Devil's Guard- The Complete Series Box Set

by Eric Meyer

  “They won’t poison us here.”

  “No, I’ve no doubt you’re right. But I’ll eat my own rations and drink from my water bottle.”

  I nodded. “Probably wise.”

  Soon after we were relieved and we managed to get some sleep. We awoke late morning. Throughout the day we stayed inside the house, checking and rechecking our weapons and equipment. At nightfall, Minh came to us. “It is time to leave.”

  We shrugged into our packs, picked up our assault rifles and filed out into the darkness. Minh led us quietly along a path deep into the jungle. Finally he stopped.

  “The entrance is there.” He handed Goldberg a small map. “The part of the tunnel system where they are to meet is marked on this chart, you should not have any problems, but be careful, there are sleeping quarters for the Viet Cong along the route. You may need to silence them.”

  We looked around, there was nothing. “There,” he pointed again.

  Then we saw a small bush that looked slightly out of place. It didn’t seem to fit with the surrounding foliage. I walked up and tugged at it, the whole bush and the ground it was planted in came away, a dark hole beckoned downward. We had arrived at the VC tunnel system.

  “Woltz, set up a guard position here, make sure you’re well concealed. We’re going in. Major Diem, would you take the point, this is more your territory than mine. Hoffman, would you follow, your experience will be useful. I’ll go next, then Schuster and von Schacht. Any questions?”

  There were none. Woltz sat down and started to assemble the folding stock rifle he carried in his pack. Diem dropped down into the hole and I followed him, it led into a low tunnel that was just a crawl space. Then the roof got higher and we were able to stand. Goldberg came up behind me, then Ritter and Paul brought up the rear. We assembled in a group in the darkened cavern while Goldberg checked the chart with a small torch, he looked at his watch.

  “Ok, we’ve got an hour and a half, it should be enough time but we don’t know what we’ll meet on the way, let’s move out.”

  * * *

  ‘What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbours, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world.’

  Robert E. Lee, letter to his wife, 1864

  PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, SAIGON.

  “How could you let these terrorists get so near to my palace?” Thieu screamed.

  “My palace, no less. Fired on by these rebels, how did they get so close to Saigon? And what of the other outrages these people are committing, Hue, our sacred capital, it is unbelievable. What are you doing about it? General Vien, I demand an answer to the cowardly failures of the army.”

  Vien refused to be cowed by the antics of this clown. He had a long and distinguished career in the military that began at the French-run Cap Saint Jacques Military School, graduating with a commission in the Vietnamese National Army as a Second Lieutenant. He rose quickly through the ranks, becoming a battalion commander in 1953 and then all the way up to his present job as commander of the military apparatus of the Republic, including a spell as a paratrooper. He was no coward.

  “The attack was totally unexpected, Mr President, as you know. We were all surprised, even the Americans with their much vaunted intelligence assets.”

  He looked significantly at da Silva, the CIA station chief Saigon. The spy refused to be handed the baton of blame.

  “Sir, we’ve sent warning after warning that something big was being planned, you can’t blame us for any failure to act upon those warnings.”

  Westmoreland watched them scurrying for cover. It wasn’t an edifying sight.

  “Mr President, the first thing we need to do is resolve the current emergency, once the situation is stabilised we can go forward.”

  Loc, the Prime Minister, looked at him, his gaze searching through the thick, plastic rimmed glasses. “Yes, General, stabilise the situation. When can that be achieved?”

  “As soon as the communist assault is finally defeated, Prime Minister. As we have no way of knowing how many troops and reserved the North has waiting to deploy, we can’t make any firm assessment. All I can assure you is that we are fighting hard and we will prevail.”

  “General Vien, is that your assessment too?”

  Cao Van Vien was the Chairman of the South Vietnamese Joint General Staff, he knew that he has to bear some responsibility for being caught unprepared.

  “It is, Prime Minister, all of our intelligence suggests that the communists are being thrown back on all fronts.”

