Brilliant flashes of light were followed by clouds of smoke and mud. A ChiCom exploded. Then another satchel charge overwhelmed the smallish ChiCom explosion. Then three more ChiComs, one right after another.
Our riflemen couldn’t fire, for fear of hitting the pinned-down squad between us and the enemy. I jumped to my feet, ran twenty meters into the open graveyard, and stood on top of one of the round grave mounds. Now I could fire without hitting the squad. Before I pulled the trigger, Chan opened up from the other end of the tree line. His orange tracers pinpointed him. Immediately all three enemy guns shifted their fire from the squad to Chan. Firing from the hip, I opened up on the closest stream of green tracers. The constant recoil of the long burst of fire supported the barrel of the M60 with little help from me. The incredible weapon was perfectly balanced. I guided my tracers into the nearest enemy machine gun. His green tracers shot up, high into the dark rainy sky, then ceased. A hit! I knew it. I saw tracers sweeping toward me. My gun stopped. “Ammo!” I screamed and looked around for Rodgers. He was still behind the trees. Suddenly my feet kicked out from under me. I was laying on my face. I felt stunned but I knew I wasn’t hit. A moment later someone pulled me by my feet back behind the mound. Rodgers! I started to thank him but didn’t. It was his fault I was out of ammo.
Bullets thudded into the small mound. More bullets churned up mud on both sides of us. We huddled against the grave and each other trying to pull in arms and legs behind the precious dirt. The graves were made in the shape of a woman’s womb, because the Vietnamese figure that’s where you start so that’s where you finish. I wanted to crawl back in right now.
The firing stopped. We waited a few seconds. I peeked over the mound. Small clouds of sulphurous gunpowder hovered above, but no flashes.
“Let’s go!” I grabbed the gun and darted for the cover of the tree line. Rodgers ran past me like I was standing still. My foot felt odd but I didn’t dare look down. We dove behind the end tree. I checked my right boot.
“Look at that!” I said, and I pointed at the sole. The heel had a bullet hole clean through.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Man, you’re lucky you still have a foot!”
The sound of a blooper gun echoed from our right flank. Two quick explosions cracked behind us like lightning, followed immediately by two more much closer. Another bloop. Ten yards behind us mud and shrapnel shot out of the ground.
“Incoming!” a voice on our right screamed. “The gook’s got a blooper!”
I turned right with the M60. Three Marines were in my field of fire, already shooting into the bush to our right.
“Ammo!” I shouted at Rodgers, angry that he hadn’t already started loading the gun and wishing for Chan.
“Pull back! Pull back!”
“Did you hear that?” Rodgers tugged on my shoulder. The monsoon rain started pelting us like drops of cement. The Marines firing at the blooper vanished in the deluge.
“Pull back!” Someone was pulling at my pack. I looked up. Corporal James shouted down, “Pull back! Pull back to the lieutenant!” The rain pounded loudly into the ground, nearly smothering his shouts.
“We got three men over there!” I shouted back. “Pull back! I’ll go get ’em!” He ran toward the three Marines. A few seconds later he reappeared, with the Marines following. Halfway back to the lieutenant the rain eased up enough for me to hear someone shouting.
“Hold it! Do you hear that?” I said. We stopped and stood still. “I heard someone screaming.”
“Help us! We got Marines out here! Help! Barnes is hit!” Now the scream echoed from the dark graveyard with frightening clarity. The rain picked up again. I ran to the edge of the tree line with Corporal James.
“I can’t see a thing!” James said.
“We got to help ’em!” I said.
“We have to tell the lieutenant! Come on!” He pulled on my arm. I followed him. We ran through the mud as fast as we could. I kept thinking of Barnes, so eager to see war. A vision of the Marine being blown backward by the machine-gun fire flashed through my mind. It had been him. Barnes.
“Lieutenant!” James shouted.
“Here! Over here!” The voice came from the darkness ahead. Now I could see him. The rain was so thick he looked gray.
“Lieutenant! We still have men out there!” James shouted.
