TIME IN A BOTTLE

1810: The troops shuffled more than walked into the NDP. They staggered into position for the evening rituals quietly guided by the unit’s dwindling reservoir of NCOs—most as young as the troops they led. The residue of several months of walking the mountains and playing a mortal game of tag with equally wandering enemy elements. A deadly game of hide and seek labeled by the cover name, Search and Destroy. The day was a typical example of the reality of searching and destroying. Acts that effected both sides in the same manner.

Exhausted past the point of recognition as a physical state, the Grunts relied on conditioned movements to template the necessities of the position. Rucks off. Rifle over the ruck pointing outward. Claymores out to the length of the connecting wire. Trip flares just beyond. High and low. Several of the unlucky were fading toward a night OP led by the platoon sergeant—the Old Guy at 28.

The company commander dropped in the center of the perimeter, his back to a large tree and drew out a Pall Mall from his plastic pack. Almost three packs today. He unfolded his map and grabbed the Battalion Command radio in anticipation of the nightly orders for tomorrow’s wanderings.

Around him, his Local and Long Distance radio operators established themselves—the larger secure set crashing on the accumulated organic material underneath. The operators attached long whip antennas and began to button together the several ponchos each carried, along with those of the commander, for the night rains that always came this time of year.

Around the perimeter, furtive shadows showed troops performing the rote ritualistic acts that were now committed to muscle memory, relying on that rather than any conscious mental awareness. They were well past that. Cigarettes were lit. Deep draughts inhaled. Helmets on top of the ruck as Drive On rags made futile attempts to cleanse the hair and scalp from the days accumulation of sweat, dirt, and scaled flesh. 

Dog tag chains with attached P38 can openers were produced to open the C Rat cans. Occasional hisses and pops of a vacuum seal could be heard. Good and bad heat tabs were ignited—the bad immediately eliciting curses and muffled cries from those downwind.

Long-used C ration spoons were produced from fatigue shirts and helmet bands. All were nearly obscured by the daily collection of grease, sauce, and dirt. A quick lick of the tongue, and they would be cleansed and riposted for the next meal. 

1845: The captain, finishing his cigarette, produced a small ball of C4 and heated a canteen cup of water. He pulled out a large bottle of Chase and Sanborn Instant coffee from a side ruck pocket and spooned in two generous spoonsful. His operators did likewise—attending to their individual needs while changing batteries and working the secure punch and its dozens of rods and numbers. As it was almost dark, they wanted to confirm the settings before they lost light. Making the adjustments at night was an arduous and painful task worthy of avoiding at almost all cost—even to a penalty of a lost heated can of precious Beans and Balls. No heat tab after dark in the company CP.

The radio squeaked as the captain listened and sipped his coffee with an occasional pull on a second cigarette. The area of interest on the map was centered on his knees as a table to backstop the grease pencil markings for tomorrow’s tasks. He began to dot the map with small points and several Xs— marking locations for unsecured transmissions of positions.

“From Ford, Left 1.6, Add 3.4. Over.” 

The battalion S3, on the other end of the call, passed mission tasks and a bare sketch of the intelligence. As a recently command completed captain himself, he understood the frustration of incomplete explanations and the necessity of ordering a ‘Just do it’ to his charges.

The captain could sense the combination of frustration and impatience in the voice and chose not to argue. Shit runs downhill, and we are at the bottom. 

Search what? Destroy what? An endless series of checkpoints, LZs, objectives, NDPs, laager positions, routes, hills, valleys, stream crossings, and patrol bases. Mortal wanderings guided by indiscernible leadership plotting on maps far removed from the ground reality, as were many of the theories, they translated into tactics to be executed by the members of this perimeter. 

The audience on the other end of the receiver, remote and isolated from ground reality, might respond to the sudden urgent calls for help at one of the Xs but they didn’t have to live with reality-only the report. In a precise directed format. 

This day was an excellent example.

As the night quickly settled, a quiet descended upon the perimeter. Dark comes with a subtle but fast speed in the deep green. Furtive cigarette glows could be seen as well as wafting heat tabs as troops hastened to achieve basic desires before dark and leadership descended.

