Baptism

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  Woods and Sinclair were put in the same hole, and Arnason kept Barnett with him. He thought that it would be a good time to learn something about his new man and Sinclair could break in Woods. Arnason and Woods dozed for most of the afternoon and then relieved Sinclair and Barnett, so that they could get some rest between mortar and rocket attacks from the NVA forces.

  Three MEDEVAC choppers low-leveled into the LZ to remove the company’s wounded. Arnason was impressed over the guts the chopper pilots showed coming in to the base under heavy enemy fire.

  Arnason saw the captain running toward his hole. He stood up and waved the captain in. The hole was tight with the three men packed in it, but to try talking outside of the protection was inviting a sniper round.

  “Bad news.” The captain couldn’t look Arnason directly in the eyes. “I received a radio message. You’re to exfiltrate the LZ and recon your assigned area.” The captain bit his lip. “I tried… but division intelligence feels your mission is too important.”

  “No problem, Captain. I told you we were assigned a hot mission.”

  “Well, I’ll alert the perimeter guards so you won’t get shot by our own men. I’ll also set it up so that you can sneak back in if things are too hot out there.” The captain still couldn’t look the sergeant in the eyes. “Set your radio on our freq, and two clicks on the handset will warn us that you’re coming back in the same way you went out. Wait for three clicks before coming back through. Remember, we’ll key the handset three times to let you know that it’s all clear.”

  “Fine.” Arnason was transforming into another human being. He was psyching himself up, and within a matter of minutes he would be a perfect killing machine.

  Woods was terrified. He crawled slowly behind Arnason through the tall elephant grass. The team was close together in the thick undergrowth as they moved. Arnason took his time and stopped often to listen. Woods knew the rest of the team could hear his heart pounding; he could hear the drumbeats in his ears. Barnett followed him, and Sinclair brought up the rear. Woods was becoming more and more impressed with Sinclair; the man didn’t say much, but he was always there.

  Arnason stopped crawling and took three deep breaths of much needed air in order to calm down his nerves. He was scared. He knew that he would have to quickly gain control of his fear or the whole team would be in jeopardy. He smelled cigarette smoke and reached back and tapped Woods, who eased up next to him. Arnason pointed in the direction the faint odor came from and started crawling slightly away from it. He wanted to slip between the NVA positions that circled the landing zone and not make contact. The cigarette smoke was an excellent guide for Arnason. He guessed the location of the enemy position and crawled around it but still remained close enough so that he wouldn’t run into a nearby fighting position. Once they had gone a good two hundred meters, Arnason stopped crawling and rested his team. They waited for an hour and then moved to the southwest in a low crouch, carrying their weapons at the ready. Woods felt a little better after they started traveling on their feet. He could feel a slight burning sensation coming from his knees.

  Daylight was a welcome friend even though the light made it easier for them to be detected by the NVA. Arnason stopped his team when the sun was directly overhead and signaled for them to form a defensive perimeter for a long rest break. He had selected a thick stand of fifty-foot-tall bamboo that would be unlikely for the NVA to bother with when they could travel on the easier paths through the high elephant grass. Arnason was amazed at how well the NVA forces moved through the sparse cover. The whole valley floor was a large bed of elephant grass six to eight feet tall with trees scattered out over the valley floor as if a giant had thrown a handful of seeds on the ground. Small stands of bamboo grew near streams and wet spots in the valley, but the preponderance of cover was the tall grasses. Arnason had been worried all night long about a chance encounter with a large snake. The terrain screamed of cobra and python country. He had heard wild pigs all during the night rooting for food and knew that was also a sign that tigers were around.

