by Eric Meyer
AMBUSH
By Todd McLeod & Eric Meyer
BOOK 9 of the Heroes of Vietnam series
Short Fiction
Copyright 2020 by Todd McLeod & Eric Meyer
Published by Swordworks Books
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Chapter One
Signals Lieutenant Van Vu cleaned his thick lensed, wire rimmed spectacles and regarded the radio installation inside a hut in the village of An Bao. He was less than satisfied. A laborer turned a crank handle, a primitive generator that powered the radio, and as far as it went the system worked adequately. A converted bicycle, the generator was light and portable enough to be moved quickly in the event of an enemy attack. An NVA soldier, Corporal Trinh, operated the radio set, and he seemed confident enough. Van Vu, a gangling and earnest young officer, and a college graduate unlike most of his fellow officers, could see problems. The first was the antenna, but the second was far more important. The radio set itself. He cleared his throat and touched his face. Hoping the scars of his childhood acne had vanished, as he hoped every day. And every day they were still there.
“Corporal Trinh, are you aware of the importance of that radio?”
The man nodded without turning his head. “Of course, Lieutenant. We must be able to communicate with headquarters.”
“Anything else?”
Sensing something was amiss he turned his head. “To keep it well-maintained?”
“Look at the back of the radio, Corporal. You will see a brass plate. Read what it says.”
He was barely literate, and he made out the words slowly. “A gift from the people of Hanoi, presented to the People’s Army of Vietnam by President Ho Chi Minh.” He stared at Van, “Father Ho?”
“That is correct, Corporal. If that radio falls into enemy hands, can you imagine the reaction in Hanoi? A major propaganda coup for the Americans, and for the men who allowed it to fall into their hands, perhaps it is best not to think of the consequences.”
“Lieutenant, I had no idea.”
“Now you do. It is priceless, given to the People’s Army by the hands of the father of the nation.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better. There is something else, the antenna.”
Attached to a nearby palm tree, the antenna required no more than a short length of cable to connect it to the radio set. Corporal Trinh was proud of his creation.
“The antenna? Lieutenant, such a short length of cable means we have a stronger signal, and when atmospheric conditions are suitable, we can even transmit as far as Hanoi.”
“That is impressive, Corporal. Tell me, do the Americans have equipment to triangulate on our signal and work out the location?”
A shrug. “I don’t know. It may be possible.”
“I assure you it is more than possible. And if they manage to establish our coordinates, what do you think would happen, Corporal?”
Realization dawned on his face. “They’d know we’re here?”
“Yes, they’d know we’re here. You know what would happen next.”
“An attack.”
“An attack. And they could seize the radio presented personally by Ho Chi Minh.”
“Lieutenant, what have I done?”
He patted him on the arm. “You didn’t know, and I will not report your failure to Hanoi. But you must move the aerial, I would suggest one kilometer to the south. You have sufficient cable?”
“Yessir, we have cable we stole from the Americans. I’ll see to it right away.”
“One more thing. The antenna could become the focus of an American attack, which is better than them attacking our An Bao headquarters. But this is an opportunity, Trinh. Detail two platoons of soldiers to set up ambush positions close to the antenna.”
“You think they will come?”
“Corporal Trinh, I know they will come. And when they do, we will be ready for them.”
* * *
The Hueys of B Company, 5th Battalion 7th Cavalry Air Mobile flew low over the jungle canopy, heading north. This was to be a surprise attack on a People’s Army of Vietnam headquarters ten klicks north of Landing Zone Uplift. Intelligence had identified the North Vietnamese headquarters in the area following triangulating radio intercepts, and they were about to pay the Communists an unannounced visit.
In the lead slick, the nickname for the enlarged troop carriers, the Huey UH-1C, half of Third Platoon sat on the benches, chewing gum, swapping jokes, and trying to look as if this was all SOP, Standard Operating Procedure. It wasn’t. The planning for the mission had been hurried, and there was confusion about whether the headquarters even existed.
“You never know,” Bo Buck said to the trooper sitting next to him, Joe Walker, “They could’ve got it all wrong, and it could be some farmer listening to pop music on his transistor radio.”
Walker had been a long way away. In a better place, and he was pitching ball in a major league game while his current squeeze, a gorgeous and pneumatic blonde, watched and cheered from the bleachers. A dream, but one day he’d make it happen. He was an insignificant guy, five eight in his shoes, and his freckles had annoyed him since he could remember; as well as the two blonde streaks in his hair, one of either side, and his scrawny physique. When he was a major league star pitcher, it would all change. Problem was, he had to survive Vietnam.
“Farmers don’t transmit on transistor radios,” Walker grunted, “I reckon it has to be there. Besides, they’re sending two platoons from A Company, the First of the 50th Infantry to the village of An Bao, to hit them from the south. We go in from the north and sweep back to squeeze them between two forces.”