The NCOs moved quietly among their charges slapping out cigarettes and conducting whispered, short but fierce counseling to miscreants who were losing the point of a darkened perimeter. Soon the velvet silence of the jungle lay on the men like a quiet but deep blanket. Occasional snuffs, grunts and snores could be heard between the hourly commo checks with Higher.

“Musty Races this is Dragon 3. If all is OK, break squelch twice.” Beep. Beep. “Dragon 3. Roger. Out.”

0530. Morning is an ephemeral thing. For Infantry, it’s anytime between when you try and sleep and when you are no longer allowed to sleep. 

Light brings relief from the darkness and causes the NVA, like most nocturnal creatures, to shrink in its clarity. The captain always makes it a point to see the veil of darkness lifted because that’s when other bad or not so bad things happen. The odds are the unit will either be attacked or will initiate an attack in the brief moment between darkness and the bright light of day.                   

The Long Distance RTO, older than his years, bent down and placed a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Sir. Dawn.” He simultaneously reached out with a section of cleaning rod and tapped the captain’s helmet pillow. The solid CLUNK insured wakefulness.

The quick ping echoed in his ear as the officer stirred from sublime rest into alertness. Above the topmost canopy of thick jungle, still just a near opaque dark mass, some hint of light penetrated. He woke quickly as infantry leaders do despite having a never ending routine of checking his positions every two hours. The ability to quickly sleep and quickly gain alertness is a key quality for both leaders and organizational survival at the leading edge of combat life.

Another marble-sized ball of C4 is placed under a blackened canteen cup, ignited by the first cigarette of the day. The captain mixes two spoons of instant coffee and two spoons of Swiss Miss into the now bubbling water, stirs the mix vigorously, wipes the spoon in his mouth and places it in the pencil slot of his OG 107s. With a Pall Mall in one hand and a canteen cup in the other, breakfast is served.

Over the course of the monsoon evening, his heavy vinyl poncho had collected pockets of water reflecting his body curves. As he stood up, they cascaded off splashing his boots and those of his RTO’s.

Neither noticed. Water was as common a body component as skin in this environment. The captain’s tattered jungle fatigues were uniformly dark and sodden, with the continuously bone-chilling rain that intermittently falls throughout the day and night this season.

Like the others in his home, he was braced against the side of a muddy foxhole dug in and around the enormous trees that compose a true jungle rain forest. Successive waves of green canopy beginning at a man’s height and continuing to a hundred feet into the sky obscure vision in all directions. The view from home is less than twenty feet and even that is obscured by vines, brush and remnants of previous organic occupiers. It is not a friendly place, but as the infantry says, “Home is where you make it. It’s moving day.”

The perimeter likewise stirs and begins it jungle life cycle. The OP coalesces on the perimeter, its members wrapped in jungle ponchos flowing behind like a covey of Batmen.

Troops recover the trip flares and Claymores, pack their rucks and oil their weapons between various versions of breakfast. Some C rat trading is undertaken but that is mostly futile as this is nearing the end of the log cycle. Much of breakfast is as the captain’s, augmented by M&M’s and John Wayne bars.

0800. The captain gathers his leadership and briefs them on the day’s movement. They lean over his shoulder to copy his map and write the checkpoints and code words in the ubiquitous green GI notebooks. They check each other’s map references with dirty cracked fingers that have the nails riven to the quick from constant wear and use. Here, life is not much removed from what the Neanderthals would have recognized.

0810: As the unit begins to ruck up, Long Distance receives a call from Higher.

“Do not move yet. Change of instructions. Stand by.”

The captain ponders this. Dragon 6 is a risk adverse ticket puncher who lives on the firebase or on a helicopter. He is rarely on the ground and has only a marginal appreciation for what his troops are doing or how they live. His sporadic visits are usually only for a few minutes on log day or precede a visit by the brigade commander, Thunder 6. This has to be a directed exercise from higher. Dragon 6 would never voluntarily get aggressive. Someone may get hurt and that wouldn’t brief well.