  “Except Hue,” Thieu snapped at him. Vien inclined his head. “It is true that Hue presents special problems, but we are dealing with it, Sir.”

  “General Westmoreland, what are you doing about these attacks on Saigon, I thought your mission to clear the Iron Triangle was going to stop this sort of thing,” Thieu continued waspishly.

  “Peer, what is the intelligence situation for the Cu Chi area,” Westmoreland asked the CIA chief.

  “We’re dealing with it, Sir. Even as we speak steps are being taken to deal with the incursions from that area.”

  “And how are you doing that?” the President asked him.

  Da Silva looked at Westmoreland, who nodded for him to go ahead. “Well, Sir, we’ve identified the Saigon area commander for the Viet Cong, his name is Dung Vo Phuc. We’ve got a team in there to locate and take him out.”

  “Ah, good, good, I like that. When will you have more information?”

  “In a couple of days, we hope,” da Silva replied.

  There was a brief silence. “Your newspapers are not giving us a good press,” Thieu said abruptly. “Mr da Silva, why do you allow your people to print such lies about my country?”

  “We have a free press in the US, Sir, we don’t allow them to do anything, it’s their right under the constitution.”

  “It’s a stupid right,” Thieu snapped. “Here, we would arrest such traitors.”

  Yes, and make thousands of recruits for the insurgents, Westmoreland thought sourly. The problem was he had felt forced to talk up the progress of the war in order to get the kind of congressional support he needed to fight the North. Now his words were coming back to slap him in the face, the Tet offensive directly contradicted his confident predictions that the communists were on the back foot and losing the war. It was ridiculous, he thought of Hitler’s last ditch offensive in the Ardennes in December 1944. It was a major German attack, launched toward the end of World War II through the densely forested Ardennes Mountains. They achieved complete surprise against a weakly defended section of the Allied line during heavy overcast weather which grounded the Allies' overwhelmingly superior air forces. However, fighting against hopeless odds, the German forces were forced to execute a fighting withdrawal and eventually escaped the battle area, although the fuel situation had become so dire that most of the German armour had to be abandoned. Finally, Hitler agreed to completely withdraw his forces from the Ardennes including the SS panzer divisions, thus ending all offensive operations. Westmoreland was in no doubt whatsoever that the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese army divisions would fare no better, already their losses were enormous. He tried to explain it to Thieu.

  “Yes, I know of this fact, but I am not convinced that everything possible is being done in my country. I want to hear of progess, General, not faint possibilities.”

  “I will keep you informed, Sir. We are counterattacking in Hue, your Black Panthers from the First South Vietnamese Division have been deployed with units of the First Air Cavalry to retake the city, I am confident it will only be a matter of days.”

  “Very well. And let me know about Phuc, I want his head on a plate, General, on a plate, do you hear me,” his voice had risen to a scream. They were all used to it, all wondered how long it would be before he cracked.

  “Yes, Mr President.”

  C
HAPTER 6

  ‘This war in Vietnam is, I believe, a war for civilization. Certainly it is not a war of our seeking. It is a war thrust upon us and we cannot yield to tyranny.’

  Francis Cardinal Spellman

  Diem led off, crawling along the narrow tunnel. Joe Russo went behind him, then Goldberg and the rest of us. It was totally silent in there, with only the glow from Diem’s dim torch to show any light. After the first fifty yards, the tunnel seemed to get even tighter and we were forced to almost slither on our stomachs. According to the chart of the tunnel system, we had almost five hundred yards to go, I hoped to hell it was going to get easier than this. There was a faint sound, almost a click. Then I heard a grunt from up ahead. Goldberg whispered to me. “It was a trap, Russo got hit, looks like a poison stake. Diem has found a wider space up ahead, he’s pulling him through.”

  We pushed on and the tunnel opened up into a small cave, the roof was supported by wooden beams to stop it caving in on us. On the floor Russo lay writhing in agony, Diem was tending to him, he gave him a shot of morphine and Joe relaxed a little.

