Dateline: Viet Nam: A Military Thriller Double

by Robert Vaughan

  Three men who had taken a very early shower in order to beat the rush were heading back for their tent when the machine gun opened up. The M-60 at bunker number five was turned onto the compound and red tracers sprayed out like water from a garden hose. The bullets cut through the tents and smashed into the latrines and showers. The three men who had just stepped out were cut down by the fire.

  “Jeez! What’s happening?” someone shouted.

  “Charlie’s through the wire! Charlie’s through the wire!”

  Hunter started toward the company C.P. There was a hand-cranked siren at the company C.P., and though he was fairly certain that everyone knew they were under attack by now, he thought he should sound it. Also, there was a radio in company headquarters that would allow him to call in support.

  A line of green tracer rounds zipped toward him from the company C.P. and he had to dive for the ground. Green meant Charlie. The company C.P. had fallen.

  A series of explosions from around the compound let Hunter know that there were sappers at work. The generator went up and all the lights went off. A fuel truck exploded in a great roar, sending a huge ball of fire up into the air.

  Hunter headed for the battalion C.P., where he found Colonel Petery crouching behind the sandbag barricade. Petery was wearing his flak jacket and helmet and he had a .45 in his hand.

  “How many are there, Sergeant Two Bears?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Hunter said.

  “Sounds like there’s an entire regiment.”

  “Colonel, there’s no way an entire regiment could have sneaked through the wire.”

  “I know, I know. Where’s Cox? Why hasn’t he answered the phone?”

  “He may be dead, Colonel. Charlie has the company C.P.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Petery said. He sighed. “All right, you get back and take charge of your sector. It’s probably best not to send any of the other company officers over there. They could get their asses shot off by your own men.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hunter said.

  Hunter started back toward his company sector. When he was even with the mess tent, he was fired on by four or five people from the next tent down, the tent where the cooks and bakers lived. He dived into a mud puddle and lay there with the water up to his ears. Had the V.C. taken that tent, or was he being fired on by his own men? He tried to rise up, and another stream of tracers came toward him.

  “Who are you?” one of the men shouted. Hunter recognized Casey’s voice. Sergeant Casey was the mess sergeant.

  “Goddamn it! Casey, don’t you think you could’ve found that out before you started shooting?”

  “It’s Sergeant Two Bears,” Hunter heard one of the cooks say.

  “Yes, goddammit! It’s me!” Hunter shouted.

  “Well, come on, then, we won’t shoot,” Casey called.

  “Damned decent of you,” Hunter replied. He got up, brushed some of the mud off, then ran over to the tent. There was still a lot of shooting going on around the compound area.

  “We’re sorry, Sarge,” Casey said when Hunter stepped into the tent, behind the sandbag walls. “We thought you were Charlie.”

  “You sure you don’t want to ask me something...like who won the World Series or some shit like that?” Hunter asked disgustedly.

  “I told you, we’re sorry,” Casey said again.

  “Yeah. Well, what the hell are you doing shooting anyway? Why aren’t you cooking breakfast?”

  “Cooking breakfast? Are you crazy? Charlie’s come through the wire, goddammit!”

  “What the hell difference does that make? Men still gotta eat and you’re trained to cook breakfast while you’re being shot at. Besides, right now you’re doing just what he wants you to do. The more of our people he can get to shooting, the more chance we have of killing ourselves. You just get over into the mess tent and don’t touch a weapon unless he comes right in and helps himself to a cup of coffee.”

  “Okay, Sarge, if that’s what you want.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

  Hunter went to the other tents and calmed them down as well, until finally all the shooting was stopped. When things were calm, he put a squad together and led them outside. By now there was a pale streak of light in the east.

  Hunter had called all the bunkers and got a reply from everyone except bunker number five. The first place he took the squad to was number five. He found the three American bodies there, plus the body of the V.C. who had turned the pig onto the compound. He also found the cut in the wire where Charlie came through. He left three men to secure the bunker, then took the rest of the squad toward the company C.P. He put his men out in a semicircle around the C.P., then waited.

  Within fifteen more minutes, the gray light of dawn illuminated the compound and Hunter could see all around. The sappers had done a pretty good job. They took out the generator, fuel truck, three Jeeps, and a supply shed. The fuel truck and the supply shed were still burning. There were three V.C. bodies on the ground. Hunter realized they must have just been caught in the crossfire because for the first several minutes after the attack there was no aimed fire, just mad shooting.

  “What we gonna do, Sarge?” Pepper asked.

