the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  Hammonds picked himself off the ground as Ty pulled back the camouflaged cover and waved him forward. Jenkins joined them and motioned toward Ty. “How did he know? I thought he was a cherry.”

  Hammonds shook his head, still in shocked disbelief. “I don’t know.”

  Jenkins passed by the first spider hole and strode toward the second hole, where Ty was pulling out the body. “Nance, how did you know where they were?”

  Ty slid into the hole and tossed out a rifle and several pouches. “Sir, the first one left the cover to his hole beside his position too long and flattened the grass, leaving an imprint. When I lay down, I could see where the moisture had built up on the grass. It was a dumb mistake. The second one I wasn’t sure of until he opened up.”

  The lieutenant inspected the spider hole and lifted the earthen cover. The hole was like a bedding box but with angled insides. The cover fit perfectly on top of the hole and would not have been seen. “But how did you know there were two of them?”

  Ty climbed out of the hole and pressed his magazine release. “The rule is, where there’s one, there’s two. The dinks don’t leave men by themselves … they’re like us.”

  “Where’d you learn all this? You sure didn’t get it from books.” Ty knelt over the body and checked his shot. He had hit the VC just below the nose. “Sir, I went to the scout dog tracking school, and they showed us a lot of pictures and told us what to look for. These holes are even better than the pictures. If there’s time, it would help the school if somebody took some snapshots of these and sent them back to Benning.”

  Hammonds couldn’t get over Nance’s reaction. He wasn’t even shaking. He knew Nance was cold when he’d seen him bag up the dead cherry, but it was obvious he was past being cold. He was ice.

  Jenkins turned around and yelled at his radioman, “Get me the old man on the horn.” He looked back at Ty and spoke quickly, “You stay right here and I’ll send up one squad at a time. I want you to show them what you did. Give them a class on what to look for.” He pointed at Hammonds. “Your squad gets the first class, then move back and cover the second when you’re done.”

  Ty sat down by the body and looked into the dead man’s face. He was smaller than he’d imagined the enemy would be—probably no more than five feet tall and about a hundred pounds. He was young, too young. Eighteen at the most. Ty scanned his clothes and equipment, feeling respect for the young soldier. He was barefooted, wearing only a pair of dirty khaki shorts and a black nylon shirt. He had only two magazines for his older Chinese-made AK-47 rifle, but he had put up a fight trying to protect his friend.

  Silk yanked the first body out of the hole by grasping his black hair and pulling him up. “Looky here at dis gook, man. He pissed his pants.” He tossed the body to the ground and pulled the man’s pants down. “Man, no wonder the dink broads dig us. These gooks ain’t got but two inches of dick. I think I’ll take his and send it to my hole back in the big windy.” Silk pulled his knife and squatted down but was suddenly knocked over by a butt stroke to his helmet.

  Ty lowered his rifle barrel into Silk’s face. “You kill your own dink to cut up.”

  Hammonds didn’t see the incident and spun around. “Nance, put down that weapon!”

  Ty ignored him and leaned closer to Silk, touching the still-warm barrel to his nose. “And don’t you ever refuse me or any other man in this squad when we need help.”

  Hammonds grabbed Ty’s shoulders and pulled him back. “What the hell you think you’re doing? Jesus, we’re on the same side!”

  Ty stared at Hammonds with expressionless eyes. “Tell that to Silk.”

  Caddy walked with Cowboy and Goldie toward the second squad to take their place so they could receive Ty’s class. Caddy looked over his shoulder as he walked. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He was like a cat stalking its prey, the way he moved and crouched down.”

  “Just be glad ya gave him your cleaning rod,” Cowboy said, patting Goldie’s back. “I wouldn’t wanna be Silk. He wasn’t kiddin’ none when he put that there sixteen in his face. No sirree, I wouldn’t want the Cat Man mad at me. He’s bad news.”

  Goldie smiled and pushed back his helmet. “Cowboy, I think you just named our cherry. ‘Cat Man’ is kinda catchy.”

  Caddy nodded. “Yeah, ‘Cat Man.’ ”

  Ty sat back on his rucksack after giving the classes and felt Silk’s eyes burrowing into his back. He tried to ignore the stares but couldn’t take it anymore. He turned around to face the black man. “Look, we’re all in this together, so let’s make a truce. I’m sorry for knocking ya over and pointin’ the rifle at ya.”

  Silk kept his scowl. “Fuck you, Indian!”

  Ty kept his stare for several seconds before getting to his feet and stepping to within striking distance of Silk. He extended his hand. “Truce?”

  Silk turned his back to Ty and looked into the faces of Caddy and Goldman, who eyed him coldly.

  Ty dropped his hand and began to walk away, when Silk turned around slowly and softened his glare. “Nance, you nothin’ but a lucky muthafucker, but you’re right. We is in it together.”

  “Family?” Ty said. He extended his hand.

  Silk hesitated, then grasped Ty’s hand in a firm grip. “Family.”