  A small two-seater L-19 observation aircraft cruised directly over the recon team’s position. The team could see the white star painted on its sides and the large white letters that spelled out ARMY. Woods thought that it took a lot of guts for an observer to fly up there in the open. A stream of green tracers, followed with the loud report of the heavy machine gun, answered Woods’s thought. The team instinctively ducked. The heavy weapon was so near to their position that they could smell the burned gunpowder. The NVA gunner had set up his camouflaged position at the edge of the bamboo thicket. Barnett signaled to Arnason that he wanted to silence the weapon, and Arnason shook his head vigorously in the negative; they were on a recon mission, and he wasn’t about to give his position away by attacking a machine gun that had to be close to other NVA forces. Barnett frowned but obeyed his sergeant. The team slipped away from the thicket and had moved less than two hundred meters when the bamboo thicket erupted in a series of large artillery explosions. The machine gun had missed shooting down the Bird Dog, and the artillery observer aboard had called in a fire mission. Arnason was both happy and very angry. He was happy that the NVA gun had been destroyed, but what the fire mission had told him was the other units hadn’t received his location, or they hadn’t posted it on their maps. He had to move with even more caution, especially to keep from being observed from the air because the American observers would call in artillery on them if they were discovered.

  Arnason found a good hiding place to spend the night by a shallow stream that was slow-moving enough not to create any noise. The team tried eating, but none of the men were very hungry. All of them had been living off pure adrenaline for the past thirty-six hours. They drank gallons of the cool, clear water during the night and listened to the NVA units passing near their position. Arnason risked calling back their location to the command post at LZ Mary and giving the captain information about the NVA troop movements and the direction in which they were traveling. Periodically during the night, artillery and mortar fire would shatter the stillness of the jungle plains.

  The dawn of the second day brought a clearness in all of their senses. Woods noticed that his hearing had improved along with his sense of smell. He understood why Arnason insisted on living in a perimeter bunker away from congested troop billets.

  Arnason tapped Sinclair’s shoulder and then mimed with his hand like he was putting on a hat and jacket. Sinclair nodded and opened up his pack. Barnett and Woods watched in astonishment as Sinclair slipped on an NVA tan jacket and pith helmet with a red star in the center. Arnason pointed down the path, and Sinclair took the point man’s position. A surprise encounter with an enemy unit so far behind their lines would give the initial advantage to his team, and that’s all he needed: an extra second to react.

  Explosions filled the hot air all day long as the recon team traveled. Small-arms fire could be heard in the east for miles in every direction, along with rockets and artillery. The battle was still raging in the Ia Drang Valley. The team had reached the base of the Chu Pong Massif, and Arnason had slowed their pace down considerably. The NVA on the flat mountain would not be as alert as those in the valley, but they were as dangerous to a small recon team. Arnason had switched packs with Woods and rested during the break in carrying the heavy PRC-25 radio.

  “Man! Oh, fuck me!”

  The American voice stopped the breath in all of the team. It was totally unexpected.

  “Keys. I’m fucking scared…”

  A sharp Vietnamese voice cut off the American, and the sound of something striking flesh could be heard.

  Arnason dispersed his team and crawled forward toward the voices. He stopped short of an embankment and carefully parted the thick grass that edged a wide stream. Sitting on the far side were three American soldiers, two of them wearing 1st Cavalry shoulder patches, sitting under a thick clump of overhanging grass. A pair of NVA guards with fixed bayonets stood at each end of the group of
POWs. One of the Americans was bleeding from his mouth. Arnason could see that his front teeth had been knocked out and blood poured from the wound. One of the Vietnamese pointed up in the sky at a passing helicopter and spoke rapidly to his comrade.

  Arnason felt a slight touch on his shoulder and looked over to see Barnett next to him. The young soldier’s eyes gave away what he was thinking. Arnason nodded in the negative and slid back into the brush, tugging at Barnett’s leg. There was a long pause, and the young soldier slid back down. They scurried back to Woods and Sinclair, who waited on guard twenty meters away.

  Barnett crawled up to Arnason’s ear and whispered, “We must rescue them!”

  Arnason shook his head violently in the negative.

  Barnett scowled and shook his head in the affirmative.

  Arnason risked whispering. “We have a mission!”

  “I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I’m not going to let a bunch of gooks fuck with Americans!” Barnett almost broke out in normal conversation, and the quiet jungle seemed to echo his words farther than they actually traveled.

