by Barry Sadler
Casey and Phang used this time to move into assault positions, just out of sight of the first line of the village's defenses. There they would wait till the storm was at its peak.
The night came early; the skies darkened and rumbled. Lightning broke through the clouds to crack and thunder over the earth, drowning out all sounds. Lines began to go down between the different Vietcong posts. The Viets couldn't know that many of them were cut by the Kams. Radio and ground line communication was nearly nil throughout the entire Parrot's Beak. Even if a call for help got through it would take the enemy a long time to respond and for them to make their way through the winds to give any support.
Trees began to give way. The shallow roots of palms were being torn out of the earth to fall, and in some cases to be thrown, as much as a quarter of a mile before crashing into the sides of houses. Anyone that could took shelter. Facing the storm from their bunkers the Viets on duty kept their faces away from the firing apertures to avoid the cutting wind and rain. They hunched down to wait it out, wet and miserable as the waters began to fill the floor of the bunkers.
In the tunnels below water also came in. but not as much as might have been expected. All the entrances were well covered and protected. There were also conduits for drainage of the tunnels as the village sat on a small flat rise. It was drier underground than on the surface. Even the sounds of the thunder lessened to only distant rumbles. Troung and Ho felt secure.
Phang's men in the camp moved out. It was time. On their bellies they crawled to the bunker on the southeast corner. Nearly invisible under the sheet of rain and darkness, they crawled face to foot. When they reached the opening to the machine gun bunkers they took out the weapons they had borrowed from the villagers, cai kiem, homemade sword-like machetes. They had nearly been born with one of these in their hands.
They waited till all five of them were at the entrance and ready. When the next roll of thunder came over the village, they moved. Sliding into the bunker entrance on their bellies, they slithered over the slick mud like serpents, one after the other. The three Vietnamese in the bunker raised their heads in the dark to see who it was that had joined them. They'd raised their heads just in time to meet the swinging blades of the cai kiems in the Kamserai warriors' hands. They died. Their screams, carried away by the wind, went unheard by anyone over ten feet away.
One of the Kamserai went back outside the bunker. In his hand he carried a round object. Climbing to the top of the bunker, he raised his arm, and fighting the wind threw the object over the wire to land in a drainage ditch. The object was picked up and brought to Phang by a smiling warrior. Grabbing it by the hair, Phang held the severed head of a Vietcong up for Casey to look at. They had the bunker!
Casey nodded. It was nearly useless to try and speak over the screaming of the winds. Taking his bag he moved to the wire, raised his arm and heaved as hard as he could. The wind aided him as it was coming from his rear. The bag flew over the bunker to land four feet behind it, where it was retrieved and taken inside.
Three of the Kamserai warriors exchanged their clothes with those of the dead Viets. The blood would not show up at night and their uniforms would be washed clean by the rain before they traveled ten feet. From the bags they took out what Casey had thrown to them. Two more 45 caliber grease guns and for each of the weapons there was, in a leather foam padded case, a silencer.
The Kamserai moved out of the bunker, going down the line to the main gate. There they would have to take out two machine gun emplacements, one on each side of the gate. Once that was done, Phang and Casey would be able to take their men and rush the camp without having to cross the mine and punji stake field.
One man went to each bunker and entered. He was made welcome as his uniform was recognized by the occupants. The heavy subsonic 45 caliber slugs tore them apart. Outside, the other two Kams stood watch, each with an AK-47 they'd taken from the Viets they'd killed in the first bunker. Once those waiting outside the wire were given the "all clear," they went for the gate.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Under cover of the storm, Phang's men struggled to the main gate. The wind and rain tried to whip them away then switched its direction to try and force them onto the barbed wire. The typhoon was at its peak nearing winds of approximately eighty miles an hour. Wire cutters opened gaps in the barbed wire where men could slip through. It was done as much by touch as by sight, which came only in the brief, eye blinking flashes of lightning.
