Under Attack

by Eric Meyer

  UNDER ATTACK

  By Eric Meyer

  A novel of the Vietnam War

  Copyright 2020 by Eric Meyer

  Published by Swordworks Books

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Preface

  In early January 1968 U.S. Marines began the desperate fight for Khe Sanh Combat Base, a fight they won leaving huge Communist losses. The Tet Offensive began at the end of January, and once again U.S. forces fought with tremendous courage to defeat the enemy. The battle wasn’t over. The Communists launched Phase II of the Tet Offensive, known as the May Offensive, began on April 29, and lasted until the end of May.

  This fictional story takes place at that time, when the Communists had taken huge losses and yet were prepared to sacrifice thousands more in the vain attempt to achieve military victory. A vain attempt because the men of the U.S. Military, soldiers, Marines, and flyers, fought like tigers to push them back yet again.

  Several years later, the war ended but without any Communist victory against the forces of Military Assistance Command Vietnam, MACV. This story is a tribute to those brave men and women who fought in that Asian war. Fought with honor, with skill, and with courage. We salute you.

  Eric Meyer

  Foreword

  They showed their passes at the gates to Dong Ha Combat Base, and a sentry pointed at their destination. The two trucks of ARVN infantry drove in and halted next to a pair of huts on the edge of long lines of similar huts. The officer, a captain seated in the passenger seat of the lead truck climbed out and watched as a lieutenant and a sergeant barked orders to the two platoons of troops who formed up on the ground. When they were ready and stood to attention, he stood in front of them to address them.

  “You know why we’re here. This is a singular honor. The President of the Republic is due to make a visit to show his gratitude to the troops who fought so hard against the Communist offensive during Tet. We are to form the honor guard, and we will accompany President Nguyen during the whole of his visit. Our job is to make sure he is safe, and should the North Vietnamese choose this time to mount an attack, we will give our lives to defend our President. Do you understand me?”

  “Sir, yes, Sir!”

  He nodded in satisfaction. “Lieutenant, take First Platoon into the nearest hut and get them settled in. Sergeant, Second Platoon will occupy the furthest hut, and once again, get them settled in. First Platoon under Lieutenant Han will spend the rest of the day practicing drill maneuvers on the parade ground. Second Platoon under Sergeant Diem will report to the range in one hour, and I will join them there. You men are all recent recruits, so you will be practicing your marksmanship. By the time of the Presidential visit I want every man to be expert with a rifle. That’s all, dismissed.”

  Lieutenant Han rushed over to Captain Trinh before he walked away. “Sir, when do we report to the range for shooting practice?”

  “When?” He gave the Lieutenant a scowling glance. “Lieutenant, you know Second Platoon consists of all rookies, and I need to get them up to scratch. I will work with them on honing their military skills, and First Platoon, who are all experienced men, with ceremonial duties. Any other questions?”

  “Nossir, sorry, Sir.”

  Trinh stomped away, and Han fought to control his anger. It was true, Second Platoon were new men, although they all seemed competent enough. Fit and tough, and they responded to orders with more of a snap than he’d expect from new men. He doubled away to rejoin his men, and they entered the hut to begin searching for the most comfortable space to bunk down. Han found a tiny room inside the entrance intended for the Platoon Commander and unpacked his gear. He was unhappy about the assignments the Captain had given them. In a few days the President would enter the base, and his men would be ordered to perform like mechanical puppets.

  It wasn’t fair. His ARVN unit had fought hard during the Tet Offensive, and he would have been proud to demonstrate they could keep President Nguyen safe during his visit. Instead, Captain Trinh would wind them up like they were nothing more than clockwork soldiers and march them around and around the parade ground. In between they’d spend every waking moment polishing their equipment, making sure their uniforms and boots were immaculate, their rifles gleamed without a speck of dust, and every man would be required to ensure he was clean-shaven with a haircut within a millimeter of regulation length.

  In short, several days of boring hell, he mentally shrugged as he put away his kit. He was a soldier and he followed orders. At least he would be close to the President, and perhaps he should be content. But he wasn’t content, Second Platoon would spend time on the range, probably they’d be honing their unarmed combat skills, and he had little doubt Captain Trinh would lead them on patrols outside the base to scour the area for any sign of the enemy.

  He sighed as he walked back into the barracks room, and the hubbub of conversation fell silent.

  “Men, I want you all outside. Form up on the parade ground, and we’ll make a start. Let’s make sure we give President Nguyen a good show when he gets here.”

  “Sir, this is bullshit,” Corporal Trung muttered, “We should share out the duties. We’re fighting soldiers, not parade ground dummies.”

  Han frowned. “Captain Trinh gave us an order, Corporal, and we must do our duty. Get them outside.”

