Chapter 7
Demons
In Route to Vietnam – Early April, 1969
Trevor hoisted his pack onto his back and followed his commanding officer onto the C-141 Starlifter. Struggling mightily to suppress the bile that was surging up within him, he scrutinized the other foot soldiers trudging into the hold of the aircraft. Hoping forlornly that he was not the only one who was petrified at what lay at the other end of this flight, he was distraught to see that every face that he studied appeared calm and completely unconcerned.
More than thirty thousand Americans had already died in Vietnam, many of them during the Tet Offensive of the previous year. With this burgeoning thought in mind, he did his best to sleep on the long flight, but he found it nonetheless impossible to do so. And when they landed in Hawaii to refuel, he could rally no interest whatsoever in the inviting surroundings.
His inner demons by now in complete control, he wondered to himself what on earth he had been thinking of when he had let himself be talked into an infantry assignment. And now here he was, little more than twelve hours away from being on the front lines in a full scale war eight thousand miles from home.
The last leg from Hawaii to Vietnam seemed interminable, Trevor feeling by the time they arrived sore over every square inch of his body. The troops were subsequently assigned to various commands, and Trevor and his newfound buddy Dan Wilson were ordered to report to Captain Wood. Making their way to their reporting hut, the pair immediately reported to Captain Wood.
“Good to have you men with us,” Captain Wood offered, returning their salutes as he did so. “Private Sutherland, do you by any chance know a Lieutenant Bryan Highsmith?”
“Yes, sir, we were in college together,” Trevor responded.
“Small world,” Captain Wood responded. “He happens to be your platoon leader.”
Gaping in surprise, Trevor nonetheless said nothing, the effects of the long flight still apparent. Observing this, Captain Wood continued, “Once again, welcome soldiers. Please report to Lieutenant Highsmith straightaway.”
“Yes, sir,” the pair said simultaneously, each saluting smartly.
Once outside, Dan said, “Well, if that don’t beat all. Bet you’ll get special treatment from your buddy.”
“You don’t know Lieutenant Highsmith, or you wouldn’t say that,” Trevor responded. Changing the subject, he continued with, “Let’s report. I think it’s this way,” at which he pointed to a group of tents off in the distance.
Once they arrived, both men reported to the platoon commander’s office. Entering, the pair saluted, indicating that they had been ordered by Captain Wood to report to Lieutenant Highsmith. Lieutenant Highsmith returned the salutes of the two privates, welcomed them, then ordered Dan to report to the platoon sergeant.
After Dan had left the room Bryan came around the desk and said, “Good to see you, Trevor.”
“Thanks,” Trevor responded, the two slapping one another on the back. “I guess we won’t be doing this again,” he continued.
“Not any time soon, I’m afraid,” Bryan responded grimly, “You won’t be getting any special treatment in this man’s army. So, how was boot camp?”
“Not as bad as I was expecting. Actually, I kind of enjoyed it. Took my mind off things.”
Sensing exactly what ‘things’ Trevor was referring to, Bryan replied, “Got it.”
“How is the war progressing?” Trevor queried.
“I don’t really know much yet. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks myself, and so far we haven’t done anything but sit on our tails,” Bryan replied. “Not to worry, though. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. In fact, your arrival fills out the platoon roster, which could well mean that we are about to deploy to the front lines, wherever that is.”
Vietnam – Summer, 1969
As it turned out, Trevor didn’t even leave the camp for the first three months. Each day, the platoon was assigned tasks ranging from cleaning garbage to helping distribute supplies, to working with medical units to aide with the treatment of wounded soldiers. It was tedious work, but Trevor relished it.
Eight months had now passed since Rebecca’s disappearance, the passage of time finally beginning to deaden the pain. Every little chore that he completed brought him a miniscule but nonetheless significant step closer to recovery of his self-respect.
Late September
Trevor was sitting on his bunk polishing his combat boots when Bryan rushed into the barracks, commanding loudly, “Men, the second platoon has been ordered to the front lines. Get your combat gear ready. We move out in two hours! Private Sutherland, please spread the word to those who are not present in the barracks at this moment.”
“Yes, sir,” Trevor responded.
