by Mark Berent
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
2345 Hours Local, 29 January 1966
Perimeter, Bien Hoa Air Base
Republic of Vietnam
As the preliminary mortar and rocket attack began, Buey Dan, dressed in black pajamas, lay in the tranh grass a few meters outside the eastern perimeter of Bien Hoa Air Base. Once a year or less, Buey Dan would leave Saigon and join the field VC for a few weeks to train and participate in raids. At those times he used his field name, Tha'n La'n, the Lizard. The work revitalized him and kept him alert to what information the fighting front needed.
Next to Buey Dan, also in black pajamas, lay Tui. Her face was defeated and dull and without emotion. Strapped to her back was a khaki-colored satchel containing an explosive charge. Spread out on both sides of them was the 16-man assault team Buey Dan controlled for this raid. The team was one of three from the C-238 sapper company. Each team was composed of four cells; a four-man penetration cell with Bangalore torpedoes, two five-man assault cells with satchel charges, and a two-man fire support team with B-40 grenade launchers and AK-47 rifles. The penetration and assault teams also carried AK-47s and hand grenades. They were all dressed in black pajamas, soft floppy camouflaged hats, and wore black rubber sandals cut from old tires. Knowing the 3rd Air Police Squadron at Bien Hoa had sentry dogs, each man smelled of toi, the garlic-like herb they had rubbed on themselves to confuse the dogs' sense of smell. Each of the ten assault cell members had a faded khaki-colored canvas satchel strapped to his back. Each sack contained four kilograms, about eight pounds, of explosive that could be detonated by a six-inch cord with a small wooden ball at the exposed end.
The handmade lanyard was taped to the left side of the sack where it could easily be pulled by the wearer's left or right hand, but not loose enough to catch on any protrusions. The carrier had his choice of unslinging the sack, pulling the cord, and tossing it at a target; or pulling the cord to make himself into a human bomb on a suicide mission. Although it was supposed to explode in eight seconds, the crude timer device would detonate the satchel charge anywhere from five to ten seconds after being actuated. The sappers were also trained to pull the lanyard on any downed comrade.
For the last three days, Buey Dan, as the Lizard, had supervised the extraction of last minute information from the hooch maids and waitresses and other female and male workers on the air base. Family members of five workers had to be threatened and sliced before they would give the desired cooperation. Buey Dan had added the information to update that which had been collected by the pre-strike reconnaissance team that had been in the area for several weeks. The team had sounded out external security measures, determined the internal layout and positions of defenses, ammo storage, airplane positioning, and officer bunkers in order to determine where to place the aiming stakes and position the rockets and mortars. They had noted the 173rd Airborne Brigade was out on operations and that only weak, easily unnerved Vietnamese regional forces were on duty.
Buey Dan's number two man had carefully depicted all of the air base information in a sandbox he had constructed in the huge underground complex east of Bien Hoa. Buey Dan would have preferred a stake-and-string replica, but space did not permit such luxury. Nonetheless, every team member had become totally familiar with the layout; and knew exactly where he had to go by memorizing how many steps and how many turns in what direction were required to reach his target.
Upon signal, after selected sectors of the 122mm Katyusha rocket and 82mm mortar barrage were lifted at specified times, the sappers would rush in. Mixed with them were riflemen who would shoot and throw grenades at defensive positions. In this manner, something would always be impacting or blowing up somewhere on the base while the infiltrators were rushing to their appointed tasks in the barrage-free zones.
Buey Dan was using the tried-and-true VC tactical doctrine of Four Fast, One Slow; Fast Advance, Fast Assault, Fast Battlefield Clearance, and Fast Withdrawal were based upon Slow Preparation.
The lead men in Buey Dan's sector had already penetrated the first coils of barbed wire and had placed their command-detonated Bangalore torpedoes. The long, tube-shaped Bangalores would blast a path through the wire when Buey Dan pushed the plunger on his Chicom LA-2B generator. The men had crept up to the second wire from which they would move when Buey Dan blew his whistle. He was prepared to do so in 30 seconds when the barrage was due to lift in their sector.