“I know. At least three. The rest are all right. Is that everyone from that end?”
“Yes.”
“Is Chan okay?” I asked.
“Yes. Follow me. The company is about seventy-five meters this way.”
Twenty meters later Swift Eagle emerged from the rain like a ghost. We huddled around him as the lieutenant spoke. “Did you find out who’s missing?”
“Barnes, Striker, and Unerstute.”
“I can’t call in arty with them out there. Let’s get back to the rest of the company and see what the CO says.”
“We better hurry. The captain already has the mortars set up.”
Lieutenant Campbell started running toward the company with the rest of us on his heels.
“Where are you? Barnes is hit bad!” Striker screamed angrily from the graveyard. I couldn’t believe he was screaming. He had to know the gooks could hear him as well as us.
“Help! Barnes is hit! He can’t move!” His voice sounded panicky. I couldn’t stand it. His screams pierced through the driving storm. We had to help.
“Help!” The shout sounded shrill.
I could see men up ahead. Lieutenant Campbell turned back to Swift Eagle. “Show them where the platoon is. I have to see the captain. I’ll be there in a minute.”
We turned right and followed the chief along a line of Marines lying behind a rice paddy dike that flanked the graveyard. Their helmets were sticking above the dike; their bodies were half under water.
Another forlorn call echoed from the darkness ahead. We finally reached the Second Platoon, all the way at the end of the line of Marines.
“Set up the gun here.” Swift Eagle pointed to a spot between two Marines. I hung the M60 over the dike and sank into the muck behind it.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“The hootch is straight ahead,” Swift Eagle said. He turned to lead the other men to their positions.
A loud metallic thump echoed through the crashing rain. A bright flash from an enemy mortar tube lit up their position just behind the grass hootch seventy-five meters straight ahead. I took aim at the flash and waited for another one.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” Lieutenant Campbell ran behind the long row of prone Marines, whispering loud enough to be heard by us but not the enemy. Another thump and flash. For an instant the enemy mortar men were easy targets for the gun. A mortar round exploded one hundred meters to our rear, quickly followed by a second.
“What are we waiting for, Chief?” I whispered. “I got these suckers. They’re dead meat. Let me open up!”
“Don’t fire!” Lieutenant Campbell ran up behind me. Three more quick flashes and thumps in succession strobe-lighted the enemy mortar men.
“I could hit ’em blindfolded!”
“Shut up! We got Marines between us and them!”
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He turned to repeat the order. “Don’t anyone fire!”
I turned back to the front. Another series of mortar flashes lit up three separate enemy mortar crews. I could see the mortar men turn away from the tube, covering their ears from the blast.
“I’m gonna open up!” I said aloud.
“Don’t!” Rodgers grabbed my shoulder. “You can’t!”
“This is chicken, Rodgers! We got guys out there blown away and sitting ducks right in front …” A series of mortar blasts behind us drowned me out.
“They think we’re back there! If you open up they’ll know right where we are!”
“Not if I blow ’em away!” Another series of flashes and
the twanging hollow thumps of mortar rounds leaving the tubes reverberated through the air around us. “This sucks of chicken, man!”
“Look!” Rodgers pointed toward another series of flashes from the enemy mortars. Then I saw what he was pointing at. A man silhouetted against the flash, bent over, carrying a rifle and coming our way twenty meters ahead and to our left. I took aim, waiting for another flashing mortar barrage to show me the target. Rodgers aimed his M16. I turned to the Marine on my left to pass the word. He was already aiming. A nightmarish vision of a screaming human-wave assault went through my mind. I shivered. I shook my head to clear the fear and resumed aiming. Another flashing mortar barrage. I tensed, put my finger on the trigger. There, fifteen meters ahead, the silhouetted man.
Suddenly a mortar round exploded close behind us. The light of the explosion revealed the silhouette for a fraction of a second.
“An American helmet!” Rodgers whispered excitedly.
“Don’t fire! Marine comin’ in!” a voice from the silhouette shouted.
“Over here! Get in here!” someone shouted back.
