Book Man turned around. “You need it worse than any of us. I had to hold my breath working next to you.”
Silk stabbed a finger in the air. “Fuck you, man. I like my stink.”
Hammonds and Ty exchanged smiles and suddenly turned around and ran toward Silk. “WE DON’T!”
Silk held his ground only for a second, thinking he could handle the two attackers, but when the rest of the squad began coming for him, he bolted.
Ty easily caught up to him and tackled him at the knees. Both men tumbled into the dust and were quickly joined by the rest of the squad. Silk kicked and clawed for several seconds before giving up. “Come on, dudes, I hate water, man!”
Lieutenant Salias walked out of his bunker and saw Sergeant Hammonds and his squad carrying the struggling, half-naked Silk across the road. He took a few steps into the hot sun. “What do you people think you’re doing?”
Hammonds let go of Silk’s foot but had the men keep walking. “Sir, we’re escorting an individual who has failed to comply with your hygiene standards. We are also conducting a class on how to carry wounded.”
Salias fumed at the sarcastic reply. “Stop what you’re doing!” He strode out and stood in front of Silk. “Is this a racial incident? Are these men violating your rights?”
Silk nodded. “Yes, sir, these white muthafuckers and Uncle Toms is saying I stink.” He stepped within an inch of the officer and held up his arm so that his armpit was almost touching the lieutenant’s nose. “It ain’t so, is it?”
Salias almost fainted from the odor. He quickly backed up and looked at Hammonds. “Ah … carry on with your mission.”
Silk threw out his hands in a last plea as the men pushed him over and began carrying him again. “Sir, they gonna take away my stink rights!… Sir, you is prejudiced!”
Salias looked around, making sure no one saw the incident and hurried back to his bunker.
Hammonds saw the officer disappear and fell over laughing. Ty busted out and slapped at Silk’s head. “Stink rights? Where the hell ya get that one?”
Silk fell into the dirt as the other men grabbed their stomachs in laughter. “Pretty good, huh? I’s made it up.”
General Duc sat staring at the wall map. His thoughts were of thirteen years ago. Colonel Kinh cleared his throat to gain the officer’s attention. “We have made contact with the special units, and they are prepared to carry out your orders.”
Duc kept his stare, remembering the sound of the mortars when he gave the signal for the barrage to begin. His eyes slowly shifted to the colonel. “Execute the attack tomorrow.”
Kinh smiled. “The South’s newspapers are talking of the great victory at Dak To. Perhaps tomorrow the press will become suspicious of the facile stories and begin printing the casualty reports. The 174th reported they wiped out two Yankee companies yesterday.”
“The 174th’s reports are exaggerated,” Duc said slowly. “The Americans estimate the numbers they kill to please their politicians. We exaggerate to lift the morale of our soldiers. We all lie, except for the men who fight in the holes. They know the truth. ”
He rose from his chair. “It is time I knew the truth as well. Prepare a small unit to accompany me to the battle. ”
Kinh’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. “No, my general, you must remain here and direct the effort.”
“What is there for me to do? I sit and listen, I do nothing, and I am feeling like an American politician waiting on lies. It is time for me to join my men. I need their truth. ”
“But you have paid the price for the Fatherland. You have done enough.”
Duc walked toward the door. “Come, inform my deputy he is to take over and to send radio reports to Hill 875, where we will be. I will show you who is paying the price. They are waiting for us in the bunkers.”
32
Corporal Nguyen Ban lowered his binoculars as the third C-130 landed and roared down the runway. He could see the large unit of ARVN troops waiting on the ramp and signaled his men to ready the first round. Two of the big transport planes were already stopped in front of the ARVN battalion, waiting for the men to load. Ban smiled at his gunner, knowing they would be heroes in only a few more minutes. When the third transport stopped by the others, they would have a target they could not miss.
