CHARLIE'S ALLY

We moved out on patrol just as dusk fell. It was at 1930 hours. The CO wanted us back in before daylight. We had a long-distance route to take. Our compass checks were frequent and the directions changed just about every 200 meters. This was done to try and confuse the enemy as to our actual destination. If he did spot us, chances were he'd wait on us to come back that same route, which we wouldn't do. Our objective was a wooded island, surrounded by rice fields. We would be able to see any movement all around us from this vantage point. After about an hour we spotted our patrol objective. It sort of stuck out in the middle of a rice field and was about 40 meters across its widest point. We would have to get wet to reach it.

"I can't believe we're actually going to cross this shit to get there," said Mantley.

"Have you got a better way to get over there? Perhaps we should sprout wings and just fly over there. Would that suit you?" I asked.

"But Sarge, that's some deep mud in there. We might get stuck or something."

"If you get stuck in that shit Mantley, I'll go hire a water buffalo from "Uncle Charles" and have you pulled out. How's that sound?"

"You got a deal Sarge. Let's go in and get wet."

It took about a half hour but we finally arrived at the wooded island. We were exhausted from trudging through the rice fields. We were all soaking wet and mud sucked at the bottom of our boots. I realized that we'd be better off if we could reach higher ground. The wooded island afforded that opportunity. The island foliage was full of thick bushes and would provide us with good cover. So that's where we ended up - in the bushes. We secured the immediate surroundings and set the Claymore mines out on the paddy dikes. By this time it was pitch black. It was so dark we couldn't see our hands in front of our faces. There was no moon at all.  Hardly the best situation for a night ambush; too much moonlight is dangerous, and none at all is like being in a closet.

"You know Sarge," Mantley whispered to me.

"What?"

"I don't like this spot A-TALL."

"Why not? At least it's drier than down below."

"Yea, but I got this funny feeling, like we ain't supposed to be here."

"Ah, don't be so paranoid Mantley. Hell, you're just like an old woman fussing about. Don't worry so much."

"I'm telling you Sarge, it ain't right our being here like this."

"Forget it," I said. "We're staying. You're never satisfied about nothing."

Just as I leaned back to relax I felt something crawling on my neck. I removed the towel I had wrapped around me and started slapping at my neck, then my chest area. Finally, I was slapping at myself everywhere. Then I saw Mantley slapping at himself. I picked what was biting me off my neck. Black ants! We were infested with them here in the bushes. They were biting the shit out of all of us. They were mad as hell at us for disturbing their nesting ground.

"Damn they bite hard," said Cunningham.

"Yea, these suckers aren't ants, they're alligators!" Johnson said.

"God, I've got to get out of here," said Mantley.

"Yea, we're all gonna have to unass this anthill," I told them.

"Let's go back down in the mud."

"Gladly," said Sawyer. "I'm swelling up like a balloon."

We all moved down below, stuck our butts in the mud and waited it out. Talk about being miserable! This was the epoch of desperation. I contemplated getting up and moving to another site. Then I decided against it. If the VC were out there, they'd never guess an American patrol would be dumb enough to set up an ambush in this shit. The odds were in our favor to stay put, so that's just what we did. The men bitched about it but later they agreed with me. It turned out to be the more prudent thing to do. We tried not to make unnecessary movements while we were in the mud. Periodically we had to stand and pull our feet out of the muck. The leeches became another problem. Thanks to whoever it was who invented insect repellant! It takes care of mosquitoes and leeches all in one spray. This was one patrol that I wanted over as soon as possible.

Just before daylight came we called in to say we were ready to come back in. Ready was an understatement. We got ourselves ready to go, packed in the Claymores, and pulled our butts out of the mud. I checked our return compass reading to determine our heading back. Everything checked out fine until we got up to the jungle canopy. Then everything started to look the same. We decided to hang a right turn out of the rice paddies. We pulled in to the jungle and stopped at about 200 meters. At this juncture we should be on line with our perimeter and be able to head right for it.

"Sgt. Sawyer, I think you should take the point and try to get us out of here. Try going in at 130 degrees on your compass."

"Right Sarge. How far up on this first leg?"

"Count up about 300 meters. I'll give you another correction then," I told him.

"Just don't get us stranded out here," said Johnson.

"Mind your own business, Homer. You watch your own ass."

Sgt. Sawyer didn't go more than 150 meters when he stopped. He just froze in place.

"Johnson, what's the holdup?"

"I don't know Sarge. He just stopped all of a sudden."

I looked toward Sawyer and he motioned for me to come forward. I was wondering what could be the problem as I walked up to him. I looked back. Gerard had started to bring up the rear. I motioned for him to halt in place then I continued moving toward Sawyer. I looked at him and he looked at me.

