“Sure, best way to do it, considering our disposition right now,” he replied. “Two Six and Three Six can just pick it up and move forward, while One Six falls in behind. But shit, tell you the truth, Six.”
Sergeant Sullivan had recently begun calling me “Six” when others of the company were not privy to our conversations. “I just wouldn’t worry ‘bout it too much. I mean, I’ll bet you diamonds to doughnuts that the ville over there, you know, Benny Lock 4 or whatever, will just be another walk-through. Ain’t gonna be no fight ‘cause Charlie’s gone!
Shit, sir, I’ve been through this before, and I’m telling you, no matter what you do to seal a village at night, Charlie’s gonna be long gone at dawn. Don’t care if you put snuffie ‘round it arm to arm, Charlie will find a way out ‘fore first light.”
He paused a moment and then said, “I stand corrected. I saw it… uh… heard ‘bout it working once. Alpha Company, six, seven months ago, when I first got here. ‘Course that was on the beach, easier to trap Chuck on the beach. I mean, where the fuck can he go? Can’t hardly swim back to Hanoi!”
“Hardly,” I offered, trying to catch the drift of what he was talking about.
“Yeah, see, Alpha was just doing another walk in the weeds, well, in this case, a walk in the sand and rocks ‘long Binh Dinh’s coast. Where, unknown to them, the NVA—think it was part of the 22d Regiment—had a battalion hiding in these rocks, you know, in caves and all, and Alpha Company nearly walks right over ’em, probably like a bunch of the rest of us had done a number of times before. Well, way I heard it, this last little snuffie stopped for a minute to fill his canteen from some water what had settled in the rocks. You believe that, Six? I mean he just happens to stop so as to fill his canteen, and this gook raises his head—you know, maybe he just wanted to see what an American ‘round eye’ looks like—and snuffie nails him right between the eyes.”
“So, Alpha set up ‘round this rock pile and in the next week or so kill a hundred or more of Charlie without losing any of their own. Great fucking hit!”
“Super,” I commented, as he paused briefly, before changing our conversation’s direction.
“But to hell with these war stories, sir. What I’m worried about right now is taking care of the troops. You know we ain’t had a hot since last night, and it’s pretty obvious, what with Three’s plans for an attack tomorrow, we ain’t gonna get a hot before tomorrow night. That means forty-eight hours without chow!”
“Well, not really without chow, Top,” I responded. “We did have C&D this morning and a charlie rat today, right?”
“Yeah, but that’s just one meal, sir. You know, C&D is nice, but it ain’t no meal. We need charlie rats in the morning. I mean shit, sir, to hell with battalion and their ‘class V only’ message; troops need class I! They’re getting hungry!”
Although I did not at the time recognize the signs—I would later—my first sergeant was starting to bristle over what he perceived as something less than unconstrained dedication on the part of our higher headquarters toward “taking care of the troops.” This is a somewhat common, and I’ve always thought healthy, perception among rifle company first sergeants.
“I mean fuck it, sir!” he continued, his self-induced anger intensifying. “Sometimes battalion’s philosophy ‘pears to be, ‘Fuck the troops; just feed ’em beans and mark ’em for duty’!”
“Well, Top, no one said we wouldn’t get a bird in the morning. You know, they just said they’re committed to troop lift tonight. But if you feel that strongly about it, why don’t I just call.”
“Shit, there ain’t no goddamn soldier in any fucking war ever suffered no more than snuffie here,” he went on as if not hearing me, his voice becoming perceptibly louder, “and all he asks in return is his mail and a hot meal now and then! And these goddamn chair-borne, barbecue-eating, cot-sleeping, maid-fucking, beer-drinking, son- of-abitching rear-echelon wimps put out that ‘class V only’ bullshit! I mean I’m passed, sir!”
And he was.
“Hey, Top, I’ll call the colonel and ask him to rescind that ammo only bullshit. I mean seriously, if we need C rations, I’m sure battalion will get ’em to us at first.”
