the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  Weaver clicked his tongue and picked up his aid bag. “We didn’t find a single dink or spider hole. They must have left one man to fire you up and trigger the booby trap. He’s halfway to Hanoi by now thinking he blew you to kingdom come.”

  Ty felt a hot wave run up his back. His stomach knotted into a ball, and he broke into a sweat. “Na … na, naaaaOO!” He tried to get up.

  “What’s wrong?” Weaver said, helping Ty to his feet.

  Ty struggled and looked for his rifle. “Tha … they’re … they’re here!”

  Weaver’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh, shit. L-TEE!”

  The company commander threw up his hands in exasperation. “The battalion commander is flying in here in five minutes, and you want me to tell him not to land? You didn’t tell me not to land. What the hell is going on?”

  Lieutenant Jenkins ignored him and yelled toward the second squad, “MOVE IT! GET ON LINE!” He spun around. “Sir, one of my men says there are dinks here. We’re going to conduct another search and see if we can find their holes. Until we do, this area isn’t safe.”

  The captain smirked. “One of your men tells you he thinks there are dinks under us, and you stop the whole operation? Shit, Jenkins, we’ve been here for an hour and haven’t seen a damn thing.”

  Jenkins was tired of trying to explain and spoke over his shoulder as he strode toward Doc Weaver. “Sir, when Cat Man says they’re here, they’re here.”

  Weaver stood up as the lieutenant and captain approached. “Sir, Cat is back on his feet. He and the first squad are heading for the trail. Cat said to tell you he’s gonna check out a spider hole”

  Jenkins immediately broke into a run toward the trail.

  Hammonds took one peek and jerked back. “I’ll go, you cover me.”

  Ty checked his magazine and lay down. “No, he’s mine.”

  “You sure? Are you feeling all right?”

  Ty nodded and began crawling down the trail.

  Hammonds quickly motioned the squad up and followed his point man. Ty stopped just short of where his helmet had been shot off and cautiously peered into the green tunnel. The camouflaged cover was down. Without hesitation he continued crawling. Hammonds positioned himself behind Ty to cover him and kept his finger on the trigger. The firing lane was invisible when walking by, but when on the ground it was like a miniature highway. The VC had cut and cleared only the lower branches and ferns, making a small firing tunnel. Their tactic was to let several men pass then shoot the third or fourth man in the legs. The sniper would usually wait until another soldier tried to assist his wounded friend and shoot him, too, then finish both off with head shots.

  Crawling closer, Ty felt strangely light and powerful. He knew the VC soldier; he had seen his eyes in that split second before the soldier panicked and jerked the trigger. Ty had caught him daydreaming, maybe thinking about home or his girl. The soldier was his age, with a new haircut cropped on the sides—not a typical VC peasant or farmer. He was hardcore cadre. His eyes had been looking directly at Ty, but without comprehension until they suddenly focused, showing fear just before jerking the trigger. The war had been reduced to a battle between just two men, the way Ty wanted it. The better man would survive. The young enemy soldier had his chance but had shown weakness. He’d lost his spirit to Ty. Confidently, Ty inched closer.

  Hammonds ignored the beads of sweat running down his face as he kept his rifle pointed just over Ty’s bare head. Lieutenant Jenkins and the captain had crawled up behind him, but he didn’t dare to look at them.

  Ty saw the faint outline of the larger than usual cover and slowly withdrew his knife. He cautiously rose to his knees and readied the rifle in his right hand. With his left hand, he began to gently work the knife into the hairline crack of the cover. He carefully pushed through the soil and felt the knife pierce wood. He pushed a bit farther to get a better bite and stopped. Sweat stung his eyes, but he ignored it as he took a breath and tightened his grip on the knife handle. With a lunge, he embedded the blade deeper and pulled the cover up.

  The startled soldier sitting on the firing step looked up and instinctively raised his AK but was blinded by the sudden light. Ty had his weapon pointing at the man’s head but lowered the barrel at the last instant, firing a single shot into the Vietnamese’s shoulder. The small soldier was slammed against the far wall from the impact and screamed in pain from powder burns. Jumping into the large hole, Ty immediately saw the tunnel entrance and extended pistol. He ducked and fired a long burst at the second soldier, who was squatting in the darkness of the tunnel.

