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"Company!"
Shuffling of feet, silence as CSM Sam Dick called the men to attention and handed over to the company second-in-command to call in the platoon commander and report the company present to "Flash" Gordon, who entered the cool, long dining tent on cue.
"Thank you, Company, sit easy, smoke," taking off his safari helmet and pointing to the spot where he wanted the map board positioned.
The 2 soldiers carrying it set it on the easel in front of the seated company and took their seat. By this time the shuffling, borrowing, scraping of matches, flicking of Zippo lighters, returning of packs to pockets, and rearranging of ash trays--as the smokers went through their rituals---was over.
Gordon stepped forth, hands folded on top of the pointer.
"There aren't many secrets in this family, so you all know we're going out again in 2 days. Right! Over here, to the northeast," tapping the light-colored area amid the green splotches on the map, "is a rich rice-producing valley. The harvest is almost due. The Charlies want the harvest, so does the government. Our mission is to occupy the valley so the government can re-establish its authority there and farther east, and allow the harvest to be brought in. Enemy. There is a main force division here," tap, "in the mountains to the north. A local force battalion operates in the valley and, in fact, controls it. Now, how are we going to do it? We fly into this town, Bai Due, the last government presence, reorganize, and clear the Charlies from these two towns along the east-west road, here," tap, "and here," tap. "First we secure the base at Bai Due and go on after that, depending on the situation. Now....." and Gordon continued with the details.
After the briefing, there was the series of pre-op tasks: drawing rations and ammo, packing, writing, and posting the final letter.353Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNRp3bhPJ9l
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The Hueys climbed to 4,000 feet, on course towards the sun, gently rising and falling in the cooler air. The glorious hues of Vietnam spread away as far as the eye could see: to the south, the blue clean clump of mountains at Vung Tau, and the sun-silver on the sea; to the west, the flat pale green-brown of the delta fading into the haze; closer, the dirty smudge of Saigon lurking under its shell of smoke and pollution; ahead from left to right, the green carpet of the jungle, broken only by the occasional river with its flanking light-green swatches of cultivation. The Tommies reveled in the height, the coolness, and the view. The accompanying slicks stretched back in their scores. From ahead and below another 30 or more Hueys appeared, going back for another load. In that blue above-green light, they appeared as a school of busy fish threshing along under the shimmering circular veil of the rotor blades reflecting the sun, the brilliant fluorescent orange and green panels on the cockpit roofs as the markings of tropical fish swimming over a coral reef.
Fingers pointing ahead: up there, over the pilot's shoulder, a lone hill humped above the green-blue carpet, the hill puffing white clouds, trying to draw a cool veil over its head under the blazing sun....no, the jets are pummeling it!
The local ARVN report a Charlie company on it, it overlooks the town and airfield so is being "struck." To the left, rising out of the green, is a fluffy red cloud of dust; into it dive the tiny shapes of a preceding lift, from the far end pop out those of another in ragged formation, strung out over the width of the cloud.
Descending now, out of the cooler air, the jungle roof becoming more distinct blobs of green and shadows; there go the silver F100s diving overhead, down the blue, smoke trails flicking back from their cannons, bombs falling away; up he goes, effortlessly lifting away from the green, climbing into the dark blue, flashes on the hill, smoke---next one firing cannon---helicopter swinging onto the approach, swimming into the red cloud, trees now close below, red dust tendrils flit by, into it, the sun a feebly glowing disc, helicopter in front the vaguest shadow. Settling in a suddenly clear bowl swept by, the rotor blast, ground below, skids hit, rock to a s top; get out, kneel; the helicopter huge in the confined vision range of this seething whirling dust storm, red dust in eyes, ears, nose, mouth, collar, shirt front, weapons will be dirty, bugger it! A dark helicopter shape lifting, moving past; over to the side of the LZ onto the grass, the others spitting red mud and grimacing in the red world at the bottom of this fish bowl; the next lot of dark shapes sailing by, one after the other, blind, only superb training and discipline allowing mass landing in this cloud with visibility no more than 50 yards.
Walk up the length of the airfield, into the town of Bai Due, along the streets under the frangipani, mango, banana, and coconut trees, past the wooden houses with tiled roofs, stared at by the ever-present noisy children ant the more reserved, dignified adults. The foreign soldiers: their objective is clear---Nà Bắng and Ban Bir, the next town along the road. Even there the noise of the aircraft must be heard if the hundreds of helicopters and fat silver Hercules could not be seen in the clear sky.