He held up the binoculars again and double-checked the range. He and his men were members of the elite Special Unit assigned to the First NVA Division. They had been reconning the Dak To base camp for five months and had maps depicting every detail to include ranges. He was located only a kilometer south of the airfield. Their mission was to destroy an aircraft on the runway, blocking it from further use. Later that day, the four mortar tubes of the Second Platoon, hidden on the other side of the camp, were going to saturate the ammunition storage area and try to destroy the newly arrived stockpile of howitzer ammunition stacked in the open. The purpose of the mortar missions was to make the Americans fearful of a ground attack so they would keep a large unit of men on hand. The general’s plan was to keep the Americans and puppets fighting in every direction and not able to mass their power. They would be forced to use valuable ground units and aircraft for the security of the base.
The C-130 rolled to a stop and lowered its ramp. Ban turned around and nodded. The assistant gunner dropped the 82-millimeter mortar round into the tube. THUNK!
Ban lifted his glasses and waited. The deadly warhead arched high in the air and dropped almost straight down, hitting one hundred meters short of the second parked transport and throwing up a puff of concrete debris. The third transport’s crew had just left the plane when the round went off, and they immediately ran back to try and save the aircraft. He could see the South Vietnamese soldiers scattering like rice chaff in the wind, trying to find available cover.
“Add one hundred, fire for effect!”
The gunner quickly made the adjustment and nodded to his assistant, who already had the second round partially lowered into the mouth of the tube. THUNK!
The round exploded only a few feet from the second parked plane and blew holes through the metal skin, rupturing the right wing tanks. Fuel gushed out like blood from a wounded bird. The third round hit behind the tail section, and its searing hot metal caught the fuel on fire. Within seconds the C-130 was engulfed in crackling flames.
“Right two hundred, drop fifty!”
The third C-130 began backing up as the fire-engulfed plane seemed to leap off the ground. Another mortar round had exploded directly in front of the plane’s nose, momentarily lifting it into the air.
Ban lifted his glasses and judged the distance and speed of the last target that was trying to escape. “Left, four hundred!”
Both parked planes were now burning fiercely, sending up two black clouds of smoke, as the pilot of the third aircraft gunned the engines. His only hope was speed and distance. He had to get out of range of the ripping shrapnel.
Ban cursed as the round fell behind the bellowing bird. “Left four hundred, add one hundred!”
The pilot kept the throttle forward, forgetting the beeping, danger-warning light. If shrapnel hit his fuel tanks, he would be cooked alive.
Ban smiled at the explosion in the side of the rolling transport. He lowered his glasses to see the plane burst into flames, but the wounded bird was still moving, despite the gaping holes in its fuselage. He looked at the wooden stakes he had placed in the ground earlier and knew that before the mortar crew could adjust the tube again, the plane would be out of range. He got up and jogged down the knoll. “You destroyed two of the planes and damaged another!”
The gunner patted the assistant on his back and hurriedly began disassembling the mortar from the base plate.
* * *
Every man on the perimeter was waiting for an attack or the dreaded mortar rounds. The emergency call twenty minutes before had the Fourth Battalion paratroopers running around in mass confusion, scrambling for cover. Ty had run to three foxholes before finding one he could sq
ueeze into. Unlike previous red alerts, he knew this one was real. The two huge black clouds to the east told their own story, along with the helicopters that filled the air like angry bees looking for the enemy mortar crew.
The sun beat down unmercifully, and the tension gave way to suffering in the crowded holes and bunkers. Finally, the company commander yelled out, “STAND DOWN, YELLOW ALERT!”
Ty crawled out of the hole and joined Hammonds, who emerged from the command bunker. “I heard they hit the airfield and got a bunch of Arvins.”
Hammonds scowled. “Don’t listen to the rumors. The facts are they hit two C-130s and crippled another. I heard it on the radio.” Ty could see that Hammonds was irritated. “What gives? You look sour as a lemon. The command bunker get to ya?”
“I heard a lot more on the radio than just about the mortar attack,” Hammonds said. He walked into the shade beside an engineer road grader. “The Second Batt boys got kicked real good near Firebase 16. They’ve lost the equivalent of a company of men the past three days. This fucking battle is going all wrong.”
