The doctor walked back into the emergency room, followed by the orderly. "Is he out?"
The orderly opened Wade's eyelid with his thumb. "Yes, sir. But it looks like he's been crying."
The doctor merely glanced at the tears on the young sergeant's face as he pulled on his surgical gloves. "Get me a probe ready.''
Chapter 3
3 September
An Lou Mountains Fifteen kilometers north of LZ English
The hidden NVA machine gun chattered and spit out a deadly tongue of blue flame as it made another sweeping burst.
Lieutenant John Dalton Gibson lay waiting to die on a jungle trail fifteen feet from the gun. He pressed himself closer to the ground, trying to will his body to dissolve into the protective earth. His rigid frame jerked involuntarily at the sound of each burst, anticipating the impact of the bullets. He knew it was just a matter of time before the gunner raked him to make , sure he was dead.
A small rivulet of blood trickled down the incline of the trail and backed up against his cheek. The riddled body of Harris, the point man, lay sprawled on the path only four feet in front of him. The blood was his.
Gibson opened his eyes when he felt the warm stickiness on his face and shuddered in revulsion. He wanted to scream and vomit, but he did neither. His survival instinct prevailed. He remained motionless.
His platoon had been ordered earlier that morning to secure a jungle-covered hilltop. They'd walked along a small trail up a ridge toward their objective. Gibson had halted his men only two minutes before and had motioned Harris to check out the crest of a hill twenty-five meters ahead. Harris, a lanky Texan, had taken only ten steps, then froze. Gibson had crept forward cautiously to see what die problem was when the hidden machine gun opened up. Harris was hit in the chest and was knocked backward violently. He died before hitting the hard clay of the trail. Gibson had seen the blue-orange flame in the split second he'd thrown himself to the ground. The gun was in a bunker just off the trail ahead of Harris.
Gibson couldn't stand the smell of the blood any longer and chanced shifting his head. He lifted up only slightly and immediately felt a surge of hope. He saw that he was in a slight depression, a dead space the gunner couldn't see. Gibson looked behind him to spot his men just as the gunner fired another burst. The bullets cracked only inches over his head and made impact with splintering thuds into the felled tree behind which his first squad lay huddled. The rest of his men were hidden behind trees and rocks farther back along the trail. They were all pinned down.
Gibson's feeling of hope again turned to one of helplessness as he realized he couldn't crawl back to his men without being exposed. It was at least ten feet to the log, with no cover in between. He waited until the machine gun quit firing and barked to his platoon sergeant: "Sampson!"
"L-tee?" came back in a surprised voice from behind the log. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Can the third squad move around to the right and try and flank 'em?"
'They already tried, sir, and Botkins was hit. We can't move."
Gibson felt defeated. They were out of range for artillery support, and the left side of the ridge was too steep for maneuvering. There were no options left except. . . Damn, he'd been trained to do it but . . . shit! "Sampson, I'm gonna rush the bunker. Throw something to your left to draw the dink's attention. I'm gonna toss a grenade and try and get behind them. When you hear me yell, come running quick!"
"Are you sure, sir?"
"Hell no, I'm not sure, but it's all we got. Throw something in thirty seconds."
Shaking horribly, Gibson took off his rucksack and pulled a grenade from his web belt. He had to concentrate on one thing at a time. He pushed the selector on his M-16 from safe to semi and drew his leg up, readying himself to rise and throw the grenade. Damn! The grenade! He hadn't pulled the pin yet.
Sergeant Sampson was going to toss his helmet for distraction but realized it wouldn't be enough. He decided instead to give the NVA gunner a live target. He picked out a large tree ten feet to his right and hopped to his feet in a dead run.
The gunner swung his barrel and fired at the fleeing taiget. The bullets followed the sergeant like mad hornets. Sampson hit the ground and rolled behind the protective tree as hot lead stitched the air where he had been.
Gibson tossed the grenade, fell to the ground, and grabbed for his weapon. The grenade hit three feet in front of the bunker's firing portal and lay for several seconds before disintegrating in a vehement blast.
Gibson jumped to his feet and ran up the hill toward the billowing cloud of debris, praying the gunner couldn't see him. He ran as fast as he could but felt as if his body was in slow motion. He hurdled two fallen logs and sprinted the last ten meters of open ground before diving into the grass to the right of the bunker, out of view of the gunner. He lay on his stomach, his chest heaving and his muscles loose as rubber. He should have been elated, but he only felt sick. There was no small tunnel entrance at the back of the bunker, as he'd expected. Instead, he found himself laying on the edge of an extensive trench system.
Gibson fought back the sour bile pushing up his throat. The trench meant he faced a helluva lot more than a couple of dinks and a machine gun. Shit, what have I gotten myself into? he thought, as he slowly raised his head and peered into the six-foot- deep trench that zigzagged around the contour of the hill. To his right, the bunker was dug into the side of the trench and covered with a mound of dirt expertly camouflaged with growing plants and grass. Suddenly, the machine gun opened up. Its sound was muffled within the bunker but still it startled him.