0815: 

“Musty Races. This is Dragon 3. Move immediately to Village X. Suspected VC elements. You are the closest to it. We will reinforce ASAP. Move out now. Acknowledge. Over.”

“This is Musty Races 6. Acknowledge. Out”

The captain halted the assembling troops and held a quick leader conference. The troops immediately dropped to the ground, unloaded their rucks and quietly waited while the leadership coalesced.

The company was in deep green about two and half kilometers from the designated ville. A speed march, that which it could be, had to be undertaken. This simply meant that noise discipline would be largely ignored and the Point rotated often as trails would be crashed through rather than cleared. About 15 minutes was all a Point could take before collapsing in the humidity and the relentless tendril grasp of the jungle.

A quick conference was held with maps remarked and whispered conversations. The several NCOs and junior officers returned to their elements and got them on their feet. With a shift in direction, the long green centipede of soldiers began their trek.

0830: The captain moved closer to the head of the column and noted the thinning large growth, now being overtaken by small, more entangling growths. This was the result of woodcutters and locals harvesting of the larger trees, allowing sun to penetrate onto the floor, initiating explosive growth as only a combination of heat, humidity and water can do. That growth, now holding, grasping, entangling and blocking every move attempted through it, stymied the most determined attempts to quickly penetrate.

The troops began a single file assault on the tangled mass. Three files less than fifty meters apart with a single point man chopping a path with a machete. The environment dictated a rotation of that position no more than fifteen minutes after assuming the position. 

Each point had leather gloves with the fingers cut off for better grasping. The machetes whanged and clanked against the growth which only very grudgingly gave way. 

The squad leader at point made his rotational changes through a personal decision formula. He chose the strongest horses in his unit and put the weakest at slack position. The rhythmic work of the machete would begin at a fairly rapid rate. In a short time, there would be distinct pauses in the sounds of cutting. When the squad leader determined the cuts were at five second intervals, he knew it was time to change.

The rotation showed the correctness of the decision. The replaced man was flush to the point of crimson. Sweat rolled off of all his exposed skin. The leather gloves were soaked to the point where the ends exuded water droplets as a sponge. 

0930: The captain saw the utter exhaustion at the lead elements and ordered a halt. The troops immediately dropped to the ground, sitting on their rucks with heads slumped. Some began wiping their faces with drive on rags and others sipped water. Very few smoked, and there was very little casual conversation.

0940: Long Distance handed the receiver to the captain.

“Dragon 3 wants a sitrep.”

“Dragon 3 this is Musty Races 6. Moving to objective. I am at Chocolate. Left 1.3. Down .6. Over.”

“This is Dragon 6. You are too slow. Move out now and faster. Do you roger. Over.”

“Musty races 6. Roger. Over.”

“Dragon 6. Out.”  

The captain silently motioned the elements to rise up and move out. They continued their slow and fetid journey.

1126: Gradually, sunlight began to dominate the canopy, indicating clear land just ahead. Stopping the column, the captain moved ahead and slowly moved to the outer edge of the brush and new trees. To his front, he could see the ville about 300 yards across a field. The field was fallow rice paddy intersected by small raised dikes delineating each separate plot. There was no growth on either side of his position, dictating the necessity for an open crossing of the area to get to the ville itself.

From what he could see, the ville was like all he had encountered. Thatch houses lined the flatland just beyond the dikes. Whisps of blue white smoke rose in torpid tendrils from several. There were occasional squawks from birds and hesitant barks from unseen dogs. There was no human movement discernible which immediately raised his concern. At this time, he should see people, water buffalo, and the women attending to the unremitting tasks of this place. The captain had learned from personal experience, a quiet village is an occupied village.

With short, sharp signals, he deployed his men just within the woodline on a line facing the village.

1130: Moving back to the main body, the captain stood over his radio operators, breathing deeply in the fetid heat of the day as was the rest of the unit. He took the mike from Long Distance and quietly spoke into the mike notifying Higher of his position and his suspicions and requested to wait until other units arrived.