  Jason walked toward the back doors of the roaring C-119 feeling good. Today was the last jump. No matter what happened, once he jumped he would be a paratrooper. The entire company was riding a high, knowing they would be receiving their wings. He climbed the ramp and sat down in the last seat. He would be first out the right door, and Fat Man Miller would be first out the left side. The plane rumbled and began rolling down the runway.

  Miller looked across the aisle and held up his right thumb. “Feet and knees to the breeze time!”

  Jason yelled back over the engine’s roar, “It don’t get any better than this!”

  The plane lifted off and crossed over the Chattahoochee at five hundred feet. Gaining altitude, the silver bird banked left and began to make its approach to the drop zone. The jumpmaster had already completed his commands and pointed at Jason. “STAND, IN THE DOOR!”

  Jason yelled over his shoulder to his stick, “Ya gotta love it, Crazies!”

  The men screamed back, “YA GOTTA LOVE IT!”

  He stood in the door with a smile on his face.

  “GO!”

  He leaped out and snapped into a tight body position. The parachute yanked him from his fall and fully inflated in a billowing pop of silk. He looked up to check his canopy and grabbed the risers, pulling them down to his chin to avoid Miller, who was floating thirty feet away.

  The parachute immediately responded and drifted to the right. Jason looked down and could see the grassy field far below and the small creek that ran down its center. The water glistened in the sunlight like an aluminum foil ribbon. The wind was blowing directly toward the creek. Damn!

  Jason pulled down on the risers again, but the winds had died down. The chute glided to the right and lifted up, caught in an updraft. Jason was suspended for ten seconds, going neither up nor down. Suddenly, he began descending again. Keeping his legs together and relaxing his body, he prepared to land when the wind caught him again and glided the parachute over the creek. Jason hit the shallow water in a splash, then made a bigger splash as he rolled forward in a wet parachute landing fall. He jumped up soaking wet but thrilled. It was the softest landing of the five jumps he’d made. “AIRBORNE!”

  An hour later, he stood in the company formation and listened to a colonel praise their accomplishment in becoming paratroopers. Jason only half-heard the speech. He was thinking of catching his flight out. He was going home for fifteen days on leave before shipping out for Nam.

  The colonel concluded his speech and asked the visitors in the audience to move forward and pin the wings on their loved ones. Jason ignored the throng of people and waited for an instructor to pin on his wings. A large sergeant wearing his Class A Army greens stepped in front of
Jason and pulled out a crumpled envelope. “Lieutenant, I’m Master Sergeant Cherry. A young paratrooper asked me to present your wings to you today.” Cherry eyed Jason from head to foot. “You didn’t know it, but I’ve been watching you the past three weeks. I wanted to make sure you were worth what I’m going to give you. I’m proud to say you are. You’re like your brother … a real paratrooper.”

  He handed Jason a small piece of paper. “This will explain things a little better.”

  Jason looked at the note and smiled. It was from Ty.

  Dear Jay

  Congratulations, paratrooper! Today is a very special day. You are going to join the ranks of the Red Hill Paratroopers. I have asked MSgt. Cherry to do the honors and pin you with the wings that my dad, uncle, and I were pinned with on graduation day making us America’s best. I’m proud of you, brother. Take care and keep your butt down.

  Love ya

  Ty

  Cherry took the parachute wings from the envelope and held them up for Jason to see. “Lieutenant, Nance has asked me to give you his wings. They are very special to him. He must care for you very much.” He pinned the wings over Jason’s heart and stepped back with a rigid salute. “Congratulations, Red Hill Paratrooper.”

  Jason returned the salute with tears in his eyes.

  24

  25 April, Central Highlands

  General Binh Ty Duc set down his pack and rotated his tired shoulders. The tour of the defensive positions was taking its toll on him. He felt ancient as he sat down on the hilltop and looked at the valley to the east. He felt as if he was home. Years ago he had sat for many days in the same spot, thinking about home. The hill had been his headquarters during the preparation for the attack on the French outpost at Dak To. The hill had been special to him. It sat alone, standing taller and more beautiful than its brothers, and had for him an inexplicable allure. Every time he saw the hill, his heart would soar. Even now, after so many years, the hill had the same effect on him. Nothing had changed. The place still strangely moved him. He could feel its strength and needed its powers of rejuvenation. He shut his eyes. Thirteen years ago he could have marched the same distance without fatigue. Since then, the years and wars had taken away his youth and vitality. The young men who were digging the bunkers and connecting tunnels were constant reminders of his age.

  Colonel Kinh walked up the hill, holding a cup of cool tea. “General, you need rest. I have told the company commander we will be staying the night.”

  General Duc nodded, knowing his plans officer was looking out for his best interests. Kinh had taken it upon himself to be his keeper. The sad thing was that he knew he needed Kinh to make sure he didn’t push himself too hard.

  Kinh smiled as he gave the general his tea. “The positions are excellent. The digging is a week ahead of schedule, and we expect to finish the tunnels next month.”

  General Duc pulled two maps from his pack and spread them out on the ground. He prized his captured American map for its detail and preferred it to his own. He traced his march from the lower ridges to the hilltop and pointed at a spot on the map. “This is Hill 875. Years ago this was my headquarters, and my men built the command bunker that is below us. The hill was known then by my men as the ‘Refuge.’ It was here that we knew we would be safe.” His eyes saddened. “And now, my friend, I must use the old one as a fortress. This is key high ground, for it commands the valley to the east. This is our last defensive position.”

