by Bing West
The PFs roughly questioned the man’s wife, who admitted that her husband had been a secret, in-place Viet Cong agent. A few nights earlier, some guerrillas had rowed across from the Phu Longs and set to work digging a fighting trench with the intention of ambushing a PF patrol. After the PFs destroyed the trench, a Viet Cong who knew her husband had sneaked back to talk. Her husband had laughed at the guerrilla for his poor plan and the guerrilla had replied that at least he had the courage to fight and not just hide. His pride stung, her husband had rigged a grenade as a booby trap, a safe, clever response which McGowan had sensed was the work of a local resident. When it failed, rather than lose face, her husband chose to use the carbine, despite her pleas to leave the patrols alone.
Although he thought the man foolish for allowing pride to goad him into a senseless act of defiance, Thanh was chagrined that in his dossiers there was nothing which had associated the man with the Viet Cong. He guessed that there were no more than a dozen secret enemy cadres in the seven hamlets, but he had little hope of finding them. This left the first move up to them, and it was only by a quirk that one such valuable agent had been exposed and eliminated.
For their part, the enemy appeared to have modified their strategy toward Binh Son district in general and toward Binh Nghia in particular. Where some months earlier they had eagerly sought contact, the guerrilla and small Viet Cong units were avoiding the patrols. Vietnamese military intelligence reported that in late January three hundred VC political cadres from the five lowland districts of Quang Ngai province had attended a conference in southern Binh Son, where it had been decided not to fight the spreading pacification efforts on a daily guerrilla basis. Instead, the guerrillas were to gather intelligence and act as guides and reinforcements for the main forces who would come down from the hills for strong attacks. The primary targets were to be the RD teams and combined units, of which there were then five in Binh Son.
Shortly afterward district informed Thanh that a commander of the 409th NVA Battalion, which had participated in the September attack upon the fort, had visited the village and stayed overnight. Then a farmer told the PFs that five VC had held him prisoner in My Hué for five days, seeking information about Fort Page. The warnings about enemy observers from the main forces coupled with McGowan’s clash with the secret guerrilla disturbed Suong. He suggested that the nightly patrol to that hamlet take the PF radio, and the PFs at the fort would double up on the Marine radio. This sensible precaution was followed for several days without incident.
Then in the early morning of March 25, the My Hué patrol received a call from battalion ordering them to cross over to the Phu Longs. When an attempt was made to raise the fort for confirmation of the dangerous order, the caller from battalion cut in on the frequency and repeated the battalion commander’s orders. The radio procedure was correct and the English unaccented, but the radio operators at the fort could not identify the voice, and they knew the battalion operators on a first-name basis. McGowan told the caller to go to hell, assuming the man was an American at one of the many Chulai bases. In response to McGowan’s curses, the voice signed off by saying: “Auf Wiedersehen, Marines.” The incident was reported to counterintelligence, who confirmed the next day that the enemy had moved a powerful radio onto the peninsula across the river, along with an English-speaking operator, whom they believed to be European.
The combined unit was warned that the main forces would not be monitoring their net without reason. Special reconnaissance teams were dispatched by Marine headquarters to scout the Binh Son peninsula. They sighted numerous enemy bands dressed not in the black garb of guerrillas but in the green and khaki utilities characteristic of main-force units. The pilots of spotter planes brought back similar observations. There was gossip about a large enemy band seeping into the Phu Longs. The women who went downriver to the district market were buzzing about it, and Mr. Lee, the district census taker and top intelligence agent, insisted it was true.
Then at ten in the warm morning of March 26 a combined unit on the other side of the Phu Longs sent out a patrol with rudimentary medical assistance to a hamlet with a reputation like that of My Hué: influenced by, but not fully organized or fanatically dedicated to, the Viet Cong. There were sixteen men in the patrol, and they walked straight into a main-force bivouac position. Within a half-hour ten Marines and five PFs were dead. One PF survived by hiding in some underbrush while the Viet Cong shot in the head each of the fifteen bodies. The news raced through the district, with the Viet Cong reinforcing their victory by declaring they would strike again. The question was where.
