In The Shadow of Charlie: The Phantom Chronicles

[Roughneck]

The jungle began clearing up abruptly. Rather than the diffuse gloominess caused by the closed canopy of trees and shrubbery blocking sunlight, there was a definite increase in brightness and consequently visibility. Almost magically, the pre-dawn mist seemed to part it's ghostly self, revealing a semi-enclosed clearing. The moonlight streamed through a break in the clouds, revealing scrub and farm land, adorned with scattered hooches. The air was still, not even a mangy cur barking in the distance to break the silence - just the eternal "noise" of the jungle - owls. Crickets. Frogs. Snakes.

And the million and half skeeters and other assorted vermin buzzing around, pestering tired soldiers and making an already difficult night hump all that more unbearable.

I stopped hacking the undergrowth in front of me and raised my fist as a warning, signaling the troop following behind to freeze and drop. The truth was that I was about ready to drop from fatigue myself - it had only been about 30 hours since my last "nap". Outright fear was the only thing that kept me going. You don't "relax" when you're out on patrol - lose track even for an instant and you'd likely wind up the same as Deveroux [his mind wandered long enough to miss a bobby trap and end up becoming impaled on a poisoned bamboo stake. Took him four days to die, in agony every minute of it].

What the hell??! This wasn't supposed to be here! Fuckin' Intel and their half baked shit! I wonder if those cock suckers pull their information out their asses!

I turned my head to see what the troop was up to. Everyone was hugging dirt, panting as hard as I was through the heat and the opressive humidity. Everyone except Cpl. Lasson, of course. He looked crisp and fresh, like he was out on a midnight stroll with his girl (or boy? You could never tell with Lasson). His eyes met mine and he smiled.

I shook my head. Fucking kid! Slow, deep breaths. Focus, Roy. Focus...

I returned my gaze towards the clearing. I decided that we'd somehow stumbled upon a "village" - since I had no other way to tell and according to the dumbasses at battalion intel this wasn't supposed to be here anyhow! Typical "routine recon patrol!

Our mission was to reconnoiter the river bend and report back. According to the plan, we were supposed to continue on for another 4 clicks to reach the ford - I could see the mist thicken in the distance beyond the clearing, which I assumed (correctly as I would later find out) to be the river. According to the geniuses in intel, three entire regiments of NVA were supposed to be crossing the river and establishing a base of operations. Seeing that we were up against the NVA and not the 'Cong, regimental command wanted a 'look see' of the area to figure out what the scoop was; since we'd been moved into the area under security. Intel wanted to know enemy affiliation (NVA? Viet Cong? the fucking Chinese?), force strength, extent of preparations and advance... any and as much info as could be gleamed. My Battalion XO was particularly anxious for data - if what he predicted turned out to be true (as it eventually did), my Legion would be the first to enter the foray and encounter the enemy. "Know thy enemy" - hence why we were where we were on this still night.

I grimaced. I was between a rock and a hard place - an all too familiar situation... but that didn't make it any easier. The clearing and the "village" had just thrown a huge monkey wrench into the works.

Technically I wasn't supposed to 'deviate from the route' till I'd reached the river bend - reason given at briefing was that enemy positions on parts of the flank had been identified and marked. Command didn't want us blundering into them and setting off the alarm (being that we were not "supposed to be here" or some such).
But at the same time, I couldn't try sneaking through the hooches. Since according to Intel, said "village" in front of me shouldn't exist - but it did - it could be the damned enemy HQ for all I knew.

For the 1000th time, I tried to re-adjust the pack straps to make the 35 lbs load sit easier on my back. I turned to take a quick look at my men again. Nearly everyone had the same expression on their face - taunt with fear and tension, alert for anything... but yet seemingly lost. Imploring me to make my decision. To lead the way. To command.

To take responsibility, Roy...their lives depend on you making the right choice.
Shut up! I have enough to worry about as it is without having to deal with you!
But I AM YOU, Roy. I'm just an equal, integral part of you.
Yeah, well you're gonna get us all goosed. Why don't you stay outta my head till we're back on base...
Well, that's kinda my plan. To ensure that we all return to base in one pie...
...piece. Yeah I know! Now shut up and let me do my job.

I shook my head. Damnit it! Stay focused here! Try sneaking through the village and risk alerting folks friendly to the enemy or go around and risk alerting folks friendly to the enemy?

I thought for a few moments, took one last sweep of the village and then crawled back to my men.

Pvt. Rico: "Orders,Staff Sergeant?"
You just itchin' to get into it, ain't ya? Rico was a FNG - that's "Fuckin' New Guy" to you non-Army folks - in my troop. Very enthusiastic about Army life and just as clueless about it's realities.
*in a harsh whisper* "Pipe down, Rico! Just stay down and shut up!"

