Men in Green Faces by Gene Wentz, B. Abell Jurus Page B
Authors: Gene Wentz, B. Abell Jurus
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outside and any support. If we can stop communications, food, and medical supplies, they’ll starve. “They won’t know what’s happening. We’ll play games with their minds. After a while, we’ll be able to find and penetrate their safe haven.”
Gene nodded. “Exactly. And once they’re located, and info is gathered, we can go back in and search and destroy.”
“Sounds like a good op to me.”
“Thought you’d think so.” Gene finished his beer and stretched. “Guess I’ll get it under way.”
Johnny’d said the sensors had been going off night and day. After studying the situation another twenty-four hours, Gene met with Jim again.
“Two things,” he said. “This afternoon, the sensors showed movement on the north bank of the Son Ku Lon, but no crossing. It appears to be a scout element. And I’ve just received intel that a major crossing is going to take place somewhere between 0100 and 0400 hours, day after tomorrow.”
He took a breath to relieve the familiar but still slight tension building within him. They’d be operating. Soon.
“Johnny says they’re planning a diversion. They’ll have a smaller crossing take place between Seafloat and the major crossing site. They figure the riverboats will take the smaller crossing under fire. They’ll use those five or ten minutes to make the major crossing of the Son Ku Lon from the small river to Twin Rivers, where they’ll have rocket team protection.”
Jim nodded and rubbed an imaginary headband.
“Johnny also said his intel was that the major crossing will involve eight to ten large sampans, loaded with food and medical supplies.”
“We go.”
“Yes. With the sensors going on and off, and with the probable point element out there this afternoon, the intel seems accurate. I’ve cleared the op already.”
He left Jim to clear their area of operation with the TOC, Tactical Operations Command. Johnny would help. He wouldn’t need to make a visual recon of the area. The SEALs knew the territory almost as well as Charlie. The patrol would insert tomorrow, pre-dusk, then patrol to the small river directly across the Son Ku Lon from Twin Rivers, and set up an interdiction site while there was still light to see by. Due to the size of the target, they’d need to use claymores. Not only for use in the interdiction but for their own security. The sensors showed large troop movement.
At 0930 the next day he ran into Willie, who’d just returned from an op about one and a half or two miles from where they’d be going.
“I’m heading over to the KCS camp for an interrogation,” Willie said. “Y’all interested in going over with me?”
Intel could come from anywhere. “Sure.”
They left Seafloat on a Whaler and crossed to the KCS camp on the riverbank. By the time they arrived at the hootch, the military advisor, Sean, face shiny with sweat, was already there, observing. So was Truk, the KCS camp chief.
The KCSs conducted all interrogations of their own people. They used procedures Gene hated. He knew of many cases where the KCSs ended up killing a POW during questioning, especially if they believed the man was a VC. They’d arrange kangaroo courts and, afterward, blow the POW’s head off. Once the KCSs had
chieu-hoi’
ed, and Charlie or the NVA got word of it, their families, as Tong’s had, would be killed in ungodly ways to prevent anyone else becoming a
chieu-hoi.
Gene took one look and braced himself, knowing Sean could only attempt to control the interrogation if the KCSs went overboard, but couldn’t interfere.
The POW was tied to the horizontal flat surface they called a waterboard. Several pails of water sat nearby on the dirt floor, along with a pile of rags.
“Ask him again what village he’s from,” Sean said to the interpreter.
The POW refused to speak.
Tong wet a rag, placed it over the POW’s mouth and nose, and slowly poured water on it. The POW tried to breathe, sucked in water, but no air. He
Gene nodded. “Exactly. And once they’re located, and info is gathered, we can go back in and search and destroy.”
“Sounds like a good op to me.”
“Thought you’d think so.” Gene finished his beer and stretched. “Guess I’ll get it under way.”
Johnny’d said the sensors had been going off night and day. After studying the situation another twenty-four hours, Gene met with Jim again.
“Two things,” he said. “This afternoon, the sensors showed movement on the north bank of the Son Ku Lon, but no crossing. It appears to be a scout element. And I’ve just received intel that a major crossing is going to take place somewhere between 0100 and 0400 hours, day after tomorrow.”
He took a breath to relieve the familiar but still slight tension building within him. They’d be operating. Soon.
“Johnny says they’re planning a diversion. They’ll have a smaller crossing take place between Seafloat and the major crossing site. They figure the riverboats will take the smaller crossing under fire. They’ll use those five or ten minutes to make the major crossing of the Son Ku Lon from the small river to Twin Rivers, where they’ll have rocket team protection.”
Jim nodded and rubbed an imaginary headband.
“Johnny also said his intel was that the major crossing will involve eight to ten large sampans, loaded with food and medical supplies.”
“We go.”
“Yes. With the sensors going on and off, and with the probable point element out there this afternoon, the intel seems accurate. I’ve cleared the op already.”
He left Jim to clear their area of operation with the TOC, Tactical Operations Command. Johnny would help. He wouldn’t need to make a visual recon of the area. The SEALs knew the territory almost as well as Charlie. The patrol would insert tomorrow, pre-dusk, then patrol to the small river directly across the Son Ku Lon from Twin Rivers, and set up an interdiction site while there was still light to see by. Due to the size of the target, they’d need to use claymores. Not only for use in the interdiction but for their own security. The sensors showed large troop movement.
At 0930 the next day he ran into Willie, who’d just returned from an op about one and a half or two miles from where they’d be going.
“I’m heading over to the KCS camp for an interrogation,” Willie said. “Y’all interested in going over with me?”
Intel could come from anywhere. “Sure.”
They left Seafloat on a Whaler and crossed to the KCS camp on the riverbank. By the time they arrived at the hootch, the military advisor, Sean, face shiny with sweat, was already there, observing. So was Truk, the KCS camp chief.
The KCSs conducted all interrogations of their own people. They used procedures Gene hated. He knew of many cases where the KCSs ended up killing a POW during questioning, especially if they believed the man was a VC. They’d arrange kangaroo courts and, afterward, blow the POW’s head off. Once the KCSs had
chieu-hoi’
ed, and Charlie or the NVA got word of it, their families, as Tong’s had, would be killed in ungodly ways to prevent anyone else becoming a
chieu-hoi.
Gene took one look and braced himself, knowing Sean could only attempt to control the interrogation if the KCSs went overboard, but couldn’t interfere.
The POW was tied to the horizontal flat surface they called a waterboard. Several pails of water sat nearby on the dirt floor, along with a pile of rags.
“Ask him again what village he’s from,” Sean said to the interpreter.
The POW refused to speak.
Tong wet a rag, placed it over the POW’s mouth and nose, and slowly poured water on it. The POW tried to breathe, sucked in water, but no air. He
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