  “Yes, Sir. Do you want me to inspect their boots before we start to make sure they have the required amount of shine?”

  “Corporal Trung, I gave you an order. Get them outside now, and less of the lip.”

  Trung threw up an immaculate salute. “Yes, Sir! At once, Sir!”

  He barked orders, and the men swung out through the door, muttering to each other, and Han knew he was going to have a hard time keeping order. After a hard day marching up and down practicing intricate drills, they’d returned to the hut only to be ordered to spend the evening polishing, cleaning, and pressing every item of their equipment. They were soldiers, and after a hard day he’d have problems keeping them sober. He had no illusions. They’d source liquor somewhere on the base, and he suspected his main enemy would be drunken soldiers. If he was going to get them ready for the visit, he’d have to be on his guard every second. Keeping them in check to make sure they turned out on the day in a glittering array of military precision. If he gave them an inch, President Nguyen would see a hung-over rabble, and Han’s career would be as good as over.

  He stomped out to the parade ground, and they were standing in a loose formation, despite his or
der for them to form up. Most were smoking, and he saw one man in his platoon drinking from a hip flask. He closed his eyes in despair. The North Vietnamese and their Vietcong weren’t his enemy. The enemy was here, his own men. Already close to mutiny, and they hadn’t even started.

  He was wrong.

  * * *

  “Sergeant Diem, you know what to do?”

  He grinned. “I think so, Captain. They’re not used to the AR-15 rifle, of course, but I doubt it’ll take them long to learn.”

  “Good, work them hard. Give them two hours to practice, and I’ll lead them out on a patrol of the area. We’re all stiff after that journey and practicing their shooting for two hours won’t make it any easier. We’ll force march out into the jungle, and who knows what we’ll find.”

  Diem grinned. “That could be interesting, Sir. Our men, do they all know what is expected of them?”

  “Most of it, yes. You mean they may not survive?”

  “That’s what I mean, yes. Most of these men have families, wives, children.”

  “They also have sworn an oath to the cause. Make sure they don’t forget it.”

  “Of course, Sir. I was just wondering…”

  “Don’t wonder. But in answer to your question, I will take care of you, Sergeant. No matter what happens.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “When it is done, we will have an escape route planned. Our men will cover for us while we get away.”

  “They’ll die, Captain.”

  “Of course they’ll die. They’re soldiers, and thousands of our men are dying every month. This is war, and in war, men die all the time.”

  “Except for us.”

  The Captain smiled. “Except for us.”

  He watched them practice their shooting and frowned. They were good, much too good for rookies, and he’d have to be careful nobody noticed. He glanced to the north, and not far away was the place where he’d grown-up. Vinh Moc, a tunnel complex strategically located on the border of North Vietnam and South Vietnam. They built the tunnels to shelter people from the intense bombing designed to interdict food and supplies to the Vietcong. The Americans believed the villagers of Vinh Moc were supplying large quantities of food to the Communist insurgents and began a campaign of heavy bombing. Trinh recalled his childhood, skulking in the tunnel complex they’d built ten meters below the surface to keep the villagers say from the bombing.

  He recalled his terror when the bombs fell. The ground shook, and chunks of earth and stone showered down over the cowering villagers. Some tunnels collapsed, people died, buried alive, and the villagers began digging again. This time they went down to thirty meters, and at last they were safe from the bombs that exploded overhead. But he never forgot, and often awoke in the night sweating and shivering with terror, recalling that terrible time. He always knew when he became a man he would join the North Vietnamese and fight for the liberation.

  Of course, the villagers protested at the constant bombing of a peaceful village comprising of peasants who tended their fields and rice paddies. When someone suggested they should make it clear to the Americans they were innocent, and all they needed do was check out the village and confirm they weren’t supplying the Vietcong with food. They never took them up on the offer. If men had come from Saigon to conduct a search, they would be certain to uncover vast stores of supplies intended for the VC. And so they continued to feed the Communist insurgents, and the Americans replied with bombs.

  He realized to his surprise he was starting to shiver again, and he forced himself to relax. That was then, and this was now, and he was about to take revenge for every bomb they’d dropped on Vinh Moc. He called a halt, and they went for chow. He gave them twenty minutes, and then Sergeant Diem shouted at them to get outside and form up ready to go on patrol. They marched out through the gate, and the sentry gave him a friendly wave.

  If he only knew.

  They hacked into the jungle, heading for a pre-arranged rendezvous. The man was waiting for them, and he spent some time in deep conversation. There was much to discuss, and he enjoyed the best bit, his forthcoming promotion. It wasn’t usual for a mere captain to rise to Brigadier General in one jump. But then again, he wasn’t a captain. Besides, those who might object would all be dead. He returned to the base and was gratified to see First Platoon still out on the square, marching up and down, red-faced and sweating.