I motioned my men to gather 'round. While they were doing so, I consulted with Cpl. Graves. Jim Graves had been a First Sergeant but was demoted to Corporal for striking and knocking out a Captain (Graves by doing so ended up saving the lives of at least 200 men. Not that you'll ever hear THAT part of the news anytime soon!) Graves had been in the Army more years than I had been on Earth - he'd seen action in Korea. I couldn't have asked for a better mentor.

"What do you think, First Sergeant?"
"Permit me to speak freely, Sir?"

This was our daily routine - I'd always address him as "First Sergeant", even though technically I outrank him now (as he is a Corporal)... and I do so out of respect.
BUT... he'd always address me as "Sir" (though he doesn't have to because I'm just an NCO) and ask for "permission" - though I've reminded him a thousand times that he's free to speak free anytime he wishes with me! To which he always says "Sir, it's about the rank. Not the man." Yeah, it's hard to win against FSgt. Graves; but I digress....

"FSgt, you know you always have that permission."
"Thank you, Sir. Sir, in my opinion this is completely fucked up. The presence of this village makes me think our original intel is pretty sketchy. Even if it were accurate Sir, I would advise against takin' a chance of sneaking through...."
And then, in one of those very rare of rare moments, he addressed me in person: "We have decent scrub and cover around us, Roy. Advise the kids to stay alert and watch where they step and lets try walkin' 'round this one?"

I was immensely relieved to hear what he'd just said - for I was leaning toward that course of action myself. For the n'th time, I was glad to have someone like Graves to fall back on.
"You think the boys will follow, Jim?
"Sir, we'll follow you to the end of the world if need be", Graves said. Like it was a matter of fact. Jim Graves might just be a Corporal, but he had standing in the troop.
"Alright Corporal. Let's dress the line and lean West. We'll circle at half a click and continue when we pass the clearing."

Graves crawled off to inform the rest of the troop. I took my helmet off to wipe my brow. I unscrewed my canteen to taste some water. My heart was pounding. For the 1001st time, I tried re-adjusting my pack straps to make the 35 pound load sit easier on my back.

I looked up. The moon was still playing hooky with the clouds. A thought registered at the back of my head: Ain't exactly the right kind of weather for recon...



To be continued...

 

[senob44]

Re: A day in the life...

Gripping read, Roughneck! I look forward to the continuation.

 

[gunslingingbird]

Re: A day in the life...

Thanks for the window into life in Nam. I've always had a sort of morbid curiosity as to what it was really like to be out there. I don't mean to sound like I'm idolizing the hell that jungle combat was, I just think that for me to properly understand what it was like I'd have to live through it. Thanks for sharing, and I'll be waiting to read the conclusion.

 

[Roughneck]

Re: A day in the life...

Almost on cue, it began raining. Pitter-patter raindrops and a drizzle at first, but within 2 minutes it blew up to the "perfect storm" - heavy rain with thunder and lightning.

Wonderful!, I fumed. The storm would help mask our passage through the jungle; but it would also lessen our ability to detect the enemy.
Damned if you do. Damned if you don't! Whatcha gonna do? The boys are countin' on ya....

Word passed down the line and to the men: "We head off due west for a half click and try to bend around a clearing up ahead. Light and Noise discipline - let’s put out those smokes and readjust packs. We're close to the enemy here kids. Hop to it."

A general (but muted) moaning/cursing/grumbling barely managed to register into the night. It was understandable - "light and noise discipline" meant being "extra careful" - no lit cigars/pipes/cigarettes, no flashlights, no 'reflective article of clothing' (which included dog tags), no loose pack or strap equipment (including harness buckles, which are impossible to try and silence no matter how you tied them on). You couldn't be "extra careful" without "extra effort". Hence the general grumbling/cursing. It was bad enough humping this terrain as we were... but it got particularly demanding with such self-imposed restrictions. The men were tired... but they knew we had a job to do.

My corporals and sergeants began returning news about the readiness of the troops. I took a hasty look backwards to satisfy myself, then I looked at Graves and he just nodded his head.

"Jones... take point. Riviera, Krieg... cover our rear. The rest of y'all, fall in line. Move Out!" As was my usual habit, once I was satisfied my men were under reasonable supervision, I stepped my way towards my point man (Jones) and then accompanied him.

The 'walk around' was a nightmare. Visibility - already poor just by the fact that we were in dense foliage jungle - dropped to a few yards thanks to the already dark conditions now exacerbated by the howling storm. The rain came down so thick; you could swear it was almost absolute sheets. I was soaked through to the skin in less than 2 minutes, despite our issued "protective gear".