Two hours later the entire platoon of forty men was loaded onto trucks and shipped out. They had no idea where they were headed. By sundown Trevor estimated that they had travelled at least seventy-five miles north. That night they offloaded at a temporary encampment that he was told had been set up for the purpose of transporting men northward. The following morning, having consumed a makeshift breakfast, they arrived two hours later at a temporary air base that had been set up for the purpose of supporting troop movements via helicopter.
Within an hour they were ordered to prepare for airlift. They were going to the front, whatever and wherever that was. Thirty minutes later the entire platoon was airlifted on a half dozen Huey UH-1’s. Trevor estimated the helicopter was making about eighty knots, flying what appeared to him to be in a northwesterly direction for an hour and a half before landing in a field surrounded by jungle in every direction. By his reckoning, they had just landed near the border to Laos, the most feared and remote part of the entire war zone.
All forty men unloaded from the Huey’s within seconds, everyone clamoring as quickly as possible into the cover provided by the jungle on the west side of the field. For the moment things appeared to be safe and quiet.
Over the space of the next few days the platoon moved farther north, making ground at a snail’s pace due to the paucity of anything recognizable as a footpath, much less a roadway. Movement was further slowed by intermittent rain, which tended to slow troop movements by a factor of three every time a downpour occurred. After five days, the men were sore, cranky, and approaching exhaustion. Given that it rained two, three, or even four times a day, Trevor estimated that they had progressed no more than twenty miles.
No one had the slightest clue where they were headed. Only Lieutenant Highsmith had access to radio communications. Two days later they encountered the first humans that they had seen in a week - a group of farmers tending rice patties in the fields. The locals paid little attention to them as they passed directly through their farmland, the platoon continuing northwards.
Noticing a suspicious glance pass between two of the farmers as the platoon made their way through the field, Trevor immediately suspected some sort of collusion. His concern mounting, he moved forward quickly, catching up with Lieutenant Highsmith well before they reached the trees on the far side of the field.
Reaching him before they came within rifle shot of the trees, he called out, “Lieutenant, I have a funny feeling about this.”
“What? What are you thinking, private?” the lieutenant responded.
“I say, there is something quite strange about those farmers,” Trevor said.
“Like what?”
“Right. For one thing, they appear to be sending each other signals, and for another thing, there are no women among them. That seems quite unusual to me.”
At this supposition Lieutenant Highsmith glanced back where they had just come from and said, “Yeah, I see what you mean.” Seeing that two of the farmers appeared to be covertly watching them, he queried, “What do you suggest, private?”
“Perhaps this is a trap, and if it is, those farmers are in fact Viet Cong, arranged so as to catch us in an ambush betw
een themselves and the remaining troops within the trees.”
“Good point, but they may also be just ordinary farmers.”
“Right, but there is an easy way to find out, sir.”
“What’s that?”
“Sir, we could go back and check them for weapons,” Trevor offered.
“Okay, tell you what, we’re still too far from the trees for them to attack us if there is in fact a force in there. So I’ll wait here with the platoon. You pick five guys and go back and check them for weapons.”
“Yes, sir,” Trevor responded and, saluting, he turned to carry out his orders. Summarily picking the requisite soldiers, he explained their assignment and immediately reversed direction to check out the farmers.
The group of six now unexpectedly advancing in arears, one of the farmers was seen to pull a grenade from his shirt, whereupon Trevor immediately shot him. The now live grenade fell to the ground, subsequently exploding, thereby taking out another of the erstwhile farmers. The remaining farmers suddenly opened fire with rifles, the squad led by Trevor returning fire. The entire enemy force was quickly dispatched, Trevor himself taking out an additional three in the process. He then crouched and, checking his buddies, he found that only one had been injured - a minor flesh wound.
The trees beyond the field now lit up with small arms fire, the entire platoon hitting the ground, every man in search of a place that offered protection. The platoon exchanged fire with their opponents for nearly half an hour, at which point a single chopper swept in and opened fire on the trees to the north. It was all over in seconds. After the helicopter had ceased firing, Trevor rushed forward to Lieutenant Highsmith, inquiring, “Shouldn’t we move ahead, sir?”
Lieutenant Highsmith stared at him vacantly for a moment, then commanded, “Take ten men and head straight for the trees, Private.”
