by Gayle Rivers
"Green Beret units are operating there," said Tan, "What do we do if we meet one?"
"I'm not giving myself up to any party that's not so large they couldn't possibly have been sent out to hit us," said Morrosco.
"How far east?" asked Prather.
"Forty, fifty miles and we should be in relative safety."
292
"This job does prolong itself," he said. * H
"Are we north of a village called Ban Thahat?"^ asked Tan. -1
"As best I recollect from the maps."
"Then I've worked here before. We should be able > I to strike east to the Nam Xe Noy and into a range'n of hills I know well. We can move relatively safely >1 in them as far east as we want to go."
"I don't want to see any more of those people back to the west," said Morrosco. "Let's take the easy way out. I don't care how much farther it is."
"None of it is easy," said Wiley. "If the Yanks find 1 us, they're going to gun us down."
Morrosco looked pained.
"Don't you believe your people would hit you?" I Tan asked.
"They're not my people. I'm a spic, remember? 1 What do they care about one more spic?"
"It's all the same," said Tan. "The Koreans will hit t us if they get a chance. And I'm not a spic. Not in Korea."
We let the subject die there. Running into an American unit was the only straw we had to hang on i to.
We moved out and crossed the Nam Hoay without ] difficulty. We kept off the trails until we were con- i vinced we had high ground between us and any pursuit. We pushed south for a couple of days, hurting and repairing all the way. We were so shattered and l overtired that none of us felt the need for sleep; we had passed the limits of our endurance now. We 1 marched around the clock without rest. We met the Nam Xe Noy east of Ban Bangbet by night. We found a safe encampment on the river, between a range of J hills and a wide plain. We had been almost two and a half days without combat. It was time for that extra something we could not give ourselves on the move.
Prather and Morrosco lashed together some rough shelters at river's edge. We dipped our groundsheets in the water and hung them over the lashed shelters
to cool the steamy night air. Jackson and I were in the worst shape; the others cleaned us up, and we crawled under cover to rest. Wiley was in pain but functioning well enough; the knife had pierced no vitals. He caught Crustacea and eels in the river and cooked them with wild vegetables over a small fire.
The stop two days earlier had pulled everyone up short when we saw what shape we were in. Not a man among us had failed to recognize our irrationality. Wiley must have given thought to Jackson's criticism; he was a better soldier than he had been for weeks. We had all subsided from a fever of antagonism to a better level of communication.
We were able to relax a bit, though we were maintaining a state of readiness again. We ate, cleaned ourselves and our weapons, and became a little more approachable.
"Where do we go from here?" Prather asked me.
"Keep moving southeast. The farther we go, the safer it gets."
"How far?"
"The seventeenth parallel..."
"The demarcation line? That's in Vietnam."
"Yes, but it also more or less divides loyalties in Laos because of border incursions. We may have to go as far as South Vietnam anyway."
"How far is that?"
"A week. A week and a bit. But we may be a day from running into friendly hands."
"But we know there are friendly units operating within a day of here, back to the southwest."
"We're not strong enough to go that way, Lew."
Prather grew silent. I knew what he was thinking. As unit leader, it was my responsibility to suggest it.
"We move too slowly. We're too badly hurt to run over anybody that obstructs us. Do you want to try it on your own? You and Morrosco? You can move fast. If you find anyone, you send them to fetch us."
We all tried to imagine what it would be like to split up. Little by little we began to talk about it in a
very practical way. We all knew it was a good gamble. We never voted on it. I never put it forward in the form of an order. We simply worked out the logistics, treating the decision as an accomplished fact.
The slower ones would keep moving south and east toward a high range I was familiar with. I wanted to keep Wiley with me because I distrusted his state of mind, and also his physical condition would allow him to help the rest of us. Prather and Morrosco would turn on their heels and strike due west. If they made safe contact, they would institute a search for us. I estimated we would reach the seventeenth parallel on the range ahead in two days' time. If they could not sight us by air, we would be on the seventeenth parallel on the morning of the third day. I could give no exact co-ordinates. We would go as high as possible on the range; a thorough helicopter search could hardly fail to find us. The men pushing west would have to be fit; the Mekong had turned due south at Muang Kham Mouan and was now several days' hard march from us. They would be facing swamp as well as heavy enemy troop concentrations. They would have to travel on rough compass bearings without maps to tell them what the countryside looked like. If they met no friendly forces in the first two days, it was their choice to push on alone to the Mekong or turn back and meet us on the seventeenth parallel. We would wait two days for them.
Prather and Morrosco left the following morning. We stayed in camp another hour, then broke out to the south. Seeing those guys disappear down the river had made me realize what a small party we were. No one felt like talking for a long time.
After a day and a half of undisturbed climbing, we stopped to rest by a mountain stream. We had half a day's hard climb to where the parallel crossed the highest point on the range. We could hear extensive aerial activity to the west, big noisy things like Sky-raiders and TR-6s bombing and diving, operating as ground support for a major movement. Prather and
Morrosco would have to run into somebody. We moved on, then pitched camp after nightfall.
