up himself, asked Brigade for portable strobe lights so they could cordon off the village and search it at night. Brigade told him there weren’t any available, so the Captain sent a squad to sweep the village before it got dark. The troopers, bitter and angry, found the village equally hostile and antagonistic. The villagers watched sullenly as the troopers, fingers on the triggers of their weapons, walked by their huts. No words were exchanged, nor any sign of recognition; the hate was palpable. Through it all the villagers had enough sense not to move; even the children stood rigidly still. Behind one of the huts, a squad found a rotting NVA medical kit. Without asking for approval they burned down the hut and waited there threateningly till it burned itself to the ground.
Half a kilometer past the village, the patrol was moving along the edge of one of the villager’s paddies, trying to shield their eyes from the low-slung sun, when their point was cut down by a burst of automatic fire. Throwing themselves down, they waited for the mortars or machine-gun fire. There wasn’t any, and a trooper, looking up, saw something moving away from behind the nearest hedgegrove.
“Fuck it,” he screamed, the last of his adolescent control gone. In a sudden fury he ripped off his webb gear. Even before it hit the ground he was up and running. He hit the hedgegrove on a dead Iowa run, barely keeping his balance as he burst through it. The rest of the squad was running after him. Carrying their M-16’s and M-79’s, they raced through the line and out onto the flat behind it. For Nam it was an incredibly abandoned affair. Helmet-less, webb gear and flack vests thrown away, these bareheaded Negro and freckle-faced kids, heads down, arms pumping, their boots barely touching the ground, ran on through the shimmering heat, stumbling over the uneven ground. Just past the next grove they caught them—a girl and two men. They caught them out in the open and killed them, shooting them down as they ran. Afterwards, they stood around the sprawled bodies, chests heaving, staring in bewilderment at each other. Then they stripped the girl, cut off her nose and ears, and left her there with the other two for the villagers.
That night, a starlight scope picked up movement near the village a few minutes before three rockets hit their lager. The next morning another patrol was sent out. Halfway to the village, one of the troopers stepped on a pressure-release land mine. They were still close enough to carry him back to the base camp. A little before noon, a squad found three of the village water buffalo out grazing. The machine gunner set up his M-60, carefully adjusted his sights, and while the rest of the patrol stood around him, calmly killed each buffalo in turn.
The following day a huge food cache was found buried in the area. The CO asked for a cordoning off and company-size sweep of the village and surrounding area. Brigade sent down a lieutenant colonel. He looked at the size of the food cache, the paths leading to it from the village, listened to the stories about booby traps and injuries, and OK’d a sweep for the next morning.
It was still dark when the men were shaken awake. “I want that fucken village locked in,” the CO told the platoon leaders. “I don’t want a mouse to get out, and I want every one of those huts searched. I want every floorboard pulled up, every wall knocked open. I want that village clean when we leave it. Is that understood? Clean.” They filed out of the lager and waited until it was just light enough to see each other and then closed in. No one was smoking; no one said a word. There wasn’t a sound except the soft footfalls of 112 troopers walking silently through the grass.
“Tet is still out there—coiling and
uncoiling in the dark...the one
truly frightening thought that can’t
quite be put away.”
Colonel
VIP suite
U.S. Army Hospital, Zama, Japan
7
Come On! Let’s Go!
A T DAWN,
Half a kilometer past the village, the patrol was moving along the edge of one of the villager’s paddies, trying to shield their eyes from the low-slung sun, when their point was cut down by a burst of automatic fire. Throwing themselves down, they waited for the mortars or machine-gun fire. There wasn’t any, and a trooper, looking up, saw something moving away from behind the nearest hedgegrove.
“Fuck it,” he screamed, the last of his adolescent control gone. In a sudden fury he ripped off his webb gear. Even before it hit the ground he was up and running. He hit the hedgegrove on a dead Iowa run, barely keeping his balance as he burst through it. The rest of the squad was running after him. Carrying their M-16’s and M-79’s, they raced through the line and out onto the flat behind it. For Nam it was an incredibly abandoned affair. Helmet-less, webb gear and flack vests thrown away, these bareheaded Negro and freckle-faced kids, heads down, arms pumping, their boots barely touching the ground, ran on through the shimmering heat, stumbling over the uneven ground. Just past the next grove they caught them—a girl and two men. They caught them out in the open and killed them, shooting them down as they ran. Afterwards, they stood around the sprawled bodies, chests heaving, staring in bewilderment at each other. Then they stripped the girl, cut off her nose and ears, and left her there with the other two for the villagers.
That night, a starlight scope picked up movement near the village a few minutes before three rockets hit their lager. The next morning another patrol was sent out. Halfway to the village, one of the troopers stepped on a pressure-release land mine. They were still close enough to carry him back to the base camp. A little before noon, a squad found three of the village water buffalo out grazing. The machine gunner set up his M-60, carefully adjusted his sights, and while the rest of the patrol stood around him, calmly killed each buffalo in turn.
The following day a huge food cache was found buried in the area. The CO asked for a cordoning off and company-size sweep of the village and surrounding area. Brigade sent down a lieutenant colonel. He looked at the size of the food cache, the paths leading to it from the village, listened to the stories about booby traps and injuries, and OK’d a sweep for the next morning.
It was still dark when the men were shaken awake. “I want that fucken village locked in,” the CO told the platoon leaders. “I don’t want a mouse to get out, and I want every one of those huts searched. I want every floorboard pulled up, every wall knocked open. I want that village clean when we leave it. Is that understood? Clean.” They filed out of the lager and waited until it was just light enough to see each other and then closed in. No one was smoking; no one said a word. There wasn’t a sound except the soft footfalls of 112 troopers walking silently through the grass.
“Tet is still out there—coiling and
uncoiling in the dark...the one
truly frightening thought that can’t
quite be put away.”
Colonel
VIP suite
U.S. Army Hospital, Zama, Japan
7
Come On! Let’s Go!
A T DAWN,
Similar Books
