“You’re right. Let the rich motherfuckers pay at least. Seeing’s the poor folk are fighting the war for them.” arnason was bitter.
Warner ignored the comment. He agreed with the sergeant, even though he was from an extremely wealthy family; he was a rare case in Vietnam.
“The chief would like for you to drink first.” The Sedang interpreter held the long bamboo straw over to the sergeant. There was no way to cheat when drinking from the huge ten-gallon community bowl because a piece of bamboo had been laid across the open top of the jar and a spur from the bamboo had been bent down into the milky liquid. Each person drank from his straw until the tip of the bamboo spur was out of the rice wine, and then the jug was filled to the top again and another person drank using his straw. At any given time there were a dozen straws in the jug at once, but only one person drinking at a time.
Arnason finished drinking and sucked in a deep breath of air. “Whew!”
The Montagnards laughed and slapped their bare legs. The Americans were funny. The chief nodded in approval of Arnason’s prowess and drank from his straw.
Sergeant Arnason waited until all the men sitting around the clay jug had taken a turn drinking the rice wine before removing his treasured custom-made Randall survival knife from his ammunition belt. He took his time removing the blackened blade from its leather sheath. The Montagnard warriors sitting around the wine jug were impressed whenarnason showed them how sharp the blade was by shaving some hair off the back of his forearm, but when he removed the cap from the handle of the knife and removed the matches and fishing line complete with hooks, the chief’s eyes lit up.
Arnason slipped the blade back into its sheath and handed it to the old man. He spoke to his interpreter. “Tell the chief that the knife was made by a man in my country who is famous for making knives. Tell him also that the knife can be turned into a spear by putting a bamboo shaft in the handle.”
The interpreter spoke rapidly to the chief and poked with his hands as if he were using a spear. The old man laughed and nodded.
“He is very pleased with your gift.”
The Sedan Montagnard nodded in approval and added, “Montagnard people like knives.”
David Woods saw the look of envy in the young chief’s eyes and did one of the smartest things he could have done. He removed his Randall knife off his web gear and handed it to the young chief. The knives were both survival models, except Woods’s knife had a stainless steel blade.
The young chief grinned, showing all his stained teeth, and spoke rapidly to one of his warriors, who then disappeared into one of the longhouses.
Arnason lifted the claymore up in the air so that everyone sitting on the porch could see it. “Ask the chief if his warriors know how to use this.”
“He say yes. Many of his people have been soldiers with the CIDG camps in Vietnam.”
“Good. We’ve brought nine of them with us that he can have.” arnason nodded. A claymore ambush in the jungle was a deadly thing.
“Chief say for you to drink more num-pah.”
Arnason nodded and leaned over to take his straw. He saw a bug floating on top of the white liquid and started drinking. He could feel a buzz start in the back of his head and was thankful that he had thought ahead and taken a handful of pills that included aspirin and no-shit tablets.
The Montagnard warrior returned carrying a small handwoven cloth in both hands. He took a seat next to the young chief and waited until the leader reached over and took the package. All the warriors drank from the jar before the young chief whispered to his father and the old man raised his hand for everyone to be quiet. Many of the villagers had been watching the drinking party from the shadows.
“What’s going on?” Arnason’s voice was becoming thick.
“Shit… you’ve got me.” Sanchez was already drunk.
“Man… this wine goes right to your head.” Warner was feeling the effects worse than Sanchez.
The chief started talking rapidly in Montagnard and kept patting the cloth package. He spoke for a good five minutes and then opened the top of the cloth and removed a thick metal bracelet. He held it in the air for everyone to see, and all the Montagnards gasped in awe, including the Sedang interpreter. The old chief presented the bracelet to Sergeant Arnason.
“Thank you, Chief.” arnason nodded and smiled.
The young chief removed another bracelet from the cloth and presented it to David Woods, who thanked him and blushed.
The interpreter remained silent. He was shocked over what had just occurred. The young chief removed three more bracelets from the cloth and presented the rest of the team with Bru friendship bracelets.
The wine flowed until way past midnight.arnason and all of his team, with the exception of Koski, were very drunk. The Montagnards had not been offended by Koski’s refusal to drink; they realized that a war was going on and some of the warriors had to be able to fight in case of a surprise attack.
Koski started carrying the Americans back to the long-house in the bright moonlight that filtered through the overhanging trees. He didn’t waste time putting them inside but dropped each of them on the porch. As soon as Warner closed his eyes he threw up. Sanchez heard Warner and threw up next to him over the edge of the raised platform. It was good that they were so drunk they didn’t see the village dogs eating their vomit.
It was the hot rays from the morning sun that finally forcedarnason to roll over and groan.
“You should be getting up, Sergeant.” Koski’s voice sounded like cannons in Arnason’s ears.
“Oh… ugh!” arnason tried swallowing but the stomach acids from his vomit had burned his throat.
“There’s a stream nearby where you can wash up.” Koski helpedarnason to his feet.
“Never again... ever!” arnason forced out the words. “I don’t give a fuck if it insults the whole Asian nation!”
Koski glanced over and saw Woods blink. “Let’s go. Time to get your sorry asses moving!” Warner rolled over onto his side and then quickly crab-walked to the edge of the porch to gag.
