Devil's Guard- The Complete Series Box Set

by Eric Meyer

  “Oh yes, I’m a Jew, my friend. Your people murdered my family, my father, mother, uncles, sister, everyone. My aunt managed to get me out before we were taken by your Gestapo thugs, but the rest of my family were slaughtered.”

  “I’m sorry for your family, Sergeant, but I repeat I am not and never was a Nazi and I did not murder any Jews, least of all your family.”

  “I couldn’t give a flying fuck what you did in the war, Hoffman. You were a Nazi then and you’re a Nazi now. I’d be happy to see you all rounded up and executed.”

  I smiled coldly. “You mean a final solution, something like that?”

  “Yeah, I...” he stopped as he realised what he’d said. “Fuck you and all of your kind, just stay out of my way, Hoffman.”

  He stalked away and I finished my check of the cabin. I was unconcerned, he wasn’t the first Jew to blame me for Hitler’s Final Solution, and no doubt wouldn’t be the last. Besides, I sympathised with him, I knew I’d feel the same way. But I had an aircraft to fly, so I started back towards the cockpit. That was when we were hit, several rounds came straight through the cabin from underneath and exited through the cabin roof. Simultaneously the aircraft lurched heavily to starboard. I knew what had happened, we’d heard reports of the Viet Cong and their North Vietnamese masters bringing anti-aircraft artillery south. ZPU-4s had been spotted on several occasions, a towed, quadruple-barrelled anti-aircraft gun based on the Soviet KPV 14.5 mm machine gun. At twenty thousand feet we were still within range of the weapon. As soon as the first rounds hit the cabin the Master Sergeant had instinctively pulled up on the stick to gain height, disconnecting the autopilot and losing control of the aircraft. I had seconds to get back to the cockpit before we went into a fatal spin. The nose had gone up, I had to claw my way back to get to the controls, a hard, uphill struggle. The two MPs were clinging to the cargo netting, their faces white and terrified. I ignored them, neither was apparently hit and I pulled myself up to the cockpit door, in seconds the nose would tip us over into the spin. I finally got into the cockpit and pulled myself into my seat, Vince Robertson looked as white as the two MPs.

  “Thank Christ, Jurgen, I thought you’d been hit.”

  “Not this time.” I strapped myself in, took hold of the column and put my feet on the rudder pedals. Then I pulled on my oxygen mask, the air was very thin at this altitude without cabin pressurisation. “Ok, Vince, I’ll take it from here.”

  As I spoke, the nose started to tip over, the starboard wing went down and we were about to go out of control. I stamped on the rudder to push us to port and banked us over, the aircraft corrected and I throttled up to full, putting us back into the climb. Another burst hit the cabin and the whole aircraft shook, but we were flying away and climbing now, nearly out of trouble.

  “Vince, would you check the cabin, see if there is any damage. You’d better take a portable oxygen mask with you and make sure the MPs have their own masks on.”

  “You got it, Jurgen.” He got up and walked back down the aircraft, holding on as he went, we were climbing and the fuselage was at a steep angle. I took her all the way up to thirty thousand feet, our maximum altitude and no more anti aircraft fire came our way, we had cleared the height at which the ZPU-4s could target us. The Sergeant came back into the cockpit.

  “Apart from the holes in the fuselage we’re all clear, nobody’s hurt.”

  “Thanks, Vince. We’ll stay at this height all the way, we’ve no way of knowing how many of those anti-aircraft guns they’ve got on the ground, better safe than sorry.”

  He nodded and we flew on towards Da Nang. While things were quiet, I took the opportunity to let Vince take the controls and manoeuvre the aircraft.

  “You never know when you might find yourself alone on the flight deck during an emergency, do you?”

  He smiled and concentrated on piloting the large aircraft. The Lockheed C-130 was a four-engine turboprop powered aeroplane, not the simplest to learn to fly, but when you knew how she did fly beautifully. I left him to it and studied some of the operations manuals for the aircraft. About fifty miles out from Da Nang the MPs came into the cockpit, looked around and went out. God only knew what they wanted, maybe they thought I had Vo Nguyen Giap stashed in the navigator’s seat. But we followed the navigational beacon all the way until we were in range and I called the tower.