We were being very cautious now; doubling up on guard, no fire, all the usual precautions. We were lying on our bellies, talking quietly when Tan grabbed my arm. Wiley crawled to my side. He too had heard a noise. Then I heard it . . . the slightest ruffle of the bushes to either side of us. We woke Jackson and waited. The noise stopped; they knew we had heard them. They must have been few in number from the amount of movement I had heard. We had to take these guys silently.
These people were really good. We stalked each other for half an hour; we spotted the area of movement by sound and tried to flank them. They cut through us without making contact. One crossed my path twice, then disappeared into the bush. They were going to get through us, so I slipped to Tan's side and showed him the shotgun. We put our knives away. I picked up one on my left, then lost him in the dark. I saw Tan bringing up his weapon to fire. His target silhouetted in the night fifty feet from us.
"Freeze!"
CHAPTER 21
It was Prather. He had turned just as Tan drew a bead on him. We called Morrosco in and returned to camp. I was enraged.
"You stupid bastards got lost," I said.
"We never got lost. When we got to the villages around Ban Bangbet, they were crawling with Pathet Lao. Two or three battalions. We couldn't go any farther, and it was not easy getting back. We were on our way to meet you."
Prather was cut across the bridge of his nose, and Morrosco was nursing a swollen hand. They did not enlarge on it.
"In that case, I'm glad to see you back."
"How are you, Pete?" Wiley asked. "Are you all right?"
"Welcome, my brother," Tan said to Prather. He embraced the taller man and kissed him on each cheek.
Their return had made us appreciate anew the depth of our commitments to each other. After my initial outburst, I found myself very pleased to see them.
Morrosco and Wiley fussed over one another like two monkeys picking fleas. Our love and respect for one another was growing
beyond all bounds.
We talked through the night, rethinking the situation. The area to the west we had thought was contested was in communist hands. That explained the air activity. To our immediate south was a low-lying plain with almost no cover. We had to stay within the range that would carry us to the southeast toward Ban Maloua and Highway 9. We would try to signal a helicopter or find a Green Beret unit.
We were as physically bashed as we were mentally improved. We were low on everything. I had few rounds remaining for the shotgun. Long before, we had abandoned all other weapons but Armalites. We spread the Armalite ammunition around, and it amounted to a few clips per man. The morphine was all gone. Benzedrine was fast running out. We had to go into a village, friendly or otherwise, at the first opportunity.
We came off the slopes in the early hours to find one. We saw several in the valley and chose the one nearest a river, so that we could leave in a hurry if necessary. We arrived there at sunup, then watched the place for an hour. I was uneasy because I heard no sounds of children; the village appeared almost deserted, though it was obviously lived in at the time.
Almost gently, we rounded up the few women who were about; we were in no condition to treat anyone rough. And they were people who just needed a bit of pushing and pulling around. We heard more female voices, and Tan and Morrosco found the rest of the women working in a vegetable field nearby. When they brought the women back, the racket attracted the men, who came storming down a trail. It was quite funny; they arrived with hoes and Christ knows what in their hands, and they were confronted by us. They mellowed in one second and became completely docile. Tan told them we were going to stay there three days. This scared the wits out of them. It paid off, because
they told us in a panic that the communists had just been through. To my surprise, they said the troops were Vietnamese, not Pathet Lao.
We spent the morning being patched up. The women sewed cloth into our uniforms, making us look like very grim clowns. While we were eating, two men came running in. They were very excited, raving on to the head man. When they saw us, they really panicked. Tan shouted and jumped to his feet. We grabbed our weapons and made everybody freeze. The two guys told Tan a communist unit was coming in. We were right in the middle of being cleaned up. Jackson's wounds were undressed, food was cooking. I thought this was the end.
The head man, who was about ninety, grabbed Tan by the arm, talking all the while, and pulled him along.
"He's going to hide us," Tan said.
He led us quickly to a small dwelling at the far end of the village. I ran inside to take a look. One end of the building was stilted, the other was built up against a mud foundation. The old man lifted some floor plankings and indicated that we were to hide inside. If things got bad, we could go through the wall and out the back.
"What are the chances?" I asked Tan.
"Terrible. Worse if we stay out there. If we take kids with us, we're a little safer."
We grabbed several children and three young men and went inside. Two women came running up and threw our uniforms in behind us. We watched through the cracks in the timber.
These guys arrived. They were not North Vietnamese regulars, as we had assumed. They were Viet Cong, a typical wandering band, but a big unit. Twenty or twenty-five men.
The village tried to make these guys welcome, but they were a sinister breed. They circled around the hamlet and took up positions without saying a word. They were dressed entirely in black: some in baggy
_ .
trousers, others with a loincloth tucked between their legs. They all wore coolie hats and sandals. They had ammunition belts hanging everywhere and were heavily armed with automatic weapons.
They closed the circle, then stood silently for a quarter of an hour with their weapons pointing into the village. Twice the head man approached them, but he was ignored.