Move through and camp in the jungle, out of town, for the evening.
Major "Flash" Gordon spread his folded map on the ground, broke off a twig to use as a pointer---"only generals point with their fingers"---and glanced around his assembled platoon commanders, mortar forward controller, and artillery forward observation officer.
"As you know, the Charlies are in the villages ahead. The population is Roman Catholic refugees from the North. The Charlies have controlled this area for a year. The ARVN have tried twice to take the places back but been done over each time. Our mission is to lead the assault, followed by C and A, with D in reserve. The ARVN went up the road each time. We're going to walk around behind them and get in over the fence. They'll be facing the other way," gesturing with the twig on the map. "Now, we'll move out at 0500, order of march...." and Gordon went on with his briefing, finishing it with, "Any questions? Okay, ready to roll at 0500. Good night, all."
For all of the following day, the companies forced their way south then east, keeping well away from any sighting by the locals. The night was spent quietly to the east of Na Bang, readying for the attack. Scouts had reconnoitered routes to the jungle edge so the approach could be made quickly.
Dark figures against the black trees. "Stand-to. Stand-to" hissed, shoulders shaken, feet tapped. Men roll to a sitting position, weapon in hand, and stare out into the lightening gloom, the drifting shadows of the patrol floating soundlessly past in their circuit. Pack, breakfast, shave, clean rifle, webbing and pack ready to embrace with their webbing arms.
"Saddle up!" and begin the quiet, quick walk to the jungle's edge. There, through the last fringe of leaves, branches, and vines, lies the town surrounded by a wall of bamboo bushes. Through the green tracery of the delicate bamboos can be seen the sheet metal, the thatched, and the tiled roofs. Along the road are people walking, cycling, or in their buffalo wagons---all oblivious of the British in the gloom.
A sunny, peaceful scene. The leading platoons, green clothes against green, move out of the jungle, cross the cleared area and move along the bamboo fence unseen by the people on the road. They climb through and under the 10,000 interlacing, entangled, hooked arms of the bamboo and are inside; the next platoon follows, then the HQ, the last platoon of the lead company, and suddenly the Charlies guarding the rear of the village open fire from the house where they are presently having breakfast.
The answering hail of bullets silences them, and it is on sections and platoons, "pepper-potting" up either side of the east-west road, never stopping, never allowing the Charlies to settle and become organized, bouncing him back, back, back. The companies following take up the chase, pivoting to clear up the north-south road, and in two hours the town is cleansed of armed Charlies, leaving behind their dead and weapons.
For no British casualties and one house burned, the town has been returned to government control, and mass can again be celebrated in the tin-roofed church.
Later in the day, the government reappeared---wearing sunglasses, starched, tailored, bemedaled in the figure of the captain district chief from Bai Due. Trailing him, an entourage of clerks, information team trios, census takers, propaganda teams who started broadcasting and plastering posters, and assorted ARVN with tall crew-cut American advisers full of praise for the feat of occupying a town by force of arms, with only one house destroyed. Their method of air strikes and artillery preparation was not used.
During the intensely active clearing, the people were sent to the rear. 90-year-old Phong Trong Quang was ill, confined to bed; heavy firing and shouts in a foreign tongue convinced old Phong his final moments had come. A strangely dressed, sweating foreigner leaped into the room, saw Phong and pointed to the door. "Di Di Mau," thereby using 1/3 of his vocabulary. Phong shook his head and firmly gripped the side of the planks on which he slept.
"Di Di Mau! Di Di Mau!"
"Khong, Khong."
"Hey, there's an old bloke in here what won't go!"
Logan Livingston, the medic, trotted over hoping the Red Cross would have some beneficial effect. Phong shook his head and pointed to the crucifix and religious pictures of Mary and Jesus Christ.
"Ah! me too," and Logan pulled out his crucifix on a neck chain. Phong's old eyes lit up---a fellow worshipper! His thin shot out and grasped Logan's in a grip that could only be broken by hurting the old man. More a captive than a helper, Logan gestured to the rear, saying "Di, Di." Phong slowly got up, and together they shuffled down the road in the sun, past the follow-up companies, toward the assembly area where the civilians were held. Moving slowly down the road, away from the battle, Logan reaped the crop of witty remarks from the platoons lining the road.
