Paul watched as each of the team members tried unobtrusively to check each other out with small talk. It was imperative that weak team members be identified quickly, especially when a new team was being formed. Paul looked at his watch: it was seven-thirty, and Hetten still hadn’t shown up for the meeting that he had called. Sergeant Braverman left a group of NCOs and wandered over to where Paul was standing.
“I think he’s over at the club talking to a couple of his buddies,”
Braverman nodded in the direction of the building. “Maybe you should go over and fetch him.”
Paul nodded and left the smoke-filled office. The night air was warm, but felt good compared to the cramped meeting-room’s nervous human smells.
Hetten’s whining voice reached him from inside the bar located on the other side of the large open courtyard that dominated the camp. Paul entered the consolidated clubhouse and immediately saw Hetten talking at a table to an anemic-looking lieutenant.
“Sir,” Paul stepped between the chairs occupied by the two officers, “the men are waiting for you over at the team office.”
“Sit down, Lieutenant.” Hetten turned his attention back to his friend and continued telling a war story.
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Paul waited ten minutes and then spoke. “Sir, the men have been waiting for you.”
“Damn it! Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to interrupt your superiors?”
Hetten glared at his executive officer and then shifted his eyes back to the other lieutenant at the table. “Rodney, this is the lieutenant who beat you out of the XO’s job.”
Paul decided to give the skinny lieutenant a chance even though he had a negative impression of the man. “Nice meeting you, Rodney. I hope we can get together sometime for a beer, once things settle down a bit.”
“Don’t hand me any of that friendly bullshit, Bourne! You screwed me out of My An!” Hate filled the lieutenant’s face, making the man’s appearance shift from one extreme to the other. Fuck you!”
Paul reacted instantly to the threat coming from his peer. “I don’t know what your problem is, fella, but if you ever talk to me like that again I’m going to tear your fucking face off and shove it up your ass . . . hear?”
Rodney averted his eyes, knowing he had just encountered someone who wasn’t going to take any of his cowardice-based intrepidity, even when his mentor was sitting at the same table.
“Stop!” Hetten jumped to his feet. I’m not going to allow cheap threats like that to be made in front of me!” Hetten’s face turned a dark red with the realization that his neophyte’s ego had been hurt. “Now you apologize to Rodney!”
“Sir, I have nothing to apologize to Lieutenant Rodney for.” Paul turned to face Hetten and spoke calmly. “Your troops are still waiting for you.” Paul took a step toward the western-style swinging doors.
“Lieutenant! Get your ass back here and apologize!”
Paul turned and waited until the other lieutenant looked at him from staring at the floor. “Lieutenant Rodney . . . I apologize for the tone of my voice when I spoke to you; if it scared you, I also apologize for that—but what I said . . . I meant it.”
Paul left the bar without looking back at his commander. He had gained most of his composure by the time he entered the office. All of the room’s occupants stood awaiting the team leader.
“Take your seats.” Paul walked directly to the front of the room and faced the assembled sergeants. “I’m Lieutenant Bourne. I have been assigned as the executive officer for this A-Team. Recently, I have been working out of Duc Co.” Paul looked at the faces in the room as he spoke, “I was going through your files in Nha Trang and, quite frankly, I’m very impressed with the talent I saw.”
Paul had used the standard opening lines for a new member to an A detachment. It always paid to compliment the men you were going to trust 106
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your life to. Also, most Special Forces men worked very hard to gain their berets, and were proud of the fact that they had been hand-picked to serve on a new detachment.
Paul continued, “The captain is tied up right now and will join us as soon as he can break away. I thought that I would use this time to tell you a little bit about myself and what I expect from team members that I have to share time with.” A light chuckle filled the room at that comment. It sounded as if they were all going to go to prison instead of combat. “Let’s start this meeting with each of you introducing yourselves and telling us where you’re coming from.”
Each of the experienced sergeants took their time telling the rest of the men what schools they had attended and where they had served during their assignments in Special Forces. Anything prior to wearing the Green Beret was incidental and skipped over. The last man to speak was Sergeant Yater, an impressive-looking black soldier. The man’s list of schools seemed to go on forever, and included attendance at all five of the Special Forces combat spe-cialties. Yater had come from a detachment that in itself was very famous: Sigma Project, a highly dangerous reconnaissance unit. The sergeant let everyone in the room know that he wasn’t at all happy at being taken from the project and assigned to a regular A detachment. Yater was the epitome of a Special Forces soldier, both in bearing and expertise. Paul was very impressed with the sergeant. Here was a black soldier anyone would be proud to serve under. Black professionals like Yater had their work cut out for them in the future.
The door to the office snapped open and slammed hard against the wall.
The rifle-shot sound echoed in the room.
“Set . . . your . . . fucking . . . ass . . . down . . . Lieutenant! ” Hetten strutted to the front of the room and stopped next to the wall maps. “When I say wait for me, Lieutenant . . . that is exactly what I mean! Wait! ” The captain glared from face to face as if to scare all of the men in the room with his awesome presence. It was a couple of minutes before he spoke again. “A lesson can be learned from this . . . a good lesson!” He placed his hands on his hips and spread his feet apart in an arrogant stance. “I command this team! I alone!