 “This is Dragon 6. Denied. Target of opportunity. Move ASAP.”

“Roger. Can I get some overhead or artillery?”

“No. It would spook the Dinks. Move out.”

“Roger. Out.”

1131: He quietly motioned his leaders to close in. Two platoon leaders and three platoon sergeants. Using a stick, he drew their position on the ground and the ville. He indicated a plan to quickly cross the open field with a squad as point with an LMG. Two platoons would follow in open wedges across the field and occupy the leading elements of the ville. 

The remaining platoon would detach and move to the north approximately 300 yards, and then cross, covering the northern edge of the ville in flank of the main body and act as a covering force for the main body. 

“Rucks dropped here. Basics only. Ammo, water, smoke, medical.” 

“10 minutes. Move out.”

The leaders went quickly back to their men and began a series of huddles passing on the plan, such as it was. Seek. Find. Pray.

1145: As if on a silent signal, the various parts began to rise from the jungle floor. Released from the burden of the rucks, the troops moved with a lighter step, closing on each other as if in a parade drill. 

The flank element separated into individual cells and moved quietly in the shadows until it could no longer be seen by the others.

The main body moved in file to the very edge where the brush met the open field. A signal was given to halt. The captain moved to the point and checked the ville out with his binoculars. It was 1200.

No humans were visible. The thatch huts bordering the paddy were absent any sign of activity. Several had a blue smoke tendrils thinly trailing to the sky which would indicate human presence, but there was no visible sign. Not even children. The captain knew this was very bad. There was a reason no one could be seen and he knew it was because of what he could not see.

Within his view there were several water buffalos tethered to the only shade trees visible. By now, they should have been working, led by a child. No sign of any villagers. Disquieting. There was utter silence except for the occasional call of a bird. 

1210: Noting this, the captain motioned for the lead platoon sergeant and pointed toward the ville. The platoon sergeant signaled and five men rose up and moved in a V formation across the paddy. 

An M60 was with the last man on the left of the V. The Point carried an M203 over and under. To his immediate right was an M79 gunner and on his left, a troop carrying a 12 gauge pump shotgun with an M16 slung over his shoulder. This was considerable firepower in a small space.

They moved about five meters apart as an arrowhead. With a half crouch and careful steps, they began to cross the paddy, now in full sunlight. Small dust clouds marked every step as did the crackle of dead rice stalks, heard only by the element itself.

To the rear, the main body, crouching on a knee, lay along the brush line observing the crossing. Machine guns were located on the flanks, and the captain positioned himself at the center, steadily glassing the village line and noting the progress of the lead element.

He didn’t know what to expect but he knew they would find out quickly. He wished Dragon 6 had a bit more patience so he wouldn’t be the Lone Ranger in what everyone knew was serious Indian Country.

To his rear, the two RTOs quietly managed their nets under the burden of the rucksack. Their weapon was their radio. It could not be left behind. They spoke into the mike in quiet whispers less than an inch from the ground clutter. Whatever was said was lost to the company commander other than the occasional squeak and snap of the squelch.

He had chosen these men as radio operators because they were quite intelligent, could speak clearly and were highly organized. They had an excellent handle on both Higher and Lower and knew when to take charge of the conversation. Most importantly, the captain knew if he was killed, they could manage the situation until help arrived.

1218: The point element progressed to about three quarters of the way across the field with the main body still concealed in the wood line.

Suddenly, two automatic weapons opened up from the village flanks. This was quickly augmented by a number of AKs firing on full automatic along the village boundary, as well as, numerous RPG rounds sailing in a crisscross pattern across the paddy.

They exploded in front of the tree line and on the ground just in front of the main body, not yet visible to the firing elements. Immediately, the troops dropped to the prone and flicked their safeties to fire.  

The direction of fire of the enemy weapons seemed to be evenly divided engaging the brush line with the main body and the point, now prone in the open field unable to move. Several of the point element were hit and began screaming for help. 