Intelligence indicated that at the Viet Cong district committee meeting in late January the Binh Nghia combined unit had been denounced more bitterly than any other U.S. or GVN program. The unit was a military impediment; its patrols and ambushes prevented easy use of the Tra Bong River and blocked one route toward the Chulai air base. Its presence also impeded rice collections, taxation, proselytizing and recruitment. Worse still, after destroying the fort in September, the district committee had expected to regain the Binh Yen Noi area and reestablish suzerainty over the entire village, an expectation calculated on the belief that fear rather than revenge would dictate the actions of the survivors. Six months later, rather than having gained Binh Yen Noi, the Viet Cong faced the loss of My Hué.
Three days later, the intelligence came in hard and specific. Charlie Company received from headquarters a report that “120 VC dressed in green utilities with unidentified patch, were at Phu Long Hamlet Number 5 and armed with 60mm mortar, one 30 caliber machinegun, nine BARs and small arms. VC to attack Fort Page from the south.” That same day, Captain Dang called Suong with information from other sources, confirming that Fort Page was the target.
By midafternoon the people were leaving, first a trickle, then a steady flow of families heading to district or to spend the night with friends in other hamlets. By four o’clock the river was boatless and the trails empty. At the fort, Suong for once did not have to wait until it was dark before he knew how many PFs were going to show up for guard duty. All his men had come in early. So had Trao and Thanh and some of the other officials. Not all. Many had gone to Binh Son, rather than die like Mr. Phuoc. They were not fighters. The RDs stayed, their leader telling Suong that he had pulled his men back to Binh Yen Noi. While it was still light, the leaders of the PFs, RDs and Marines made up their common battle plan, liberally helped in their patrol decisions by the kibitzing of their men.
The plan was simple. If the attack came from the south, the scout patrols were to let the VC pass without firing, the hope being to draw the enemy into the open paddies. The 1st Marine Division had artillery illumination and helicopter gunships on alert. If the enemy entered the open, they were to finish him. If the attack came through the hamlet from the north, the VC could remain concealed and still slip up to within twenty meters of the wire. Trao and Suong insisted it would have to be a rifle fight. They did not want to destroy their own homes, and there were some families huddled in their household bunkers. The RDs were deployed along the northern edge of the hamlet, facing the sand dunes, to prevent the enemy unit from getting in among the houses. While limiting damage to the hamlet, this deployment might deprive the unit of the opportunity of delivering a hard blow, since the enemy would be unlikely to persist if discovered before they were in their assault position.
Each group was thoroughly briefed. Six of the Marines and eight PFs were to go out on two patrols to warn the fort when the enemy approached and to ambush the VC when they pulled back. Colucci was leading one patrol; Luong the other. The perimeter of the fort was manned from inside the trench, so Suong and McGowan could shift their forces as needed. By dusk they were ready. The Marines and PFs gathered in the courtyard for a final weapon check.
“All right,” McGowan said, “I want—”
“Sarge,” Gallagher yelled, “you got a call from company.”
While the Marines and the PFs waited and listened, McG
owan moved to the radio and picked it up.
“Lima Six Actual, this is Charlie Six,” the radio crackled. “We have almost proof positive that you are going to be hit by a battalion. Repeat, by a battalion. You are to fall back to this position immediately. Over.”
The Marines heard. So did the PFs, and those who knew enough English to understand were whispering the news to the others even as McGowan was replying.
“Ah, Charlie Six, you told us that already today. So did Captain Dang. I’m afraid I don’t understand. Everything is set down here. We’ll stay. Over.”
“Lima Six Actual, this is Charlie Six Actual. This is an order from Serpent Six Actual, repeat, Serpent Six Actual.”
The commander of Charlie Company had his orders from the battalion commander, who had to bear the final career responsibility for what happened at the fort. Fort Page had gone under once. The entire patrol from another combined unit had just been wiped out. If Page fell a second time, the lieutenant colonel would almost certainly be relieved and passed over for any future promotion.
