My War - Installment 29

As dusk began to overcome the scene of the battle we became aware of the positions of some of the snipers that had been plaguing us throughout the day. There was a row of very tall palm trees along the northern edge of the fire fight area. The palms ran in an east west line. I had noticed the palms earlier in the day, but had given them no close inspection. Unbelievably, snipers were concealed in the tops of that line of palm trees. In the diminishing light of day I could see muzzle flashes as the snipers, easily the best shots the NVA had, took pot shots at the Hueys that were bringing in a food and supplies to our ground units. It looked like our boys would be spending the night since they had all joined forces.

I made call after call to the incoming Hueys trying to warn them of the snipers. The glow from the Huey's turbine exhausts made perfect targets for the snipers; fortunately these glowing targets seemed not to be as vital to the ships, at least not vital enough to cause them to stop flying. My continued radio calls were never heeded, so GW and I proceeded to waste a few of the sharp shooters and knock them from their perches. A thought crossed my mind, while we were at work on the snipers, that we had more than likely taken a few rounds through our radio gear. This thought had come to mind because, we had astoundingly taken so many rounds, that the flight characteristics of this H-13 had been altered, similar to the last ship.

Without being able to communicate, with anyone what so ever, our usefulness was severely hampered. Also considering the fact that our fuel was extremely low I reluctantly turned and we limped back in to LZ Hammond. There were no more H-13's available so I had to call it a day.

Mess was a welcome relief that evening. I had flown more on other days, but my emotional involvement had never been as intense as it had been that day. I had really been disturbed about having to give up and leave the area of the fire fight. It was like an obsessive, driving, desire - a feeling almost as if the men would not be safe without GW and I being there - watching over them - giving close in support, getting our ass shot off. I just don't know what it was, maybe because I started it I had a compelling desire to finish it, to see it through, to be there when the end came.

At OPs meeting we learned, that as darkness had overtaken the battle area all exchanges of fire had ceased. Our grunts had settled in for the night after posting sentries along the hedge rows of their perimeter. We, the Scouts, would be over their position at first flight to begin directing the ground units again. We would probably call in artillery and try to root out more of the NVA. There were no intelligence reports of any kind that would have led us to any conclusion as to why a force of this size was dug in so heavily along Highway Number One. It definitely was a large unit, the size had not been undetermined. They were probably part of the 22nd North Vietnamese Regiment, the enemy unit which we had been trying to find for the past few weeks.

As emotionally involved as I had been with this fire fight, it felt good to relax in the Scout day-room for a few minutes, that night after the OPs meeting. In the spirit of the Scouts, I had made arrangements with Ramirez to pick up a pipe for me, while he was on one of his many runs to Phu Cat or Qui Nhon or where ever. Now however I hadmya pipe. When I entered the tent the smell of some, exotic vanilla flavored, tobacco wafted into my nostrils. I proudly pulled my newly acquired Doctor Graybow, Aero-grate pipe, not a true connoisseur's pipe, but all that Ramirez could find on short notice, from my pocket and asked for some of the sweet smelling mixture to fill it. I had secretly read some parts of the book "The Pipe", by that Frenchman Georgees whatever, and knew how to pack the pipe properly. Most of the chapters of the book I found boring, some had been quite informative. I grabbed a pinch of the vanilla blend and tamped it into the bottom of the bowl, then finished filling the pipe and lit up with satisfaction. I eased back in a chair and puffed away feeling content. In the dim light of the room the wreaths of blue smoke took on odd forms as they floated in the damp evening air. The smoke seemed to take on the forms of many of the things that I had seen that day, palm trees, grass huts, faces of all sorts floating across the day room, some screaming in horror, others with dead eyes looking at me.

NO BREAK
It always amazed me how quickly the crew chief could put a helicopter back into A-one flying condition. They were truly amazing in what they did for us. I can thank them enough for all their work.

