Eagles Cry Blood

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  Donald E. Zlotnik—Eagles Cry Blood

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  for Mister LeBlonde has become a rather classic mission that any recon man in the program would give his left nut to have under his belt! Maybe you thought that I was acting through kindness back in Nha Trang . . . I wasn’t . . .

  it was more from selfishness . . .” Clewell leaned back in his swivel chair and laced his fingers behind his head.

  “Thanks for the compliment, sir, but I had a lot of very talented help on that mission . . .”

  “Sure . . . I know,” the colonel grinned. “I’m going to assign you to the recon company. Captain Atkins is the commander and will make the decision on what team you’ll be assigned to, but Captain White has informed me of your love for the sea and I’ll see what I can do . . .”

  “Thanks, sir!”

  “Oh . . . you might have a problem here for a while . . . I wish I didn’t have to say this . . .”

  Paul felt his stomach knot as he waited for the colonel to mention Hetten and My An.

  “There’s a lot of pride in this unit. We have a number of men who think they are the world’s answer to the recon man . . . some of them come damn close . . . but you might find some professional jealousy. Most of the men here are looking for that one mission that will make them a legend among their peers.” The commander looked over the top rim of his glasses at Paul. “You’ve already accomplished that . . . or so the legend goes . . .” The colonel turned and looked out of his Plexiglas window. “Did you really kill Colonel Jean Paul LaTruseau?”

  “Who, sir?” Paul had been debriefed that the mission was still listed as top secret with a need to know. “I’m sorry, sir; I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  Clewell spun around and faced Paul from his chair. His eyes flashed for an instant and then he smiled. “You’ll do all right here, all right!” He sipped from the cup of lukewarm black coffee on his desk and continued, “We had been hunting for LaTruseau for over a year on a dedicated special mission crite-rion. SOG had lost a lot of good men tracking him down and we’d lost complete teams that were inserted in areas where we heard he might be. We heard through our CIA contacts that Colonel LaTruseau was eliminated—just about the time you returned from a special mission and had used our site to launch out of. A real coincidence!”

  Paul shrugged his shoulders. “He sounds like a real smart commie. I don’t think I’m that good to have aced him out in the jungle, especially on his home turf.”

  Clewell took the hint and dropped the subject. “Have my S-1 show you around the camp, but first I want you to hit the operations people over in the TOC.”

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  Paul stood to leave and paused. “Thanks, sir, for helping me get here.”

  The commander smiled and nodded his head.

  Captain White had been waiting for Paul to leave the colonel’s office and he escorted him through the gate guards at the top-secret TOC that was surrounded by a ten-foot-high cyclone fence with three strands of barbed wire lining the top and rolls of concertina stretched out along the bottom. Paul noticed twelve cement blocks strategically placed on the inside wire, back from the fence. The cement blocks were designed to hold three claymore mines facing at different angles and protected from each other by a steel tri-angle, so that they could be detonated individually or together. The four corners of the building each had a cement fighting bunker. The whole reinforced cement structure reminded Paul of an old-time French Foreign Legion outpost located in the Algerian desert.

  The steel door opened on the recessed side of the building and a tall thin major stepped out into the bright sunlight, blinking his eyes.

  “You have quite a fortress here, sir,” Paul said, continuing to scan the fighting positions.

  “A lot of thought went into building this open vault. We don’t have to constantly keep the top-secret papers locked up, and we can run the place like a regular office inside, once a person has the proper clearances to enter.” The major spoke as if he was confident in his operation. “By the way, I’m Major Galviston. I run this operation.”

  “Lieutenant Bourne, sir.”

  “Your reputation has preceded you, Lieutenant. LeBlonde is a personal friend of mine . . .” Galviston looked at Paul with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “C’mon, I’ll brief you off the operational map; it’ll give you the big picture that is in operation right now.”

  Paul followed Galviston through the maze of offices that contained plans and equipment. The area they entered looked like the main floor of the New York Stock Exchange, with men running from map to map and posting hundreds of pieces of current data.

  “Your people look like they have their hands full, sir.” Paul tried focusing his eyes on the huge map that covered most of the back wall.

  “We all take our jobs here very seriously. One minor mistake can cost a whole team their lives.” The major stopped in front of the huge map that Paul had been looking at. The map was on a scale of 1:50,000 and encompassed the land mass of five countries. Paul was impressed when the major picked up a small control box and pushed one of the buttons. The lights along the back portion of the room dimmed and the lights behind the map brightened, depicting the locations of the recon teams that were presently inserted on the ground, along with hundreds of other items of information including airports, 194

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  roads, supply depots, NVA headquarters, and large enemy concentrations.

  The map was a constantly changing work of military art.

  “Take a seat over there.” The major pointed with the control box he held in his hand to a row of high-backed chairs.

  “Do we work the whole area, sir?”

  “No, but we have a need to know what is going on along the whole land mass so we can do our job.” Galviston took his time briefing Paul on the unit’s mission and periodically he pushed a different button to highlight different areas and topics as he talked about them. Paul was very impressed with the professionalism the CCN personnel displayed in their jobs.

