Eagles Cry Blood

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  Donald E. Zlotnik—Eagles Cry Blood

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  defense of the camp, regardless from which direction the VC chose to attack.

  Bobby had been awakened during Hetten’s yelling session and was lying on the ground shaking under the poncho. Sergeant Braverman sat down next to the boy and patted him on the head. The shaking stopped.

  “I want to send him back to the C-Team tomorrow.” Braverman wasn’t asking; he had taken it upon himself to care for the boy’s welfare. “He can stay with Sergeant Willroy, the senior medic.”

  “I agree with you. The first aircraft coming in tomorrow will take the boy out.” Paul felt Braverman’s concern and agreed that a combat area was not the place for a child.

  The Mike Force unit had reorganized its position and was waiting for the attack to renew. The Spooky gunship had left to refuel. The commander of the elite fighting unit had moved his wounded men and medics to the center of the circular fighting perimeter. He didn’t have to tell his men that if the thin line of soldiers was breached, the wounded would be butchered by the Vietcong. The Mike Force battalion had suffered eighty-six casualties during the initial assault.

  “Skull Six . . . I see movement to my front . . .” The voice was barely audible in the speaker Hetten had pressed to his ear.

  “Four . . . Five . . . get ready . . . Tire Six . . . fire at my command.”

  Ten minutes passed in silence. Hetten heard the handset click as a keyed tone emitted over the air waves. Soft breathing could be heard. Five more minutes passed with the speaker keyed.

  “Tire Six . . . Fire! ”

  Hetten screamed across the open ground to the mortar crew and the plop-whooossssh sound of the rounds sliding down the tube and then ignit-ing established a rhythmic pattern of sound. Six rounds were sailing through the air before the echo of the first round’s explosion reached Hetten’s command group.

  “Tire Six . . . right on target . . . continue firing . . .” A sense of control of the situation was in the man’s voice. “. . . Four and Five . . . open fire!”

  The night sky was again lit with dancing tracers, only this time there were far fewer green ones.

  “Skull Six . . . Five . . . . . . They’re all around us! We’re fighting hand-to-hand! ” A pistol firing was transferred over the radio. “Shit, one just tried grabbing my handset! ”

  The fighting continued for ten minutes and then tapered off into sporadic rifle shots. Spooky’s replacement arrived on target and began harassing the remainder of the Vietcong force, who were trying to escape the deadly fire by hiding in the thick undergrowth along the canal. The sky suddenly filled with blinking lights as the med-evac helicopters arrived to haul out the wounded and dead Mike Force soldiers.

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  Daylight shot out over the flat horizon, and the strikers started lighting small cooking fires around the base camp. The glow coming from the fires out at the outposts looked eerie through the early-morning ground mist. The wind began blowing gently from the west. Paul could smell overripe fish and a faint odor of burnt gunpowder. The battle smell of gunpowder sent a shiver of excitement along Paul’s spine.

  “Lieutenant Bourne!” Hetten’s high-pitched voice broke the tranquility of the camp. He was standing next to the canal bank. Heavy ground fog was clinging to the tops of his jungle boots. “Bourne! Come here!”

  Paul walked around the discarded ammunition cases and cardboard pack-ing from the mortar rounds.

  “Yes, sir,” Paul’s tone of voice reflected his lack of desire to talk to Hetten so early in the morning.

  “Why didn’t you set up the mortars last night?” Hetten urinated into the canal as he spoke.

  Paul gathered his thoughts before he spoke. “I was with the lead company, sir; you and the weapons sergeants were with the main body of troops—”

  “Damn it Bourne! ” Hetten swung around, trying to replace his penis in his pants before he was through urinating. He only succeeded in forming a large wet spot around his fly. “Because you forgot to do your job, the Mike Force battalion damn near got overrun!”

  Paul looked calmly at the stoop-shouldered captain standing with his hands on his hips glaring at him, and answered, “You’re right, sir. I should have ensured that the mortars had been set up and the base perimeter established.” Paul paused. “I’ve been around long enough to know that you’re too busy to handle the small details.”

