Guns Up!

by Johnnie Clark

  “Get to the side of the road!” someone shouted from the front of the column. We moved to the right side of the road, leaned against the embankment, and stared at the wide river in front of us. A giant engine cranked up then revved up its power. The tanks were getting ready up ahead.

  “Second Platoon up!”

  We ran forward. I could see the captain standing in the shade of a huge oak tree, motioning us to him with frantic waves. He stood behind one of the tanks. As we ran forward we passed three corpsmen working on five wounded Marines lying on the side of the road.

  “All right! Listen up!” The captain’s red mustache seemed to flair out with excitement as he shouted over the rumbling diesels. “See that hill on the other side of that stream?”

  I took a couple of steps to look around the tanks. Just past them and out of the shade of the huge oak was a clearing two hundred meters square. The dirt road went through it. On the other side a tributary feeding into the wide river cut the road in half. The remains of a blown-up wooden bridge protruded from the center of the tributary. Across the tributary and to the right of the road was a steep, bald hill.

  “We hit a semicircle of fortified positions on the hills around that clearing. Second Battalion sent E Company up that hill. They had to pull back. We’re going to take that hill. We have tanks now, and they will provide cover fire.”

  A sleek new Cobra helicopter gunship swept overhead with mini-guns blazing. It strafed the bald hill then banked straight up, made a roll like a World War II fighter plane, and nose-dived straight down at the top of the hill. He fired six rockets, then leveled off, just missing the rocks and debris from the flashing explosions.

  “Are you listening? This isn’t a fireworks display, Marines!” The captain’s anger pulled our attention from the hill. His face was red. “Some of you are going to get hit going up that hill, and I want you to know what you’re doing. Do not stop to help the wounded. The corpsmen will follow up and take care of them. Don’t stop for anything. Now, E Company says that little stream you have to cross looks deep. They didn’t get that far, so we don’t know for sure, but find a shallow spot to cross, and be quick. There are two hills to our right flank that you can’t see from here. They’re at the far right of the clearing, and the gooks have fortified positions on both of them, so you may take fire from the right flank when you cross the clearing.”

  Captain Nelson stepped away from the tank and pointed at the hill. “All right. When you cross the stream don’t go straight up the hill on this side facing us now because you will come under fire from the right flank. Go up the hill on the side facing the river and the road.”

  He paused, then turned and looked at us, staring for one instant into the eyes of each man in the platoon. “As soon as you enter that clearing you’ll come under fire. There’s an ARVN regiment on the other side of the river that should take care of our left flank.”

  “Hey! Wow! Far out, man! We’re going to be on TV!” someone shouted.

  Captain Nelson’s face tightened with anger. I turned to see who said it, inwardly already knowing. Sam was pointing at two pudgy-looking men. One had a portable TV camera on his shoulder. The other carried a black box. They wore camouflaged baseball hats instead of helmets, and beautiful new lightweight Army flak jackets instead of the clunky Korean War–era flak jackets that Marines wore. They huddled behind a tree. The one with the camera was filming another Huey gunship firing rockets into the top of the hill. “Does that say NBC on that camera?”

  “You better can that mouth, Marine!” Captain Nelson barked.

  “Aye-aye, sir!” Sam answered quickly.

  The thunderous echoes of heavy bombing farther up the road took my mind off the camera.

  “Guns up!” I moved forward and stood beside the captain and Lieutenant Lampe. “We’re moving across in squads! I want the gun team with the chief’s squad!” Lieutenant Lampe held my arm as he spoke.

  The lead tank began moving into the clearing.

  “All right! Get ready!” Lieutenant Lampe shouted. “Chief’s squad will go first, along with the gun team. When you reach the hill make sure you knock out their machine guns first.” The second tank moved into the clearing about twenty-five yards from the first. Finally the one we stood behind started rumbling forward. The lead tank fired its big gun. The explosion ripped dirt and rocks into the air from the top of the hill. AK fire whined across the open clearing. Another Huey gunship dove at a target on the other side of the river. His rockets started a yellow fire in the top of a tree.

  “Ready!” Lieutenant Lampe shouted. He raised his hand. “Go!”