Buey Dan, a satchel charge on his back also, edged closer to Tui. He had had a hard time explaining to the Sapper Battalion Commander why this particular woman should be on this raid. The Commander had relented when Buey Dan had said she was making atonement for a grievous crime against the Liberation, and that he would assume total responsibility for her actions.
Buey Dan put his mouth close to Tui's ear.
"You know where to go," he whispered in tonal syllables.
"Yes," she whispered back after a brief pause, "Bunker Seven near the Officers Club." She repeated like a mantra to herself the number of steps and turns she had to make in the practiced path to her target. There were no memorized steps for a return path. She had no feelings or reactions in her mind other than the mechanics of what she was to do that night. Her re-indoctrination and self-criticism periods hadn't taken well during the previous week requiring Buey Dan to push a needle into the vein in her left arm twice a day injecting 60mg of bao che', a Phenobarbital derivative, to keep her in the docile state he desired.
"Understand, Little Sister," he said in a smoothing whisper, "your life is your gift to the Liberation. Your memory will live forever as a glorious example for killing so many mui lo officers. You will die splendidly." Buey Dan knew that if Tui scrupulously followed her plan and there were no new base defenses, she had one chance in three of making it into Bunker Seven.
In Bunker Six, Court flicked on his Zippo lighter to see Nancy's wound. He crouched over her as she sat with her back against the concrete wall. The wound was in her outer left thigh about halfway between her hip and her knee; her slacks soggy now with blood. Sally Churna pushed over to help.
"Where's your Flight Surgeon?" she asked.
"He took off for the hospital," a voice said.
Sally looked at Nancy's soggy slacks.
"Somebody give me a knife," she said. An opened penknife appeared out of the darkness to be placed in her hand. Someone lit another lighter as Court's flickered low. Someone else began ripping up pieces of paper to feed a small fire that lit the bunker with a weak and flickering flame.
Sally slit Nancy's slacks from the beltline to the ankle, and peeled the soaked fabric back from where the fragment had sliced the skin. The wound was meaty looking, but appeared to be superficial as it was no longer bleeding heavily which was a good indication that no veins or arteries had been punctured. Nancy, white around her mouth, looked on with fascination.
"Tear some strips for me," Sally ordered. Court tore strips from the slacks.
"Anybody bring a bottle of whiskey?" he asked into the flickering light.
"As a matter of fact, yes," Lieutenant Fairchild said, appearing out of the gloom to produce a half-full bottle of Scotch he had snatched on the way out of the Club. The air reeked as Court poured some into the open wound. Nancy drew her breath in sharply.
"Damn," she said, "in survival training they told us this was not a good antiseptic. That it sometimes was of more value inside than out."
"It's what they do in the movies," Court said, handing her the bottle.
"Here's to a pain killer," Nancy said taking a swig while Sally bound and knotted torn strips over the wound.
When the barrage in his sector lifted, Buey Dan pushed the plunger into the hand generator detonating the Bangalores, and blew the attack signal on his whistle while the crack of the wire-destroying charges still echoed in the air. The men of the assault teams rose and plunged forward bending low to the ground and breathing easily as they ran, counting paces. After a momentary hesitation due more to confusion tha
n fear, Tui rose, started her mantra, and plunged ahead. Buey Dan nodded with satisfaction as he ran after her and his teams.
At first the going was easy. Crouching low and running behind Tui, Buey Dan followed her through the path blasted in the wire. He inhaled the yellowish wisps of smoke containing the bitter smell of the picric acid used in the Bangalore torpedo explosive mixture. For a few seconds, Tui and the advancing members of his sapper teams were outlined against the lights and reflected glow from the air base.
Buey Dan heard the sirens sounding SACON Red II, and saw portions of the base black out as Base Engineering forces began pulling the main electrical circuit breakers to cut out all nonessential circuits. The smaller lights winked out but the big floods on the flight line remained on as did all floods that illuminated portions of the outer perimeter. Then Buey Dan heard the sound of scattered emergency generators starting as their solenoids sensed power failure and clicked shut, feeding battery power to their starters. He knew the generators would feed priority air base communications and certain dispensary circuits. Each generator was targeted for a satchel charge.
