Baptism

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  “Sorry, guys, this issue slip doesn’t mean shit here in the Cav.” Shaw waved the slip at Woods and Barnett. James smiled. “You’re going to have to turn those weapons in and get issued regular M16s like everyone else!”

  “But, Sarge, if we can’t keep them, then we have to send them back to the Recondo School,” Woods said, trying to reason with the sergeant.

  “You do what in the fuck I tell you!” Shaw left his desk and came over to Woods, holding out his hand for the weapon. “Give it to me!”

  “Bullshit!” The voice came from the entrance. Everyone in the tent turned to see who had spoken.

  “You keep your fucking nose out of this, Arnason!” Shaw growled the words.

  “Fuck you, Shaw!” Sergeant Arnason stepped all of the way into the supply tent. “You’re not going to fuck those guys out of their weapons and then sell them to the highest bidder!”

  “Are you calling me a fucking crook?” Shaw’s face turned red.

  “Yes.”

  “Get the fuck out of here!”

  “When I get my men… and their equipment.” Arnason rested his hand on the pistol he carried on his hip, which was in a leather NVA holster.

  Shaw’s eyes shifted from the CAR-15s to Arnason’s hand. It wasn’t worth getting in a fight over, especially with Arnason. He was fucking crazy. He would go to the captain and force the replacements to give up their CAR-15s through him. The worst that would happen was that the captain would want one of the new weapons, but he still would have one left to sell. He knew that he could get at least a thousand dollars, MPC, for it.

  “I’ll see you later, Arnason… with the captain!”

  “Fine. Until then, asshole, issue these men their field gear.” Arnason’s voice remained even. He noticed that all three of the men wore Special Forces tiger suits and added, “They won’t need jungle suits right now.”

  Arnason led the three replacements back to Lieutenant Reed’s hootch and had them wait outside while he checked inside for the lieutenant. He found Fitzpatrick stoned on the bed.

  “Fitz, I’ve got three of the replacements. Where do you want them to go?”

  The platoon sergeant lifted his head from the cot and struggled to sit up. “Where… where are they?”

  “Outside.”

  Fitzpatrick stumbled to the screened door and looked out. “Which one is the Silver Star winner?”

  “You got me.” Arnason took a step out of the door and called over to the waiting men, “Which one of you has a Silver Star?”

  Barnett raised his hand.

  “The blond-haired kid.” Arnason was impressed.

  “The lieutenant said you can have first choice.”

  “I’ll take the kid.”

  Fitzpatrick looked out through the screen. The remaining two replacements sat looking out at the perimeter and couldn’t see him looking at them. Slowly James turned and glared at the side of the hootch. Fitzpatrick smiled. “I’ll take the black guy. He looks mean enough to kick a lot of ass.”

  “Fine. I’ll take the other kid, and that will fill up my team.” Arnason nodded and left the building.

  Fitzpatrick relit his pipe and sat on the bed until the bowl was empty. He enjoyed staying stoned in the rear area and planned on getting drunk with his friend, the supply sergeant, as soon as it got dark.

  Arnason stepped into the shade. “What’s your name?”

  “James.”

  “You’re being assigned to Sergeant First Class Fitzpatrick’s team. He’s also the platoon sergeant, so don’t give him any shit!” Arnason nodded with his head toward the hootch. “He’s in there getting fucked up.” He beckoned with his finger at Barnett and Woods. “You two come with me.”

  James entered the hootch, saw the sergeant leaning against the wall, and smiled. This was his kind of NCO. The sergeant held out the pipe for James to take after he drew in a lungful of the relaxing smoke.

  James smiled and took the offered bowl.

  Staff Sergeant Arnason led the way out to the perimeter. He stopped in the entrance of an eight-man fighting bunker and turned back to face the two new replacements. “This is going to be your home when you’re in the base camp.” Arnason entered the entrance through the zigzagged dirt and sandbag maze that protected the opening from direct fire and shrapnel.

  Woods blinked his eyes in the soft light and waited while they adjusted. A soldier sat on one of the bunk beds that had been built into the wall.

