LOSS OF A FRIEND

The last few days were spent getting ready for an upcoming operation. I was anxious to get this one going. We were becoming rusty. Our platoon's morale needed a boost. This operation should help in that regard. We were up early for the start of this one. The Battalion S-3 wanted us at the airfield at 0600 hours to catch the flights out. When the choppers came in to pick us up, something different had been arranged. This time the Huey's were replaced with the larger "Chinook" CH-47 cargo helicopters. You can load a whole platoon in one Chinook. So that's exactly what we did. Our whole platoon fit on one chopper. There was no need to think that where we were going the LZ would be safe to land. We wouldn't risk landing a large aircraft into an area where we couldn't get in and out fast enough. This bird is just too slow in landing and taking off again.

"I just hope they know what the hell they're doing," I said.

"What do you mean?" asked Mantley.

"The Army moving troops in a war zone with a large helicopter. Hell, one placed RPG rocket fired from the ground would knock this over-sized bus right out of the sky," I told him.

"Gee Sarge, thanks for the morale boost. I really needed those words of encouragement."

"Think nothing of it."

"Hell, that's all I'm thinking of now, thanks to you."

"Ah, don't worry Mantley. I think we're up high enough. There's no chance that Charlie has anything that can shoot this high up."

"You sure about that Sarge? You really think we'll be okay?"

"We're as safe as geese crossing a blind. No problem at all."

The choppers landed and let us off without incident. The ground was a little soft and the weight of the Chinook forced the wheels into the ground. They had some difficulty pulling away but with slightly more thrust from the engines, they finally made it.

Our final destination was a rubber tree plantation northeast of Cu Chi. It was located just a little east of Dau Tieng, where we had operated earlier in the year. We were told to set up a defensive fortification around the rubber trees. This area would become our home-away-from-home for the next few months. It would be used as a staging area for our Battalion to use for smaller sweeping operations. It was designed for battalion-sized units to operate independently where larger-sized units wouldn't be required to get the job done. The next two days we worked on preparing our defenses around the perimeter. Concertina barbed wire and Claymore mines littered the landscape as we finished with the security arrangements.

The next day we prepared for another clearing mission. We were to sweep northwest again toward the Saigon River. The 1st Infantry Division was based on the opposite side of the river. They were going to start their clearing at the same time as ours. Our company had some combat engineers accompanying us this time. Their role would be to support our mission in blowing up bunkers and tunnel complexes. Also to help clear landing zones for our re-supply helicopters. We'd sweep an area, secure it, and then call in the engineers to finish up. They'd set the charges and then blow the hell out of everything. They had the easy part. I learned a lot about explosives watching how the engineers handled the stuff. I also have a lot more respect for what they have to do. It's very dangerous work. After they showed us how to do it, they were going to move on to teach other units in the operation how it's supposed to be done.

The next day was more of the same. Clear out an area, blow any existing tunnels or bunkers that were found. The VC in the plantation area must have left after our arrival. I guess they felt their strength wasn't enough to oppose us. We blew up so many bunkers and caved in more tunnels the last few days, I can't ever remember my ears ringing so constantly from all the noise. We can't wear ear protection in a war zone and expect to be alert to all the other sounds. I paid dearly for it though. I eventually experienced a hearing loss because of it.

The next day we made minor contact with the VC. We chased a couple out of their tunnels while we were searching underground. One of them popped up and we started using him for target practice. Then he'd jump back down in another hole somewhere. We never did hit him. He got away in one of the extended tunnels away from the river. We smelled smoke burning where we initially found them. We must have interfered with their lunch.

We began running out of supplies. We were supposed to receive another shipment of explosives, but they forgot to bring in the blasting caps along with the C-4 explosives. Supply said the blasting caps were sent out in another chopper, but apparently another unit received them instead. It's logical to ship C-4 and blasting caps separate for fear of the caps going off accidentally. The C-4 we received was useless without the blasting caps. Then someone came up with a brilliant idea - unscrew the blasting cap fuse from an M-26 Fragmentation Grenade and screw it into the fuse-well of the C-4. It’s a good plan, but with only one drawback. There was only a four-and-a-half second delay on the fuse before it went off. That wasn't much time to get the hell out of the way from the blast. Old GI ingenuity came into play again. Tie a string to the pull-ring and get behind some protection before you pull the pin. That would work so long as the string was long enough. So we gambled with the odds. We had a job to do, so we improvised to get it done.

Sgt. Simmons and I were together blowing this one large tunnel complex. It was larger than any of the tunnels we had blown so far. So it was going to take more than the normal load of explosives.

