Under Fire Read online

  He gave me a hurt expression as he turned the knob to switch it off. “I was just having fun.”

  “Eddie, you should worry more about the VCs having fun. They can’t be…”

  Too late, they’d heard the music, pinpointed our position, and the shooting started. It was more than bullets came out of the jungle. They were all around us, materializing out of the dark, stinking gloom, a horde of dark, stinking enemy guerrillas. VCs, the real deal, black pajamas, AK-47s, and death in their hate-filled expressions. I was already firing my rifle, single shots at first, but I switched to full auto and emptied the twenty-round magazine into the charging mass of insurgents. Cox went down the moment the shooting started. He must’ve walked right into them, and I’d watched his body jerk and twitch as sheets of gunfire ripped into his body. There was no question; he was dead before he hit the ground.

  “Get back, get back!” I shouted, slamming in a new magazine and pouring more bullets into the onrushing enemy. Eddie screamed when a bullet tore through his side, and further back another soldier rushed to help the man next to him who’d fallen to enemy gunfire. For his pains he took a bullet to his upper leg and another to the arm, and we were outnumbered and outgunned. Men falling dead and wounded, and we had a single tactic left.

  I shouted the order. “Run! Get out of here, fast!”

  I grabbed Eddie, who was whimpering in pain, and pulled him back with me. Behind I could hear guttural orders shouted in Vietnamese, and whoever was in command would have to be dumb if he didn’t know he had us beat. Men rushed to pick up the bodies, and we made a shambling retreat to the rice paddies, using one hand to support a wounded man and the other to fire from the hip. We ran across the causeway between the paddies, forgetting about leaving anyone behind to cover our retreat. We just had to get out of there fast, out of that hellish nightmare and death that beckoned in the guise of rabid Communists in black pajamas.

  We’d made it halfway when they emerged from the edge of the jungle. More shots whistled past us. A man in front of me shouted something about shooting back, and I told him not to be so stupid. “Pal, they’ve got us beat. Keep running for the Bradley!”

  It was a shambling retreat, wounded men, bleeding out into the rice paddies, carried by their fellow soldiers, stumbling and slipping on the wet, muddy ground. The VCs should’ve had us cold. They should have waited just inside the treeline, like when they’d first ambushed us, and picked us off one by one from behind the cover of the trees. I changed my mind about the Commie who was in charge. Maybe he was a rookie as much as we were, but whatever was in his mind, he brought his men out into the open, firing ill-aimed bursts from their AKs.

  I looked back, and there must have been at least forty of them, screaming their raucous war cries. Probably something about dying gloriously for Ho Chi Minh. Fuck dying gloriously, in their place I’d have been better inclined to live gloriously for Ho Chi Minh. They started to die. They’d overlooked the Bradley M113 with the deadly Browning .50 cal, and they’d overlooked Carson’s men who were almost back at the armored personnel carrier.

  The Browning fired, and Ericsson had his chance. He took it, firing long bursts into the screaming VCs, some insane notion about attacking a Bradley mounting an M2 with light weapons being a good idea. It was a terrible idea, and between the Browning and the other squad sheltering behind the armored hull while they poured fire onto the enemy, their casualties began to mount, until most had gone down. Some had fallen into the paddies, their blood trickling out and staining the water dark red. A few managed to retreat, maybe ten at most.

  When the last insurgent had disappeared, the shooting died down, and it was all over. We stood there, sucking in our breath, trying to calm our racing hearts. I looked at the men standing around me, and they looked shell-shocked. Their first experience of battle, nothing more than a minor skirmish, and they’d lost their platoon lieutenant, the platoon sergeant, and several men dead and wounded. Sure, we’d killed and wounded more of the enemy, but shit, there were more of them.

  Corporal Ericsson climbed down from the turret. “Whadda we do now?”

  He was looking at me. They were all looking at me for some reason.

  “We should order a dust off to get the casualties out of here, and then we’ll go back.” I glanced at Clarence Chambers, the radio operator. “Call it in now. There’re men who need urgent attention.”

