Chapter 7

The troopers of the 2^nd Squad knew something was up when the Platoon Sergeant and RTO brought two cases of beer over to their squad area and departed with SSG Miller. The three were headed toward the Platoon Command Post, a small bunker inside the arc of fighting positions and hooches in the platoon’s section of the defensive perimeter. Base Camp Dak To was a well built camp thanks to the engineers of the 4^th Infantry Division and the Special Forces unit that originally built it. So the 2^nd Squad had two strong sand bag and wood beam bunkers they maintained and manned when they were in camp.

SSG Miller returned twenty minute later. He sat atop one of the bunkers, pulled a small notebook and a pen from his top shirt pocket and began to write. Fifteen minutes later, Miller clicked his Skillcraft government issue ballpoint pen closed, and stuck it back in his pocket. He slid off the bunker and ambled over to where his troops were drinking beer and ragging on the new guy. They were good-naturedly razing Jerry about the picture he just received in the mail from Lisa Bass. Lisa was wearing a miniskirt and a thin t shirt, her substantial breasts, obviously and proudly unfettered.

SSG Miller grabbed a warm beer out of the case of Busch, popped the top and said, “All right, dickheads! Listen up, ‘cause we’re going back to the bush for real.”

Then he proceeded to lay out the Patrol Order he’d just written.

The squad drew ammo and grenades the next day and test fired their weapons. Next, they drew three cases of C Rations. SSG Miller turned the cases upside down and squad members blindly pulled out the boxes of rations. Each man got three rations and the six extra boxes were placed label up. And then the trading began. When the swapping ended, three cans of ham and lima beans lay in a sad little pile and ten soldiers were packing away two days’ rations.

Miller ran them through their Immediate Action Drills until he was satisfied they had their shit together, and then ran them one more time. After IADs they packed their rucks under Miller’s supervision. Every soldier laid out his poncho with the items specified in the patrol order. Miller called out an item and everyone held it up. Miller looked to see everyone’s hands then directed them to pack it away.

SSG Miller was the oldest man in the squad, and the only one older than 20. He was 24 years old and had been in the Army six years, all of them in airborne units. He had been in country for seven months. Miller perfected his craft in the 82^nd Airborne Division where being a squad leader was one of the most difficult jobs in the military. His troops had faith in him, and his chain of command was confident in his ability.

Echo Company pulled out of the base camp shortly after sun up. Their mission was to find a supposed NVA assembly area in which supplies and arms were stored. According to the Brigade S2 ( the ‘Intelligence’ Section of the Brigade Headquarters) this assembly area was on hill 865 about ten klicks (kilometers) from the Dak To, so it presented a direct threat to the camp. The troopers humping fifty pounds of gear in the jungle heat and humidity had a very low opinion of the Intel pukes living the good life back at the base camp.

Echo company was in a column of twos with soldiers staggered on left and right. As usual, 2^nd Platoon was first in the line of march and 2^nd squad was walking point, 50 meters in front of the platoon. The squad was in a diamond formation with the point and compass man leading, one buddy team providing security on the right flank and another on the left, both far enough out to hopefully uncover an ambush but close enough to maintain contact with the rest of the squad.

Specialist Ruiz led 2^nd squad out of the camp and Echo Company followed. From experience, Ruiz knew where he was going. He took one of the high-speed trails that radiated from the camp for 500 meters until he reached the end of the cleared perimeter. He then he turned toward PFC Johnson, the compass man, who pointed to his right front. Ruiz nodded and disappeared into the triple canopy jungle.

The company moved about four klicks before reaching the predesignated company RON (remain overnight). They could have moved further but the CO wanted to stay in range of the Battalion’s 81MM mortars.

Jericho Donavan’s first night in the field passed quietly. Because the company was on 50 percent alert, he and Jamie Bailey switched being awake every two hours. The unit moved out the next morning at first light and by noon they were on a hill top, 1500 meters away from Hill 865. Accord to the Operations Order, at 1000 meters out the Company would halt and establish a hasty perimeter while the Company Commander and two other men moved forward to perform a leaders’ recon.

Yep, that was the plan; but. as every combat soldier knows, a plan seldom works past the first enemy contact. A few hundred meters from the map coordinates for the hasty defensive position, 2^nd squad found the actual location of the target. It was on the reverse slope of hill 905. A 1000 meter map error by some rear echelon MFer caused Echo Company to stroll up to a NVA regimental assembly area. Worse they strolled across the front of the area’s defensive positions. The only thing that stopped the middle of the company’s left flank from walking into the kill zone was the sharp eyes of PFC Donavan and the quick reaction of Corporal Bailey.

See, Jerry saw something out of place on the ridge above and slightly to the front of him. He ran the four steps forward to Jamie, stopped him and pointed up hill.

“There is something wrong up there, those logs are too neatly stacked, and the vegetation is wilted,” Jerry whispered.