"What the hell's the problem? I think you're a little off-course."

He looked white as a ghost. He looked down at his feet. Then I looked at his feet. Damn! He had just tripped a wire across this small trail. I looked at it with a closer eye and discovered that it was a booby-trapped grenade tied with a wire from a "C" ration can. He was lucky it hadn't gone off - yet.

"That's a fine mess you got yourself in; you okay?"

"Yea, I'm fine. Just get me the hell out of this thing, will ya?"

"Yea, just hang on a second, let me determine our predicament here."

I looked down at the grenade to try and see what we were up against. I had my head as close as I could get. All this time I'm thinking this thing is going to blow up in my face any second and then I'll be another statistic from the jungles of Vietnam.

"Looks like you just pulled off your 'dick-string'," I said.

"Ha ha, very funny Sarge. Get my ass clear of this thing, will ya?"

"Hold your horses a second. Let me see what we got here."

The grenade was in a C ration can. He pulled out the wire, but the rusty pin broke off. Had the pin pulled out properly the plunger would have released and it would have exploded. That's why it didn't go off. Faulty pin and Sawyer was still alive.

"Your ass is still attached only because of your Irish luck," I told him.

"Yea, you got that shit right, said Sawyer. It's not my Irish luck, I'm German."

"Well maybe you got some Irish on your mothers side," I added.

I cleared the grenade from the can and made sure the pin wouldn't come out.

"Okay, you're all right now. You can move now, or faint, whichever suits you."

Johnson came over to where we were.

"Man, if you ain't the luckiest son-of-a-bitch I ever laid eyes on," he joked.

"It was dark and I had mud on my boots, so I couldn't feel anything," said Sawyer.

"It was dark up here because you had your head up your ass, sergeant."

"Shaf, you gonna let that clodhopper talk to me like that?"

"Johnson, where's your respect for your squad leader?" I asked.

"Gone to hell with the rest of this outfit," said Johnson.

"You takin' us up this way, Sawyer, has probably gotten us lost."

"Johnson," I said, "you take the sergeant's point. I don't think Sawyer's luck is absolute certain."

"Glad to Sarge. I eat this shit up."

"Yea, just like your ham 'n eggs, right Homer?" asked Sawyer.

"Hell, I never ate so damn good till Uncle Sam started feedin' me."

"Where exactly do you come from back in the world?" I asked.

"That clod comes from Nowhere, Tennessee," interrupted Sawyer.

"Speak for yourself, squad leader. Me and ole Andy Jackson walked the same woods back in Tennessee."

"Not at the same time, I hope," said Sawyer.

"Not exactly," snickered Johnson.

"Well look Homer, I'd just love to hear more stories about you and ole Andy, but we do have to get the hell out of here. Stay on a reading of 130 degrees Homer, and don't forget the password in case we get challenged."

"What the hell might it be, Sarge? I forgot the damn thing already."

"You'll make a good officer someday, you know that, Homer?"

"Remember, password is 'Castle' and the countersign is 'Swordfish'," said Sgt. Sawyer. "You got that?"

"Yea, I got it squad leader. You really think so Sarge?"

"What's that, Johnson?"

"You really think I'd make a good officer some day?"

"Without a doubt," I told him.

When Cunningham came up to me I told him to blow the booby-trap grenade in place.

"With what?" he asked.

"Put one of your 'frags' next to it, pull the pin and run like hell," I told him.

"That sure sounds like an expensive way to run a railroad. Why don't I just toss it in the rice fields over there?"

"What, and let some water buffalo walk on it and set it off?"

"Well it's a lot cheaper than your way."

"Since when did you start working for the General Accounting Office?" I asked him.

"General who?"

"Just never mind, just blow the damn thing, will you?"

"Okay Sarge, no problem. I'm gonna have to tape them together though, I'm not that fast a runner."

"Fine, I said. Whatever you think is best Cunningham."

I told Sawyer the next time we run a patrol to make sure we bring C-4 explosives with us. He thought it was a good idea.

We got back to base camp okay. Johnson's style of "dead reckoning" and my checking with the compass insured our safe return. The CO asked me for a debriefing on the patrol. With all the trouble we ran into, I gave him an earful. Luckily, the VC weren’t in a roaming mood last night. God knows how we could have handled that situation if we had run into Charlie too.

The rest of the day was spent blowing out jungle brush with "bangalore torpedoes" and cutting down bamboo with our machetes. We were trying to enlarge our landing zone for re-supply drops. We also dug deeper foxholes and strung out barbed wire around the perimeter and around our defensive positions.