  “No!” Arnason grabbed Barnett’s collar and twisted.

  “You and Sinclair and Woods… you go!” Barnett broke free. “But I’m going to get those guys or fucking die trying!” Barnett left the team without looking back. Arnason stopped Woods with his hand from joining his buddy.

  Barnett slipped back to where they had been earlier and saw that the three American prisoners were still on the opposite side of the stream and that the two guards had sat down under the overhanging grass in the shade. It looked like they were waiting for something. Barnett didn’t waste any time. He slipped his pack off his back, started a low crawl down the stream until he was out of sight from the NVA guards, and quickly changed sides for his crawl back. The first guard he saw had his eyes closed, but Barnett could tell by the way the man held his AK-47 that he was only resting his eyes and was not sleeping. Barnett felt his heart smashing against his ribs as he closed the distance between the two of them. One of the Americans shifted his position just as Barnett slipped over the embankment and shoved his K-Bar knife in the NVA’s throat right below the man’s voice box. The NVA tried getting up on his feet, and a loud hissing sound came from the hole in his throat. It wasn’t like he had seen in the movies. The man didn’t die. Barnett kneed the soldier in the groin and ran the knife back into his chest. The NVA gasped and fell dead. Barnett looked up, searching for the second NVA. One of the Americans was staring at him in openmouthed shock at seeing a camouflaged American holding a bloody knife. When Barnett finally located the other guard, he saw that the soldier was standing with his AK-47 pointed at him, ready to fire. He knew that he was about to die.

  Arnason watched the action from his concealed place on the stream bank and knew that he had to do something quick or Barnett was going to be killed. He dove from his side of the stream bed using the edge of the embankment to shove off from, holding his knife out in front of him. The force from his wild push-off thrust the sergeant against the NVA soldier, driving the sharp blade deep into the enemy soldier’s chest and knocking the squat man against the nearest stunned POW. The barrel from the NVA’s rifle swung around and smacked Arnason alongside his shoulder, and the round bayonet cut across his cheek. Arnason hit the gravel bed of the stream hard and saw stars flash in front of his eyes.

  Barnett recovered quickly and waved for the three American POWs to follow him back across the narrow stream to where Sinclair and Woods waited. The liberated prisoners scurried up the muddy embankment without having to be told twice. Barnett paused and looked at the dazed sergeant, who was on his hands and knees in the stream shaking his head and trying to clear his vision. Barnett went back and helped his recon team leader to his feet. He braced him up, and they both staggered over to the matted down spot on the bank. Barnett shoved his sergeant through the opening and looked both ways along the stream for any other NVA soldiers before he followed his leader.

  One of the American POWs was shaking so hard from the fear and excitement over being rescued that he couldn’t walk and dropped down on the matted grass. Woods grabbed him under one arm, and Sinclair lifted him under the other.

  Arnason had regained his senses, tore open his back-pack, and removed a regular mess-issue clear glass salt shaker that was filled with a white powder. Barnett looked at his sergeant, wondering if the experienced recon NCO had flipped out. Arnason pulled the small piece of green cloth tape off the top of the container and sprinkled the fine white powder all over the matted-down grass. He motioned for Barnett to catch up with the patrol and followed him, stopping frequently to powder their trail.

  Arnason took the point after a few minutes and shot an azimuth with his compass for LZ Mary. He was not going to risk a heliborne extraction and have the pilots risk their lives. The area was controlled by the NVA. He had decided on walking out with the American POWs.

  Night caught the team out in the open elephant grass, and Arnason formed a circular perimeter with his team. The three POWs collapsed, exhausted, in the center of the small circle and immediately fell asleep. Barnett caught Arnason glaring at him, and then the NCO smiled. He was pissed because Barnett didn’t follow his orders but was very satisfied with the successful prisoner snatch.

  The night was pitch-black; not even shadows appeared. The team relied totally on their sense of smell and hearing. Woods knew that his team was all within a matter of a few meters from him, but in the dark he felt alone.

