13th Valley
Page 70
“Fifteen klicks,” El Paso answered. “Maybe, give or take two. Why?”
“Shee-it. Read this, Man,” Jax said pulling one article from the stack. El Paso read the UPI article:
RED BUILD-UP IN NORTH OF VIETNAM
Saigon—Heavy fighting between North and South Vietnamese forces was reported yesterday in the jungled mountains of the far north near Ripcord, the abandoned United States artillery base.
More than 1000 enemy troops are believed to be massing for an attack on a South Vietnamese base.
U. S. and South Vietnamese fighter-bombers and helicopters attacked the North Vietnamese positions with bombs, rockets and napalm throughout the day. First accounts made no mention of casualties.
SIGHTING
A newsman reported from the South Vietnamese First Division Headquarters at Hue that four battalions of North Vietnamese troops were sighted Sunday along a ridge a mile west of Fire Base O’Reilly.
O’Reilly is a former U. S. 101st Airborne Division base reopened by the South Vietnamese First Division in March. It stands atop a 1500 foot ridge less than five miles north of Ripcord, the 101st Division artillery base abandoned under heavy enemy pressure July 23.
The article went on about enemy troop movements from Laos into the O’Reilly area and about South Vietnamese attempts to break up the troop concentrations.
“They doan even mention us,” Jax moaned.
“We weren’t even here when this was written,” El Paso said. “It’s datelined the eleventh. What else you got?”
“Here one on the Soledad trial,” Jax handed him the article. El Paso began reading:
SOLEDAD TRIAL SITE IN DISPUTE
Presiding Superior Court Judge Carl A. Allen said yesterday he will do “everything he can” to have the Soledad Brothers murder trial transferred from San Francisco Superior Court to San Quentin Prison.
Trial of the three convicts—George L. Jackson, 28; Fleeta Drumgo, 25; and John Chutchette, 27, accused of last January’s slaying of Soledad guard John V. Mills, 26 …
Jax interrupted El Paso with “Here one on the My Lai Trial. Read the last sentence there.” Jax pointed it out.
“Man, that’s old news. That shit was on the radio when we were on stand-down.” El Paso went back to the Soledad article.
… Judge Allen’s comments yesterday stemmed from last Friday’s gun battle at the Marin County Civic Center in which Superior Court Judge Harold Haley was taken hostage in his courtroom by San Quentin convicts and shot to death.
Two of the convicts and a youthful confederate, Jonathan P. Jackson, 17, were also shot and killed in the melee. Young Jackson was a brother of George Jackson, one of the Soledad convicts …
“That ain’t nothin,” Jax interrupted El Paso again handing him a follow-up article from the next day.
THE MARIN GUNS—ANGELA DAVIS LINK
Purchase Records Traced
by Charles Raudebaugh
Investigators said yesterday that two of the guns used in the Marin County courtroom kidnapping tragedy last week were originally purchased by Angela Davis, 26-year-old former UCLA philosophy teacher.
Superior Court Judge Harold Haley of San Rafael and three other persons were killed in a gun battle which followed an attempt …
Jax interrupted again. “Whut we dowin ta end injustice?” Jax said to El Paso.
Doc came over and sat down with his two friends. He had heard Jax’ question and he repeated it as he sat. Then he said, “We are injustice. We bein injust just bein here.”
“You’re soundin like Jax,” El Paso told him.
“Maybe my eyes been opened,” Doc said.
“You’re feelin bad, Man,” El Paso said, “cause a Minh.”
“That’s right, Mista. Over Minh. Over Soledad. Over the Panther trial. Over Nam. Over Nixon. Over law and order. I had it.”
Egan had fallen into a deep sleep. He had wrapped his entire body in his poncho and snapped it tight from feet up over face. He had lain down beneath bamboo stalks, on his back, in his usual resting position, and he had fallen quickly to sleep. The afternoon’s still heat was blown away by an early evening breeze before the dream mutated, before the pleasures of a fantasized future with Stephanie transformed to terror. It did not happen all at once. They had been in a strange land. They were marching away from nothingness toward a dark medieval castle of heavy stone, damp and moldy and old, toward the last bastion of ignorance and hate. Somehow they had become the leaders of a revolt against established, protocolled forms of deceit. They were on the verge of storming the Bastille with their hordes of bedraggled followers when Daniel lost sight of Stephanie. Then it was all nothingness, empty, barren. His bones quivered, his teeth chattered.
“The last bastion of hate?” he screamed, cried. “Nay,” he moaned subdued. “It is not a bastion of hate. It is a bastion of wisdom and knowledge and love. Love and truth locked behind stone walls, hidden from a hateful world by massive enclave walls. What I lead is an army of hate set upon destroying it. Is that why you leave me? Are you inside? Were you a clandestine angel come to save my soul, and I, a recruiter for my devil? Why do I storm knowledge and love?”