A muted curse rent the air ... and gave voice to the frustration each man felt - bad enough that we were under light and "noise" discipline but given the pounding rain; we were likely to be soaked straight for the next few days. It was a thought no man relished - jungle rot/"trench foot", while of academic interest to the "medical professionals", was a serious concern to front line grunts. Given our mission, it was unlikely that we'd be able to stop any place and 'dry off'. An infantryman is no good without his feet.

I followed Jones as close as I could. Jones was an enigma, of sorts. He was having a hard time "fitting in" with the troop - no one gave him a hard time ... but no one seemed to give a damn about him either. He'd been assigned to the troop as a 'replacement', the unit he was in had been ambushed and had suffered 98% casualties. He'd been assigned to us in place of Beecher, who had stepped on a mine and had his legs blown off. Beecher was a good, competent soldier - I guess Jones either felt pressured by others or by his own self to "prove something". Both myself, Graves and The Lieutenant (when he was still alive) had tried to talk to him about it but he insisted it was no issue... and yet, he kept "volunteering" for the more dangerous assignments (just like now, volunteering to be the point man). A part of me worried about him, but that part of me was overshadowed by my other general worries of keeping the unit in top shape; together.

Jones broke my thoughts by halting his stead, dropping to one knee while raising a clenched fist. Immediately, I dropped to the ground while bringing my clenched fist up, to pass the signal down the line to the troop. I snuck a quick peek behind me to make sure everyone was ok. Satisfied, I crawled over to Jones.

"Talk to me Jonsey".
"Sir, there's enemy movement up front. I distinctly saw two humanoid forms moving fast at a crouch through the scrub, heading towards our right. I'm not sure they've detected us, yet".

Advance scouts? Main line of resistance? Local militia? The damned HeadQuarters?
The bad news was that I had no effing idea. Too vague and not enough information. The good news was that my gut wasn't sending out signals up the waazoo.
Probably just a bunch of hoochniks out and about with whatever shit it is they do.
But I couldn't very well direct a troop of men based on what was for all intents and purposes - my "feeling". An "assumption", in other terms. "Gut feeling" does not hold up in court - be it the court of combat or the courts martial.

"Good job, Jonsey. Why don't we break off and head 90 degrees to our right for about a 1/4th a click and resume our original mission from there?"
"Roger that, Sir".
"All right Jones, let's go...."

I crawled back to let the troop leaders know. Satisfied they knew of the change in plans, I crept over to Jones.
"Would've been easier if we'd call it in, Sir"
"Jonesey, you know we can't do that; yet. Radio silence. Now quit yer yappin' and lets get goin'. I don't like this place".
"Yes Sir. Movin' out..."

I flipped open my 'red-light' and took a quick recheck of my map and compass - we were still a ways off and had a ways to go but despite the unexpected difficulties, we were making good progress. I packed away my map and looked up. Visibility was getting poorer - it was raining harder. I looked at the constant, annoying and distracting drip-drip-drip-drip coming from the lip of my helmet; semi-obscuring my vision. My entire body was soaked through and through, despite the issued wet-gear. I felt a wave of nausea and shivering set in. I shrugged that one off - I'd been ill for the past 14 days.

Great! So what else is new?
What else is new???! How about you being sick?
I've been sick before...
Yeah, but you never were in command of a troop then!
Shut up!
Hey I'm just tryi...
I said SHUT UP!

I muttered a muted oath and set off after Jones.

We reached the 1/4 click mark without incident and bent slightly left to try and reach our original objective. The weather, the tension of the mission and our self-imposed restrictions seemed to stretch time. I decided to have Stevens take over point duty from Jones and also sent Dalton and Paul to take over from Riviera and Krieg at the rear.

To be continued...

 

[senob44]

Re: A day in the life...

This is as good or better than any read I have ever had describing combat. Looking forward to more. :thumbsup:

 

[Roughneck]

Re: A day in the life...

The fog/mist intensified.

We're getting closer to the river. Better stop to gather bearings and make sure we're going where we are supposed to be...

I hissed to Stevens, "Hold up! Get cover. We're getting close. I want a bearing check".
"Roger that Sir", Stevens whispered back as he crept off to the nearest tree.

Of course, getting a "bearing check" in these conditions was worse than playing Russian roulette with 5 chambers loaded. It was dark, it was raining heavily and we were in enclosed jungle with no discernible landmarks.

Save for the damned village in the clearing that wasn't supposed to be there!

"Perfect", I muttered under my breath.
"What was that, Sir?" whispered Sgt. Doyle.
"Nothing Sergeant. I was just singing praises to Divisional Intel in my head"
Doyle chuckled. "Just 'routine' ain't it Sir?” he said with a grin. His gold teeth shining with dull amber glow under my 'red-light' flashlight.
Doyle was a good soldier. Able and trust worthy with the men. With a perchance for gambling and extravagance. Unlike me, Doyle was married with two kids back stateside. A part of me wondered how that aspect of it all played out given his profligacy here that I'd witnessed.