“Yes, sir,” Trevor responded and, pointing out several of his fellow soldiers, he commanded, “Lieutenant’s orders, follow me!”
They charged forward, racing the final hundred and fifty yards to the trees as quickly as they could. By the time they reached the trees, every enemy soldier who had not been injured by the strafing had melted invisibly into the trees. They found thirteen dead Viet Cong.
Lieutenant Highsmith eventually caught up with Trevor saying, “Hell of a job, Private Sutherland. If you hadn’t spotted those Cong in the field there, there’s no telling how many of us would have been killed. As it is, we have one casualty, and he’ll live for sure. Damn fine job!”
“Thank you, sir,” Trevor replied smartly.
The following day they arrived at their objective. Surprisingly, it appeared to be a fully equipped and manned U.S. military camp. There were perhaps a couple of hundred soldiers encamped within, Trevor spotting at least one full colonel within the first hour of their arrival.
Trevor learned shortly thereafter that the camp had been named Camp RB by the soldiers. “What is the significance of that?” he inquired of a soldier who had already been there for two weeks.
“It stands for Runny Bottom,” the soldier replied with a grotesque grin.
“Meaning?” Trevor queried blankly.
“It’s a descriptive term,” the soldier responded distantly.
“Just tell me what it means,” Trevor reiterated stubbornly.
“Just wait,” the soldier volunteered dismally, “When you get the runs, you’ll know what it means. And it won’t be long, trust me!”
It was soon apparent that supplies were plentiful, including tents. Accordingly, the platoon set to the task of moving in for however long they were expected to endure in this godforsaken place. While they were doing so, a CH-54 Skycrane flew in low and dropped additional supplies without even so much as touching down.
Trevor wondered to himself why they had been forced to walk for a full week when it was possible to fly a helicopter directly into the camp. This was not by any means his first inkling that the war that he had volunteered to join was indeed stranger than fiction. In such surreal circumstances, he was forced to constantly remind himself that he had joined up for somewhat surreptitious reasons.
After a week it had become apparent that the entire unit was engaged in a military action that was off the map. Patrols were sent out each night to contain the perimeter surrounding the camp, Trevor participating in several of these over the succeeding weeks. Aside from that, he had no earthly idea what they were doing there. In fact, in his first month at the camp he never heard a weapon fired.
In their second month on site, things began to change. It was sporadic at first, but over the course of the succeeding two months, night patrols occasionally encountered small detachments of North Vietnamese skirmishers. The camp began suffering a few casualties, most of them airlifted out within hours. Only one soldier was killed outright during Trevor’s first three months on the front, but more than thirty-five wounded soldiers were airlifted out, several of whom Trevor anticipated might not survive.
The slow accumulation of events made it clear to everyone in Lieutenant Highsmith’s platoon that Private Sutherland was a fighting man’s soldier. Whatever needed to be done, he was the man to take charge and do it. As time wore on, he was assigned to lead more and more night patrols, and on several occasions he saved a situation from much worse results with his quick thinking under fire. Although a few soldiers from his platoon were injured, it became well known in the camp that his platoon was by far the best prepared, and everyone knew the reason why.
Christmas - 1969
Trevor saluted Lieutenant Highsmith, saying, “You asked for me, sir?”
“Right, Private Sutherland,” he replied officiously and, returning his salute, he added, “Tell the men to get their gear. We’ve got two days of R and R. The Huey’s will be here to pick us up in half an hour.”
Wheeling about to carry out his order, Trevor responded, “Yes, sir!”
Three hours later, the platoon was offloaded at a rest station on the coast. The men were within less than an hour blissfully inebriated, the reality of war temporarily pushed away from their minds.
“So, what’s the plan?” Dan queried lugubriously from his cot within the enormous open tent.
“No plan,” Trevor’s muffled voice escaped from beneath his hat, he himself lying prone by Dan’s side.
“Billy says we got two full days. Is that right?”
“So far as I am aware,” Trevor responded distractedly.
“Well, tomorrow’s Christmas day, you know,” Dan offered.
“Right,” was Trevor’s only response, “So?”
“So, the USO show is tomorrow,” Dan volunteered, adding, “I hear they got Joey Heatherton!”