  “Well, uh, isn’t that Corporal Ericsson’s call.”

  “Clarence, I don’t give a shit whose call it is. Get a medevac chopper here on the double. Men are dying.”

  He used the radio to make the call. They must’ve had a medevac chopper in the air, for it arrived inside five minutes. We waited while they loaded the casualties on board the Huey, and we used our rifles and Ericsson’s Browning to cover the jungle just in case Charlie decided to take another pop at us. It didn’t happen, and when the Huey took off, we sighed with relief. It was time to go home, except it wasn’t.

  Clarence shouted they were giving us new orders. “Squad coming in to join us, they want to know where those Viets went.”

  They shouted a chorus of curses and profanities, but orders were orders, and minutes later another Huey touched down, this one configured as a gunship with a door gun either side. Four men climbed out, Green Berets, Rangers, led by a sergeant who looked like he ate barbed wire for breakfast.

  He eyed us up and down and didn’t seem impressed. “Who’s in charge here?”

  I looked at Ericsson, but the others pointed at me. “Him.” Ericsson didn’t argue. He was more of an M-60 guy than a people guy.

  “Okay, show us where they went.”

  I pointed toward the edge of the jungle. “They went thattaway.”

  “Show us. We’re going after them.”

  “Great.”

  We spent the next two hours fruitlessly searching a one-kilometer square and found nothing.

  “Tunnels,” the sergeant grunted, “Too bad we missed them this time, but we have a surprise on the way. We’re gonna stick Charlie’s tunnels up his ass and down his throat.”

  He didn’t explain, and I didn’t ask. Without another shot being fired, the Rangers hitched a ride on our Bradley, and we rode back to Tan Son Nhut. Almost a city, comprising the headquarters of MACV, and home to vast numbers of soldiers, marines, and Air Force personnel. It was busy, almost as busy as Chicago O’Hare, with aircraft constantly taking off and landing, punctuated by the noise of rotors and turbine engines as helicopters buzzed around like angry bees. Not to mention some of the guys blaring pop music from their portable radios. Mick Jagger was wailing something about ‘Ruby Tuesday,’ and as it happened today was Tuesday. Shit Tuesday, not Ruby Tuesday.

  They told me to report to the battalion commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Harry Sinclair, and I found myself being interrogated about the patrol.

  “The men tell me you did well back there. Took over and got the men out when you were under heavy fire and taking casualties.”

  A shrug. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

  “That it was. I…” His head swiveled as the door jerked open, and a senior officer entered the room. Colonel Sinclair leapt to his feet and stood to attention.

  “Tenhut! General officer present.”

  It wasn’t just any general. It was THE general, the forbidding presence of four-star General William Westmoreland with the familiar peaked baseball cap on his head. He swept into the room, trailed by a number of aides, and glanced at Sinclair, and then at me. He looked so unhappy I got the impression he was looking for someone to stand in front of a firing squad, until his stern features relaxed.

  “At ease, men.” He looked me up and down. “I heard about that little skirmish you got involved in, and they tell me you believe the enemy came out of the tunnels.”

  I remained at attention, arms rigid at my sides, staring a couple of inches above the General’s forehead “That’s likely, Sir. The first shots came out of nowhere and took us by
surprise, and when they charged it was like they’d materialized from thin air.”

  “Tunnels, no question” he grated, “We’ve been looking into this problem of the tunnels. They’ve come too close to Saigon for comfort.” His eyes bored into Sinclair. “The patrol that got ambushed was under your command, Colonel. What’re you doing about it?”

  “Uh, we’re evaluating, Sir.”

  “Is that right? I say we’re about done with evaluating. If those VCs are hiding in those tunnels, the next thing we know they’ll be under the American Embassy in Saigon, and that’s a tunnel too far. This stops now. You know about Operation Cedar Falls, due to commence in ten days?”

  “I’ve seen the briefing papers, Sir.”