That is your first lesson . . . Lieutenant Bourne commands nothing . . . nothing!
He does exactly what he is told . . . that’s something he has to work on.”
Sergeant Braverman turned his head away in disgust. An officer should never embarrass his fellow officers in front of enlisted men, regardless how senior the sergeants are.
“Sir, the lieutenant was organizing the meeting waiting for you.”
Braverman spoke slowly so that he wouldn’t lose control of his voice. All of the NCOs present noticed that their senior NCO had sided with the lieutenant.
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“Bullshit!” Hetten’s eyes lost their focus. “I have been standing outside the door for the past half hour! He’s trying to take over my command!”
One at a time the team members looked down at the floor between their feet. Hetten had just lost all respect from them. They would still obey his orders but only because the law placed the captain above them.
The captain rambled on for over an hour without saying anything important. The men received little additional information about building the proposed A detachment along the Sap Rau canal. Paul glanced at his watch: it was close to midnight, and he felt the weariness from the night before and the early-morning airplane ride.
The screen door opened with a squeak and a young-looking major called the room to attention for the colonel who entered, followed by members of his staff.
“Captain Hetten. We heard you talking as we passed and I’d like to say a few words to your team. If I may?” Lieutenant Colonel Bakersun shook hands with the captain and turned his attention to the assembled team. “I haven’t had the opportunity of meeting most of you yet, but I’d like to welco
me all of you to the Delta.”
The colonel talked for a few more minutes and then turned the meeting over to his operations officer, who covered some very important aspects of fighting in the Delta. Paul, along with most of the men, quickly became interested in the officer’s briefing. The men stayed absorbed in the detailed report on the area that they were going into. The operations officer talked for over two hours, mostly because of the encouraging questions he was getting from his audience.
“Well, that sort of puts it all in a nutshell for you . . .” The major paused, “.
. . tomorrow we’ll have some copies of our proposed operations order sent over for you all to review.”
Captain Hetten took up a position in the center of the room. “Hold it, men! Thank you for stopping in this evening, Colonel. We enjoyed your words of wisdom. I have a few more points that I’d like to cover with my men, if you’ll excuse us.”
The colonel and his staff left the small office. Paul could see that the operations officer snapped a quick glance at Hetten, but the captain failed to see it. Hetten continued talking until three o’clock in the morning.
Paul stepped out onto the veranda and felt the cool morning air blowing in from across the rice fields. A slight smell of water buffalo added to the fragrance.
Braverman placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder in the dark. “Don’t let him get to you. We’re going to have to stick together if we’re going to make it through this one.” He nodded his head in the dark toward the room where Hetten still stood in front of the map.
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“You’re right.” Paul smiled. “See you in the morning, Sergeant.”
Paul slipped his boots off and stretched out on the unmade cot in the dark room. The moonlight filtered in through the open window. Paul’s thoughts slipped back to Duc Co and Captain Pellam. He smiled and fell asleep. It looked like he was batting a thousand.
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7
The thick muddy water seeped out of Paul’s jungle boots through the built-in air vents as he stood on the low dike that overlooked the canal junction. The combat walk from the Vietnamese District Headquarters compound had turned out to be a Sunday stroll compared to what Captain Hetten had told the team to expect. The Special Forces–led Hoa-Hoa Companies, combined with the fighting force of the two local Regional Forces Companies, had patrolled the banks of the main canal leading to the location that had been selected from an aerial photographs for the new A-Camp site. Three elite Mike Force Companies composed of Cambodian mercenaries had air-assaulted 10,000 meters west of the proposed camp site and planned on linking up with the Special Forces team within two days. A total of nine combat companies had taken part in the infiltration operation, with the total losses during the operation being three men killed by booby traps that had been placed along the trails. The allied forces had not encountered a single Vietcong during the operation.
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and sharing the danger. Paul was the first American to reach the proposed building site.
“At least it’s a good day, Sergeant.” Paul squatted Vietnamese fashion on the muddy side of the dike. The sky carried billowing clouds without any sign of rain.
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Yater joined the lieutenant, “these are the kinds of combat operations that I like—no dead.”
“Three from the locals.” Paul lit his first cigarette of the day. He felt the menthol burn his lips with the touch of the filter.
“I thought that I heard that coming over the radio early this morning, but I wasn’t sure.” Yater removed the ammunition clip from his CAR-15 submachine gun and checked the receiver for mud.
“Hetten should be arriving here soon. Let’s get the First Company into their defensive positions before he arrives.” Paul stood to survey the surrounding low ground for anything that could be used for cover. He placed his hand above his eyebrows to block the bright glare from the sun. “The captain wants First Company placed about six hundred meters from the center of the new camp site so that he can use the two companies with him for the camp’s inner security.” Paul pointed. “That treeline over there looks like a good position.