  “Get a couple of M-79 rounds on the C.P.,” Hunter said.

  Pepper signaled to the M-79 carriers and two 40-mm rounds were fired at the C.P. They exploded with a low thump.

  “Hey, Charlie!” Hunter shouted. “If you’re in there, you better chieu hoi, or we’re going to burn you out of there. Get the flame-thrower, Pepper.” Pepper looked at Hunter in surprise. There wasn’t a flame-thrower in the company. As far as Pepper knew, there wasn’t one in the entire compound.

  “Get the flame-thrower. We’re going to burn their asses good.”

  “No!” a voice called from inside the C.P. A white flag fluttered from above the sandbags. “No burn.”

  “Then come on out of there,” Hunter called. “Cover them,” he said to his men.

  There was a movement behind the sandbags. Then two people emerged through the pall of smoke. One was a V.C. The other was Lieutenant Cox. The V.C. had a pistol pointing at Lieutenant Cox’s head. The V.C. was smiling.

  “I am Captain Phat of the People’s Liberation Army,” Phat said. “I am holding your lieutenant as a hostage. I am going to walk out the gate with your lieutenant. Then I will free him. If you try and stop me, I will shoot him.”

  “Do what he says, Sergeant Two Bears,” Cox said in a frightened voice.

  “I believe he’s bluffing,” Hunter said. He started walking toward Phat and Cox, holding his M-16 in front of him.

  “He’s not bluffing, believe me,” Cox said in a frightened voice.

  “Sure he is,” Hunter said calmly. “Why, he knows that the moment he kills you, I’m going to kill him.”

  Phat smiled. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I don’t care about my life.”

  Hunter smiled back. “No, asshole, you don’t understand. I don’t care about the lieutenant’s life.” Hunter raised his M-16.

  Cox’s eyes grew wide with terror. He started to shout an order but the words died in his mouth as he heard the explosion of Phat’s pistol. He never felt the bullet crash into his head, nor did he live long enough to see Sergeant Hunter Two Bears fire a burst of ten rounds into Phat’s chest.

  Hunter turned and walked back through his squad. They were all standing now and they looked at him and at the lieutenant as if they couldn’t believe what they had just seen. Finally Pepper shrugged.

  “Fuck it,” he said philosophically.

  “Really,” someone answered.

  “Let’s get breakfast,” another put in.

  Epilogue

  Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, 1986

  After several miles of rolling hills, they came into a little town. On the surface of it, the little town wasn’t that different from any other town in this part of the country. It was one long main street with stores and houses on both sides of the st
reet. There were two service stations, a police-fire station, a little park, and a school. The truck stopped in front of the school and the policeman walked back to the van.

  “You’ll find him here someplace,” the policeman said. “He’s a janitor for the school.”

  “A janitor? But, doesn’t he get a retirement?” The policeman shook his head no. “He didn’t get his twenty. He left at eighteen years.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Nobody knows. He doesn’t talk about it.”

  The policeman’s radio came alive and the policeman held up his hand. “I gotta go,” he said. “You’ll find Hunter around here somewhere.”

  “Thanks,” Ernie said. He watched the policeman drive off. Then he walked up the walk toward the school building. He pushed the doors open and stepped inside. Although it was summertime, there were two young people just inside, a boy and a girl.

  “Excuse me,” Ernie said. “Could you tell me where I might find Hunter Two Bears?”

  “Out back, shootin’ V.C.,” the boy said derisively.

  “Danny!” the girl protested. “Don’t talk about him like that. He’s an old man.”

  He’s old? What does that make me? Ernie wondered.

  “He’s strange,” the boy said. “They got his Distinguished Service Cross in a glass case down at the police station but there’s no way you’re going to make me believe that old man won that.”

  “Believe it,” Ernie said.

  “Yeah? All I’ve ever seen him do is push a broom around and drink.”

  “Be glad that’s all you ever saw him do,” Ernie said. He walked through the entry hall, then across the basketball court, then through a door at the back of the building. He saw someone near the back of the lot, working on the fence.

  It was an old man with stooped shoulders and a weathered face. He was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt. Ernie was going to ask him if he knew where to find Hunter Two Bears…Then he saw that it was Hunter Two Bears. He walked toward him.

  Hunter heard him coming and he looked up. Ernie saw the recognition in his eyes though Hunter’s face made no change.

  “Saw where you retired,” Hunter said by way of greeting. “Wondered if you’d ever get out this way.”

  “I told you I would.”

