Authors: Jr. James E. Parker
Hollingsworth stopped and walked to the front of the stage. “You’re good soldiers, in the finest tradition of the 1st Infantry Division. Good luck. Remember: Kill ’em, kill ’em fast.” He paused. “Kill ’em,” he added for good measure, then turned and left the stage.
“Damned fine plan, Bobby,” I said to Dunn as we left the briefing and started back to the battalion. “Damned fine.”
“You know,” he answered, “the cav commander said ol’ Slippery Clunker Six’s leading this thing. I bet this isn’t the last month of Slippery Clunker Six’s tour here. He wouldn’t be doing something like this if it were.”
I said, “Maybe this is his last month here—on this earth. He must feel invincible. He volunteered, too, you heard that. Volunteered? Can’t imagine that from someone who appeared so—so balanced. So perceptive. Seemed like such a smart fellow. Why you reckon he volunteered, Bob?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fumes inside those tanks. I wish him luck. He’s the best we got, and as a poet he’s going to be stage center here pretty soon.”
Dunn and I were busy fourteen hours a day as Haldane and Panton directed our battalion’s coordination with artillery, Air Force, the division G-3, the other battalions, and the helicopter units. Every new unit we had to liaise with was a problem multiplier.
I sought out Duckett and told him to keep his head down. “Europe is right out there, right where I can see it, at the tip of our fingers, Joe. Don’t get yourself blown up. This is important. Stay low, you big black lug. You hear me, you half-deaf son’bitch?” I went by his platoon sergeant and told him to protect Duckett with his life.
On D day minus two, we moved by C-130 to Quan Loi and were deployed to a rubber plantation off the runway where we would bivouac for the night. As we were walking along the road to the plantation, a cavalry troop came up behind us and,
with their tracks clanking and clamoring, slowly passed. Slippery Clunker Six was in the lead tank. He touched his hand to his tanker’s helmet as if to tip it when he passed Haldane and the command group. He recognized Dunn and me and gave a “V” sign with his right hand. He did look invincible—bigger than life.
Behind him were several ACAVs filled with cavalry troops. Our two groups exchanged taunts, probably the same barbs traded between the cavalry and foot soldiers since wars began.
I had the feeling that after a year in Vietnam, we were all coming together somewhere out there, going full speed: us, the cavalry, the artillery, the Air Force, the enemy.
We carried mountains of material in the command group and had extra radiomen assigned. Crash, loaded with gear, looked like a mountain guide from Kathmandu.
The following day, D day minus one, we were to be heli-lifted to the staging area to the south as part of the diversion operation. Except for those we put out on guards, the men stayed in their groupings for the heli-lift to the launch site at first light.
I woke up about 0430 the next morning. It was 9 July 1966. Crash was already up. He had made coffee and was looking over the colonel’s map, which he carried. Talking to the colonel as he gave him a cup of coffee, he said he thought the North Vietnamese would attack in our area. It was the closest point to the Cambodian border, and there were river valleys between the road and the border for the VC to use. Also, according to intelligence, elements of the VC 272d Regiment were reported near Minh Thanh as recently as the previous day. “It’s going to be our nickel, Colonel,” Crash said.
The transport helicopters and their gunships came in low over the trees at first light and were on the ground at the staging area by 0530. The men were onboard within minutes, and the helicopters lifted off for the forward launch site, ten minutes’ flying time from Checkpoint Tom.
Dunn went in the first chopper. I went in the last, after ensuring that no one had been left behind.
When I arrived at the forward launch site about 0630, Panton had already set up the battalion CP near a tree on a berm at the side of the field. The field itself was a half-mile square. In one
corner, two artillery batteries, a 105mm and a 155mm, had arrived, and the artillerymen were running around in organized chaos as they uncrated ammunition and prepared the guns for action. The thirty-one helicopters that had moved our battalion were in two files down the center of the field. The gunships, looking like a group of thugs, were off to the rear. All of the aircraft were in the process of shutting down. Most of the men from the battalion had disembarked and were lying around. Some of the pilots were walking around and talking to each other, while others remained sitting in their seats. The doors to the choppers were open.