“Who, pray tell, is Joey Heatherton?”
“Oh, I forgot,” Dan responded, “You being a limey and all, you wouldn’t know. She’s a movie star. The guys are saying it’s a great show.”
“I say, we’d better see that show then, hadn’t we?” Trevor’s muffled voice was heard to say.
Two Days Later
Trevor hopped down from the helicopter, tugging his pack onto his back.
Over his shoulder, he heard Dan say, “Man, I can’t believe it! For a few hours there, I actually forgot about this place. But here we are, right back at Camp RB! Ain’t that a kick in the head!”
Turning to respond, Trevor observed grimly, “You have nothing to complain about, from where I stand. You were the only guy who got called up onto the stage with that woman. There must’ve been three thousand guys at that show, and you were the only one got a kiss from that Joey Heatherton!”
At this, Dan flushed in embarrassment, responding, “Must be my magnetic personality. Maybe I’ll look her up when I get back home. Think she’ll take a shine to me, Trevor?”
“Oh, absolutely! Why else would she have picked you out of the whole damn U.S. Army?” at which he snickered sarcastically.
The silence enfolding them as they reached th
eir tent, Dan glanced around at the familiar surroundings, observing morosely, “Damn, I was hoping the last two days were reality. I can see now that I was wrong.”
Immediately dropping to a prone position on his bunk, Trevor exclaimed, “I should think you got that right!”
Two Months Later
Eight months into Trevor’s assignment to Camp RB the outpost was attacked by what must have been a full company of North Vietnamese. The first two hours of the battle were touch and go, the enemy obviously highly skilled fighters. They had chosen to attack at three in the morning, the cover of darkness concealing their deployment sufficiently that perhaps three hundred of the enemy troops were within firing range before the first shot had been fired.
Awakened by the first shots, Trevor managed to crawl into a nearby trench before any grenades had gone off. He counted eight soldiers from his platoon in the trench with him, all privates. Lieutenant Highsmith was nowhere to be seen, Trevor calculating that it would be suicide to budge from their defensive position. Accordingly, he suggested to his fellow soldiers that they keep their heads down and await further developments.
Dan crawled alongside Trevor, whispering, “Man, am I glad you’re in this trench with me, buddy.”
“Why ever for?” Trevor responded vacuously, “There is little to do but lay low for the moment.”
“Yeah, but what if they attack our trench?” Dan queried in wide-eyed fear.
“Right, then I suppose we shall fight them off.”
“We’ll do better if we have a leader. What do you say boys, do you want Trevor to be in charge of this here trench?”
The chorus that came back made it clear that Trevor was in charge of his wet-nosed buddies.
Reluctantly nodding his acceptance of their choice, Trevor announced, “Right then, this is what I propose. First of all, everyone must have a minimum of fifty rounds of ammunition. Anyone who doesn’t have fifty rounds, borrow some from someone who does. Who has less than fifty rounds?” Two soldiers raised their hands. “Right, whoever has excess, give them some of yours. Next, who among you managed to arrive within the trench equipped with grenades?” Four soldiers raised their hands. “Excellent. Now, turn them over to me. I don’t want any grenades thrown out of this trench unless it’s absolutely necessary, and if it is, I shall hand them out, got it?” The response made it clear that all eight soldiers accepted his authority.
“Now, we have but one automatic weapon between us within this trench. I’ve scouted every square inch of the perimeter of this camp over the past several months, and I can tell you, if they charge us, they shall come from right over there. I want that machine gun positioned so that it is aimed in that direction,” and at this he pointed to show them where he meant. “That’s where the enemy will hit us.” At this order the boys worked together to position the machine gun in the direction Trevor had pointed.
“Right. This is my final piece of advice for the moment. Keep your heads down, and I mean way WAY down. If the top of your helmet so much as peeks above the lip of this trench, you could have it blown off. Do you hear me?” At this there was a chorus of consent. “Now, let me undertake a bit of reconnaissance, and I shall get back to you shortly.” At this, Trevor crawled headlong from the trench, to the amazement of every soldier therein.
