One, Two, Three...What Are Fighting For? (unfinished Vietnam one shot)

[Claude4Catalina]

Unfinished story written about a year ago, punctuation, grammar and such are all sub par but I figured I might as well share this and get some feedback. Happy reading!

 

 

 

 

 

Kilo Three-Five, radio check, over. The dark silence was broken by a static filled voice.

Three-Five reads you Lima Charlie Kilo Six, over. Private First Class Henry Jones, Third Platoons RTO, sleepily replies.

Six reads you Three, out. The distorted voice, that of Captain James Ashby, replied, ending the transmission.

 

KSST.

 

The silence is broken as a careless Viet Cong Sapper trips a flare on Third Platoons perimeter, illuminating the night sky. Grenades bombard the approximate location, four frags land near the gook, reducing him to a pink mist as eleven other Sappers begin firing their 7.62x39mm rifles, a mix of AK-47s and SKS carbines.

Six this is Three-Five. Staff Sergeant Daniel Edwards, current Commander of Third Platoon, speaks into PFC Joness PRC-25. Weve got contact, repeat, Three-Five has contact, Zips in the wire Six, over.

Copy that Three-Five, Charlie Oscars Oscar Mike to your POS, hold fire to your Whiskey, over. Captain James Ashbys RTO, Lance Corporal Joe Davis, speaks into the Company PRC-25 as the Captain, known to his men as Skipper Jimmy, heads down from the relative safety of the Command Post at the rocks, into the sh*t on the ground. Rounds from the M60 machine guns head towards the flares direction, two rounds piercing another Sappers chest. He drops dead as he pulls the det-cord on his satchel charge, instigating an explosion. Captain Ashby ducks for cover near Staff Sergeant Edwards, who is in deep cover whilst his men from Second Squad fire on the invisible enemy.

Staff Sergeant! Captain Ashby shouts above the gunfire. Staff Sergeant Edwards! He shouts again as the Platoon Sergeant buries his head in the dirt. Alright, listen up! The Captain hollers, drawing the attention of Second Squad. You boys keep up the fire, rest of the Platoon will fall back. Sergeant Palmer?

Yes Skipper? Sergeant Palmer, a vet of Starlite, replies.

Keep an ear on the Prick, you fall back on my mark, got it Sergeant?

Roger that Skipper Sir! Sergeant Roy Palmer, Second Squad leader from Detroit, confirms as he fires his XM177E2 into the bush. Keep firing Bravo!

 

The Captain clambers back up the rock pile but falls back as three stray rounds strike his upper back, a final fourth round hitting the back of his neck, dropping him to Second Squads position.

Kilo Five this is Kilo Three-Two, Six is hit, hes pretty f*cked up. Sergeant Palmer reaches for the radio on Lance Corporal David Williamss pack. Repeat, Kilo Six is down, over.

Roger that. A panicked First Lieutenant Colin Wilkins replies. Fall back Three-Two, over.

Negative Sir, suggest getting First and Third back, Second will provide cover fire, over.

Whatever Sergeant, out. An indifferent Lieutenant Wilkins shrugs, hanging up the radio as he and Gunnery Sergeant Esteban Sanchez, hold their position. Gunny, Platoons yours, take helm. The Lieutenant cedes command to Gunny Sanchez, a Korea vet of Mexican heritage.

Kilo Two this is Kilo Five, over? Gunny Sanchez gets on the radio to Second Platoon, back at LZ Rose, current camp for Kilo Company.

 

Read you loud and clear Five, whats the problem? Over. First Lieutenant Lorenzo Vasquez, an intense Mexican Platoon Leader had been up all night with Company First Sergeant Louis Marshall monitoring radio chatter.

Got a handful of gooks down here trying to break our wire, Six is down. Were falling back to LZ Rose, over.

Roger that, Ill get my men to hold fire. Two-Six out. First Lieutenant Vasquez passes the handset back to the Third Squad RTO, Corporal Chris Clinton. The Lieutenant had been in country nearly two years and served with various Marine Infantry units. He had sly eyes but an honest, if not slightly panicked face. He was considered one of Kilo Companys better Officers, showing courage under fire and not asking too much from his men. His Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Ken Moore, was happy to have broken in the Lieutenant and glad to of had a man who respects the person, not the rank, and expects the same in return.

 

Mortars began falling in the river between the rock pile and LZ Rose. Third Squad, led by Sergeant Harry Boyd, began taking casualties. He was first to withdraw with his RTO, two Team Leaders and two Rifleman. Sergeant Boyds men pushed forward to the camp when M60 fire broke their stride.

Hit the deck! Sergeant Boyd shouted as he and his men dropped to the floor. John get me that radio now! Sergeant Boyd ordered as he RTO inched forward under the heavy fire. Boyd yanked the handset and started yelling. All Kilo units this is Two-Three, we are under heavy fire from LZ Rose, Im inbound with myself and seven more of my men, do not fire or we will return fire, is that clear? Over. The Sergeant threw the handset back, agitated to say the least.

Copy that Two-Three, youre clear to come in. Sorry about that, my men got jumpy out. The radio voice replied as Sergeant Boyd rose up with his men, the first to find their way back to LZ Rose.

 

First Squad was hunkered against the rocks, waiting for Sergeant Ray Palmer to bring his Marines up so they could tactically retreat. Sergeant Alan Graves, a short timer with the worlds issues on his shoulders was getting impatient. He had lost four men already and wasnt willing to lose another. Palmer, get your ass up here before we all get greased! Sergeant Graves stood up on the rock pile and the worlds troubles seeped out of the two holes in his chest as he was knocked back down by two rounds from an enemy SKS.

Lance Corporal John Ingram had been in a trance with his M60, squeezing off three to five round bursts, when he noticed the Sergeant was dead.

 

Miller? Sergeant Palmer shouted to his Third Team Leader, who was humping the Pig on this ambush. Palmer had him positioned on the left with his Fireteam to prevent the gooks taking the flank.

Yeah Sergeant? Corporal Glenn Miller shouted back.

You all good over there Glenn?

I got three down Sergeant, Im on my own out here! Corporal Miller replied, surprisingly calm.

sh*t, alright Bell, take Martin and get over to Millers position. Sergeant Palmer ordered two of his Riflemen. Dave! He then hollered for his RTO. Get me Five, were getting out of here, Charlies filled his boots, time we di-di. Just as Sergeant Palmer said that, Private First Class Jake Martin was shot in the throat as he made his way to Millers position. Kilo Five this is Two-Two, were falling back, once were in position, well cover your retreat, over.

Copy that, thank you much Two-Two, see you back at Rose, out. Gunny Sanchez thanked the Sergeant for allowing First Squad and the Command Group a window to escape. Sergeant Roy Palmers men began climbing the small rock formation two at a time, leaving just Corporal Glenn Miller and Lance Corporal Nathan Bell.

Glenn man, move, I got you covered! Lance Corporal Bell told Corporal Miller, an old friend. You had it rough over here, get moving bro!

I owe you a beer, be safe man! Corporal Glenn Miller left his M60 with Lance Corporal Bell and picked up the latters M16 and made a swift retreat up the rock pile. Before Lance Corporal Bell could turn to follow Miller, he was blown up by a miraculously well aimed Chi-Com grenade.

Second Squad set up positions, give Gunny and First Squad room to move it out! Sergeant Palmer got his troops organized, they all went prone against the rocks and strategically put out rounds.

 

Private First Class Teddy Phelps, Assistant Gunner for First Squads M60, ran through the second section of the river as mortar rounds splashed behind him. First Squad had already lost four men before the retreat, and PFCs Phelpss Team Leader, a Corporal or something, had been hit by one of the enemy mortars whistling in. Two more grunts were hit as Phelps ran with the rest of his Squad, lugging the belted 7.62 M60 rounds across his chest. He couldnt see the M60 Gunner anywhere, Phelps just assumed he had been hit by the mortar fire. PFC Phelps reached the Company perimeter to a bunch of wide eyed grunts, surprised that anyone survived that mortar barrage.

 

Roy theyre bracketing us with mortars! Corporal Mike Wright hollers to Sergeant Palmer as they lay against the rock pile, the nine Marines of Second Squad carefully aim for the enemy muzzle flashes, which begin to diminish while the mortar rounds walk closer and closer.

Pick your targets, we wont make it home tonight boys, stay alive and alert, got it? Sergeant called to his Squad, who all grimaced at the thought of not making it back to LZ Rose. Dave, get on the horn to Five, tell him were not gonna make it, were staying put until morning.

Kilo Five this is Kilo Three-Two, Two-Actual reports we are holding position until first light, enemy mortar fire is heavy and zeroing in on us, over. Lance Corporal David Williams grumbled down the radio to Gunny Sanchez, who was back at LZ Rose with the remains of the Platoon.

 

We gotta do something Top. First Lieutenant Vasquez looks to First Sergeant Marshall, who had a tactical map laid out on the ground with a red-lit flashlight directed at Second Squads position.

Get Battalion a sit-rep, Skippers down, multiple wounded and dead, Three-Bravos still out there, well go out at first light. First Sergeant Marshall drawled his words with his North Carolina accent as Lance Corporal Joe Davis begins relaying the message to the Battalion Commander. Lieutenant Vasquez, suggest you get your men ready for a first light fight Sir, boy its gonna get hairy sometime tomorrow, so one days ration, load up on frags and ammo. First Sergeant Marshall remained polite in his requests to the First Lieutenant, who happily obliged to the Southern Gentlemans call.

 

A Huey came flying in low to LZ Rose the next morning, a clean cut Captain of thirty three years, five of which he had given to the United States Marine Corps, stepped from the cargo compartment, he was a poster boy the Marine Corps. The same chiselled jaw, hard stare and medium build that every OCS applicant dreams of becoming. The UH-1 rose again through the dispersing yellow smoke as a convoy of four M54 5 ton trucks rolled on from Route 9 along from Dong Ha. The Marines of Second Platoon began loading up their gear, leaving First and Weapons Platoon to keep the perimeter during the rescue. The new Captain stood watching for a moment before being approached by Top Marshall and First Lieutenant Colin Wilkins.

Sir. Top Marshall briefly saluted the Captain. Welcome to Kilo Company, Im First Sergeant Marshall.

Im First Lieutenant Colin Wilkins, welcome Sir. The Executive Officer saluted.

Heard you were hit pretty hard last night? The Captain, Terrence Perkins of Idaho, returned the salutes. You saddling up for an operation?