Panton had laid out a map on the ground under the tree. A round rock, representing the convoy, lay on top of An Loc. Clearly marked along the road to Minh Thanh were the checkpoints: John, Gordon, Hank, Dick, and Tom. If Crash was right, the attack would come near Checkpoint Tom. We had six radios set up around the map on the ground. Haldane stayed close to the division command net radio, but we were most interested in the radio monitoring the cavalry’s frequency.
D hour of 0700 came and went. Finally, at 0710, Slippery Clunker Six broke static on the cav frequency and reported that the convoy was on its way—he was moving out. We recognized Slippery Clunker Six’s voice, which had the casual, reassuring tone of a friendly airline pilot.
Colonel Lewane in the C&C confirmed. We knew from the briefing that Slippery Clunker Six would be leading the task force in his tank, followed by another tank, then two ACAVs filled with troops, and then another tank. The remaining elements of Troop C would be dispersed within the convoy. Troop B would bring up the rear behind a wrecker. Colonel Lewane soon reported that the entire convoy was on the road and moving.
Shortly before Checkpoint Gordon, Slippery Clunker Six said he would begin to recon by fire as he went along. As he passed Gordon, he called out his position. We could hear the booming of a .50-caliber machine gun in the background.
Panton moved his rock. We drank coffee and smoked—waiting and listening. Birds sang in the distance. Flies buzzed around. Time dragged. I reread letters from my parents and from some children at a Nebraska public school.
Between Checkpoint Gordon and Hank was the first of the three areas from which Colonel Berry thought the Vietnamese might attack. Lewane reported that he saw people moving across the road around the bend from the lead tank. On the cavalry net we heard Slippery Clunker Six alert his troops and tell them to tighten their chin straps. Their Great Adventure might be coming up soon. He said he was going to recon ahead and told the ACAV behind him to follow. Everyone else was to hold back. Over the radio, we could still hear his .50-caliber machine gun firing. Then there was silence on the radios. All U.S. forces involved in the operation stood by and waited.
Finally the Quarterhorse colonel came back on and said that the people he had seen must have been hunters or farmers. He found no one in the area. The convoy moved on.
On the other side of Checkpoint Hank the road left the sparse prairie grass and entered a dense jungle forest. The convoy would travel under the canopy of the forest for more than two miles. It was the most dangerous area of the operation. If the convoy were attacked here, the closest place where reinforcements could land would be on either side of the forest.
Slippery Clunker Six said, on the cavalry net, that he was going into the Enchanted Forest and God be with anyone who tried to stop him before he came out. Lewane told him to be careful, he’d see him on the other side.
Ten minutes into the forest, Slippery Clunker Six reported, “There are some logs across the road three hundred meters to my front. Hold the convoy.”
Panton asked Colonel Haldane if we should alert the men and possibly start the helicopters. The colonel said no, not yet.
On the Quarterhorse radio frequency the cavalry platoon leader—several vehicles back from Slippery Clunker Six—said, “This could be a VC tax point. If it’s an ambush it’s not very subtle. I’m going to send a tank down with a blade on the front to act as a battering ram.” He told Slippery Clunker Six to move ahead and clear the road. He told one of the ACAVs to follow shooting.
We waited, looking around at each other.
Slippery Clunker Six came back on the radio and said, “We’re
moving out again, the road’s clear. No Charlie, but we sure scared the hell out of some trees.”
The sun was climbing in the morning sky and it began to get hot. Down by the artillery we could hear one of the NCOs in the fire direction center of the 155 battery yell an alert to the gunner. Apparently the convoy was coming into range of its guns. We saw a man climb over one of the traces to the gun and put his eye into a sight.
Colonel Lewane said that the fast movers orbiting on standby were running out of fuel and would be replaced by new jets.
Panton pointed out that the convoy had not received any sniper fire, which proved to him that something was planned. The VC operated all along the road. Unless they were told to keep down because a big attack was planned, they would have been sniping.
The convoy approached Checkpoint Dick and the 105 battery in our area went on alert. The gunners turned the tube slowly as their fire direction center plotted the movement of the convoy.