The M60 gunner laid his weapon across the paddy dike and blindly sprayed the village left and right while the remaining unwounded companion pulled each casualty behind the small dike between them and the ville. 

Green tracers could be seen intersecting over their position, making a rise above the dike an act of mortal termination.

1219: The main body of the company opened fire without orders as a natural response to gain fire superiority so the point could be extricated. 

The Long Distance radio operator, without prompting, quickly asked for overhead gunship support and artillery. He then passed the handset to the captain. With a quick look at the map, the captain asked for artillery along the edge of the village.

“Musty Races 6. In contact. WIAs. Possible KIAs. Request fires from YT 3487 to 3544. Over”

“Dragon 3. Wait. Out”

1221: “Fires denied. Village.”

“I know it’s a village. It is full of bad guys that’s why I am asking. Over”

1222: “Denied. Dragon 6 will be overhead shortly. Out.”

1222: Frustrated, the captain took the handset from Local.

“16. This is 6. Move ASAP north and then swing around to the top of the ville and take them in flank. Now. Over.”

“Roger. Out.”

1223: The company commander heard a wall of fire coming from the flank platoon’s direction. It was clearly a mix of AKs and M16s. Suddenly, his position was engulfed with stray rounds from two directions. One from across the field and another to his north through the impenetrable jungle green.

1223: “6 this is 16. We’re ambushed. Walked into a line of dinks just inside the tree line waiting for us. I have three down. We are frozen in place. Get some arty quick. We can’t move. Over.”

1224: “Dragon 6 this is Musty Races 6. Troops in contact, Casualties. Can’t move. Request arty ASAP at YT 3487 and YT 3400. Over.”

“This is 6. Roger. In bound. Wait. Out.”

1225: “Races 6, Dragon 6. Fires denied. Friendly village. Fire and maneuver. Over.”  

The leader has spoken.

1225: “This is Races 6. It’s not friendly. There is at least a company of VC in it, and we have been hit by an L shaped ambush. I have a number of troops down. We are pinned. Request gunships and reinforcements. Over.”

“Standby. Out.”

1226: “16 grab your casualties and try and get back here. Tie in on our north side. U face north. Bring the casualties to the CP. Over.”

“Will try. Out.”

The captain crawled forward to the southernmost element, his third platoon, 36. He could see VC moving along the side of the ville to positions further south. Green tracers were now coming from three directions, effectively bisecting the company and pinning it in place. The VC clearly knew where the company was.

The captain thought the best plan was to consolidate his forces and then begin a disciplined withdrawal to a small clearing about 500 meters to the rear they had passed earlier. This could be a reasonably good LZ for medevac and resupply.

1229: While he was formulating this, he heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter overhead.

“Races 6, Dragon 6. Pop smoke and sitrep. Over.”

“Roger. Wait.”

The captain pointed to Long Distance and made a hand gesture pointing to the smoke and indicated a spot to throw it. The RTO immediately extracted a smoke grenade from his ruck, pulled the pin and flipped it less than 20 feet away. The loud pop of ignition and the burning was lost in the other sounds of the on-going clash.

The smoke began to billow and generate and could be seen sifting through the canopy above.

1231: “Smoke out.”

“Roger. Goofy Grape, Over.”

“Roger. I have at least 6 WIA and may have some KIA. Don’t know yet. Dinks are across the village line to the north. Saw some going south also. Point is still pinned in the paddy. We are taking serious fire from three directions. Can’t move much. I plan to pull back to a small clearing as soon as 1st platoon closes and get a medevac in. Over.”

1232: “Negative. Hold what you got. You are freezing the dinks. We will bring in the rest of the battalion and sweep through. Hang tight. Out.”

“Can I get some arty to my north and south for blocking fires?”

“Advised it will have to be 500 meters in the bush to clear village safety line. Province will not clear closer. I will initiate fires. Hang in there. Help is on the way. Out”

1234: The captain moved over to the unit directly behind the trapped point element. He took out his binoculars and looked at the men to his front. The firing was constant in both directions, and an occasional expended cartridge would bounce off his helmet as he studied the scene.