A second unit of five arrived. The leader was apparently a regional adviser or political commissar of some kind; he was dressed in a primitive uniform. He called the village head forward and had him gather the villagers in a bunch and sit them in the open. Then he proceeded to make a speech. The first lot were still standing at the perimeter of the village.
We lay there listening, scarcely daring to breathe. We would not have made a dent in this crew, 'not in our condition. We had gradually been reduced to carrying out soldiering as it was presented to us. We had left behind days before the cunning and sharpness and initiative that had served us so well for two months. Numbers mattered now as never before. And there were too many numbers out there.
This guy raved on nonstop for an hour. It was unbelievable; he just went on and on and on. The guy was taking himself very seriously, but he looked like an idiot to me, acting exactly like I supposed political commissars indoctrinated people. Finally he let his men come in. He ordered the village women to fetch vegetables from the fields. His men stuffed them into the typical Viet Cong wicker baskets. They had a hot meal of fish and rice. They relaxed a bit and moved about the village, though they never said very much to the peasants.
It seemed these guys would never leave. We were sitting there, our guns pointing at the hostages. We were staring at them, and they were staring at us. And we were all waiting for the big moment to come, for the villagers to drop us in it. But it did not happen. These guys suddenly picked up and took off in the
direction we were heading. They had arrived in a shifty way. They marched out like a band of storm troopers.
We lay there, for half an hour to make sure they did not come back. Two peasant men ran out of the village, and I assumed it was to tell on us. But they returned to say that the Viet Cong had kept moving on.
We ate what the Viet Cong had left behind. The head man thanked us for taking the hostages. The VC unit had been a press gang, and we were holding the only men of the age to go with them. We departed. The peasants were as indifferent as they had been to the departure of the VC unit. But we were well fed, and Jackson's wounds and mine had been cleaned and dressed with fresh garments cut into strips.
We crossed the river and moved back into the highlands over a trail that would eventually join Highway 23. We were below the demarcation line in Vietnam, though still several days west of the border. There were all sorts of Green Beret and airborne units working around here, and for the first time, we heard artillery to the east, big guns fifty or sixty miles away. We saw choppers in the distance. Surely, we must run into friends soon. We were floundering in a way, because we did not know where to look for these units. We came out of the highlands to hunt for activity on Highway 23.
As we descended by a riverbed, we ran smack into four peasants. They spotted us at the same time, and before we had time to react, they gave us a very warm greeting.
"American! American!" they all cried with wide smiles.
Tan asked if they had seen any American units in the area. They very excitedly told us that there was a village six miles to the south with an American unit in it. We had them take us to the village.
We arrived at dusk, and Prather and Wiley went
cautiously in, marching the four peasants ahead of them at gunpoint. Tan followed slightly behind. It was a neat hamlet, built of low-roofed dwellings. It was larger than the last village we had stopped in, and it had an orderliness about it.
As soon as Prather and Wiley were spotted, the villagers came flocking forward. The head man came out of a distant dwelling and walked to the center of the village. I saw the peasants looking at one another. He welcomed the two in a very friendly way. Tan went forward to translate. The rest of us came in. The head man took Tan and me to his house.
This guy had some gear! He had American arms, he had ammunition, he had medicine. Tan and I saw it simultaneously. A radio. We have made it, I told myself. I waited for a wave of jubilation to sweep over me. Instead, I do not know why, I suddenly was extremely cautious.
"Get on the radio," I said to Tan.
When Tan moved toward it, th
e head man started jabbering; I did not know what he was saying, but he was excited. He was going on like a Frenchman, waving his arms, shrugging his shoulders, moving his hands around in the air.
"He says the radio is broken."
"It doesn't look very old to me."
Tan went to work on it and immediately got a carrier wave. But there were no earphones to tune out the static on the receiver. Nor was there a microphone, though it had the fitting and socket. The head man swore he did not know where they were. Tan kept fiddling with the thing and the static got louder and louder and began to pound at my nerves. I was just getting ready to go outside when Wiley called me.
"Rivers. Get out here."
I went out on the veranda to find Wiley crouching with his rifle at the ready. Instinctively I went down on one knee.
"What's the matter?"
"Look at that."
He pointed to one of the women standing in the I clearing. She was wearing an American fatigue shirt
"So, what's the problem?"
"I haven't seen any Yanks around here yet."
It was a valid point. We had been in the village long enough for them to surface. There seemed to be an organized American presence here. But no soldiers. I went back inside.
"There's a woman outside wearing an American uniform. Get that guy to tell us exactly what the position is here."
Tan questioned him sharply.
"He just keeps saying the Americans are here. Everything is all right We're safe. He's just about as vague as he could be."
"Americans here," the head man said to me smiling.
The atmosphere was becoming quite strained. I heard the villagers set up a racket outside, then Prather called me to come out again. The head man came out as well and shouted something which quieted the people milling around in front.
"I was looking around," said Morrosco. "That hut over there is full of American weapons and ammunition. It's not stacked. It's just thrown all over the joint, like somebody wanted to hide it quick when we showed up."