Within minutes the soldiers could hear something coming at them, at which point they heard a whispering voice call, “Hold your fire, men! It is I, Private Sutherland.” And with that, he momentarily toppled into the trench directly on top of two soldiers. Rolling off of them, he announced, “Right. Prepare yourselves, gentlemen. They happen to be right behind me!”
Sure enough, within seconds they heard a burst of gunfire coming from the direction that they had set up to defend against. Peering over the lip of the trench, Trevor commanded, “Hold your fire!” The enemy fire became more intense, a couple of grenades popping off short of the trenches. One plopped into the trench, and grabbing it, Trevor gingerly lobbed it back towards the enemy without so much as the blink of an eye.
Then suddenly he cried, “I say, they are onto us boys, FIRE!” At this the trench erupted in gunfire. Trevor grabbed two grenades and, tossing them in just the right direction, the enemy attack evaporated within seconds.
“Cease firing!” Trevor ordered. He flopped down on his back along the wall of the trench for a few moments, then asked, “Anyone hit?” Hearing no response, he said, “Right-o, sound off.” All eight soldiers answered. “Excellent! Right, men, it isn’t over quite yet. Sit tight. They shall come at us again, and the second time they will try something quite different.
“Right, I want you two men on the left and right flanks to crawl up to the lip of the trench and peek over the top. Watch for any movement at all. They shan’t shoot at you – they shall be attempting to conceal their second attack. This time they won’t rise up when they come at us. Instead, they shall be crawling quite close to the ground. So watch for any movement, anything at all. And if you see something, refrain from calling out. Relay it down the line to me, and I shall come check it out. Got it?”
Once again they took their defensive positions and awaited the second attack, but nothing happened. The minutes ticked away, Trevor awaiting with mounting concern. He surmised that either there would be no second attack on their position or they were bringing up reinforcements. In any case, there was nothing they could do but wait.
He was counting the grenades when he was suddenly tapped on the shoulder by Dan, who pointed to the far end of the trench. Grabbing up three of them, he crawled to the other end, whereupon Private Wilson whispered, “There’s a whole lot of them, sir, I mean, Private Sutherland. They’re coming for us over in that direction.” Trevor leaned over the lip of the trench, peering in the direction indicated by Private Wilson. He slipped back down, whispering, “Relay it down the line – they’re coming again, and they have reinforcements.” He crawled back down the line, saying, “Stay low, they will attempt to throw grenades into the trench first. Anyone that sees a grenade fall in this trench, toss it out quickly!”
Within seconds the attack began, and just as Trevor had predicted, the enemy commenced their attack with grenades. Though Trevor counted seven explosions, not a single one made its way into the trench, and when the enemy small arms fire followed immediately thereafter Trevor commanded, “Commence firing, men!” He then tossed four grenades out of the bunker in the direction of the attack, once again thwarting the enemy attack within a matter of seconds.
An hour later the sun came up, at which point the attack petered out.
Trevor understood why the enemy had pulled back when four choppers flew in low a few minutes thereafter, first dropping bombs around the camp perimeter, subsequently unloading several thousand rounds of machine gun fire into the jungle. By seven A.M. nothing at all was moving beyond the camp. Thirteen Americans had been injured and three killed. Forty-two Viet Cong were found dead on the battlefield. The wounded were airlifted out within two hours of the battle.
Trevor still had no idea what they were doing out in the middle of nowhere. Reporting to Lieutenant Highsmith that morning, he muttered, “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Private Sutherland,” Lieutenant Highsmith responded, returning his salute. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Could I speak privately with you, sir?”
“Of course. Please follow me into my command tent,” he replied.
Once inside, Trevor asked pointedly, “I say, exactly why are we here, sir?”
“That’s an impertinent question, private,” Bryan responded good-naturedly.
“Perhaps,” Trevor persisted.
“We’re protecting the left flank of the South Vietnamese forces,” Bryan answered.
“Ha! I thought as much,” Trevor replied. “What a ridiculous war! We don’t HAVE a left flank. And we’re not supposed to even BE in Laos, if that is indeed where w
e are!”
“Whatever. We’re just following orders. Welcome to the United States Army, private!”
