Previously: Angels Were Crying Scenario

 

Narrative

November 1965

“If Brigadier General ‘Butch’ Williamson said they were there…then chances are they aint.” I mumbled to myself. Sarge gave me a quizzical look and looked away. Two of the FNG’s[ F#cking New Guys ] who clung to my every word and were terrified of the NCO’s kinda laughed…then looked at the sarge and thankful said nothing else after registering his scowl. Shit. I really need to stop verbalizing my thinking. They’ll section 8 my ass.

Here is the thing though. Its hard sometimes in the jungle, and the constant 95+ degree heat, humidity creating sores, the fire ants and leeches sucking your blood, the incessant fucking rain, not to mention Charlie; the Viet Cong or the gooks as the enlisted liked to call ’em shooting at you to know when you were sub vocalizing or vocalizing. Lately it had become a bad habit though. Not enough sleep.

This war was nothing like the training we had done. Yeah sure we were Sky Soldiers the Taiwanese we trained with called us that – 天兵 .

We had a history, the lore was strong in us reaching back to famous mothers fighting evil in the Big One, dub, dub 2. This..what was this really? We are first boots in formation on the ground here in the ‘Nam. Yet, we can barely tell you what a gook looks like. We fly in, hunting skinny, short floppy hat wearing fuckers with AK’s that shoot and fade, shoot and fade. There is no glory. No honour and very little killing. Except my boys. They are dying. Nope nothing like we trained for.

The departing rotor wash brings me back to the moment. Tall Kunai grass and seeds whip my face. I look around. The FNG’s are scanning the thick jungle nervously. Everyone else has their best been there, done that, wonder who gets it today look on. Alert, but relaxed. We know. We know, you don’t know when its coming. Could be now, it might be never. We are 6 months in on a 12. This is Operation Hump. Half f#cking way. Ahead lies the triple canopy.

All I know is my platoon shoots first and hardest of the lot in Company C. Lt Anders boys mean well, but he is soft, a West Point freshie. 2 months in. He didn’t do the hard lift with the rest of us in the 173^rd for the last 18 months of training in Okinawa and points thereabouts. No sir. He is a text book idiot. I just hope his NCO’s keep him on the straight and narrow.

Good thing the CO don’t have his head up his ass, he has me and that straight up killer Lt Jenson leading the fight. Hmm? Potential fight? Or will it be an ambush? Jenson. The only African American leader in our Battalion. Silver star, 3 purple hearts and a dark pit for a soul. His men either love his black ass or hate his guts. He is first to fight, pushes his luck and gets the job done. He wont ever make Captain, and his 100% ok with that, too many section 15’s. Plus he knows his colour keeps him where he is. But the Army also knows a damn fine leader when they see it. So he is where he wants to be, up front a lifer. He likes the tactics, he loves to kill gooks. He fought in Korea, a veritable machine. That man has my left flank in this upcoming op.

I tell the Sarge to move ’em out. The men form up into two spread out lines, this Zippo mission or S&D [ Search & Destroy] on Hill 65, is through some dense jungle, the NCO’s know to take it slow and easy. No surprises is the mode we run under. Well where ever possible in this shit hole. With this canopy, rescue and recover is going to be hard, as will calling in air and arty.

Taking trails in and around the Bien Hoa region was for a man who is set on suicide missions wet dream. We take the indirect route. We humped quietly through the huge packed trees & jungle with its suffocating still air. The new guys followed a seasoned grunt each and were watching where they stepped and following along. By my reckoning after 45 minutes we were within 400-500 yards of our objective. I called a halt and send a runner to Anders let him know we were about to step off our LOD [Line of Departure] for the attack up the hill. It was time to blood the new cherries, and get two squads across the thinning jungle ahead. We could not go left as the ground was in clear Line of Sight of Hill 65 and a for sure kill box. So someone had to the feel the way to the base of the hill the hard way. So far everything was Number One good. Shit therefore was gunna hit number Ten buku bad in a heart beat.

No really, the thought flashed through my mind and boom, the VC light up the two squads, me and my bad thoughts. “Medic.” Is the first thing I hear. “Mad minute..mad Minute.” I call out. The ’60’s drop prone and lay the hate. Belt feed death chews the shit out the vines, fronds, trees and the odd Charlie. Its cordite, mayhem and whoever fires the most wins. ‘ Give it to them boys’ I roar. Seems like the dirty bastards are entrenched. Given how low the fire is coming in.  Well ain’t that cute and that is a first.

I look over at the Sarge, signal for him and a squad to follow me, and we hit the edge of the jungle at a dead run. If we hurry we can L these shit birds in and kill ’em good. I tap a grunt who is feeding a new belt to his M60, ‘with me.’ I spit out, as I fly by. He and his squaddie are up and racing behind me. Dog tags jangle, kit bounces. The firing is still intense behind us. I can hear some poor bastard screaming. The spurt of an RPD can be heard under our other squads M60’s clatter. We came heavy, expecting trouble, like always. This time we are going to give some trouble back.

We pause at the jungle edge. ‘Ready Sarge?’ He looks at me with those craggy ass eyes, winks, spits some chew juice and just nods. ‘ Light ’em up.’ I say.

Hot lead flies from M16s, the M60 and then Sarge throws a grenade for good measure. Its over in less than 20 seconds. The rest of my element is of course still shooting. Not realizing they are not taking return fire. I await a more seasoned soldier to call hold fire.

My boys will win a stand up fight any day of the week. We advance by bounds check bodies and police the area up, ensure all are dead in the slit trenches.

Its time to move.

I get a report that the medic has shit under control, so I pull my remaining two squads in with me and we push the advance forward. I wonder how Jenson’s platoon is faring. It sure is quiet on my left.

Next Up Lt Jenson,