  “Go!” Swift Eagle shouted from my right. I ran by the last tank in the line of three tanks. The lead tank had stopped twenty-five meters from the tributary. Two whining ricochets bounced off the steel tank as I ran by. AKs opened up from my right. I could hear a machine gun chattering from the other side of the river. Green tracers streaked between the first and second tank. I looked left. Hundreds of muzzle flashes were firing at us from the jungle on the other side of the river.

  “Corpsman!” a scream came from behind me. I didn’t look back. A sharp explosion threw rocks and dirt into the air twenty feet to the left of the second tank, followed by another one five feet closer. Someone screamed in pain.

  “Corpsman up!” Another scream from behind me. I started zigzagging as I ran. I passed the second tank. Bullets whistled overhead. Others twanged off the big metal hull as I ran by. The lead tank fired its big gun. Suddenly a mortar round hit between the lead tank and the tributary. Then another hit ten meters closer. The third hit right on the tank’s turret. I dove into the dirt fifteen meters behind it. The tank rang from the explosion like a giant bell. I jumped to my feet and started running again. Another mortar blast hit behind me. Someone started screaming in agony. I didn’t look back. Finally the tributary was within range. Small telltale dust puffs shot from the road as bullets hit the earth around me. I dove to the ground as another mortar blast hit behind me. I felt scared and confused. I pulled my face out of the dirt and looked back. I could see Swift Eagle running and pointing, then a mortar explosion hit beside him. He fell. He didn’t move. Chan dove in beside me.

  “Let’s go!” Chan shouted. I hesitated. I wanted to help the chief. Then those last words kept shouting at me: “Don’t stop for the wounded!” I jumped to my feet and ran. I took a running jump into the tributary, holding the M60 over my head. The ice-cold water took my breath away. A swift current swept my feet from under me. Chan grabbed me by the back of the lapel and pulled me up. I coughed up a mouthful of water. The steep hill rose up at a forty-five-degree angle just on the other side of the tributary. I could see muzzle flashes firing down at us from the top. Bullets sucked through the air around me, hitting the water with terrifying force. I tried to move faster. The cold water lapped at my throat. I stumbled over a large round rock. My head went under. Chan grabbed my shoulder to steady me. I regained my balance. A mortar blast hit the base of the hill in front of me. I closed my eyes instinctively. Dirt and debris fell into the water. Mortar rounds exploded in the clearing behind us. A row of tiny, violent waterspouts erupted in front of me, splashing cold water into my face. I tried in vain to move faster. A stream of green tracers sprayed over our heads and hit the small embankment now almost within arm’s reach.

  “That’s from the other side of the river!” Chan shouted from behind me. I reached for a clump of grass on the embankment in front of me. I tossed the gun up and onto the level ground, then pulled myself up with both hands. I threw my right leg over the embankment and rolled onto the hard level ground. I reached back for Chan. He held out the butt of his rifle. I grabbed it with both hands and pulled him up onto the solid ground.

  “Wait!” Doyle struggled through the deep water toward us. His thick-lensed glasses looked too water-blurry to be of any use. “Give me a hand!”

  Chan held out his rifle, stretching as far as he could reach. Doyle stretched out one arm, moving it b
ack and forth like a blind man feeling for a wall. I grabbed the M60, stood to a crouch, and ran across the dirt road to the base of the hill. I flattened against the rock-strewn hill and looked back. The crew of the lead tank scrambled out of the turret one at a time. A mortar round hit in front of the second tank. Bullets thudded into the earth around me. I looked up. I could see a muzzle flash at the top of the hill. Then the flash ceased. I looked back for Chan. Chunky Doyle rolled onto the solid ground. They both jumped to their feet and ran across the road, then flattened against the hill beside me. Chan looked back to the clearing, still gasping for air from the mad dash.

  “The chief got it!” I said.

  “Captain Nelson went down before we reached the first tank!” Chan said.

  “They abandoned that tank!” I said. I pointed to the lead tank. The three crewmen ran for cover behind the second tank. “Look! Two bodies to the left.”

  “My God, what are we supposed to do, take the hill by ourselves?” Doyle’s voice cracked.