“Well said, sir, but precisely whose orders are we in fact following? I realize we’re out here in the middle of nowhere, sir, but I for one have little confidence in the leadership on our side. It seems that for our part we have an endless succession of rules that we are forced to follow, whereas the other side has no rules at all.”
“True,” Bryan responded, “They get to do whatever they want, but they don’t have our superior weapons and firepower. So maybe things are pretty equal.”
“I quite hope that you are correct, Bry, I mean, sir, because we are one HELL of a long way from home, tucked out here in the jungle. I’d say that at the moment the only thing separating us from the enemy is a downwind fart.”
At this Bryan chuckled, responding, “Yeah, thank God for Huey’s, private. If the Cong come through here in force, we only need to hold on for a couple of hours, and they’ll drive them off when the sun comes up. You saw what happened this morning.”
“Right, and it just so happens we hung on by our fingernails. If the Cong had attacked two hours earlier I can’t say with any degree of confidence that we would be sitting here having this discussion at this moment.”
“You’re right, Private Sutherland. Good point.”
“Could you perhaps relay that concern up the line?”
“Yes, I’ll do that.” Bryan replied. “Anything else?”
“No, sir,” Trevor responded.
“You’re holding this platoon together, private. I assume that you know that.”
“I am simply attempting to survive, sir.”
“Well, you’re doing a hell of a job of it. Captain Rogers told me what you did last night, holding the boys in your trench together the way you did. They found twenty-two dead Viet Cong within thirty yards of your position. Every one of the soldiers who were in the trench with you says you deserve a medal. I’m going to request a battlefield promotion for you.”
“There is no need for that, sir. Indeed, I do not want such a thing,” Trevor responded.
“I know, but the Army does. I’m proud of you, Trevor. You’ve grown immeasurably in the last year.”
“Now, that I do need. Thank you for saying that, sir. I have a long way to go, but I’m trying, I really am.”
“I can see that. Hang in there.”
“I shall endeavor to do that, sir,” and at that Trevor saluted and turned to leave the tent.
But Lieutenant Highsmith stopped him, inquiring, “Where did you learn about battlefield tactics, Private? The men are saying that you have an uncanny knack for guessing what’s coming next.”
“Sir, I never told you this, because it didn’t seem important, but I went to a prep school that was supposed to be a pre-military training program for future officers in the British Army. It was run by a group of military retirees who had all been trained at Sandhurst. Had my father not become the British Ambassador to the U.S., I would likely now be studying at Sandhurst.”
“Wow! That explains quite a lot, Private. No wonder you seem to know exactly what you’re doing. It’s because you actually do!”
“Sir,” Trevor responded wearily, “I am simply attempting to do the best I can under the circumstances, but I’ll tell you something I learned at military school. During World War II, the average Allied military unit spent less than thirty days a year in active combat. This platoon has been in active combat for almost two hundred days since we arrived here ten months ago.”
Three Nights Later
Trevor awoke at the first sound of battle. Checking his watch, he noticed that it was still short of midnight, thereby confirming his worst fears. Within minutes it was apparent that the Viet Cong had attacked in regimental force. Trevor rallied fifteen of the soldiers in the platoon and, taking charge once again, he managed to hold a commanding position within the camp.
His fellow soldiers built a high berm around a trench, holding off at least two hundred Viet Cong for more than two hours. Still, by two A.M. it was apparent to Trevor that they would not survive until morning unless the camp was abandoned.
During a lull in the attack Trevor managed to crawl to the spot where Lieutenant Highsmith was holding off a similar attack and, nudging his body up close to Bryan’s, he whispered in his ear, “I assume you know that this won’t do, right?”
“Yeah, I know. We’re in a mess here, Trevor. We will most likely all be dead by morning. Either that, or we’ll be captured.”
Trevor responded with certainty, “Capture is not an option, Bry.”
“I agree.”
“Then let’s take what’s left of the platoon and go into the jungle. Surely you agree that is our only hope.”
“Not a chance. Colonel Jenkins won’t hear of it.”
“Screw the colonel, sir. He will be dead by morning. The way to win a war is to survive, and that is what we must endeavor to do. I say let’s get out of here. We have perhaps a half hour to do something, no more, or we shall be dead.”
“Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll get back to you by then, okay?” Bryan commanded.
“Right, but one thing, Bry.”