Ty hated what he’d just heard, but he felt relief in knowing that his brother was in the rear somewhere, safe. Hammonds sat down in the dust and leaned back on a tire. “This isn’t over by a long shot. The brass think the dinks are withdrawing back into Cambodia and want the Herd to pursue them. Can you believe that shit? They want us to ‘pursue,’ as if it were nothing more than running down a road to catch a thief. How do you pursue up in the mountains? Shit, the whole company has to walk single file! We can’t spread out like it was a damn open field! And we sure as hell don’t run after them!”
Ty stared at the billowing black clouds in the distance. “Relax, Sarge, we’re the reserve. Maybe they won’t use us.”
Hammonds picked up a dirt clod and tossed it toward the perimeter wire. “I don’t like this shit. Before it was terrible, but at least it made sense. This whole Dak To thing seems half-assed. So many units are here that the artillery and air can’t support us all. If the Fourth Division legs get in trouble, they get all the support and we get the leftovers. They gave us the worst area but the least support. Even the old man says we’re not getting what we’re supposed to. I’m worried, Cat. I don’t like what I’m hearing and feeling. I feel like I’m on the Titanic and the captain has just told us we’ve had a small problem, but there’s nothing to worry about. I don’t think the big boys want to admit we’ve hit an iceberg.”
Ty didn’t want to agree. Negative thoughts were destructive. He had seen the effects too many times, when men had thought the worst and it had affected their judgment. He wasn’t going to let that happen to him. He had seen the worst the war had to offer, and he could handle it—he and his friends. He had to believe that the high-ranking decision makers were doing all they could.
He sighed. “Sarge, you gotta relax. We’re the reserve, and we aren’t going anywhere for a while. You can’t be upsettin’ the squad with all this bad mouthin’.”
Hammonds stared at Ty as if looking through him. “You go on point alone and nothing bothers you. You’re lost in another world out there. I’ve seen you. But me, I’m thinking about my guys and praying that nothing happens and that you don’t find anything. I’m getting short, Cat, thirty days and a wake-up. When I first got here, I was into it like you are. I really thought I was good and could keep my guys from getting hurt. Now … now, I don’t know. I’m finding out that the people who sent me and who are making the decisions don’t know what the fuck is going on. And if they don’t, who does? What the hell are we doing? They say we’re winning, but I don’t see it. I only see the numbers of men we’re losing. If this is winning, I don’t want to play the damn game. It costs too much.”
“Do you have a choice?” Ty asked softly.
Hammonds dropped his stare as if dead tired. “No … no I don’t, but I’ll tell you something: my kids will. If I ever have a son, he’s going to know what this war really was—a waste. He’s gonna ask the questions that I didn’t before he has to go off and fight.”
Ty stood up and pulled Hammonds to his feet. “You’re too ugly to have kids. Come on, we’ve got weapons to clean.”
Corporal Ban looked at his watch. It was almost 5 P.M., time for the Second Special Unit Platoon to begin the attack. He sat down and rested his binoculars on his knees. The planes they had hit this morning were now black jumbles of wreckage, and swarms of engineer units were trying to clear the smoldering metal from the runway. Off to the right were the covered mounds of the ammunition-storage area and the huge stocks of artillery ammunition—the next target. His total concentration was on the ammo dump, and he didn’t see the first explosion. The gunner sitting beside him pointed excitedly. “It has begun!”
Ban shifted his field glasses to the row of buildings behind the ammo dump. The first salvos had fallen short and had hit the buildings, starting a fire. “What did they hit?” he asked.
The gunner looked at his camp sketch. “The postal unit and a supply hut. The Yankees will not be getting their mail.”
Ban laughed as the second salvo landed in the storage area. He watched the rounds hit for several minutes, thinking they were wasting their time trying to penetrate the earth mounds, when suddenly, from the entrance of an ammunition bunker, a geyser of flame leaped out. The mound of earth shook, then lifted up like a hat and disappeared in a tremendous explosion. The entire dump was covered in flame and smoke.