It takes all kinds, I guess....

"Doyle, find Graves and drag his ass here. Bring yourself and Witmann too. Have the men take a breather - no rations, but sips off their canteen is ok. Let 'em know we're close but still have a ways to go."
Sgt. Doyle nodded and slinked off.

For the first time that mission, I surrendered to the damned pack straps and dropped my load to the ground. Instantly, I felt a wave of relief almost overpower me. I permitted myself to lie just a little more comfortably in the mud. Slowly while I scanned the perimeter, I reached to my hip for my canteen. I unscrewed the top and took a good gulp.

Damn! Water never tasted as good as this. Almost as good as Cayuga on a hot summer day. With Martin and Joe. And Allie. Sweet, adorable, lovable, darling Allie....

My mind drifted. Memories wafted up from my consciousness. Childhood. Puberty... I was about to reminisce high school when I became aware of my men gathering around me.

"Sgt. Doyle reporting as ordered Sir", said Doyle in a whisper; made just that bit more inaudible by the (now heavy) rain. I tried to focus my ears for the rest of what he was about to say. "Cpl. Graves and Sgt. Witmann are present here as well, Sir. The rest of the troop have been advised to take a light breather and to keep their eyes open".
"Thanks Sgt. Doyle. How are the men holdin' up... I'm asking all three of ya."
They looked at each other. Sgt. Witmann spoke up...

That's interesting...

"The men are tired but willing to go, Sir. They are more concerned about the detour and the nature of this mission than the physical aspects of it, Sir".
Why am I not surprised? I allowed myself a wry smile. The men in my troop were already legendary for "sniffing out" extraordinary conditions and "anticipating" orders for 'em.
"Thank you Sgt. Witmann. Gentlemen we have a bit of an issue here." I waved them to concentrate toward my map and compass under my red-light and poncho.
The ass end and below of me started getting soaking wet as I pulled the poncho over to give my men some shelter as we were observing the map. We stuffed together as close as we could; stinking, breathing each others air as we stared at a piece of paper lit by my light.

"Well, it should come as no surprise to y'all that it's impossible to establish position through STARNAV. We're back to our basics gents", I said. "Based on what I've roughly calculated on our walk through the jungle, we'll continue on through for another click, by which point we should have bypassed the clearance and the village and also be close enough to our original path. I know the men are tired but we need to move fast..."

My sergeants disappeared into the misty night but boy did my men respond! Stealthily, quietly, expertly; we crept over the landscape like it as made from cotton candy....


To Be Continued...

cheers,

 

[senob44]

Re: A day in the life...

It's amazing. Every time you post more of that story, I feel myself immediately immersed into the situation, focusing on every word. I wouldn't blaspheme so much as to suggest I now know what it's like to be in combat in Vietnam, but this tale paints quite a picture.

 

[Eric Lindros]

Re: A day in the life...

Great stuff, Roughneck. Please carry on!:thumbsup:

 

[negator]

Re: A day in the life...

i'm loving this.
you've got real talent.

 

[Peter Gazinya]

Re: A day in the life...

You got a blog Roughneck?

 

[gunslingingbird]

Re: A day in the life...

Roughneck, pardon my ignorance, but what's the measure of a click? I've always heard military personnel speaking about distances as clicks, but, not having been in the military myself, I don't rightly know what a click is.

 

[Roughneck]

Re: A day in the life...

I felt like I was choking. I could not breathe. My lungs were on fire while waves of nausea assaulted me. I tried to cough but felt too weak.
Paralyzed. Petrified. Powerless. Lost. Resigned. Flashes. Light. Darkness. Hurt. Pain.

Vague sounds that sounded like words at a far off distance..."Sir! Sir! You all right?!! Sir! Sergeant!"
I tried to blink my eyes clear off all the grime, sweat, mud. My tongue tasted something salty and metallic.
My confused brain tried to make sense. Slowly a shape began to discern itself during the flashes of light from the explosions. It was radio-operator. Hunter.
Hunter's mouth was moving but time seemed to be in slow motion.

Without warning, he threw himself on me, covering my body. His helmet collided with my face and I felt a sharp pain to my mouth just as I saw a brilliant flash. A boiling heat wave washed over me and then I felt the earth move under my body. I felt myself being lifted off the ground before being slammed back into the dirt.

I gasped for air. Choking. Coughing. Retching.

Slowly, my eyes tried to focus again. My brain seemed to be running slow. Nothing made sense at all. I looked down to see what appeared to be a human face. The mouth was open but I could barely discern the sound. Then slowly, I felt my hearing come back. That face before me began to clear - it was Hunter. His mouth was open and his face contorted. He was screaming in agony.