"Oh God," Gibson whispered to himself, tiying to control his shaking. The smell of gunsmoke and freshly dug soil filled his nostrils as he lowered himself into the trench and edged along the near wall toward the bunker's entrance. He stopped just short of the small opening and took the last grenade from his belt. Without hesitation he pulled the pin and let the spoon fly. He held the primed grenade for two seconds, then tossed it in and fell back against the wall. The explosion threw him forward as red dirt tumbled down all around him, but he kept his feet and ran firing into the dust-filled bunker. Two dark shapes lay silhouetted in a heap in front of a small firing portal. He held his breath and fired at the bodies; the sound was deafening within the small confines. Then dust overcame him, and he began choking. He threw himself toward the entrance for precious air. He sucked in a deep breath and raised his head to yell for his platoon. His mouth had just formed the words when six feet away two NVA ran around the corner of the trench. Gibson raised his weapon in a single motion and fired from the hip. The first surprised soldier took another step, seemingly unhurt, then suddenly doubled up as if hit in the solar plexus. The bullet had passed through his stomach and blown out his back to strike the second soldier in the side. Gibson fired twice more, this time aiming. Both men suffered for only milliseconds before their heads jerked back in instant peace.
Gibson tried to yell out with confidence, but his voice failed him and he squealed like a desperate child: "Help meeee!"
A hand appeared from around the corner of the trench. Gibson jerked his M-16 up but the hand was gone. An object fell directly at his feet. A Chicom grenade! Gibson fell back into the bunker entrance and rolled just as the bamboo-handled device exploded. He jumped to his feet, knowing that whoever threw the grenade would be coming. He ran out into the trench just as a small North Vietnamese rushed around the corner, firing his AK-47. Bullets cracked by Gibson's ear as he pulled the trigger. The soldier fell like a rag doll as the top right part of his head blew back and splattered the dirt wall. A bloodcurdling scream killed the silence, and a second NVA charged around the trench corner. Gibson pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. He was out of ammunition.
The soldier fired wildly and pitched forward, tripped by his dead comrades. Gibson lunged and rammed his rifle barrel into the man's back. The soldier grunted and spun around, grabbing for Gibson's throat. The lieutenant jerked the weapon up and viciously slammed the butt
into the soldier's face. The sickening, bone-crunching thud wasn't heard by Gibson as he screamed crazily and struck the smashed face again and again.
A hand reached out and grabbed the lieutenant's shoulder. Gibson spun around with the bloody weapon, ready to kill his attacker, but met the stare of Sergeant Sampson. The sergeant looked into the dirt- and blood-streaked face of the young officer and spoke gently. "He's dead, L-tee."
Phcm Thiet Third Platoon Base Camp
Russian was sitting on his cot, patting a small, yellow dog, when Rose walked into the laige tent and tossed his shaving bag over to his bunk.
"Russian, my man, the shower is most def-initely what's hap- pen in'. You and Bitch looks like you could use a cleanin', too."
The Czech looked up from Bitch and sniffed the air. "You smell like a woman, Rose."
Rose laughed with his usual deep chortle and put his wrist to his nose. "This is Essence of Horny. The Phan Thiet ladies most def-initely can't resist it. The Rose is gonna profile and get him some prime toooonight!"
Russian grunted and lay back on his cot, still patting his dog.
"Come on, old man. You come with us tonight. The Rose will find ya an old blind chick that don't mind makin' it with hairy, foreign dudes like you."
Thumper strode into the tent with an olive drab towel draped around his thick neck.
Rose motioned toward Russian as the big, bare-chested soldier walked by him. "Thump, the ol' dude needs to get laid, man. I've been rappin', tryin' to explain to him there's sweet thangs out there just dyin' for our love and a-feck-shun!''
Thumper brushed past Rose with a smile. "Yeah, and they want our mon-nay!" He sat on his cot and picked up his fatigue shirt.
"Russian, I talked to Sergeant Gino at morning chow. He's still pissed that you threatened an orderly last night. You'd better come with Rose and me this afternoon when we go downtown so that Gino don't put you on detail."
Russian raised up to a sitting position. "The orderly, he is imbecile. He the one who make the trouble. He should let me see my sergeant when I ask."
Rose grinned knowingly at the Czech. "Yeah, and I bet you asked reeeeal nice, too."
Russian glared back, looking as if to kill.
Thumper walked over quickly and stood between the two men, trying not to laugh. "Russian, Lieutenant Dickey wants to see me at the TOC. When I get back, we'll go by and see Matt, then hit the town and get us some real food. Whaddaya say?"
Russian's harsh glare dissolved. "Yes, I go, but keep the crazy one away from me."
Rose looked around from behind Thumper. "Looky who callin' me crazy. You da one the medics wanted to lock up, man!
Russian began to spring up, but Thumper put his hand on the Czech's shoulder and spoke softly. "It's all right, Carl. Rose is just pulling your chain.''
Russian pointed his finger at the black soldier's smiling face. "One day I going to pull his head."
Rose began strutting back to his cot. "Well allll right, we going to town and find us some sweet thangs tonight. We gonna rock 'n' roll and make 'em scream with delight."