  “You’re about to see a lot more than that. As you know it’s a combined air and ground operation, and we’ll be going into the Iron Triangle in strength. Things have changed, and I decided to put the date of the attack forward by one week. In the event the Communists hit us again, I can put it forward even more is necessary. Tomorrow, I have troops clearing the town of Ben Suc of its inhabitants, and the entire region will be declared a free fire zone. The artillery will give the area a good pasting, and units of the 25th Infantry Division together with a brigade of the 1st will get into position along the Thi Tinh River. Those units are the anvil. Meanwhile, other men from those divisions will take up positions to the east of the Iron Triangle and attacked west. They’re the hammer. The idea is to force them onto our blocking units, the anvil, and kick their asses all the way back to Hanoi.”

  I could have pointed out the obvious. Most VC work from the South and had probably never traveled north of the DMZ. On the other hand, General Westmoreland was a formidable figure, and sensibly I kept my mouth shut.

  Colonel Sinclair ventured a question. “General, you said something earlier about tunnels.”

  “That’s correct. We’ll hammer the Triangle hard, and the Air Force will continue to drop bombs and napalm over the entire area. We anticipate many of these tunnels will collapse, and they’ll be out of business. Some of the tunnels are likely to remain intact, which means the hostiles sheltering inside will remain unhurt and able to keep fighting. When the bombing and shelling has ended, they can just pop back out and resume their campaign of murder. So, we’re gonna do something different. He suddenly looked at me. “Private, you were on the edge of the Triangle, what’s your opinion of the tunnels?”

  I didn’t have an opinion, but that’s not the answer the guy was looking for. “I’m sure you’re right, Sir. A lot of them will be untouched.”

  He nodded vigorously, as if I’d just made a profound statement instead of agreeing with his every word. “Exactly. Which is why I’m sending in small patrols to comb through the area and search for any sign of the tunnel entrances. You may be wondering how difficult it will be to find them. Well, the intense bombing campaign is sure to smash some of them, and we’re in process of stripping away their hiding places. Several days ago, we began dropping napalm and spraying the area with Agent Orange, and we’ll continue to do so. That’s a defoliant. It’ll strip away the jungle and take away their hiding places.”

  “Except the tunnels.”

  He gave me a hard glance and nodded slowly. As if I’d just sworn at him. “That’s right, except the tunnels. Private Yeager, you’ve had up-to-date experience with facing an enemy who uses the tunnels to play hide and seek with our troops. I want you to pass on your experience to one of our reconnaissance patrols, and help our men seek out the enemy so we can send in sufficient ordnance to destroy them. Any questions?”

  “Sir, if you want me to talk to these men, that’s no problem. I’m not sure I can help, but…”

  “Sure, you can help. You’ll be going with them, Private Yeager. Into the Iron Triangle, and with luck you’ll come back with a hatful of medals. It’s a golden opportunity, Yeager.”

  I’d sooner have a ticket back to the States.

  “Yessir, thank you Sir.”

  “That’s all, soldier, dismissed.”

  I returned to my platoon. They’d seen me go in, seen the General enter, and they were curious. Corporal Ericsson, in nominal command while they waited for replacements for Lieutenant Cox and Sergeant Carson, almost pinned me to the wall.

  “What gives? What did the General want?”

  “They’re about to launch a massive offensive on the Iron Triangle, a combined air and ground assault. The idea is to destroy the tunnels.”

  “What else?”

  “He just handed me a death sentence.”

  Chapter One

  MACV After Action Report – Lessons Learned

  The first characteristic of a tunnel complex is normally superb camouflage. Entrances and exits are concealed, bunkers are camouflaged, and even within the tunnel complex itself, side tunnels are concealed, hidden trap doors are prevalent, and dead-end tunnels are utilized to confuse the attacker. In many instances the first indication of a tunnel complex will be fire received from a concealed bunker, which might otherwise have gone undetected. Soil from the tunnel system is normally distributed over a wide area but may be left in piles close to an entrance or exit under natural growth.

