Authors: Thom Nicholson
We settled in at the downed tree and started the monotonous scanning of the empty road. About midnight, Ray whispered toward me, “
Dai Uy
. Movement on the road to your right. About three hundred meters from the honey pot. See ’em?”
I swung my rifle to the right. Sure enough, two people coming down the dark road, way out at the edge of the seeing distance on the scope. “Got ’em. Watch ’em close. This late, it has to be someone up to no good.”
I swung back to my side of the honey pot. It was all clear. The two coming from the right were the only people we’d seen on the road during dark in two nights.
The two continued on toward us, moving slowly but confidently. “Come on, you sons of bitches,” I urged silently. I wanted them close, where we had a very good chance of dropping them. They came on, two men in black pajamas, carrying something in their hands.
“
Dai Uy,
” Lawrence whispered. “That’s a shovel one is carrying.”
“We got ’em, Ray. Let ’em start to dig before we do anything, then we go together. We’ll take ’em both out at the same time. Keep breathin’ easy. Don’t get yourself excited. This is just another job. We don’t want to get shaky from hyperventilation.” You’d have thought I was as calm as a stone, but in fact, it was all I could do to keep from shaking like a leaf. Damn, it was exciting. The two VC were walking right into our zone of fire. Lawrence and I were about to kill the SOBs who had hurt Big Momma and many other Americans. They didn’t have the faintest idea we were watching their every move. It was like two condemned men dancing before their executioners.
The road made a slight bend about a hundred meters right of the honey pot. Trucks had chewed up the edge there, and the two sappers had chosen that spot to lay their deadly surprise for the trucks they expected in the morning. They stopped, and one started to dig in the compacted soil of the roadway.
“Ray,” I whispered. “it’s about three hundred fifty meters from here. Set your sight and aim at the center of mass on the guy to the right. I’ll take the one to the left. You got it?”
“Gotcha,
Dai Uy
. I’m ready when you are.”
“Okay. I’m gonna count to three. We fire on three. Got it?”
“Roger.”
“Ready. One … Two … Three.
Bam! Bam!
The two hunting rifles went off within a gnat’s whisker of simultaneity.
My target, which had been kneeling on the road, threw out his hands and fell face forward in the dirt. Ray’s target was standing, and I saw him spin and fall like a dancer who’d lost his balance. The dark greenish figure started to get up, pushing away from the road like a man doing push-ups. His head was arched back, as if he was in great pain.
“Christ! You didn’t get him clean. He’s getting up. Hit him again, and do it right.” I was nearly screaming in my excitement.
Quickly Lawrence jacked another round into the chamber of his rifle and took aim. The second shot hit the VC high in the back, because he jerked up, still supported by his arms, and pitched forward, face down and feet pointed our way.
“That got the bastard,” Ray muttered.
I looked at the two silent and still forms. Neither moved. Finally, I scanned the area, and not seeing anyone, called Sergeant Garrett and told him of our success. “Stay in position until morning,” I told him, “just in case some more show up. At daylight, come up to the road and catch a ride on the trucks. We’ll meet you at the bodies.”
“Roger. And way to go,
Dai Uy.
”
“Roger, out.”
I felt damned good. We’d made a solid hit on two VC mine layers caught in the act. That would be a good deterrent.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and as it grew light enough to see, we moved out of our hiding spot and toward the two dead VC.
As we drew closer, something about the bodies disturbed me. Suddenly, Ray gasped in choked voice. “My God,
Dai Uy
. They’re women! Oh, God, what have I done?”
I moved to the one I had shot. The bullet had hit her right under her arm and passed through the frail body, killing her instantly. It was the old grandma-san who sold Cokes by the roadside. She must have been a plant of the Viet Cong, reporting on our movements. Ray was standing by his target. The long black hair was matted with dried blood. I rolled her over. It was the young granddaughter, the front of her chest blown away, flesh, blood, and muck all over the dirt where she had lain. Beside her lay a Soviet antitank mine, ready for planting. It would have blown a truck to smithereens, along with most anyone riding in it.