  He met Lieutenant Han in the cafeteria that evening. “I trust it went well, Lieutenant? You getting the men licked into shape?”

  “Yes.” Several seconds later, he added, “Sir.”

  Trinh chuckled inside.

  Soon, Lieutenant. Soon.

  * * *

  We’d fought and killed the invading enemy hordes during the Tet Offensive, and the signs were the Communists were roundly beaten. Their losses of men and materiel had been enormous, and at the very least the bloody battles were winding down. Khe Sanh had ended in victory for the United States Marine Corps, and across South Vietnam the Vietcong and the North Vietnamese Army, the NVA, were retreating to lick their wounds. America’s support for South Vietnam had proved decisive, and troops were hopeful this was the beginning of the end. It wasn’t the beginning of the end.

  Major Vernon Blake glanced at the man sitting in the jump seat next to him, and he had to shout over the roar of the four turboprop engines of the C-130 transporting them to Da Nang. From there they’d listen to the testimony of witnesses and look at the evidence before the final leg of their long journey to Saigon. They weren’t in Vietnam to fight, not in a conventional sense. These officers were part of the United States Criminal Investigation Command. Army CID, and they were flying into a shitstorm.

  The evidence they were on their way to inspect would suggest senior Vietnamese Army and Police officers were engaged in a conspiracy. Using the chaos and confusion of Tet to stage a coup against the government. A coup that would unseat the President and give them power, at least in the short-term. In the longer term, the coup would split the country and hand immediate victory to the North Vietnamese. The fact they planned to assassinate the President as part of their plan was almost incidental. The murder of Vietnamese Presidents was nothing new.

  “You see that? Over there, about ten klicks to the north, the DMZ.”

  The man he spoke to was another Army CID officer, Captain Trevelyan. “I didn’t realize we’d fly so close.”

  Blake shrugged. “Nor me. Ever since Tet, that region has been boiling with enemy troops retreating back to the North, and for my money they can keep going and never come back.”

  Trevelyan stared at him. “You think they won’t be back?”

  The Major chuckled. “They’ll be back, but what worries me more is this thing we’re going to investigate. South Vietnam is chaotic enough, especially after the Tet attacks. If there’s any truth in these allegations, the Lord help us all. I reckon one third of the Army of South Vietnam, the ARVN, will follow the Generals, and one third will refuse to take part.”

  “That makes two thirds. What about the rest?”

  A shrug. “They’ll do what they always do. Damn all. Except continue to sell their weapons and equipment to the highest bidders.”

  “You’re optimistic about the South Vietnamese, Major?”

  “Optimistic? Did you hear the reports that came out after Tet? Entire units of the ARVN refusing to come out and fight, and some of their armored units stayed buttoned down, refusing to fight when our own men were fighting and dying out in the open. No, I’m not optimistic.”

  “Then why’re we here?”

  “Why? Because the brass ordered us to come, because we have around half a million troops inside South Vietnam, and if the Generals assassinate the President and stage a coup, the lives and safety of those men will be in peril. Apart from the complete collapse of the country which will open the door wide to the Communists.”

  “Shit.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  Blake glanced aro
und the cavernous hold of the huge transport aircraft, fourteen more officers and warrant officers of Army CID, including a one star general, Brigadier Harold Morrison. Plus two senior Vietnamese cops, a Colonel and a Captain who’d traveled to Washington to request the U.S. Army investigate a serious threat that had come to their notice. Enough men to underline the severity of the threat, and Blake sat back on his uncomfortable jump seat and speculated about what they would find when he landed. Nothing good.

  He idly glanced out the window, looking down at the hilly terrain of the DMZ. He was stiff and tired, and looking forward nothing more than the imminent landing, a long hot shower, and a decent meal.

  He realized Trevelyan had spoken to him. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

  “I said it’s strange the South Vietnamese didn’t object to us sending in such a large number of investigators. I mean, if they were guilty, surely they’d have said no.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. They gave in too easily. I guess we’ll find out why soon enough.”

  They had less than twenty minutes flying time left, and like the rest of the investigators he began to get his things together for the landing. Checking his briefcase and making sure he hadn’t mislaid any papers. He hadn’t, and he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. To prepare for the stench of the jungle, the cloying humidity and the usual stink of a major air base, burned kerosene, and scorched rubber on the runway.

  He may have dozed off, he may not, but in the end it made little difference. The explosion was massive, and alarms whined through the fuselage. A voice came through the cabin speaker. “We’re going down. Make sure you’re strapped in and ready for an emergency landing.”

  The aircraft had lurched nose down, a gale force wind was blowing through the cavernous hold, and in the background he heard someone shouting, “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is United States Air Force C-130 flying ten klicks south of the DMZ. We’re going down. Request immediate assistance.”