  Hammonds heard the rattle of the M-16 and the pop of a smaller caliber weapon. He jumped up and crashed through the thorn-bushes to the edge of the large spider hole. He lowered his rifle but instantly jerked the barrel up. Below him, Ty was dragging a torn body into the sunlight. Another VC with a shoulder wound was sitting against the earthen wall, clutching his stomach with bloody hands.

  Ty looked up and his eyes widened. “Get down!”

  Hammonds flung himself to the side of the hole and yelled at the men behind him, “Spider hole with a tunnel! They could pop up anywhere!”

  Ty gagged. The smell of the blood, defecation, and the sweet musty odor of the men’s uniforms was overwhelming. He’d smelled that odor before and it sickened him. The countless fires the Vietcong had squatted beside permeated their bodies and uniforms with the smoky, fishy smell. The second soldier had been stitched from groin to head with ten rounds. His watery bowel excretion stained through his pants with his blood. Ty looked at the torn corpse at his knees and threw up. The top half of the man’s head was gone, and his brains were oozing out over what was left of his face. Ty struggled in the tight confines to stand up and vomited again.

  Hammonds looked into the hole and jerked his head back, overcome with the stench of death and bile. “Jesus, Cat, get out of there!”

  Ty leaned against the earth wall and stared into the eyes of the man he’d purposely not killed. The soldier was dying anyway. His comrade in the tunnel had gotten one shot off, missing Ty but hitting the young man in the stomach. The mortally wounded soldier returned Ty’s stare as if he recognized him and tried to speak. Ty knelt in the filth and took his hand. He knew him. He knew the fear he had felt and the pain. He knew he was a soldier like himself and didn’t want to die in a stinking hole.

  Ty started to pick him up when he heard the staccato of gunfire in the distance. The soldier seemed to smile and closed his eyes. Ty heard men screaming for the medic as the man’s body went limp and fell over into the coagulated blood and vomit.

  “Get out of there, Cat. Third squad found another position and has a man wounded,” Jenkins yelled.

  Ty recognized his voice and stood up. “Sir, it looks like this tunnel goes back a helluva long ways. I’d bet this place is honeycombed with them, and they go down to several levels. We’re going to need more men and the engineers to get them out.”

  He began to climb out but remembered the pistol. He held his breath and squatted down. Grasping the blood-covered weapon, he began to leave but noticed the soldier’s uniform for the first time. “Sir, one of these dinks isn’t VC. I think he’s NVA.”

  Jenkins quickly crawled to the edge of the hole and peered in. “God almighty … are you all ri …” He jerked back, gagging.

  The captain had heard Ty say “NVA” and yelled from the trail, “Jenkins, get the body and pull your men back! I’m going to call for more support!”

  Jenkins shook his head to clear his senses and steeled himself. “Cat, I’m coming down to help you.”

  * * *

  Jason pushed back the ferns and looked over his objective. Two hundred yards away across dried paddy fields was a small hill covered with grass mounds. It was the cemetery for the village only fifty yards behind him. The burial mounds looked like they had been placed on the hill with a giant ice cream scoop.

  He backed up and exchanged worried glances with his RTO, Specialist Fourth Clas
s Bagley. The freckle-faced radioman knew they couldn’t use artillery because of the closeness of the village. Bagley shook his head. “Why is it the ol’ man always wants us to do the company’s dirty work?”

  “ ’Cause we’re the best,” Jason said, motioning the squad leaders to him.

  Sergeant Taloga and the others knelt in front of Jason, who had taken out his map. “The CO has ordered us to check out the cemetery. One of the villagers reported seeing three VC on the hilltop yesterday, and they were digging into one of the mounds. I’ll take the first squad; we’ll go up the hill while the rest of you cover from the tree line. Make damn sure the machine guns keep the hill covered as we start up. Any questions?”

  Taloga leaned back with a frown. “Sir, you ain’t got no business going with the first squad. We’re gettin’ kinda of used to you.”

  Jason smiled and stood up. “This is what I get paid for.”