Thumper exchanged glances with Russian and both men shook their heads.
Nha Trang Corps Headquarters
When Lieutenant Colonel Robert Ellis, Corps G-2, intelligence officer, walked into the large office, a young major wearing camouflage fatigues immediately rose to his feet.
Colonel Jeffries, Corps G-3, operations officer, remained seated behind a desk and motioned toward the tall major: "Colonel Ellis, meet Ed Shane, commander of Sierra Rangers. He's just flown in from Da Lat."
Ellis shook Shane's hand warmly. "Good to meet you, Ed. Your men have done a great job getting me information."
The G-3 gestured to a nearby chair as he began to speak.4 'Bob, the major has requested you be present to hear about some problems he's having. He hopes that between the two of us, we can help him. Go ahead now and brief us, Major."
Shane explained the personnel situation and the problems with the split company. When he finished, Colonel Ellis exchanged glances with the G-3 and sighed.
"Well, I'd say the Rangers's problems are our problems," Ellis said. "The personnel situation is going to be sticky because we have to work through the G-l, Colonel Rite. Rite is a pompous ass, but based on what Shane has told me I think we can arrange things. The company being split is easy to fix. I suggest that Major Shane move his entire company to An Khe, his permanent camp, and begin a comprehensive training program just as he requests."
The G-3 nodded in agreement and turned to Shane.
"How long would this program of yours take if you received replacements in . . . let's say two days?"
Shane could hardly contain his joy as he answered. "Three weeks, sir, maybe four, depending on the quality of veteran replacements."
The G-3 stood and walked around the desk. "Ed, you start your company moving back to An Khe as soon as possible. Go down and see my air transport officer and tell him what you need in air support. You come back day after tomorrow and we'll brief the general on what's happening."
Shane shook hands with the two officers, thanking them, and left the office.
The G-3 shook his head. "Okay," he said to Ellis, "how are we going to get around Rite and the general?"
Ellis smiled confidently. "Don't worry about Rite. I'll scare him a little. The general is a different story. Getting Wayland to eat cake requires icing . . . and I think I know what icing he likes." His smile vanished. "But I'm going to need your help. The information I received from Phan Thiet yesterday matches with what my people have pieced together, but it's going to take the Rangers to confirm it. Shane was right-the Rangers have got to be in top condition to do the job."
The G-3's eyebrows lifted. "And what job is that?"
Ellis stared at a wall map across the room. "They're going to find the NVA's Second Division that is consolidating northwest of Phan Thiet." He broke his eyes from the map and fixed them on the colonel. "And that division is co-located with the commander of all Commmunist forces in South Vietnam, General Binh iy Due."
Lieutenant Colonel Sy stood at a trail intersection and raised his canteen to his parched lips. Behind him, resting along the twisting jungle trail, were the men of the Second Company of the Thirty-third Regiment, the men who had ambushed the Yankee armor column two days before.
Sy swallowed two gulps of tepid water and lowered the tin water bottle. Standing in front of him, staring with hate-filled eyes, was the Second Company's commander, Captain Trung. Sy knew the captain considered him a higher headquarters meddler and that he had caused the death of the stay-behind platoon. He avoided the angry eyes and sat down facing away from him. In a few minutes he wouldn't have to endure the looks any longer. The captain and his company would be taking the eastern trail and marching to a natural mountain fortress to rejoin the Thirty- third Regiment. The captain would go never knowing that the general himself had planned the operation as a ploy to divert attention, and had sent him, Sy, the general's special staff officer, to oversee the operation. The general knew a company commander would not understand the greater purpose of the sacrifice and would not have left men to die.
When Sy saw the senior sergeant approaching with a young private, he knew his wait was over.
Captain Trung stepped in front of the young colonel and glared at him with disdain. "Here is your escort," he said sarcastically. "You requested a squad, but the squad you would have had you left in the bunkers days ago. Private Nuu is all I can spare."
Colonel Sy stood up, disregarding the captain's lack of respect, and smiled faintly as he looked into the questioning and hurt eyes of Private Nuu. They were still red from crying. He obviously didn't want to leave his unit.
Sy hefted his pack to his shoulder. He felt sorry for the boy, but it was a long journey back to headquarters, and Sy needed him. Sy picked up his AK-47. There was no need to say anymore to the captain. The man would never understand. Sy simply pointed to the western trail and motioned Nuu to lead the w
ay.
Captain Trung and the senior sergeant watched the two men until they disappeared from view. The sergeant shook his head with disgust. "Liberation Headquarters is a greater enemy than the Americans."
Captain Trung stared down the empty trail and spoke almost in a whisper. "Perhaps, but I know this: One day there will be a day of reckoning for those who killed their own."
The sergeant nodded in silence. He hoped he would be there on that day. He hoped he would be the one who pulled the trigger.
Phan Thiet Third Platoon Base Camp
Lieutenant Marvin Dickey dropped his salute and motioned for Thumper to sit by his desk.
"Specialist Meeks, I'm very impressed by your performance. I've been reading your file, and I see you have been awarded two Silver Stars. The citations make you out as quite a hero."
the Last Run (1987) Page 4