The light flickered, flickered a single star in a black heaven. Then darkness and in the darkness the sapper. The star twinkled on the silver machete in his hand. It glittered on the blade as the dark form raised the huge knife higher, higher, cocked his arm and struck. Egan tried to move. He was immobilized, trapped in the poncho. The machete hit his face, it hit him across the eyes. Now he watched it from outside his body. The motion slowed. The blade severed his nose, his eyes, impacting on his brain slicing through severing the top half of his head cleanly.
Egan awoke startled, frozen. He dared not move. It was dark in his poncho cocoon yet light seeped in at several cracks. Slowly, very slowly he moved a hand to his head. He felt the side, the bridge of his nose for the cut. Slowly he opened the poncho. Cherry sat over him staring into his face.
Before they left Campobasso for the last time the boonierats of Alpha ate dinner. Most ate slowly. Several men were out of food but others shared the little they had left and no one went without. At the CP after the tactical briefing the old-timers silently prepared as elaborate a feast as their meager C-rations would allow. Everyone contributed something, pork slices, pineapple bits, B-2 units. Egan added the pièce de résistance, a two-pound DeBuque canned ham which he had received in a late Christmas package and had humped for seven months. “There aint been a good enough reason to eat it,” he whispered to the men about him. “But hell, with tomorrow probably being the L-T’s last day in the bush … well, that’s better than good enough.”
Brooks organized the dinner. Thirteen boonierats had remained at the CP, the now six CP members, Lt. Thomaston, Cherry, Jax and Egan from 1st Plt, Pop from 2d and Lt. Caldwell and Nahele from 3d. As Doc mixed a helmetful of mocha he said to Brooks and Jax, “Minh would a liked this. You remember that Cha Gio fondue stuff he made that night?”
“What stuff was that?” FO asked.
“This fondue stuff,” Doc said. “Minh made it with rice alcohol en vinegar en I think sugar. He had shrimp en beef sliced almost so thin you could see through it. You dip it in the boilin alcohol fo bout five second. That it. Sweet Mista. You aint never tasted nothin like it.”
Egan took charge of the meat. There was the two-pound ham and three C-rat tins of meat that smelled like dog food. Egan had poured a can of Cahalan’s pineapple bits and a can of Brown’s peach slices over the top and he heated the whole thing in a helmet on two C-rat can stoves using four heat tabs. Cahalan, Brown and Cherry held ponchos over and about this so the small flame could not be seen in the increasing darkness.
Egan stirred the contents slowly, trying not to dislodge the dirt stuck to the helmet. He was experiencing ominous premonitions like he had never felt before.
“Oh Man,” Thomaston called to Caldwell and Nahele where they stood over Pop. Pop was concocting a chipped beef on bread dish from a can of Beef with Pota
toes, two cans of meat slices and a can of Beans with Meat Balls in Tomato Sauce. The bread would be B-2 Unit crackers. “Oh Man, oh Man. Firebase duty. Tomorrow night we’ll be kickin back lettin someone else do the humpin.”
“Goina get us some beer, Sir?” Nahele asked.
“You bet,” Thomaston answered. “On me. Hey Pop, what the hell you doing under there? That stuff smells like shit.”
“Well, I aint pissin in it,” Pop’s voice squeaked out from under the ponchos.
When the food was ready they assembled in two facing rows with Brooks directing the helmets of food and drink from the center of one row. All the helmets passed clockwise. The boonierats scraped the food into empty C-rat cans with their plastic spoons or fingers.
“Man,” Jax whispered. “This is good shit.”
“My compliments to the chefs,” Cahalan said.
“To the L-T,” Egan said.
“To Minh,” Doc whispered so only he could hear.
“Hey,” Brown griped, “I didn’t get any bread.”
“Au! Brownie didn’t get any bread,” Cahalan chided him.
“Here,” Brooks said breaking his last cracker in half, “take this.”
“Oh shit,” Brown said. “Thanks, L-T. I didn’t mean for you …”
“That’s okay,” Brooks said. “I had plenty.”
“Thanks L-T,” Brown repeated.
They ate slowly for infantry soldiers used to ramming the food in and swallowing without chewing, yet they still finished in less than five minutes. They sat in silence. It was too dark to smoke. No one wanted to leave. They all felt close. Brooks glanced at them all. It was a great company, he thought. Quietly Brooks rose, went to his rucksack and returned with a single can of Budweiser beer. With his B-52 can opener he made two small holes in the top, took a drink and passed it. El Paso drank, then Doc, Jax, Thomaston, Egan and Cherry. Cherry passed the can, one half full, to Caldwell. “You gotta be kidding,” the 3d Plt lieutenant said, grossed out by the half-dozen mouths on the can. He passed the can with two fingers to Nahele who took two sips. Pop, Brown, FO and Cahalan finished the can.
