Solemn Duty (1997)

by Leonard B Scott

  Overcome with guilt at leaving his men, Hanson couldn't make himself return the young sergeant's smile. The rotor wash increased and the slick began to rise. Hanson kept his tearing eyes locked on the young sergeant and finally found the strength to lift his hand and give a return thumbs-up. Good luck, Ranger, God knows you're gonna need it.

  "Squad leaders report to me," Lieutenant Billings barked.

  Three young sergeants approached their platoon leader, who sat on his rucksack holding a manila envelope he'd received in the resupply. The officer lifted the envelope with a grin. "It's good news, guys. Once we arrive back in base camp, we'll begin standing down and turn the camp over to the South Vietnamese Army. Looks like the war is over for us and we're all going home early."

  The three sergeants exchanged grins and pats on the back as the officer took a map from his fatigue pocket and spread it out on the ground. He motioned toward Staff Sergeant Collins.

  "Andy, I'm making you my platoon sergeant, you've got the most time in grade. Have Specialist Washington take your position as squad leader. All right, everybody look at the map. As you all know, three days ago the company was airlifted to this mountain plateau. The mission was to look for North Vietnamese regulars that might have moved into these high ridges to establish rocket-firing positions. Seeing no signs of recent activity, the company commander decided it would be faster to check out the area if each platoon worked independently and took a ridge to follow all the way back to base camp. Right now, first platoon is about two klicks to the north of us following this ridge, and third platoon is a klick to the south, on this one. I've looked at the map and have decided it would be better if we backtracked two klicks and took this bigger trail that leads to the valley. The terrain is easier and it'll be a much faster hump for us. I figure we'll make it to the valley by tomorrow and be in base camp by nightfall the following day. We'll depart at-"

  "Ya don't wanna do that, L-tee," Eli Tanner said, shaking his head.

  Not happy at being interrupted, especially when he was on a roll, Billings snapped, "Really? What is it I don't want to do?"

  Eli motioned to the map. "Sir, like I told ya before, we've been followed since we landed. Fouk says it's trail watchers keeping track of us. Going back on the same trail is askin' for trouble. It's a Ranger rule too, sir, when in enemy territory ya never go back the way ya came."

  "Are you finished?" Billings asked sarcastically. "I thought once I got rid of Hanson I could run this platoon without someone always questioning my orders. Did he tell you to hassle me just for old times' sake?"

  Eli kept his gaze steady into the officer's eyes, letting him know he wasn't intimidated.

  Sergeant Dan Murphy, the second squad leader, bobbed his head. "Sir, I learned that rule about not going back the way ya came in NCO school. Tanner's right, we'd be askin' for trouble."

  "Great! Now I've got two of you that think you can run things," Billings said, throwing up his hands. "Forget it, this isn't a damn democracy where everybody votes. First squad will lead, followed by your squad, Murphy. Tanner, your squad will be last; maybe you'll find some of those trail watchers. We'll move out in an hour. Any questions?"

  Eli rose and put on his helmet. "Yes, sir, but it's not a question. It's a suggestion. I think you'd better have Fouk take point. If there's trouble, he'll smell it."

  Billings's eyes narrowed. "I don't want or need any more suggestions or advice from you, Sergeant Tanner. Anyway, I don't trust him. I heard he defected from the North Vietnamese Army some years ago."

  "No; sir, that's not true, he's Cambodian. He worked with the Special Forces for four years and is considered to be the best scout in the battalion."

  "I don't care what he knows; I don't trust him, plus I can't understand a damn thing he says. He stays with your squad.

  That's it, no more talk. The faster we get out of these mountains, the sooner we'll be going home. Return to your squads and prepare to move out."

  Eli was oiling his rifle bolt when a smiling young black specialist walked up holding a white envelope. "Dig it, Tan man, I got accepted for school, man."

  Eli grinned and set the rifle down. "Let me see it, Cotton; you can't read. . . . Well, I'll be damned, it says right here you were accepted, all right. But hell, man, Tuskegee is in Alabama. Your mama gonna let ya get that far from her?"