  “Roger, 6452, we have you on radar. There’s another C-130 ten miles ahead of you, just follow him straight in.”

  I acknowledged. It was Ritter, of course, keeping up the lead. We followed the beacon all the way and got final clearance to land, as we were descending I saw two things. Firstly, Ritter was taxiing to the apron, secondly, there were a series of firefights going on just outside the base. We landed without drawing any of the enemy fire and I taxied to the ramp and parked the aircraft close to Ritter’s. Vince shut down the engines and I filled in the log, and then went to leave the plane. The MP corporal gave me a nod and shook my hand.

  “Thanks for getting us here safely, Sir. Name’s Joe Reilly.”

  “You’re welcome, Joe.”

  I looked at the Jewish Sergeant, but his face was cold. I turned away and went down the ladder and walked across to where Ritter was chatting with a member of the USAF ground crew.

  “Any problems, Jurgen?”

  “A few bullet holes, nothing that can’t be fixed.”

  He looked concerned and glanced at the aircraft, there were a dozen or more holes visible from where we stood. He grinned. “They’ll be cross you didn’t get her here in one piece, you know.”

  I was about to reply when there was a whistling sound, one we knew all too well.

  “Mortar,” I shouted, “take cover!”

  We lay pressed to the concrete of the ramp as the shell exploded in the grass at the side of the runway. They were aiming to prevent aircraft landing and when I looked up my stomach felt sick, Paul’s C-130 was on final approach. My gaze shifted back to the runway to check it and I saw movement. I kept a folding telescope in my pocket, now I extended it and scanned the side of the runway. Midway between the barbed wire and the tarmac a heavily camouflaged man was standing up, then he became clearer, a rocket launcher was held in this hand. Next to him knelt another man, also camouflaged, clutching a spare rocket. It was difficult to make out exactly what weapon they carried because of the camouflage, but their intention was obvious, to destroy the C-130 as it landed, probably when it had slowed to taxi to the ramp. I sprinted to my C-130, ignoring the shouted questions from the MPs. Up the ladder and into the cockpit, I grabbed the microphone and called Paul on the guard frequency.

  “Paul Schuster, C-130 about to land at Da Nang, abort the landing, I say again, abort!”

  After a second’s delay Schuster’s voice came on the radio, calm and unflappable as ever. As he spoke, his aircraft’s nose went up, the engine noise changed to a roar and he shot up into the sky.

  “Copy that, what’s the problem, Jurgen?”

  “Some kind of missile team waiting for you, my friend. Can you circle until we’ve dealt with them?”

  Another hesitation, then, “That’s a negative, my friend. We got hit by anti-aircraft fire, one of the MPs is bleeding badly, if he doesn’t get medical attention fast he won’t last. I’ll go around once, if you can’t deal with him by then I’ll have to chance it or the soldier dies, he lost a lot of blood.”

  “We’ll do our best, Paul,” I said heavily.

  As I turned to rush out of the cockpit, the two MPs were standing in the doorway.

  “What’s up, Hoffman?” Cohen asked suspiciously.

  I elbowed him aside and ran for the ladder and vaulted down to the ground. They ran behind me as I explained. “If we don’t get this VC, the aircraft will be destroyed when it lands.”

  There was a Willys jeep parked nearby and I headed for it, calling for Ritter.

  “Hoffman, it’s not our problem, we should call the MACV HQ or the tower and get them to deal with it.”
<
br />   I answered him on the run and explained about the wounded MP. “Paul’s going to land regardless, Sergeant. Don’t you think that MACV has its hands full with the action going on around here, they won’t respond quickly enough?”

  We reached the jeep and I climbed into the driver’s seat, Ritter sat beside me. We both had sidearms, it would have to be enough. But the M16s of the MPs would be better.

  “Are you guys coming or waiting here?” I shouted at them. I said it with a biting edge of contempt, maybe mixed with a good helping of arrogance that we Germans are supposedly famous for. It was enough. They climbed into the back of the vehicle and I shot across the airfield straight towards the VC missile team.