  “Any questions?” Galviston turned off the map lights and faced Paul.

  “None . . . I’m rather dazzled . . .”

  “You’re supposed to be. Lieutenant,” Galviston chuckled under his breath.

  “One of our people was a Hollywood light director before working for us; this map was his pet project.”

  “Thanks for the briefing, sir.” Paul had taken up enough of the major’s time.

  “Part of the job. Captain White is waiting to take you over to the logistics shop and draw some equipment.”

  Paul met the captain at the main entrance and they walked together, cutting across the compound through the loose sand to the huge warehouses that lined one side of the compound. Paul didn’t draw a weapon because he had brought his CAR-15 with him from My An. The S-4 officer took his time, and reflected a great deal of pride in showing the new lieutenant his operation. One thing that Paul was beginning to notice was that there wasn’t any overt jealousy between those who supported and those who conducted operations; each man was judged on how well he did his particular job. The warehouses were stuffed full of all kinds of special gear, food, and clothes.

  Captain Atkins was waiting outside the supply building, parked on the shady side, when Paul exited carrying an armload of equipment.

  “Hop in, I’ll drive you back to the recon company,” Atkins nodded.

  Paul took a front seat and thanked Captain White for his help. The jeep ride back to the area was quiet. Captain Atkins acted as if he were deep in thought. They passed the orderly room and drove back behind the row of team hooches. The captain stopped his jeep in front of the RT Viper hooch.

  “It’s yours,” he grinned.

  Paul hopped out of the jeep and felt the heat coming down from the sun almost instantly. “Thanks, Captain! You won’
t regret making this decision!”

  “Get your gear squared away and wander over to my office when you get a chance and we’ll talk.” He eased out on the clutch. “And don’t hurry! Enjoy your first couple of days in camp!”

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  Paul pushed open the door to his new home and dropped his gear down on the wooden floor in one big pile. He noticed immediately that a portion of the wall facing the beach was covered with a modified blanket so that it could slide back and forth on a thick bamboo rod. Paul reached up and pushed the makeshift curtain aside and caught his breath. A five-foot-long by four-foot window made out of Plexiglas was built into the wall, making a beautiful bay window overlooking the South China Sea.

  Paul dropped back down on the bare bunk and drank in the beauty of the powerful waves. Damn, he felt happy! He wanted to strip naked and run down to the beach and dive into the sea. He watched the wave action for over an hour and then stretched out on the hard bed and looked up into the open rafters. His eyes locked onto a pair of familiar shapes.

  “Surfboards!” Paul jumped up from the bed, not trusting what his eyes alone were telling him. He wanted to touch them to make sure. He removed a bright yellow board from between the rafters just as a knock echoed through his hooch.

  “Come in!”

  The door swung open and a young American stood in the bright light wearing a pair of cut-off jungle fatigues.

  “Hello, sir, I’m Sergeant Cooper from RT Cobra.” The sergeant paused in the doorway.

  “Come on in.” Paul rubbed his hand along the surfboard, checking to see how well it had been waxed.

  “Lieutenant Nappa and I were pretty good friends.” Cooper watched Paul admire the board as he spoke. “We used to surf a lot together when we were back in base camp.”

  “This your board?”

  “No, Lieutenant Nappa had those boards shipped in from California. He was from Florida and was a surfing nut. The Air Force makes a lot of supply trips to Oakland, so Nappa paid one of the pilots four hundred dollars to bring these back for us.” Cooper paused. “Nappa said that if anything ever happened to him that he wanted these boards left here for anyone to use.”

  Paul turned the board that he was holding over and checked for dings.

  “They’ve been really well cared for.” Paul handed the board to Cooper. “You going surfing right now?”

  “Yes, sir; there’s still a few good hours of daylight left. Do you surf, sir?”

  “I thought that you’d never ask!” Paul pulled his clothes off as he spoke.

  “I’ll meet you down there in ten seconds!”

  Sergeant Cooper was paddling out through the soupy white water as Paul reached the beach through the gate, carrying the other surfboard under his arm. Within five powerful strokes Paul had broken through the breakers and was pulling behind Cooper.

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  “This is really living!” Paul’s voice startled the sergeant.

  “Christ, sir! That was quick!” Cooper sat up on his board. “Before you try your luck, Lieutenant . . . you ought to know that this area is full of sea snakes.

  They normally leave you alone, but watch out for them.”

  “Thanks.” Paul saw a swell starting a hundred meters out from him and started paddling hard. The wave caught him perfectly and he stood up on the board. He shot through the water-created tunnel and hot-dogged his way to the beach. Paul heard clapping and for the first time noticed a small group of men sitting back in the sand dunes who had been watching him come in.

  The man nearest to him spoke, “You’re pretty good with that thing, Lieutenant!”

  “Thanks.” Paul turned and joined Cooper, who was still waiting out past the breakers for a respectable wave.

  Paul was in one of his elements.

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  15

  “ P aul! Paul!” The loud pounding on the plywood door woke Paul from his deep sleep. “Damn it! Paul! Open up!”