Haldane sent Dunn and me to tell all the company commanders to have their men take a piss and get ready. We walked down the line and spoke to each commander. Woolley was, as usual, full of good cheer. Our relationship had not changed since I had moved to battalion. He was a fine officer and a gentleman, and I did not try to become familiar. I would have followed him to hell.
Dunn started back to the battalion group and I told him I’d be along soon. I walked over to my old platoon. Bratcher was sitting in a helicopter with his feet dangling over the side. Propped up on his radio, Spencer was lying on the ground close by. Lieutenant Trost had contracted dengue fever during the previous operation and was back at the division aid station. Bratcher was acting platoon leader.
Beck came out of the crowd of men and stood beside me. I sat down next to Bratcher, who offered me a cigarette. Spencer stood up, and Manuel, Lyons, and King walked up to join Beck in a semicircle around us. Bratcher asked if I knew anything they didn’t about this upcoming operation. “Nope,” I said, “you know about as much as I do. But I know this—we got less than a couple of months to go in-country. You don’t have to be a hero to catch that plane out, just alive.”
“Yeah,” Bratcher said, “we’ll be okay.”
Returning to the battalion CP, I noticed on the map that Panton’s rock was near Checkpoint Tom. I looked back at the helicopters and saw that most of the pilots were in their seats. The gunships started up with their individual swooshes and whines.
Slippery Clunker Six came on the air and said that across the field ahead was Tom, the intersection of the road, and a tree line. He was moving out front as point.
Trees came down close to the road for about a half mile and then the road went through a marshy area and up a short incline. The road had been built up in the swampy area and had steep banks. Crash had a stick in his hand and tapped the map just beyond Tom.
Slippery Clunker Six said that he was approaching Tom and was going to move ahead through the woods at a good pace.
After telling Panton to motion for the helicopters to crank, Haldane stood on the berm and raised his hand—his signal to the company commanders to load.
I picked up the satchel I was to carry for the colonel, then helped Crash put on his radio. The entire command group packed up and started moving toward two helicopters near the front of the column. Haldane had insisted that he get on the ground as soon as possible to coordinate the counterambush. If an attack occurred now, we would be the first in. We would be going in on both sides of the incline near the marsh.
Crash had the division radio. The RTO behind him had a radio on the Quarterhorse frequency, and as we walked to the helicopter we heard the Quarterhorse commander in the C&C saying that he spotted some people ahead of the convoy.
Slippery Clunker Six, on his net, reported the same thing and said he was taking the people under fire.
Then, suddenly from Capt. Steve Slottery, commander of Troop C in Task Force Dragoon, “We’re under attack! All around us! My lead tank’s hit. They’re all over us.…” In the background we heard catastrophic, violent firing and explosions.
On the Air Force spotter aircraft frequency, a calmer, businesslike pilot’s voice said, “Bingo, Bingo, Lead 42 come down on my smoke.”
The artillery at the end of the field began firing before we
reached our helicopter. As I jumped on, it began to lift off. The gunships were already in the air and heading toward the convoy.
The artillery behind us began to fire at a steady, deafening rate, the concussions pounding off our chests one after another. All around us helicopters were gaining altitude and heading toward the road. I was sitting beside the Air Force radio and tried to make out the indistinct messages between the spotter aircraft and the jets. From the radio to my left I could hear the sounds of battle on the Quarterhorse frequency above the noises of the helicopters, and the frantic messages among the cavalry leaders as they fought for their lives in the middle of the ambush.
In the distance ahead of us, a jet streaked down from the heavens and, after it pulled up, a giant ball of fire flashed. Nearby, within seconds, another ball of fire appeared from an unseen jet.
I caught myself whistling, looking ahead, tense. Faintly, from the distance, we began to hear explosions on the ground. The helicopters moved off the treetops and gained altitude so they could get a diving run down into the LZ. The higher they lifted, the more fires we saw in front of us. Off to the southeast I could barely make out the end of the convoy still out in the field. Some vehicles were ablaze.
The road through the woods was clearly marked by the Air Force and artillery fire. Some gunships already on the scene came into sharp contrast as they streaked past burning napalm.