Drowning in Her Eyes (37 page)

“
They have big problems with discipline and drugs. There have been reports of outright mutiny and of junior officers killed by their own men. In the end, the problem is a societal one. Their people believe more and more that this is a war fought by the poor and disadvantaged on behalf of the rich and the draft dodgers. They may well be right. However, our job is not to get involved in politics. Our Government has sent us here to do a job. We have been doing that job jolly well, and we will continue to do so until our Government decides otherwise. Your comments about the bottom-
up conduct of operations in the field impressed General Glover. He wanted to know more about you. He was particularly interested in your patrol from Fire Base Romeo. I am afraid we gilded the lily rather. We couldn
't tell him you were a reservist, and three years ago, you were a humble private soldier, well, maybe not so humble.
”

Jack allowed himself a grin. No, he had not been humble; he had been ambitious, at the top of his game; at that time, life had yet to deliver him a serious blow.

The Brigadier continued.
“Secondly, as a result of that report, the Americans want you to spend some time in the field with them. They want you to deliver some training to their men from squad level up to company level. Now, do not refuse this mission. I have blown up several field telephones with Major Forbes already. Any questions?
”

Jack had a thousand.
“What are the details of my secondment, sir?
”

“Major Smith, our intelligence officer, has all the gen. He is going to buy you lunch and fully brief you now. He is waiting in his office down the hall. That will be all, Captain. Good luck to you, enjoy your lunch, I believe the Officers
' Mess has a new line in Spam.
”

Jack rose, saluted, and went to find Major Smith.

Headquarters, Seventh Cavalry, South Vietnam
—1967

By now, the
w
op,
w
op,
w
op
of the
Huey
s had become so much part of his life Jack hardly heard
them
. Most days he flew into the field in one of them. He had become used to the gut wrenching
speed
of their rapid climbs and violent m
anoeuvres to avoid ground fire.

The monsoons would soon be gone and the never-
ending red mud would become the never-
ending red dust that clogs and covers everything; that gets into the pores of your skin, and makes small red rivers as it mixes with the constant sweat, pouring down your body.
What a bastard of a place this is
, thought Jack.
What are we doing fighting for this shithole?
The Vietnamese
don
'
t give a damn which particular party of corrupt arseholes is in power
—
they just want the killing to stop
and
to be left in peace.

Jack had been here almost three months. He had made about thirty insertions
, as an observer
and as a ground advisor with company and platoon commanders. He felt he had been making good progress, and the men on the ground had been having more success. He concentrated on the squads to begin with. The Australians use sections of ten men as the basic unit. A Corporal commands a section. In training and in barracks, the Corporals lived and messed with their men. They became a tightly knit unit. The Americans had squads as their equivalent. Sergeants who sometimes lack the daily close contact with their men command these squads. He encouraged these squad commanders to sleep, eat, drink, live, and breathe with their men. Juan Ruiz had done that instinctively. That is why he had a good squad and his squad had a good commander. He was sure this approach was working.

Just then First Lieutenant Rob Matthews pushed back the tent flaps.
“Briefing soon, Jack,
” he said.
“There
's a big one going down tomorrow.
”

Brigade had good intelligence of a battalion of NVA regulars moving on several strong points of the ARVN in the Bien Long
V
alley. The job of Jack
's company was
to make
an insertion behind them to take them from the rear as they attacked, driving them onto the ARVN strong points
and
trapping them in a pincer movement.

Bad weather delayed the take-
off
. L
ate in the morning, they took off into a wall of rain and mist. As Jack climbed into his Huey, he glanced at the left door gunner, who was yet to put on his helmet. It was Jimbo Baker! Jimbo looked at him, recognition dawning on his face.
“Riordan, fancy meeting you. It
's going to be busy today. Watch your back.
” He stroked the butt of his M60.
“This little baby has been known to be very inaccurate. You might get killed by friendly fire.
”

“Jimbo,
” Jack said,
“You
've got it all wrong. I love Susan, your mother tore us apart; I need her. Where is she?
”

“Tell it to the Marines, shithead!
” The engine started with a clatter and a roar. Conversation was impossible. Jimbo placed his helmet on his head and turned to his gun. They rose and disappeared into the mist.