  “Sinclair, meet your new teammates, Woods and Barnett.” Arnason nodded to the pair. “How about showing them around the area and getting them settled in? I’ve got to get briefed.”

  “No problem, Sergeant.” Sinclair pointed at two empty bunks. “Take your pick.”

  Barnett dropped his pack on the nearest bunk and went over to the open firing slit and looked out over the field of fire the bunker commanded. “We’re right on the perimeter.”

  “Yeah, they don’t waste recon men!” Sinclair had the kind of voice that never offended anyone; if you didn’t know him, you would think he was weak. “Actually, Sergeant Arnason is the only recon team leader who uses a fighting bunker for a rear-area hootch.”

  “Why?” Woods laid his CAR-15, wrapped in his poncho liner to keep the dust off it, on his pack.

  “I’d better tell you now and save you a lot of grief. He doesn’t believe in doing dope, getting drunk, or any of that kind of stuff. He’s a real weird guy, but he’s the best recon leader in the Cav! He’s got us living out here to keep our senses sharp.” Sinclair pointed to a vertical ladder that led to an opening in the roof. “Let’s go up top, and I’ll show you around the area from there.”

  Woods and Barnett followed Sinclair to the top of the twenty-by-fifteen-foot fighting bunker. Two plastic lawn chairs were placed near a stack of ammo boxes that were used for storage. Sinclair lifted the top of one of them and exposed a dozen M-26 hand grenades still in the cardboard packing tubes, and a dozen white phosphorus grenades.

  Barnett took a seat on the three-foot-high wall that surrounded the top of the bunker. “Nice setup.”

  “It leaks a little during the monsoons, but it’s drier than in the field.” Sinclair pointed down the perimeter to another large fighting bunker. “We occupy every third bunker during the day with a topside guard. All of the fighting bunkers have to have at least one man in them at all times, and during the night four men at all times with two up top on guard.”

  “I noticed that only four bunks are occupied.” David nodded back down the ladder.

  “Arnason won’t allow any of the rear-area people to live in our team bunker, except when we’re in the field. Two of the company’s rear-area clerks are detailed to help pull guard at night.”

  “This Arnason seems like a real weird character.” Barnett tested the waters.

  “Like I said before, he’s the best recon leader in the Cav. He’s a little weird, but when you think about it, he makes sense. Take, for example, his hang-up about air-conditioned buildings. He won’t let any of us spend more than an hour in one of them, even back in Saigon or someplace like that.”

  “Why?” Woods frowned. “Is he crazy?”

  “No, he thinks it screws you up, and when you’re in the jungle, you won’t be able to take the heat. That’s why there’s no smoking in this bunker… to keep your sense of smell sharp.” Sinclair looked over at Woods out of the corner of his eye. “I hope, for your sake, you don’t do dope.”

  “No need to worry about that shit!” Barnett’s voice carried the message clearly to the recon man watching him. “I came here to kill gooks!”

  Woods watched Sinclair for a reaction to the offensive term. He could see that the man was at least half Oriental.

  “You’ll have plenty of opportunity for that… maybe sooner than you’ve planned.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We’re going to be deployed into the Ia Drang Valley very soon.” Sinclair’s voice lowered. “Now that we’re full-strength, that might b
e very soon.”

  “Where’s the Ia Drang?”

  “It’s a valley that borders Cambodia. The 1st Brigade’s been fighting there for three weeks now and has taken a lot of casualties.” Sinclair’s eyes reflected his worry and concern. “It’s the biggest battle of the war. They say the NVA have thrown three regiments into the fight and have already taken over a thousand KIA.”

  “What’re our losses?” Woods asked.

  “They say a couple hundred KIA and wounded, but it’s more like three hundred KIA alone. That’s why the 3rd Brigade has been put on standby alert to relieve and reinforce them.”

  “What’s with all of this they-say shit!” Barnett felt his stomach roll and covered the fear with his aggressive statement.

  “They say because… I haven’t been there… yet.” Sinclair let the little blond-haired soldier know that he wasn’t about to be intimidated.