Still disoriented, I tried to put the pieces together.
Hunter.... Hit...
I opened my mouth to call for the medic. I felt my mouth open but couldn't hear what sounded like an intelligible human sound - more like a grunt and a squawk. All in slow motion. I tried again. And again.
And again. But it seemed all I could do for now was croak. A shadow darkened my vision and I deciphered a body drop beside me. Some unknown instinct raised my hand perfectly to this body's collar and with surprising strength yanked it down. I merely pointed at Hunter and the body seemed to nod in assent. I let go of the collar and tried to sit up. Almost instantaneously, a sharp shooting pain ran from my arm up to my chest. I gasped in agony and drew a sharp breath. I turned my head to take a look. My vision was still blurry so I wiped my eyes. My hand came away red. I looked at my arm and saw still more red. Pieces of the puzzle were falling in place...

Blood. I've been.... hit!

Waves of panic added themselves to the waves of nausea. And all this time, my hearing was making a slow comeback. I started to recognise the sounds of light weapons - both friend and foe. Possible machine guns and/or rockets/mortars.

The body beside me yanked my collar and seemed to be trying to speak to me. It was Sgt. McClellan. "You all right, Sir? Sir?! We've been ambushed! Tomlinson is down. We lost contact with Dietrich and Masters. Contact seems to be hav..."
"Hunter's been hit", I managed to croak. unnecessarily.
"Yes Sir. I called for the medic but I suspe...."

*whump* I heard that dreaded sound and knew what was coming. McClellan screamed "INCOMING!" before crashing over me. I heard the tell tale whine of the round coming in. Explosion. Earth shifting. Heat wave. Dirt and mud and someone's arm flew everywhere.

I slowly raised myself to a near crouch. That's definitely a mortar.
And just as suddenly, my vision cleared. My hearing was back. And it seemed like my brain was back to functional. My arm still hurt like a son of a bitch though.

"Sgt. McClellan! What's the bullet?"
"Sir, Sgt. Tomlinson is down. We've lost contact with Dietrich and Masters. Save a couple casualties, most of the men are ok but we are under heavy fire. From what I can tell, most of it seems to be coming from..." he pointed his rifle, lifted his head a quick second and let loose a burst.... "that direction, Sir."

I took a quick look around while prone - I was behind the sturdy trunk of a fallen tree.
"James! Cover me!"
"Yes Sir!" replied Sgt. McClellan.
I mustered my courage, took a deep breath and poked my head over the tree trunk....

Tracers criss crossed and lit up the night in front of me. From the cacophony of noise - human, machine as well as natural... I began to hear the distinct *whump* of mortar rounds being launched... and then followed them as they traversed the air above and exploded at tree level - raining shrapnel, wood splinters, mayhem and death on us poor saps in the dirt. Over the intense din of rifle fire, I discerned the sound of HMGs (heavy machine guns), and from their tell tale 'hollow' sound, decided they were Soviet (hence, "enemy") in nature.

Those bastards have to be real fucking close! That mortar has got to be at least an 81, which means it's at least a regimental mortar. We got us a problem here...
Every once a while; a great, sharp *Shoooow* would sound right before an intense explosion.
Great! RPGs as well. This ain't VC all right!

I leaned over to Hunter and unstrapped his pack. He was screaming bloody murder but I ignored him for the moment. I pulled out my map and compass and guestimated a position.
"Tailhook this is Shade, over"
"Shade this is Tailhook. We read you loud and clear son, over"
"We've been ambushed. I estimate a Regiment or a reinforced Battalion with support weapons. Casualties light at the moment. I estimate most of our fire coming from grid two-nine-India-Romeo-two-six-Kilo-Sierra. Our position is just south of the India-Romeo line. Request arty and air support, over".

"Acknowledged Shade. We have arty standing by with air in 20, over"
"Roger. Stand by for co-ordinates"

I looked over at James. He was just finishing up a rough dressing on Hunter - he'd been hit in the arm. Hunter wasn't screaming anymore... just simpering along.
Damn I love that Morphine!

"James, when you're done playing with Hunter, I want you to crawl back and find Dietrich and tell him to close up to about 100 yards to our western flank. When he does, I want him to establish a skirmish line and engage the enemy. His role is to provide the base of fire while the rest of us move out. Got that??"
"But Sir!" protested Sgt. McClellan, "we've lost contact with Sgt. Dietrich!"
"Sergeant! I KNOW that! Which is why it's imperative we re-establish contact! Fall back 250 meters and head west. You should be able to pick their trail".
"Yes Sir!" Sgt. McClellan crawled off.

"Hang in there Hunter. Doc will be by soon", I whispered. Lied though my teeth would probably been more accurate. I have no idea if the medic was still alive... much less when he'd drop by.