  Hunter tacked a wire into place with a staple gun. Then he put the tool down and wiped his hands.

  “Lot of guys said they would,” Hunter said. “You the only one ever did. Let’s go somewhere and sit down.”

  “How about my van?” Ernie offered.

  “Okay.”

  “Why didn’t you go until you retired?” Ernie asked, as they walked back through the gym, then back down the walk to Ernie’s van.

  “I don’t know. After Vietnam, it wasn’t my army anymore,” Hunter said. “I didn’t know those guys. I didn’t belong.”

  “But you only had two years,” Ernie protested. “Two years is so short a time.”

  “You ever held your hand over a lighted candle?” Hunter asked.

  “No.”

  “Two seconds is a long time.”

  “Here it is,” Ernie said.

  “Nice. I see you got a bed fixed up in it and everything.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing a lot of traveling lately. The van is the best way to do it if you aren’t in any particular hurry.”

  “You’re not in any hurry?”

  “I figure I have the rest of my life,” Ernie answered.

  “Have you seen the monument? The one they built in Washington?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to see it. Don’t know if I’ll ever get the money to make the trip, but I’d like to see it. I’d like to see Bill’s name there. Did you see Bill’s name?”

  “Yes,” Ernie said.

  “I’d like to sort of reach out and touch his name,” he said. “If I could do that, maybe I could close a few old wounds. Maybe I wouldn’t...” —he took a deep breath— “…maybe I wouldn’t see Lieutenant Cox’s eyes anymore.”

  “I have something for you,” Ernie said. He opened a drawer in a little chest in his van and pulled out a brown leather briefcase. He unsnapped it, then removed a piece of paper.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a rubbing of Bill’s name,” Ernie said. “I made it off the monument.”

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch.” Hunter reached out and touched the paper. “How about that?”

  “Do you want it?” Ernie asked.

  “What? No...I mean, it’s yours. I couldn’t take it.”

  “I did it for you,” Ernie said.

  Hunter picked it up and held it, almost reverently. “You did?”

  “Yeah, I did. Go on, take it.”

  They were silent for a long moment. A wisp of smoke passed through the van and Ernie caught the unmistakable aroma of barbecued steaks.

  “Who’s cooking steaks?” Ernie asked.

  “The B.I.A.,” Hunter said. “They’re having a big feed this afternoon for the reservation officers.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “Yeah, if you’re an officer.”

  Ernie smiled. “I seem to recall that not being an officer didn’t keep us from eating their steaks the last time the three of us were together.” He nodded toward the paper rubbing of Bill Hanlon’s name.

  Hunter laughed. “No, and, by God, it won’t this time,” he said. “Let me just make a little recon here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll furnish the beer,” Ernie offered.

  Take A Look At: The Crocketts’: Western Saga Two

  AUTHOR OF THE CADE MCCALL WESTERN SERIES DELIVERS VOLUME TWO OF THE CROCKETTS – SADDLE UP FOR A NON-STOP THRILL RIDE.

  Brother Win and Joe Coulter find themselves hip deep in a war, they must decide how to navigate the violent conflict. With the Coulters in town, every two-bit gunslinger’s chances of surviving are just about zero…

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  Now they have to find a ruthless killer, settle a ranch dispute, and rescue a very lovely lady in distress without ending up six feet under. All in a day’s work for these two men from Missouri.

  The Crocketts: Western Saga 2 includes: Panhandle Justice, Mexican Standoff, A Time for Killing and Death Pass.

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  Thank you for taking the time to read Dateline: Viet Nam. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author's best friend and much appreciated. Thank you.

  Robert Vaughan

  About the Author

  Robert Vaughan sold his first book when he was 19. That was 57 years and nearly 500 books ago. He wrote the novelization for the mini series Andersonville. Vaughan wrote, produced, and appeared in the History Channel documentary Vietnam Homecoming.

  His books have hit the NYT bestseller list seven times. He has won the Spur Award, the PORGIE Award (Best Paperback Original), the Western Fictioneers Lifetime Achievement Award, received the Readwest President's Award for Excellence in Western Fiction, is a member of the American Writers Hall of Fame and is a Pulitzer Prize nominee.

  Vaughn is also a retired army officer, helicopter pilot with three tours in Vietnam. And received the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Purple Heart, The Bronze Star with three oak leaf clusters, the Air Medal for valor with 35 oak leaf clusters, the Army Commendation Medal, the Meritorious Service Medal, and the Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry.

 

 

 
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