Third Platoons Second Squad is still out there, they didnt make the retreat Sir, were moving out to bring em home. Top Marshall explains as the three walk over to Gunnery Sergeant Esteban Sanchez and Lance Corporal Davis, the RTO.

Kilo Three-Two, this is Five, do you copy? Over? Gunny Sanchez spoke into the PRC-25, trying to contact the lost Squad. I say again Kilo Three-Two, this is Kilo Five, how copy? Over. Gunny shook his head, not noticing the new Captain.

Skipper Sir, glad to have you on board. Gunny Sanchez snapped a salute. Im Gunnery Sergeant Sanchez.

Id like a word with the men Gunnery Sergeant. Captain Perkins says quietly.

Listen up grunts, the new Skipper would like to speak! Gunny Sanchez hollered above the hum of diesel engines.

Men, I am Captain Perkins, your new Company Commander. I hope you find me to be firm but fair with you, Im an Officer, but I am also a Marine. Happy to be serving with you. Captain Perkins says in a softer tone, surveying the Marines under his command. Move it out! He bangs on the side panel of one of the M54s, the men loading up in their respective Squads, one per truck, the various NCOs yelling directions.

Get it moving Lance Corporal! First Sergeant Marshall got in the Company JEEP, acting as a point vehicle, driven by Lance Corporal Willy Burton.

 

I say again Kilo Three-Two, this is Kilo Five, how copy? Over. Gunny Sanchezs Hispanic tone wakes Sergeant Roy Palmer up, rifle still locked in his hands. A loose bandage was wrapped around his left arm. He couldnt believe it, he had made it through the night. The Sergeant slowly rose and took in his surroundings; about a dozen dead gook bodies were strewn on the field below the rock pile. Farmers worked in the tranquil rice paddies to the left, nobody would have through that four hours ago, a bloody fire fight and mortar strike was happening. RTO Lance Corporal David Williams was next to stir from the coma-like state everyone had fallen into during the night. He reached into one of his pockets and drew a pack of Marlboro, offering the Sergeant one. The two sat and smoked in silence for a minute, before Sergeant Palmer got on the radio.

 

Kilo Five this is Kilo Three-Two, read you loud and clear, over. Sergeant Palmer surprises Gunny Sanchez, who was sat in the second from rear M54 with the Command Group and the remains of Third Platoons Third Squad.

Sir, weve got contact, Sergeant Palmers alive. Gunny reports happily.

Alright, tell him were inbound, get a body count and get our dead and wounded out. Captain Perkins shows no emotion apart from emphasis on body count, the yard stick of progress in the war.

Three-Two this is Five, were inbound from Route One-Niner, Skipper wants a Bravo Charlie on the gooks and police up any of our boys you find, over. Gunny tells Sergeant Palmer.

Aye Gunny, copy your last, out.

Yo Gunny? Corporal Abraham Phillips, First Team Leader, noticed the brief radio exchange.

Yeah Abe? Gunny turns to the Corporal with a small grin.

You hear from Sergeant P? Corporal Phillips, a fellow blood, asks.

Matter fact I did, alright everyone when we get to the rock pile, it aint gonna pretty with that arty we had, but everyone do their best to police up our buddies, got it? Gunny quickly changed the subject, getting a rabble of replies all to the effect of yes Gunny.

Second Platoon will form a perimeter whilst Third Platoon secures any dead and wounded, dust off wont come in until weve got the area locked down. Captain Perkins, feeling slightly excluded amongst the units veterans, interjects.

 

Staff Sergeant Moore, disperse the men into a defensive perimeter! First Lieutenant Vasquez tells his Platoon Sergeant as the M54s stop in the ambush area. The body of one of the Third Squad grunts blocks the road.

We got one up here! Lance Corporal Burton, the Company driver, shouts as he approaches the dead grunt. He turns the Marine over in hopes of identifying him. No luck, the Marines face was blown completely off and his fatigues were ripped to shreds, exposing what seemed like a million shrapnel wounds.

Well set up a casualty collection point in the middle of the road, come on Third Platoon, bring the men back. Captain Perkins makes the mandatory orders, but everyone knows their jobs, Second Platoon waited nervously whilst the remnants of Third Platoon searched for their buddies. Half hour later almost everyone had been accounted for, nineteen dead Americans, including one Captain. The last body, the only defining feature of this unknown Private First Class was that he was a redhead and been in country four days. Second Platoon were not even aware of his existence and the remaining men of Third Platoon were struggling to come up with a name, Sergeant Harry Boyd of Rochester, New York, was struggling the most, as he was the kids squad leader.

sh*t. Sergeant Boyd muttered to himself as he strolled the fields, kicking over dead gooks as he tried to remember the FNGs name. Carlson? Nah he was the boy from Kentucky. f*cking ginger kid, always told him to wear his helmet or Charlie would spot us a mile offwas that it, Private Charles? Boyd continued going through various names, dismissing them, until his looks up and hits the nail on the head. Conway! Squad! He yells to his men, who are scouring the field relentlessly. Its PFC Conway were looking for! The rest of the squad grunt, all they know is theyre looking for a dumb Private who got himself greased.

 

We cant wait here all day, the enemy will be looking for us. Captain Perkins said in a hushed tone to Staff Sergeant Daniel Edwards, who had dug himself in deep during the night, hardly even firing his rifle. The Staff Sergeant didnt care for the enemy, nor his Platoons safety, all he wanted was to get back to LZ Rose, crack open a warm beer and relax for a bit, but he played the Officers game.

I agree Sir, suggest we call him in as MIA, my mens morale will drop if we keep them out here searching for a dead body. Staff Sergeant Edwards wraps the Captain around his little fingers.

Did anyone see him go down? I cant just write this off if hes going to come strolling back into the camp in two hours. The Captain tries to maintain professional despite his temptations.

I did Sir, he was gunned down shortly before the mortars fell on top of us, I tried saving him Sir but the mortars knocked me unconscious. Edwards lies to explain his lack of participation in the fire fight.

I see, I need a man like you, integrity, respectful, most Platoon Sergeants would have told me they fought through the entire night but you admit to me that you were unable to. I like that, Im going to put you in for promotion to Gunnery Sergeant and make you my number two. How does that sound? Captain Perkins tells a shocked Staff Sergeant Edwards, a simple lie has been his next rung on the promotion ladder. Youve got enough time in grade and are showing all the capabilities for the billet.

Sir I, I havent done anything to warrant this promotion, Ive just done my job. Staff Sergeant Edwards stumbles on his words, unsure on the offer.

From what Ive been told, Gunny Sanchez is a brilliant infantryman, and better suited to the front lines rather than by my side. Perkins evidently doesnt like Gunny Sanchez, and it trying to remove him from any position of authority. Ive got something planned, which would suit Gunnery Sergeant Sanchez down to the ground. Staff Sergeant Edwards nods in agreement, easily swayed into accepting the promotion. Ill get your papers put through with the Battalion Commander once were back at LZ Rose.

 

LZ Rose was buzzing with activity that afternoon. A flight of Hueys came in with resupplies and left with dead Marines, leaving twenty four men in Third Platoon. In with the supplies was Third Platoons Commander, Second Lieutenant Ronald Henderson, who had been on R&R at China Beach for the past three days, and the men were giving him the cold shoulder.

I got back and found out Gunny Sanchez was my new Platoon Sergeant. Thats no bad thing, Gunny was a Marines Marine, he knew the score. Second Lieutenant Henderson, twenty three, an unmarried San Franciscan from a well to do Christian family, is unsure of the respect his men are showing to him. Before I went on R&R, they all told me to get some and have a good time, it was like me and all the Lance Corporals and above were best buddies. Now, I learn in my absence that Ive lost nineteen good men, one of which is currently MIA, and Skipper Jim was killed. The men act like its my fault for not being there, and in some ways, I do feel guiltyI guess thats a part of the grieving process, everyone loved Captain Ashby, he put me on R&R based on one of my Sergeants recommendations; that same Sergeant is now sealed up in a rubber bag. All whilst I was out there drinking cold beer and eating hot meals. Man, this place is depressing for the tropical climate.

 

Hey Lieutenant! The newly promoted Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Edwards, the Company Gunny, hollered to Second Lieutenant Henderson. Skippers called a briefing, requesting your presence Sir.

Yup, Oscar Mike. Second Lieutenant Henderson made his way to the CP on the west side of LZ Rose, at the request of his former Platoon Sergeant.

 

At ease gentlemen. Captain Terrence Perkins cleared his throat as he used an old radio antenna to point at the map of Kilo Companys AO that was hung up in the command tent. As you know, Ive made some changes regarding the Company. Second Platoons men have been replenished from former members of Third Platoon, Battalion says Khe Sanh takes presence over us in the field. Two things; Third Platoon is now acting as a Recon and Reaction Platoon, headed up by Second Lieutenant Henderson and Gunnery Sergeant Sanchez. Secondly, with Khe Sanh in mind, Battalion has ordered us to sweep east and link up with choppers at Ca Lu, road to Khe Sanh is littered with ordinance, whilst patrols are sent out daily, the Battalion Commander insists that we get our asses to Khe Sanh to assist, after we complete a combat sweep from the rock formations where we rescued Third Platoon, east until the village of Cho Luc, weve got tank support for Cho Luc, I want everyone ready to move it out by 0600 tomorrow morning, were loading up in the trucks until the rocks, at that point, Lieutenant Pritchard, youre taking First Platoon through the village of Luc Tan, down the road from the rocks, Lieutenant Vasquez, youre going through the rocks. We form up on the treeline and go from there. Third Platoon will remain at my side until needed, Weapons Platoon stays with the trucks and forms a perimeter once they reach Ca Lu. Any questions? It was written on First Sergeant Louis Marshalls face, the Captain was making a play for Major by accepting every order the Battalion Commander gave him. The Captain looks amongst his officers for any questions. Dismissed. The Platoon Commanders all walked away from the briefing unsure of their orders. As far as Skipper Jim ever knew, they were to stay at LZ Rose to cut off any advance to Khe Sanh from Quang Tri. Moving in seemed like they were tightening up, bring their lines closer rather than spreading it out and sealing any breaches.

 

You heard? Corporal Bill Hastings said to Lance Corporal Mick Williams as they lounged in the First Platoon tent. Other Marines around them were lazing about, the Private First Classs, most of whom had been in country maybe a week, were sat on their racks chatting amongst themselves. The older guys, even the Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis of Tucson, Arizona, was laid on his rack, smoking Luckys and joking.

I heard what, that new Stones record? Thats a bad jam man. Lance Corporal Williams replied.

Nah man, we going back to Luc Tan, plotting to get some like last time boot? Hastings laughed as Williams sat up.