I looked over to my right and spotted Pvt.Shubert. I crawled over.
"Shubert. Crawl on back and bring the troop forward. SPREAD 'EM OUT! But bring 'em forward. GO!"
Shubert crawled off.

HMG rounds were still *warfing* and *woofing* over my head. I tried to tune my ears to the *whump* followed by the whistle that announced the launch of each mortar round to discern where they were coming from ... but it was impossible - the closed jungle made it difficult to judge.

Probably from the right flank. Probably...
I crawled over to my left as best I could.
*whump* ... Yep! That mortar is on our right flank. I hunched up and let lose a burst from my rifle and then ducked down. I repeated this about 5 times. I received a long burst of rifle and machine gun fire in return. I traded rounds a few more times...

That ought to get their fancy...
I crawled back to my position... just as Doc Hughes crashed down besides Hunter.
Shubert reported back, along with Syckes and Smith.

 

[gunslingingbird]

Re: A day in the life...

Thank you for sharing your experiences with us Roughneck. I really appreciate being able to hear from a first person account instead of what Hollywood decides we should hear.

 

[bodie54]

Re: A day in the life...

I don't rightly know what a click is.

A click is one kilometer.

 

[gunslingingbird]

Re: A day in the life...

A click is one kilometer.

Awesome! Thank you much! :glugglug:

 

[senob44]

Re: A day in the life...

Another gripping installment. Thanks as always, Roughneck.

 

[Roughneck]

Re: A day in the life...

"Syckes! Smith! Bring up your squads and spread out. Syckes go lef...'
"RPG!" screamed a voice.

We hugged dirt.
I watched a trail smoke towards Doc Hughes and Hunter. There was a bright flash and a terrific roar. When the smoke and dust cleared, there was no sign of Doc or Hunter.

Direct hit! Fuck! Direct fucking hit!
My mind felt numb.

I snapped my head left. "Syckes! Smith! Bring up your squads and spread out. Syckes go South a 200 yards and wait for me to bring the rest of my squad. Smith.... SMITH!"
I smacked him on his helmet. Like a spastic, he jerked his attention from the smoldering remains of Doc and Hunter and looked at me. I grabbed his collar and jerked his face close to mine "Smith. Wake the fuck up!"
"I'm.. I'm here Sergeant!"
"Good! Listen to me. Stay here with your squad and provide cover fire. McClellan should have rendezvoused with Dietrich by now. They'll be bringing up the North flank. You're job is to stay here and keep the enemy busy. Pour it on 'em. I'm leaving Axner, Forth and Lasson (light machine gun team) with you. Make good use of 'em. You got me soldier?!!!"
Smith seemed more composed in his reply, "yes sir! Decoy the enemy till you flank."
"Good. We're moving out. Bring your men forward and lay it on thick. You got 2 minutes!"
"Roger that sir!", with that Smith scampered off. I could only hope that he hadn't completely lost his mind and that he still had some semblence.
Smith and Hunter were childhood buddies and had enlisted together. He'd just seen his childhood friend get obliterated by a direct hit from a rocket.

Fuck it all to hell!
Oh! So now you're upset? Lose someone you know?
Damnit! They're my men! Hughes is a good man!
You mean 'was' a good man. He's quite dead you know.
Fuck you!

I shook my head and let out a curse. I was hurt.
And I was pissed. Angry. Madder than hell.

Syckes was already prepping his squad and was ready to move out. I took a quick peek over cover to get a quick update of what was going on. There were still at least two machine gun posts in front of us - at least one of them was a HMG. There seemed to be at least a squad or more of riflemen interspersed with rocket teams. To the rear was the damned mortar manned by their version of Davy Crockett, raining murderous fire on us. As terrifying and lethal (and nearby!) as the rifle and rocket teams, the machine guns were a bigger threat and the mortar the biggest of 'em all. Besides the lethality of explosive ordnance in tree foliage terrain (mortar rounds explode and shower the air not just with metal splinters but also shards of wood), it was more difficult because you can't avoid incoming fire if you can't see it coming (and thus, conversely, it's harder retaliate because you can't shoot at someone you couldn't see).

I had artillery on standby and an air strike (albeit delayed) to call on.

But you can't target something you couldn't define. At the moment all I knew was that I have "opposition to my Front". It had to be a little accurate than that or I'd simply end up wasting fire (and thus possibly put my men in further jeopardy).
I gathered the remainder of the platoon minus Smith's group and joined Syckes. Together we began the arduous - if most basic - of modern light infantry tactics .... seek cover, suppress fire and maneuver. Seek cover, suppress fire and maneuver. Seek cover, suppress fire and maneuver. Repeat as desired.
Predictably, the enemy stuck to his plan and didn't seem to pay us much attention. We were almost in place when I heard the jungle behind me resonate with a deafening fusillade of fire - Smith and the boys were probably in position and pouring it on.