“Hold your fire! It’s a Marine!” another voice called.
The silhouette ran forward, sloshing water as he came. Then he was upon me, stumbling over the paddy dike, kicking my helmet off, and falling face first with a loud splash behind me. He turned and crawled back beside me, bracing himself against the dike.
“John!”
“Striker! Are you okay?”
“Yeah!” He gasped for air and spit out mud. “Barnes!” He gasped again. “Barnes is hit bad. He couldn’t move. I had to leave him. We have to go get him!” He spoke quickly, running his words together.
“How ’bout Buford?” I asked. Before he could answer, the lieutenant and Swift Eagle slid in beside us, covering me with mud and water.
“Striker! Who’s still out there?” Swift Eagle rattled off the question.
“Barnes! He’s hit real bad, but he’s still alive. We have to go get him. The gooks are right on top of him, maybe ten yards away.”
“Where’s Unerstute?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see Buford. As soon as that rain hit I couldn’t see a thing!”
“Swift Eagle!” Lieutenant Campbell said. “Go get some volunteers. Striker! Can you lead us to him?”
“I think so. But we gotta be real quiet. The gooks are real close. I could hear ’em talking.”
“I’ll go, Chief!” I said. My stomach churned. For a moment I wasn’t sure I’d actually said that.
“You have to stay with the gun,” Lieutenant Campbell said.
“Rodgers can stay with the gun.”
“Okay. Follow me. Let’s see who else wants to go,” Swift Eagle answered without looking at the lieutenant.
“Give me your rifle,” I said to Rodgers.
“No,” Swift Eagle said. “Just take your .45, so you can help carry Barnes.”
I knew I couldn’t hit the ground with that lousy .45. Besides, it was probably full of rust. The chief didn’t wait for my excuses. He turned and called down the line for volunteers. Ten or more men got up and rushed forward.
“You four. The rest of you go back to your positions. You ready, Striker?”
“Let’s go,” Striker said.
“Lieutenant,” Swift Eagle said as we stepped over the dike. “Make sure these guys know we’re out there.”
Thirty yards through the flooded paddy, we reached the more solid ground of the graveyard. Striker seemed to know exactly where he was going. The pounding rain covered the noisy sloshing of our feet, but each step sounded like thunder to me. The faces of the enemy mortar men were clearer with each barrage. Striker stopped ahead.
“Barnes,” he whispered lightly. He dropped down and crawled around on hands and knees. “Barnes.”
Swift Eagle turned to me and whispered, “You guys go around in a small circle.”
We searched for ten minutes. It was obvious that Striker had gotten lost or Barnes had crawled away. We gave up the search and headed back. I thought of Buford. I couldn’t imagine what terror he must feel. I knew we were nearing the line of Marines, but I couldn’t see anything ahead. A mortar round exploded seventy meters in front of us, silhouetting a long row of friendly American helmets ten meters away.
“Marines comin’ in! Hold your fire!” Swift Eagle gave the warning.
“Friendlies coming in!” A voice ahead repeated the warning.
The dike was only a foot tall, just enough to lie behind, and it sure wasn’t about to stop any lead, but the first step over it filled my soul with relief.
I found Rodgers and splashed down beside him. He slapped me on the shoulder. “You deserve a medal,” he said. He turned his eyes toward the enemy.
“I agree,” I said jokingly.
“I mean it,” he said, still staring at the mortar flashes. “I told the gunny that you knocked out that gun and took all the fire so the squad could get out of the graveyard.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said he’s putting you and Chan in for the Silver Star.”
“Ah, you’re feedin’ me—”
“Honest. Chan did the same thing you did on the other end of the tree line.”
I couldn’t believe it. I loved it. I wanted to write everybody I knew; then memories of last June crept in. The Don Skully Award for the small football player who showed the most courage. Everyone had started congratulating me in front of the entire school. The head coach was the only coach who didn’t like me. He said he wanted to make an example out of me, but I’d only missed one practice in three years. If I get a medal, I’ll ram it up his nose.