Listen Bill, last time; there was no last time. I dont even know what youre talking about. Mick leant closer to Corporal Hastings, who looked at him slyly.

sh*t man shes a gook, aint make no difference if she of age or not, I had me a half alive one once, nearly bit the skin off my pecker! Bill Hastings chuckled as Mick Williams leant back on his rack, untrustworthy of the Corporal. Bill Hastings had been in Vietnam since 65 and it was showing. His feet were peeling like a snake sheds its skin. His teeth were yellow and rotting, a sure sign of a true Vietnam grunt. He carried with him a small satchel that contains the fingers of dead gooks. Nobody is truly sure of the origin of the fingers, as Hastings wasnt much of a marksman and sure didnt participate in the body counts after each fire fight, being a radioman meant he could sit back and wait for the new guys to count up the dead gooks. The younger guys, the cherries, would often look at Corporal Hastings and worry about ending up like him; he is the antithesis to the true American serviceman, a slack jaw rather than chiselled, lazy eyed and a droll voice; Sergeant Rock he was not.

 

Luc Tan? Corporal Adam Slocum turned in his rack to face Hastings and Williams. Thought Chair Force bombed the sh*t out of it after last time?

Buddhists, Slow, them gooks are usually Buddhists. Lance Corporal Tim Riley interjected from two bunks over. Work harder than a NAwlins whore, believe they can rebuild the Pyramids if the Mighty Marines were to blow them over.

Amount of firepower we put down, wouldnt be surprised if we could take down the Pyramids, say you remember that ambush on Phu Lai? Man them gunships came in, rocked Charlies world. The Corporal from Montana, adeptly called Slow by his buddies, drawled slowly as he remembered one his first landings.

Yeah, Charliell rock you world, you aint careful. Sergeant Sherman Myers, a tough Baltimore black said as he exited the hooch with a roll of toilet paper in hand, leaving the Marines on edge.

 

Sergeant Sherman Myers hadnt had the easiest upbringing; however it was pretty standard for a black in Maryland at the time. Dip in and out of school when they feel like, teachers didnt pay them no mind anyway. Make money on the streets, stealing cars for local hoods and generally up to no good until they either get some sense or arrested, a fifty-fifty gamble. Sergeant Myers didnt know his Dad, chances are he got arrested, Sherman thinks. After that and his Momma putting him on the street for robbing a home appliance truck and leaving the loot in their house, Sherman got some sense and enlisted in the United States Marine Corps in 1963. Four years later, as a Squad Leader in an Infantry Platoon, Sergeant Myers seems to have found his calling in life; to lead. He had found a home in the Marines, and was damn proud of it.

 

Doc Tom Cole, a Navy Hospital Corpsman First Class, sat on his rack, smoking and cleaning his M3A1 Grease Gun, a black all metal weapon, not commonly used by Corpsmen. But Doc was different, known as Mad Doc to the older guys in the Platoon, Doc still remembers Phu Lai. Doc was Underwater Demolition Team trained and had been in South East Asian since 1963, serving as a medical advisor, taking a year out after being wounded, but returned in late 1966, and was nearing the end of his third tour. The men of First Platoon respected Doc, and treated him like a Marine. One such mention of their respect for him came up during the evenings laze.

Man, you wanna talk about John Wayne? Sergeant Jack Benson, Platoon RTO, laid back with four other Marines and Doc, began his story. Shoulda seen Doc at Phu Lai, sh*t gook machine guns opened up on both sides, what does this crazy f*cker do? Sergeant Benson chucks Doc on the arm.

All I saw his Doc run forward with his Greaser, screaming like a f*cking hawk, and BAM frags one of the MGs from thirty feet out, but that aint enough for Mad Doc, was it? Sergeant Carlo Vanucci, First Squad Leader, continues the story before being interrupted by Corporal Danny Becker.

Next thing, I hear him spray his .45 and this gook comes rolling down the bank, landing near the dead point man, f*cking Doc had only cleared two MG nests with a frag and a clip from his M3, f*cking A Doc! Corporal Becker laughs, Doc still sat on his bunk, cleaning his weapon.

Hey, who was it on point back then? sh*t feels like a half a lifetime ago! Lance Corporal Edgar Martinez scratched his head, trying to remember.

It was uhBates? Corporal Becker chimed in.

Nah man, Bates went home about a month ago. Sergeant Benson remembered.

Oh f*ckTony something? Sergeant Vanucci was on to something. Tony K!

sh*t, that asshole? Man, bush dopers deserve to get greased, f*cking Khaler man. Jack Benson said bitterly, lighting up a smoke, offering his pack around. Doc took one and sat back in silence, continuing to clean his weapon, listening to the Marines bitching about dopers, lifers and Jody back home.

 

The Marines of Kilo Company stood before the Command Group, prepared to move out.

Listen up, Skippers got something to say! Gunny Edwards hollers in a weak voice.

I want a quick dismount when we reach the rocks Marines, First Platoon, youre going through Luc Tan to route out any VC in hiding. Second Platoon, you move it through the rocks and well regroup on the treeline. Third Platoon you stay with me, Weapons Platoon, you stay with the vehicles on the road to Ca Lu. Theres beaucoup gooks at Ca Lu, so stay frosty Marines, load em up! Captain Perkins sounds like a Marine with his head buried in the Division Intelligence papers and not looking at the facts.

You heard the man, get in the vehicles! Gunny Edwards tries to put on a tough façade but it doesnt fool the Marines of Kilo Company. They all load up in the trucks and hit the road, heading West towards Luc Tan.

 

They pass the village, just across a small river. Various villagers look at the Marines with sullen eyes; they silently judge and anticipate the worst. Nobody cocks a weapon but it feels like there is a loaded gun aimed at every Marine in the trucks, an atmosphere so thick you could slice through it with a KA-BAR. The trucks halt at the rocks and all but Weapons Platoon dismount. First Platoon begin to cross the river, holding their weapons at chest level but feeling defenceless without their fingers on the triggers. All forty six members of First Platoon crossed the river and enter the ville.

Look sharp, check all the hooches! First Squad, round up every villager and detain any military-age males you find! Second Lieutenant William Pritchard, 23 from Kansas, shouted to his men as they walked through the village, kicking in doors and dragging out men, women and children from the hooches. The men were took to one side, any male aged 14 or over was taken to Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis, who spoke fluent Vietnamese, quizzed the locals one by one. Are you NVA or VC? Have you seen any NVA or VC? The usual futile questions answered with an obedient shake of the head. Discipline was the Vietnameses greatest feat, they could stand straight as an arrow for hours on end on their masters word, and not beg a question. Doc Tim Cole saw to any of those with ailments, blisters or sores and tended to the easy cases. One kid had one arm blown clean off to the small shoulder and showed Doc the infected stump. Doc shook his head.

Whats the word here Doc? Second Lieutenant Pritchard approached Doc hurriedly, looking at his watch.

Im gonna need some time to clean this kids wounds, either that or a dust off. Doc continued to inspect the wound, probably a result of American activity in the area.

Negative Corpsman, Six wants us to move it out, no VC in the ville, just another dry hole. Police up your sh*t Doc, were moving out in five. Pritchard walked away after laying down the law with the awe-struck Doc, who simply picked up his M3A1 and cocked it by the handle on the side.

Im staying here Sir, we gave this kid his wounds, so Im at least going to clean them out, you can link up with the Skipper all day long far as Im concerned; Im not leaving here until this kids wounds are clean, got it? Doc had shifted the kid from his lap and now left his Grease Gun in his place.

Fine. The Lieutenant said after a long pause. Ill tell the Captain weve got something of value, though this ville tactically isnt worth a drip of piss. The Lieutenant couldnt help remind as he gave in to Doc.

 

As First Platoon marched west out of the village, Lance Corporal Mick Williamss eyes met with those of a young villager, maybe sixteen at a push. She carried a small child in her arms, the child looked to be only a few months old, and had the same indented chin as Williams. Williams swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down at what he carried; an M16 service rifle. The gook girl was familiar with the M16, it had become a staple in the humid jungles of the Nam, alongside water buffalos and booby-traps. Though what they both carried differed entirely, emotionally they both carried an urge for conversation, a hello or a smile. Lance Corporal Williams looked back up and carried on marching next to Corporal Bill Hastings, who was eyeing up a different villager, slyly grinning to himself. The march continued, the Marine Corps way.

 

Meanwhile, Second Platoon navigated the rocks with great ease. Shell casings littered the rocks from the other night the entire thing felt almost surreal. Most of Third Platoon had been reassigned to Second Platoon to fill the ranks, so for them to be standing where friends got cut down was almost like walking through a graveyard on Halloween. The rocks were splashed with dried on blood, dashes baked on from the daytime sun, the same sun that burnt the Marines, carried on even though the previous carrier of the blood was now in a rubber bag heading back to the States with two holes in his chest, alleviated of all worries, pure nirvana for those dead brothers now.

f*cking crazy aint it dude? Lance Corporal Carl Young, a California hot-rodder, turns to Lance Corporal David Williams as they stood on the rocks, smoking and watching the terrain. No movement, gooks are too smart for that sh*t. We was getting blown away here one moment, now its peaceful as dopers in Dallas, almost bet them rice farmers was the same dudes putting us in a world of sh*t. Young pointed to a lone rice farmer in the paddy nearby, tending his crops whilst the rest of his village was being manhandled by First Platoon.

Were moving it out boys, Dave LT wants you on his three, double time. Sergeant Daniel Taylor, a Newark-born Squad Leader came strolling over, splitting up the moment.

Take it cool brother. Young said to Lance Corporal Williams, now First Platoons RTO, as he made his way to the Lieutenants position. Young stood smoking on his own before joining up with the rest of Third Squad down into the open fields and toward the triple canopy covered trail in the forest ahead.

 

My old man was old breed at Peleliu. Twenty-two year old Lance Corporal Edgar Martinez of Pasadena, Texas, walked slowly at the tail of the column, admiring the hard working rice farmer slaving away in his paddy. See machine gunning is in my blood, same as farming is. Said he served with Basilone at Guadalcanal too, he sure had his sh*t together. Being a Marine, I remember how he used eat his toast in the mornings; hed save the curved edges then when he was done, hes use the edges to scrape up any remains, pinch it together and dump it in his mouth. Anyone of us kids take a look, hes say son, waste not want not, and continue about his day. I didnt understand that until I became a Marine too, waste not want not, that be the Marine Corps way. I gotta give it to the gooks though, they farm this land well, they keep it good and all, just a shame we shoot it up and bomb it, anyone did that at my familys ranch, Pa would have got out his shotgun and gone out for scalps. Tough old bastard, Papi.