  “Don’t panic!” Chan shouted.

  A .30 caliber opened up on us from across the river. His first tracers hit the dirt road fifteen meters in front of us, then slowly walked toward us.

  “Spread out!” I shouted. Doyle moved left and Chan moved right. I started firing back. My first tracers skipped off the water. A sleek Cobra gunship dropped from the sky and swept across the river ten feet above the water. I stopped firing. He fired two rockets into the dense green jungle, then shot straight up into the pale blue sky, barely avoiding enemy fire and the glowing shrapnel and debris from his own rockets. The enemy gun was swallowed up in smoke. It ceased firing. Chan started shooting up the hill. I turned my back to the Cobra just as it made another dive on targets across the river. I looked to see what Chan was firing at. The limp body of a dead NVA rolled to a stop against a charred bush seventy feet up the hill. I opened up with the gun, spraying a hundred rounds at every lump of earth or bush that could hide a man in front of me. I stopped firing and looked for muzzle flashes. I couldn’t see any.

  “What are we going to do?” Doyle shouted over another barrage of enemy mortars hitting around the tanks. He flattened against the hill and looked at me. Shrapnel whistled through the air around us, some of it smacking into the side of the hill. Just one tiny piece, I thought.

  “We can’t just stay here!” I shouted back. I looked behind me. I could see muzzle flashes coming from the brush on the other side of the river. They were firing from the river bank. Bullets thudded into the hillside above us. I cringed with each whining ricochet. I’m not going to die just sitting here, I thought. This is insane. We have to move! I pushed myself away from the hill and started climbing. Chan did the same. Fifteen yards up the steep incline we flattened out again. I looked back down at Doyle. Finally he broke into a frenzied run, firing on full automatic as he stumbled and clawed forward. He flattened against the hill ten meters to my left. Thoughts of hand-to-hand combat slipped across my mind.

  “Hey, look!” Chan shouted from my right. He pointed at two Marines waving and shouting at us from beside the crippled lead tank.

  “That’s Lieutenant Lampe!” I said to Chan. “I thought you said he got it?”

  “No, I said the captain!”

  “He’s waving us back!” Doyle shouted. “He don’t have to ask me twice, brother!” Doyle started sliding down the rocky hill on his rear end. Once near the bottom he broke into a run across the road and jumped into the tributary to the right of the blown wooden bridge. It looked like the water was only up to Doyle’s waist.

  “It looks shallower there!” I shouted.

  “Okay! Same place! Ready!”

  “Go!”

  Before I finished “Go!” we both started sliding back down the hill until we could make a clean run for the tributary. Cracks of AK fire echoed from the top of the hill. One of the tanks opened fire with a .50-caliber machine gun. Chan jumped into the cold water just ahead of me, both of us holding our weapons overhead. I sank up to my neck. Now one of the tanks opened up with its big gun. Two bullets smacked into the water just in front of my chin and just behind Chan. I tried to move my feet faster. I’m taller than Doyle, I thought. How come it’s up to my neck? It was no use. It would be one slow step at a time. Three successive mortar blasts hit between us and the crippled lead tank. Doyle pulled himself out of the water. He ran for the lieutenant, squishing water from the air holes of his boots as he went. Now I could see who the smallish Marine crouching behind the tank beside Lieutenant Lampe was. Staff Sergeant Morey’s pale skin and droopy mustache stood out clearly. Doyle dove the last five feet, landing in front of Sergeant Morey. Chan struggled out of the water, then turned. He stuck out his hand. I grabbed it. He pulled me to him. We scrambled to our feet and ran for the tank. I kept waiting for that sharp pain of a bullet. How could they not hit us?