  “It looks like Sergeant Arnason is coming back.” Woods pointed to the distant figure weaving his way between the wooden barracks.

  “He’s probably got news about our mission.” Sinclair took a seat on the hot sandbags and reached down for a piece of cardboard to sit on. He watched quietly as the sergeant approached.

  Arnason was inside of the bunker a good twenty minutes before he called the team in. A large map covered with a thin sheet of plastic had been tacked to the far wall. Large red and blue grease-pencil marks had been copied on the overlay, with a black square four kilometers on each side occupying the right edge of the battle area that had only red marks inside of it.

  “That’s our AO.” Arnason tapped the black square on the map with his finger. “We’re flying into Camp Holloway outside of Pleiku… tonight.” He paused and looked over at Sinclair. “I’m going to have to depend on you a lot this time, Reggie.”

  “No sweat, Sergeant!” Sinclair flexed his jaw muscles.

  “Two new men and a mission like this!” Arnason shook his head. He had tried talking the captain out of sending his team out so soon. He wanted to have time to take the new replacements out on a couple nighttime perimeter-shake-down missions first.

  “We can carry our share, Sergeant!” Barnett’s pride was hurt.

  “Yeah!” Arnason said, then continued his briefing. “From Holloway we’re going to be flown to a Special Forces A-camp on the border called Du-Co. It’s a very hot camp… they’ve been under seige for over a hundred days so far, and from there we’re going to walk in to our AO.” Arnason’s voice lowered when he spoke the last sentence.

  “Walk in?” Sinclair shook his head. “Sarge! That’s ten clicks before we even get to our AO!”

  Arnason raised his eyebrows and lowered them. “Helicopters can’t make it… they’re getting shot down just flying into Du-Co.”

  “Damn!” Sinclair slapped a green metal ammo box.

  “This is going to be a tough one… a tough one.” Arnason sat down on a crate. “Listen up, we’ve got a lot to cover.”

  Barnett and Woods wore the same set of tiger fatigues they had arrived in on the insertion helicopter leaving from An Khe. The flight to Camp Holloway was at two thousand feet above small-arms range. The slick refueled at the large airfield and picked up a four-gunship escort out to Du-Co. They received ground fire three times during their low-level flight, with only a half dozen rounds hitting the Huey. The pilot touched down only for a couple of seconds inside of the A-camp and joined the circling gunships for the return flight back to Camp Holloway.

  Arnason led his four-man recon team over to the side of a bunker where a Special Forces intelligence sergeant waited to escort them to the command bunker and a final briefing. Woods noticed the strained looks on all of the A-camp’s occupants’ faces. They had been under attack for a long time. A dozen mortar rounds impacted inside the camp’s perimeter just as the recon team reached the underground bunker entrance. The NVA had been trying to hit the helicopters but had been too late in getting their firing data. A series of plop-whooshes of the SF mortars’ returning fire followed the team down the steps.

  “I don’t know what side of the wire is safest!” the Green Beret NCO said, trying to make light of the mortar attack.

  Arnason answered politely. “I prefer the jungle to this shit.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” The sergeant tapped the briefing board and went into the battle situation surrounding the two Special Forces A-camps that straddled the Ia Drang Valley. “We’ve been-under siege for a couple of months now, and Plei Me, to the south, has been nearly overrun twice. There’s been a change to your insertion orders. Instead of walking from here, you’re going to be flown into LZ Mary. It’s been opened up by the cav since yesterday evening. We think we can get you in there.” The sergeant shook his head. “It’s a lot better than trying to walk in from here.” He looked at the faces of the three young recon men. None of them were older than nineteen, and the blond-haired kid looked like he was fifteen. The sergeant team leader was the only professional in the lot. He had tried talking the Cav intelligence people out of sending men on such a suicide mission. The Chu Pong Massif was the property of the North Vietnamese Army, and had been since the beginning of the battle.

  “That solves part of my problem.” Arnason saw the look in the Green Beret’s eye. “When can we leave?”