Bo grimaced. “It sounds like a recipe for disaster. If it all goes wrong, friendly fire is a bitch.”
But Joe noticed he didn’t stop gazing at the jungle canopy as it rushed past. Buck was a hunter. His tanned and weather-beaten face evidence of the time he’d spend out in the boonies of his native Tennessee. A natural marksman, he was slim, and looked almost emaciated. Underneath he was as wiry and tough as they came, and his uncanny sixth sense for terrain had led Third Platoon out of more than a few scrapes.
“Any fire is a bitch if it’s coming your way.”
The platoon sergeant, Don Redman, was seated opposite. A leathery vet, nobody knew his age, except he had more wrinkles than most other men in uniform. His skills and experience had made him an effective NCO, a man the platoon looked to for leadership under fire. Which was more than could be said for some of their officers.
He grinned. “This time we have a sucker punch waiting for the enemy. B Company, 1st Battalion, 69th Armored is waiting in reserve with seven M48 Pattons. If we run into anything we can’t handle, they’ll come a’running. The infantry are mounted in M113 Bradleys, and one of them is fitted with a flamethrower. If the Commies come out to play, they’ll give them a roasting.”
“I sure hope so, Sarge,” Bo grunted, “After the Tet Offensive, the bastards seem to be crawling out of the woodwork. They’re everywhere, and we’ve lost a lot of men this year.”
“So have the enemy, and a lot more than us. Intelligence reckons Tet effectively knocked out the Vietcong as a fighting force. That’s why we’re facing PAVN. They’re sending regular troops down from the North to make up the shortfall.”
Seated next to Redman was the handsome and debonair platoon commander, Lieutenant Richard Early. Early made it big in a couple of movies, and he still managed to look like a movie star even in the close confinement of the Huey cabin. Men and their equipment packed in, sweating in the intense humidity. Joe Walker’s ODs were soaked and uncomfortable, as were the uniforms of every other man in the squad, except Early. He’d made a bad start when he came to the platoon, having learned everything about war from movies and comic books. The dashing officer with his movie star looks made some bad calls and come close to getting fragged. Which meant removal of a dangerous and unpopular officer by means of a fragmentation grenade rolled into their tent while they were sleeping.
Yet today something was different. He looked calm and confident. A platoon commander who knew what he was doing, and unlike the other men, his uniform was still immaculate and unmarked by sweat stains.
“Men, I know I’ve made mistakes, but believe me I’ve learned from them. This time there will be no mistakes. I know what we have to do, and the Sergeant agrees.” Redman nodded, “I’ve had a long talk with the M-60 crew, Frank Bennett and Manuel Rodriguez, and they’ll be covering our flank at all times. Walker and Buck will take point because they’re the best.”
Joe raised his eyebrows in surprise. Until now, Early had given him the impression he hated him, and now he was passing him a compliment. “Lt, we just do our job.”
“It’s good to know you’re up there upfront, you two men. With Buck’s hunter instincts and Walker’s skills with grenades, the enemy better look out.”
He continued talking to Redman and pulled out a map and unfolded it. He began to point out different locations and penciled in the route they’d be taking, and so far, it all looked good. For once he was behaving like a professional soldier, instead of an asshole. The Hueys flew on, with Third Platoon in the lead two helicopters, and the four helicopters of First and Second Platoons way out on the flanks, keeping pace.
The co-pilot turned his head into the cabin. “Five minutes out, Lieutenant.”
“Copy that. Listen up, Men. We touch down at Landing Zone Ollie and head for the village of An Bao, that’s about three klicks further north. An Bao is the village where they intercepted the radio transmissions, so it’s a no-brainer it has to be a headquarters.”
Redman’s eyes narrowed. “Lieutenant, what’s this about the LZ three klicks from An Bao? You said we’d hit the village with a surprise attack. If we touch down three klicks away, they’ll hear the helicopters and know we’re coming.”
“That’s where the Company Commander wants us, Sergeant. I don’t see the problem.” He molded his expression into his movie star grin, “After all, we can hardly touch down on the village square, can we?”
It was the first sign that things didn’t look so good. Redman didn’t argue, couldn’t argue. If those were the orders, that’s what they’d have to do. “If you say so, Sir.”
He didn’t look confident. Joe didn’t feel confident, and neither did the others. Sure, they’d have the Bradleys loaded with infantry waiting to hit them from the south, and they have the squadron of M48 Pattons in reserve. They’d have the Bradley fitted with flamethrowers, but none of that made any difference when you are taking fire from an enemy waiting in ambush. An ambush they’d have ample time to set when they heard the Hueys touch down three klicks away.
They put down at LZ Ollie and disembarked the helicopters without seeing the enemy. Walker and Buck were walking one hundred meters ahead of the rest of the platoon along a narrow jungle path, glancing uneasily from side to side. They’d made over half the distance to An Bao, two klicks, with one to go. And the further they got, the thicker the jungle became.