 

First Platoon had successfully cleared the village with no real issues. Doc Cole had re-joined the Platoon and they now moved out to their next objective; clearing out the heavy brush ahead, route any Viet Cony in hiding. Between the village and the treeline was a bunch of rice paddies to traverse, a difficult task for a cherry to lead point on.

Platoon, halt! Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis ordered his men on behalf of his Platoon Commander, who wanted a change of personnel on point through the paddies. The men stopped and guarded their flanks, as Second Lieutenant Pritchards Squad Leaders gathered on his position.

Listen up, were heading across this paddy; Corporal Slocum Id like you and PFC Vasquez on point, Sergeant Vanucci your Squad is Tail End Charlie. Second Lieutenant William Pritchard wanted to make the best of the situation; no point getting a new guy wasted for something one of the vets could have prevented.

The Platoon moved through the damp paddy at a slow pace Corporal Adam Slocum, Slow by name and slow by nature, he paced deliberately through the paddy, keeping an eye out, prepared for what may lay ahead. Slocum worked in tandem with Private First Class Alfonzo Vasquez, a steel nerved Mexican with a keen eye. The pair led the Platoon across one of the dikes before havoc broke out as a sniper shot got Slocum between the eyes, instigating a rake of AK fire from the treeline. Private First Class Bradley Chambers watches and would later recall; the first one to die was my Team Leader, some hick Corporal from Montana; this sort of fat guy who had been in country eighteen months, within moments this other person, a Mexican from LA, got shot straight through the throat and was gurgling above the rattle of AK fire, the way a hungry baby could gurgle through the crowds at a baseball game. The ambush was over as quick as it started and Third Squad was two men down. Sergeant Myers put the Lance Corporal, Burt Taylor, in charge of the Fireteam. Burt Taylor was a mean bastard, his first action as Team Leader was to give me his M60 in exchange for my lighter M16 rifle. The M60 was a hell of a gun, Ive fired it a few times in basic and was quite proficient; humping all 23 pounds through the Vietnam bush was a different story though.

 

Second Platoon, Third Platoon and the Command Group had halted on the treeline and heard the loud crack of a sniper rifle pierce the tense air followed by the maraca-like fire of automatic rifles. The Company net was suddenly alive with reports that First Platoon was two men down. Second Platoons point man was refusing to go a step further, making this temporary halt a possible permanent problem.

I can smell trouble a mile off Sarge. The point man said to his Sergeant, a slim bespectacled North Dakotan.

What does trouble smell like then Corporal? Captain Terrence Perkins had come to the front of the halted column, .45 drawn, curious as to why half the Company had halted for longer than necessary.

Mostly gunpowder and rotting gook, Sir. Sergeant Ben Carson interjected pragmatically.

Trouble or no trouble, were going through the trees down that trail. Perkins laid down the law with Corporal Marcus Tucker, a normally passive Harlem black; an Operation Hastings vet and victim to the racism practised in the Marine Corps; after two years in country, only last week had he received promotion to Corporal. He balked at the idea of walking through the dense trail, as many others in his Platoon, but the Captain was the Commander, and so they walked through the triple canopy covered trail, a dark jungle tunnel.

 

The Marines of First Platoon had sustained two dead and a well-aimed blow to morale; Slow had become something a Platoon mascot, the guy that everyone loved and could trust, and now he being carried into the open field ahead of the paddies, wrapped up in a poncho, dead. Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis, the Tucson NCO, had taken point in an attempt to raise morale of his Marines, but to no avail. First Platoon set up a defensive perimeter on the clear field and called in for a dust off, which Captain Perkins begrudgingly agreed to, the medevac chopper was inbound in five minutes, the older Marines in Kilo One said their goodbyes to the dead Montana hick and gave the customary nod to PFC Vasquez, who joined the Marines out of fear of dying on the streets of South Los Angeles for nothing.

 

Second Platoons First Lieutenant Lorenzo Vasquez, no relation to Alfonso Vasquez, was nervous. Moving through such terrain, the enclosed spaces, trees flanking either side, it stunk of ambush alley. Still, he thought, he had Corporal Marcus Tucker on point with a Team from Second Squad to back him up. Corporal Tucker moved cautiously through the rough terrain and leading into a bottleneck. The jive-talking Harlem spook took one final step before a Viet Cong machine gun tore into his abdomen, ripping open his stomach and punching holes through his chest, dead he fell as the rest of the Platoon went for cover, the lead element of the Platoon, the Second Team of the Second Squad, all went down with wounds to the upper body, one burst nailed rifleman Private First Class John Hilton in the neck, beheading him, leaving the half dead Team Leader, Lance Corporal William Adams, to go into shock, quivering as he slowly died from his wound to the chest. Private First Class James Bernstein was lucky enough to die a quick death, about six rounds through the stomach was enough as his body gave into the pummelling and went limp on the sharp gradient.

Ambush front, ambush front, get to cover! Sergeant Harry Boyd fired his M37 pump action shotgun from behind a small mound as he watched five men get brutally cut down up ahead. The machine gun rattled as the gunner fired on the dead bodies, perforating the legs and arms of Private First Class Hilton as Private First Class Sean Kelly, struck by a stray bullet in the calf, laid wounded as his friends died painfully. More machine guns had opened up, accompanied by gook riflemen, tearing up the terrain occupied by the Second Platoon.

 

An M60 machine gun team set up on one of the fallen trees had managed to get a bead on one of the VC riflemen who had hidden in a spider hole. Lance Corporal Luke Bailey exchanged brief bursts of fire interspersed with the odd M79 bloop as a grenade launcher fired a fat forty mike-mike round into the dirt ahead. Corporal Frank Wilson ranged his M79 and took aim at one of the muzzle flashes and fired, awaiting a hollow thug, he was treated to a brilliant explosion; a direct hit on one of the machine gun nests, cooking off the surplus ammo in the process. Victory was short lived however, as a Chi-Com grenade came sailing in and landed on the other side of the log that he and Baileys M60 team had been firing from. Riley ducked down to avoid the blast, as did Chambers assistant gunner, Private First Class Scott Wallace, but Bailey didnt take action quick enough and was knocked back by the blast. The barrel of the M60 had warped beyond use and Bailey had received shrapnel wounds to the upper chest, neck and chin. PFC Wallace began to stabilise Baileys wounds but it was becoming obvious he was f*cked up pretty bad. Bailey leant back against the log in agony, his head poking just over the top, and while Wilson put out fire with his Blooper and Wallace began fixing the M60, replacing the barrel, a round scalped Lance Corporal Luke Bailey, slumping him forward; the contents of his head spilling out.

Two-Six this is Two-Three, come in Two-Six? Over. Panicked Corporal Chris Clinton spoke into the receiver of his PRC-25 field radio, a moving target for the gooks. He and his Squad Leader had been separated once the fighting began, but Clinton knew the Captain would be screaming for a sit-rep soon, so he decided to tell his Platoon Commander what was happening.

We read you Two-Three, what the hell is going on up there? Over. First Lieutenant Vasquez came on the line, concerned as always.

Weve got heavy contact out front Sir, I cant find Two-Three Actual, weve got wounded up here, can we get some air or arty to thin them out? Over.

Negative on the ass, it wont penetrate the canopy, advise you find Actual and pull back, well regroup as a Platoon and assault through, Kilo Three is scouting a flank as we speak, hang tight Two-Three, Six out. First Lieutenant Vasquez gave his orders and hung up the line, turning to Staff Sergeant Ken Moore, who nodded in approval to Vasquezs order.

 

Meanwhile, Third Platoons Commander, Second Lieutenant Ronald Henderson was allowing Gunny Sanchez to run the show. Henderson took up rear guard as his team of thirteen Marines and one Navy Corpsman moved slow through a trail on Second Platoons left flank. Careful not engage fellow Marines, Gunny Sanchez had his men on a hold fire order until they could get a proper view on the situation. The teams point man, Lance Corporal Michael West, nineteen of Jewett Texas, followed the trail around the sweeping corner and held his fist upwards as he dropped to the deck, the rest of Third Platoon following in motion. Gunny came crawling up, and tapped on Wests shoulder, leaning in close.

What do you got West? Gunny whispered in the Texans ear.

VC Company Id say, Soviet machine guns, automatic rifles and carbines, theyre dug in, in the trenches, two machine gun posts either end, must have a good bead on the field below. West whispered back, conferring with his Platoon Sergeant.

Good job Tex. Gunny patted West on the shoulder before crawling back. Im gonna tell the LT, see what he wants done, rest of you guys hold fire unless they spot us. Iggy, bring that Sixty up and set her up, but, hold your damn fire, got it?

Aye Gunny, Phelps on me. Lance Corporal Ingram moved up with his assistant gunner and took aim at the Viet Cong fifty cal threatening the livelihood of Second Platoon below.

Sir, VC Company in our sights, one fifty MG and another covering the field, various thirty cal rifles in the mix too, whats our plan? Gunny spoke slightly louder at the rear guard position as Lieutenant Henderson listened to the Platoon radio transmissions.

Weve got no air or arty fire so I say line the men up how you see fit and prioritise the machine guns, see if Second Platoon can get their asses moving up once we take out the MGs. Second Lieutenant Henderson, although slightly alienated from the Platoon after missing the night ambush that claimed the lives of many brothers, was still a rare breed of Officer and his men knew it. Gunny Sanchez moved forward and spread his Marines out along the treeline on the left of the VC camp, marksman Corporal Stan Taylor took aim with his telescopic scoped M14 and eliminated the fifty cal gunner, kicking off a volley of fire from Third Platoon, taking the enemy by surprise as M79 rounds landed inside their lines, cooking off ammo and killing them. Lance Corporal Rudy Benitez fired his eighth high explosive round of the volley and severely weakened the Viet Congs defensive line.

 

Third Platoons actions allowed First Lieutenant Vasquezs men to move up, still under fire but able to breathe, Lieutenant Vasquez moved his men up, twenty year old Tulsa born Lance Corporal Andrew Miltons rifle team leading the way up the gradient.