  “Is there anything we can do for him?” I asked the Vietnamese major.

  He shook his head. “Poisoned punji stake, some sort of concoction the natives make, it kills in minutes. They used to use it for hunting large animals, now…” he pointed hopelessly to Joe Russo.

  The most common type of booby trap was the single punji stake. They were sharpened lengths of bamboo or metal with needle-like tips that had been fire-hardened. They were coated with deadly poisons or excrement to cause infection. Dug into shallow camouflaged holes and rice paddies they were often mounted on bent saplings. The use of booby traps also had a long-lasting psychological impact on marines and soldiers. The fear of booby traps was so great that units in the field were under stress the whole time. This created severe mental fatigue on both the commanders at platoon level and the individual soldiers. They also caused death.

  Joe gave a final sigh and stopped moving. Diem’s eyes caught mine in the dim light of his combat torch.

  “I gave him plenty of morphine, Jurgen. It’s the only way.”

  I nodded. “I know, Major. I’ve encountered them before, they’re not pretty. Poor Joe.”

  “We need to push on,” Goldberg interrupted.

  “At least let’s put Joe where his body won’t be discovered,” I protested.

  “Make it quick, then,” the Colonel replied.

  Ritter and Paul had come into the open space and were looking sadly at the body. We’d been through a lot with Joe Russo, fought almost the length of Vietnam, only for it to end here in a dank tunnel between Cu Chi and Trang Bang.

  “There’s a recess in the wall here,” Paul said. “We can put the body in there and cover it with earth. It’s the best we can do.”

  “Ok, go ahead,” Goldberg said. He was edgy, but leading this mission it was unsurprising. We were in the enemy’s backyard, every moment we risked discovery and a quick and untimely death. They dragged his body to the recess and used their knives to scrape earth to cover it. We all knew it would be discovered soon enough, but there was little we could do. Unless of course we could blow this part of the cave system when we fell back, but we had no way of knowing how things would pan out.

  “Move out, Major,” Goldberg ordered quietly.

  The tunnel roof was higher now and we could walk albeit hunched over, it was about five feet high. We carried on walking silently along the tunnel and it opened up even more. Then they stopped. Goldberg twisted around to me.

  “VC sleeping quarters right ahead, we’re going to take them all out. We don’t want them behind us when we fall back.”

  I heartily agreed with him, a dozen or more hostile Viet Cong would turn our withdrawal into a rout. We crept forward, there was an opening in the side of the tunnel. Diem was already inside, Goldberg slipped in. I looked around the doorway, the room was quite large by tunnel standards, about twelve feet on each side. It was fitted with bunks, stacked three high, there were a total of six stacks, which meant eighteen men if they were all occupied, and it looked as if they were. I pulled out my knife. Ritter and Paul came behind me, their knives ready. Goldberg nodded and we started out bloody work.

  Experience had shown us that the best knife thrust was in the throat, it was quick and stopped the man being killed from crying out. I went to the left of the room and took my first man on the bottom bunk. He died with a slight ‘oof’ as his last breath left him. I moved to the middle bunk, took out the occupant and then stood up to finish the last man. All around the room there was the soft rustle of cloth as we stooped over each man to do our grisly work. The angels of death were visiting this subterranean room, each man not suspecting when he went to sleep that he would not wake in this world. The operation went like clockwork, there were two women amongst the bodies. The VC used women in many of their operations, they were big on equality, except at the higher levels, of course. Men would only let them go so far, enough was enough. But these two had no further worries about communist politics, their war ended with their lives.

  “Let’s push on,” Goldberg murmured. We exited the room and continued along the tunnel. For another fifty yards or so the going was easy, the tunnel roof stayed at five feet high and we made good time. We started to smell food, of all things.

  “If they’ve got anything to eat I’m starving,” Ritter whispered.

  I ignored him. Ahead of us, Goldberg whispered for us to stop. We waited for a few minutes and then Diem came back.

