Eagles Cry Blood
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“Wait up, sir!”
Paul stopped and waited for Sergeant Cooper to catch up to where he was standing between the hooches in the hot sand.
“You look like you’re ready for some war, Sergeant.”
“Bet your ass I am!” Cooper adjusted the shoulder strap on his CAR-15
and commented, “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll carry you through this mission.”
Paul smiled. He understood that Cooper was nervous and was talking to control his trepidation. “I hope someone else is looking out for me . . . Rookie Sergeant . . . someone who carries a bit more of a wallop!”
Cooper glanced at the lieutenant out of the corner of his eye with a rookie-my-ass look. The sergeant smiled and added, “We should be meeting the Montagnards who are assigned to RT Viper at the isolation building. The whole team is new . . . maybe that’s going to be a good-luck sign.”
“I would have liked to have run a few practice missions before we tackled a big one,” Paul talked as they forced their way over the soft sand. “It makes me nervous not having had the chance to have worked together.”
“I feel the same way, lieutenant, but the major said all of the Montagnards speak English and have worked on other teams before.”
The gate guard at the isolation building recognized Cooper and allowed them to pass through and join the three Montagnard warriors who had been waiting for them inside. The senior Montagnard was inspecting the two junior team members’ gear that had been laid out carefully on the stripped cots.
Paul was impressed, and nodded his approval to the senior warrior as he helped Cooper inspect the special gear. Major Galviston joined the two Americans, entering the room through the rear exit.
“I see you’re not wasting any of your time,” the major smiled without showing his teeth.
“We don’t have any time to waste, sir.” Cooper didn’t look up from the radio he was checking for batteries.
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“Good! Your mission insertion has been moved forward ten hours. The weather is starting to close in around the plateau and we’re going to have to move fast to sneak your team in before the clouds settle into the valley.”
“When do you want us ready to leave, sir?”
“Can you have your team ready to leave for the launch site in, say . . .
an hour?”
“Yes . . . all we have to do is break down the special gear and pack up.”
Paul joined Cooper and helped him divide the heavy radio amongst the team.
The Weatherby would be a problem since the Montagnards were too small to carry the big rifle.
“I’ll take the rifle, sir, seeing I’m a school-trained sniper.” Cooper handed his CAR-15 to the major. “Will you make sure this gets back to my hooch?”
“Sure.” Galviston took the submachine gun. “There’s a van waiting out in back when you’re ready to load up.”
Cooper removed all of the 5.56 ammo from his web gear and slipped the
.300 rounds in the empty pouches. He took his silenced .22-caliber pistol and slid it into one of the empty pockets on his rucksack.
“Just in case!” Cooper spoke to no one in particular. He tied the strings on his rucksack and looked up. The other members of his team were standing in the doorway waiting for him to finish.
“Let’s go!” Paul led the small recon team out to the van. The driver was standing next to the open rear door and slammed it shut behind the last man.
All of the windows in the stepvan had been painted over with black paint, giving the tight quarters an even more cramped feeling. Paul had a flash of claustrophobia mixed with fear rush through him. The ride over to the private helipad took only a few minutes, but it seemed like hours to Paul. The van was still rocking from the sudden stop when the rear door flew open, letting in the bright sunlight. Paul jumped out and felt a cool sea breeze brush his wet face. He hadn’t realized that he was sweating profusely. The helicopters were parked fifty feet away from the van with their blades beginning a slow rotation, their high-pitched whines rising in intensity as the turbine engines gained RPMs. The team loaded up in one of the choppers, leaving the partner empty to act as an escort. The helicopters became airborne with the click from the last seat belt and headed out over the South China Sea, making a low sweep across the open water and a wide arc as the flight banked toward Quang Tri to the north.
The last hour had passed so quickly for Paul that he hadn’t had time to think about what he was doing or where he was going. Fear, his old enemy, began creeping up along his spine into his consciousness against the helicopter’s rapid descent. The Quang Tri launch site was spread out below them.
Four Cobra gunships were nestled in a grassy defilade, warming up their 208
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engines. Two Huey gunships squatted on a PSP pad waiting to load the team.
SOG units used only a special group of pilots for insertions so that secrecy could be maintained.
A pair of camouflage-clad launch site officers ran toward the landing choppers from the opposite side of the field. Paul met the leader on his way toward the waiting passenger choppers.
“We’re ready to insert your team now . . . Do any of you have to use the john?” The officer yelled above the roar of the turbine engines surrounding them.
Paul glanced back at his team that followed closely behind them in single file. All of them had heard the officer yelling and shook their heads in the negative.
“Good! Board your slicks and good luck!”
Paul ran bent-over to the pair of waiting slicks and waved Cooper and two of the Montagnards into one of the aircraft. The old Montagnard and Paul slid backward onto the floor of the first chopper. All of the team members sat in the open doorways with their feet hanging outside the choppers.
Paul took the headset from the nylon net that served as a seatback and placed it over his ears.