The morning broke drearily again, which was the custom during the monsoon season. We were in the air earlier than normal so that we would be over our units as the morning light brought definition to the battle site in the 506 Valley. We did not want to miss any of the enemy’s movements. We quickly made a pass over our units and then proceeded to begin our first light around their perimeter. Everything was extremely quiet, too quiet; it was almost an unearthly sense of inactivity. What kind of crappola was this? When I left the previous evening it was buzzing like a bee hive, gooks were crawling all over the place almost like a swarm of ants on a piece of candy or flies on shit. Then I remembered that at the OPs meeting they had stated that as darkness overtook the battle area.....” that all enemy contact had slowed and the fire fight had ceased.

"Apache one-six, Wyjakowski, are you there?" (on the ground, he was the Lietuenant in command of our reconnaissance squad).

"Go Apache one-six. Do you read?"

"Roger. I read you fi-by-fi (Loud and clear). Did you have any contact with the NVA during the night or early morning?"

"Negative, one six."

"Roger. Was it quiet all night?"

"Roger, one-six."

"Roger, over and out."

So that was it! The chase was on. The gooks had disengaged at night fall and had evacuated the entire area at least that was my evaluation of what had happened. We continued our recon. We checked over the entire area. Bunker after bunker, where we had drawn fire the day before, all were now vacant. These peckerwoods had vamoosed under the cover of night. They couldn't have gotten too far; at least we thought that they could not have.

We called our six-five and reported our findings. He dispatched the Lift ships to begin the evacuation of our ground units and relayed the information to those that needed to know. We were to refuel and begin searching for the N.V.A. that we had just lost. We didn't have much time to relocate them, the Christmas truce would be taking effect in a few days.

We zipped up to L.Z. Pony to refuel. Pony's six-five had taken no notice of anything unusual, no unusual movement or anything around its perimeter during the night. One-one refueled and I slipped in behind him to refuel from another bladder. We sat in our ships while our observers transferred the fuel. We chatted by radio, speculating as to which way the N.V.A. might have gone.

"One-six, one-one."

"Roger, one-one, go."

"What's your guess as to their movement? I don't believe they went east. We had ground forces in that direction. They didn't go up the highway; LZ Pony would have spotted something. I think they went west over the mountains toward that abandon camp, or northwest along the mountains toward LZ Bird, over."

"Roger, one-six. Good idea. We'll begin our recon at the northern end of the 506 Valley on the western side, near the beginning of the free fire zone, over."

"Roger, one-one. I copy. I don't know if they could have gone that far, but let's give it a try. It certainly can't hurt. Let's go."

We took off and angled our way over to the mountains on the west side of the 506 Valley. The NVA would, at least in my way of thinking, keep to the east of the mountains to make better time, rather than try to move over the mountains with such a large force.

We flew quickly toward the line of mountains and then slowed to our normal recon speed. It was apparent that a large number of people had passed that way with no attempt to cover their passage. We rapidly followed their trail, there was only one problem; the further we flew along their path the less obvious their passage. With each passing kilometer the trail became less and less apparent until it seemed to vanish in the thick jungle foliage. Now the real work of finding them would begin. At least we knew the direction of their flight for battle.

We spent the remainder of the day working the eastern edges of the free fire zone near LZ Bird, but were unable to locate any of the NVA, or any sign of them.

"Cripes, we had 'em yesterday. Why couldn't we have surrounded them or something? We had bombed them, strafed them, shelled them, pummeled them with grenades, shot them, we had even used Naval big guns to shell the NVA, all to no avail. Well maybe I shouldn't say to “no avail.” We had certainly killed plenty of them; their bodies were still lying about the battle field." As I said GW and I had killed more than our share. But I guess they just knew when they were out gunned and got out as fast as they could and as soon as they could. Leaving their dead behind seemed to verify to me that they just fled the battle field as quickly as possible. It didn't occur to me that leaving their dead might be normal for them. I had never known this to be their standard practice even though the oriental has a different view of death, and dying for a cause than we do.

We finished our day's recon with what we considered little success. At best we knew what direction they had taken after leaving the area of engagement. That was something. We refueled for the last time that day at LZ Pony, did a last light around their perimeter and headed for home and some heavy duty relaxing'.

Christmas was drawing close and the talk around the camp was of home, wives and sweethearts, and all the other things we were missing, especially during this holiday season. Even though there was a very strong kinship and camaraderie, which our strange closeness, brought about by sharing combat, death, dying and pain, there was something else missing at that time of year. Maybe it was something that could never be regained after having grown up and left home. Perhaps it was being in a foreign country or the closeness with all the killing and death that made me long for what ever that missing element was. We would all, in our own ways, grin and bear it and make the best out of the holiday season and the time we would have off during the Christmas truce.

Even with the rainy season the days were fairly warm and pleasant in a way. I was surprised when we returned that evening because there was a package for me in the mail. The box was relatively small, about four inches by four inches by ten inches. It was wrapped in brown paper and weighed, oh...two...maybe two and one half pounds or more. The package was from my home town Lions Club in Paxtang, Pennsylvania. Boy that was nice of them to think of me, all the way over here, half way around the world. I excitedly tore open the wrapping. It was a log of Lebanon Bologna...terrific! Sweet Lebanon Bologna, my favorite. Lebanon Bologna...is a Pennsylvania Dutch type of beef bologna. The meat is smoked after it is stuffed into its casing. I laughed to myself, this was lovely. I notice the words on the side of the box in large letters, "KEEP REFRIGERATED". I chuckled again to myself. Surely this smoked bologna would be all right, even here without refrigeration. Yes or no, I was going to eat it anyway.

I spent the evening, interrupted only by our OPs meeting, playing guitar with Jack and eating Sweet Lebanon Bologna, Switzer's licorice bits and other goodies from home. Even though we were roughing it, compared to other units like my friend Buddy's, I was glad I was where I was, glad I was with Alpha Troop, glad I was a Scout pilot, and glad I was alive.

The next few days before the Christmas truce of 1966 were spent in a seemingly endless and frugal effort to try and relocate the NVA units that we had recently engaged. Intelligence reports had confirmed that these were, indeed, the main elements of, if not all of, the 22nd North Vietnamese Regiment. Strange that an entire regiment had been set up along the 506 Valley, that would be around fifteen hundred NVA.

A LITTLE BIT OF CHRISTMAS

Christmas Eve arrived, and that entire evening and Christmas day, would be one of relaxation and fun. We all, that is the whole troop, gathered together in the mess tent for a party. Since only one person had previously been OKed to go to the Bob Hope Christmas Show, he had declined not wanting to be considered special, we had our own variety gala, complete with chorus line. There were varying talents displayed, none worth remembering save the chorus line. I should say that the chorus line stands out in my memory above the guitar players and singers and the like. Seven good-hearted fellows, all EMs, had donned bras and panties and garter belts, heaven knows where they found them, and danced onto a make-shift stage and into our hearts and memories, at one end of the mess tent.

In our unit we were rationed two beers per day and most days these were nowhere to be found. It didn't make any difference to me, but that night everybody seemed to have plenty. Buzz had made eggnog, a home made concoction, I say concoction because he used reconstituted milk, which is not real swift to start with, and powdered eggs and gosh knows what else, but I must admit it wasn't bad; in fact it was pretty darn good after all. Maybe it was the heavy spiking of rum that made it palatable.

After the variety show we sat around full of Christmas cheer, singing Christmas Carols, remembering Christ's birth, God in human form come to earth, Christ our Savior. I went to bed full of feelings of joy and peace overwhelming me, not the rum. Christmas Carols and Hymns reverberated in my tired head. I slept like a stone.

Christmas day broke a glorious bright blue. The skies were clear for the most part. First lights were over, no enemy activity had been noted in any of the areas where we had flown, but there were many outposts that I had not heard about. Each unit at LZ Hammond was caught up in their own preparations for Christmas day. We could see men scurrying everywhere in the compounds as we returned from our flights. Buzz had sealed up the mess tent. No one was allowed in to see what was going on inside. We would all have to wait until he officially opened the tent for Christmas dinner.