The building itself, as I previously stated, is two-storied, the top story houses, what ‘Sam’ calls the ‘workroom’. He has never been upstairs but believes whatever is going on in the house is happening up there. There is a rear door, but it has been permanently blocked from the inside and cannot be used.
I saved the best for last,” said Captain Scarburg, milking the telling of the information to the team for all it was worth, “Sam” said…. said…”
“Damn Little ‘S’, quit the shit, what the hell is it?” said Big ‘S’.
“He said the guards were wearing uniforms, not NVA but something different. He said they were shiny maybe made of metal... well he really didn’t know!”
“Captain Scarburg, may I?” said Spook.
The Captain relinquished the briefing to Spook.
Spook proceeded, “Gentlemen the word ‘Sam’ used for “different” was hard to translate. He said Russian, but the translation was not precisely ‘Russian’, we believe he was trying to say they appeared to be some kind of foreigners, but they could be someone else!”
“Thanks, Spook, you are perfectly correct. Fellows, what Spook and I are saying is we do not know, for sure, who those guards are. Maybe they are Russian, maybe they are not, but we didn’t make this trip and lose Jesse, Doc and the Scout for nothing. This is what we came for!!”
The guys all started turning to each other with high-fives, slapping the one next to him on the back and some could be heard saying, “Damn straight!!” “Right On!!” “Payback time”! The atmosphere was festive and jubilant.
Sarge thought, ‘if they only knew what was coming!’
The air was filled with such excitement no one paid any attention to ‘Sam’. His hands weren’t bound and he wasn’t being guarded. Before anyone realized what was happening 'Sam' sprung from his rock seat grabbed Jesse’s’ M-16 from the pile lying close to him, put the rifle’s cold steel muzzle underneath his chin, flipped the safety ‘off’ with his thumb and pulled the trigger with his index finger.
"Kaboom", the noise was so loud in this confined space that the resultant explosion following the firing pin striking the 5.56 mm round in the rifle was 'felt' almost as much as heard.
Following the deafening rifle discharge 'Sams' head did not apparently slow the speed of the bullet down. The bullet entered the lower chin, proceeded through the roof of his mouth and exited the top of his skull. From his head the bullet ricocheted off the ceiling sending everyone falling to the floor. The 5.56 mm bullet cascaded around the small stone enclosure like a BB in a tin can. Fortunately they hit the floor faster than the bullet could strike one of them. Thankfully none were injured.
Lying in the prong position on the floor they could look up and see the soot-blackened ceiling now covered with blood, brains, scraps of hair and bone giving it a ghoulish crimson color.
A deathly hush fell over them as this horribly gruesome mixture slowly dripped from the ceiling down on them all.
Getting to their feet they stared down at ‘Sam’s’ lifeless body lying on the bleak stone floor. What was left of his head was oozing a puddle of blood onto a corner of one of the ponchos underneath Doc Mayo's lifeless body.
What was left of ‘Sam’s’ once handsome young Asian face was now totally unrecognizable. A 5.56mm bullet has a muzzle velocity faster than an average bullet. When it hits the brain it creates shock waves causing an explosion of the surrounding tissue - this is called hydrostatic shock. ‘Sam’s head got a good up close and personal look at the effects of this hydrostatic shock!!
One of the grizzled veterans grimaced and glanced away from the carnage on the floor, unconsciously thinking, ‘Man, what an M-16 can do to the human head when you eat the barrel and pull the trigger’.
They didn’t particularly care for ‘Sam’, but hey, they didn’t want him to kill himself.
But 'what the hell', they really didn’t really care one-way or the other.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
OPPORTUNITY MISSED
The amount of time expended by Doc being bitten by the cobra, the scouts taking care of the enemy patrol, the capture of ‘Sam’ and his thorough interrogation by Captain Scarburg and Spook and then him ‘offing’ himself, no one had noticed that the storm had passed and a faint light was beginning to cast a glow through the brush at the cave entrance.