He could see the five men. They had been spread behind the paddy dike in a loose V formation. There was movement by the lower left machine gunner and the lower right rifleman. He could see them placing their weapons on the bank and firing blind with their heads below the mud wall. 

The three prostrate troops in the center were motionless, with the exception of one, who seemed to be applying a field dressing to the man next to him with slow deliberate movements. He guessed that three were wounded and two possibly dead. Movement to or from the position would be suicide.

1235: The point machine gunner looked furtively to the rear, and the company commander made the cease fire gesture at him. His hope was that if the position became silent, the VC might deflect their interest sufficient to allow a rush to recover the element. The gun fell silent, but the more distance engagements continued.

The captain ordered a cease fire except for spotted targets. Ammo was going to be crucial, and he still had no idea as to the true strength of the VC element or what they intended to do.

He went to the element closest to the point and told them to concentrate on the immediate flanks and front of the troops in front. 

“Do not let any dink move toward them.” 

1240: 1st platoon returned bringing four WIA and one KIA. One of the WIA was serious according to the medic and needed blood badly. He had already used two bags of Ringer’s 5%.

Meeting with the platoon leader, the captain told him to organize one squad to carry the WIAs, leaving the KIA, and move toward the small open area he planned to use as a LZ until it was denied. They would self-secure and radio when the area was cleared.

 The company commander reasoned that with only a squad engaged, he could comply with orders to hold while still facilitating a desperately needed medevac and possible ammo and troop re-supply. He would not inform Dragon 6 until the LZ was secured. It was now 1245.

Several helicopters began to rotate over the scene and a Cobra gunship, Thunder 22, did a low pass between the bush and the ville.

“Thunder 22 to Dragon Six. Tallyho the troops in the paddy. Don’t see any movement.” 

“Races Six. Thunder 22 on your push. Mark your flanks. I will acknowledge. Over.”

“Races Six. Roger. Stand by.” 

“16. Mark your left and right flank now 100 out for Thunder 22. Over.”

“Roger. Smoke out. Over.”

1247: “22. I see green, yellow and red. Over.”

“16 here. Hit the red, it isn’t ours.”

1248. Thunder 22 performed a full power pedal turn completing a 180 degree twist, veered to the right while gaining altitude and then did a left pedal kick as an extremely flexible ballet dancer might, lowered his nose and swung on a line parallel to the 1st platoon smoke, but aimed at the red smoke which was about 30 meters to the north.

The gunner triggered both a volley of 2.75 rockets and the mini-gun with the aiming pip just to the east of the red and then to the west as he depressed the fire control buttons with both hands. It wasn’t a Fort Rucker approved technique, but it worked.

The whoosh from each exiting rocket and its explosion racketed through the canopy as did the high pitched sewing machine song of the minigun. Empty 7.62 cartridges rained down through the canopy and bounced inside the 1st platoon perimeter. 

Abruptly, the fire to the north of the platoon ceased. 

1250: “Races 6. Dragon 6. Try and get your people in the field and clear the lead element. Thunder 22 will do a pass on the ville side. Thunder 22 acknowledge. Over.”

“Roger. Races 6. Advise when you are ready, over.”

“Roger. Standby.”

The company commander crawled forward to the leading edge closest to the open paddy and motioned for the leadership to assemble on him.

1252: “This is Thunder 22. Spotted dinks about 500 meters to your rear in a clearing. Will engage.”

The internal RTO immediately pressed the Talk switch and breathlessly said:

“Thunder 22. This is Races 6Alpha. Hold. We have people in the area. ID before firing, over.”

“Races 6 this is Dragon 6, what the fuck are you doing back there?”

The anxiety in the voice indicated to the RTO that Dragon 6 was beginning to realize he was in over his head and was playing his routine blame game. The captain would hear about this again when the unit returned to the fire base. 

The snuffy wished that just once, Dragon 6, would spend some time pounding the paddies with the unit to gain some appreciation for reality. He decided to leave his commander alone and work the immediate issue.