  Jason looked at his watch and nodded for Sergeant Redford to move out. The squad of eight men rose up and stepped out of the tree line. Jason positioned himself in the center of the formation and set his eyes on the hill.

  The small group of men crossed the dried, cracked paddy fields without incident. Jason took his first normal breath on reaching the base of the hill and reached for his canteen. He felt incredibly thirsty. Suddenly, the silence was broken: CRACKCRACKCRACK, CRACKCRACK.

  Simon, the PFC beside Jason, doubled over and fell backward. Shot in the lower abdomen, he sat looking at his wound, not saying a word, as the rest of the men fell to the ground and sought cover.

  Taloga and the others saw the muzzle flash and opened up. The two M-60 machine guns rattled and threw out a continuous stream of red tracers toward a mound at the crest of the hill.

  Jason forced himself to his feet and tried to yell for the squad to follow him up the slope, but his words were lost in the din of chattering weapons. He began running up the steep incline, hoping the squad would follow and knowing the protective covering fire wouldn’t last forever. His legs felt like rubber and his lungs screamed for oxygen as he scrambled up the barren slope on all fours. The sound of the platoon’s bullets passing overhead became louder and louder, as if he were approaching a beehive. Twenty feet directly ahead stood a large burial mound, which the machine-gun tracers were striking. He fell to the ground and pulled out a grenade. He yanked out the pin and tossed it over the mound just as the supporting fire ceased. The ensuing silence racked his nerves. He could hear his heart pounding and the sound of the grenade hitting the dirt. Sergeant Redford began to run past and Jason tackled him. Both men tumbled down the slope, as the grenade detonated in a vehement blast.

  Jason jumped to his feet and ran up the sandy slope again, with Redford following, screaming obscenities at him.

  Taloga stood up on seeing his platoon leader disappear behind the mound. He unconsciously cringed and waited for the sound of AK fire.

  Jason sat down on the side of the mound feeling dizzy. He tried to spit out the white, sticky substance from his mouth but his mouth was too dry.

  Redford peered into the hole in the mound and fell to his knees. “How fuckin’ dumb can you get?” he said.

  Jason pulled out his canteen and swished out his mouth as the rest of the squad assembled around the mound and peered into the death trap. Two VC had dug a cave into the mound and made a small bunker supported by American ammo crates. They had dug out too much of the protective dirt, and the M-60 bullets had penetrated the position, riddling their bodies.

  He stood and spoke tiredly. “Carter, you and Smitty pull out the bodies and check out the bunker. Report what you find to me. I’m going down and check on Simon.”

  Redford sheepishly looked up as he passed. “Sorry, for yellin’. I didn’t see you throw the grenade.”

  Jason nodded and quickened his stride.

  Sergeant Taloga and the medic tried to pull Simon’s hands away from the wound, but it was impossible. Simon was in shock and looked and felt like a concrete statue. He was still seated and clutching his abdomen. His expression was frozen in horror.

  Jason knelt in front of him as the medic tried to put an IV into the young soldier’s arm. “Simon, you have to let us see the wound so we can bandage it.” Simon didn’t respond, and Jason tried to move one of his hands. The hand didn’t feel human. Simon was like a man who was thawing out after being buried in ice for a decade. He was shaking but rock hard. “What can we do, Doc?” Jason asked in desperation.

  Doc Porter gave up trying to put the needle in Simon’s arm and moved to his leg. “Pray the damn chopper gets here quick.”

  The CO sat down by Lieutenant Jenkins and took off his helmet. “Jenkins, I have to apologize. The engineer tunnel-rat team has just reported finding a huge underground storage area, a small hospital, and a classroom of some kind. We’re sitting on top of a VC base camp. Looks like you found them before they could get their rice underground. The old man sent out an interpreter with the dog team, and he’s looked over the papers you found on the NVA soldier. The dead NVA was a logistics captain assigned to the VC as an adviser. The dog team found two more entrances four hundred meters to the east and reported a bunch of tracks. Looks like whoever was here in the tunnel complex escaped several hours ago while we were waiting on the engineers. I called your platoon up because the company is being lifted out by chopper in a hour and returning to base camp. I want your men to go out first—they deserve it for the good job. Start organizing for the lift and …”

  A muffled explosion to the east stopped him in midsentence. He put his helmet on and stood up. “What now, for Christ sake?”