Oh no!! They thought looking at each other, ol' Sol had already pushed the blackness of night from Vietnam to their east and the replacing morning light was beginning to work its way west turning the darkness that they had just endured into another dreary rain soaked Cambodian morning.
They were late!
Sarge took the floor and got the team to settle down. After they got quite, he said, “Guys, we have missed the opportunity, as you all well know, to move out before daybreak. We do not have the advantage of darkness. All is not lost; we gained some valuable information from ‘Sam’.
By necessity we will have to spend the rest of this day huddled together in this rock hole, but we are not going to sit by doing nothing. Today we are going to use this as an opportunity - an opportunity to get our assault plans worked out to the nth degree. So lets get started and get our equipment squared away and get the plans ready for our assault tonight, but first we need to properly bury Sergeant First Class Charles Hellmans.” A couple of the scouts looked at each other with puzzled looks. They didn't recognize Sergeant Hellman's 'real' name he was just 'Doc Mayo' or Bac Si to them.
* * * * *
The men each came around one at a time and stood gazing at Doc lying there, dead, on the ponchos. Some crossed themselves. Others said a silent prayer. Some did nothing but simply and quietly said ‘Goodbye’.
After the men had paid their last respects Sarge pulled one of the Scouts aside and spoke quietly to him. After their conversation the Scouts removed Doc's body along with the body of ‘Sam’ to the outside of the cave. Sarge knew the Scouts would bury Doc and ‘Sam’ with respect and would leave no visible outward signs of their graves.
After the burial detail the men hurried around, checking and cleaning equipment; some had topographic maps stretched out on the floor examining the surrounding terrain, committing these details to memory.
While all this was going on Sarge pulled Little ‘S’ aside and began questioning him. “Son, I know you too well, you can’t get it by me, what did ‘Sam’ tell you that you’re not telling us? You left something out!! Let's have it!!"
“Pop, I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want to upset the men until I spoke to you first,” whispered Junior.
“Give it to me straight! You know I rather have bad news better than no news at all. What did you find out?”
“First,” said Jr., “You want it straight, that’s the way I’m going to give it to you.
* * * * *
"Sam’ said that swamp that we have to go through is bad… he said it was risky to cross in the daytime but his own people would never attempt it at night. He said it was just too dangerous - full of venomous snakes, crocs’, landmines and sinkholes. I looked at our topo (topographical) maps and the aerial photos and that miserable swamp is not even shown.
Sarge jumped in, “Why do you suppose our Intel guys did not pick up on this?”
“I can only reason they never got photos during the rainy season… you know it rains everyday and there is no way any of our own guys have ever put eyes on this place! If you think about it, there’s no reason to be flying over this shit-hole just to take pictures.”
“Your right, until we heard of Pac Toul, nobody would have given a plug nickel for aerial photos of this place. They wouldn’t have come over this damn place if Marilyn Monroe herself had been lying out there sunbathing in her birthday suit! Forget that... I know our pilots, we'd have photos up the patootie!"
“Well Pop,” said Jr again, “that was the first bad news, I’ll go on now with the really juicy stuff. Once we emerge from the swamp, there is a dirt berm (app. 6 foot mound of
dirt) that circles the entire area that we know as Pac Toul. ‘Sam’ says if we get over the berm, and it has anti-personnel mines buried all over it, no one is living in the huts around the two-storied building. The people have run off.
More bad news tho’… ’Sam’ said the soldiers are foreigners; they are not Vietnamese, the Cambodian Army or militia. He did not know who they were but he said something weird – he said their uniforms looked ‘shiny white’ but if he could guess he said he would guess they were Russians.”
“Excuse me Captain, can I jump into this conversation again,” Spook said tapping him on the shoulder.
“Those Khmer words that ‘Sam’ used are hard to translate into English but I believe he said, ‘metal ’. The ‘shiny’ translates more closely to metal!”
“Quite right Spook, your right it could be either ‘white’, 'silver' or ‘metal’,” Little ‘S’ agreed.
“Russians!! Russians!! What in the hell are damn Russians doing way out here in the boonies with ‘white’ or ‘shiny metal’ uniforms,” Sarge said.
