about what might have happened to us such a short distance away.
The exhilaration I had felt earlier suddenly lost some of its flavor.
What the hell are we doing here? What lasting importance will the outcome of today’s operation have on that peasant down there, or me, my men, or any thing or anyone else? Dangerous thoughts, I told myself.
Who am I to question the importance of this or any other operation? Captains of infantry, and the soldiers they command, do not question. Theirs is not to reason why, theirs is…
Byson’s penetrating voice in the headset quickly returned my wandering mind to the present.
“Comanche Six, Red Rider, this is Arizona Three. Insert in zero four. Standard two-minute prep with last round smoke. Smoke on fifteensecond final. Blue Max will cover the insert. How copy?”
“This is Comanche Six. Good copy. Over.”
“Roger, this is Red Rider, and I copy that. Go.”
“This is Arizona Three. Okay, good hunting, Comanche. Out.”
I gave a four-finger heads ups to those aboard, signifying four minutes until touchdown.
At two minutes out, we saw the artillery begin plastering our LZ, providing Lieutenant Moseley and me an opportunity to confirm its location on our maps. Soon after that, Byson began his final insert countdown. “Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen. I have smoke on the LZ. Rider Six, make your insert.”
Now on fifteensecond final, we were coming in low and fast at treetop level. Discarding my headset, I and the others aboard shifted our weight, assuming our customary position on the aircraft’s skids.
As we skimmed across the paddies, we saw the smoke from the artillery marking round rising lazily from the LZ. Suddenly, we heard the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of an accompanying Cobra’s aerial rockets as they jetted passed us and impacted on the LZ’s perimeter in brilliant white-and-red flashes. Nearing the landing zone, the slicks began flaring, tails down, preparing to land. A second Cobra passed us, laying a blanket of minigun and 40-mm grenade fire on the flanks of the LZ. Simultaneously, our door gunners began raking the zone’s periphery with their M-60 machine guns.
When the helicopter’s skids were within two or three feet of the ground, we leaped, and our Huey pulled away without touching the paddy in which we now found ourselves. Quickly picking up speed and gaining altitude, the four slicks disappeared over the treetops as the Cobras continued to fire around the landing zone’s perimeter, covering our hurried movement to secure it.
There was no return fire. The LZ was green, and within a matter of minutes the hooks had off-loaded the rest of the company. It had all gone like clockwork. A piece of cake.
Once the company was assembled, we began moving in a northeasterly direction, Two Six leading, followed by Four Six, the headquarters section, and Three Six. One Six accompanied us on a separate route, a hundred meters or so to our left, protecting the company’s northern flank, which was dominated by a wood line of bamboo and other tropical shrubbery. If we should run into any trouble on the way to Xom Dong My, we felt it would come from that quarter, since there was nothing to the south of us except open rice paddy as far as the eye could see.
We did not have far to go, perhaps a klick or so. In the distance the village looked larger than indicated on our maps. Noting a church steeple towering above the bamboo and palms surrounding the village, I remarked to Lieutenant Moseley that he had a super registration point should he need it.
With a couple hundred meters of open paddy to cross before entering the southwest corner of Xom Dong My, I passed the word to Lieutenant Norwalk to clear the distant wood line that dominated our left flank before the rest of the company proceeded further. He did so and then continued moving along the wood line toward the northwest corner of the village, as Two Six and headquarters began crossing the paddy. Reaching the far side, Two Six postured itself defensively, preparing to cover the rest of the company’s crossing.
That’s when Charlie hit One Six! It was a hastily established but well-executed ambush, and Norwalk and his men found themselves right in the middle of it.
At the same moment, enemy fire began popping over our heads, high and ineffective but loud and unnerving. Caught midway across the paddy, we in headquarters dove for what cover a paddy can provide—which is very little. Anderson, holding his handset above the putrid water in which we had immersed ourselves, yelled, “Sir, Two Six on the horn!”
Two Six? They’re hitting One Six. Aren’t they?
“Comanche Six, this is Two Six. The dinks are hitting One Six! Over.”
“This is Six. Get off the goddamn radio, Two Six. Break. One Six, this is Six. Over.”
No reply.
“One Six, One Six, this is Six. Over.”
Still no reply.
“One Six, One Six, this is Six. Give me something, now! Over.”
Lieutenant Norwalk’s RTO, obviously frightened, probably somewhat disoriented, but still soldiering, replied, “This is One Six Alpha! One Six is down! He and the point are dead! Need help! Over.”
“This is Six. Pop smoke and hang tight! We’re on the way. Out. Break. Two Six, Three Six, go perimeter where you are and stand by to assist. I’m moving to One Six now! Out.”
While talking to One Six, we had crawled our way to the paddy dike. From there I saw they had marked their position with red smoke, which was now drifting over a large embankment approximately seventy-five meters and two rice paddies to the north of us.
Charlie Company’s headquarters section, composed of Blair, Anderson, Moseley and his recon sergeant, and me, began moving toward the red smoke. We covered each other as we crossed the paddies separating us from Norwalk and his platoon. The enemy’s fire was light and sporadic.
First Platoon had taken a swift and violent hit that had all but eliminated its chain of command. Bill Norwalk was not dead, but he had been shot through the neck and was unable to speak coherently. Sitting upright, bleeding profusely, he was obviously going into shock.
However, being the good officer—the leader—he was, he was still commanding his soldiers through gestures. His platoon sergeant, who had been at the rear of their formation, had also been hit, and his RTO had been killed. Their point man, I was told, lay somewhere atop or on the other side of the embankment along which the platoon had been moving.
The remainder of One Six was crouched at the bottom of this embankment, seeking what cover it afforded. And Charlie was on the other side.
While Anderson struggled to get a battle dressing around Norwalk’s neck, I attempted to ascertain that everyone was at least accounted for. One of the platoon’s squad leaders, taking charge as good squad leaders do, assured me that everyone was behind the embankment except the point man, who was dead.
“Sir, he’s dead! I was right behind the LT. I saw them both get hit, the LT in the throat and the point right smack in the face. Goddamn, sir, the whole of his head just burst open! He’s dead!”
But what if he wasn’t? I crawled up the embankment and looked across its crest. The point man was lying face down in a great pool of blood about ten meters or so to my right front. As I slithered toward him on my belly, I stared fixedly at the soles of his jungle boots, noting that they looked brand new. And he never suspected that when he put them on they would out last… But maybe not, maybe he was just… No, his squad leader was right. One Six’s point man was very dead. And shame on you, Captain Estep, because you can’t remember his name. Shame on you, indeed!
War is not at all like Hollywood depicts it in movies. You do not effortlessly toss the dead or dying soldier across your shoulder and run merrily along, firing a submachine gun with your free hand. Dead and dying soldiers are so very heavy. I pulled, tugged, and rolled our nameless point man to the edge of the embankment, where Moseley helped me drag him on down to One Six’s covered position.
Now, having our dead and wounded on the friendly side of the embankment, all that remained were to move ourselves across the open paddies, rejoin the rest of the company, and then bring down all the artillery in the free world on this ambush site and the enemy that had killed our soldiers. Unfortunately, the rest of the company, positioned as it was, could not provide covering fire, so we would have to cover our own withdrawal.
We assigned two uninjured men of the leaderless 1st Platoon to each of their dead and wounded and then, after tossing hand grenades in over the top of the embankment, sent them scurrying across the paddy while we fired a “mini-mad minute” at a foe we could not see.