It seemed to have the desired effect. Enemy fire directed towards us seemed to slacken. Of course, this meant that they'd shifted their attention towards Smith and the boys. Our momentary solace meant they were catching hell. It only served to redouble our efforts.

After what seemed like an eternity, Syckes dropped to the dirt and I crawled over to him. We hastily looked around and determined we were where we were supposed to be - given the chaos of the battle and the ever present fucking rain. In any case, it was more a race against time - that we were in position or not, Smith's men were catching hell and banking on us to start our attack anytime now... and then there was the somewhat ambiguous status of Dietrich's men and McClellan. Assuming James had made contact (what were my alternatives if he hadn't? I honestly didn't want to think about it... not that I had time to think about it in any case), Dietrich's men would be in position now and itching to break open. We had to move.

Now...

"Syckes"... I whispered through heavy breaths, "have the boys fix bayonets. We'll move closer by about a 100 yards on high alert. Hopefully we won't need 'em, but I want 'em to be prepared in any case"
Syckes looked at me with wide eyes. Nodded assent.
Word passed down the line. Rustling and metallic clicks could be heard as the men fashioned bayonets to the end of their rifles.
I snuck a quick look back.

Through the darkness and the driving rain and flashes of lightning, I saw the faces of the men (boys!). They were trembling, like horses at the starter gate. Every eye that met mine showed fear. I only hoped that mine didn't return the same....

The cool, calm, collected veteran.
I thought I told you to shut up!
I'm only stating fact...
Well, shut up nevertheless!

I stood up. Slowly raised my arm up above my head. Palm open.
This is it...

And in the blink of an eye, I dropped the arm.
"Forward!", I breathed to myself.
And in one seamless motion, the troop picked itself up and moved forward. At a run. In a way that punished our backs...

Swift. Sure. Deadly.

Within seconds, we made contact.
And within those seconds, my role as combat commander almost dropped down to nil. From now on, it really was in the hands of the sergeants. Corporals. Privates.

Teams.
Individuals.

It was all a blur. Chaos. The uniform, rain cloaked darkness was shattered unevenly by flashes and powerful explosions. Shrapnel and bullets rent the air.
The hunted and the hunters, often indistinguishable in the dark night, grappled for their very lives.
Cries and screams of terror and agony.

A co-ordinated volley of fire took out an entire line of enemy riflemen. The enemy HMG shifted fire and barked in our direction. It drew casualties but it was soon silenced with a well placed grenade.

Onward we scampered. Orders hardly seemed to make a difference - terror was the singular driving factor. Men, who'd resigned themselves to their deaths fought to preserve what pitiful hold they had on life.

"Tailhook! This is Shade, Over."
"Shade, this is Tailhook", I managed to hear over the outwordly din; "still waiting on that co-ordinates son. Over"
"Roger that Shade. Co-ordinates are two-seven-India-Romeo-four-six-Kilo-Sierra. Our position is west of the India-Romeo line. I say again, west of the India-Romeo line. Request fire for effect".
"Shade, acknowledge co-ordinates two-seven-India-Romeo-four-six-Kilo-Sierra. Hang tight son, help i..."


The world went silent. High pitched whine. I felt a blow to my cheek.
Then the world went black.

I felt like I was choking. I could not breathe. My lungs were on fire while waves of nausea assaulted me. I tried to cough but felt too weak.
Paralyzed. Petrified. Powerless. Lost. Resigned. Flashes. Light. Darkness. Hurt. Pain.

Vague sounds that sounded like words at a far off distance..."Sir! Sir! You all right?!! Sir! Sergeant!"


I was having trouble breathing - like someone was suffocating me.
My eyes snapped open. A blur near my face. I tried to rub my eyes clear but my arms wouldn't respond. I struggled to see. Slowly, a face colaced itself.

Cpl. Graves.
The world seemed to stop.
I slowly followed Sgt. Graves face, down his arms .... he had his hands clamped firmly around my mouth (and in doing so was obstructing my nasal airway).
"Sir!" he whispered urgently, "wake up! Wake up for Christ's sake!"

My eyes snapped open and my mind seemed to clear. It was dawn. Murky and misty... but dawn nonetheless. I looked Graves in the eye and firmly grasped his hands. He slowly let go.


To Be Continued...

 

[senob44]

Re: A day in the life...

Damn, Roughneck. Riveting. I've never felt so close to the battlefield than when reading your installments. War is fucking hell.

 

[Roughneck]

“Are you alright Sir?” whispered Graves, a little more forcefully.