With those rice paddies on each side, the machine guns will have a good field of fire.”
“I don’t see anything better. I can’t believe how open everything is around here. I mean, three banana trees are considered a lot of cover!” Yater stood up next to Paul for a better view of the terrain.
The mudbank between the two-soldiers released a low-frequency wonk sound and mud splattered on Paul’s leg. Yater rolled forward, pushing the safety off his weapon with his thumb. He sighted in on a slight movement that caught his eye in a clump of wild vegetation next to the canal, directly in front of them fifty meters away. Yater’s CAR-15 erupted fire in a crescendo of death. Two main-force Vietcong wearing the traditional battle dress of the Delta fell from behind a mature banana tree.
The Hoa-Hoa Company reacted immediately without being told what to do. The banana grove was surrounded on three sides within minutes of the first shot. The only avenue of escape for any Vietcong survivors was the canal.
A special team broke off from the company and searched the surrounded banana grove, finding only the two dead Vietcong.
“They must have been canal watchers.” Paul turned his selector switch back on safety and rested his weapon on his ammo pouches that surrounded his waist. “That was damn good shooting, Yater!”
“I developed those reflexes playing basketball.” Yater grinned at his lieutenant. “We need one more VC to even the score.”
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“Right,” Paul nodded his head down the canal to their rear. “Looks as if the captain has arrived.”
Sergeant Yater changed magazines in his weapon, then looked back over his shoulder and saw the first element of Captain Hetten’s task force moving cautiously along the canal toward them.
“We’d better get our company set up quickly. You take them over to the treeline; I’ll handle the captain when he arrives and join you later.” Paul adjusted his BAR belt, distributing the weight better on his hips and shoulders. He pointed with the barrel of his weapon.
“Gotcha.” Yater waved for the company to get ready to move. “I’ll come back with a squad before dark to pick you up.”
“Thanks, Sergeant.”
Paul made room on the narrow dike for the soldiers to pass and waited for Hetten.
“Lieutenant Bourne!” Captain Hetten appeared on the trail flanked by Sergeant Dryman and Sergeant Braverman. The Vietnamese commander and Sergeant Loau, the Vietnamese operations sergeant, were slightly behind Hetten’s command group. Paul frowned. The A-Team medic, Sergeant Dryman, should have been with a more forward element, where he could have helped if contact had been made with the enemy. “We heard shouting!”
Hetten’s voice was filled with excitement. “Any contact made?”
“Sergeant Yater killed two Vietcong canal watchers over by that grove of wild banana trees.” Paul used his weapon to point.
“Let’s go over there and search the area.” Hetten pushed against Paul, forcing him to step back into the rice patty that bordered the dike.
“The Hoa-Hoa Company has already cleared the area, sir,” Paul could feel the cool water filling up his boots.
“Maybe so, but the Vietnamese don’t know how to do a really thorough job.”
Paul looked at the two Vietnamese standing behind Hetten. The Vietnamese commander spoke poor English and had missed the insult, but Sergeant Loau spoke fluent English. Paul apologiz
ed for his commander with his eyes, Loau nodded slightly, his acceptance.
Hetten led his company toward the wild banana grove, followed closely by Sergeant Dryman, who was becoming his shadow. Paul followed reluctantly, a few meters behind the combat patrol. The company swept through the small growth of thick plants and then stopped for a short break along the dike before returning back through the undergrowth. Captain Hetten walked over to the dead VC bodies and removed the ponchos the Hoa-Hoa soldiers had placed over them to keep the flies off.
“Why in the hell did they waste good ponchos on this vermin?” Hetten used a tone of voice that he felt sounded seasoned with combat experience.
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“Hoa-Hoa respect the dead—even Vietcong,” Braverman spoke.
“Bullshit! Communists are vermin and shouldn’t be treated like humans!”
Hetten placed his muddy boot on the face of the nearest body.
“I wouldn’t do that, Captain” Sergeant Loau frowned. “The dead are to be treated with honor.”
The Vietnamese commander was speaking rapidly to Sergeant Loau and pointing at Hetten with a waving finger.
“My commander says to leave the dead alone. He is very angry.”
Hetten smirked and removed his foot from the dead man’s face. A hunk of mud broke loose from the sole of his boot and fell into the dead man’s eye socket. Paul bent over and removed the dirt before replacing the poncho over the bodies.
Captain Hetten jerked and struggled to get his weapon off his shoulder.
Paul turned quickly to see what the captain had seen to make him react so erratically. A trap door next to the canal twenty meters down the dike began to open slowly. The Vietcong spider pit was located between the command group and the returning element of the company that had swept through the banana grove. Hetten pointed his CAR-15 toward the trap door and began to squeeze the trigger just as Paul grabbed the barrel. Bullets screamed through the air above the heads of the Vietnamese troops in the banana grove. Paul could feel the heat from the barrel in his hand as he yanked the machine gun from Hetten.
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