Buy you and your boys a case of beer for that one Three-Five, Two-Six is moving em up so watch your fire up there Gunny, Two-Five out. Staff Sergeant Ken Moore thanked Gunny for his actions above the chatter of M16 fire, Second Platoon were advancing fast, after taking such a beating, a moto charge like this was a good exertion of pressure. Lance Corporal Miltons team moved up to the trench line and kept both eyes wide open as Private First Class Richard Baker took a flurry of rounds to the thighs, groin and stomach, one gook shooter had dug in deep and aimed wildly, cutting down the eighteen year old PFC from Manhattan, New York, city slicker got greased after three weeks in country. Private First Class Russell Jones emptied a magazine into the gook as he stepped over the trench only to be shot in the back by another hiding gook, the same volley of rounds hitting Private First Class Kevin Parsons in the back of neck, the round exiting through the front of his nose. Lance Corporal Milton shot the VC point blank and let out an almighty scream.

Any more of you want to f*ck with us?! Lance Corporal Milton screamed as he stood breathing heavily, his whole team had been blown away within a matter of seconds. First Baker, now another two eighteen year olds, one from Columbus, Ohio, and the other, now with an extra nostril, hailing from Portland, Oregon.

f*ck you GI! Came a scream back from further in the camp as a Viet Cong opened up with his AK from a spider hole. Second Platoons First Squad quickly ducked back into the trenches and halted their advance. M16 fire saturated the treeline but Lance Corporal Fred Turner managed to pick off the hiding VC with his M14, nailing him straight between the eyes as he popped up to empty another magazine. First Squad stood up to move forward but retreated back to the trench as M60 crossfire killed three emerging gooks from the right treeline, intent on taking out the advancing element.

Goddamn it George, get Three on the line and tell him to call targets before engaging! A shaking Sergeant Ben Carson shouted to his RTO, Lance Corporal George Samuels, who shrugged off the order as a result of Carsons anger.

Kilo Two-One this is Kilo Three-Five, tagged three advancing Victor Charles on your three, youre clear to move it out, sorry about that Two-One. Over. Gunny Sanchez came on the line, at least Gunny knew the margin of error was a slim one.

We copy, request you cease fire as we move up, didnt get four of my guys wasted just to have you grease us, Two-One moving, out. Sergeant Carson replied, still shaken up. Threes saying were clear, Miller, move it out! Reed, watch our six, rest of you, eyes open and secure anything of importance, watch for booby traps and put down anyone still breathing.

 

Second Platoon got lit up pretty bad up there, sh*t and theres me thinking we were gonna be in the sh*t. Second Lieutenant William Pritchard said to Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis as they stood in a clearing prior to Cho Luc, squads pushed out to the embankment of the dirt road nearby, awaiting the tank support. Any word on those M48s? Captain said to link up at 1230.

Baron One is Oscar Mike Sir, they greased a few gooks falling back from Second Platoons position, main tanker wanted them searchedshame those mounted fifties would have torn up anything good.

I see the tanks, coming up our east! Sergeant Carlo Vanucci shouted, standing up to point at the convoy of four M48 Pattons rolling down the dirt road. A volley of fifty fire was thrown in his general direction but miraculously, nobody was hit.

Baron One this is Kilo One-Six, cease your f*cking fire! Thats us youre lighting up you f*cking assholes, I say again, cease your f*cking fire Baron One! Second Lieutenant Pritchard hollered into the PRC-25 and the fire soon ceased, a sheepish reply came from the tank Platoon Commander.

Sorry about that Kilo One-Six, your Six told us to clear the area and wait for his Company to link up, I radioed him about a platoon sized force in the AO and he authorised our fire, sorry again One-Six, over. The reply came through the radio, a genuine mistake, enforced by a man currently face down in the dirt waiting for his Second Platoon to clear a VC camp.

Solid copy Baron One, were still waiting on Six to link up, requesting you line up four abreast facing towards Cho Luc whilst we wait for the rest of the Company? Over. Second Lieutenant Pritchard regained composure and put in his request, which the tankers happily obliged, feeling guilty for nearly wiping an American Platoon.

 

Goddamn. Sergeant Sherman Myers, the Baltimore spade, though to himself. Nearly greased by our own f*cking tanksdamn thats f*cked up. Maryland Myers as he was known by the fellow brother bloods in the Company, carried with him a nickel plated black market Smith & Wesson wheelgun in a chest holster in addition to his M14, the same rifle he carried since he first arrived in Vietnam. Third combat tour of the Nam and Sherman really had his sh*t together, this dude was a born leader. Had he of been born to a well to do white Dundalk family, he would have easily been a West Pointer, came out a Second Lieutenant and commanded this platoon to victory over Victor Charles. He stood in the open field and recalled this one time when a Major strolled through a battlefield of dead gooks, accompanied by a few camera teams from various Stateside media outlets. He rested his boot on the back of a dead NVA, the typical hero shot, but little did he know the dead man was a half dead man, and armed a hidden Chi Com on the back of his belt just as the Major struck his pose. Timers on Chi Coms varied greatly, and this one, with but a mere two second fuse time, went off before the Major could blink, finishing off the gook and taking with him the Majors legs, and eventually his life. Tough f*cking Op that was, I mean sh*t we took like eight KIA in the Platoon alone, aint nothing til that f*cking POG Officer got himself greased. Sherman reached for a Kool as he thought about the senseless death he had witnessed in Vietnam, and wondered when his number was gonna be up.

 

Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Edwards strutted to the top of the incline, doing his best John Wayne impression as he flipped open empty fighting holes with Second Platoons Third Squad. Coming up empty until the second to last hole, Edwards took aim with his M16 as Lance Corporal Carl Young tore the thatching from the hole to reveal three VC regulars curled up in the fetal position. Edwards resisted the urge to blow away the gooks and began shouting in broken Vietnamese, telling the guerrillas to show themselves.

Dickinson, get those f*ckers out of that hole double time. Edwards ordered PFC Richard Dickinson, who hauled them out one by one, the new guy not bothering to check for traps; any other time a fatal mistake but he got lucky. He tossed two AK 47s and one SKS carbine out from the hole, which Corporal Thomas Reynolds began clearing, ejecting rounds and unclipping the loaded magazines. Wilson, go tell Six weve got three prisoners, VCs along with rifles, requesting dust off to get these men to the rear for questioning. Private First Class Eric Wilson nodded as he took off to go find the Captain, who was with Sergeant Harry Boyds Second Squad, who was policing up weapons and any ammo left.

Captain Perkins Sir. Wilson approached the Captain, who was taking stock of the VC inventory found.

Yes Private? Perkins turned out to see Wilson stood saluting. Perkins threw a quick return.

Gunny Edwards has three prisoners, hes requesting they are taken back to the rear for questioning Sir. Wilson relayed the message nervously as the Captain smiled slyly to himself.

Tell Gunny weve got birds inbound the Chu Loc road, if he can get those prisoners moving, theyre on board. Perkins replied, trying to conceal his happiness that Kilo Company had prisoners on his first combat mission.

 

After a short while, Second and Third Platoon had all their dead and wounded loaded up on ponchos ready to move out as they hiked back down the incline and through to the Chu Loc road, where First Platoon waited with the tanks. First Lieutenant Lorenzo Vasquez reported an outstanding thirty six enemy killed in action, with eight Americans dead and one wounded, the trade-off was almost fair. The tankers reported to Captain Perkins that they had killed twelve gooks, who had all seemed to have come from the small plateau serving as their camp, leaving forty eight dead gooks in total, Kilo Company suffering ten casualties in the process.

The landing zone was now bustling with activity, crates of ammunition were unloaded and the secured enemy equipment, about three dozen SKSs the rest were all AKs and a few oddities, like a French submachine gun and a German bolt action rifle. The ten dead were Marines loaded up into the chopper along with the secured enemy equipment, the three prisoners hoisted aboard the second helicopter along with an escort consisting of First Lieutenant Colin Wilkins, the Company Executive Officer and a rifleman from Second Platoon, Lance Corporal Andrew Milton, the Team Leader whose team was butchered in the initial charge after Third Platoon thinned down most of the prisoners comrades. The Marines of Kilo Company loaded up their magazines and prepared to continue on with their mission.

 

Alright Company, Six wants us to move it out towards Chu Loc behind them tanks. Gunny Edwards, chest pumped out in pride at capturing those three Viet Cong prisoners, ordered the battle worn Marines above the growl of the tanks diesel engines. Kilo Company moved behind the M48s, almost immediately coming under fire from the front. The tanks fired shells from their main guns and saturated the area with 50 cal fire. Captain Perkins had ordered Fourth Platoons trucks to divert down Supply Route C at the foothills of Ca Lu and set up their three M29 mortars at the crossroads, a short hump away from the village of Chu Loc. The Platoons three M60s had been set up at each point in the junction and the Command Group, First Lieutenant Simon Dunn and Gunnery Sergeant Ryan Seymour, accompanied by radioman Sergeant Fred Carroll, eagerly awaiting a fire mission from the attached Forward Observer, Second Lieutenant Harold Jones.

 

The M48s rumbled slowly across the wide open field, still receiving small arms fire, the lead tanker, a Staff Sergeant, came up on Captain Perkins line, requesting some assistance.

Kilo Six this is Baron One, can you get some arty on that treeline, thin the sons of bitches out? Over.

Copy that Baron One, my Five is putting it through the Foxtrot Oscar right now, keep up the fire with your 120 mike mikes and press on, Six out. Captain Perkins replied in his normal monotone, slightly annoyed that the tankers wanted artillery whilst his grunts had bitched once.

Yeah Id say thats about right, go with niner zero two, adjust if needed. Gunnery Sergeant Edwards tried to be helpful to Second Lieutenant Jones, who had been a Forward Observer for three months and hadnt suffered a single f*ck up as of yet. Jones called in the artillery and a white smoke shell landed marginally close to the lead tank, making Second Lieutenant Jones pounce for the PRC-25 receiver and holler into it.

Cease fire Kilo Four, I said cease fire, thats too close to friendlies. Drop hundred and fifty and try it again, over. Second Lieutenant Jones seethed and swore to solely rely on his own grid references in the future, with no intervention from an ass-kissing Officer pleaser such as Edwards.

Drop one-five-zero, copy that Four-Three, over.

