It took only minutes to sort out the six least-damaged boats and exchange enough of the weapons and men to make them a more formidable force than they had been previously.
They moved out at high speed, each one cranked up to maximize the twenty-five knots they were designed for. This time David had little opportunity to study his charts or memorize the landmarks for a return trip. Each boat was on its own until they discovered their quarry.
The first item in his plans involved calling headquarters. He asked directly for the Task Force Commander for their region.
“This is Victory Garden One,” the Rear Admiral answered after a short delay. “Go ahead. Over.”
“This is Bugle Boy.” He wasted no words. “Have encountered heavy riverine resistance near the border. Two attacks. Bugle Boy One is returning with damaged craft. XO now in command. Two craft sunk. Two badly damaged. Half a dozen in poor condition. Enemy escaping over water toward border. I believe they are covering for a large force, possibly the heavy troop concentration we were sent out to look for. I am closing with six well-armed PBR's. We have a secondary force of damaged boats and the ASPB is a rear guard. Request airborne assistance. Over.”
“Roger, Bugle Boy. What is your estimated range from the border? Over.”
“Estimate three to five miles. We are moving at flank speed, and it's hard to tell our exact location. Over.”
“This is Victory Garden. Roger your location. We believe the troop concentration may be close to your present location. Do you require the aircraft for your own protection? Over.”
“This is Bugle Boy. Negative. We believe there is a larger force ahead because of the nature of their attacks. If they lead us into it, the airdales can take it from there. Over.”
“This is Victory Garden. We are scrambling Phantoms for you now. Call sign Playboy. Time on station twenty minutes. They will contact you on this channel. However, do not cross the border. Repeat, do not cross the border. We will monitor this channel. Over.”
“This is Bugle Boy. Roger and thank you. Out.”
They were rounding a bend of the river in a ragged formation when the water in front of them belched upward. The lead boat was not with them when they appeared on the other side of the wall of water. It had likely been on top of one of the mines and had simply disappeared. Ahead were the VC, the ones who had detonated the mines strung across the river, and this time they were waiting for the Americans.
As the PBR's came through the wall of water, the VC opened fire from both the boats and the shore. David's boats answered, this time with the increased firepower he had acquired from the other boats. The Communist craft, realizing they were offering too easy a target near the shore, moved out into the river. But it was too late for two of them. Both bazooka and .50-caliber fire ripped into them. They began to smoke.
There was no place for the PBR's to seek cover. The smaller VC boats were moving across the river. “Take them head to head,” David shouted to his boats over the radio, and the little PBR's maintained their twenty-five-knot speed right into the middle of the enemy.
At this point, David realized that the fire from the shoreline had been heavier than from the boats. They must have been offloading troops, probably the ones that had ambushed them downriver. The fire from shore could not keep up with the speeding boats, and was minimal once David's PBR's were among the enemy. The VC craft were not as fast or as maneuverable as the PBR's. The latter boats had the advantage of speed and firepower as they swept by. Reversing their direction, they made a second run on the VC boats, only two of which now showed much fight. The others were aimlessly floating in the middle of the river, abandoned by their crews. One of the remainder took two bazooka hits simultaneously, drifting toward the shore. With all the fire now concentrated on the remaining boat, it was literally lifted out of the water.
David's five remaining boats had been raked continuously by small-arms fire but none of the heavier weapons from shore had touched them. With only superficial damage, they were still fully operable, and he turned his attention to the sporadic fire from shore. They're going to disappear again, he thought. He picked up the mike, calling to his meager force, “I'm going in to shore to see where they're off to now. Number four boat come with me. The rest of you cruise offshore, covering us. You're going to see a bunch of Phantoms coming in low soon, and that's when we can all relax.”
They beached their craft right where the VC boats had pulled out from the shoreline to stop them. It was just like Mezey had said about his previous trip ashore that day. Not a soul remained. Spent shell casings gave evidence of weapons having been fired. There had obviously been many people there at one time, yet they had disappeared as if by magic.
Then, on the opposite side of the huge clearing they had entered, he saw the vehicle tracks, many of them. Since there were few roads through the jungle, the VC used trucks and other large vehicles only when they were carrying heavy equipment. The docking area they had landed at indicated it was well used, probably to land men and supplies. This must be the staging area the generals and admirals had been hoping for. He heard the roar of the jet planes at the same time the first call came over the radio, “Bugle Boy, Bugle Boy, this is Playboy. Do you read me. Over.”
“This is Bugle Boy. Welcome. Over.”
“This is Playboy. Request your coordinates. Over.”
David studied the chart he pulled from his pocket. He found it hard to convince himself that they weren't already in Cambodia. “This is Bugle Boy. You are passing directly over me now. Can you see anything to the west of this location. Over.”
There was silence on the circuit for a moment as the five Phantoms swooped low over the jungle not too far from where the staging area existed. “Wow! I have trucks, artillery, and. many troops in sight. Bugle Boy, what are your coordinates? It looks to us like we've got a problem. They're in another country, my friend. Over.”