“No, sir,” he interrupted, now visibly upset. “Taking care of the troops is my job! That’s first sergeant business! I’m gonna get trains on the horn right now and tell them, not ask, tell them to get us charlie rats out here in the morning! And if they mention one fucking word ‘bout ‘class V only,’ I’m gonna call the colonel. I’m getting sick and goddamn tired of this bullshit!”
Resignedly, I replied, “Okay, Top,” as he angrily stomped off into the night.
He returned within ten minutes or so, looking a little disheartened.
“What say, Top? Time for me to get involved one on one with Colonel Lich?”
“Naw… uh… everything’s worked out,” he responded a bit timidly.
“Called trains, and they said they’d already planned to get us charlie rats and water at first light, just waiting for our head count… uh… I forgot to send it in, what with everything else going on.”
He paused momentarily, then added, “Said they’re gonna do everything possible to get us a hot breakfast out too—you know, if they can figure a way to backhaul the mermites.”
We looked at each other in silence a moment and then started laughing.
“You know, sir,” he said, smiling shyly, “you and me, we’re lucky as hell to be in the Fifth Cav! ‘Cause those other outfits, well I can tell you right now, their philosophy is, ‘Fuck the troops; just feed ’em beans and mark ’em for duty.” Right, Six?”
“Right, Top.”
“Comanche, this is Arizona Six. Give me some smoke on your right flank, okay? Over.” It was Colonel Lich, orbiting above us in his C&C.
“This is Comanche Six. Roger, wait,” I replied, then told Lieutenant MacCarty, via the company net, to pop smoke.
In a matter of seconds, Colonel Lich was back on the air. “This is Six.
Okay, I’ve got your yellow smoke. Now listen up; you’re moving too far ahead of Lean Apache. They’ve got something in some caves along the river slowing them down. I don’t want the two of you shooting each other, so ease it up a bit till I give you word to throttle forward again. Over.”
“This is Comanche Six. Wilco.”
It had been an uncomfortable and, for the most part, sleepless night.
Although Vietnam’s days can be sweltering throughout the year, its January nights are often quite cool. And trying to sleep wrapped in only a thin poncho, lying in the middle of a rice paddy, with artillery rounds exploding half a mile away in a village that may be occupied by a battalion of armed enemy who will probably have an opportunity to shoot you when you attack them in the morning—well, all in all, these conditions simply aren’t conducive to a good night’s sleep. On the bright side, however, it didn’t rain.
But things looked better as dawn broke in the east, bringing in its wake a clear sunny morning devoid of fog. Things looked better still when the log bird arrived a short time later with C&D and our charlie rats—and 7.62-mm linked ammunition for One Six. Why the ammo? I asked myself. To the best of my knowledge we haven’t fired a round since last being resupplied a couple nights ago.
I asked the Bull about it, and he said he and Lieutenant Norwalk had jointly decided that since we were facing what might be an enemy battalion, it seemed neither illogical nor imprudent for the company’s reserve to carry along a little extra machine-gun ammo.
Well, I couldn’t argue with that.
“Besides, Six,” he added, a wily look in his eyes, “it was good insurance. Mean, if trains sent us out the bullets, they’d have little damn excuse for not putting some beans on the same bird, now, would they?”
And I couldn’t argue with that either.
Shortly after the log bird’s departure, we began moving toward the village. We were at its outskirts when Colonel Lich slowed us down so as to allow Alpha Company time to investigate their caves. So far the exercise had been an uneventful walk in the weeds.
“Lean Apache is sending to the old man, sir. You want to listen in?” Blair said, extending his handset.
Nodding my head, I took his extended handset and monitored Alpha Company’s transmission to Colonel Lich.
“Roger, got caves or shelters dug in the side of the riverbank. Must be most of the ville’s population in ’em. They’re reluctant to come out, which I guess is understandable under the circumstances. Over.”
“This is Six. Any enemy intermingled with them?”
“This is Apache Six. Not sure, but I would guess not.”