"Sgt. Simmons, let me know when your charge is ready. I'm almost done here," I said.

"Okay Sarge, a few minutes and I'll be all set."

"Do you have enough line to reach past those trees?"

"Yea Sarge, no problem here."

I taped two more pound blocks of C-4 to the already existing charge. I decided that four pounds of C-4 should take care of the job. All I had left to do was tie the string onto the pull-ring and wait for Simmons to finish up with his charge. I made a critical error straightening the wire out from the pull-ring.

While I tried to tie the string onto the ring, another explosion right next to me went off. The sudden noise of the explosion made my hand shake and I pulled the pin accidentally. Realizing the problem I was facing, I jumped up and away from the charge and started yelling for Simmons to get the hell away.

"Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!" I yelled again. "Let's get the hell away from here. It's going to blow!"

He tried to say something, like he wasn't ready yet, but I drowned out his voice repeating my warning.

"Fire in the hole, damn it! Get down, it's going to go o--."

Just as we both started to run, the charge went off. BROOOM! The explosion was so enormous it picked up both of us and hurled us into the air and away from the blast. The force of the explosion was greater than what I had put in that hole. We later found that I had set off a secondary explosion in the tunnel.

I was knocked unconscious. When I finally came to, I was checked over by the medics. Other than a sharp pain in my left leg and my left hand, I felt fine. Simmons was knocked off to the side and had a nasty ankle gash. Thank God he was still alive. He was bleeding,  so they bandaged him up and called in a dust-off to take him back to the aid station. He was okay other than that. When the chopper came in to pick him up, he limped over to the chopper by himself. He seemed happy that he was going back in. He waved at us with this shit-eating grin on his face as the chopper lifted off.

I took off my shirt to see if I was bleeding anywhere. I had red welts all over my back where the clods of dirt had slammed into my back. The pain in my leg subsided, but my hand continued to ache. I thought I had just sprained it. A day later the swelling still had not gone down, so I checked into the aid station to have them take a look at it. I found out that the last three fingers were broken. They put a brace on it from the wrist on down and I went back to blowing up tunnels. I was lucky I didn't get us both killed out there. It was a stupid mistake on my part and I felt bad about hurting a fellow member of my platoon. The CO was also angry with me for the accident. He told me that if we'd had the right tools to do the job that day, accidents like that probably wouldn't occur. I agreed with him on that (for my sake).

The remainder of this mission lasted two more days. We went back to the rubber trees for a rest. Movies and extra rations of beer were sent out to us from Cu Chi, we had a chance to take it easy for a few days. My hand needed rest to heal properly and I had to learn to deal cards with one hand when we played poker. I got to be pretty good at it as the game progressed. The only thing that didn't progress is the money in my pocket. I lost again.

I ran into Sgt. Simmons in the mess tent. He had his foot wrapped up with a small cast around the ankle.

"Hi Simmons. How's it going with the ankle?" I asked.

"Coming along fine. Just have to get used to walking with these crutches for a few days is all. Other than that, I'll be okay in a few weeks."

"Is your ankle broken?"

"I wish. If it was I'd probably be on my way home by now. I here they send you home with a broken limb."

"Oh yea, I didn't know that," I said.

"There is a sign of a hair-line crack though. They want to keep it in a cast for three weeks just to make sure it heals okay. By the way, how are you doing with the hand?"

"Oh it's just fine. No problem. Hey look, I'm really sorry about what happened out there."

"Ah forget it Sarge, couldn't be helped. We just tried to get the job done best we could. Don't you worry about it. It's going to be okay."

"Well thanks. I just wanted to let you know how I felt."

"Take it easy Sarge. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yea, take it easy Simmons. I'll see you too."

I went back to my tent. I tried to write a letter home, but I couldn't hold a pen in my hand too long. So it became a short line to my folks letting them know everything was fine. I listened to the Battalion radio transmissions. The Battalion had a day patrol out searching for clues to where Charlie might be hiding. We hadn't heard from him in quite awhile. Everything was quiet. The patrol made it back to our lines with no problem.

Sgt. Cline came in with his crew from their road security mission. I hadn't seen his section around that much now that we had separate jobs to do.

"How's it going?" I asked.

"Fine. Maybe now that we're here in the rubber trees, we'll get to see a lot more of each other."

"Yea, as long as we're not out looking for Charles. You're working on security for the supply routes, aren't you?"

"Yea, we're running security back and forth to Cu Chi. We really haven't had that much of a problem since we started."

"That road is pretty much secure now, isn't it?"

"Yes, for the most part. We made contact a couple of times. That was when we first started."