“ This is 6 Alpha. Actual is up front and engaged. We sent a squad back there with the WIAs for a medevac, over.”

“22 this is 6. Make a pass and confirm ID before engaging, Acknowledge. Over.”

“Roger. They are dinks. I took some fire.”

“Dragon 6 here. I will put arty on it. Focus on the paddy. Races 6 pull your guys back to your location asap, over.”

“This is 6 Alpha. Roger.”

1254: “This is 16 Tango. I Roger. We are returning. Warn the perimeter.” 

This was the E6 Shake and Bake NCO that had just joined the platoon. The anxiety and exhaustion in his voice was palpable.

The company commander, oblivious to the proceedings, was conferring with his leadership on a plan to extract the wounded. The flank elements would conduct converging fire on the ville flanks and work back to the stranded troops. The gunship would pass low over the ville parallel to the paddy. As soon as the gunship began its pass, the center platoon would race to the casualties, grab them and carry them back with both flanks covering. 

Looking at his leadership, he said, “Do you understand?”

The faces looked at him with some wide-eyed anxiety and responded with head nods and grunts. Speech was lost to thought. He looked to his rear and beckoned the RTOs forward.

1300: “Dragon 6 and Thunder 22. This is Races 6. As soon as you see an obvious signal, begin your low run south to north and do an instant repeat. You will see why. Acknowledge. Over.”

“22 Roger.”

“Dragon 6 here….”  

There was an audible pause in the transmission and then the channel went silent.

The captain, formerly a college football player, grabbed a yellow smoke grenade from the RTO and crawled slightly forward, barely exposing himself on the paddy field. Looking left and right, he pulled the pin, held the handle against the canister, rose up, and grasping the grenade like a football, released the handle, watched it ignite, and then threw it in a long arcing spiral directly behind the trapped element. It landed several yards to their rear and began twisting as it poured yellow smoke into the near still air. 

Several close rounds woke the captain from his momentary fixation on the travel arc, and he dropped abruptly to the ground. It was 13:05.

The Cobra began his low and slow pass about 100 feet overhead as the flank M60s began to pour tracer into the village line as all weapons commenced firing. Several of the blooper M79s chunked rounds well north and south of the trapped group just for comfort if no real effect.

With the first rounds, a dozen men began to race across the field carrying only their weapons, oblivious to enemy fires which were momentarily suppressed by surprise and a desire to avoid the effect of the Cobra.

They quickly closed on the trapped men. Several setup and began calmly firing from the kneeling position while five others grabbed the casualties and began half-running, half-striding back to the tree line. 

The Cobra did another 180 power turn and this time triggered his mini-gun on the return. Smoke and screams erupted as several of the thatch walls began to burn. The line of VC fire abruptly went silent. It was 1310.

The foremost rescue troops saw the casualties almost gain the wood line and without orders, but by instinct, began to move rearward at a half-crouch, firing into the village as they walked, changing magazines as they went. A trail of empty magazines traced each man’s route.

“22 this is Dragon 6. Cease firing. Civilians are in the ville.”

“22. I saw a line of pith helmets and PJs with weapons. The mayor can sue me.”

“Thunder 6 here. Sitrep, over.” 

The captain heard the transmission and looked up in some frustration. Thunder 6, the brigade commander, had the nickname Ghost Patrol. This was awarded to him as acknowledgement that if a unit was in the bush, he couldn’t visit as he was on Ghost Patrol. Ghost Rider, the division commanding general, must be in the air. 

This was all the captain needed, more “help.” The squelch on the radio broke and he could hear the transmission.

 “Dragon 6 here. Musty Races 6 has been in a firefight. Ambush at the ville. We got bad poop from Province. He has several casualties and at least one KIA. More to follow. Request guidance. Over.”

“Thunder 6. Roger. There is a clearing to the rear of the position. Have him move his casualties there for evac. Both Province and my elements are heading to the ville now for a clearing op. I want Races 6 to remain in place as a blocking force. No arty on the ville. Over.”