“Playboy, Playboy, you are cutting out on this circuit. Switch to channel seventeen. Out.” And the circuit was suddenly dead. He had to take the chance. He knew that headquarters would be listening on that circuit, or at least they could hear the talking from the Phantoms' end.
He had the coordinates he wanted as he attempted to regain contact with the Phantom squadron leader. “Playboy, this is Bugle Boy. How do you read me now? Over.”
“This is Playboy. You're loud and clear. You can bet that Victory Garden is going to be unhappy about not being in on this conversation. They want to make sure we were playing by the rules. Over.”
“Roger, Playboy. I understand. I have our location now.” And he had bought the time to give them the coordinates that would have placed them about three miles to the east. Now, he didn't care if Victory Garden had also switched to channel 17. “You're safe to make your runs, now. And give it to them good. They tore apart our squadron, and we'd like them to know how it feels. Over.”
“Roger, Bugle Boy. We are commencing our first run now. And I also think you're lost, but I never saw such a great target. We were told to follow your orders. We thank you for your assistance. Out.”
They could see nothing through the jungle that surrounded them, but as they returned to their boats they could hear the multiple explosions well above the roar of the mighty jet engines. As the five boats slowly pulled out onto the brown water they were greeted with an earthshaking explosion in the distance. It was followed by billowing clouds of black smoke, then Continuous, thundering explosions.
After the Phantoms had made the last of many runs at the unseen target, and were climbing for their return home, the same voice came back on channel 17 again, “Bugle Boy, this is Playboy. We thank you. That goes down in the books as one of our best targets. That lovely cloud of smoke you see probably represents both a fuel and an ammo dump. They were up to something big. Hope you see it when our film is developed. Have a safe trip home. Out.”
The court of inquiry was said to be an informal one, but David noticed there were more stars than he had seen in one room in Vietnam for a long time. The reason for the announced informality was to make sure none of the correspondents appeared. The less they knew about the purpose of the inquiry, the better for all involved as far as the Navy was concerned.
The films taken from the Phantoms had shown not only the largest staging area they had come upon in a long time, but they also confirmed the fact that it was in Cambodia. The inquiry was to determine how such an error could have been made. It centered on Lieutenant David Charles, who had called for the air strike after inflicting heavy casualties on what apparently had been an effective water route for one of the largest VC forces in the area. The five petty officers in charge of David's remaining boats each indicated that their acting commanding officer had checked his charts earlier but had no time afterward to pinpoint his location because of severe enemy fire. As a matter of fact, they stated, only by his taking the enemy under fire at full speed and sinking the remainder of their riverine force, had they been able to pinpoint the location of the VC forces that were finally destroyed.
The findings of the court of inquiry were not made public. However, for the sake of form, the court found Lieutenant Charles guilty of negligence in going over the border. On the other hand, they recommended only an official reprimand be placed in his service record since his personal efforts were responsible for destroying an exceptionally large enemy force. They further decided among themselves that the Admiral also ensure that a commendation be placed in his service jacket for individual initiative. They felt that they could not award him a medal since that could become public acknowledgement. Lieutenant Commander Mezey received the Silver Star, the five petty officers each were awarded the Navy Cross, their crews the Navy and Marine Corps medal, and the entire squadron received a unit citation. The final recommendation was that Lieutenant Charles be transferred back to the States. They intended to make it as difficult as possible for the press to learn about his special day in Vietnam.
Lieutenant Charles was sent to Treasure Island on temporary duty to await orders to his next billet. Upon arriving in San Francisco, he got in touch with his old friend at Supers and asked if they could arrange to send him to Monterey to Russian language school. Ken Kehs was glad to cooperate, especially since the stories had already reached Washington. The senior officers were more than happy to have the young man in Monterey, a quiet, out-of-the-way place where he would be far away from the cocktail circuit stories of his Cambodian escapade.
Captain Kehs was also happy to inform him that a special board had recommended him for lieutenant commander, an early promotion.
At his wetting-down party at the Officers Club, he also met Maria Springer, whose husband had never returned to his carrier from a mission over Hanoi. The other pilots in his Phantom squadron reported.that a missile had sheared off his left wing. No parachute had been seen. He was declared officially dead, and Maria had said to herself that she would never again go out with a military man. But the Navy takes care of its own, and her friends had stayed close to her. They wanted her to get out and socialize.
She hadn't intended to go to anyone's wetting-down party, especially with the noise coming from that lounge. But one of the people in her group had been a classmate of David's and insisted they should join the party. Before they had gone in, the friend had told everyone of the rumors that were preceding the young man. The next thing she knew she was being introduced to the officer who had supposedly performed the daring feats. She wanted to hear nothing of Vietnam and found that he had nothing to say about it.
She assumed he must be quite drunk at his own party, and she made a point of not smiling. The new Lieutenant Commander Charles was having a good time, but he was not too drunk to look twice at the pretty girl he was introduced to. She was quite tall for a woman, probably only two inches shorter than he was, but he reasoned that he was fairly short for a man. Her figure was obviously full, even with the conservative clothes she still chose to wear, and her high cheekbones and green eyes were set off by long dark hair.