Jamie nodded and just as he was about to move down and tell SSG Miller he heard the faint but unmistakable click-clack of a heavy machine gun bolt being charged. Jamie reacted in the only way he could think of, he swung his weapon up, dropped to his knee, and opened fire. Jerry didn’t hesitate to follow his lead. They started firing a few seconds before the 12.7mm Soviet heavy machine gun opened fire. But those few seconds allowed the rest of the troops to hit the ground as a fusillade of bullets ripped up the jungle vegetation over their heads. Once the first machine gun opened up, bunkers further forward started firing too.

It was truly a stroke of good fortune that the lead element stumbled on to the bunker furthest to the left of the assembly area. The next position to the right was over a small rise. Although the lead element was pinned down, the rest of the company could maneuver. The Company Commander pulled two platoons back a few hundred meters but second platoon only pulled back far enough to be out of the line of fire.

With bullets whizzing overhead, Jamie looked over at Jerry, “We gotta do something about that fucker so we can get out of here!” he shouted.

Jerry nodded, “Cover me, I need a better position,” he yelled back.

When Jamie acknowledged him, he rolled to his left a few times until he was behind a tree stump that remained from when the NVA partially cleared the fields of fire in front of their bunker. He cautiously peeked around the stump and picked his next objective, he was going to be the fastest running Indian since Jim Thorpe he thought as he jumped up and dashed ten meters to his left to a Banyan tree sporting some tangled roots.

Jerry got as low as he could and peered up towards the bunker and amazingly, he could see the opening and the barrel of the machine gun. The bunker was at least a hundred meters away and the firing port wasn’t large, but he could clearly see it. He moved the selector switch of his M-16 to semi and took careful aim. When he had a clear sight picture he started firing.

Jamie was amazed to see his partner putting such accurate fire on the bunker. He knew it took a lot of self-discipline to be not firing wildly on full auto, especially for a Newbie facing a heavy machine gun. As he was deciding what to do next, SSG Miller low crawled into the depression with him.

“Grab your smoke grenades, we’ll beat feet when we blind them,’ Miller said.

As a fire team leader Corporal Bailey carried two smoke grenades, one green and one red. The grenades were normally used for marking targets or landing zones. Jamie nodded and pulled the grenades off his web gear.

When the two soldiers had the grenades laid out in front of their position Miller said, “make sure the smoke covers Donavan too.”

SSG Miller was able to withdraw his entire squad behind the smoke screen. The only casualty was Specialist Jones. Jones had a four inch furrow on the outside of his thigh from a ricocheted and mostly spent round. The medic attached to the platoon stitched him up while his squad mates gave him shit for whining about being wounded.

When the 2^nd squad rejoined the platoon, Lieutenant Karsyn, the Platoon Leader, moved them back to rejoin the company. Echo Company was preparing a hasty defense while the Company Commander was on the radio with the Battalion.

Within twenty minutes of the initial engagement, the Forward Observer attached to the company was walking howitzer rounds up the side of Hill 905. Behind the artillery barrage, two F-105 Thunderchiefs rolled in to set the jungle on fire with napalm.

After the Thuds departed, the CO sent a squad forward on a Recon. The squad reported back that the assembly area was empty, the NVA troops had melted back across the border, but they left a shit load of ammo and rice.

Jerry earned his Combat Infantry Badge and an Army Commendation medal with a V device (V for valor). For his quick action, Jamie Bailey received a Bronze Star with a V.

And so it went, a few days in camp, and then a three to seven day patrol. Soon enough three months had passed, including Jerry’s birthday. He was nineteen now, old enough to patrol the jungle with an M-16 but too young to vote or to drink anything but military approved 3.2% beer.

Jerry was sitting on one of the platoon’s defensive bunkers eating a C Ration spaghetti meal, when SSG Miller tracked him down. By now Jerry was firmly established in the squad and had replaced Joe Ruiz as point man when Ruiz rotated back to the States.

“Yo, Donavan! Top wants to see you,” Miller said.

Jerry gave Miller a quizzical look. The First Sergeant was big, ornery, and scary. Rumor had it that he had no problem in kicking your ass if you pissed him off. First Sergeant Whitaker was in his 40’s and was working on his third war as a paratrooper. He was legendary, yet he insisted on going into the field with his troops.

“You know why?” Jerry asked.

“Nope,” Miller replied, “but he wasn’t pissed off.”

Jerry nodded and sighed in relief. First Sergeant Ira Whittaker’s ass chewings were things of legend. He polished off the last bite of spaghetti and tossed the can into the sandbag PFC Greene kept for that purpose. Greene traded the metal cans for fresh fruit from one of the camp mama-sans. Green then sold the fruit to other soldiers. Greene was always involved in some ‘get rich’ scheme, he was determined to leave Vietnam a wealthy man.

The First Sergeant was sitting at his field desk in the company command bunker. He was working on the Company Morning Report, a document that accounts for every man in the unit and was submitted to higher headquarters daily. Today the report was one man off. As a consequence, the First Sergeant was not in a good mood.

Two steps in front of the desk was a piece of plywood with a pair of yellow footprints painted on it. The footprints were heels together and toes pointed at a 45-degree angle, the position of attention. Jerry stepped onto the foot prints.

“PFC Donavan reporting, First Sergeant,” he said without saluting as he would have for an officer.