My mind tried to make sense of the situation.
Fuck! It was that damned nightmare again…

I looked right into Graves’ eyes and growled, “what do you want?”
“Well Sir”, whispered Graves, “just wanted to make sure you were all right. You were saying things while you was asleep”.

So, I’m reliving my nightmare again Corporal. Anything you’d like to add to that?

“How are the men, Graves?”
“We’re holding on per orders Sir.”
“Good. What’s our status?”
“Sir, we’re still holding a line roughly to the north and west of Task Force Norman. We’ve had no enemy show up the past 12 hours. We have routine 4 man patrols sweeping the area ahead of our line in co-ordination with Marine force Mike, who have been TDY to us, Sir. Whatever Charlie’s upto Sir, he ain’t showin’ up”
“Force strength?”
Graves paused. Then softened, “Trends and Funk from 3rd Platoon had to be evacc’d – booby trapped body got ‘em Sir.”
“They stable?”
“Dunno Sir.”

Well, we never fucking know, do we? I made a mental note to ask Sgt. Masters about his casualties.

“Supplies and rations?”
“Rations are good Sir, but it’d be nice if we could get re-supplied with some of our heavy stuff. We aren’t in crisis yet, but our MGs could do with some extra belts of ammo”.
“Good report, Graves. Thorough as expected. Have the section and platoon leaders report to me. Dismissed”.
“Yes Sir!”

I was still a little dazed; but I could see the look of worry on Graves’ face.

He’s worried about me. Concerned…
Well, why wouldn’t he be? You’re acting out your fears while asleep. Why woul…
You again! Damnit! Can’t you leave me alone! I have enough issues to deal with as is!
But Roy! You can’t dismiss me. I am you. My job is to ensure your sur…
My survival! Yeah! I got that. Now shut up and leave me alone!

“Right away, Graves”, I said.
“Right away, Sir!”

I opened my canteen, poured some water into my hands and proceeded to violently cleanse my face. I stopped, took a few deep breaths and looked up.

The sky was a dull grey, with wisps of pre-dawn mist sneaking by. The oppressive heat and humidity were unrelenting. I made a mental note to tell the men to conserve water and use their salt tablets – who the hell knew when we’d be resupplied again? The issue with the gunner’s ammo was telling enough. I swatted a bug on my neck and proceeded to check my rifle and gear.

By the time I had cleaned out my rifle, the section and platoon leaders showed up. One of the Sergeants was lugging a pot of coffee. We passed it around while we settled in for the briefing. Sgt. McCarthy from 2nd platoon looked haggard – his platoon had watch duty last night and he’d been up all night maintaining the perimeter. I didn’t envy him.

I swatted my 60,234th bug for the day and took a sip of coffee. Cleared my throat.
“Right men. We’re still holding a line North and West of Task Force Norman. We’re the advance guard for the entire Legion. Marine Force Mike, a force of recon Marines has been temporarily assigned to our command – together we’ll be able to sniff out the enemy quicker. As some of you no-doubt already know, the enemy has been probing our positions as well. As much as I regret the casualties we’ve taken, I’m proud of the way you men have handled the intrusions.”

I paused. The men were quiet. Keyed, but quiet. That’s always a good thing…

“The Legion wants us to hold this position at all costs. We’re sitting on some real good real estate and you can bet your last dollar the enemy wants it back. Now I won’t lie to you men. Task Force Norman is supposed to be our back up – to help us when we need it.”

I paused.

“But the truth is that most of their ranks is fresh bodies from back home. Meaning? They’re untried soldiers, gentlemen. Being in-country in Vietnam is about as alien to them as fucking their own grandfather.”

That elicited a few chuckles.

“We’d probably end up baby-sitting them more than we can expect them to help us out. Which means, gentlemen; that our game has to step up a few notches. I don’t care about the number of regulation socks in each man’s possession – but I do care about weapons readiness, rations and morale. Keep your men occupied but also keep them engaged. If you have any problems or issues, come get me.

I paused and studied the faces before me. Silent they were but in the air I could feel their brains churning.

“Any questions?”

Silence.

"We're still having trouble with re-supply. Have the men conserve water and stick to their salt tablets."

The men nodded assent.

“All right”, I nodded, “dismissed”.

The men began scattering.

“Sgt. Masters. A word please…”
“Yes Sir?”
“I know you lost Trends and Funk. How’s your unit holding up?”
“Sir, I’ve moved Polk up to take over Trends’ position. We’re a rifleman short because of Funk. We’ll manage Sir.”
“Thank you Sergeant. If you have any concerns, you can always talk to me. Dismissed”.
“Yes Sir”.

Another day in this dreadful jungle. Two men dead.
Business as fucking usual…

 

[gunslingingbird]

Thank you for the latest installment in your narrative Roughneck! :hatsoff: