This story is 99 & 44/100 percent true. I swear! Enjoy. Trav
"Ell-Tee," the RTO whispered softly, "Chief is gone again."
"Gone! Wadda'ya mean 'gone'?" my words exploded in a forced whisper. We were deep in the mountains and it wouldn't do to have the enemy hear you yelling your fool head off.
"He skied last night after his watch," the RTO explained, "told Buster he was going into the ville to get a woman."
"Kerist! The ville is 15 klicks away," I shook my head, half in anger, half in bemusement. Only Chief could pull such a fool stunt and get away with it in the middle of a combat zone.
I nodded, "just hope he knows what he's doing. Did you radio the Old Man?"
"Yes, sir," did that first thing.
"Good. Can't do anything about it now anyway. C'mon, we got some work to do," and I stood up.
Presently, the platoon was rucked up and ready to move out. I'd picked a finger ridge coming off the main hill mass to our east—Rocket Ridge, we called it, for obvious reasons—as the day's movement objective. Between now and the time we got there I figured to do a lot of clover leaf patrols off our route. Maybe we'd come up with something, maybe not.
It was hot, tiring work. Neither the troops nor I liked it much, but it is what we did. The hard part was staying alert. I rotated the squads on the clover leaf patrols so that everyone got their fair share of the work. We cut some old sign, but nothing fresh. There were enemy in the area, we knew that, but they weren't showing themselves in our little neck of the woods this day.
About 6 o'clock in the afternoon I went forward with one of the squads to secure our night defensive position. When the NDP was secure, I radioed Foret, my platoon sergeant, to bring up the rest of our 26 men.
We didn't dig in this night as we usually did. It was late, and I felt we'd moved well that day. No one had any sense that the enemy was trailing us and I didn't want to give away our position by making digging noises so late in the day anyway. We settled into good positions with interlocking fires, set out the claymores and maintained security. Guys alternately cleaned weapons, or ate, or kept a lookout on the three machine guns we had.
The jungle brush was thick, but not too thick. The tall rain forest trees were thinner here and more light came though. It was hot. We all appreciated the relative coolness that nighttime would bring.
Perhaps half a klick away above us, on top of Rocket Ridge two other platoons of the company had labored all day much as we had. But there was a major trail on top of Rocket Ridge, and they, unlike us, had gone into multiple ambush locations for their nighttime work.
I hunkered down with my radio operator and Foret and called in defensive targets while Doc made his rounds. There wasn't much activity on the company radio net. The Old Man was keeping things quiet, and to give the ambushes a chance to do their thing.
About 11 o'clock the night air was shattered by a claymore exploding on top of Rocket Ridge. Immediately there was the chatter of AK-47 fire and the answering snap of M-16s. One of the ambushes was in the thick of it. Almost as soon as it started, the brief firefight was over. The sounds trailing off into the jungle, absorbed and made quiet.
But now came the railroad shriek and whistle of artillery firing from the lowlands, over Rocket Ridge, in hopes of catching the fleeing enemy. The 105mm rounds boomed overhead and crashed into the depths of the valley beyond, and the sounds of their explosions, too, were swallowed up by the vast rain forest.
The company radio net was now alive with reports of the brief action. But there wasn't much to report. The enemy had been engaged by only one ambush, but had not been fully in the kill zone, and had fled in an "unknown direction." The results were "negative."
I thought, "another inconclusive engagement." But I was wrong.
The enemy had indeed been caught by surprise. And had the ambush waited only a few moments more an entire North Vietnamese squad would have been in the kill zone. As it was, they were now fleeing pellmell down the backside of Rocket Ridge, scrambling to get away from the deadly GIs and fearsome artillery.
On they rushed, propelled by fear and anxiety, and within minutes we heard the sounds of their frightened flight through the underbrush.
"Damn," I thought, "they're coming this way. They're going to run right into our perimeter."
I grabbed Foret and together we slid over to the position most likely to be nearest the enemy's line of hasty retreat. Risinger was there, a cool, lanky guy from the Kentucky hills. So was Hutch, his buddy.
"Listen," I hissed quietly when we were all together, "I don't want any big firefight out of this thing, but if they want to have a fight, we'll give it to them. Here's the deal," and I quickly outlined what I wanted to happen. When I was finished, Foret went around to the other positions to quietly explain what was up. I stayed with Risinger and Hutch.
I knew we had the advantage. The enemy didn't know we were here and they were running scared. All I wanted to do was to keep them scared and running. We weren't in a position to nail them all, and we hadn't dug in and I didn't want to get involved in a slugging match that might cause casualties. Maybe we should have dug in, but that time was long past. By the crashing and thrashing sounds in the jungle, the enemy would be on us in a few minutes.
"You hit that clacker when I say," I whispered to Risinger, "and that's it—nothing else, just one solitary explosion. No firing, no nothing to give away our position."
"Roger, that, Ell-Tee," Risinger smiled at me in the darkness.
The noise of the enemy came closer and closer. One hundred meters, now 50, now closer. I was about ready to give Risinger the signal when the enemy squad leader called a halt. They could not have been 30 meters from us. We could hear them plain as day. Apparently, the squad leader was trying to bring some order out of chaos. There was a lot of talk back and forth. We hunkered down and lay still.
A Little Voice flickered in the back of my mind, "the more time you give them to get organized, the worse it could be if they learn you're here."
I touched Risinger on his shoulder, nodded, "now," I hissed.
The blast of a single claymore shattered the jungle. There was a long moment's silence afterward, as the echo of the explosion died out. We all cringed, tightening our collective gut. Would it work? Or would the next few seconds see us involved in a fierce fight?
The silence was broken by a startled shout, and then wild firing of an AK. Then the sound of several men running deeper into the jungle. Shouts from others. Frightened talking now, not sure what had happened. Wasn't sure if it had been a claymore, or a mine, or artillery round, or what. Then we heard someone moaning in pain. More excited chatter, and then the rest of the enemy squad scrambled off into the depths
of the jungle below Rocket Ridge. It was over.
Oh, it was ever so hard not to give the order to open fire—to try to take out this squad of enemy in the pitch darkness. But we held our fire. Disciplined troops steeled themselves for the worst, but followed instructions perfectly. And I knew very precisely where the enemy was located now.
"Fire mission," I growled into the radio handset.
In less than a minute, freight train loads of 105mm shells were falling into the jungle close by our NDP.
A few days later Chief returned, coming out on one of the resupply choppers. He had a sheepish grin on his face and had been stripped of his specialist fourth class rank.
"Well, Private," I smiled at him, "you missed all the fun."
"Yes, sir, Ell-Tee," he answered, "if you say so."
Dang, that guy had the biggest smile on his face. I guess you just have to keep your priorities in mind.