By that time Ray was over by the side of the road, puking his insides out. I fought the same urge myself. Nung, my Yard radio operator, was the calmest of the three of us. “VC dead. No more mines. Good.” He nodded, and stood by the bodies, his dark brown face impassive, as if embarrassed by the reaction of the supposedly tough American warriors.
I went to where Ray was sitting, his head between his knees, fighting back tears and nausea. “Nung’s right, Larry.
They were VC. They knew the score when they started this. It was their choice. We just did what had to be done.”
“Oh, shit, Captain. I’ve bought Cokes from her a dozen times. I just can’t shrug it off. She was an old woman, and the girl isn’t sixteen yet.”
“I know, but it’s done. You can’t beat yourself up over it. Remember what they did to Big Momma. Think of the men on our trucks she was trying to kill.”
Lawrence looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I’ll try, but it doesn’t help much.”
“I know, but accept it and shake it off. I see the trucks coming. Come on, we need to get these two wrapped up in poncho liners.”
I reported in to the CO and Major Skelton as soon as we got back. Both were surprised to learn our minelayers’ identities.
Donahue shook his head. “Shit, but all sort of crap’s gonna hit the fan when the two of them are discovered. We’ll have a dozen villagers in here demanding an investigation into the murder of two innocent women by American snipers.”
“They won’t be found, sir,” I answered quietly. Both men looked at me.
“I brought the bodies back with me. I figured we could take them out in the bay and dump ’em. The sharks would take care of the rest, and we could deny ever having anything to do with their disappearance. It would leave a good message without subjecting us to local aggravation.”
Lieutenant Colonel Donahue’s eyes reflected his distaste with what I was proposing. “Jesus, Captain. Get out of here. I don’t want to know anything about anything. Take care of the garbage detail, and keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
And I did and we did and they did and nobody ever did. Only the horrible memory of how they looked, lying there on the road, remains with me.
The tragic night of the roadside kill transformed the once feisty Ray Lawrence. He became a much more solemn person, and began to get smashed at the O-club on a fairly regular basis. The killing of the two women weighed heavily on his mind. On duty he worked hard, doing his job to my satisfaction, but he was no more a virgin as far as the war went. None of the lighthearted fun and games now, just doing his job or drowning his memory in booze.
I tried to help him find comfort for his tormented conscience, telling him over and over that he had done the right thing, but he was slow to recover his composure. Worrying about him made it easier for me to live with what had happened. In convincing him it had been the right thing to do, I convinced myself. The picture of the two of them lying so still and crumpled on the dirt road stuck with me, but the sickening guilt went away, and I suppose that was all I could hope for.
We never heard much of anything about their disappearance from the local villagers. I’m sure questions were asked by someone, but with no physical evidence, and the sure knowledge that someone knew what the old gal was up to, the inquiries were minimal. For everyone else, the two simply were not by the side of the road anymore, and that was that. In the flux of the war, unexplained disappearances were not that uncommon.
After a couple of weeks, the memory became more tolerable, and the war went on. Men came and went, some died,
and some lived to return home. B Company took all my work time training the new recruits. I amused myself at night counting the days until my rotation date. A late season typhoon hit the coast, preventing cross-border operations, and the VC stayed quiet, too busy keeping dry. Nothing happened except the camp almost washed away, and everyone’s floor was flooded. The bright side was the high surf generated by the weather. The crashing waves were wonderful to play in, and just about everybody got in some intense bodysurfing.
As the rains slackened, B company went on alert as the reaction force for a month. I started watching the field reports coming in from the recon teams in the bush and decided if anything popped this time, I’d go. It would be my last, and after I returned, no matter what the reason, no more trips to the woods. I was getting damn close to my DEROS (date expected return from overseas). Having made the decision was a relief, and I slept a little better for it.
In the hope that a little action would help him deal with his guilt and remorse, I planned to take Lt. Ray Lawrence with me if we did insert. We received an insertion alert within a week.
Major Angle, our briefing officer, passed out some high-altitude infrared photographs of a spot in the jungle. Barely visible was a small cluster of huts outlined by the fires burning inside them.
“The air force sent these over this morning. They were made last night. Look at the circled spots. The small ones are the hot engines of wheeled vehicles. The bigger ones are hootches. The flyboys think it’s a motor park, with some assigned mechanics or guards living nearby in the hootches. This may be the road running up to the place.”
I struggled to see what he was describing, but wasn’t sure about it. I would have to take the photointerpretation boys’ word for it. I passed the pictures around to the rest of my people as Major A continued.
“The bad weather has given the NVA a chance to push
truck traffic south, and there have been several possible sightings to the north of this location in the last forty-eight hours. I want to put a platoon of your troops in at dusk, somewhere about here, north of this park. You’ll report any trucks that you spot coming down the road tonight, and sweep the village tomorrow morning. The air force will hit the place at first light tomorrow, and you can check the results. Pick up samples of what the trucks are carrying if you can, and of course, bring back any POWs you happen to come across. Study the map and be at the heliport at 1700 for pickup.”
I was concerned about the weather and asked for a three-day forecast. “It’s gonna be cloudy, and maybe some rain, but not heavy,” the weather NCO from the S-3 shop said. “You’ll be able to get in and out if you don’t stay too long.”
Lieutenant Lawrence, Sergeant Garrett, and myself spent the remainder of the day reviewing the mission and studying the map of the area, which was just southwest of Base Area 910. That’s where I spent some time on the ground a couple of months earlier, looking for a suspected bulldozer making a road. I concluded the NVA must have finished the project.
“By God, I’d sure like to get some trucks, wouldn’t you,
Dai Uy
?” Garrett was almost beaming at the thought.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “They might be chock-full of NVA, as mean as junkyard dogs. I wouldn’t care too much for that with only thirty people to back me up.”
“Naw,” Garrett airily replied. “The NVA soldier walks to work. Trucks will have ammo and supplies, not troops inside.”
“I sure hope you’re right.” I pointed at a spot about five klicks north of the suspected truck park. This looks like a good place to land. What do you think, Ray?”
“Looks fine to me,
Dai Uy.
”
We picked a reasonable-looking LZ, made our plans, and headed back to the company area to get the men ready. Promptly at 1800 hours, only an hour late, we were on our way. The setting sun outlined the dark clouds above the western horizon in brilliant shades of red and gold. “Red sky
at night, sailor’s delight,” I mumbled to myself as we leaped from the hovering choppers and headed into the bush. It didn’t take long for the moisture-covered brush to soak us. Because of the higher altitudes in the mountains of eastern Laos, I knew it was going to be a long and uncomfortable night.
It got cooler, and we all grew more miserable as we thrashed our way in the direction of the unseen road. I was watching the point man in the fading light when he held up his hand and motioned me forward. There it was, a muddy one-laner, carved out of the hillside we were descending, and well hidden by the high trees overhead. Alongside the road was a footpath, and it showed evidence of heavy use, although there weren’t any tracks since the last rain, which had probably been the night before.
I put the men in a linear ambush covering about two hundred meters of the road and moved out to check the area for myself. There were no fresh tracks on the road, but that didn’t mean much. Certainly, it had been used in the recent past. All we could do was hope that some trucks would come by our ambush that night. I would allow the trucks to pass if there were more than three, and the air force could hit them at the truck park. If three or less, we would ambush them ourselves.
We were in an excellent spot for a hit. The road was cut along the side of a hill too steep for any escape except up or down the road. If we had to fight, they would have to come uphill, and I had the recent memory of the advantage that meant for a defender.
We settled in and tried to stay as dry as possible and warm, both feats impossible for even the best woodsmen among us. As high as we were, the temperature dropped into the low sixties at night. For someone just off the beach at Da Nang, that was cold. All we could do was wrap ourselves up in our ponchos and try to stay dry and warm.
Around 0200, we heard the sound of trucks approaching. Around the bend from the north came four vehicles, driving
very slowly, with only a tiny beam of light emitting from heavily masked headlamps to illuminate the way. As they passed us by, I could see the driver and his shotgun rider, both straining to see the road through the dark, misty gloom. When they disappeared around the far curve, I called in the news to Prairie Fire Control. “Looks good for your raid tomorrow. Four juicy trucks just went by, headed for the truck park.”