 

sh*t, f*cking Captain nearly called in arty on the f*cking tanks. Corporal Martin Booth, who was walking point behind the tanks, cautiously avoiding the enemy fire. Rifles opened up from the right flank, Corporal Booth and Lance Corporal Elwood Calley managed to get to the deck first, but Lance Corporal Frank Jones, Private First Class Barry Haines and Private First Class John Sherwood were not so lucky and were hit by the initial barrage. A rocket gunner fired at the right-most tank M48 in the right side of the hull, scoring a mobility kill. The gunner let loose one more rocket, this one striking Second Squad Sergeant Ronnie Mitchell and most of his First Team, obliterating Lance Corporal Wayne Bradshaw, ripping off Private First Class Carl Wallaces legs, and peppering the chest of Gerald Baines with sharp pieces of shrapnel. Sergeant Ronnie Mitchell was nothing more than a splattering of organs and body parts in the field and Lance Corporal Bradshaw, a draftee from Memphis, Tennessee, had been pretty much quartered, leaving bloody stumps where all fours should be and a slit neck from shrapnel. One of the tanks in the column was a M67, a modified version of the M48, commonly known as a Zippo, for its flame throwing capabilities. The Zippo driver sped ahead of the half destroyed M48 and sprayed the area with jellied gasoline-napalm into the treeline, presumably toasting the enemy riflemen and hopefully the rocket gunner. Kilo Company stood up carefully from the dirt and resumed their advance.

Chambers, Martinez, move on the right flank and keep your heads on a swivel, supress that treeline if you get any movement. Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis moved his two machine gunners whilst the rest of the Company made a slow advance, still under fire. The remaining three tanks reached the treeline prior to the village first. The Zippo burnt through the heavy foliage in the mortar struck treeline, routing out any hiding Viet Cong. The trees were part of a large swamp just before Chu Loc, and were a prime spot for ambushes. The tanks did what they could, and machine gun fire opened up to their rear.

 

Second Platoon was on rear guard, behind the Company Command Group, and all was relatively peaceful until a hidden machine gun opened up on their slack man; Lance Corporal Michael OShea, a Boston born Irishman of twenty one years. OShea hit the ground and one of his team mates, rifleman Private First Class Dale Farmer, rushed to OSheas assistance, but was struck by a salvo of rounds to the midriff.

They got us pinned, only was is forward now, assholes! Corporal Steve Chapman, one of the survivors of Third Platoons night ambush, cried as two men from his were killed. The rest of Second Platoon hit the dirt again and tried to get a bead on the machine gun, they knew he was in the right treeline somewhere, but pin pointing it was like trying to find a grenade pin in a haystack, whilst holding the primed grenade. The men sprayed indiscriminately, against what all their training had prepared them for.

Conserve your ammo Second Squad! Squad Leader Harry Boyd yelled above the fire and almost immediately it was reduced to the odd well place shot. Phillips, you got any tracers? He asked Corporal Abraham Phillips, a stoic black from Rockford, Illinois.

One mag, right here. Phillips held up an M14 magazine with red tape wrapped around it.

You got eyes on the gooks? Boyd knew Phillips was a good shooter.

Yeah I think so, been firing on muzzles, think I know where he is. Phillips replied confidently.

Alright, get some tracer fire on that MG, rest of you follow Abes tracers and see if that supresses the f*ckers. Sergeant Boyd may be acting like Sergeant Rock, but after seeing this done many times in the field, he knew there was degree of success to be had.

Corporal Phillips took a knee and aimed his M14 at where he saw the muzzle flash coming from. The fire intensified as he made himself a target and fired off three rounds, the heavy rifle snapping back into his shoulder each time he fired. The rest of Second Squad lit the area up and the machine gun fire seemed to cease, various cheers came from the Squad as they stood up to rejoin the Company.

Right on Abe! Corporal Gilbert Crenshaw, one of Abes old friends, patted Phillips on the back, who simply shrugged it off, just another day at the office.

 

All Platoon and Squad Leaders for up on the CO for briefing! Gunny Edwards made the rounds as Second Squad regrouped with the Company and the tanks at the treeline. The seven Sergeants all made their way to the Captains position at the rear of the Zippo where the three Lieutenants were waiting.

Gentlemen, this is our end game. Captain Perkins stood whilst the rest of the men did the standard Vietnam crouch, bowlegged and hunched down. I know a lot of you consider me to be a FNG type Officer, and in light of this, I will be leading the way through the swamp and into Chu Loc, Gunny Edwards will be right by my side followed by First, Second, and then Third Platoon. Watch your fire lanes and keep moving, that village has been declared hot by Battalion and we are cleared to fire, Fourth Platoon caught some runners but theres gonna be more where that came from. We move out in five mikes, get your men ready to move.

Goddamn John Wayne suicide mission. Sergeant Sherman Myers walked away, shaking his head.

 

Alright rich kids, cop a listen here. Sergeant Myers walked over towards his Squad, who were all ready to move out on the word. Captains going through the swamp to our twelve, him and Gunny Edwards are taking point, were gonna be right behind them so when sh*t hits I want that Sixty on high ground Chambers, you got it? Private First Class Bradley Chambers nodded, fiddling nervously with the M60. Harris you stick close by me at all times, this is gonna go to sh*t very quickly so I want to stay in contact with the rest of the Company, watch your spacing and check your fire lanes, LTs gonna give us the world. You all got this?

Got it Sergeant. A murmur of replies came from the group of disgruntled Marines as Second Lieutenant William Pritchard came walking up to Shermans group.

Your men ready to saddle up Sergeant? Pritchard asked the grizzled Myers.

Roger that, awaiting your word Sir. Sergeant Myers hated the idea of a full frontal assault, but loved combat, every last moment of it.

Very good, Sergeant Vanuccis Squad will be up there with the Captain, Corporal Beckers taking whats left of Second Squad in the middle with me, and youll be our Tail End Charlie. Youve got your orders Sergeant, lets move it out! Second Lieutenant Pritchard, against better judgement, threw on a brave face and prepared for the worst.

 

Captain Terrence Perkins and Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Edwards crept through the swamp with radio operator Lance Corporal Joe Davis slacking behind.

Davis, get with the program! Gunny Edwards hissed. What if I get greased and Skipper needs to call in an evac?

Lance Corporal Davis rolled his eyes and moved forward, First Platoon was still in the treeline, leaving the Command Group with their ass in the breeze. First Platoon crossed into the swamp led by Corporal Henry Whyte. Most of First Platoon was in the swamp when a single shot rang out, the round flew through Private First Class Oliver Longmans lower back, knocking him to the floor. Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis and Hospital Corpsman Tom Cole both opened up on the trees behind them, shotgun and Grease Gun fire tore into the sniper as machine gun fire opened up to the front of the Company. Captain Perkins was killed almost instantly, as was Lance Corporal Davis. Gunny Edwards was hit in both legs and lay between the two dead men. He reached for Daviss PRC-25, which had been hit by a salvo of machine gun rounds, now unusable. First Platoon was hit hard by the machine gunners, all five of which had set up in small bunkers protecting the village. Sergeant Carlo Vanucci was hit in the shoulder and knocked back, still directing his Squad as he watched Private First Class Benjamin Dickson stand to throw a grenade but receive a sucking chest wound for his troubles, the grenade landing nearby, detonating and taking Private First Class Michael Kings left arm with it.

Oh sh*t Corpsman up, I got wounded up here! Corporal Henry Whyte hollered above the gunfire, shook from the explosion.

Theyre gone Henry, Doc dont risk your ass, theyre gone! Lance Corporal Steven Carlson tried to help, waving his arms to keep Doc back, only to be struck through the ribs by a burst of fire. Doc ignored the downed Carlsons advice and ran forward to find Carlson had expired in the Vietnam sun, face down in the swamp.

Oh sh*t, Steves down! Mad Doc Cole punched the swampy water and went to attend other victims. He noticed Sergeant Vanucci was down but still directing his decimated Squad. Doc crawled over and tried to tend to Carlos wounds.

Doc man leave me, Martin got hit early on, see if hes alright, who else has been hit? Sergeant Vanucci, a known card player back at LZ Rose, had given himself the once over and was certain hed be alright.

I didnt get a full count but it dont look good Carlo, hang tight Ill be back soon man. Mad Doc scrambled to go check on Corporal Martin Booth, who had been hit in the leg and bleeding in the swamp.

Keep your heads down Marines, Scott, link up with First and Second Team and put rounds out, stay tight boys! Sergeant Vanucci yelled, refusing to give up.

 

In Second Squad, Corporal Bill Hastings stood slightly to get a better view of the situation and was treated with a round straight in the mouth, extracting teeth as his corpse hit the ground. Corporal Danny Becker, now Second Squads de-facto leader, had his support Team move directly forward and get to vantage points, Lance Corporal Edgar Martinez has set up his M60 against a fallen tree and Private First Class Herbert James fed him the belted 7.62 ammo whilst Lance Corporal Jim Purcell aimed his M79 and fired at the line of bunkers, the fat 40mm round fell just short, exploding in the edge of the swamp, sending up a screen of sludge.

Net call this is Kilo One-One Actual, whoever sent out that thumper round, I can get smoke on the bunkers if you need an assist? Lost my Hotel Echo rounds when I got hit, watch for yellow smoke on that bunker line, over. Sergeant Vanucci, the injured Squad Leader who carried the M79 for his Squad, came over the radio.

Hey Purcell! Corporal Becker yelled as he slouched next him dead radioman, Corporal Hastings.

Yeah Danny? Lance Corporal Purcell shouted back.

One-One said he can get yellow smoke on that bunker line if you need to pinpoint the f*ckers?

Tell him hell get a beer at the EM Club for it! Lance Corporal Purcell waited for the yellow smoke and heard the bloop of a thumper being fired. Yellow smoke rose in front of the bunkers and Purcell took aim, ranging out a bit further than before, and nailed one of the bunkers, lessening the fire hammering down on First Squad.

Direct f*cking hit, good job One-Two! Over! Sergeant Vanuccis voice congratulated through the PRC-25, before horror struck him. Oh sh*t hold your fire, the Command Group got hit up there before, they might still be alive! f*cking sh*t! Seemed like shock from his wound was setting in.

Command Groups gone quite One-One, nothing we can do for them. Second Lieutenant Pritchard joined in the relay. Keep up the fire and good hit on that bunker One-Two, be sure to get you some extra Romeo Romero for that one, One-Six out.

 

Cease fire you assholes Gunny Edwards lay mortally wounded ahead, both his legs riddled with bullets and the rest of his slightly chubby body riddled with enemy and friendly shrapnel. Captain Perkins had been blown away in spectacular fashion, looked like all five bunkers had a bead on him at the same time, hit in the head, chest, stomach, groin and legs, his didnt stand much chance from the start. Lance Corporal Joe Davis, the victim of circumstance, was face down in the fringe of the swamp, having taken some fire intended for the Captain, Davis had hit the ground almost simultaneously with Perkins whilst Gunny had at least tried to level his weaponor so he would tell the Company. Truth is, soon as round one struck Private First Class Oliver Longman in the back, Gunny had hit the deck and caught it in the legs on the way down. Corpsman up here, double time, cease your fire Marines! Gunny tried to yell but could only manage a rasp between deep breaths, a cough, life trickling from each one of his wounds. He thought of home; West Jordan, Utah. Sat down on the banks of the Jordan River in the mid-fifties before joining up to the Corps in 57, with one of the local girls; Kelly Jamesonher Old Man was a Captain in the Pacific during the big one, so the boyish Edwards signed up to impress dark haired Kelly. Flash forward ten years later and Kelly was now married with two children a few towns over and Gunny Edwards was a Marine Corps lifer, soon to be deceased Marine Corps lifer.