SIGNIFICANT ACTIVITIES
THE FOLLOWING RESULTS OF OPERATIONS IN THE O’REILLY/BARNETT/JEROME AREA WERE REPORTED FOR THE 24-HOUR PERIOD ENDING 2359 24 AUGUST 70:
BEFORE DAWN ON THIS DATE ELEMENTS OF 3D PLT, CO A, 7/402 AMBUSHED AND ENGAGED A REINFORCED ENEMY SUPPLY TEAM, VICINITY YD 145324, KILLING SIX. ONE US SOLDIER RECEIVED MINOR SHRAPNEL WOUNDS.
AT 0720 A RECONNAISSANCE TEAM FROM CO A DISCOVERED AN UNGUARDED ENEMY AMPHIBIOUS CART. THE CART WAS AN EIGHT BY THREE FOOT BOAT WITH A SOLID AXLE ACROSS THE BOTTOM. TWO BICYCLE-TYPE TIRES SUPPORTED THE CART ON EACH SIDE. THE RECON TEAM REMOVED THE VEHICLE FROM ITS DOCKAGE AND PULLED IT TO AN EVACUATION POINT. THE CART CONTAINED SEVEN 122MM ROCKETS, FOUR ROCKET BOOSTERS, FOUR RADIOS AND DOCUMENTS. THE CART AND CONTENTS WERE EVACUATED.
AT 0915 AN ELEMENT OF CO A, 7/402 WAS MORTARED VICINITY YD 158317. COUNTER BATTERY FIRE SUPPORTED THE GROUND FORCE. ONE US SOLDIER WAS WOUNDED. A KCS WAS KILLED.
FIREBASE BARNETT RECEIVED 16 82MM MORTAR ROUND IM-PACTIONS AT 1640 HOURS. TWO US SOLDIERS WERE KILLED AND THREE WOUNDED. AT 1730 HOURS AN ELEMENT OF CO D, 7/402 WAS AMBUSHED BY AN ESTIMATED REINFORCED SQUAD OF NVA. THE ELEMENT RETURNED ORGANIC WEAPONS FIRE KILLING ONE ENEMY. FIVE US SOLDIERS WERE WOUNDED AND EVACUATED.
ELEMENTS OF THE 1ST REGT (ARVN) ENGAGED AN UNKNOWN ENEMY FORCE IN THE AREA SOUTH OF FIREBASE O’REILLY KILLING 24 ENEMY. SIX ARVN SOLDIERS WERE KILLED AND EIGHT WOUNDED.
CHAPTER 30
25 AUGUST 1970
Alpha slithered away from Campobasso, slithered into the still night like one long segmented snake seeking prey. The boonierats had risen from their slumber, stretched the cold exhaustion from their weary backs, lingered until prodded, pulled by Brooks at point. They glided east, moving with no signs of movement, concealed beneath the renewed ground mist. The NVA too were on the move.
Where are they? Brooks demanded of his mind. Where are the little people? Have they been going there? Basing there? Hiding there? What will they do when we …
His thoughts shattered as fire erupted 1200 meters east. Audio concealment, he told himself. The noise from the east increased. Small arms fire, AKs, RPGs, maybe an SKS. Return fire, frags, claymores, M-16s and 60s. Alpha continued its slinking east then south toward the river.
Who’s hitting Bravo? Brooks asked. Good, he thought. They’ll be away from their base camp. Let Bravo take some. We’ll go in and get their REMFs. Headquarters, huh? Who mans headquarter units? Clerks and jerks. Chairborne commandos. REMFs. Don’t worry, Doc. This is not a suicide mission. Valley of death? Why? Why should it be? Why can’t they make it easy on me? Why can’t we agree on the plan? They know the score. Score? It is a language which translates war reality into clouds. I should write that down. Good fog. If we’re lucky it won’t clear before we cross the river. Stop it, Ruf. Just nice and steady, he said to himself. Easy, ease under the mist. Quiet. Lila, sweetie, when I get back, me and your Jody-boy are meeting one-on-one and my tactics are no longer limited to street games. I just may call in arty support.
Brooks had dived into his bag of tricks, had tried harder than ever to come up with a plan that would deceive the enemy and put Alpha in good attack position. FO’s got every possible target listed “on-call,” he thought. Instant fire. Instant support. No one hurt. Capture their headquarters, take prisoners.