  “Don’t you get smart-mouthed with me, Lieutenant!” Hetten was trying to pass the responsibility for establishing the camp’s defense to Paul; they both knew that the Mike Force commander was going to come into the base area and look for the one responsible for the mortars. “Lieutenant Bourne, I want to be prepared when the Mike Force commander gets here, to explain to him why you failed and screwed up the mortar support.”

  Hetten was using his best defensive weapon—making his subordinates take the blame for his shortcomings—to ensure that he was never wrong in the eyes of his superiors.

  “Is that all you wanted me for, Captain?” Paul pulled a folded drive-on rag from his back pocket and wiped the light coating of night dew from his weapon. “I’m having Sergeant Braverman send the boy we found yesterday back to the C-Team on the first chopper going out. I’m sure the intelligence people back there will want to talk to him. ” Paul rolled his eyes thinking about a half-dozen men standing around the frail child.

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  “That’s the first good idea you’ve had lately, Lieutenant! Use the radio to call for a chopper and tell them that we have a captured Vietcong canal watcher at this location.”

  Paul made the call on the radio and then joined Sergeant Braverman, who was squatting near a small cooking fire, opening a can of C-ration eggs and ham for the boy’s breakfast.

  “I called in for an aircraft to send him back on.” Paul nodded down at the child. “It should be here within the hour. Hetten wants to send the boy back as a POW.”

  Braverman frowned.

  “When the chopper lands, tell the pilot to inform the people that will be waiting at the C-Team that the VC jumped from the chopper and that the only cargo they have is the boy for Sergeant Willroy.” Paul smiled and joined Braverman for breakfast.

  “I’ll write a note and pin it to Bobby for Willroy.” Braverman displayed one of his rare grins and looked up in the sky. “There should be a lot of visitors flying in here as soon as they’ve eaten their breakfasts and received their morning briefings. The Mike Force fight will be the main attraction.”

  Braverman’s statement was fact.

  “I’m taking one of the companies out on a sweep to our south. The KD

  Team is supposed to get their D-4 dozer airlifted in here today; also expect the shuttle to start hauling in gravel by Chinooks this afternoon.” Paul glanced over to where Hetten was sitting on the ground concentrating on a 1:500,000 scale map. “Hetten reamed my ass over the 4.2-inch mortars. How about getting with the weapons people and finding out what happened.”

  “I already know the answer.” Braverman’s expression became almost sinister. “The captain told Sergeant DeTunor not to set up the mortars last night and to go out on the perimeter with Third Company last night. DeTunor came to me bitching about it, because he thought it was stupid to leave the mortars on the barge all night. Hetten called him a coward and told him that he was chicken to go out with the company—needless to say, DeTunor is pissed!”

  Paul shook his head from side to side. “He’s going to get us killed.”

  “You’re wrong there, Lieutenant. I have children to raise back in the States and nobody is going to get me killed.” Braverman’s voice reflected his determination. Bobby smiled at the sergeant, not understanding a single word spoken but responding to the comforting hand resting on his shoulder.

  A column of soldiers d
ressed in faded striker jungle fatigues drew Paul’s attention from Hetten. The remaining members of the Mike Force battalion would be arriving at the base camp soon.

  “I’m going back to talk to Hetten and clear today’s operation with him. I want to get moving before the sun gets too hot.” Paul picked up his ammo 122

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  belt, rucksack, and weapon. He patted Bobby on his head and then pulled his own short-brimmed jungle hat down low over his eyes.

  “Thanks for helping me out with the boy, sir.” Braverman stood. “I’m going to have Sergeant Loau brief the boy on what’s going on so that he won’t be scared when they put him on the chopper.”

  “De nada. ” Paul checked the safety pins in his hand grenades while he sauntered over to where Hetten was camped.

  “We’re going to have company, sir,” Paul announced as he pointed toward the long single column of Mike Force strikers weaving through the thick undergrowth bordering the canal leading to the new base camp.