Koski supported Arnason as they walked across the open area between the longhouses. Some of the villagers looked up, but most of them ignored the drunk Americans. They all knew that num-pah was very powerful stuff. Koski loweredarnason next to the narrow stream and turned to go back and get another of his teammates. Woods and Sanchez were staggering across the clearing. Koski stepped aside and let them pass. He grinned and was very glad that he had not taken part in the rice wine. Warner was lying flat on his back when Koski returned to the porch.
“Let’s go, party boy.” Koski chuckled. “Don’t they teach people in Bloomfield Hills how to drink?”
“Fuck you, Koski! You Hamtramck Polacks are given beer in your baby bottles!” Warner tried opening his eyes and groaned. “Oh… I’m going to fucking die… am I fucking drunk!”
“Come on, the cold water down in the stream will do you good.”
“Koski, I can’t fucking move.... I mean it. If I move, I’ll die!”
Koski reached over and grabbed Warner’s arm. He pulled him across the porch until he could get a good grip on him and then threw him over his shoulder.
“Oh! Please!”
“Shut up!” Koski carried Warner gently to the stream and set him down.arnason had removed all his clothes and was stretched out on his back in the shallow water. Woods and Sanchez were splashing water on their heads. Warner looked at his teammates and then staggered out into the center of the waterway and sat down. The ice-cold mountain stream felt so good that Warner lay back in it and let the fast-moving water rush around his throbbing head.
Koski returned to the longhouse and gathered the team’s gear together on the porch. He looked around for the Sedang interpreter and saw him exit one of the communal houses where he had spent the night with one of the younger girls. Koski carried the team’s weapons and web gear down to the stream.arnason was getting dressed and Sanchez and Woods had joined Warner in the
center of the cold stream. A group of Montagnard boys had gathered on the bank and watched as the crazy Americans tried sobering up.
“How are you feeling, Sarge?” Koski askedarnason.
“Better… but I still don’t think I’m alive.”
“That’s a nice bracelet you got last night.” Koski pointed toarnason’s wrist.
“You got one too, didn’t you?”
“Sure, but mine is made out of brass.... Yours is gold.”
Arnason lifted his arm and looked at the intricately carved pencil-thick gold bracelet. “Holy… ! I didn’t even notice last night!” arnason turned the band on his arm and admired the chain of elephants, tigers, and monkeys that encircled the gold friendship band.
“Woods got a gold one too. I think they’re very special.” Koski nodded over at Woods, who was still too drunk to notice the gold band on his wrist.
“It is a great honor to have a Bru armband made from yellow metal.” The interpreter had joined them by the stream. “An Bru people will protect you and you will never go without food and protection in the jungle.”
“Why Woods and me?”
“You gave the chiefs some very good gifts and their honor was at stake. Actually, it was one of the smartest moves that you could make with them. They were very scared about bringing Americans into their village.”
Arnason’s thoughts went to the time and he looked down at his watch. “We have three and a half hours to set up a drop zone.” arnason changed the subject from the gold bracelets to the task at hand. “Have the Bru selected a site for the air drop?”
“Yes. Chief’s son will take us there when you are ready.” The Sedang interpreter pointed back to the chief’s longhouse, where the young chief waited in the shade of his porch.
“Is he sober already?”
The interpreter shrugged. It didn’t matter if he was sober, as long as he could take them to the selected site for the air drop of weapons and ammunition.
“Let’s get our stuff together. We’ve got to move out in an hour!” arnason yelled at his teammates in the water.
Code words had been prearranged back at the First Cavalry Division Headquarters for the air drops, and the bundles of weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, and canned foods had all been rigged before the recon team had left the base area. All that was needed was forarnason to signal the forward air controller and give the grid coordinates for the drop zone and the time.
Pain ripped along the base of Warner’s skull with every step he took. It was extremely difficult to concentrate on the trail. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed the vial that contained powerful pain pills that were supposed to be taken only in the event of serious gunshot wounds and they couldn’t be airlifted quickly by medevac. Warner figured the pain in his head was as bad as any gunshot could be and took two of the pills. Woods saw Warner take the pills and held out his hand. Anything was better than suffering from the rice-wine hangover, even getting shot.
The Montagnard guides stopped walking a couple of hours after noon and spoke to the interpreter.
Arnason waited in the shade of a large wild banana tree while the Montagnards discussed where the drop should take place. The interpreter joined Arnason after a couple of minutes.
“Bru say there is an old sweet-potato field on the other side of this mountain that would be very good for airplanes to see.”
“You don’t sound too happy with that idea.” Arnason detected a slight hesitation in the Yard’s voice.
“NVA sometimes watch the field for American helicopters that leave American soldiers jump out and then fly away.”
Arnason figured he was referring to special recon teams of Special Forces men. “Do they think there are NVA watching the potato field now?”
“Yes. There are two NVA soldiers watching from a corner of the field and they have a…” The interpreter held his hand to his ear.
“Radio?” arnason guessed.
“No.”
“Telephone?”
“Yes!” The Sedang interpreter smiled.
“Do the Bru know exactly where the NVA are?”