* * *
Two hundred meters from the river the serpent’s tail detached. Brooks led the CP, 3d and 2d Plts due south toward the river. Egan led 1st Plt southwest toward the riverbend on the east side of the knoll. The audio concealment continued. Mortar and artillery rounds exploded. Bravo’s 2d Plt was on the hook calling for an urgent Dust-Off. Egan advanced with Marko, the M-60 gunner, at slack. “Need fire power,” he had told Cherry. Cherry was fourth back. Egan slid through the valley brush, the bamboo, the elephant grass, as if he need not step, as if he could will his body three feet forward and have it materialize there without motion. The artillery for Bravo ceased. The thick valley air began to move, at first ever so gently, then a bit stronger until it became a breeze and bent the tops of the elephant grass and swayed the bamboo. Egan swayed with the bamboo, bent with the grass. Egan was born for the jungle valley, raised for a jungle valley war. He was the essence of the infantry. Marko looked at him from behind. All he could see was a boonie hat above a heavy rucksack and two legs below. He was impressed with the perfect balance of ruck and man. He would have been horrified had he known Egan’s thoughts.
Egan’s thoughts had deteriorated steadily since the high Stephanie’s letter had brought. He had been uncharacteristically silent during the meal at the CP but he did not think anyone had noticed. They had all been quiet. Egan had covered it well. When Cherry had joked, “You know what I’d really like? I’d like a real roll of toilet paper. A nice soft roll of facialquality tissue.” And Brown had extended it by quipping, “Hemorrhoids gettin you?” Egan had whispered, “I think we just might be able to help you.” He had risen, gone to his ruck and returned with a real roll. Everyone had been amazed.
After dinner they had slept, rested, waiting for 0200 hours, and Egan had asked himself again and again, “What the fuck have I produced? What the fuck makes him crazy like that?”
The thought of Cherry with his fingers in Minh’s brain had made Egan retch. He had fought against the retching, fought against the feeling. Then he had gone over and spoken to Cherry: “Yer nuts, Mothafucker. Yer goin nuts. Get hold a yerself, Man. Think. Don’t be an asshole.” And Cherry had rolled back snickering and had grabbed his groin and laughed, “I got hold a myself. Hey Man, my bag is killin gooks.” And Egan’s thoughts had continued sinking. He had gone to Doc and had tried to talk to him but Doc wasn’t talking. Then he had gone to Jax and Jax had sensed it before Egan had said it. They had exchanged a silent dap then Egan had said, “Jax … Jax.” “It okay, Eg.” “Man, do you … I don’t think a dude’s death bother
s him after he’s dead … not like just before he’s scattered. If you can control your thoughts before … it won’t bother you at all.” “Cool it, Eg,” Jax had said but Egan continued, whispered, “Everybody’s got a life wish and a death wish. When the second’s stronger than the first, Jax, then a dude eats it. Death aint random, Jax.” “Shee-it EgMan, this aint even …” “I got it, Jax.” “No fuckin way.” “I got it,” Egan had repeated. “I got it. Remember when Hutch got it before 714?” “Where yo guts, Man?” “It don’t lie, Jax.” “Aint yo got guts?” “It’s cool now,” Egan had said and he had relaxed. Jackson cried and barely listened as Egan talked. “I was just thinkin I’d like to go fishing. You know, go and just sit back, lie back maybe in the shade of a tree and let a clean breeze blow over my face. My shirt would be open and I could feel the breeze on my chest. I’d have a line in the water not ten feet in front of me and not a fish in the world would bother it. I wouldn’t even bait the hook. I wouldn’t even tie a hook to the line. Why should I want to go fishing, Jax? I never went fishing except as a little kid and then I never caught anything. I don’t even think I like fishing. Funny, huh? Ya know, I was just thinking about fishing with Escalato. I can see that dude standin there that last night, standin there in the middle of the LZ directin in the Dust-Off while all that shit was fly in at him. He was really somethin, Man. It should a never happened. An ol Rafe, as much as I hate to admit it, that dude saved my ass twice. And Little Minh. And Garbageman and Silvers. I bet they all like to fish.” Jax pulled his knees up and buried his face in them and he cried. Jax remembered Hutch getting the feeling. Others had too. Some died. Some survived. “Don’t mean nothin, Jax,” Egan whispered. He had cupped his hand over Jax’ shoulder and had squeezed and shook it. ‘Really, Bro. Thanks. It’s okay now. Don’t say nothin, okay?”
During the night Egan had relaxed more and more and everything changed. He found he could think of himself as nonexistent, as dead. Egan had heard the radio call for them to move out yet he had not heard the words. He felt stronger as they left, stronger as they walked, very strong as he led 1st Plt toward the river. He was at peace. He was greatly aware of life, of the mist and the wind, of the wonderful lush green vegetation of the valley and the rich humus beneath his feet. He thought of himself in the third person. His fate is sealed, he thought. He can go forth without apprehension. He knows the future. It’s okay. It’s okay now that he knows it is coming. What terrible timing, though, just when Stephanie writes. Just when there could have been a future. Fuck it. Don’t mean nothin. It’s okay. Everyone dies sometime.