 

Ken, get over here! First Lieutenant Vasquez, now the most senior Officer present, took cover in the treeline with a tactical map laid out on his lap. Staff Sergeant Ken Moore hustled along the line, checking his Platoon for wounded on the way.

No Kilo or Whiskey Sir, what can I ya for? Staff Sergeant Moore racked a few rounds into his Ithaca shotgun and jacked a round in the chamber.

You seen any flanks Staff Sergeant? Maps from Battalion are about as accurate as ARVN arty, the f*ck was the damn Captain thinking, no forward recon unit, just cut a path right into their guns! All those young boys killed by his incompetence! Lieutenant Vasquez began to lose it with the brashness of the Captains plan. Staff Sergeant Moore tried to calm him.

LT take a deep few, Ill see about getting that flank, Williams you in contact with the other Platoons? Moore took the moment to light up a Marlboro, drawing deep as he spoke to the Platoon RTO.

Yeah been monitoring, First has been hit real bad but that Delta Hotel we heard earlier was from one of their thump guns, Thirds scouting a flank. Six and Five are down up the front, zero contact from them. Look like Companys yours Sir. Fast talking Lance Corporal David Williams filled in the Command Group.

Solid Copy Lance Corporal. First Lieutenant Vasquez was no longer angry; he was apprehensive.

All Kilo elements, we are boxed in, we move Echo or Whiskey and well just push deeper into the bush, Ive pushed my Sierra Tango a few hundred meters Echo to cover First Platoon, Two-Six whats the plan Sir? Are we to fall back to the tanks? Over? Second Lieutenant Ronald Henderson reported over the radio, having coming up short on finding a flank, he had moved his sniper team to a position to assist.

Negative Three-Six, get your men throwing as much lead at the ville as possible, good call on the Sierra, Im gonna move my men out, fill the gap between Ones lines and get moving in the ville once your Sierra has thinned them out, hold tight Three-Six, out. First Lieutenant Vasquez replied with a plan.

 

Corporal Stan Taylor, twenty-two of Davenport, Iowa, had set himself up on the river bank against a small mound, accompanied by his spotter, Lance Corporal Robert Dixon, a twenty year old hailing from Toledo, Ohio. Corporal Taylor took aim with his M14 battle rifled, fitted with a leather cheek pad and an M84 scope. Scratched into the wooden stock off the gun with a bayonet was a series of tally mark; totalling nine. Next to Taylor, Lance Corporal Dixon had his M49 spotting scope deployed against the mound, his M16 on his right, ready to fire if needs must. Corporal John Masters, the Squad radioman, was with the sniper team and guarding the rear.

I count four dug in positions, you say so Bob? Taylor focused on the hooches serving as machine gun bunkers.

Yeah Id say so, few paddy daddies too, cleared hot on em? Lance Corporal Dixon replied, business as usual for the sniper team.

Affirm Bob, all targets are valid. Taylor took aim at where the fire was coming from. Hey, Ive got an angle on the muzzles, think I can grease em through the hooch walls.

Do it man, before they get a bead on us, this wire whip is a walking target. Corporal Masters, twenty-one, from Henderson, Nevado, started to get flaky.

Alright, you got an eye on Stan? Dixon focused on where Taylor was aiming.

Yeah bro. Taylor tensely wrapped his finger around the trigger of his M14, preparing to fire.

Ok. Fire. Fire. Fire. Dixon gave the signal and Taylor fired his riflea loud crack followed by the lessening BRAPT machine gun fire. Call that good effect on target man.

Scratch one more, call it in John. Man that was cool, few more for the road? Taylor let his eye rest for a moment, grinning as he drew his bayonet, adding a tenth kill to the tally on his rifle stock while Corporal Masters confirmed the kill with his Platoon Commander.

 

Threes getting some on the flank, say you got any plans when you get back to the world bro? A excited Lance Corporal Ben Harris, One-Threes RTO from Cali, asked a nervous Private First Class Frederick A. Laney, a nineteen year old steelworker from Boston, as rounds whizzed close by.

Survive this crap first, two guys I came here with have been killed! The PFC was so new in the Nam that he still sh*tting Stateside grub, his motioned towards the bodies of Private First Class Barney Clean, ironically died a messy end as his intestines spilled out, and Private First Class Patrick Mulholland, another First Platoon Marine from Cali who had been blown away by a gook shooter in the treeline.

Haha, sucked to be you, E-2! Lance Corporal Harris chuckled.

Harris! Get your ass over here, let Two-Six know were in need of some real f*cking ass, whole Platoons been shot to sh*t. Sergeant Myers yelled above the drone of fire, Harris crawling over to the Squad Leaders position. Give me a head and ammo count!

Bravos got one down, nine mags and seven blooper rounds between us. Corporal Andre Barnes called on behalf of Second Team.

Three-Alphas got eight mags and two belts of sixty left in us. Lance Corporal Burt Taylor, acting First Team Leader, bellowed as his machine gunner burned up some M60 ammo.

Just me and a rifle in Third Team, got six mags each! Corporal Mick Williams changed magazines in his M16 whilst reporting to the Sergeant.

Copy all, remember, heads down boys! Ben, hows that ass happening? Myers called out to his RTO, who returned with a grimace.

Two-Sixs got his head up his ass, nothing. Harris emphasized the nothing, punctuating the sentence with a helpless shrug.

Well sh*t on that jive, pull your Kilos in, no way were moving up. Sergeant Myers sat defiantly, his Marines knew he was right and they began attempting to drag their dead back close.

 

Night was approaching fast. It was about six in the evening and Kilo Company had been in the swamp for three hours. Online assault was out of the question, but that had taken no addition dead or wounded since the initial hour. First Lieutenant Vasquez needed a plan. With no contact with Battalion now that the Captains RTO was dead, Vasquez had got in touch with Top Marshall, who had gone with Fourth Platoon and the trucks. First Sergeant Marshall had spoken to the Colonel, who approved Kilo Company staying out in the field for the night rather than risking blowing away each other in a night time assault against an enemy fortification.

All Kilo elements this is Kilo Two-Six Actual, were falling back to behind the treeline. Kilo One, get your men out first, my Second will cover you. Kilo Three I want you to move it back to the Mike 4-8s and hold position, once One is out we will catch up and set up a Lima Papa half a klick from the night position, copy my last Kilo One, Kilo Three? Over. Vasquez laid down his risky plan for the Marines.

Kilo One copies all, give us five mikes to saddle up, over. Second Lieutenant William Pritchard agreed to the plan, better than spending the night in the swamp.

Solid Copy Kilo Two-Six, moving out now, over. Second Lieutenant Ronald Henderson got his Recon team dispatched on point.

Copy, Two-Six out. Vasquez passed the handset back to Lance Corporal Williams, who was smoking nervously. Dave, get me all Squad Leaders, double time. Williams nodded.

Kilo Two this is Two-Six, all Sierra Limas to the Sirs pos, Romeo Tango, Two-Six out. Williams spoke briskly, throwing the handset back at the PRC-25 in all of a hurry.

Whats eating you? Hospital Corpsman Michael Holland, who had been hard at work patching some of First Platoons now dead who had managed to make it to the CP before buying it from blood loss.

Yeah Dave, why the act? Lieutenant Vasquez questioned his RTO, normally the man who needed to be calm in a combat situation.

Tomorrow Ill be a single digit midget. Williams, pretty short in stature, cracked an ironic joke.

Short timer syndrome? If the damn Navy could come up with a cure, we would save a damn sight more grunts. Doc Holland laughed quietly to himself.

So short I gotta join the airborne to jump off a dime. Williams croaked through the last of his cigarette.

Dont flake out yet Dave. Staff Sergeant Moore gave some basic advice. Wait until youre back at Da Nang getting processed, grease a REMFs for old Staff Sarge Moore over here. The Command Group laughed as the Platoons three Squad Leaders arrived, Sergeants Ben Carson, Harry Boyd and Daniel Taylor.

Alright men. Vasquez addressed his Squad Leaders. You heard the plan, were covering First Platoon then moving out. Sergeant Taylor, once were back, I want you to take your RTO and two riflemen and set up an LP half a klick from the tanks position. Standard op pros apply, no noise, food or smoking, key twice every hour to confirm youre still out there. Got it? Carson, Boyd, you keep pouring out that cover until First Platoon is through our lines. Third Platoon are moving out on point any moment, so stay frosty and wait for my order. We all clear? The three Sergeants nodded and went back to their respective Squads, Sergeant Taylor cursing his luck on the walk.

 

Weve got LP tonight boys. Sergeant Taylor grunted, kneeling by his three Team Leaders and RTO, all four Corporals. Chris youre out with me, Wilson Im gonna take Wallace and Jacobs from your team, give them FNGs a course in night LPs. you link up with Three-Bravo. Reynolds? You stay close with Sergeant Boyds Squad, Bravos been hit hard so use Charlie to fill their lines. Got it grunts?

Yeah Sergeant. Came a murmur of replies from the battle-worn Marines of Second Platoon.

 

Kilo Company dug into their night positions, the M67 Zippo facing the treeline whilst the two M48s held against the road. Sergeant Dan Taylor and his listening post, comprised of himself, Corporal Chris Clinton, the RTO and two riflemen, PFCs Scott Wallace and Tom Jacobs, both twenty years of age, from Missouri and Boise respectively, held half a klick out, dug in deep, no noise.

 

The rest of the Company held with the M48s whilst Second Lieutenant William Pritchard checked the line.

I swear soon as we hit that ville Im gonna get holda the first piece of gook pussy I see and f*ck seven shades of sh*t outta the little bitch! Lance Corporal Burt Taylor joked with his buddies just as the Lieutenant walked past.

Now Marine any more of that scuttle and Ill be taking off these bars and well scuffling like Doggies. Pritchard retorted with a half hearted joke.

Now Sir. Lance Corporal Taylor began, toying with a frag. Remind me what hole is yours LT? The Marines laughed as Lieutenant Pritchards face faded into a nervous grin.