“We’re sweeping across at daybreak,” a whispered voice came from our right. “Pass it on.”
Two hours before daybreak the rain and the mortars stopped. I stared into the blackness until my eyes hurt. The first streaks of morning light brought little comfort. My hands looked like wrinkled paper from being wet for so long.
“We’re movin’ in!” The word sifted by me and on down the line. We were on our feet, moving forward. I felt like I was in an old war film. On line. Fix bayonets. The sky turned pink and blue. The hootch was clear now in the morning light. I couldn’t believe it. We were actually going to storm right over these suckers!
“Fifty-nine days,” Rodgers mumbled, more to himself than to me.
Our first steps were slow. Cautious. Forty yards away the pace suddenly quickened. No one spoke. Someone to my right began jogging forward. I started jogging to keep up. Now the whole line was running. Someone let loose a howl. Now everyone was screaming like banshees. A cracking burst of AK fire rung out across the graveyard. Then another. The second burst was a mistake. I could see the muzzle flash from the roof of the hootch. I opened up with a fifty-round burst. At the same time, twenty others fired on the hootch. The sniper’s body exploded from the roof, pieces of flesh and cloth flying in all directions.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Swift Eagle was finally heard, and the firing stopped. The hootch was burning. Black smoke tunneled one way, then another, in a swirling wind.
“There’s a Marine over here!” someone shouted from my right. I glanced over quickly. It looked like Buford lying face down. I looked back to the hootch. Nothing. No firing at all. We swept by the burning hootch and ten yards deep into the thick jungle.
“They pulled out, Lieutenant!” someone shouted.
“We got another body over here! It’s a Marine!” another voice called from the left. I ran over to see who it was. Striker stood over a bloody body lying face down. The chief stood next to him looking down.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Barnes,” Striker said. “I don’t know how he got over here in front of this gun bunker.” Not until then did I notice he was lying in front of a foxhole with dirt and wood built up around it. Hundreds of empty .30-caliber cartridges were scattered about in the mud. His pack was ripped apart. His E-tool had a bullet hole through the shovel end. Striker b
ent down. He grabbed one shoulder and rolled the body over. Bullets had torn deep creases under each cheekbone, giving him huge dark bruises around each eye. It looked eerie. Dried blood covered another bullet crease under his jaw. Most of the right ear was shot away. I stared at the huge bruises. Suddenly his eyes sprang open. I couldn’t speak. I tried to point, like a mute with mouth hanging open. Then a smile spread across his face.
“He’s alive!” Striker screamed in disbelief.
“Corpsman!” Swift Eagle shouted.
“How did you get over here?” Striker asked. “Can you talk?”
“The gooks drug me over. They thought I was dead. They crawled out after me right after you left. One of ’em pulled out a knife and came down on me.”
“Calm down. Save your strength,” Swift Eagle said dryly.
“I thought it was over for sure. But he just cut my bandoliers off. Then they dragged me up front of their gun. God, I thought for sure you guys were gonna walk right into it! I almost drowned laying there!” He was still perky. I couldn’t believe it.
I turned to find Chan. He had to see this. I saw him standing near the burning hootch. I ran over to him.
“John! Come here!” He raised his hand and waved me over. “Look at this.” I looked into the burning hootch. A sun-faded tan pith helmet filled with dried blood and gray human brains lay on the dirt floor of the hootch. I bent down and darted inside, grabbed the helmet, and brought it out. Something in Vietnamese was written on the front. I dumped the brains and blood into a puddle and handed the pith helmet to Chan. “What’s it say?” I asked.
He studied the writing for a few seconds, then handed the helmet back to me. “It says, ‘We’re here to stay.’ “
“One thing’s for sure, this sucker is staying.”
“Unerstute’s dead,” Chan said.
“He shouldn’t have been here. I really liked that guy.”
“I found no wounds. No blood. Nothing. I suspect heart failure.”
“Barnes is still alive. You have to see him!” I led Chan to Barnes. Doc had just finished with a bandage on his leg. It looked like he was losing a lot of blood.
Guns Up! Page 17