“What happened?” asked the gunner, grabbing for the binoculars.
Ban stood and stared in disbelief. Their luck had been too good to be true. A mortar round had landed in the entrance of a bunker that held white phosphorous artillery rounds and had caused a fire. The bunker exploded and showered the rest of the storage area with the burning rounds, causing more fires. That single mortar round was going to destroy the entire dump. Already the ground was shaking. Fireballs were arching across the sky. Flare rounds were going off and explosions were throwing fountains of dirt skyward. He looked with wide eyes at his gunner. “We have destroyed a thousand tons of ammunition! We will be honored by the Tall One himself!”
Jason stood on top of the bunker and looked southwest. Toward the mountains was an orange glow that looked like stadium lights. He and most of the men on the firebase had heard about the ammunition dump explosion, but few realized the extent of the damage until the sky to the southwest had lit up. The dump was hit at 1700 hours. Three hours later, it was still burning and exploding.
Chaplain Waters, who had joined Jason in the bunker for the night, called to him from the entrance. “Jay, Sergeant Harper needs you.”
Jason hopped down and stepped into the candlelight. “What’s up?”
Harper tossed down the radio handset and looked at the message he had just copied. “It’s worse than we thought. They got all the ammo for the howitzers, mortars, and small arms. The ammo we have now is all we’re gonna have for a while. Corps is going to emergency resupply us, but in the meantime, no more search and destroy ops. We don’t have enough backup ammo to get us out of a crunch.”
Jason quickly calculated in his head as he sat down. “It’s gonna take a couple of days to get the ammo replaced, even if they fly in C-130s nonstop. Does the ol’ man want me to inform the companies to return to the firebase and wait?”
“Nope, they’re to stay in place and kick back,” Harper said. “We’re going to get priority because we’re in the pursuit mode, whatever that means.”
Jason was secretly relieved at the chain of events. He knew the men needed the rest. The pursuit mission was a standing joke to all the company commanders.
Harper looked over the message and mumbled absently, “Looks like we’re not gonna get any care packages or Dear Johns. They hit the postal building, too.”
Ty sat on top of the bunker, watching the glowing fire still raging in the ammunition dump ten kilometers away. He looked up at the stars. For the first time he felt short. His time in country was dwindling down to the last ninety
days. The short-timer’s calendar he kept inside his helmet had not been marked in months, but that afternoon he had brought it up to date. Three more months. Ninety days. Two-thousand-one-hundred-and-sixty hours and he would be back on his hill.
He shut his eyes, and the image of his father’s picture became crystal clear in his mind. Strange, but he had not dreamed about his father since Jim Deets had been killed a lifetime ago. Instead, his dreams had been of Deets, Teddy Bear, Paddy, Goldie, and the many others he had seen killed or wounded. Their pain tore through his heart nightly as a reminder that it just as easily could have been him. Nothing would erase from his mind their faces and the grief their loved ones must have felt. He knew the Chosen would be cared for by others, like his father, but the mothers and fathers of those taken so young would never understand.
Ty cleared his mind and lay back on the bunker, looking up again at the stars. He closed his eyes and felt an old friend’s presence.
Saber placed his head on his buddy’s shoulder to comfort him as he had done many times before. They needed each other a little longer.
General Duc gazed at the glowing orange sky. It told him he had made a tactical error. The 174th’s commander, Colonel Huu, shrugged his shoulders. “We could not have known that the special unit was going to be so successful. It is not your fault for following the plan.”
The general broke his distant stare. “You are right, my friend. But if I had left you in place a day longer, you could have struck the Americans and finished them off. The tiger’s throat was given to us, and I was not ready. You could have attacked tonight and they would not have been able to rearm themselves. The victory we sought would have been ours by the luck of a single mortar crew.”
Colonel Huu brushed away a persistent mosquito. “It is said ‘would haves’ and ‘could haves’ would make us all famous men. Our plan has worked beyond our dreams. The Yankees will not be able to do anything until their supply of ammunition is replenished. Our schedule will be met easily.”
the Hill (1995) Page 35