"Looks like we're going to camp out here a little longer than I anticipated."

"Yea, it looks that way," agreed Sawyer.

Things started to wind down a little early in the evening. The first chance that we really had to relax came at evening chow. The re-supply choppers brought out our mail. We also received an extra ration of beer after chow.

The ARVN sergeant who I had trouble with earlier threatened me in the chow line.

"I'm going to 'frag' your ass when you not expect it," he said in his broken English.

Sgt. Simmons overheard him say it and reported the incident to the company commander.

The next morning the re-supply chopper crew took the ARVN sergeant with them. I never saw the SOB again.

"Good riddance," said Mantley.

"I hope they throw the friggen guy out of the chopper on the way out," said Cunningham.

"Maybe they'll send him up to the Russian Front," said Gerard.

"Russian Front? Man, are you in the wrong war or what?" asked Mantley. "The Russian Front was in WWII man. Where you coming from?"

"Well what do they do here then?" he asked.

"They send them up north to fight the North Vietnamese, stupid," said Johnson. "Where else they gonna send them?"

"He'll probably end up as President Thieu's personal valet," I told them.

"Yea, wouldn't that be the shits," added Johnson.

I received word that the Battalion was sending our company's platoon leaders up on a recon flight with a chopper that was due in. We were told to report to the Battalion supply dump to catch the chopper out. When we saw the chopper come in to land, I started to walk out toward the Battalion supply. As I walked by and parallel to the woods, I ran into the 1st Platoon leader - Lt. Cooper. Just as we exchanged words with one another, Charlie started a mortar barrage on our butts. The first explosion landed 50 meters to my left and the second one landed to my front. Those two directions were automatically eliminated as prospects for taking cover. I told Lt. Cooper to make a run for the nearest hole; I did the same. There was a foxhole to my right and I went for it. When I got to the hole to jump in, something was already in it. I backed off. A growling noise emerged from the hole. Inside was a black and tan German shepherd scout dog.

"Excuse me," I said, and went on to the next hole. The mortar barrage lasted about five minutes. The VC was trying to blow up the Battalion ammo supply dump, along with the choppers that had just tried to land. The choppers took off without getting hit. The ammo dump was spared also. Charlie was a little off his aim in that regard. But he was very accurate in hitting one of our three-man foxholes. All three men were inside when it received a direct hit. One man was killed instantly; the other two were badly wounded. Once the barrage ended we called the choppers back in to take out the wounded.

I didn't know the man who was killed; I did know the other two men slightly. I've probably talked to them but can't recall their names. They made it to the hospital okay. They wouldn't see action again. Should be on their way home soon.

"Charlie sure knows how to screw up a perfectly nice day," said Mantley.

"Yea, he knows just how to piss a guy off when he wants to," said Johnson. "Fig, what do you think Charlie had on his mind to blow up?"

"He was trying for the battalion commander's tent," said Fig. "Plain as the nose on your face."

"I think he was trying for the latrine," said Johnson.

"The latrine?"

"Yea, the friggen latrine."

"Why's that?" asked Fig.

"Cause if he hits the latrine he'd smell this place up so bad we'd have to pull up out of here. We'd have to relocate."

"Charlie doesn't want us to relocate," said Sawyer. "He wants us right here where we're at so he can blow our damn fool heads off."

"All the more reason to dig our holes a little deeper and improve your overhead cover," I told them. "Let's get it done. I want these positions reinforced."

"Yea, yea, seems like all we do around here is fill up sandbags," complained Johnson.

"Why Johnson, you got something better to do? You got a date or something we're not privy to?"

"No Sarge, nothing better. I was just blowing a little steam."

"I heard another chopper had to be called in for someone else," said Fig. "Seems as though it was Lt. Cooper from 1st Platoon."

"What happened to him?" I asked.

"I heard they found him in the trees unconscious."

"Unconscious?"

"Yea, when the mortars started falling in, he started running and wasn't watching where he was going. He ran headlong into a tree and knocked himself silly. So they had to have him dusted-off."

I just walked away, shaking my head in disbelief.

"I can't imagine anything like that happening in this place. Being Lt. Cooper though, I can believe it," I said.

The Battalion recon idea was canceled and we were given a map briefing instead. Seems like they want our unit to sweep further south starting tomorrow morning. We are supposed to clear and blow any bunkers and tunnels that we find. Our company was to maneuver up to the Saigon River, then meet up with a unit of the 9th Infantry Division. From there we would parallel the run of the river and work our way south. We were to be up at 0530 hours to start the operation. I had a good night's rest for a change. As a matter of fact, we all had a pretty good night.

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