Buck paused and seemed to sniff the air. “If I was sitting in ambush, I’d use a place like this.”
“Trouble?
He hesitated for a few moments before answering. “I don’t see anything, and I don’t hear anything. But something tells me they’re close.”
“You’re sure?”
He didn’t reply but stopped again and surveyed the surrounding area through the scope fixed to his rifle. Joe plucked out a grenade, and after a moment’s thought, pulled the pin. Back home in Tennessee, Bo was a hunter; his skills and senses honed by hundreds of hours spent searching the backwoods of his home state. If he thought they were there, nine times out of ten he’d be right. And Joe didn’t plan on betting on one chance in ten he was wrong. They started forward again, taking care, searching for booby traps, and for the least sign of the enemy. Something that didn’t look right, but more often something that didn’t smell right. Like the unfamiliar spices a soldier had eaten that day, or the rank stench of body odor.
He took another half-dozen paces and stopped again. The platoon was coming up behind them. Lieutenant Early, eager to get to grips with the enemy and cement his new persona as the competent platoon leader, quickened his pace to catch up with them. He looked at Joe. “What is it? What have you seen?”
“Nothing, Lt. It’s just that Buck has got a feeling.”
“A feeling! Dammit, Private, don’t you have anything more positive than a feeling?”
As he spoke, the jungle erupted, and bullets ripped past Early, some chewing into the ground around his feet. In his shock and surprise he danced up and down in an attempt to avoid the lead flying past him. They’d encountered their worst fears, exactly what Buck had expected. An enemy ambush, and if things were as bad as they looked, they’d have to fight their way back to LZ Ollie. Depending on the enemy strength, the chances were they’d take heavy losses on the way. Unless anything changed, the mission was screwed.
Chapter Two
“Jesus Christ! Incoming! Bennett, Rodriguez, get that M-60 up here. Platoon, deploy, take cover. Sergeant Redman, take command, and get the men ready to move in and take them out. Walker, Buck, come with me. We’re going in there.”
His eyes were blazing with enthusiasm, as if the gunfire had awoken something inside him, some reserves of courage and energy he hadn’t tapped into in the past, but now he was a different person. Maybe not the most skilled of officers, but a man of action, a leader of men, and he was already racing into the jungle, heading toward the guns.
Joe looked at his buddy, who shrugged, and they raced after him. Pushing their way through thick jungle and trying to avoid volleys of bullets that hacked toward them, at the same time watching for booby traps. Yet Early was like a man who knew he was invulnerable. Bullets lashed past him, and he ran on, his M3 Grease Gun held at the hip, and when an enemy soldier failed to see him and stepped out in front, Early squeezed the trigger and took him down in a vicious volley of .45 rounds. He ran on for a few more meters and suddenly paused. A squad of North Vietnamese soldiers, at least twenty men, and three men were frantically reeling in a long length of cable while three more were lowering an antenna fastened to a tree. The other ten were covering them with their AK-47s, and suddenly they were face-to-face, guns leveled at each other, one man with a Grease Gun, and ten with AKs.
Early flung himself to the jungle floor as bullets streaked past him, and the two men coming up behind dived to the side as ten AK-47s spewed long streams of bullets toward them.
“I want the antenna!” Early shouted, “Don’t let them take it away, or they’ll use it to transmit again.”
More men were appearing, crawling up from spider holes in the ground, evidently well prepared for the arrival of the Americans.
“Joe, there must be at least thirty of them. And still more are coming. We need to get out of here.”
“You’re right. Lieutenant, forget the antenna. We have to pull back.”
“The hell with pulling back. Get the rest of the platoon up here. We’re going to attack.” He sounded crazy, almost maniacal, and his voice was shrill scream, “Get them up here, and tell Redman to hurry! We can take these bastards. Do it! I’ll stay here and try to hold them off while you find the Sergeant.”
“I’m already here,” the voice grunted from behind them. They hadn’t heard him arrive, which was no surprise with the number of bullets ripping through the jungle, “The Lieutenant seems to have found himself a battle.”
“Sarge, there’s too many of them. We should pull back and call in support, but all he wants to do is secure the antenna.”
“No way. I’ll talk to him.”
He slid forward on his belly, but before he reached Early, the enemy had targeted him, and a long burst of assault rifle fire bracketed the place where he lay. He shouted in pain as several bullets tore into his body, and then Redman was up with him. He grabbed him and started dragging him back, but the enemy wasn’t about to see their prey disappear so easily, and a dozen men were racing to cut them off.
Joe catapulted to his feet, the grenade still in his hand. “Bo, cover me.”
He ran with no attempt to keep low, and just one thing fixed in his mind. Those men were in trouble, and they needed some firepower to get them out. By a miracle, the bullets tearing the jungle apart all missed, and he reached Redman, who was still trying to drag the Lieutenant. He ran past him. “Buck is back there covering, Sarge. I’ll slow them down a bit.”