On the opposite side of the camp several land mines went off as tree branches were blown into the fields. The sound was barely audible, the wind a roaring monstrous vacuum cleaner sucking all sound away. The Viets inside the bunkers didn't think anything of it. It had happened before, and if it had been an attack, those on duty would have opened fire and sent up flares to warn the rest of the camp. It was a good thing that that was the way they thought.
Phang's first casualty came while trying to get through the gap in the gate wire. A Kam's assault rifle caught a thin wire on its sight. The mine went off, killing him and wounding two more. It also opened up the rest of the wire to let them into the village. Phang's men had no more trouble and left the Kamserai mercenary where he died, using his body as a bridge to cross over a barrier of tangle- foot.
Phang's Kamserai did as they'd been instructed. They split up into two groups each going with one of the men with the silenced grease guns. They were to take out one at a time all the other Viets along the defense perimeter. Once they had eliminated the surface defense, they were to place men wearing VC uniforms at each entrance to the underground network. Any VC that came out would die, thinking it was one of his own men helping him.
Taking ten Kams with them, Casey and Phang headed for one of the entrances to the underground world of Comrade Ho.
They slipped and slid, pushed and pummeled by blasting winds as they crawled through foaming pools of water. Their clothes stuck to them like second skins. A wide shallow river now ran through the center of the village. In their houses, the Cambodians huddled together and prayed for the night to end. They had no interest in what was going on outside, and if they had looked out and seen Phang's men killing the Viets they would have said and done nothing other than shrug their shoulders and hope it was for the best.
Casey pulled back the canvas and thatch covering over a hole leading down into the earth. Dropping in, he was followed by a small waterfall of rich brown fluid. Phang came in behind him, then another ten of his best men, all specially chosen for this job of rat catching under the earth.
At the entrance to the passageway Casey was in, a man nearly had to go to his knees in order to move. Half squatting, he duck-walked forward, the long silenced snout of the grease gun in front of him, the bolt pulled back, ready to fire. The passageway continued in a straight direction for about forty feet before it widened out and the roof was high enough to stand in. The tunnels had been built to last, with strong beams shoring up the sides and ceiling. Mats of woven rice straw were placed between the beams to keep the worst of the drainage down to bearable levels.
At the place where the tunnel widened Casey saw a light from a lantern. He slowed and signaled to Phang to keep his men quiet. Dropping to his belly he snaked forward till he could get a look. By the lantern sat three Viets at a small half-sized table made of old ammo crates. One was asleep, his head on his arms, his weapon leaning up against the side of the tunnel. The other two talked while they smoked Vietnamese cigarettes which gave off an acrid yellow smoke.
Casey waited, listening to see if there' was anyone else close by. He heard nothing but the faintest roar of the winds above and the trickle of water seeping through the roof to drop in small puddles on the floor of the tunnel. He sighted, took his time and fired. The silencer made strange whooshing, popping sounds as the bolt moved back and forth. Casey put out a ten round burst just to make sure. The three men were dead. The one sleeping with his head on his arms never woke up in time to die. He was blown off his stool to lie
up against the wall next to his rifle, much the same as he had been while asleep, except that now he had no left side to his head. Phang moved past Casey. The room the three Charlies were in was a junction where two other tunnels took off in different directions. Casey took the nearest one on his right and sidestepped keeping his back against the wall till he was at the next opening. Peeking around the corner he made a low whistle to attract Phang's attention and motioned him over. Phang took a look. It was a barracks. Rows of low single bunks with straw mattresses ran along each side of the room. Exactly twenty-two of them. There was a weapons rack near the opposite exit filled with AK-47s and SKS assault rifles. Each of the bunks had an occupant and they were all asleep.