“Charlie Six, this is Lima Six Actual,” McGowan replied. “We’re O.K. here. Over.”
“Lima Six, hold on while I check with Serpent Six Actual.”
McGowan changed the radio frequency and picked up the battalion net. The Charlie Company commander was catching hell from the battalion commander: either McGowan left the fort or faced a court-martial. McGowan turned the radio off.
“All Marines into the mess deck,” he said.
He turned toward the waiting Vietnamese.
“The Marines must talk alone, Suong.”
The twelve Americans gathered in the small room and sat on the floor and benches to hear McGowan.
“You all heard the man,” the sergeant said. “We could get hit by three hundred Cong. Yet if we leave now, it’s all over. We could never come back. At least I’d never come back. I can’t order you to stay, and you have been ordered to leave. It’s our choice: go or stay. So let’s take a vote. Is anyone in favor of leaving?”
Swinford jumped up. He was close to tears.
“You can go to hell, McGowan,” he shouted. “You can all go to hell. Screw your vote. I don’t give a crap what any of you do. I’ve been waiting for them to come back ever since Sullivan. I’m not going to run from those little bastards. I’m going to stay here and blast them. They’re not getting this fort. They’re not getting this ville. I’m not leaving here no matter what. And you’re not getting me out of here. I’ll lock myself in the storeroom and I’ll blast any mother who tries to come through the door. So help me God I will.”
For several seconds no one spoke. Then Garcia said: “I’m with Paul. It was all for nothing if we leave now, I mean, what are we going to say to the PFs?”
“Yeh,” Gallagher said. “There’s no way I can see bugging out.”
“We can hold,” Colucci said.
“All right,” McGowan replied. “Then it’s settled. We stay.”
“We’ll visit you in the brig, Sarge,” Gallagher said.
The Marines filed back out into the courtyard and approached the silent PFs.
“What are you staring at, Luong?” Wingrove asked. “Let’s di-di on out of here. We’re wasting time.”
The PFs laughed and the patrols joined up and left the fort.
McGowan called back to company.
“Charlie Six, this is Lima Six. Cannot—repeat, not—leave this position. We have two—repeat, two—patrols already out and the RDs are in the hamlet. No radio contact with these units. If we leave, we’d get ambushed by our own men. Over.”
Company relayed the message to battalion, where no one was willing to accept responsibility for ordering a move under such circumstances. Instead, as a career hedge in case of a later disaster, Charlie Company was told to inform McGowan that battalion had wanted him to move while there was still time.
About ten in the evening the enemy scouts started slipping into Binh Yen Noi, a few men moving cautiously, dodging from shadow to shadow, hugging the sides of the houses, avoiding the paths and coming slowly, very slowly. Alerted by the stillness of the hamlet and the absence of lights and of people, as well as by contact with some of their secret cadres who told them the defenders were prepared, the scouts darted back and forth trying to reassure one another to go deeper into the hamlet and draw closer to the fort. At length, one man braver than the rest sneaked as far forward as the stalls at the marketplace while the others hung back and waited to see what would happen.
The scout knew his business. When he drew near to the bushes on the far side of the marketplace, he went down to one knee and bobbed his head back and forth, trying to catch any strange silhouette against the skyline. He was looking straight at a group of patrollers, and his suspicion was evidently so strong that at any second he might raise his rifle and fire.
Deciding one of the patrollers might be killed if that did happen, Luong shot the man in the chest. As he crumpled to earth, the other scouts scurried away and Luong knew it was over. They would signal the main body not to cross that night. The fort’s defenses were too strong and poised. But throughout the rest of the night the Marines, PFs and RDs waited in their positions, while a reaction platoon at Charlie Company played cards, strummed guitars, loaded magazines and waited for the firing, and while the artillerymen and pilots at Chulai dozed fitfully, waiting for the call to help.