David decided she would be even more attractive when she smiled. Having had enough to drink to remember old jokes that could be told in front of women, he finally made her laugh and found that he was absolutely right. Her green eyes sparkled when she decided he wasn't so bad after all, and crinkled around the edges, staying that way even after she had stopped laughing. She accepted' the drink she had at first refused. She also found his conversation interesting, even when she realized he had adeptly sidestepped her polite questions about him and had her talking about her own Midwestern background. Maria stayed until the party broke up and then accepted a ride home.
David Charles called her the next day and asked her to dinner, and that was the beginning of her new life. In less than a month, even before he was scheduled to arrive in Monterey, he had asked her to marry him. After arguments with herself about propriety and another Navy husband, she agreed, and the Navy allowed him to take an extra few days for a honeymoon. They had both begun a new life that neither had been looking for.
FROM THE LOG OF ADMIRAL DAVID CHARLES
I
think I know exactly when I decided that my life would be the Navy. It was when we realized those bastards were hiding over the border and using Cambodia as a staging area for killing Americans. I never thought much of the war one way or the other and kind of thought that we were wasting our time in Vietnam, but as long as there was an American being shot at, I always thought we ought to stand up for ourselves. When I decided to send those planes in, I made a commitment to myself to stay in the service. Perhaps I decided there has to be someone around to make up their mind when American servicemen are being killed. I have no doubt our government is going to get me and a lot of others in the same position again, and I want to be sure someone like me is going to be there to protect the troops. That sure looks a bit foolish on paper, but I had to get it down so I'd know why when I start asking myself what the hell I'm doing in the Navy six months or six years or sixteen years from now.
If I had the guts, I'd fly back to Washington right now to talk this over with Sam Carter. But he might say I'm wrong, and I'm not ready for that yet. He is a strong believer in maintaining the separation between the civilian and the military, regardless of the way the politicians keep committing lives without giving the poor grunt the opportunity of all the protection the country has to offer. There's a question of objectivity there that Sam and I could argue about, but perhaps all my ideas aren't ready to be punctured quite yet.
I won't make myself available for any combat assignments again for a long time. Not only was Mundy right about taking such chances, but now that I have Maria, there is suddenly more to live for than I ever imagined. And she's taught me so much, beyond just how to love. Perhaps it was
some
of the things she's said to me that made me come to the decision I mentioned above. She told how she stood out on the rocks near the Cliff House the day
Enterprise
left for Vietnam. She watched the ship pass under the Golden Gate, her deck empty except for the plane-guard helicopters. Then she heard, before she actually saw, the Phantoms passing low overhead, only moments after their takeoff from Alameda. They swept ahead of their carrier in formation, then circled as
Enterprise
turned into the wind to take the air group aboard. She thought one of them had tipped its wings, as he always said he would whenever they went to sea, but she was never sure. She told me how hard she cried, so hard she couldn't drive home for more than an hour afterward. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't come back.
What hurt her the most after he was shot down was his attitude, that he always felt he'd get through, that it would be the other guy who wouldn't bail out. I think that's why I've changed my attitude about my own survival. The other reason is simply that she wouldn't agree to marry me at first if I stayed in the Navy, and then she relented when Sam promised her he'd always be looking over my orders to make sure I stayed out of trouble. I think perhaps the fact that the Navy made it quite clear that they wanted me to keep a low profile for quite a while helped change her mind. Now, I have a responsibility other than myself.
The other thing that Sam and I did discuss again before he went back to Washington was his old concept of power. Since that first time he talked about it, I've done a lot of reading and a lot of thinking. Use of power and abuse of power are hard to differentiate sometimes. And power doesn't always have to come from sheer might. The VC proved that to me. Power can be ninety percent in your head, and I suppose that goes right back again to the German General Staff. The VC used their heads to take advantage of their land and our American egos. When that happens, you can create the biggest bang in the world, but you're not going to impress anyone other than yourself if the enemy is simply waiting for the smoke to clear so they can get back to the business at hand. That's what they always did, whether they were slipping into camp on a hit and run, disappearing during the day, or hiding on the other side of the border. And they made more use of American stupidity than anything else. The concept that you allow your enemy to shoot at you and then let them cross an imaginary line where you don't go after them is the dumbest idea any civilian ever thought up, and I think even Sam agrees with that. The politicians constantly let us beat ourselves. Clauswitz spent a lot of time writing about that, so I guess that proves wars don't change much in a hundred years, even if the weapons do.
I need this time at school. Monterey is a lovely place. I'm married and happier than I've ever been before. I have time now to learn more about myself and maybe grow up a little bit. No more of the American warrior for a while. I'd much rather be a professional military man in the intellectual sense. Perhaps if there are enough of us, we can keep the civilians away from wars. Maybe what bothered me more than anything else over there was that while I was practicing being good at my job, a lot of people were dying to satisfy politicians' egos and academics' theories.