“Dragon 6. Roger. Races 6 did you hear? Over ”

“This is Races 6 Alpha. Will pass it. Over.”

“Break Break. This is Ghost Rider 6 how may we help?’

“Ghost Rider, Dragon 6, we are recovering. Will advise soonest.”

“This is Ghost 6. I have been monitoring. Good job. We aren’t through. Press on.”

“Dragon 6. Roger.”

The relief in the battalion commander’s voice was palpable.

“Thunder 6, Roger.”

1315: The company assembled all of its casualties just inside the wood line. It now counted 2 KIA and 8 WIA. Of the 8, 4 would be walking wounded. The others would be carried to the LZ on makeshift poncho litters. The captain directed 1st platoon to take all casualties to the originally designated LZ and secure it, awaiting further orders. Ghost 6 had just justified captain’s original plan.

He knew from experience that Thunder and Dragon would defer to Ghost Rider and await instructions. Ghost Rider had a reputation for being a first class soldier and could be depended upon to provide some mature guidance and most importantly, defer to the man on the ground. A welcome change of mode.

1400: Across the open paddy, the unit could see occasional faces of US troops and ARVN Rangers, with their distinctive Tiger helmet paintings. The VC had dissolved into the land as only they had the capability of doing. A small element of US troops crossed the field after receiving clearance from Musty Races 6.

A sister company commander visited the captain and outlined on the map the friendly locations as well as the most recent instructions. Both quietly smoked cigarettes around the clustered RTO’s. They awaited what they knew would be the next event—the visits by the various highers.

As if on cue at 1615, three helicopters settled down in the paddy between the ville and the field. Thunder, Ghost and Dragon each dismounted from their helicopters and moved toward the wood line. 

All were resplendent in starched fatigues and spit shined jungle boots. Ghost’s helicopter was highly wax-polished and sported .50 calibers where M60s usually repose. The choppers slowly rotated to a stop, allowing the disturbed rice stalks and dust to settle.

The three shook hands in the open field, and then proceeded quickly to the unit reposing in the shade. After a moment of adjustment, they spotted the company commander and coalesced on him. Each shaking his hand in rank order of precedence. The captain gave an exhausted salute and a verbal discourse on the events. It was 1620.

The three broke from the captain and led by Ghost 6, moved along the line of troops quietly talking and shaking hands. Several aides trailed behind writing names into green notepads.

The troops, now clear of the fight, had begun their normal post engagement routine. Magazines were extracted from rucksacks and some bandoliers were being charged into empty magazines. The visitors were an interruption, but tolerated as a necessity of rank.

1645: Ghost’s aide came up to the company commander and indicated that Ghost 6 had several impact awards he wished to present and that the company commander would be one and requested that he nominate four others. 

1700: At the edge of the paddy, the captain hastily lined the somewhat shocked recipients. There were only three present. A Silver Star would be awarded to a KIA and another to the machine gunner in the paddy who was medevacked. Remaining was the 1st platoon leader and two personnel who led the dash across the rice paddy to recover the WIAs.

Ghost Six moved down the line, clipping the award to the fatigue shirt of each recipient and shaking his hand. By each, he would put his hand under the award and face his aide who was taking a picture of each presentation. The ceremony concluded at 1710.

The visitors shook the company commander’s hand, waved to the troops and walked to each of their respective helicopters, which were now slowly turning their rotor blades. By 1715, all three had pulled pitch and lifted off, blanketing the troops in a cloud of rice husks and dust as the sounds of the blades receded in the distance.

1720: The company commander brought his remaining leadership into the center of the position and provided them with a location for the Night Defensive Position. It would be relatively close. Dark was quickly coming and the troops exhaustion and mental state dictated as pain free and as short a journey as possible.

1730: On a signal, the unit rose to its feet, rucked up with grunts and exhalations, and moved to the west as a single sweaty green centipede. Each member alone in his thoughts and managing in his own way the events of the day and their meaning, knowing it all would be repeated tomorrow. They could set their watches by it.