After they breached the outer wire, Buey Dan saw his teams split into the smaller groups headed for fuel areas, ammo dumps, and the flight line. No team was to try for the airplanes in the protected revetments since they were easily guarded and difficult to get at. Instead, a group was to destroy targets of opportunity, such as airplanes diverted in for the night that were parked on the big ramp in front of the control tower. A grenade tossed into a rosette as one sped by was authorized, but the big satchel charges were earmarked for specific targets.
Buey Dan ran close to Tui. The five-man assault cells had split into individual attackers. Behind him, Buey Dan heard the AK-47 fire and B-40 blasts of the fire support teams while ahead he heard sporadic M-16 fire as the defending Air Police probed by fire, shooting into areas they thought might contain advancing sappers. A man ahead and to Tui's left hit a trip wire which pulled a flare instantly illuminating his area. Looking away to protect his night vision, Buey Dan pulled Tui to the ground as a hail of fire swept the area from an observation tower. He heard the scream and gurgle of the sapper who tripped the flare as the defenders poured a volume of fire at what was, finally, a visible target.
"Off this way," Buey Dan said pushing Tui to crawl away from the light. Once out of the circle of flare light, he stood and pulled her up. "Hurry. Run." Tui looked confused. She had lost her count.
"Bunker Seven,” Buey Dan said, punching her arm, then pointing. "That way." Tui started again, looking wobbly and frail.
Two sappers in front of her were appointed to blast a path in the secondary defense zone. She had fallen behind so was saved when one tripped a Fire Drum that coughed and belched a horrendous shower of flaming detritus through the air, covering several sappers, while the 700 steel balls from the Claymore whistled low and deadly, scything down two VC outside the flaming arc. The screams of the burning men subsided quickly as the flaming material was sucked into their throats and lungs. Tui and Buey Dan ran over the wounded and dead through the low flames.
Dodging and feinting, Tui's mantra was useless now. They passed through the secondary defense line, and surprised a sentry who was running with his dog to a guard post. Buey Dan twitched his finger on his AK-47 sending three rounds into the young man's chest. They emerged from his back in a welter of blood and splintered spinal column bones. He was dead before he dropped his rifle and flopped to the ground. The German Shepherd emitted a screaming snarl and leaped at Tui, who was closest. His leash was still wound around his dead handler's wrist so that the dog flipped upside down from the momentum of his lunge. Scrambling to his feet, he dug his paws in to lunge again at Tui. He scrabbled from side to side, like a sled dog in harness, towing his master's inert body by its outstretched arm that pointed at the dog with each sideways lunge. Buey Dan gut shot the crazed animal as he and Tui ran by.
Air Policemen in guard posts beside the fuel and ammo dumps triggered their Totem Poles lighting up their area brighter than the sun at high noon. The brilliant white light from the burning magnesium aerial flares overpowered natural color to illuminate the scene in stark black and white. Sentries fought to hold back their snarling dogs which had become so frenzied by all the noise and rush of battle they were foaming at the mouth and crazy to attack. One broke loose to dash out and sink his teeth into the throat of an attacker who had been momentarily blinded by the burning white light. Both dog and VC died along with two other attackers as withering fire from two well-placed M-60 machine guns swept into them, hammering into their bodies long after they fell.
Buey Dan could tell by the sounds of firing and lack of satchel explosions that the attack was being badly blunted. He instinctively measured the distinctly heavier volume of fire of the American M-16 against the sporadic noise of the Soviet AK-47. He had heard only two of the peculiar blatting/ripping sounds of satchel charges going off when he should have heard 9 or 10. The helicopter pad holding the Huey gunships of the American Army's 12th Aviation Group should have been hit by now. Instead, Buey Dan heard the sound of their turbine engines spooling up which meant the gunships would soon be in the air.
In the confusion he lost Tui but kept on course toward his target, Bunker Six, known to be a place for pilots to seek shelter. Buey Dan had often tried to convince his superiors it was more important to kill pilots than to destroy airplanes that were so easily replaced. He dodged around an abandoned jeep that was in flames, and slid into a drainage ditch barely 50 yards from Bunker Six.