  They were obviously concentrating on watching for the aircraft that was now making its second approach. We got within about a hundred and fifty yards of them before I saw a face distinctly turn towards us. I kept the pedal pressed to the floor, the second VC dropped his spare rocket and picked up an assault rifle, an AK47.

  “For God’s sake shoot the bastards,” I shouted at the MPs in the back.

  I veered over to the left to give them a clear shot from the side of the jeep. They opened up and their rifles spat bullets towards the missile team, the slower, lower pitched burst from the AK47 whistled over our heads. He was firing from the ground, the MPs were trying to sight from a bucking, rocking jeep.

  “Keep firing, I’m going straight for them.”

  I swung the wheel over again and drove at them, trying to ignore the bullets that whistled around us. The MPs kept up a valiant rate of fire which must have spoiled the enemy’s aim, I saw Ritter draw his automatic, stand up gripping the windshield and start shooting. Above us, Paul was on final approach again, in seconds he would be on the tarmac. A burst of AK47 rounds whistled just over our heads, we could see both of them clearly now. The missileer seemed to waver between firing his missile at our jeep and sighting on the C-130 whose wheels were just feet above the runway. The rifleman stopped firing and snapped another clip into his gun then brought it up to fire. It must have been just as he was about to pull the trigger, we were no more than twenty yards away when our bullets hit him, spinning him around and to the ground. The man with the missile had swung back to the aircraft, now he changed his mind again and swung back to us. Too late, repeated short bursts from the M16s and single shots from Ritter’s automatic stitched across him and he fell, then his missile ignited. We would never know why, had he fired at that instant, had one of our rounds stuck the explosive warhead, but there was a dramatic explosion that struck our jeep with a powerful, hot blast. The steering wheel bucked and then the whole vehicle tipped completely over, throwing us out onto the ground. Thankfully no one was trapped underneath.

  As I shook my head to clear it, the explosion still ringing in my ears, I saw Paul’s aircraft slowing down after touchdown. Thank God. I looked around, Ritter was getting up, the survivor of countless emergency touchdowns and real crashes, he just shook himself and got to his feet. Both MPs were struggling to their feet too.

  “Anyone hurt?” I asked. They all shook their heads.

  “A close one, Jurgen,” Ritter smiled.

  I nodded. A jeep and a lorry were headed for us, laden with troops to investigate. The jeep screeched to a halt and the officer leapt out of the passenger seat.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” he snarled.

  “I believe it’s called war, Captain,” I replied.

  He started barking orders to his sergeant to secure the area, then walked over to check the remains of the VCs, not that there was much left to inspect.

  “Are there any more in the immediate area?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware of, I think it was just those two that infiltrated.”

  “Right. A good job, well done, you nuked the fuckers.”

  “I think it’s called an own goal, Captain, their rocket exploded.”

  He looked mystified, obviously European football jargon had not reached him.

  “I’m going to check on the aircraft that just landed,” I continued. “If you don’t mind, they’ve got at least one casualty and it’s a friend of mine flying it. I’ll be in MACV if you want a fuller report.”

  “Yeah, I guess that would be fine. Talk to you later.”

  We drove back to the ramp and up to Paul’s aircraft. He had already called the tower and an ambulance was at the rear, the ramp was lowering ready to take off the casualty. As the ramp touched the ground the medics ran on board and emerged in minutes with a wounded man on a gurney. Paul followed them and nodded to me and Ritter.

  “A bit of excitement on this flight, Jurgen. Ritter, any problems?”

  “No, I got through without our Viet friends punching holes in my fuselage. Any really serious damage to your aircraft, Paul?”

  “No, just ventilation holes and a large bloodstain. He took a bullet through the leg, it exited the other side so there is no lead left inside him but it severed an artery. The other MP put a tourniquet on him to stop the blood loss, if he gets some blood quickly I hope he’ll recover.”

  “That’s good. I suggest we report to MACV and tell them that their aircraft are largely intact, then I want to see about getting back to Saigon, I must check on Helene and Sophie.”

  We walked across the flightline and into the HQ building. The MPs on the door had seen us coming from the aircraft and allowed us in. I spoke to one of the MPs behind the desk.

