My War - Installment 17

     BOOM BOOM Brrrupppp rat-tat-tat-tat Brrruppp rat-tat-tat. BOOM Brrrupppp, brrruupppp.

Our singing was only periodically interrupted by the sound of incoming mortars and small arm's fire, and then our 105's and mortars returning fire.

   I slept like a rock that night.  I was getting used to all of the noise and racket. My rocket box bed was turned into the most comfortable bed that I had ever had in my life; maybe the reason was that when I went to sleep I was just too damn tired to notice anything.

SUPRISE MEETING

   A woke up when the Scouts started their, early morning, wandering around the compound.  I felt rested and was actually looking forward to the day's activities.

   I finished my toilet and went to the mess tent and had an early breakfast with the Scout pilots.  I talked to the White (Scout) section leader and told him that as soon as there was an opening I would be happy to have my name put on the list to fill the vacancy.  He said he would be happy to have me when the time came; he indicated that he had heard good reports about me.  I sat in the mess tent for a while, drinking coffee as the Scouts left to go preflight their helicopters for first light missions.  My thoughts were occupied with those of flying the OH-13's in recon missions.

   As the first rays of the morning sun started to break through the blackness of the pre-dawn morning, I left the mess tent, headed back to the tent to wake up Jack.  I tired to rattle him awake, gave up and then thought better of it and decided to go preflight my helicopter.  I could have the jump on everyone else.  I could hear the camp coming awake as I meticulously examined the helicopter in the faint luminance of early morning. I climbed up to examine the rotor hub, swash plates and push-pull tubes. From my perch I had a view of the entire camp as the men went about their early morning routines; each man in his own little world of habit.

   I finished my preflight and then checked our rations supply before going to the "shitter".  By that time of day most of the men were at or around the mess tent.  As I approached the "shitter", I noticed that one of the stalls was occupied.  Not a hard thing to notice, being that it was out in the open for everyone to see.  As I approached the occupant of the stall, who happened to be reading a comic, I noticed a snake slithering up toward him.  I had been quite the snake catcher in my youth.  I use to catch garter snakes and sell them to the other kids that I knew from school. So, almost without thinking, I moved up and simply grabbed the snake behind the head.  It had been just as easy as when I was a kid.  I had grabbed the snake just when it looked as if it was ready to slither into the guy's pants, which were in folds around his ankles.  The guy almost seemed to hover up and off of the "shitter" when he realized what was happening.  His face had turned a ghostly white. 

   "Sir”, he said with a southern drawl, "that's a Bamboo Viper that ya got thar." 

   I didn't realize when I had caught the snake just what kind of snake it was.  The thought of the snake being poisonous had never even crossed my mind.  After I knew, I tightened my hold on the snake considerably.  If my memory served me correctly the Bamboo Viper was the snake that was referred to in stories from our IPs as the "Three Step", because that is about how far someone would get after being bitten.  Well, while I had the darn thing I was not going to let the opportunity to show it off pass me by.  I left the "shitter" and made for the mess tent.

   There was a group of enlisted men just outside the tent jabbering when I arrived with my snake.  For some reason the snake was very inactive.  Perhaps it had something to do with the amount of pressure I was exerting on its neck, just behind the head.  Nobody believed that the snake was alive because it just hung there limply. 

   "Hey, Mr. Rollason, where'd you get the dead snake?" said one fellow.

   "You can't scare us with that old limp bugger," said another.

   "Sir, can I have him to make a hat band when you are through playing with it?", was another remark.

   I was insulted to say the least.  I threw the snake on the ground in front of the group and watched, amused, as the large group hastily scattered in a split second.  Chalk up one for me. I believe I had made my point. 

I borrowed a machete from someone nearby to dispense of the snake.  It turned out to be a great piece of showmanship.  I took the big blade, the snake had revived instantly and was moving quickly in the direction of the fleeing group of hecklers. I cautiously moved toward the snakes head, raised the machete and threw it trying to cut off its head from a safe distance.  I believe the snake was probably a bit perturbed by then.  The sharp broad end of the blade landed with pin point accuracy, hitting the snake directly behind the head, slicing through and sticking upright in the ground. To top it off the snake died.  No, it did not just die.  It died instantly.  It did not even squirm which was a total surprise to me.  That totally lucky move elevated me in the eyes of the enlisted men that were gathered around watching, my fame spread throughout the unit and on to others.