  Commissar of the National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam, Trinh Tac, peered through the dark gloom of the tunnel. Some men found it claustrophobic, but he was unusually short at four and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered, and short-legged with long, hairy arms and a body that was equally hirsute. With a low browed, square-jawed face and receding hair on top, he deliberately ignored the nickname ‘Monkey’ his men gave him. He’d long put it to the back of his mind, and so far, no one noticed his practice of giving the most arduous and dangerous assignments to those who chose to insult him.

  He was considering his next move carefully. Trinh shared command of the labyrinth of tunnels with a Vietnamese beauty, known as Madame Vo. A tunnel defender with a growing reputation for the bloodthirsty brutality that often left men gasping; he wanted to outdo her. When she returned after a short time away in the North, he would show her that he, Trinh Trac, could match her capacity to inflict terror on the enemy. No, not match her. Outmatch her. When she’d finished, the Imperialists would be too scared to continue the fight for much longer.

  They were in one of the larger underground rooms, three meters square and almost two meters high, and the atmosphere was stuffy, with almost forty men packed into the claustrophobic space.

  “We are winning this war, without question. Killing the enemy soldiers, so no corner of Vietnam will be a safe haven for them.” He smiled a savage grin, “I would point to our bombing campaign in Saigon, targeting the Imperialists when they least expect it, and I have no doubt the round eyes do not enjoy eating in luxury restaurants like their French colonial predecessors used to. Not when they expect a bomb or grenade to come through the window. But this is not enough. To liberate the South, we need to drive them away. To make the occupation of our land so terrible they cannot wait to return to their decadent country and leave us to go forward with our glorious reunification.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Nguyen Minh asked eagerly.

  An up-and-coming man who’d fled North after the land was partitioned, he’d returned to fight for the liberation. He was also ambitious, and Tac suspected he planned to enter politics after the war. No doubt he’d be very good at it. He had a knack of sending men to do the dirty, dangerous jobs while he kept himself safe in the tunnels. Like most of the VC, he was short and scrawny, his face a mass of spots and boils, his arms and legs scarred with insect bites. So far, he’d been lucky and avoided the poisonous scorpions and snakes that decimated so many of the ‘volunteers.’

  “My plan is to wipe out an entire unit, every man, and leave their mutilated bodies poorly hidden so their comrades have to find them. I have yet to decide when and where, but when I do, we will prepare an ambush and wipe them out. Other soldiers will come looking for them, and when they find them, they will learn the price o
f invading a foreign nation. A price so high their morale will suffer, and along with other attacks we have planned over the next year, I am confident their days are numbered. They will flee like frightened rabbits when our brave warriors attack.”

  “What attacks?”

  He glanced with irritation at Nguyen Minh.

  “I cannot tell you everything. It is confidential. All you need to know is troops of the People’s Army of Vietnam, the PAVN, are pouring in from the North, along with guns, ammunition, and equipment. Everything is in preparation for the coming year, and when we strike, the people of the South will rise up to join us and greet the liberation. Our esteemed leader Ho Chi Minh has instructed me to pass on a message to every man fighting for the liberation. Victory is assured. We cannot fail. We must renew our efforts and make every sacrifice necessary to achieve the ultimate goal, victory.” He held up a clenched fist, “To victory!”

  The subterranean room echoed to the cheers of the men. “To victory.”

  He regretted there wasn’t enough light for him to pick out those who lacked sufficient enthusiasm, but he’d soon know when the fighting started, and those men would find themselves in the front line of the next frontal attack.

  Once again, Nguyen Minh interrupted. “Commissar, I have an idea to show them our real strength. You said you wanted to obliterate an entire unit of American soldiers. Well, patrols pass regularly through the village of Bong Trang, and there are several suitable places we could ambush them. Block their retreat, and with men positioned on both flanks, we can wipe them out. The village is beneath the jungle canopy, so we could carry out the mission without being spotted by American aircraft.”

  He went on to explain his plan at length, and the last part Tac liked the most.

  “We will leave their bodies so terribly mutilated and dismembered they will recoil in horror.”

  Trinh smiled, thinking perhaps this man could be valuable. He wouldn’t send him on one of the more dangerous missions he had in mind, but instead keep him here with him, inside the tunnels. An aide, and that made him feel even better.