Phang nodded at Casey that he knew what had to be done. Turning his head, he whispered something to the first man in line behind him, who passed it on to the last. Casey moved into the barracks as quietly as possible, passing the sleeping rows of men till he reached the other end. Looking down the corridor he could see nothing. Only a single coal oil lamp provided illumination for the tunnel. Going back into the barracks, Casey stood beside the bunk of the Viet sleeping nearest the exit. He leaned over and swung his fist. The Viet would not wake up until what was about to happen was over. Pointing to the next bunk and then to himself, he motioned back to Phang to get on with it.
Phang's ten Kams moved to where each of them stood between two sleeping Viets. In their hands they held their traditional machete swords raised above the heads of the Viets. They waited. Phang raised his hand then let it drop. The blades fell. Each man put all the strength in his arms and shoulders into his swing. At the same moment ten Viets died in their sleep as Kamserai steel severed their heads from their bodies. As if it had been choreographed for a team of professional dancers, the ten Kams turned in unison and swung again on the opposite side of them. Once more ten blades fell and twenty Viets went to join the spirits of their ancestors. Casey killed his other man at the same time the Kama took out their first ten. He didn't have a machete, but a bayonet plunged through the thin bone of the temple worked just as well.
Phang sent his men to guard the entrances to the barracks. Casey had some work to do. The one survivor was slapped back into consciousness. A hand clamped over his mouth as he jerked back into awareness, eyes wild and frightened at the wet, dripping men with bloody blades in their hands, moving among the decapitated ruins of his comrades. They were nearly as terrifying as the visage of the scarred one, whose hand nearly crushed his face. Phang put his own dark face close to that of their prisoner.
"Where is Ho's quarters? Tell me the truth and you live. Lie, or make any outcry, and you join your friends."
The Viet slowly raised a hand to point down the hallway that Casey had looked down earlier. He removed his hand to permit the man to speak. The Viet made no attempt to cry out a warning. The feel of Phang's steel against his throat made it difficult enough to even croak out a whisper.
"The Colonel stays down this hall to the right. The third door." Phang prompted him for more information. "There are guards there, at least two, and more men in the rooms next to him. Mostly officers." The point of the blade pressed a bit deeper drawing a single pearl of blood from the Viet's neck. "I swear it. He is there now!"
Casey nodded. He believed the man was telling the truth. He swung his fist again, putting the Viet back to sleep. He usually tried to keep his end of a bargain.
On the surface above, Phang's men had finished their mission. The bodies of the dead VC had been stripped and weapons taken from them. A team of ten Kamserai left the camp, taking with them captured weapons and ammunition. If anything went wrong they would not leave the camp empty-handed and weapons were more valuable than gold, for they meant life.
The rest took up positions and waited in the rain. Some lay under the shelter of animal pens, where they shared their accommodations with pigs and goats who snuffed at them but finally left them alone. They didn't like the smell of death and blood on the men. Others found the fuel supply for the camp under the cover of a palm- thatched hut. Grunting and slipping in the slick mud of the village compound, they rolled the drums of gasoline out of the hut and over to where they would be needed later.
Casey took the lead again. Now it was time to go after Comrade Ho. They had been lucky so far and it was not a time for mistakes. The last Kam out of the barracks stopped and looked at the only surviving Viet, shrugged his shoulders and slit the unconscious man's throat. It was stupid to leave an enemy alive, no matter what he was promised!
Casey was nearly to Ho's doorway when their luck changed. At the far end of the tunnel three VC came around a corner. They were going to the mess hall two corridors over to get something to eat before relieving the radio man and the arms room guard. Two of them had their weapons slung on their shoulders. The other carried his semiautomatic SKS in his hand. As luck would have it, he was the end man. Casey cut the first two down with the M-3. The last Viet ducked back behind the corner and began to call out the alarm.
His cries for help reached several ears. Men began to tumble from bunks, grabbing their weapons. He jacked a round into the chamber of his assault rifle and without looking around the corner, stuck the weapon out and began to fire blind. Casey was already on his belly, a grenade in his hand. Two rounds from the wild firing Charlie hit one Kam in the face. Casey pulled the pin on the grenade, counted to three and threw the small bomb so it would hit the side of the right wall and ricochet around the corner. What pool players would call a bank shot. The grenade exploded with a dull thump. There would be no more surprises, but now they'd have to move fast.