"Hey, let me know the next time you go out. I'd like to catch a ride with you into Cu Chi. I've got a friend I'd like to look up."

"Sure, no problem. You'd be welcome along anytime."

"Thanks Cline. I appreciate it."

"Yea, sure. I'll let you know when, okay?"

"Yea, okay. See you later."

I went on the supply run a couple times to Cu Chi but was told the unit that Sgt. Graham was in was still out in the field. I would try again some other time. I hadn't seen him since we arrived in country. I was wondering how he was doing.

The next few weeks the routine continued. My hand was healing nicely and I was bored with the inactivity. I got involved over at Battalion re-supply and helped send equipment and rations out to the field. The companies are rotating small clearing missions out and around the perimeter of the rubber trees. Our men had been working here with the internal security. They were on the mortars day and night. In case something happened, they'd be ready to respond. Things were at low ebb. What I feared the most about this situation was the uncertainty. Not knowing what or when something might happen. Our men were also becoming complacent. We needed to change our habits - the way we did things every day. The way we were operating became repetitious. I couldn't understand why Charlie hadn't tried to attack this place. He was probably short on strength for one reason. Our patrols out at night had disrupted his security. Otherwise, the "grape" here was ripe for picking. He just hadn't taken advantage of the opportunity that existed.

I voiced my sentiments to Battalion on some of the weaknesses around our base camp. To thank me for my concerns, they gave me the men and equipment needed to shore up the defenses. I didn't mind though, at least it was important enough for me to see that it got done.

I finally got the chance to get back into Cu Chi around the last week in July. I heard that the 2nd Battalion of the 27th Infantry had returned from their field operation. I was anxious to see Sgt. Graham after all these months. When I arrived at his Battalion, I decided to check into their NCO Club. It was located next to their headquarters and I figured that's where everyone would be anyway. Besides, I was thirsty myself from the long trip. Sgt. Sawyer wanted to go to the main post exchange, and he was with me when we walked in.

I went up to the bartender and asked if he knew Sgt. Graham and if he might be here. He said he didn't know him and wouldn't know if he was there.

"Give me a couple of beers," I said. I asked around and found out that he was in A Company-2nd Platoon. One of the guys pointed to a couple GI's over in the corner of the room who were playing pool. They might know of him. I went over and asked one of them if he knew where I might find Sgt. Graham, or if he knew anyone who did.

"Sgt. Graham?" he asked. "No, I don't know anyone by that name."

"You heard of him, any of you guys know?"

"Yea, I knew him," said a guy sitting in the corner. "He's dead. He was killed two weeks ago. He was out on a patrol when he was hit."

My jaw dropped. I was in total shock.

"You sure?"

"Yea, for Christ's sake man, I ought to know. He was my platoon sergeant."

"He was a good friend of mine. We came over to this shit hole together," I told him.

"Well, I'm sorry you had to hear it this way, my friend. He was a good man. Everyone liked him."

"Yea, he was one hell of a nice guy."

Just then my anger overcame my good judgment and the beer bottle I had in my hand just splattered all over the back wall. I lost my head.

The bartender yelled over to me, "We don't take that kind of shit in this club!" and for me to get out.

I looked at him as I walked for the door and gave him a cold stare. If looks could kill, that SOB would have been stone dead. Sgt. Sawyer grabbed hold of me and pulled me toward the door.

"Get your friggen hands off me," I told him. "I know how to walk."

"Get the fuck out of here," the bartender yelled.

"Fuck you, asshole!" I yelled back.

"Come on Shaf. Let's get out of this place, now. We don't need trouble with these guys."

I got out of that place and into the hot sun. I just couldn't get my mind to function properly. I guess I was in shock.

Finally, Sawyer guided me toward the post exchange patio and we sat at a table.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yea, I'll be okay."

I finally became calm and Sawyer picked us up a couple beers from the outside patio bar.

"Here," he said, as he handed me one of the beers. "Promise not to throw it?"

"Hell, I might be crazy, but I ain't no fool."

I took a swig from the beer and stared into space, trying to let the news wear on me a little.

"Friggen, stupid, shitty war! He didn't deserve to die," I told him.

"Hell Shaf, no one deserves to die in this place."

"You wanna bet?" I asked. "Charlie deserves to die. The SOB needs to die."

"Yea, I agree with you on that part of it. He was pretty close to you, huh?"

"Yea, we were real close friends. He treated me like a younger brother."

"Hey, I'm real sorry for you. Come on Shaf, let's go back to camp."

As we got up to leave, I wiped at the tears welling up in my eyes, but I couldn't hold back any longer. I let it go.

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