  Cotton Pierce slapped at Eli's shoulder. "Shiii-it, Tan man, what you givin' a brother Columbus, Georgia, boy the hassle for? My mama let me come to da Nam, man. She be proud of her war hero, I be profilin' soon, walkin' with books, not this fuckin' ruck, man. And I be sleepin' in a bed, not on the ground, eatin' regular hots and no more C's. Women be wantin' to hear old Cotton tell em' war stories and shit. I be snoopin' and poopin', lookin' for me some good times, not gooks. . . . Yeah, man, this Georgia boy gonna be what's happenin' on campus."

  Eli handed the letter back. "I'm proud of you, Cotton. I mean it, man."

  Cotton motioned to the open letter by Eli's ruck. "Who writin' you, man? The draft board? Send 'em a gook ear and say you done did the time."

  "Naw, it's from my brother Jerome."

  "Yeah, I remember your brother, man. For a white boy he sure could play football. I thought he got drafted by the Falcons, man."

  "He did, but got cut. That's what the letter was about. He's going into the Justice Department-can you believe this-he's goin' to the FBI academy."

  "Jerome Tanner, a G-man? Man, now that's a trip. Your bro and you was nothin' but trouble, man. Was it Jerome the one who got busted for sellin' moonshine to us niggers, or you, man? Can't remember."

  "Me, dummy. Jerome was too smart."

  Cotton grinned. "Yeah, that's right, your daddy told my daddy you was facin' time. Got out of it, though, didn't ya, Tan man? Slick-ass white boy skated. This nigger be doin' time for that shit."

  Eli shrugged. "I'm doin' the time now, aren't I?"

  "Yeah, you done paid, slicky boy. Soon you goin' ta be back in Columbus. You goin' to school, man, or you gonna be a lifer?'

  "A lifer? Do I look that stupid?"

  "Hey, all white boys look the same to me. Are ya? Goin' to school, man, or go work for your old man?"

  "School," Eli said, picking up his rifle again. "I'm going to apply to Georgia U. and see what happens. Hey, this hump ain't goin' to be a cakewalk, so keep your eyes open. I want us Columbus boys to make it back in one piece."

  Cotton lifted his rifle and puffed out his chest "Man, you talkin' to the best team leader in the first squad. I be a snoopin poopin' fool. No sweat, man. You third squad shitbirds be watchin' your own ass. I got the first covered, man."

  Eli raised an eyebrow. "You take it easy, Cotton, serious shit now, I mean it."

  Cotton's smile dissolved and he nodded. "I'll be careful, Tan man. You do the same, man. See ya when we laager and we'll split my mama's brownies she sent me. I gots a care package in the pony along with my acceptance. We be chowin' down on Georgia pecans, man, can you dig it? See ya."

  Eli smiled. "Yeah, man, I can dig it. See ya," he said as he stood. Lifting his rucksack to his shoulder, he barked to his squad, "Saddle up third, time to ride."

  Soaked in sweat, Sergeant Dan Murphy stopped alongside the trail, letting the rest of his squad pass by. He waited for only a few seconds and saw the Cambodian scout approaching, followed by his friend and fellow squad leader. Waiting until Eli Tanner was within a few feet, Murphy stepped back on the trail and joined him. "I don't like this worth a shit, Tan. We're movin' too fast and the L-tee doesn't have the point team out far enough."

  Eli hunched his shoulders to relieve the weight of his heavy rucksack. "What'ya expect? He's in a hurry to get back to base camp. Just keep your boys on their toes. Remember, when we humped this trail yesterday it widened about two hundred yards up, where we saw those house-size boulders. He'll have to stop and send the point team out to check them out before we move on."

  Murphy wiped sweat from his brow with the frayed end of an olive-drab towel that
hung around his neck. "Ya gotta try and talk sense into him, Tan man. I got a feeling about this, a bad feeling. It's too damn quiet, and you've seen the same prints I have. What's Fouk saying?"