In his room Ho heard the cry of alarm and rolled out of his bunk. He still had his trousers on and didn't have time to put on anything else before the grenade exploded.
Troung also heard the cries and sounds of fighting. He yelled down the corridor from his room for men to come to him.
Casey was unable to get to Ho's room. Other Viets had gathered at the end of the corridor and he'd had to pull back to the barracks. From there shots flamed down the dim lit hallway till one hit the lamp and they were plunged into darkness.
Up on the surface, Phang's men felt the grenade explosion beneath them as only a small thump.
They got ready. In less than thirty seconds the first of the enemy below began to clamber out of the holes to reach the surface. As they stuck their heads up above ground, they were blinded by the force of the wind and beating rain that slammed against their eyes.
They were helped out by willing hands that tossed them one at time to their friends who swung eager blades. One by one, all that tried to reach the surface died, and not a shot had been fired. Forty-three VC lay with gaping wounds in their throats, draining their blood into the dark pools of water left by the storm.
Beneath them the rest of the VC were involved with trying to fight off the Kamserai. Troung had taken command of the situation.
He cried out down the hallway.
"Colonel Ho! Are you all right."
Ho stayed in the dark of his room, his pistol pointed at the entrance. Anyone who came in would die before they got him. At Troung's call he felt a surge of relief. "Get me out of here!"
Troung tried. He forced his men to make an assault down the narrow passage, only to be met by grenades and automatic fire from the Kamserai. Eight men went down. Casey told Phang to give him his grenades. In the barracks he found an elbow's length of wood and tied the grenades to it in a bundle. He ran back to where he could get a clear throw down the hall, pulled the pin on one of the grenades and tossed the bundle. It hit the end of the hallway and fell to lie next to the body of the first Viet he'd killed. Troung and his men tried to scramble away. In the dark and the confusion they stumbled and bumped into each other. Several fell to be trampled on by their own comrades. The stick of grenades exploded, the force of the bombs rupturing ears and eyes. The ceiling groaned as the rafters holding up the surface weakened from the explosion and the rain. Timbers creaked as they shifted o
ut of kilter.
Troung swore as he struggled to get out from under the pile of bodies that landed on him. Getting to his feet, he screamed for them to get some more men and some lights so they could see what they were shooting at. One of his men took him at his word, grabbed one of the oil lamps from its slot on the wall, lit the flame and threw the lamp down the hall to break and burn. The light of the oil was barely enough for Casey to get a look down the hall. He rose to his knees to make a try for Ho's room when a rapid burst of automatic fire nearly took his face off. He dropped back down.
In his room, Ho couldn't stand the tension anymore. He cried out to Troung to give him cover. From a musette bag he took out two grenades, pulled the pins, opened his door and threw them down the hallway toward the barracks. They didn't reach all the way landing twenty feet in front of the doorway. Casey, Phang and the Kams ducked for cover. The explosions of the grenades added to that of the previous ones and the smoke from the broken oil lamp made visibility in the corridor nil. Ho hit the door and scrambled as fast as he could on all fours to the safety of Troung and his men. Several shots, fired blind from the Kams, made him move faster than he'd have ever thought he was capable of.
Casey saw only the butt of Ho as he scrambled for cover. He rose to his feet and went after him. Shots from Troung made him take cover in Ho's vacant quarters.
Ho got to his feet aided by Troung, "What is going on? Who are they and how many of them are there? Where are our men?"
Troung had no answers for his master's questions. The roof of the tunnel began to sag as more beams were weakened. Water from the surface began to stream in through cracks. From the top, four of Phang's men dropped inside the tunnels. They wanted to reach their leader; instead they were met by Troung's people, each keeping the other pinned down. The ceiling creaked and shifted again as the walls of the tunnels started to buckle inward.