“Pop, if Thumper has gotten here before us, he would have brought some troops with him. Doesn’t that make sense? But I would also think those troops that we just engaged were not his total force.”
“Damn it to hell, what do you suppose is in that building that is so important.
“ P.H.O.T.O," what in Sam Blazes IS that? It is all connected someway but how? Colonel Scarface kept asking about Pac Toul and P.H.O.T.O. Do you suppose they process recon photographs here? That doesn’t make any sense!” Sarge was just rambling, going on and on, in fact he was just thinking out loud.
“Pop, I don’t know but I bet you a new dollar that me, you and the rest of our team will find out tomorrow!!!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE SWAMP
After the conversation with his son, Sarge assembled the team and restated what Captain Scarburg had told him. Every bad piece of it! Sarge was a believer a man has the right to know what he is getting into, especially if it is likely to get him killed.
But that news didn’t seem to affect the team one way or another. If it did they kept it to themselves. The rest of the morning and afternoon was very productive and well spent. Equipment was checked, re-checked and checked again. Rifles were cleaned, knifes were sharpened to a keen edge, maps were studied and plans were conceived. The day passed rather quickly, as Sarge said, ‘Time passes fast when you’re having fun.’ The light at the cave entrance began to dim indicating to those inside night was approaching and the mission was about to resume.
Sarge ordered the men to settle back, open up some PIRs, eat, smoke’em if you got’em, bum’em if you don’t. Get a couple hours of down time; they would be pushing off at 2100 hrs (9 pm).
The sun had dropped down behind the western horizon and the cave had gotten dark inside – it was time to mount up and shove off.
The men removed the brush from the entrance to the cave slung their rucks upon their backs and returned to the murky, muddy animal trail that headed toward the southwest. The only redeeming grace to the entrance out into the gloom of the night air - it wasn’t raining. After the urine, feces and blood stench of the cave the fresh air smelled oh so good.
Well that good feeling didn’t last long, just as they hit the trail the rolling rumble of thunder was heard off in the distance. The flash of lightning crashes could be seen in the distance. Like the twinkling of Christmas tree lights, ODA -113 ‘Photo Search’ was alerted that the thunderous downpour of rain was just minutes away. They figured correctly, at first it was just a few drops that turned into a rainstorm, which turned into a deluge. This was the monsoon season; rain was the name of the game.
The trek down the slippery, muddy trail did not take long. Before they had time to become accustomed to the mud and rain the trail abruptly ended.
They had nowhere to go except forward... into the… swamp.
* * * * *
Sarge was the first to venture out into the slimy, filthy swamp water followed closely by Jr and Spook. The good news it was only knee deep, the bad news there were things in that water that had never seen humans before. Whatever they might be they would be very happy to take a bite out of Sarge’s leg. Sarge conferred with the Captain and Spook. Spook was familiar with this part of the world and his insight was very valuable.
Spook said, “I don’t know about this particular area but I know that most of Cambodia is filled with anti-personnel mines. I don’t believe this area will be any different, especially since it is protecting the entrance to the Pac Toul area.
During the dry season this would not be a swamp, and whoever is defending it thought no one would attempt an attack through this swamp during the rainy season; however, Siamese crocodiles are also native to this area.
So I think our best approach would be to enter and maintain a single file, spaced out at intervals of at least 3 meters. If a mine or croc’ is encountered, God forbid, it will only be catastrophic to the one who stepped on the mine or was grabbed by the croc. Maybe the man before and behind will be spared.”
“Yeah, sounds good I’d rather cross in a line formation,” said Sarge, “but your idea makes sense. Single file men, 3 meter intervals, I’ll take lead.” After Sarge stopped listening to Spook describe the intricacies of the swamp he turned and continued out into the dark, cloudy, obscure water.
* * * * *
Sarge estimated the swamp to be roughly 300 meters long, ‘Just a walk in the park,’ he told himself. ‘Why, this is nothing but three football fields – I’ve gone that far thousands of time!’
