by Dennis Foley
Waiting to move on the recon, Hollister wondered what it meant—the hunter. He obviously wasn’t concerned about enemy units being in the area. That meant he was a VC sympathizer or ignorant. Hollister wondered if he should have grabbed him and taken him back to question him. After a little more thought, he dismissed it as a bad move. Chances were that the interrogators would find out he had no useful information.
Ayers, Hollister, DeSouza, and Lopaka eased down the very slight hillside that led to the trail. The rain had stopped, and the wind had come up a bit. It chilled them and made them aware of the cold hours ahead once they returned from the recon. Lopaka, leading, stopped the foursome and got down on his stomach. The others came up alongside him and did the same. The trail ran across their front. It was a large trail, almost a roadway. It would support three or four men walking abreast and was hard-packed dirt. But that night it was a glazed clay and water mix. Footprints that had been left there were gone.
Getting up from his spot, Hollister moved to the left and motioned the others to follow him. He continued until he found what he was looking for—an easy bend in the trail.
He indicated for the others to take a look. Each stood in the same spot Hollister had selected and looked back up the trail. Then the other way. The spot gave the best observation of the trail in both directions. Anyone approaching, in either direction, could be seen from the vantage point Hollister had selected. It was better than waiting trailside, where the view up and down the trail required leaning out onto the trail to see what was coming in either direction.
He looked around at the site, as did the others. It was surrounded with thick head-high brush, bamboo, and small trees. It would conceal the snatch team. Everyone agreed, then set about to find a place for the security element to protect their backs.
They all turned away from the trail and looked behind the spot Hollister had selected. Off to the right, up the trail and about twenty meters behind, was the bed of an intermittent stream that had one bank higher than the other. It would provide cover for a security element and a second position for rear security.
Yet Hollister wasn’t sure. He walked over to the streambed to check it out. The others dropped to one knee, facing in the cardinal directions, weapons at the ready and alert to any threat.
Hollister stepped into the streambed and squatted down. He found there was fairly adequate visibility of the trail going in both directions and good visibility of the clump of vegetation that would conceal the snatch team. It would need a little trimming of the undergrowth for some of the members of the security element, but it would work.
Back with the patrol, Hollister waited with the others. He realized just how tired he was at dawn. With dawn came a warming sun. Hollister took the opportunity to dry out a bit by finding a pool of light falling onto the floor of the small clearing where they would wait out the day. His first priority went to his butt. He was tired of sitting on wet ground in wet fatigue trousers. His buttocks were raw from the hostile ground. He mimicked the moves of two other LRPs who had rolled over on their stomachs, facing out. This served two purposes. It allowed them to continue to watch their assigned sectors of the perimeter, and it allowed the sun to dry out their trousers and butts. It seemed a little thing, but not to a wet LRP.
The day was a normal sort of day for a LRP team laying up. Security, some sleep, food, and whispered chalk talk. Hollister brought DeSouza and Lopaka into the center of the circle and almost silently adjusted the plan. Using a stick, he drew a diagram of the snatch site on the mud-packed ground. He assigned the ditch to Lopaka and the bend in the trail to DeSouza. Using hand signals to avoid speaking, he mouthed the words that he would be with DeSouza—at trailside.
The plan was as prepared in Bien Hoa. They would move the snatch element to the trail and position the security element to watch their backs and provide fire onto the trail if necessary. They were hoping to catch a single enemy soldier or courier walking down the trail and then overpower him.
If they got into trouble, the security element would lay down a strong base of fire and allow the snatch team to break contact and move back to them. Everything else would have to be played by ear. That made them all a bit nervous.
The afternoon brought more rain. Hollister wondered if there would be any chance of a letup. He looked at the sky and was unable to tell anything since the cloud cover was from horizon to horizon. It gave him no idea when, or if, it would clear. He tapped Ayers on the sleeve and handed him a note to ask for meteorological data on the next SITREP.
Word came back that the rain would continue through the night. Hollister passed the information to let everyone rig his gear accordingly, even though he knew that it would have a negative effect on their morale; they were already getting tired, bored, and anxious.
They moved out just as the hidden sun was going down. Hollister wanted to get to the snatch location quickly and get set up. The rain helped cover their movement, but didn’t improve anyone’s attitude. What started out as an optimistic group heading out for a snatch turned into a patrol that was showing fatigue and negative effects of the worsening weather.
Hollister hoped they would get into their duties and blow off their slipping attitudes. All missions were hard enough, but attitude often made the difference between success and failure, life and death.
Chapter 25
THE BRIM ON HOLLISTER’S floppy LRP hat began to droop so much that it was blocking part of his vision and allowing water to run down the back of his neck. The rain had finally saturated his hat. He took it off, rolled it, and stuffed it into his pocket. It was useless for the rest of the night. To keep some of the heat in and ward off the chill, he wrapped the cravat that had been around his neck around his head and tied it on.
Rain kept falling, yet the LRP team’s movement went well. Hollister felt good about the efficient way the men moved. Maybe it was a sign that some of the training he had been such a pain about was working.