As Buey Dan cautiously rose up and peered over the lip of the ditch, he spotted the outline of a man on top of the bunker positioned behind a shoulder weapon of some kind. While he watched, another man came out of the bunker and climbed the sandbags to the top.
"Get your head down, kid," Wolf Lochert growled at Toby Parker as the young lieutenant climbed up next to him.
"How's it going inside?" Wolf asked, his eyes sweeping the area in front of the bunker.
Toby told him about the bandaging of Nancy Lewis then asked Wolf what he could do to help.
"See that fuzzy line down there in the dark?" the Wolf said indicating the drainage ditch where Buey Dan lay. "Keep an eye on it. Look sideways. Watch for movement. It's the closest cover in the attack direction."
Parker said he would then almost went straight up in the air when a voice behind them at the base of the bunker spoke.
"Hello up there, Bunker Six. We're two APs on bunker defense. Take it easy, we're climbing up."
The two men, both with M-16s, one with a Prick 25 radio, squirmed into position on either side of Wolf and Toby. The leader, a buck sergeant, eyed Wolf and his M-16.
"You know how to use that thing, Sir?" he asked, thinking Wolf was a pilot untrained in such low-caliber plebeian things. As he spoke, an overhead flare popped from Spooky gunship which had just arrived on station over the air base.
The Wolf turned his head toward the buck who drew back slightly when he saw Wolf's toothy leer and tiger suit.
"Yes, Sir,' the buck stammered, "I guess you do," and turned to face the direction of attack. At that point, he didn't feel like telling the unarmed lieutenant to go below.
The unarmed lieutenant was staring fixedly at an object in the shadows to one side. He thought it had moved. He knew it couldn't be a VC because it was between Bunkers Six and Seven. Maybe, Toby thought to himself, it's merely someone caught out, perhaps even wounded. Then, motivated from somewhere deep, he had a vision of his rushing out to save whoever it was. He rolled past the Air Policeman to his left, and jumped to the entrance pit of the bunker.
"Must be going inside," the Wolf muttered.
Instead, Toby leaped over the low sandbag retaining wall to make a dash to whoever was down. Just at that time, the downed figure jumped up and ran in a kind of sideways lope toward Toby and the bunker. Toby skidded to a halt.
"Don't shoot," he yelled back to the men on top, "it might be
somebody wounded."
His cry held up the three guns that swung to the sudden target long enough for the running figure to get within thirty feet of Toby, close enough for him to recognize the advancing figure.
"Tui," he cried. He took a half step toward her, not really seeing the black pajamas and the khaki straps of the satchel charge. Her right hand was across her body grasping the wooden ball of the detonating lanyard as she had been taught. She had lost her floppy hat. The left side of her thick black hair was streaming behind her, the other had swung forward to lay under her chin and over her shoulder framing her expressionless face.
Tui ran toward Toby, faster and faster. Her eyes came alive and truly focused on him for the first time. Her thin mouth started to smile. She released the ball and stretched both arms out to Toby.
"Tow-bee, Tow-bee," she cried a split second before the three M-16s from atop the bunker opened up and pummeled her frail body backwards in a rubber-legged dance until she collapsed in a crumpled mound of black.
Buey Dan saw his chance as all the attention from atop Bunker Six was focused to the side on Tui. He leapt to his feet and ran to within ten yards of the bunker. Dropping his AK, he unslung his satchel charge, pulled the lanyard, and pitched the explosive into the mouth of the bunker. Continuing through in the same pitching motion he whirled, snatched up his AK, and ran back to the ditch. He had gotten close enough to recognize the awful face of the mui lo who had killed his son. He felt some satisfaction knowing he would soon see him die in a volcano of flame and concussion.
The three men on the roof, shocked at seeing Tui's shattered body, did not notice the khaki satchel slung through the air behind them. Wolf was the first to recognize the soft thump as it fell inside. He knew with dreadful certainty what it was.
Before he could react, a figure carrying the satchel charge burst from the bunker at a dead run and nearly made it to the ditch before evaporating in a round red explosion that made a three-foot crater oozing yellow smoke.
Overhead Spooky's miniguns moaned and flicked through the enemy positions.