That thought had barely materialized when he saw an unmistakable white-yellow flash. Within a mere fraction of a second he heard the ‘swoosh’ of an RPG shoulder-fired rocket fly past him so close he could feel the heat from the rocket motor.
It missed all his men but struck a nearby tree instantly transforming it into a mangled stump with the rest of the tree filling the air as a shower of wood splinters and sawdust. At least the downpour of rain was washing the wood debris from their faces and clothes!
One of the men, yelled (no use to maintain silence now), “Which direction?”
Another answered, “Couldn’t see’em, too dark!”
Sarge yelled back, “Came from our 1 o’clock!”
At the same instant of this report the whole dark dismal swamp in front of them erupted into a fireworks display reminiscent of a Fourth of July celebration; the air was filled with an ear deafening crescendo of automatic AK-47s and SKS’ firing FMJ (full metal jacketed) rounds with red tracers. Hand grenades were being lobbed too, but their point of origin was, at least, 75 meters away and the effective range of a grenade was no more than 30 - 40 meters.
Sarge laughed to himself, ‘At least they are killing some of the damn snakes and crocs’ in this stinking stagnant swimming pool!’
Sarge yelled, “Down!” and for a brief microsecond the shout of “Down” transported him back to his days as a Little League coach on first base. The pitcher steps back off the rubber, the first base coach automatically yells at the runner on first, “Back!” Somehow it felt the same, but he knew it wasn’t.
The comparison was as different as night and day, hot and cold, alive or dead; how could he associate that tranquil afternoon of youngsters having the time of their lives to this cesspool swamp of death in Northern Cambodia. He couldn’t - it was just one of those silly thoughts everyone has had at inopportune times.
Spook was crouched behind a 2” sapling. A skinny tree, which offered no protection at all, he thought hell some cover, is better than no cover at all! He was hiding about three feet to Sarge’s left and a little behind him when he yelled at Sarge. Sarge heard him call and dragged himself, with only his green beret showing above the water, back toward Spook to see what the hell he had on his mind.
'Civilians!! Don't he know I have a war to tend to!'
The rest of that bacteria and germ-infested water was seeping into every or
ifice of Sarge’s body, but he reasoned, ‘hell I’ll be like Scarlett – I’ll worry about that tomorrow.’ When Sarge arrived at Spook’s side the Captain, hearing Spook yell had already moved over to find out what was going on too.
Sarge didn’t waste any words, “Spook you got any suggestion? I’m all ears, we’re in a hell of a fix!”
Spook was nervous since he was in no position to offer command decisions, said timidly, “Sergeant Scarburg, before coming on this OPS with your team I surveyed this area day and night, top to bottom. I believe a tributary of the Mekong River is feeding this swamp, so to move to our right would be going toward the river and getting into deeper water. We shouldn’t go that way, do you agree?”
Not knowing what in hell Spook was talking about Sarge and the Captain both nodded in agreement.
“My proposal is for you to leave two of us here to keep drawing their fire and you and the Captain take the rest of the men and flank them to our left. I believe if you go over to the left, no more than 75 meters, you should be on dry ground. And that ground, with all the water running toward this swamp, should have deep gullies washed out from the recent downpours. These gullies might offer you a little bit of cover. I have Docs M-16 and Tex is still hobbling on his twisted ankle. Tex and I can keep them dodging bullets for awhile.”
‘Damn... good plan for a civilian’, thought the Sarge. As he was about to move down the line giving instructions he heard a loud yell - a command in a foreign language.
Sarge knew immediately the language – it was Russian. And he recognized that pig squealing s.o.b’s voice --- it was the Colonel ‘Thumper’ barking the orders.
Both Captain Scarburg and Spook understood Thumper’s commands: he wanted his troops to move right and to the left, flanking us on both sides. They wanted to get us caught in a crossfire. Little did Colonel Butt Hole realize that the men he ordered to his left were actually walking into the river! ‘Good the more in the river the better! That’s just fewer we have to kill’ Sarge thought.