“What’s that?” Bryan queried.
“Bring your radio.”
“Got it. Now get the hell out of here, private.”
Trevor crawled back to the trench where his buddies were still attempting to hold off an entire company. “How is the ammunition holding out?” he inquired.
“We’re getting low,” Private Simmons responded woefully.
“Right. I say, listen up, men. This is what we shall do. Simmons, Wood, Black, crawl fifty feet in each direction. Inform the troops you come across to prepare for the possibility of a breakout. And bring back any ammunition that you can locate. We can’t hold this position until morning, so be prepared for anything. Everyone get ready immediately. Be prepared to take only what you can carry, but make sure you have plenty of ammunition, because if we make a break, we shall be attacking a regimental force. Now, everyone go!”
Ten minutes later Bryan showed up, whispering to Trevor, “Sorry I’m late. Colonel Jenkins is dead. He took a grenade.”
Arching one eyebrow, Trevor responded, “I told you so. Did you bring your radio?”
Bryan nodded silently, then volunteered, “Yes, and command has broken down. We’re on our own,” and at this he added surreptitiously, “I say we go now.”
Five minutes later Bryan, Trevor and sixteen other members of the platoon crept out of the trench directly into the teeth of the enemy. They crawled perhaps forty yards and, rising up, they charged the Cong, running directly through the opposing line. An hour later the Cong overran the camp, killing the scant few still entrenched within.
Having cleared the enemy’s lines, the remainder of the platoon now sprinted for their lives. Racing alongside Trevor, Bryan inquired, “So what do you propose?”
“We run like hell, and when the sun comes up, if we live that long, we call for the Huey’s.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Bryan replied.
By now there were only fourteen soldiers who had successfully broken through with them and, chasing through the jungle as silently and rapidly as possible, they did everything within their power to stay ahead of the enemy. As it turned out, they had struck fortuitously at a weak point in the Cong’s defenses, and the enemy troops had failed to realize for perhaps a quarter of an hour that they had broken through. By that time Bryan and Trevor had pushed well into the jungle, opening up a significant lead on the pursuing forces. Their challenge now was to survive till daylight, an eternity of two and a half hours in the future.
“What do you say we dig in?” Bryan asked.
“No,” Trevor panted breathlessly, “They’d be on us in force within thirty minutes, sir. We have to keep moving as fast as we possibly can. There is simply no other choice.”
Continuin
g to advance, Bryan responded, “Yeah, I see your point.”
“Everyone alright?” Trevor called out.
Fourteen voices answered back, making the strength of the force still a total of sixteen. All raced onward, doing everything they could to maintain their lead over the enemy.
They pressed relentlessly onwards for more than an hour, by which point several of them were on the verge of physical exhaustion. Ignoring the chain of command, Trevor commanded, “Right, everyone halt. I say, I need absolute silence. No one make a sound,” and at this they all came to an immediate halt, listening for any sound at all from within the jungle. “You’re much too loud. Hold your breath, please!” he ordered, and at this command there was complete silence.
After several seconds Simmons said, “Sir, I think I hear something. Sounds like they’re maybe a quarter of a mile behind us.”
“I see,” Trevor replied. “Let’s move out. We have an hour to go until daylight. Come on men, move it!”
All sixteen men pushed ahead, exhaustion rearing its ugly head, hope driving it off with every step. Forty-five minutes later Trevor called for silence once again. This time Simmons wasn’t the only one who heard the enemy. They were now perhaps only two hundred yards distant.
The group moved forward silently yet again. Ten minutes later Trevor could see his hand in the growing light. “Lieutenant, better call for two Huey’s now. We can only stay ahead of them for another half hour.”
Bryan halted and called for support, giving them their present position. “Got it,” he responded, hanging up. “Okay, they say there’s a field about a mile ahead of us in the direction we’re headed. Two choppers will land there in a half hour.”
They made it to the field with fifteen minutes to spare, but that turned out to be too much time. The Cong caught up with them ten minutes later. There were at least a hundred of them, and, well aware that they had superior numbers, they were itching for a fight.
Trevor utilized their ten minute lead to get the men to build three small redoubts near the middle of the field, thenceforth assembling themselves behind them in anticipation of the coming clash. Suddenly the jungle lit up with small arms fire, the Cong having finally reached them.