  “Corporal, is there a telephone here I can use, if the lines are working I need to check on my family in Saigon?”

  “For sure, I’ll get an outside line connected to the telephone over there, station two.”

  I thanked him and went over to a line of telephones. It took a few minutes but eventually the phone in our bungalow was picked up, I heard the familiar voice of Lan, our office manager.

  “Jurgen, it’s good to hear from you.”

  “You too, Lan. How are Helene and Sophie?

  There was a hesitation, the line crackled, I heard the word Viet Cong.

  “What, what was that?”

  “Sophie is ok, Jurgen, she’s here now.”

  “Helene, where is she, is she wounded?”

  “She was taken, Jurgen, kidnapped. She was tending a Viet Cong officer, he was wounded during the fighting. They pulled out and took her with them to look after him. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll get back to Saigon as soon as I can, Lan, take care of Sophie.”

  “Of course. Where are you, Jurgen?”

  She didn’t know, I remembered it had all happened so quickly. “Da Nang.”

  I heard her catch her breath. “But isn’t the insurgency there as well, I thought they were attacking everywhere.”

  I wondered where she’d heard that. “There are problems here, but it’s not too bad. I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Goodbye, Lan.”

  I hung up the phone. Ritter and Paul had caught the gist of the conversation.

  “Any ideas on how we get back?” Paul asked.

  “Any way we can, if all aircraft are grounded we’ll need to hire a car.”

  Just then there was a flurry of activity and a booming voice rang out.

  “What the hell’s going on here, who are these people in my headquarters?”

  A red-faced Brigadier-General was staring at us, hands on hips, surrounded by his staff. His name tab said Wilkes. A captain ran across to him. “These are the pilots that ferried the C-130s out of Tan Son Nhat, Sir, General Westmoreland’s orders.”

  His eyes narrowed, he thought for a few moments. “Yeah, ok then, out of the frying pan into the fire. We might need those birds moved again so keep yourselves available to move on a moment’s notice. Captain Vincent, make sure they get a hot meal and get someone out to refuel those C-130s.”

  “General,” I interrupted, “I have to get back to Saigon, my wife and child are in trouble. If necessary we’ll hire a car unless you have transport heading that way.”

  His
gaze was cold. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m sorry about your family, Mister, but I need you all here.”

  I went to argue, but he overrode me. “That’s final! Captain, make sure they’re confined to base and guarded. You’re under military orders for the duration of the emergency, all of you. That’s all.”

  He stalked off with his entourage fluttering after him like the train of an enormous cloak. Ritter and Paul looked at me with worried expressions. We were trapped, locked into a military base on a war footing, hundreds of miles from Saigon and my wife was missing, kidnapped by the Viet Cong.

  “Jurgen, we’ll sort this out,” Ritter said. “Let’s keep cool and keep our eyes open for a chance to leave. We’ll get back to your family as soon as humanly possible.”

  I looked out of the window. On the flightline were dozens of aircraft, two F4s were taxiing, others were being serviced, refuelled and re-armed, a couple of Galaxies, half a dozen C-130s were parked. Tucked away in a corner was a pair of Cessna O-1 Bird Dogs. They may as well have been lockd in a vault, we had no chance of using one to return to Saigon. We were virtual prisoners of the U.S. military.

  * * *

  ‘Vietnam presumably taught us that the United States could not serve as the world's policeman; it should also have taught us the dangers of trying to be the world's midwife to democracy when the birth is scheduled to take place under conditions of guerrilla war’.

  Henry Kissinger

  Chung Van Minh, District Commissar, Da Nang, glanced up at the Captain, Phan Tan Dung. They were in the command bunker which lay approximately two thousand yards from the MACV headquarters building and fifty feet below ground. Originally dug during the French occupation of Vietnam, the bunker had been substantially extended to include an infirmary, a machine shop and various administrative offices, including this one. Effectively, Minh was in command, he was the direct link between the Supreme Soviet of the Viet Cong which was then subordinate to Hanoi, nominally under the command of Nguyen Vo Giap since the failing health of their leader Ho Chi Minh.