  “Just keep running! Keep running!” Lieutenant Lampe shouted as the three of them started running back across the clearing before we reached them. I ran as fast as I could, but the water weight dragged on each stride like a suit of lead. I could hear bullets hitting the earth and ricocheting. I wondered how many times they’d miss before I felt the pain. Finally the trees were close. I could see faces of Marines shouting and waving us on while others fired at the hills behind us. The last tank pulled out of the clearing and into the shade of the big oak tree. Lieutenant Lampe and Sergeant Morey ran by the tank and collapsed against the dirt embankment on the left of the road. Then Doyle. Now I could see all three panting for air on their hands and knees and looking back at us to see if we’d make it. We were back. I could feel Marines slapping me on the flak jacket. I dropped the gun, grabbed my knees, and gasped for air, wondering if it all had really happened and why I was still alive. Someone was screaming. I looked up. Staff Sergeant Morey was on the ground shouting, writhing in pain, and holding his rear end with his right hand.

  “I’m hit!” He forced the words through clenched teeth, then shook his head back and forth like he was trying to shake something off his face. Chan rushed over to him. Lieutenant Lampe knelt down beside Chan.

  “Move your hand, let me see how bad it is!” Chan said as he forced Sergeant Morey’s hand away. He shoved Morey onto his left side. The seat of his pants was soaked with blood, water, and mud. Chan pulled out his K-bar and ripped the trousers open. “Looks like you caught a ricochet. It’s not too deep.”

  “No! Don’t touch it!” Morey shouted. He pushed Chan’s hand away.

  “I might as well get it out,” Chan said.

  “No way! Nobody is taking away my Purple Heart.”

  Every Marine within hearing distance who knew Morey started laughing. Chan looked back at me and winked, then turned solemnly to Staff Sergeant Morey. “I really should take that out. The chance for infection is very high.”

  “I can’t believe it, Staff,” Lieutenant Lampe said with a regretful pat on the shoulder. “Tomorrow was your last day ever as a grunt.”

  “It took three wars, but I finally got a Heart.” A giant smile lifted Morey’s droopy brown mustache. The lines of age spread from the corners of his eyes like a road map of three wars. He looked so out of place in the sea of young faces around him, all of them congratulating him with a barb or friendly insult. I felt happy for him.

  “Hey, Lieutenant,” I said. “How’s the chief?”

  “He caught a bunch of shrapnel. We medevaced him out.”

  “Lieutenant!” Joe Elbon shouted from the other side of the road. “I got Phantoms coming in on Hill 52. We need to spot ’em!”

  “Sam, go ask that tanker if he’s got a spotter round. If so, tell him to put it on top of that hill.”

  “Aye-aye, Lieutenant,” Sam answered in Marine Corps fashion.

  “How bad was the chief?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, John. Go get yourself an A-gunner. We need Chan to take over the other gun.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. We lost a gunner.”

  “Who wa
s on the other gun?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Hurry up! Get movin’! We’re going up that hill again!” He turned away.

  “I’ve already been up it,” I snapped. “Where was everybody else?” My terse remark stopped him from walking away. He turned around quickly.

  “I called you back, but you didn’t hear me. We lost seven men before you got halfway across. Now saddle up, Marine!”

  The tank fired at the hill. The big steel creature rocked from the recoil. A moment later a popping explosion followed by a white mushroom cloud rose over the hill. I turned back to the lieutenant. He was gone.

  “I heard.” I turned to find Chan standing behind me. “I believe you have acquired Doyle again,” he said.

  “Who’s your A-gunner?”

  “I don’t know. Probably the pig farmer.” Chan turned, looked up, and followed the flight of two Phantoms roaring overhead. A moment later the top of the hill exploded into fire. Before the flames of the first napalm bomb dimmed, the second Phantom repeated the bombing. Soon dark black smoke hid the top of the hill from view.

  “The gunny got it.” Chan spoke without taking his eyes off the smoking hill.

  “Gunny?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How bad?”

  “Shrapnel in the thigh. Doc said it looked like a million-dollar wound.”

  “All right, let’s get saddled up!” Corporal James walked by us, shouting the order.

  “Hey, James,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he answered. He stopped and pulled out his canteen. He took a long swig.

  “I need Doyle for an A-gunner again.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell him. Get ready to go up that hill.”

  He put his canteen away and started shouting again. “Saddle up! Second Platoon, Alpha! Saddle up!”

  “Johnnie,” Chan said. “Look.” He paused like he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted. “This looks bad. Make sure you ask Jesus to ‘cut you a huss.’ “