   With my bit of a circus-like performance over I retired to the "shitter", to contemplate what had just occurred.

   I met Captain Richardson as I was leaving the "Shitter".  He told me that it looked as if it was going to be a pretty slow day.  We had one ship that was down for repairs, so the other three that were flight worthy would, later that morning, take three squads of the recon platoon up to a place just southwest of the '506' valley.  We were going there so that they could blow up a deserted tunnel complex.  The "shitter" was turning out to be a great meeting place.

   Later in the morning was not very much later.  At approximately 0845 hours we were at our ships, the grunts that were going to blow up the tunnels eagerly climbed onboard.  The Vietnamese Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Regular Army were great tunnel builders.  I found it incredible that they could make such complex tunnel systems in areas where the water table was so high.  We were told that the morning would be a piece of cake.  Scout ships had gone briefly flown over the area and saw no apparent activity.  Gun ships would be in the area just in case something did come up; I kind of think that they just wanted to be around so they could get in some extra flying time.  They, like us, did not get to fly a whole lot.

   We took off with the recon squads and assumed a course for our ships toward the '506' valley which was just about fifteen kilometers southwest of  Bong Son.  Even the troop commander, Lt. Colonel Anderson was in the air that morning, keeping a watchful eye on everyone.  We flew in formation; the only difference was that we were in an even sided "V" with one of our ships missing.  We made a pass across the prospective LZ, checked out the wind direction and made an uneventful approach from the south.  The only thing that bothered me was that our approach was made coming in over what had been reported to be a abandoned village.  The village did appear to be abandoned, but it gave me an uneasy feeling as I maneuvered over it on final approach.  There were the usual hedge rows surrounding the LZ and we did not draw fire, so I put my apprehension to rest.

   We off loaded the troops and shut down. They moved off to the north, almost carelessly marching toward the area of the tunnel complex, which I assumed was in the hills in the direction they were moving.  We were ordered to shut down our helicopters and report to Captain Richardson at his ship.

   The village looked to be in pretty bad shape, at least what I could see of it from my position.  The thatched roofs were in disrepair, their dried leaves torn by time and the elements.  There were some small ragged holes in some of the walls.  The field in which we had landed had not been farmed in quite some time.  It was covered with some old stubble that was brown and dry and kind of trampled down looking.  I presumed that it was old rice stubble.

   We rallied around Cap's helicopter; he told us that we were going to set up our own perimeter of defense around the LZ (Landing Zone) while the grunts were in the hills blowing up the tunnels. 

   "Rollason, you take the southern edge beside that deserted village.  Roberts, you take the west side.  You other fellows split up and take the other sides and some of you guard the ships.”

   "What weapons should we use, Cap?", I asked.  "I have the ship that has two machine guns.  Do you mind if I set one up on my perimeter?"

   "Just use your side arm.  Nothing's going to happen.  This area's considered to be secure, believe me, you'd feel pretty silly having to carry all of that back after this is all over.  You're new and maybe a little nervous.  Your sidearm will give you plenty of protection from what ever is in this area," replied the Captain.

   "Yes Sir," I said.

Even though I would have felt better with a little more fire power, I left to take up my position at the hedge row that just happened to be beside the village.  The position was easily over one hundred meters from my ship.  I ambled along kicking the dried stubble and looking about; it just did not feel right to me.  I could not put my finger on it, something was wrong.  I looked back and saw the other pilots nonchalantly strolling around the LZ.  Some were taking in the scenery, others walked around like tourists taking pictures, acting as if they were on a Sunday outing.  Seeing them acting in such a casual manner did nothing to quell my apprehension and feelings of foreboding.

   Upon reaching the hedge row I gazed across to the village, I was the only person from our unit that was in such close proximity.  I stared from building to building; it almost looked as if the disrepair were a planned thing.  It was all too neat.  I moved a little closer to the hedge row trying to keep concealed, but carefully trying to see more.  The air was still and moist it seemed hotter than usual, almost stifling in a way. There was something awfully strange about the scene.  It was deathly quiet.  The usual noise of birds was not even present.