  "He says they're here, all right. He says we're dinky dau, crazy, for backtrackin'. Look at him, he's walkin' like a cat on a hot tin roof. You'd better get back to your squad. I'm sure we'll be stoppin' in just a second or two, and I'll go up and try and talk to him again."

  "I'll go with ya, Tan. I'm not lettin' him get us killed 'cause he's in a hurry. See ya in a bit."

  Tanner nodded silently as Murphy increased his pace to catch up to his men.

  A full minute passed and the hand signal for halting had still not been passed back. Not liking what he was feeling, Eli slowed his steps. He kept telling himself the L-tee was surely going to stop the platoon and send the point team ahead to check out the danger area. His friend Cotton was good and would check the area with his fire team. The place was strewn with huge boulders and aboveground tree roots, some taller than a man. The trail twisted and turned through the maze, and just about any point on it was a perfect ambush position. Surely he's going to halt. Surely . . . surely. Shit.

  Eli raised his hand, signaling the squad to freeze. Just ten feet ahead of him, Fouk was crouched down, looking off to his left front as if he saw something that wasn't right. Eli tensed as the small Cambodian slowly moved his hand to his fatigue shirt and pulled out his gold neck chain. Keeping his distant stare, Fouk felt down the chain to the small Buddha and brought it up to his mouth.

  Eli spun around; they were in serious trouble. Fouk only placed the Buddha in his mouth when he thought he was in danger of dying.

  "Gun up," Eli whispered to the two men a few feet behind him. Both came forward in a run, the first holding an M-60 machine gun, the second carrying additional belts of linked ammunition.

  Making a quick survey of the ground, Eli pointed and whispered, "Set up there by the base of that tree. Link two belts and, when I tell ya, hose that area to your left front and keep it comin' ." He quickly motioned the four remaining men of his squad up and pointed to where he wanted them to go. He whispered as they got down into their positions. "Put weapons on semi and get out your flags. If they rush, use your frags first"

  Taking in a breath and pushing his rifle's selector switch to semi, he looked down the trail, hoping Murphy's squad had halted. Shit! They were still moving, following the first squad.

  Breaking the foreboding silence, he yelled, "Murphy, get your men down! Dink ambush! They're to your-"

  To his left and front the forest seemed to explode in an earsplitting, single crack that immediately turned into a sustained roar of gunfire. He dove to the ground 'mowing his warning was too late. The distinct loud cracking sounds of the NVA weapons were those of Chinese-made RPD machine guns and AK-47s.

  Shit! He rolled out of his rucksack and barked to his gun team.

  "Not yet, wait for their assault team to show themselves.

  Keep steady, boys . . . stead-deee. Grimes, keep watching our rear. Everybody get frags ready to toss. Stead-dee."

  Then Tanner saw them. Like ghouls, they seemed to rise out of the ground only thirty yards away. It looked as if the forest was rushing toward, for they were all wearing camouflaged net capes and helmet nets stuffed with leaves and ferns. Despite the fact that his heart was pounding so loud he could hear it over their hollering and gunfire, Eli felt hope. Their assault force was made up of close to fifteen men, and they were headed toward the other two squads on the trail. It was going to be the NVA's turn to be surprised.

  "Now!" he yelled to his men, and immediately five grenades sailed toward the attackers and the M-60 rattled, spewing out a red stream of death.

  Tanner tossed a second grenade, threw himself to the ground and picked up his rifle. Peering from beneath his helmet toward the killing ground, he could see the red tracers from the M-60 disappearing into contorting bodies that twisted, spun, and fell in heaps. Then the grenades began exploding in earsplitting cracks, throwing out white-hot shrapnel that immediately tore and ripped through flesh and bone. Stunned, the surviving attackers ceased their yelling and their charge.