  Lieutenant Bourne sat upright on his cot and swung his legs over the edge. He looked at the luminous dial on his army-issue watch and frowned over the early hour.

  “Come on in, the door’s unlocked,” Paul stretched and stood up. He could feel the fine grains of sand between his toes.

  The door flew open and Lieutenant Loveless strode into the small hooch wearing a set of worn camouflaged tiger fatigues. Jay flicked on the overhead light and grabbed Paul in a firm bearhug.

  “How in the hell did you land an assignment here?” Jay dropped Paul back down on the floor and stood back.

  “Get your ass away from me, you queer bastard!” Paul laughed. “Can’t you see I’m fucking naked!”

  “I know a lot of women who’ve wished that I was a little queer! Especially after they’ve had one of my super fucks!” Jay laughed with his friend, releasing some of the tension that had built up inside him during the long, six-day patrol.

  Jay slapped the side of his leg. “Damn your skinny ass! It’s good seeing you, Paul!”

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  “Well . . . I figured that I had better get assigned up here to watch after you . . . I remember how piss poor you did during night patrols during OCS,”

  Paul slipped Jay a sly look, “and I did promise your parents that I would look after you in Vietnam.” Paul pulled a pair of black peasant pants on over his hips and tied the drawstring around his waist. “How’s your Dad doing?”

  “He’s fine. Mom’s worried shitless about me being over here and Dad still has his job in Orlando.” Jay slipped down in a chair that had been made out of empty ammo boxes and sandbags and crossed his legs in front of him. “Do you still have your Randall?”

  Paul reached up to a wooden peg that was holding his web gear and pulled the seven-inch blackened blade from its oiled brown-leather sheath.

  “It’s just like new.” He handed the blade handle first to Jay, who ran his thumb slowly down the extremely sharp cutting edge.

  “Have you used it on any gooks?” Jay didn’t expect an affirmative answer and held his thumb out for Paul to see the thin red line the sharp blade had cut. “Just like the Gurkhas of India! Once a knife has been drawn from its sheath, it must bring blood before it is replaced.”

  “Dipshit! You know how sharp a Randall knife is!”

  Jay frowned at Paul. “You haven’t answered my question. Have you used the knife on any VC?”

  “That’s a long story that should be told over a lot of booze.” Paul’s voice dropped and his voice thickened. “The answer to your question is yes.”

  Jay sensed that his buddy desired to change the subject of their conversation and reached back on his own pistol belt and pulled his Randall from its sheath. He held the two knives side by side. Both knives were identical, except for the names engraved on the combat-blackened blades near the hilts.

  Officer’s Candidate Class 2-66 was engraved under each of the names.

  “I really appreciate your parents buying me that knife as a graduation present.” Paul took his knife from Jay and placed it back in its sheath.

  “Hell, it wasn’t that big of a deal. The Randall Company is right next door to my parent’s house—Gary Randall is a friend of the family!” Jay stropped his blade against the edge of his boot.

  Paul knew better. It was a big deal getting a Randall fighting knife. Since the Vietnam War had started, there had been a big demand for the custom-made knifes and the normal waiting time for one of the blades was well over a year.

  “So, anyway . . . where in the hell have you been?” Paul sat back down on his bunk.

  “Fightin’ the fuckin’ war . . . Bro!” Jay looked up at the ceiling and folded his hands behind his head. “Man, we had a
great mission! My people are cra-ee-zzzy! My team sergeant has got to be el nut-o! We accomplished what we had set out to do, plus we killed a passel of NVA . . . ” Jay’s 199

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  eyes took on a very tired look but he continued talking. “. . . My sergeant

  . . . Christ, did he pull off a good one! Right before we were due to be extracted, we heard a convoy of trucks passing by close to our extraction site. Sergeant Nimon took a claymore mine from his rucksack and attached two sets of detonating wires together. He looped the long wire like a cowboy’s lariat in his left hand and held the claymore in his right hand while he took up a position behind a large tree waiting for the last truck to pass his location next to the narrow road. He threw the mine over the tailgate and waited for the wire to play out of his hand before he pushed the detonator. It blew thirty NVA soldiers all to hell!” Jay rolled his eyes. “Love it!”

  “Seems like you’re getting to see a lot of action.” Paul smiled as he recalled patrolling with Jay in the Georgia swamps. Jay had been afraid of almost everything during that training phase, and now he was the team leader of a damn fine recon team. “You’re getting to be a big boy!”

  Jay shot out of his chair and tackled Paul around his waist, pushing him back down on the bed.

  “Get your weak ass off me! Shit!” Paul twisted, trying to break Jay’s grip.

  Paul maneuvered Jay until he could slip him into a full-nelson and then he felt his friend’s body go limp.

  “You all right, buddy?” Paul rolled Jay over on his back.

  “Sure . . . I just didn’t realize just how damn tired I am . . . We haven’t slept in five days . . . been on amphetamines . . .” Jay’s eyes closed. Paul reached down, grabbed Jay’s feet, and flipped them up on his bed. Jay was lost in a deep sleep before Paul left the hooch for breakfast.