  “Now, if you like. There’s a resupply chopper getting ready to go into LZ Mary, and we can add an extra Huey for your team.”

  “Let’s do it.” Arnason stuffed his map in the side pocket of his fatigues. He fought to keep a blank expression on his face, knowing that his men would sense any weakness in his leadership instantly. “Fall outside for a quick inspection.” Arnason followed his men up the steps and quickly checked them out for any loose equipment that might rattle or make a noise of any kind. A lot of items were over-looked in a base camp. “Jump up and down.”

  Woods obeyed, followed by Barnett. Their gear was well taped and secured. Arnason was impressed.

  The Green Beret intelligence sergeant came out of the bunker entrance carrying four thirty-round M16 magazines. He handed one to each of the recon men. “I hate parting with these—they’re very hard to come by—but right now I think your team could use them more than I do. It’s a loan, understand.” The sergeant smiled. “I want them back someday, and don’t worry about the load. I personally inspected each round.”

  “Thanks!” Barnett removed the twenty-round magazine from his CAR-15 and inserted the thirty-round one.

  “A few extra rounds might make the difference, especially on a chance encounter…” The Green Beret felt a little bit better about letting the recon team go on their mission. He still wished that he could talk the cavalry intelligence people out of sending them.

  “Yeah, this is great! Going from eighteen rounds to twenty-eight will make a difference!” Woods seated the new magazine in his CAR-15 and felt the weapon for balance. He never loaded his magazines to their full capacity, believing that if the spring was too compressed, it would jam rounds in the chamber.

  “This is really kind of you.” Arnason knew how rare the thirty-round magazines were, and the sacrifice the NCO was making for their sake.

  “Like I said, they’re on loan. I expect to have them back!” The sergeant waved as the recon team left to board the helicopter.

  Landing Zone Mary was littered with stacks of mortar cardboard tubes and wooden cases. The four 81-mm mortars fired constantly out into the surrounding eight-foot-high elephant grass in support of the infantry companies that were fighting for their lives. The helicopter pilot’s face was the last thing Woods remembered as the chopper pulled away, banked to the south, and burst into a ball of flames two hundred meters away from the base. Pieces of the chopper were scattered all over the ground. No one even attempted forming a rescue team, knowing that there were no survivors.

  “The bastards just sit out there in the elephant grass and wait for the gunships to head on back ahead of the slicks, and then they zap one or two of them.” The voice came from
a very tired captain. “I’ve told them a thousand times to have their escort ships leave last!” The captain looked at the recon team wearing tiger fatigues. “You don’t look like any Cav replacements to me.”

  “We’re not, sir.” Arnason identified himself as the team leader. “We’re a recon team.”

  “A recon team?” The captain slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “And what in the fuck is a recon team doing here at LZ Mary!”

  “We’re been dropped off here so that we can walk into our AO, sir.”

  “And may I fucking ask where that AO is?” The captain’s voice was filled with tired sarcasm. “We know where the enemy is, Sergeant.” He swept his hand out to the west side of the camp and then turned and swept the other three directions. “Pick anywhere out there.”

  “I have a mission to recon the Chu Pong Massif.”

  “Do you fucking know what you’re saying?” The captain was very angry. “The Chu Pong is where we think the NVA have their division headquarters. I’ll say that again for any deaf ears… read my lips! Their division headquarters!” He pointed at Arnason. “You and your team will not be going out there, not just four of you!”

  “Sir, I take my orders from my brigade commander.” Arnason spoke with respect, but he was firm.

  “Your brigade commander hasn’t been out here! If I send you and your men out there, I’ll be telling you to commit suicide!” The captain pointed to a section of the LZ perimeter. “Go over there and tell Lieutenant Hayes that you’ll be assigned to his perimeter until I can get you out of here!”

  “Yes, sir.” Arnason nodded for his team to join him. He went over to the lieutenant and reported. They were given two fighting holes that were empty. The lieutenant looked relieved. He was short twelve men in his platoon and hadn’t received any of the promised replacements.