  Right before first light, Barnett felt the hunger pains. He was starving after not having eaten in almost two days. He undid the ties on his backpack and reached inside for one of his prepared LRRP rations. A muffled cry reached him. He listened and heard it again. It was coming from one of the sleeping ex-POWs. Barnett slipped over to the man in the dark and felt him shaking. He ran his hand up his side until he reached the man’s face and felt his cheeks. The POW had been crying in his sleep. Barnett ran his hand through the soldier’s hair, trying to comfort him the best he could. It must have been pure hell being taken prisoner by the enemy. Barnett felt the man move in the total darkness and held the open LRRP ration against the soldier’s chest. He felt the man take it and then heard him shoving the food into his mouth.

  A bird singing woke Arnason. He had fallen asleep despite all of his attempts at staying awake. He rolled over and looked at his team. Everyone was sleeping. He stretched his leg and kicked Sinclair awake. Woods woke with a start; he had been dozing lightly. The whole team heard the dogs yelping in the distance. Arnason grinned; the powdered tear gas had worked.

  Breakfast was a fast LRRP ration. Woods opened a packet of chili con carne and offered it to one of the ex-POWs. The man didn’t hesitate taking the offered food and started wolfing it down using three fingers of his right hand for a spoon. Woods looked at Arnason, who had been watching; it was obvious the three ex-captives were starving. Arnason opened his pack and counted how many of the dehydrated rations he had left. He had only planned on two rations a day, and three days at the most in the field. It was lucky for the rescued men that the team had been too hyper to eat. Arnason had one packet of LRRPs that was already mixed with water, and he handed it to one of the men, who paused for a second with the green packet in his hand and then gave it to the third soldier. Arnason frowned and then shrugged his shoulders. He had no way of knowing that Barnett had given him a ration during the night.

  The team crossed numerous trails in the sea of tall grass that were very wide and showed the passage of large units of NVA. Arnason paused frequently to listen. Visibility was less than five feet in the elephant grass, and their lives depended on their hearing. Woods and Barnett had given two of the ex-POWs their 9-mm pistols to carry in case they ran into a NVA patrol by accident, and Arnason loaned the third man his shotgun, which had been sawed off at both ends. The weapon was carried by Arnason in a special custom-made pouch on the side of his pack.

  Arnason raised his arm slowly to stop his team. He ha
d been traveling as the point man most of the patrol. It was too dangerous to train either Woods or Barnett, and Sinclair was the best tail-guard in the division. Barnett scrambled forward to join Arnason and to see what had stopped the team. Arnason pointed to the structure just a few feet ahead of him. The NVA had cut bamboo poles and had driven them into the ground, making a frame that had been covered with a coarse matting and had small bundles of elephant grass stuffed through it. The enemy lager site was perfectly camouflaged from the air and was large enough to hold a platoon of soldiers. Arnason could see used bandages piled up in one corner and a number of discarded medical supply boxes. They had stumbled on a forward hospital. Arnason placed his finger against his lips and listened for any sounds. A grass bird sang a vibrant song in the thicket, followed by an answering challenge from another male nearby. Arnason relaxed a little, knowing that the birds wouldn’t be singing in that direction if the NVA were near. He used the opportunity to shoot another azimuth and selected a direction that he hoped would take them back to LZ Mary. Arnason didn’t want to alarm the team, but he was lost, and had been lost in the tall grass for most of the patrol.

  The recon team moved with extreme caution for the rest of the day. Woods could feel the slight rise under his feet and knew that they were climbing a gradual hill. Arnason felt the same pull against his legs and drew the team to the top of the rise. The elephant grass was much shorter on the top of the hill, and the team was forced to crawl. Arnason moved slowly, looking constantly for any sign of an enemy observation post. He broke through the grass and could see the river and the landing zone. Arnason couldn’t help smiling. He had brought his team back by traveling in a huge circle. Woods crawled up next to the sergeant with the radio. Arnason was still smiling and keyed the handset twice and waited. There was no answer from the landing zone. Arnason signaled for the team to form a star defensive position on the swell in the ground and continued sending the two-click signal over the radio every five minutes.