“You ready, Lieutenant?” The pilot was looking back over his armored seat at Paul, who nodded and gave the aviator the thumbs-up sign. The six helicopters lifted off the pad rapidly, one after the other. The roar from their engines was deafening to those who stood watching the departure. Two of the Cobra gunships shot out ahead of the formation, with one of the Cobras bringing up the rear and dropping down to treetop level. The aircraft armada headed west, away from the American base camp.
The flight from the safe launch site to the thick jungles bordering the network of mountain rivers and streams was uneventful. Forty minutes out from Quang Tri the slicks started circling, waiting for the Air Force A1E flight to finish propping the area. The lead Cobras made a quick pass over the open landing zone with their mini-guns blazing, followed closely by the slicks carrying Paul’s team. The slicks had barely touched the dark green jungle mat before they gave a burst of speed and followed the A1Es back to the coast.
Paul ran hard for the cover of a thicket of small trees. The roar of aircraft engines rapidly faded, followed by the muffled echoes coming from a fake LZ
that was being propped ten miles south.
Total, absolute silence. Paul thought for a second that he had gone deaf as he watched the dust settle from the bombs that had exploded in the clearing only seconds before. He saw the old Montagnard lying in the thick grass twenty feet away. Paul rolled over and located the remainder of his team slipping through the bamboo toward his location. He pulled his compass out of its canvas case attached to his web-gear harness and shot an azimuth. Paul 209
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pointed in the direction he wanted the team to travel. The old Montagnard tapped one of the men on his shoulder and tilted his head in the direction Paul had pointed. The pointman slipped ahead of the team and quickly disappeared, followed by the team. Everyone knew that the faster they left the insertion area, the better chanc
e they had of completing their mission. The NVA would be arriving very soon in large numbers, like sharks drawn to the smell of blood in the ocean.
The small team moved silently through the meshed jungle growth for an hour before Paul signaled for a halt so that he could take an accurate bearing on their position and judge how far they had to travel before reaching their first objective. He checked his map and judged that they were less than three thousand meters away from the main river. The team was making good time. Paul placed his mouth next to Cooper’s ear and whispered, “We’ll stop at the river.”
Cooper nodded in agreement and took over from the pointman. He set an even pace through the thick jungle, using a pig run to travel on through thick bamboo growths.
The team had traveled most of the day with very few rest breaks. Paul could feel the sweat rolling down his back forming a wet band around the top of his pants. His muscles felt good from the smooth steady pace. Paul took a deep breath and held the sweet jungle air deep in the bottom of his lungs for a second and then released the air with a soft hiss. The man moving through the jungle in front of Paul came to a halt, dropping down to one knee. Paul slipped past him and joined Cooper, who was still traveling as the team’s pointman. The riverbank was at Cooper’s feet. Paul had never seen vegetation growing so thick next to a mountain river. The monsoon rains up in the highlands had brought the lazy jungle river to near flood level with a slow current.
A deer trail ran parallel to the water about six feet from the riverbank.
Paul checked his map sheet and found a bluff represented by close-together contour lines about two hundred meters north of their present position. Cooper looked over Paul’s shoulder to where he was pointing on the map and smiled. The sergeant took the lead again and headed for the high ground. The team slowed its pace, using extreme caution as the men moved up the wide deer path. All of them knew that natural jungle trails would be watched, especially those running next to natural obstacles. Paul was hoping that the deer trail would be too new for the NVA to have found. The two hundred meters Paul had estimated to the cliffs turned out to be closer to five hundred, but he was still happy with his map reading, considering the dense jungle they had just negotiated.
The bluff rose seventy-five feet above the water. It was a perfect place from which to observe the flowing river, and was an excellent location for an enemy outpost. The team adjusted their weapons and crept up the gradual 210
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rear slope to the clifftop. The Montagnards moved over the crest in a fan-shaped formation and checked every nook and cranny in the immediate area.
Bourne and Cooper found good fighting positions that afforded quick escapes on top of the crag. All of the five positions had a clear view of the river for a half-mile in each direction. The Montagnards returned to where Paul and Cooper waited, satisfied that the area was clear of NVA and cobra snakes.
More than one recon patrol had made the fatal error of not checking the area around them for snakes and had lost team members because of it.
Paul signaled for the men to eat while he and Cooper confirmed their position on his battle map. In the event that a large enemy force located them, it was imperative for Paul to know exactly where they were so he could call in air strikes accurately. The bluffs helped them confirm their location to within ten meters. All five of the recon men were within twenty meters of each other, yet no one spoke, since sound carried very far in the jungle. Paul took a few minutes to study the terrain and contours around him before opening a packet of rehydrated fish and rice. With the first bite of the food he realized that he was starving and wolfed down the whole packet in minutes.
A cool breeze coming off the water ruffled the loose lock of hair hanging in Paul’s eyes that had slipped free from under his camouflaged jungle hat.