“How many grenades do we have?” Trevor called out.
“Two,” Simmons responded from the first redoubt.
“Four,” Wood replied from the second redoubt.
“One,” Williams said from the third.
“Right, hold onto them. We shall need every one of them when the choppers arrive. For now, use your rifles. No unnecessary shots. Shoot to kill, understood?”
“Got it,” came the response from several locations.
The Cong forces pressed forward unwisely, the daylight now sufficient for the Americans to pick off those foolish enough to show themselves.
Although the small force had a commanding defensive position, Bryan and Trevor were most concerned about what they would do when the choppers arrived in a few minutes. “I say, stay low and wait for the choppers,” Trevor called out.
Suddenly a wave of perhaps twenty-five Vietcong rose up and charged from the left of their position. Trevor jumped out of the redoubt and, racing to the redoubt that Woods was in, he launched himself full force into the small trench, yelling, “Give me those four grenades!” Woods handed him the grenades and, jumping from the trench, Trevor screamed, “Cover me!” At this he took off directly towards the advancing enemy. Pulling the pin on the first grenade, he flung it in the direction of the nearest cluster of oncoming Cong, the resulting explosion taking out five of the enemy. He then kneeled for a moment, awaiting the next wave to advance within range, then yanked the pin and took out three more of the enemy.
Suddenly, he took a bullet and went down. He looked done for, but within seconds he was back up, tossing a third grenade that took out another four of the enemy. At this, the enemy attack broke up and retreated. Trevor raced back to the redoubt, collapsing within the trench.
“Are you okay?” Woods croaked.
“Never better,” Trevor responded. “I seem to have been knicked a tiny bit in the shoulder.”
Moments later they heard the distinctive whop whop whop of the choppers coming towards them. It was now little more than seconds to the point of rescue. Shortly thereafter, a Huey came into view. Seeing the aircraft, Williams jumped up and started running for the field. Seeing him, Trevor screamed, “No! Get down!” but it was too late. Williams went down. “Damn! No one else move!” Trevor commanded. “They are awaiting us to attempt exactly that. Stay down. The Huey’s will protect us!”
“Cover me!” he called out and, slithering out of the redoubt, he inched forward. Eventually getting a grip on Williams, he dragged him back into the trench.
“How is he?” Woods queried.
“I simply cannot tell at the moment. He’s unconscious,” Trevor replied.
Within seconds one of the Huey’s had passed by overhead, the pilot searching for the American soldiers. “Right-o, this is it,” Trevor called out. “Everyone pull your grenade pins. Count to three and heave!” The soldiers responded in perfect unison, the remaining grenades exploding in a perfect arc surrounding their position.
Recognizing the pattern produced by the grenades, the pilot of the chopper that had passed overhead now swung back towards them, machine guns strafing the jungle surrounding the small force. The second Huey subsequently fired two rockets, blowing a huge gap in the center of the Cong force.
“Now, go!” Trevor screamed. “Follow me!” The remaining fourteen soldiers jumped to their feet and raced for the clearing. Trevor hoisted Williams on his shoulders and took off at a dead run.
Trevor managed to get to the chopper, dumping Williams onto the deck. Behind him he heard a grenade go off and, glancing in that direction, he saw Bryan launched skyward thirty yards distant. He halted in his tracks and, crouching low, he returned to Bryan’s side.
“How bad is it?” he screamed.
“It’s bad, Trevor. Go on. I’m a dead man,” Bryan cried weakly.
Ignoring Bryan’s plea, Trevor grabbed Bryan and, hoisting him on his shoulders, he raced forward as fast as he could. Midway to the chopper he took a second shot in the shoulder but, churning his feet as fast as he could, he reached the chopper within seconds. He hauled Bryan onto the deck, simultaneously hoisting himself, the last man out, onboard. “Go! Go! Go! Go!” the chopper attendant screamed, the chopper rising rapidly into the air.
“Did we get them all?” Trevor screamed above the rifle fire.
The attendant yelled back, “I count fifteen.”
Rolling onto his back, Trevor screamed, “Bollocks, we lost one!” at which point everything went black.