   As I panned my eyes across the buildings for the hundredth time I caught a glimpse of a man in an olive drab uniform.  "Oooh shit!"  I had been told that NVA officers wore uniforms like that.  My heart was pounding in my chest.  I couldn't yell, I had no radio; there was no way to tell the others without giving away my position.  I did not know what was going to happen.  If I yelled maybe the whole thing might open up and they'd be shooting at us from every direction. I could have been wrong; it could have been just that one man.  I moved cautiously along the hedge row and watched the man disappear into one of the huts.  Just as I was turning to move again a machine gun opened up on me.  I dropped to the ground behind the hedge.  I could feel my blood pounding through me.  It was then that I noticed that I had been wounded by a glancing shot in the right side.

   During the time that I had been moving toward the hedge row our CO had landed in the north end of the LZ. With the shooting starting up heavily, he had called one of the squads back from the tunnel mission.  They had been milling about and were not very far from the LZ.  He instructed one of the squads to move toward the village to check out the situation.  At that time most of the fire was being directed toward me.

   I moved cautiously on the ground and slowly rose up to peer through the hedge row, toward the area where the shooting had come from.  Ever so carefully, I peeked through the brush, moving my eyes back and forth over the area quickly, like I use to do when deer hunting. As I strained my eyes to look, I saw someone peeking out from that same hut.  I raised my weapon, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger, shooting at his forehead, the most prominent target I had.  He dropped to the ground, dead!  I was not sure how much time had passed; it could not have been very long, no more than a few minutes. Automatic weapon's fire could be heard all over the place by then.

   I turned at the sound of someone yelling my name in the distance and noticed the CO, motioning me to move over to his location.  I crawled cautiously toward him, using the hedge rows to cover myself from the firing.  Within a few minutes I was by his side.  The "Old Man" had sent in a squad to check things out.  Two men, in that squad, had been wounded, seriously, both within a minute or two of the NVA firing on me.  The squad leader had radioed the information to the CO.  He ordered me and my crew chief, to go in and pull out the wounded.  After telling me what he wanted the CO turned and started toward his helicopter, probably wishing he had never landed. 

   My crew chief had moved from the openness of the LZ to the hedgerows near the CO when the shooting had started.  He and I started to crawl into the area which the CO had pointed out to us.  We moved as fast as we could along the ground keeping as flat as possible.  During the first few minutes of our crawling the CO's helicopter took off.  He must have radioed to the gun ships in the area because they were making rocket runs on the village as Tom and I crawled in.  I looked up and back over my shoulder silently cheering the rocket attacks...."plaster those rotten yellow bastards," and things like that....I then continued to move along toward the wounded.  I stopped once more, at the sound of the gun ships, to look over my shoulder and watch another gun ship strafing with machine gun fire and popping off rockets.  Tom was in front of me at that time.  As I was looking at the gun ship, some rockets flashed from the pods and one nose dived straight for me.  While I had been watching, Tom had been moving ahead faster than I.  It looked as if the rocket was going to hit me.  I tried to haul ass, in a crawling position, as fast as I could go.  I stopped and covered the back of my neck and head with my hands, as best I could.  There was a deafening explosion just behind me.  The noise quieted as pieces of debris fell around me. I looked back to see a small crater in the vicinity of where I had been. 

   Tom waited for me to move ahead to where he was stationed at another hedge row.  As I moved close to him he told me that the rocket had hit almost exactly where I had been.  In the heat and excitement of the moment I had not noticed that I had picked up some fragments from the rocket in my posterior.  It seemed I was not having a good day.  Tom and I continued crawling ahead toward the wounded. 

   During our movement Captain Richardson had been wounded on the ground while trying to get back to his ship.  The Scout section leader, Captain White, had been shot down.  The Company Commander had been shot down, along with some of the gun ships.  There were two lift ships left that were flight worthy, one having been seriously damaged while on the ground.

   When Tom and I finally got to the first wounded man, the fire fight had intensified considerably.  There was almost a continuous rattle of bullets and explosions all around us.  I told Tom that I would take care of the first guy.  I told him to move up to administer first aid to the second man that had been wounded.