Caps held them up just a hundred meters from the trail. Hollister sent a small recon party forward to make sure the trail was clear before they moved in.
While the recon party was gone, Hollister got on the radio and double-checked the artillery targets he had planned and made sure he had established commo with fire-support personnel. He made sure Operations knew they were moving into position, and he double-checked to make sure they had the right location for the exact snatch site and pickup zones he had confirmed.
Lopaka came back and gave Hollister an okay sign. Time to do it.
The security team moved into position first. Hollister held the snatch team back behind them and let Lopaka place each man in a firing position that would cover the snatch team and protect the backs of both teams.
Once they were in, Hollister double-checked Lopaka’s choices and made sure he knew where each man was and where he would be firing. He knew if he had to lead the snatch team out away from the trail, he had better know where the shooting was coming from and going to. Not to do so was to ask to get shot by your own people.
Moving the snatch team into position took twice as long as moving the security in. Hollister and DeSouza placed Ayers between them. They put Caps on the left end and Bui on the right end. The sixth man was a PFC named Quintana. He was a Mexican-American from Texas who was the second radio operator for the team and also carried an M79. He was posted to the rear of the team—facing away. Next to Quintana, PFC Montford completed the rear security for the snatch team. Montford was a medic and a rifleman. He and Quintana would provide early warning in the event someone—somehow—got behind them and posed a threat to the snatch team.
Snatch teams didn’t work the way ambush elements worked. For one thing they couldn’t stand back aways. They had to be right on the absolute edge of the trail to be effective. They couldn’t surprise their prey if they had to move through the brush and get to the trail. They would certainly be heard if they tried that. Proximity to the trail, mobility, and expert camouflage were essential to
their success.
Once they were in the snatch site, Hollister tapped two men at a time and signaled them to get their positions ready. This meant camouflage and ammo placement. It took a long time to get the men in position two at a time, but the alternative was too risky. Having all of them working on their camouflage and putting out their weapons and ammo at once meant that no one would be paying attention to the trail.
They had talked about setting out claymores to use to break contact in the event that a large enemy element came down the trail and discovered them. But the claymores would increase the chance of their being discovered while putting them out. And they would slow them down as they had to be removed if the team silently snatched a prisoner and was ready to leave—fast. They elected to forgo the claymores and go heavier on hand grenades if they had to.
Each man had six grenades laid out in front of him and more in canteen covers on his web gear. They were all ready to throw grenades and break contact back toward the security element if things went sour.
The biggest fear was that they would grab a man on the trail only to find out there was a large element behind him. It was their nightmare, and if it happened, they could only respond with speed and return fire. For that reason they had rigged their rucksacks with C-4 and left them back with the security element. They’d blow up the rucksacks behind them if they had to break contact and run.
They would be able to move faster without the rucks anyway. If they were forced to go in a different direction than the security element, they didn’t expect security to carry double rucks. So, the security element would blow them when they moved out.
They were in. Now the wait began. Now came the night, and the cold, and the boredom, and the worry, and the imagination, and the fight with the weight of sleep. Of all these, sleep was the hardest to fight. The men tried to get an hour’s sleep each. That meant all were awake, except one man. But at zero four zero zero hours, they would all be alert because of the high likelihood of last-minute traffic on the trail before first light. First light was due at zero five four five hours.
Sliding his sleeve up, Hollister glanced at the dial on his wristwatch. It was only ten past ten. It was going to be a long night.
By midnight Hollister was ready to scream. None of the men could move for fear of giving away their position. They couldn’t even sit up to get the blood circulating. The trailside was slippery and cold. Water dripped down the grasses and weeds onto their uniforms. There was no getting away from the rain. It rolled down their foreheads, and across their eyes. A constant drip of water fell from their noses and ears. Hollister was miserable, and he knew the others were, too.
Hollister’s bad leg ached. He had overdone it. If a soldier working for him had done what he was doing, the man would be in for a real ass-chewing.
Another agonizing hour passed. Hollister started into the twilight world. Sleep tried to drag him under, and he fought to stay lucid. Things began to blur. His lids got incredibly heavy, and his mind began to mix reality with dreamlike images. He shifted his position slightly and twisted part of his loosened pistol belt buckle. He put its sharp end under his hipbone, then put his weight back on it. The discomfort the buckle caused woke him up a little. But that, too, was quickly overcome by the unrelenting demands of sleep. He bit his tongue, then wiped his face with the end of the wet rag he’d tied around his head. And still, he was really fighting to stay awake.
Hollister imagined someone pulling at his shirt. It happened again. He was sure it was his mind playing tricks on him. His eyes were open, but he stretched them even wider to convince himself he was still awake. But he wasn’t. Sure, his eyes were open, but his mind was in the grasp of sleep.
“Sir!” someone whispered.
Hollister turned to find Ayers yanking on his sleeve. He looked at his face for some sign of what he wanted, but it was too dark.
Ayers pointed up the trail, to their right front. A figure was moving toward them.