Have a good one tonight boys, smoking lights out in five. Pritchard chuckles uneasily, checking his watch as he strolled off.

f*cking Officers bro. Corporal Abraham Phillips laughed, toking on his last Lucky Strike of the night.

Say, speaking of Officers, what the f*ck had the Colonel got us doing out here? sh*t get resupply birds daily, cant he cut us a huss and get us outta here? Lance Corporal Jim Purcell said, looking out into the darkening night.

Colonels a stand up guy, remember when they pulled the whole Battalion back to Chu Lai and he gave us a pass on booze until twelve hundred the next day? Corporal Henry Whyte began the story.

Yeah, sh*t for brains over here. Corporal Danny Becker motioned toward Lance Corporal Victor Smith. Gets so stoned he took a stroll past Big Six on the way to see a buddy in Golf Company, says Evening Corporal, Colonels drunk as a skunk, laughs it off and starts telling him about the glory days of WWII, when the dude was a Corporal, get some Mustang! Becker laughs as he finishes Whytes story for him.

Eh, rather me a Chevy. Private First Class Henry Scott, a drag racer from Cali, interjects.

f*cking numbnuts. Lance Corporal Jim Purcell shakes his head at the FNG.

Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis came walking down the lines, taking the last few puffs on his Marlboro as he leant closer to the fighting holes. Smoking lights out now boys, stay cool you hear?

Got it Sarge. Various replies came as the Marine stubbed out their smokes, enjoying the last inhalation.

 

Three weeks in and Im scared sh*tless. Private First Class Robert Reed scrawled into his journal. Place is driving me crazy, rapists and murderers on both sides, the villagers and ARVN stuck in the middle, villagers too scared to take a side, ARVN ballsy enough to take both sides. Need to go AWOL, just take off and hitchhike an Army convoy back to Saigon, get some civilian rags and get a commercial flight back to the World. Grow a beard, become one of them whacked out hippie protesters these guys hate so much.

Where you say you was from again kid? Sergeant Ben Carson asked as he lit up a cigarette, interrupting PFC Reeds writing.

St Louis. Reed replies bluntly.

St Louis, St f*cking Louis, got a cousin over in St Louis, might come over sometime. Sergeant Carson drifted off the conversation, thinking of home.

Have a beer sometime? Reed made a feeble joke.

Ah get through this sh*t first then crack open a cold one. Sergeant Carson cracked a dry smile as he drew on his cigarette.

Hey! Smoking lights out f*ck head! Put that out before I kick your ass! An NCO shouted from the darkness.

sh*t, Charlie knows where we lay out asses tonight, so let im come cause Im waiting motherf*cker! Sergeant Carson yelled in reply.

Get some Sarge! Lance Corporal Scott Barden hollered from a distant hole, the night broken by the chuckles.

 

Sergeant Daniel Taylor and the rest of the LP dug in for the night. The two Private First Classes, Scott Wallace and Tom Jacobs, were scared sh*tless. Corporal Chris Clinton, the RTO from Hampton, Virginia, watched the rear in dead silence, hearing the rest of the Companys laughs and wincing.

DanDan. Dan? He uttered at his Squad Leader.

Ive got zero contact front, so unless youve got a gook Battalion between us and the CP, shut up Chris. Sergeant Taylor spoke abruptly.

SergeantIve got something. Private First Class Tom Jacobs, who was covering the North, raised his M16 and flipped it to full automatic. Do I light it up? Sounded like a gook in the grass.

Wait it out, they gonna be probing us. Sergeant Taylor tried getting the LP back to how it should be; silent. But with a flaky radioman and two f*cking new guys, it was a tough one. But Jacobs was right; a gook sapper was closing in, sleuthing through the thick grass from the North-West, he made a play and pitched a Coke can grenade at the LPs hole and opened up with his stockless AK, the frag landed on the lip of the LP and shrapnel sliced through Sergeant Taylors neck while the AK rounds scalped PFC Jacobs and greased Corporal Clinton, destroying the radio in the process. Private First Class Wallace turned and expended all eighteen rounds from his M16 at the gook, who stayed low in the grass and had his head split open from the hail of bullets. Panicked, Scott Wallace got out of the hole as the PRC-25 on the dead Clintons back fizzled weakly, First Lieutenant Vasquez desperate to contact the listening post. An M79 grenade blooped in the distance and a hail of rifle fire rained down on Wallaces position. He hit the deck and belly crawled forward, just like the gook did. His gear was dragging through the bush, M16 magazines clanging against each other, the gunfire dwindling as he got closer.

 

Cease fire you assholes, Skipper hasnt heard from the LP, cease fire on the firing line, cease fire Goddamn it! Staff Sergeant Ken Moore ran up the firing line as the Marines lit up a silhouette in the distance. Standard operating procedure is that the LP stays in position to forewarn the main unit of an approaching ambush, and only retreats if radio contact has been made. Which one of you assholes opened up? Staff Sergeant Moore yelled at Kilo Company, who were all laid prone, facing forward.

I thought I saw a gook out there Staff Sergeant, so I nailed him with the thump gun. Lance Corporal Tim Riley, who was between Private First Classes Darnell MacDonald and Frederick A. Laney, all from First Platoon, raised his hand nervously.

You know the f*cking SOP you dumb-sh*t motherf*cker Staff Sergeant Moore began sounding off but was cut short by a salvo of fire down the line in First Platoons First Squad Area.

You f*cking dick man didnt you hear the cease fire? Corporal Henry Whyte joined in with Moores sounding off, this time chewing out Private First Class Harry Scott, who was kneeling with his freshly fired M16 aimed out into the field.

I got one, I saw him fall, I got one! PFC Scott looked left and right excitedly, only to receive a slug from Staff Sergeant Trevor Davis, his Platoon Sergeant, as he looked left again. Corporal Whyte and Staff Sergeant Davis stood over the dazed rifleman, silhouetting themselves just like Scotts target did.

The hell is going on up here? Stand down Staff Sergeant, you too Corporal! Second Lieutenant William Pritchard walked up the line to join them. Davis and Whyte both let up as Scott regained his normal state and sat back, awaiting an instant court martial. Listen up, I want everyone to clear their weapons until first light, you dont so much as think about firing your weapon until your target is clear, got it? A mass of clicks gave Pritchard the answer he was looking for as everyone returned to their positions and waited.

 

Second Lieutenant Ronald Henderson and the rest of Third Platoon had observed the spectacle from the rear of the Company CP, and recognised the audible crunch of Staff Sergeant Davis displacing Private First Class Harry Scotts jaw.

You think that dude really greased the LP? Private First Class Henry Jones asked the rest of the Command Group, the politically driven Henderson was willing to discuss the multiple f*ck ups if that was the LP that stood up, but Gunnery Sergeant Esteban Sanchez summed it up well.

Plenty of right and plenty of wrong out here. Aint for us to be thinking about back here. Four hours until daybreak so if you all wanna get some sleep, Ill stay up on radio watch?

Thanks Gunny. Second Lieutenant Pritchard smiled as he settled into his poncho, Jones and Doc doing the same. Gunny pulled the Platoon PRC-25 closer and sat intensely, the entire issue consuming him. What if they did kill the LP? What if, Gunny scoffed. What if the entire Company got greased tomorrow?

 

First light came and First Lieutenant Lorenzo Vasquez rallied the Marines, ready to move. Staff Sergeant Moore came over for a quiet word.

Still nothing from the LP, either Clinton let the radio die, or they stepped in it big time. Moore said hastily, puffing his fourth cigarette in the fifteen minutes of daylight.

Ive got Third Platoon readying up to move out ahead of us, see if they can secure the bodiesif the LP got hit, that is. At the start of his first full day as acting Company Commander until they link up with Top and the Executive Officer, First Lieutenant Vasquez quelled his few anxieties. Top said the cannon cockers at Khe Sanh are cutting lose some prep arty on the ville, Battalion believes it to be a hostile location. Vasquez added just before Staff Sergeant Moore left. Guess a dead Captain is a good measure of hostility. He smiled sardonically, adding to Moores bitter attitude.

Like a dead PFC aint? Staff Sergeant Moore grunted rhetorically as he set out to check his platoons gear.

 

Back into the meat grinder again huh? Lance Corporal Elwood Calley leant against his M14E2 automatic rifle and fumbled for a light, accepting one from his conversation companion, Corporal Henry Whyte, acting First Platoon First Squad leader.

Weve got Purcells team to make up numbers, thats a Sixty and thumper on the line. Just me you and Vic left with any good TI, two cherries. Jims good people, got Martinez and his gun. Well be cool El, well be cool. Whyte reassured the cool spade, who had almost as much time in as most E-5 and E-6s. Say I got a question, always wondered how come you aint a lifer by now?

Man, third tour in and I just made Lance Corporal last month. Calley balked slightly then perked up.

How come, you get in a lotta trouble on your past two tours?

Nah man, f*ck that noise bro, listen here I eat pussy for fun, you dig? I dont eat the asshole for business. Calley puffed out his chest and stood proudly, supressing a laugh.

Oh hell man, you are a f*cking trip. Whyte shook his head in laughter, Calley breaking too.

 

It was Third Platoon who found the LP. First was Private First Class Scott Wallace, equidistant from the perimeter and the LP, he was laying on his back, four small entry wounds from a 5.56 rifle, an M16. A true testament to the shooting ability of a Marine Corps rifleman. The main LP was found still in place, Sergeant Daniel Taylor with his throat slit by shrapnel, had bled to death, clutching at the grass rather than a rifle. Corporal Christ Clinton looked like a hunk of cheese; peppered with deep holes from the Coke can grenade and stray rounds, both of which killed him and the radio. Private First Class Tom Jacobs lay flat in the centre of the hole, the rest of his body at an odd angle compared to the top half of his head; which had been pushed back, exposing grey brain matter.

 

Lance Corporal Michael West, who was walking point for the Company, had stooped to one knee and vomited when he saw the sight. Tail End Charlie, Corporal Andre Barness team, stood over the dead Scott Wallace. First Lieutenant Vasquez had managed to wrangle a dust off through Top Marshall, who had been flown to Khe Sanh along with the remaining Command Group and Fourth Platoon. The unarmed UH-1 didnt draw any fire as it landed and evacuated the four dead Marines, the green flying ambulance heading back to Graves Registration at Khe Sanh for the bodies to be identified and taken home. The Company pressed forward in a line formation of riflemen, M60 teams advancing on the flanks of the swamp to provide effective cover fire. The skies cleared only for a second as 105mm Howitzer rounds began dropping on the treeline and swamp.