  “Good! I need to clear the air with their commander before the C-Team arrives this morning,” Hetten said, folding his map. “I don’t want a bad impression formed over My An right off the bat!”

  “I plan on taking a company and sweeping the area to our south this morning. I’d like to clear the area out at least four thousand meters before dark.” Paul was not asking for permission.

  “All right, I was going to have you do that anyway.” Hetten stood and bent over to adjust his trousers in his boot top.

  The Mike Force started entering the loose perimeter of the A-Camp just as Hetten finished adjusting his uniform. A tall captain broke off from the column and walked over to where Hetten waited under the cover of a makeshift poncho tent.

  “Hi, I’m Captain Hetten, the My An commander.” He stepped forward holding out his hand.

  The Mike Force commander ignored the greeting. “You’re the S-1 at Can To, aren’t you?”

  “Not anymore.” Hetten lowered his unshaken hand to his side.

  “Too bad . . .” The captain turned and faced Paul, extending his hand.

  “I’m Lieutenant Bourne, sir. The new executive officer here at My An.”

  Paul shook hands with the weary-eyed leader.

  “I’m glad to meet you, Lieutenant.” The captain turned to his side and introduced his two lieutenants to Paul, ignoring Hetten in the process. “We’d like to set up our operations base here today and let our men get some rest before they’re extracted tomorrow.”

  “No problem! Glad to help!” Hetten interjected. “By the way, did Colonel Bakersun tell you he was coming out here today?”

  “Yeah, he’ll be arriving soon.” The Mike Force captain gave directions to set up their base camp over by the banana grove.

  “I have to leave.” Paul made a general statement to all gathered around the tent and to no one in particular. “It was nice meeting you all.” He nodded to the lieutenants, and left to join Sergeant Loau, who had been waiting for him off to the side.

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  Hetten waited until Paul was out of hearing range and then spoke to the Mike Force leader. “I chewed his ass good for not having those mortars ready last night! He should have known better, but you know what kind of officer OCS produces!”

  The other captain smiled and looked at Hetten under the brim of his sweat-soaked hat. “I’m an OCS grad.” He nodded for his lieutenants to follow him. “Hetten, you’re an asshole!”

  Captain Hetten stood under his poncho tent shaking with uncontrollable rage as he watched his peer stalk away.

  Sergeant Braverman kept himself busy on the far side of the established base area bringing in helicopters laden with supplies and equipment for the new A-Camp. Since the ground would not support any kind of fixed-wing aircraft, all the supplies had to be brought in by choppers or LOLEX dropped from low flying C-130 cargo aircraft. The bundles were wrapped in waterproof containers and dropped in the wide canal.

  The special, engineering KD Team was working hard hooking the blade to the small D-4 bulldozer and setting up the two large five-hundred-gallon-capacity water purification tanks that looked like small black rubber swimming pools. One of the large tanks would hold muddy water pumped into it directly from the canal, and the other would have the settled clear water from the first tank pumped into it and then purified with strong chemicals, to kill the bacteria before being used as drinking water for the soldiers. The complete process to ensure safe drinking water took two days, and then the cycle was started all over again after the clean water had been emptied into five-gallon water cans and the dirty tank scrubbed clean. The troops were showing signs of dehydration, and it was becoming imperative that they had good water soon, or they would go to the canal for water—and it was a sure thing a lot of them would contract amoebic dysentery or cholera.

  Braverman joined Sergeant Yater over by the water tanks and helped him connect the interlocking hoses.

  “I’m going to speed up the process so we can have safe water for tonight.

  It won’t be crystal clear, but it’ll be drinkable for the men.” Yater was sweating profusely from working hard under the relentless Delta sun.

  “Fine, just throw in a few extra gallons of chemicals! I had amoebic dysentery once, and I don’t need another round of that kind of suffering ever again!”

  “Sergeant Dryman is the bug expert on this team.” Yater paused in his work and stood straight to work a kink out of his back muscles. “He will keep us healthy. Where’s the lieutenant going?” Yater pointed.