Paul brushed the hair back with his hand and looked up through the trees at the black monsoon clouds racing through the sky above them. Bourne tapped Cooper and pointed up. The sergeant shook his head and slid over to the Montagnard nearest to him just as a huge drop of water smacked against the dry ground causing a miniature explosion of dust to erupt. The team closed into a circle, and within ten minutes it was as if night had arrived as the rain clouds darkened the sky. The men took up prone positions in a small circle with their legs forming wide Vs, each of their feet touching the man’s lying next to him. The team would remain in the circle defense the rest of the night and would warn each other with foot pressure.
The center of the storm hit the small team like an ocean wave. Paul pulled the brim of his hat down closer to his nose. The bill on his hat deflected the rain into small waterfalls. Within minutes everything the men carried that hadn’t been wrapped in waterproof bags was saturated. The rain lasted three hours, stopping as quickly as it had started. The heavy downpour had created some good for the recon team by wiping out their trail through the jungle.
Nothing could now follow their tracks from the LZ to the cliff.
The night slipped by and brought only a warm sunshine and no unwanted visitors. Paul had tried staying awake without having to take any of the amphetamine tablets he carried. Drugs were not a part of his makeup. But the early-morning hours had caught him dozing off and he’d swallowed one 211
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of the small white pills. A troop of small monkeys began a racket as they moved through the trees along the far bank of the river. The animals were headed downstream in the direction of the hidden recon team, pausing occasionally to fight over choice morsels of food.
Paul crawled forward from his hidden position to a more open area along the edge of the cliff to get a better view of the river. Two of the dominant male monkeys were stationed on flat rocks that bordered the river edge, watching for predators while the troop took turns coming down to the water to drink. Paul’s eyes slowly scanned the opposite treeline looking for any signs of NVA soldiers. The monkey sentinels would have alerted the whole area if any people were nearby, so Paul stopped his search when he neared them and looked for a river crossing site. He planned on giving the fast-flowing water time to lower a few feet and then cross over during the night.
Cooper touched Paul’s elbow and slid against the lieutenant so that he could whisper in his ear, “We have ten minutes before our first broadcast to the FAC aircraft.”
Paul nodded and scooted back from the edge of the cliff. Cooper had already assembled the secure voice radio from each of their packs. Paul looked at the face of his watch and realized that he had less than a minute before he had to broadcast. He waited and then keyed the handset.
“Thor . . . situation green . . . line alpha . . . five . . . line bravo . . .
Nighthawk . . . out.”
Lieutenant Bourne had informed the FAC pilot who was flying somewhere within their radio range that the team had made the insertion without detection and that there weren’t any members sick or injured. He had also told him that he was continuing his mission.
The radio receiver crackled, “Thor . . . roger . . . Foxfire 22 . . . out.”
The message had been acknowledged. Paul quickly disassembled the radio and handed back each part to the man who had been carrying it. The senior sentinel monkey screamed a warning and followed his troop up into the safety of the trees. Paul slid back to his former position on the cliff edge.
The monkeys flashed against the dark green leaves and headed farther downstream, away from what had scared them.
Paul waited.
The brush parted directly across from where the recon team was hiding and two NVA soldiers stepped out onto the river rocks lining the far bank.
Paul instinctively pushed his chest down against the dirt and granite when one of the NVA looked up at the top of the cliff. The heavier of the two spoke rapidly in a deep Vietnamese and then the scouts disappeared back into the jungle. Paul could hear muffled voices coming fro
m the bamboo thicket where the men had vanished. The brush again parted and three naked NVA 212
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jumped into a shallow hole next to the riverbank. A half-hour passed as the enemy soldiers frolicked and splashed in the five feet of river water.
Paul arched his neck when he heard voices calling out to the washing NVA from the bamboo thicket on the far bank. The three soldiers laughed and called out to the hidden men. Five minutes later two more naked NVA stepped out of the jungle and joined their comrades in the swimming hole, followed by three Caucasians.
Paul’s muscles tightened against the stone as he felt Cooper’s foot tap against his boot. There was movement in the underbrush a hundred meters upstream, followed by a tall black man stepping out from the thick jungle growth onto a small flat rock snuggled up against the green overhang close to the bank. The black man was dressed in NVA battle gear and he carried an AK-47 assault rifle with a folding stock. The black took up a squatting position on the dry rock and looked slowly up and down the far bank of the river.
The ends of the dark green bandanna he wore around his head flipped against the back of his neck. Paul tapped Cooper and pointed at the black guard. He felt Cooper’s shoulder grow tense when the sergeant saw the rifle clenched in the black’s hands. Cooper slid open the breech of his sniper rifle and ensured that he had chambered a round.
Paul slid up close to Cooper’s ear. “Get the range but don’t fire until I tell you to . . .”
Cooper nodded and waited.
“Hey, you big motherfuckers! I’ll beat you over to the other side!”
The loud words spoken in English startled Paul, followed by an instant erasure of all doubt as to the Caucasians being either French or Russians.
They were Americans.
The smallest of the three white Americans made a shallow racing dive from the rocks bordering the NVA swimming hole. He glided just under the surface of the clear water, then started swimming for the riverbank at the bottom of the cliff on which the American-led recon team was hiding. Paul glanced over at Cooper, who half-closed his eyes and squeezed his rifle.