The interpreter nodded.
“Good. Show me…” arnason tapped Woods’s shoulder and nodded for him to come with him. “The rest of you stay here and wait for us to come back.”
“Where are you going?” Warner whispered.
“To check out the drop zone.” Arnason pointed at a thick grove of young mahogany trees. “Wait there for us.”
One of the Bru warriors guidedarnason and Woods to the far side of the large sweet-potato field that was overgrown with elephant grass and clumps of sweet potatoes growing wild. The sound of wild pigs rooting in the field echoed across the open ground to the Americans. The Bru warrior paused and then pointed to a dark corner of the field that was surrounded by thick jungle.arnason guessed that was where the NVA had their observation post. He nodded and pointed, indicating that he wanted to go there. The Bru warrior grinned and started moving slowly in that direction around the edge of the field. Pig runs were cut from the jungle to the field every few meters, and for the better part of the way the three of them could use the narrow paths to walk on and not have to break through the thick bamboo and grass surrounding the field.
It took them over two hours to circumvent the field, and they nearly stepped out into the open before the Montagnard grabbedarnason and stopped him. A soft sound of a hammock creaking caught Woods’s ear and he lowered himself to the ground. The roof of an old longhouse stuck up above the tall grass. The NVA scouts were using the old abandoned Montagnard village as their observation site. Arnason wished that he had kept his knife until after the mission was over. He had to rely on his silenced .22 caliber pistol. Woods removed his pistol from its holster. The Montagnards had said that there were two men on guard.
Arnason started moving forward slowly and the Yard stopped him again and pointed to his right. The Bru was obviously familiar with the old village. He took the lead and skirted around the buildings so that they approached the last longhouse next to the jungle from a line in the shadows of the tall jungle trees.
Woods heard the NVA snoring before he saw him sleeping in the hammock. The second NVA soldier couldn’t be seen.arnason and Woods waited and listened.
A voice came from inside the hooch. The repetition of the same phrase toldarnason that the second NVA was talking to someone over the telephone and there was a bad connection.
Wood slipped the safety off his pistol and covered the sleeping NVA in the hammock whilearnason went around the hooch and located a window with the bamboo mat shutter propped open by a bamboo pole.arnason didn’t hesitate when he saw the back of the NVA soldier’s head through the window. He fired. The small .22 caliber round penetrated the back of the soldier’s head. The telephone dropped to the floor.
The NVA in the hammock raised his head and looked into the dark doorway of the hooch. He spoke and waited for a response. A jungle bird called to its mate, filling the silence. The soldier reached over for his SKS rifle and dropped his feet to the ground out of his hammock. Woods’s pistol hissed and the NVA soldier dropped back in the hammock, dead.
Arnason stepped around the side of the building and up onto the porch. “Keep a lookout for any other gooks....” He slipped through the doorway into the dark room. The NVA telephone operator lay slumped over his makeshift desk. Cooking utensils hung from pegs in the bamboo support poles along the wall.arnason noticed that there were only two bedrolls on the floor and one AK-47 leaning next to the desk. He was sure that there had been only two guards.
“It’s clear outside,” Woods whispered from the doorway.
Arnason held his finger to his lips and pointed at the telephone receiver dangling from its cord. He stepped back out into the light and walked a couple of meters away from the building before talking. “Let’s get back and call in the air drop. I don’t know how much time we have before they send someone out here to check the guards or fix the telephone line.”
The Montagnard party waited around the perimeter of the sweet-potato field, camouflaged perfectly by the jungle. A small group of Bru warriors covered the trail that led to the old village from the NVA base area farther west. It had taken only an hour to assemble the Bru for the air drop and the flight time from the American base was less than thirty minutes. The sound of the small FAC aircraft passed over the potato field and banked to the south where the L-19 pilot flew in a racetrack pattern and guided in the large C-130 aircraft for the air drop.
Woods watched the large pallets hit the ground in the tall grass of the potato field. A small herd of wild pigs squealed and raced off for cover in the jungle.
Koski was the first one out on the field and hacked through the nylon retainer straps with his machete. The pallets had been assembled with a dozen man-sized loads on each one. The riggers were good at what they did. Koski handed a pack to each of the Bru warriors, and it took only a couple of seconds for one of the Americans to make minor adjustments on each of the backpack straps before the warriors disappeared into the jungle with the supplies.
Arnason was impressed with the efficiency of the Bru warriors. It had taken them less than twenty minutes to clear the drop zone of the supplies and hide the parachutes in the jungle.
The crack of a rifle alerted the team that the Bru guarding the trail from the NVA base area had made contact with an enemy force. Within seconds the jungle erupted with small-arms fire and RPG rounds exploding against trees. The Bru fought the NVA only long enough to give the DZ party time to escape, and then they melted away in the jungle. The NVA commander found his trail watchers dead and he had nothing to show for his efforts.
The Bru moved fast through the jungle. Warner noticed that they were taking trails around the hidden village and heading toward a mass of rocks that jutted up from the jungle floor over a thousand meters into the air. The rocks were laced with caves that were almost impossible to locate unless you had a division of men and months to search.
Court Martial Page 8