  “He’s taking a company out on patrol to our south.” Braverman lifted a heavy section of rubber pipe. “That company is going to be plenty thirsty when they return tonight.”

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  “That’s one of the ironies of the Delta region—water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink!”

  “Hey! I’ve heard that line somewhere else . . .” Yater chuckled and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  Braverman swirled the water in the tank with his hand. “This stuff feels like muck!”

  Sergeant Braverman left the working engineer and went over to see Captain Hetten about the evening’s patrol that needed to be sent out from the camp site. It took over two hours to convince Hetten that it would be safer if the majority of the men were spread out and not all bunched up together in the small camp. Hetten had finally agreed to Braverman’s recommendations, leaving the sergeant almost exhausted from the effort and from the lack of sleep the night before. Braverman left the command post and found himself a shady spot under some banana trees, where he could catch a couple of hours of sleep before the night patrols started.

  A loud voice coming from somewhere outside of his head woke Braverman from his deep sleep, bringing him back into the hot world of the late afternoon Delta sun. He had been dreaming of his wife and children and had woken in a good mood. He noticed that the sun was setting as he oriented himself, and saw Lieutenant Bourne standing near one of the large black rubber water containers with sweat saturating his complete uniform. Sergeant Yater and three other team members were running across the camp site toward the lieutenant, who was screaming at Hetten—who was standing naked inside the clean water tank.

  “I can’t believe you’re taking a fucking bath . . . A bath! In our drinking water! ”

  Paul hit the side of the container with the barrel of his CAR-15. “. . . in our drinking water!”

  Sergeant Yater reached Paul just as he flicked the safety off his weapon and pointed it at the side of the water tank. Captain Hetten stood waist-deep in the clear water holding a bar of soap in his hand.

  “Easy . . . easy, Lieutenant . . . calm down.” Yater tightened his grip around the lieutenant and felt Paul’s muscles form into knots. Braverman rushed over and helped Ya
ter keep Paul from doing what they all knew would be very stupid.

  Paul regained some of his composure and turned to speak to Braverman.

  “Ever since I received Dryman’s call this morning about water being available when we returned, I kept my men from drinking canal water!”

  Hetten rubbed some soap on his arm, but stopped when he saw all the glaring looks he was receiving from the team members. “What call did you receive?”

  Braverman answered for Paul. “There’s a cholera epidemic in the village upstream, and the water here is probably contaminated.” Paul was shaking 125

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  from controlled anger in the sergeant’s hands. Braverman squeezed harder. “I told Sergeant Dryman to call the lieutenant and make sure he stopped his strikers from drinking local water that wasn’t treated, and to tell him that we would have safe water waiting for him when he returned to camp.”

  “I’ve got a hundred and twenty-five men damn near dead from thirst and he’s washing his ass in our drinking water. ” Paul tried to break away from the two NCOs who were holding him back from the edge of the tank.

  “Sir, I’ll take care of the lieutenant—while you’re getting dressed.”

  Braverman could see the film of soap around the edge of the water tank. “It wasn’t a very smart thing to do, sir, taking a bath in the drinking water.”

  “Well! I’m not washing in a damn cholera-infested canal, Sergeant!”

  Hetten regained his courage watching the sergeants pulling Bourne away from the water tanks back toward the camp perimeter. “Tell the lieutenant, when he gains control of his emotions, that I want him to take an airboat and attend the district commander’s meeting tonight.” Hetten stepped over the wall of the tank and lifted a green towel from a crate nearby to dry off with.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea sending him up the canal this late at night . .

  . and alone.” Braverman frowned.

  “ Send him! Damn it, doesn’t anyone obey orders anymore! ”

  Sergeant Braverman instructed Loau to pick two good men to go with the lieutenant and had the airboat engine warmed up. There wasn’t more than twenty minutes of light left for the canal trip to the village. One boat moving fast might have a slim chance of making it without being blown out of the water by VC canal watchers.