  Kinh felt his commander’s sadness and spoke softly. “We can inspect the positions tomorrow. You should rest.”

  General Duc slowly stood and gave a last lingering look at the valley before facing Kinh. “No, we do not have time. Show me the positions.”

  Kinh stepped out of the way, allowing the general to look out of the bunker’s firing portal. They had already inspected the command bunker and had walked through the newly constructed communications tunnels to check the first line of fighting bunkers.

  A young soldier wearing a dirt-stained uniform stood in awe as they went by. He and his squad had been working on the position for months.

  General Duc nodded in approval and patted the sayo logs above his head. “How many meters of soil do you have on top of your support logs?”

  The senior sergeant standing in the bunker entrance began to speak, but the general looked at the young private for the answer.

  Private Bui Ngoc Duong nervously shifted his stance, having never before spoken to a senior officer. “Comrade General, we placed five meters of soil on top and packed it tightly.”

  General Duc smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘Your work is very good. Do you understand why the bunker is located here?”

  Duong wasn’t sure if he should answer the question, for he thought the bunker was in a poor position. The general seemed to sense his concern and motioned toward the firing portal. “You question the position because of the trees blocking your sight? Come, let me explain the plan to you.”

  He stooped and walked through the communications tunnel leading toward the trench line. Then he climbed nearby steps up to the slope that overlooked the bunker twenty meters down the ridge. Waiting for the private to join him, he motioned down the hill. “Sadly, the trees that are around us will not be here when the enemy attacks. He will use his artillery and planes to destroy the beauty of the old hill. There will be nothing left but debris.”

  Duong tried to imagine the destruction of the towering teaks and ironwoods. The trees were over thirty meters in height and three to five meters thick. The rain forest blocked out all light, leaving the jungle floor in semi-darkness.

  General Duc squatted down and drew a circle in the red soil, then extended lines from the circle to the north and south. “The hilltop has only two approaches and both are narrow ridges. The enemy must use the ridges to the north or south because the east and west approaches are too steep. He can only attack using one of the ridges and has very restricted room to maneuver. The first time he comes up the hill, he will not know where your bunker is located, and you will cut the lead element to ribbons. You can easily stop him, for you will be protected inside your bunker along with the others to your sides and behind you. The enemy will fall back and destroy the forest with his bombs and attack again. The fallen trees will add more cover to your bunker, and he will have to expose himself by climbing over the debris. It will be impossible to attack in any strength, and again you will be able to stop him. If your bunker becomes damaged or the portals blocked, you can use the tunnel and fall back to the trench or the next bunker and fight again.”

  Duong shut his eyes. He could see the battle unfold as the general had described. The bombing would be horrible, but the senior sergeant had already explained that they would be hiding in the tunnel for protection. Once the bombing was over, they would return to their bunkers and wait for the attack. He felt more confident but sad at the loss of the magnificent trees. He looked at the general. “Is there a chance they will not come and destroy the old ones?”

  The general put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked down the ridge. “This hill is the highest of those that run along the valley to our east. It is called key terrain by us old warriors who study war. The enemy must take this hill to command the valley. He will come, my friend. He will come, but you will be ready.”

  “They will not take the hill, my general,” Duong said. “My comrades and I will stop them.”

  General Duc faced him. He knew the horror the boy would experience and felt remorse. Such dedicated men. The awful truth was the hill would be taken. No position could be held if the attacker was willing to expend the necessary men and firepower.

  He forced a smile. “The reunification of our country will be your reward. Take care, my young friend. Keep digging and take care.”

  The general felt his age again as he walked down the steps into the trench to visit the next bunker. The determination in the boy’s eyes had touched his heart and weakened him. He would have to sacrifice the hill’
s beauty and perhaps the young soldier’s life for the greater good. The truth of it hurt and aged him more than his years.

  Duong could still feel the silver-haired officer’s hand on his shoulder. The sergeant who had chastised him so long ago had been right. The general cared.

  He walked back to his bunker and leaned against the logs he had cut and emplaced. There was much work remaining on the other tunnels, but this bunker was his. He had supervised and helped build it. He was an engineer, but he would fight alongside the infantry of his assigned company and protect the hill. This hill and others like it were Vietnamese, not the Americans’ or the puppets’. It was his hill. He would fight those who dared think they could take it from him. This was his home.

  * * *

  In single file, the twenty-three men of the First Platoon snaked their way up a winding trail leading to a series of small, tree-covered hills.

  Every man was drenched in sweat, but not from the heat. They were sweating from apprehension. They had been moving for two hours, watching where they stepped and making sure they kept at least ten yards from each other. Earlier that morning there had been twenty-five men in the platoon. A booby trap had killed one and badly wounded another.

  Lieutenant Jenkins reached for the map in his leg pocket. A muffled explosion from the front of the column froze him in his tracks. “Shit.”