  The radio buzzed with static and an excited voice spoke in a rush. “Talon six, this is three six. Engineers and dog handler hit a booby trap. Need additional medic ASAP, over.”

  The captain spoke calmly into the handset. “Roger, three six, medic en route and will call dust off for you. Keep me informed, out.” He lowered the handset and spoke quickly to Jenkins. “Send a squad with your medic to the Third Platoon and help them out. I’m going back to my RTO and call the old man.”

  Jenkins turned around and yelled, “Doc, first squad, saddle up!”

  The third platoon lieutenant moved his people back and approached the growling German shepherd. “Nobody is going to hurt you.” The dog backed up and bared its teeth. The officer squatted, keeping his eye on the animal, and checked the neck pulse of the prone soldier. He knew the man was dead by the gapping hole in his back, but he wanted to make sure before having to destroy the tan and black shepherd. There was no pulse.

  He stood and backed up to his platoon sergeant. “He’s dead. Do we have to do this?”

  The young sergeant kept his eye on the dog. “Yes, sir, it’s policy. The dog ain’t gonna let none of us move the handler without taking one of our arms off. He’s already bit two of the men. We gotta kill the mean sonofabitch before he puts one of us in the hospital.”

  The lieutenant turned his back to the dog and nodded toward the sergeant, who raised his M-16.

  “Hold it!”

  The sergeant lowered his rifle and turned around. Ten steps in front of him stood a black-haired soldier with a purple scar running down his tanned cheek. He was holding an M-16, and strapped around his waist like a gunfighter was a brown leather NVA belt and holster. The shiny belt buckle, with its raised red star, reflected the sun’s rays like a mirror.

  “Who the hell are you?” the sergeant blurted.

  Ty ignored him and turned to the lieutenant. “I’m a handler. I’ll take care of the dog. It’ll take a few minutes, and I need your people to back off a ways.”

  Glad to be relieved of the gruesome duty, the officer motioned to the wounded engineers lying a few feet behind them. “Move those men to the LZ.”

  Ty sat down by the handler’s body and pulled the leash and muzzle from his belt. Burned into the leash was the name “Rex.” The dog snarled and lunged forward, nipping at Ty’s hand. Ty sat perfectly still, not showing fear, and s
tared into the shepherd’s eyes. “Easy, Rexy, easy. It’s just you and me, buddy.” He slowly moved his hand out and spoke softly. “Take your time and smell me. You’re confused, and you don’t have a friend in the world anymore, but it’s all right. This ol’ coon dog understands.”

  Hammonds and Caddy approached and stopped in their tracks as Ty signalled them to freeze. He spoke as if talking to the dog. “Y’all back off and let me see if I can get Rex here to let us take the body. I’ll be along in a while.”

  “We can’t leave you alone out here. Shoot the mutt and let’s go,” Hammonds said impatiently.

  Ty kept his even tone. “Nobody is killin’ the dog. Leave me alone. I’ll holler when I need you.” He took out his canteen and poured water into his hand. “Come on. I know you’re thirsty. Just relax and come here.”

  Rex backed up snarling and paced back and forth in a small circle, keeping his eyes on the strange-smelling man.

  Hammonds tapped Caddy’s shoulder and began walking away. “Come on, we’ve got to tell the L-tee what’s holdin’ us up.”

  Caddy sat down. “Not me. Somebody has got to stay with him. You go on.”

  “Not you, too? Shit, it’s just a goddamn dog, for Christ sake. Come on!”

  Caddy shook his head. “I’m covering Cat. Go on.”

  Hammonds sighed and sat down. “I guess we’ll all get blown away together. Shit!”

  Sergeant Taloga positioned the men into seven-man teams for the helicopter extraction and walked back to Jason, who was sitting under a banana tree. “Sir, we’re all set. Any word on when the birds are due in?”

  Jason stared into the distance. He was lost in thought about the man he had watched die of shock. Taloga motioned for Bagley to take a walk, then took off his helmet and sat down on top of it.