The fact that he could see the figure surprised Hollister. The rain had stopped, and the moon had come out. The trail was a maze of moonlight and shadows. Splotches of light crawled up the man, then slid off his shoulders as he walked under the tears in the tree canopy overhead.
The man was carrying a rifle on his shoulder, his hand on the muzzle. Hollister thought it was a rather casual and unready posture for an enemy soldier to assume. That worried him. Could the man be so stupid as to think there was no threat to him? Or was he just walking out in front of a much larger unit that would come to his aid if he got into trouble? Hollister wished he knew the answer.
Hollister’s head cleared. Checking to the left and right, he confirmed that the others were ready. He looked back up the trail at the soldier approaching. He was less than a hundred meters up the trail, and at his pace he wouldn’t take much more than a minute to get abreast of the snatch team. The plan was for DeSouza and Caps to break out of the brush and physically overpower the guy once he came to the snatch team’s position. Hollister was the backup. In the event they couldn’t take him down, Hollister would assist.
Back at the base camp in Bien Hoa, all members of the snatch team had made two-man tackling runs at a heavy dummy made out of a worn-out lister bag and sandbags. Most were comfortable with the very American art of tackling, and even Caps caught on quickly.
Bui was totally baffled by the two-on-one concept, and the football tackle mystified him. It took a while for Caps to persuade him that he needed to use his body weight to overcome the dummy, not just try to reach out and hold it in place, but he seemed to enjoy it once he caught on.
Time seemed to slow down as they watched the lone figure walk toward them. Hollister pulled out his binoculars and scanned the area behind the soldier. He wanted to know if anyone was following him, so he could pass the word in enough time for all to let the enemy group pass.
With each step the man took toward the snatch team, Hollister could feel his breathing get shallower and his chest tightening. He raised his binoculars again and looked over his right shoulder toward Lopaka’s team. He could see that every man in the security element was alert and watching the trail. He was happy to see that Lopaka was on his toes.
The figure got closer. Through the binoculars, Hollister could see that the man was wearing a shirt, pants, rubber-and-canvas boots, a floppy hat, and a shoulder-wide piece of plastic around his neck. The makeshift raincoat didn’t seem to have been very effective since the soldier was plucking the wet fabric of his shirt from his skin.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hollister could see DeSouza putting his rifle down and sliding out of his harness. He cocked his right leg in kind of a modified, prone sprinter’s starting stance, and Hollister thought he saw him grin.
Suddenly, the enemy soldier stopped. He froze in place, not taking his weapon off his shoulder, but obviously spooked by something.
DeSouza looked to Hollister. Hollister shrugged. Neither man knew what the problem was. Hollister looked around for something that might be giving away their presence. He could see nothing.
He looked back to the soldier. The man stood stone still for a moment longer, as if listening, and then he started backing up—very slowly. He looked as if he were trying not to make any noise.
Noise! That was it. There was no noise. The sounds of the bush at night was gone. Shit! The animal life, birds, insects, and all the other unseen life were silent, as if they sensed the tension.
Hollister had seen it happen before, on his first tour. It was a spooky phenomenon that all field soldiers experienced at one time or another. Everything had to be right for it to be detected, and the soldier—friendly or enemy—had to be experienced to pick up on it. Their quarry obviously was a field soldier—and a good one.
They all watched as he backed up the trail, picking up the speed of his steps until he finally turned and ran away.
The failure meant lots of work and more risk for the team. It would be light soon, so they would have to pull back and le
ave a small element to watch the snatch site and the security positions. They couldn’t stay in position all day—that would be too risky. They had to assume that someone might use the trail during the day, and without the concealment the darkness afforded, they would be discovered long before they could pull off their snatch.
But leaving their sites unwatched was an invitation for them to be booby-trapped for their return if the VC discovered they had been there.
While everyone on the patrol knew the next move, no one looked forward to it. It meant moving away from the trail to another site, laying up for the day, and moving back in after dark. They had no option. Hollister reached over and tapped DeSouza, giving him the signal to start moving out.
The hole he had picked in a very thick stand of trees gave them the concealment they needed with internal room for movement inside their new perimeter, but it was filled with flies, and they wouldn’t give Hollister a break. He tried to get some rest, but the flies wouldn’t let him. They’d been silent back at the snatch site, but now the damn things were buzzing—and biting.
Hollister moved twice and even saturated his hat with insect repellent, but it did no good. Finally, he gave up all hope of sleep, and sat up.
The day was beautiful and full of sunshine, but the team looked awful. No one had shaved since the day before they left. Stubble, caked and smeared camouflage, and just plain field dirt made them a scroungy-looking lot.
Hollister laughed to himself as he remembered the time he had spent in OCS and Jump School picking stray threads off his fatigues and spit-shining his Corcoran jump boots. The tiny circle was more like Ranger School. Haircuts, shaves, polished insignia, and all that stuff had no priority. Hollister moved over to Lopaka to see if he had any suggestions about how they could avoid the spooking that had happened the night before.