Bien Long Valley, South Vietnam
—1967

Jack
couldn
'
t hear the helicopter radio net, but he saw the pilot thumping the side of his helmet, where the earphones were, while he fiddled with switches on the radio set. Jack saw him look to the second pilot, throwing his hand up in disgust. The radio was out. Beside Jack,
his
radioman, Specialist Four Jorge Mendez, was running through his frequencies. There was nothing but static and a few garbled voices. Mendez looked at Jack and shook his head. Jack looked at his second in command, Staff Sergeant Bell. He shrugged his shoulders. There were four crew and the eight soldiers of his escort squad on the Huey. Some of them started to look concerned. Jack leaned into the cockpit, tapping his map and mouthing
‘Where are we?
' The pilot shrugged and pointed down.
‘Visual
' he mimed. Jack felt the helicopter begin to descend through the mist. Down they went, down, down
…

They broke through the cloud at treetop height. Jack felt the pilot put his machine into an emergency climb. Too late. Three things happened simultaneously; Jimbo commenced firing at something on the ground, they began taking heavy ground fire, and the helicopter clipped a tree. Jack saw about three feet of rotor blade go spinning earthwards. Bullets smashed the Plexiglas canopy and the instrument panel. Jack saw the pilot jerk in his seat. He looked down and saw they had cleared the tree line. Below them w
as
the ruins of a large building and a flat open space. Could they get down in one piece?

The aircraft was shuddering now, vibrating
and
shaking violently. Smoke poured from the engine. The pilot had seen the clearing and tried desperately to reach it, mustering all the strength he had left. The Huey came down at an angle, much too fast, tearing off a skid and rolling onto its left side. It slid along the ground in a flurry of smashed rotors, shattered Plexiglas, and the scream of tortured metal
. When it
finally c
ame
to a stop
,
Jack could smell jet fuel and
hot metal.

Worcester, Massachusetts, USA
—1967

Jacqui Susan woke with a start, screaming. Susan ran to the bed and picked her up, trying to comfort her. She screamed again.
“Daddy, Daddy,
” before commencing to
cry as if her heart was broken.

“Oh my baby, my baby,
” crooned Susan,
“Whatever is wrong?
”

Then she felt it, a hollow feeling in her heart. She b
egan to shake.
“Oh Jack, what
's happened; where are you?
”

She took the baby into her bed. They lay there, sobbing quietly. Eventually, they slept. In her dream, Jack came to her, covered in blood.

Bien Long Valley, South Vietnam
—1967

“Get off
!
” he screamed
,
“Get clear
;
take your weapons and equipment!
”

As they tumbled out of the wreck. Jack tried to count them.
“Make for the ruins,
” he shouted.
“Sergeant Bell, take command. Form a defensive perimeter.
”

They were lucky; there was no fire
…yet! He looked at the wreck. He could see the pilot, still strapped in his seat, barely conscious, white
-
faced. Jack leaned into the cockpit.

He could only get the pilot a little way out of his seat. He pulled harder on his harness. The pilot screamed and fainted. Jack searched for a pulse in his neck; there it was, very faint. He heard someone behind him. It was the other pilot,
pale faced
, with wide, staring eyes. He was a Warrant Officer. He had been in Vietnam exactly one week.
“I
'll give you a hand, sir,
” He said. Together they worked furiously, slashing harness and radio cables, until they were able to lift the man out of the aircraft.
“Get him into cover,
” shouted Jack. The young WO took his crewmate in a fireman's lift and staggered off in the direction of the ruins.

Jack threw the remaining M60 and as many boxes of link as he could find off the wreck. Then, clutching the machine gun and the first aid kit, he made for the ruins. As he ran, he could hear shouts. There was a burst of fire from the building. As he clambered into shelter, a PFC said to him,
“Couple of NVA scouts, sir. Sent them to their ancestors. I bet the rest of the motherfuckers are right on their heels.
”

Jack swung around.
“You, you, and you
…back to the bird and get those boxes of link. The rest of you cover them.
” They ran off. There was no fire. They grabbed the boxes and scampered back.
“Good work, boys
,
”
h
e said.

“Fuckin A, we got a box of grenades for the M79 as well. Thought we might need
‘em.
”

Jack took stock.
There were cuts, abrasions, and a minor through and through bullet wound
;
t
he pilo
t was the only serious casualty
. The medic completed his rounds. He motioned Jack over to the pilot.
“This here wrangler
's in a bad way; he has
a
bad concussion and he
's lost a lot of blood from that head wound, but it
's his chest that
's the problem. My
‘pinion is he
's lung shot. He needs dusting off, pronto.
”