"Takin' yer daddy for two beers, eh, what?"
"No, that's his bird's old man. Tryin' to get in good with the parents, takin' the old bloke down the club for a hit at the pokies."
A sniper some 100 yards away, began to put rounds close to Logan's hard safari helmet, to the great amusement of the reclining wits.
"Wish I was a medic; they get all the best jobs."
"Speed 'im up a bit, Logan!"
"Leave the old bastard, I says!"
"Captured by Ho Chi Minh, eh, what?"
The combination of heat haze, lack of training, lack of knowledge of ballistics and variations in Phong's rate of travel, ensured no sniper's round hit, though some snapped past with a loud crrrraaaaackkkk!
Hughes's platoon was leapfrogging along the row of houses on the south side of the road: section down, section moving, section clearing houses. Suddenly a racket of yells, thumps, thuds: Tommies running around corners and diving into doorways as a water buffalo went charging by, head down, great horns flicking, hooves kicking, snorting, dusty, invulnerable, one green-clad figure running just ahead of the great shape until a supreme burst of speed gained enough distance to dodge into a house and the beast went lumbering past, to be caught and led back by a 10-year-old boy.
An ammunition resupply Huey circled, awaiting landing instructions. The battle was by now at the far end of the town, and people were returning home along the road in chattering groups. The helicopter requested smoke to mark the LZ. "Throw smoke!" ordered the company signaler. "Here it goes" in an unknown voice. Pop-fizz-zz-zz.
"I didn't know we had white smoke," said one of the company HQ.
"No, first time I've seen it." As the wind drove the cloud down the road, the first tendrils reached them---"Christ, it's fuckin' tear gas! Who's the blighter who threw that?"
Sneezing, coughing, eyes streaming, the group stumbled upwind, the signaler spluttering into his handset to warn the grinning chopper crew. The oncoming civilians were walking into the cloud, despite shouts and waves from the upwind group. One matriarch strode through the now dissipating mist; her bearing changing from old mother walking home along a dusty road, to discomfort when the gas enveloped her, to an infuriated woman who had lost patience with the stupid men of both sides who had disrupted her day.
As she came level with the group now distributing the ammunition delivered by the Huey, she gave vent to a stream of furious Vietnamese that needed no translation, backed by her waving fists.
"Good on ya, lady."
"Hmmmm, just like me bloody wife."
"You hook in, mum."
"Lady," pointing to the CSM, "he's the one."
But the old lady had no favorites. The skinny, gray-haired figure, eyes weeping from the gas, strode on up the road, outrage personified.
"Her old bloke'll cop it," and the grinning Tommies went on with the ammunition handout.
"Flash" Gordon's company was allocated the Roman Catholic church and yard in its sector. Gordon placed his CHQ in the church and his platoons in an arc. The one that had been led by Andrew Lucas was commanded by newly arrived Lieutenant Esteban Udall, only three weeks "in-country" and on his first operation.353Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5vjvsJrq0Q
Quaid walked over to Gordon. "Sir, you should get that new platoon commander to take down that flag he's got flying over his hutchi."
"Oh?" turning to look out the church door at the multihued flag hanging from a sapling over Lieutenant Udall's small tent. "What is it?"
"Well, to start with it's a Buddhist flag, sir. He took it from the Buddhist temple. And we're in a Catholic churchyard. Just above the worst place in town to fly it. He reckons it's Charlie."
"Yes." To the signaler, "Tell him to come up here and bring the flag."
Lieutenant Udall recieved a brief lecture on religions, looting, and flag identification before returning the flag to its rightful place, with apologies to the shaven-headed bonzes.353Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBoZOqLNoBs
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Sitting behind the small fires, waiting for the brewing water to boil, Tony turned to Alfie.353Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPaVqrGTuVc
"Hey, Alfie, noticed how back in Mother England the battalion revolved around the CO and the RSM? The CO was like God. The RSM was God. CO's parades, RSM's parades, battalion guards, RSM's work parties. Jesus! But over three, ya hardly see 'em or hear 'em. They might be miles away. The company and platoon are the most important things, BHQ is," he shrugged, "out of sight and mind, as it were."
"Yeah. Yer world narrows down a lot. Also Ricky and Andrew have a lot of other things to worry about now. Okay, water's boilin', Tony."
"Jesus, I've been waiting for this brew all day!"
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