  Knowing he had to take the offense while the enemy were still dazed, Tanner rose and yelled for his men to fire. He brought his M-16 up, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. His target looked as if he had hit an invisible wall; with a look of shock he fell backward. Tanner swung the barrel, aligned his sights on another and squeezed again. The small Vietnamese soldier was knocked off his feet and rolled on the ground in agony. Eli didn't see him rolling; he had another already in his sights. He fired, and the man dropped his rifle as if it were red-hot then fell face first to the ground. Red tracers from the machine gun whizzed through his next target before he had a chance to fire.

  He looked for another but none were left standing. His men had finished off the others. Dropping to a knee, he quickly changed magazines and felt a wave of relief, hearing the familiar popping of M-16s coming from the trail where the two squads had been ambushed. Some of them made it! Thank you Lord, thank you! He rose up and was about to order his men forward to help the other squads when he heard a frantic scream from Grimes, who had been watching the trail behind them.

  "More are comin' up the trail!" A long burst from the trooper caused Tanner to spin around. Oh shit!

  Gun smoke lay like a heavy mist on the forest floor as Eli Tanner walked slowly, checking the small perimeter. Only seven men in the platoon were still able to fire their weapons, and like himself, three of them were wounded. He winced as he bent over and patted Dan Murphy's back. "Steady, Murph.

  Gunships are on the way. How's the shoulder?"

  The sergeant shook his bare head. "Hurts like hell . . . but I can still shoot. Any word on the third platoon?'

  Bone tired, Eli sank to his knees. "Pockets says they're about a klick away. Hang on, buddy, we'll be out of this in an hour or so."

  Murphy looked up at the kneeling soldier, then took the towel from around his own neck. "You're still leakin', Tan.

  Better take my drive-on and wrap that neck wound of yours.

  Another quarter inch to the right and you'd be history. It hurt?"

  "It did, kinda numb now. Murph, they're gonna hit us again.

  Fouk crawled out and heard 'em. Looks like it was a company, and there's still a platoon of 'em left. They think we're done for. We got claymores out during the lull so it looks like we got a chance. I've shifted the guys over to my side of the perimeter, where Fouk says they'll hit us. You're gonna be alone here, man. Keep your eyes open and holler if you see somethin'."

  Murphy was silent for a moment then nodded once. "I've got it, Tan . . . take care, huh."

  Tanner patted his friend's back, and using his rifle as a crutch, he slowly rose and walked back to the center of the perimeter, where the badly wounded lay in rows. He stopped by the platoon medic, who was knotting a tourniquet on a trooper's leg. Eli could see the medic's efforts were wasted, the soldier's ash-gray face a sure sign that he'd already lost too much blood.

  Finished tying the knot, the black medic wiped his bloody hands on his shirt, glanced up, then moved to his next patient.

  "Tan, it's bad, man. I'm outta everything. I got seven down, and six of 'em is critical. Cotton died just a minute ago. When's the fuckin' Third Herd gettin' here?'

  Tanner quickly shifted his eyes to the last man lying on the ground covered by a poncho. He began to move toward the body but the medic grabbed his leg. "Tan, he's dead, man. What about the third platoon?'

  Tanner hardened his heart; there wasn't time to grieve now.

  He quickly wiped his eyes, then tried to speak calmly.

  "Pockets is talkin' to them on the horn, they're movin' as fast as they can." He leaned over touched the soldier's shoulder and whispered, "They're gonna be hittin' us again."

  "Oh Jesus, Tan. We can't hold them this time."

  "Stead-dee. We crawled out and got claymores from the truck
s and set 'em up, and we've got gunships comin'. We'll hold. You just keep the wounded down when the shit hits the fan."

  Standing back erect, Tanner slowly turned, looking over his small perimeter, nestled between two huge teaks. After stopping the attack to their rear, he'd had his men move up the trail to join the other survivors. It had been far worse than he thought. The entire first squad had been killed or wounded.

  Sergeant Collins and the lieutenant were dead, and Murphy's squad was badly torn up. Pockets, the radio operator, survived, but he'd been hit in the legs. Tanner had found the slight depression between the two trees and ordered his men to move the wounded into it and establish a defensive position.