  “It’s the kitchen, there are a couple of cooks there. We’re going to try and take them alive, they could have some intelligence that would be useful.”

  He crept away and we waited again. There was a faint light in the tunnel coming from the kitchen so we were able to see what was happening. Diem and Goldberg waited at the end of the tunnel. From time to time the silhouette of one of the cooks passed across the tunnel entrance. They were talking in low tones, perhaps so as not to wake the sleepers. It would take more than loud conversation to do that now, I reflected. Then Diem and Goldberg rushed in, there was a cry and a gurgle but quite low, not enough to alert any defenders.

  Shortly, Goldberg came back to us. “The area is secure, one dead, Diem’s holding the other one.”

  He went back to the kitchen and we followed. The strong smell was rice cooking in a huge cauldron, no doubt they were getting the food ready for the morning breakfast. Supplies were piled against one of the walls, foodstuffs, bedding, even respirators. I imagined that they would be used for when the enemy poured poison gas into the tunnels, a not infrequent occurrence. Diem had an arm around his throat, obviously stopping him from crying out. The terror in the man’s eyes was obvious to us all. He understood the situation perfectly. He kept quiet.

  “Has the meeting started,” Diem asked him in French.

  His eyes widened even more and he shook his head. Diem tightened his grip, and with the other hand brought up his combat knife putting the point almost touching the man’s left eye. The cook nodded and Diem relaxed his grip, but the knife stayed where it was.

  “They are there now, the meeting started twenty minutes ago, they’re further along the tunnel,” he croaked.

  “Will it go on for long?” Diem persisted.

  “An hour or two, perhaps more,” he said.

  Diem nodded and stabbed inwards. The knife buried in his eye all the way up to the hilt. The man died almost instantly as his brain was speared by the razor sharp blade. The Major laid him to the floor.

  “Let’s go take these bastards down,” Goldberg said.

  Paul, Ritter and I raised our eyebrows. Marine macho may have a time and place, but it jarred in this place of silent, dark death. Diem went ahead and we followed. The roof height allowed us to creep silently along, stooped forward so as not to bang our heads on the roof. We didn’t encounter any further problems until we rounded a bend in the tunnel and heard voices. Diem stopped and we all halted behind him.
We listened for a few moments.

  “That’s it,” the Major murmured. “That’s the command meeting. How do you want to do this, Colonel?”

  It was an interesting problem, there were two ways to hit them. We could charge in all at once and overcome them with sheer force, but of course that didn’t allow for the unexpected. If there were two dozen VC in the room with weapons to hand it could turn the tables. I was relieved that Goldberg chose to opt for caution.

  “Go ahead and see if you can estimate the numbers, Major. We’ll be right behind in case you’re spotted.”

  Diem nodded and crept forward. Just short of the light that spilled into the tunnel from the room ahead, he stopped and started to crawl forward on the ground. He reached the end of the tunnel then crawled back.

  “Six of them, they’re all seated at a table in the middle of the room, three either side. There are two tunnels leading off and a doorway to one side of the room. I can’t tell who is through the doorway, but I can’t hear any voices.”

  Goldberg reached into his combat jacket and pulled out an automatic with a silencer fitted. “I’ll go first and take the three to the left of the table. The rest of you go to the right, use your knives and work towards the left. Go when I fire my first shot. Clear?”

  We all murmured that we understood. Goldberg crawled forward and waited, prone on the ground until we were ready. Then he crawled forward. We were tense and sweating, waiting to burst into the unknown, unseen room. Then he fired, a soft ‘plop’, we were rushing forward as the second shot, then the third spat out. They were looking up, startled, I rushed in and took the first one in the throat. Ritter and Paul were beside me, as was Major Diem. I dimly heard the silenced pistol spit out again and again. A VC was scurrying through a narrow doorway, it was fitted with a hatch that slammed shut. We’d have to worry about that later. In the meantime, I went back to check the enemy. They were all dead, but there was a problem. Phuc wasn’t amongst them.