It was not for nothing. In a sense, it was the most important battle the Americans at Fort Page ever prepared to fight. They had chosen to stay; the PFs knew it, and soon so would the entire village.
Book VI
Acceptance
20
The next morning the villagers streamed back into the hamlets. Upon hearing about the repulse of the enemy battalion, they treated the PFs and RDs as heroes. For the next few days the PFs could not buy a drink, as they were invited from house to house to sip rice wine and boast of their defense of the village. In the retelling, the cautious retreat of the enemy was exaggerated until it became a full-fledged rout under fire. With the PFs absent from duty, the Americans were forced to do more patrolling, since they stayed away from the parties, both because some were not invited and those that were dared not risk expulsion from the CAP by getting drunk at night. Although the Americans were free to roam during the day, it was hard to interest a PF who had been drunk the night before in starting all over again at ten in the morning, with children scurrying about and women yelling at him to do some constructive work for a change.
The PFs were enjoying themselves hugely. The previous June their prestige had been so low even a child would not fetch water for them, and now they were local celebrities. But the Americans, most of whom could not speak the language and few of whom sensed the historical significance of the successful defense, seemed forgotten in the festivities, or just taken for granted. They continued their usual routine: linger at the fort, wander around the hamlets, and patrol, patrol, patrol.
Few of the Americans had been able to convince any girls in the village to sleep with them. The hamlet elders at first had strongly disapproved, and any girl who bedded down with an American risked a public beating. After several months, when the Americans in the combined unit were accepted, that deterrent was lifted. But still the villagers had a strict moral code, and the physical environs did not lend themselves to private lovers’ trysts. A Marine had to convince not only the girl but her parents, and, in some cases, her brothers. That done, he had to find seclusion without leaving the hamlet boundaries and then coax the girl to bed during the daylight hours. To hurdle all these impediments required language skill, facial charm, diplomacy, long patience and much luck. In most cases, a Marine’s courting skill simply did not match his desire. Most remained celibate while in the village, some taking solace in their virtue, others making occasional trips to whorehouses in the shack towns along Highway One. The three Americans who were sleeping with girls in Binh Nghia had to contend with Trao’s scowls, and the knowledge that he
was just waiting to be able to report to McGowan a parental complaint.
So the Marines were momentarily stunned when, a few days after the abortive attack, Trao drove up to the fort in the ARVN truck, lifted the back canvas and revealed two giggling, attractive young prostitutes, a pre-paid twelve-hour gift from the village council. Although most of the Marines were delighted, McGowan was appalled.
“Trao, what are you trying to do?” he asked. “Get me fired? If they’re found here, I’m finished.”
Trao laughed and told the sergeant not to worry; the truck would be back to pick up the girls before dark. He said he had planned carefully to avoid interference. This explanation satisfied McGowan, but he had not questioned closely enough. Trao meant that he had Captain Dang’s permission; McGowan assumed his Marine battalion commander had been called out of the district.
About an hour after the prostitutes had arrived, so did the battalion commander.
“Sarge,” the guard at the gate hollered, “the colonel’s jeep is coming.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“Take a look.”
McGowan did.
“I’ve had it. We’ve had it. It’s all over,” he said. “Those girls—we’ve got to hide them.”
He ran to the squad tent and burst in without knocking. Lying on one of the cots were a Marine and one of the prostitutes. Both were sweating and naked.
“McGowan,” the startled Marine yelped, “who the hell do you think you are? Get out of here!”
“The CO’s coming. We have to hide her. Now. Get her over to the supply room.”
“Like this? What, are you putting me on? Is this a joke? Is everybody lined up outside?”
“——, I’m dead serious. Honest to God. It’s my stripes if he walks in here. You gotta move. You gotta move right now.”
Out the back of the tent and into the side door of the adobe building they scampered—a naked Marine and a naked girl. In the small side room used as a messhall a cot had been set up to accommodate the other prostitute, who had her blouse on but nothing else when McGowan and the first couple burst in. She looked up from her work with an expression of mild surprise, while her Marine partner was too flabbergasted to say anything.