any cry as the knife struck deep in the body, under the right rib cage. Langer used his heavier weight to keep the smaller man pinned as he struck three times more. Dominic moved up when Langer made his attack and held the Viet's feet still so they couldn't hammer against the earth. For what seemed an eternity the little man struggled under the weight of the man on his back. Then gradually his struggles lessened as his life force drained into his inner abdominal cavity. Langer was careful not to let go of his mouth too soon. He eased his hand off slowly so the last breath of air trapped in the dead Viet 's lungs wouldn't escape in a death rattle that could be heard by his comrades up ahead.

  Dominic and Xuan moved up alongside of Langer in the grass. They followed his pointing weapon to where they could see the Viet sappers bunched together. From the immediate area around them, they began to make out hushed voices, the muffled sounds of weapons being cocked and of bodies shifting positions. If they were going to do anything it had to be now. Langer slung his submachine gun on his back and held up his combat knife. The others did likewise. Dominic and Langer were in front. There wasn't enough room in the gully for all three to move simultaneously. Holding their breath they inched closer to the backs of the Viet Minh suicide team. There were four of them; he could see they had elastic socks of plastic explosives strapped to them. When they hit the wire they would not only blow a hole through it but blow up themselves as well.

  There was no need for them to confer about what had to be done. When they were in place, they moved low to the damp earth keeping below the level of the grass on the ridge of the trench. Hurling themselves as silently as they could into the hole with the sappers, knives struck. One tried to scream, but Xuan forced his fist into the man's open mouth, choking off his cry as his bayonet ripped open the sapper's belly. Lying on top of their victims, the three waited, sucking in air to replenish the oxygen that fear and exertion had burned up.

  A whispered cry in Vietnamese reached them from the left, asking what was the matter. Xuan responded in the same manner: "Nothing is wrong. I just got sick to my stomach and threw up." A small thin laugh told them his story was believed. It wasn't unusual for a man who was about to commit suicide to empty his gut.

  They were now only about thirty yards from their first line of wire and the place where they would have to get to reach the safe path through the mines and trip wires. Originally they were to get within hailing distance and call out the password, then they would be let through the wire without being fired on. Now they would have to get up to the wire without the Viets gunning them down. If they didn't move fast enough and a fire fight started, they would be caught between both sides.

  They held a quick whispered conference and decided to simply break and run for the wire, hoping the Viets would mistake them for their own sappers long enough for them to get clear. Setting their heels against the bottom of the pit, they bunched their leg muscles, which were trembling from the long night's patrol. Each took a deep breath and tensed, then they broke up and out, keeping their bodies low. They ran through the waist high mist hanging over the grass as fast as they could. Langer was in the lead, with Dominic close on his ass. Xuan's smaller legs tried to make up the difference by moving twice as fast as his taller friends. They had made it about halfway when the first shots came after them. They had been recognized and the Viets were trying to cut them down. Bullets snapped by their ears. One tugged at Langer's jacket. Once the firing started, he and Dominic started yelling to the Legionnaires behind the sandbagged wall to hold their fire. The cry came just in time to stop Hermann from pulling the trigger on his light machine gun. Not because he wanted to, but because a hand grasped his wrist and squeezed gently, nearly cracking the bones in it. A schoolmasterly voice said, "You don't really want to do that now, do you? It would make Uncle Gus very upset. "

  Regretfully, he eased off the trigger pressure, knowing that he would have had a good kill. But, c'est la guerre. Maybe next time and, if he was lucky, he would be able to add the gorilla to his score.

  They hit the first apron of wire, sliding on their stomachs under it. Cursing and yelling, they twisted through the concertina wire where it had not been staked down, allowing them to get through without ripping themselves up or getting tangled in it. From the French side came covering fire. It raked over their heads taking the attention of the Viets away from them. On hands and knees, they scrambled along the safe path until they were able to get next to the sandbagged walls. In turn, each threw himself over the side to land on his face, gasping for breath. Xuan was the last and he landed directly on top of Dominic, who was holding his sides where a cramp doubled him over. Dominic swore this was it. He was going back to show business after this engagement was over.

  A hairy paw helped Langer to his feet as his nostrils were assailed by the blended odor of wine and native home brew. Without looking up, he knew who it was. Gus!

  Gus grinned down at Langer, showing the dim glow from the single gold tooth set in front of the cavern that served him as a mouth.

  "Am I forever going to have to look
after you? If it hadn't been for me you would have starved to death in Russia in '43. Now I have to start all over again. Didn't you learn anything by my example? If you would just stay in the enlisted ranks you wouldn't get sent on so many patrols."

  Langer mumbled something sarcastic in reply and then moved on, with Xuan trailing, down into the trench leading to the interior of the camp and the command post. Dominic was allowed to go on to his bunk. There was nothing he could tell Captain Boissy that Xuan and Langer didn't know. Raising the canvas flap, Langer went inside to make his report, leaving Gus to ponder what they were going to have for breakfast. His stomach grumbled at the delicious thought of a two inch thick slice of young water buffalo; of course, he would have been just as pleased at the possibility of eating the north end of a southbound hyena.

  Langer removed his forage hat on entering the bunker. It was dark inside and the air was heavy and oppressive. Captain Boissy was leaning up against a box of thirty caliber ammo, eyes closed, but Langer knew he was awake. On his thin face was a nervous tic that he'd acquired a week ago. It only left him when he was sleeping. Langer could see minor muscle spasms working at Boissy's jaw, but he didn't open his eyes.

  "What is happening out there?" He hadn't bothered to go outside. The minor fire fight that had just taken place had already faded away. The Viets had withdrawn after their attempt to breach the wire had been blown. They would come back later in the night, or perhaps the next morning, but they would return. That was for certain.