Run Between the Raindrops (23 page)

Through the clouds of ugly black smoke around the tank, a couple of Marines are running into the street and climbing up through the flames on the engine deck where they’ve got at least some cover from the incoming. One of them is Steve. The other man looks like Tank Lieutenant. Steve grabs the bleeding tanker and pulls him the rest of the way out of the tank while the Lieutenant reaches inside a second hatch and jerks crewman into sight. They have just gotten the two wounded tankers down off the engine deck when the vehicle begins to shudder under a series of explosions that send gouts of flame and more smoke into the air. That’s the death spasm; ready ammo stacked around the turret is cooking off which means anyone left inside is lost.

On the street to the rear of the tank, Lieutenant is waving for help and a couple of corpsmen sprint from cover to give them a hand. Tank Lieutenant stands and waves come on at the second tank which has remained parked through the whole episode. Tank Two rumbles forward with its coaxial machinegun spitting fire. There’s barely enough room for it to squeeze by the dead vehicle in the center of the road and in the effort the left track takes out a section of wall that had been cover for a clutch of grunts. They scramble in one direction while Steve and the rescue party scramble in another carrying a limp and bleeding tank crewman.

Tank Two is firing on the move and headed directly for the eastern wall. One of its main gun rounds gouges a big chunk out of the Dong Ba Tower and the top section of the structure leans precariously. It’s as if someone had dropped the starter flag on a stock car race. Marines on either side of the street leading to that tower are running and gunning, sprinting forward, ignoring those who fall around them. There’s momentum now but who knows if it will be enough to get us that tower.

We are within about 50 meters of it when the gook gunner in the tower fires another RPG round at Tank Two. There’s enough incoming on his end to spoil his aim. The rocket streaks toward the tank but caroms harmlessly off the top of the turret causing nothing more than a big gouge in the armor and a shower of sparks. The tank commander doesn’t want to give the rocket gunner another chance, so he wheels the vehicle into a narrow side-street. Unfortunately, that street is so narrow that Tank Two can’t traverse its turret. We are still on the move toward the Dong Ba Tower but the rest of the distance will be covered without tank support. Of course, this is Hue so…

Up the avenue in a crouching run comes a 3.5-inch rocket team. It’s a squatty little gunner built like a block of concrete with an ace of spades inked on the back of his flak jacket. Following him and clutching two rocket rounds is a lanky assistant staggering under a pack board with extra ammo strapped to it. Most of the gooks are still firing at the burning tank, but the rocket guys ignore the ricochets, humping past the derelict in step as if they’re doing some sort of drill on a training range back at Camp Pendleton. There’s cover available but they ignore that and just keep closing on the wall, heading straight up the street in the open until Rocket Gunner passes Tank Two where he kneels and calmly shoulders the big tube. Assistant Gunner flips the switch on the back of the tube to make the electrical connection and checks the back-blast area as if there might actually be anyone out there in the open to be harmed by it.

The first 3.5 round roars away and smacks into a bunker at the base of the tower. It silences a pesky machinegun that’s been cutting into us with grazing fire. That gets the gooks’ attention and a shower of incoming begins to tear up the street and houses around the rocket team. If they’re aware of it, it’s not obvious. Assistant Gunner shoves another rocket into the tube as grunts on either side of the street begin to move. A second round blows into the stone façade just below the RPG gunner and we see him tumble from his perch to thud into the dirt at the base of the tower like a wet sandbag. Rocket Gunner takes a moment to observe the effect of his fire, nods and then sweeps an arm at the tower gate, inviting the grunts to carry on now that’s he’s silenced some of the opposition. As grunts begin to push past them, Rocket Gunner and Assistant Gunner stroll casually off the street in the opposite direction. That’s rounds complete, mission accomplished; just another day on the range.

Philly Dog, Willis and four more grunts are fragging bunkers and picking off some gooks who have decided to un-ass the area and head north along the surface of the wall. Grunts to the rear of us are pitching extra grenades forward. We are less than 30 meters from the base of the tower which is so shot-up by now that it looks something a couple of kids hammered together with an Erector Set. Other grunts are closing on the area from the other side and banging away at the escaping NVA. On our side NVA bodies, riddled with bullet holes and bloody shrapnel rents, are scattered everywhere. Philly Dog’s guys pump insurance rounds into the corpses and keep moving. Company Gunny has taken a round in his thigh somewhere along the line but he’s still humping and ignoring a corpsman who tries to get him to stop for treatment.

Measure of time and distance is long gone and it’s a genuine surprise to discover we’ve actually taken the Dong Ba Gate area. While shot-up squads are reorganized into what passes for platoons, Philly Dog’s outfit is ordered to hold in positions around the base of the tower. It’s getting dark in Hue City and the rest of Delta is preparing to push in another direction. No one up here with us on the wall near Dong Ba knows or cares much what that’s about. Our little portion of the fight is done for the day. What Philly Dog cares about as dark descends over the walls is that his squad is now down to only five men. He says I should probably get back down off the walls to where the rest of the company is spreading out for the night but he’s glad when I decide to stay up there with him at the Dong Ba Gate.

It’s never really quiet on the northside of Hue City but the night passes relatively peacefully with only sporadic shots and a few dull thumps of grenade explosions to disturb the peace as we hunker down in abandoned bunkers. I’m with Willis and two dead NVA in a position just to the right of the battered tower. Willis passes some time jiving at the corpses. “Listen up, motherfucker!” He pokes a finger into the bloody chest of a gook trooper with only half a head remaining and one dark eyeball that seems to stare back at him attentively. “Ain’t nobody to blame but your own damn self. You be fuckin’ with the bull you bound to get the horn. There it is.”

It’s 0430 by my watch when the mosquitoes swarm up from the stagnant water in the moat on the other side of the wall and commence an air strike. Philly Dog sticks his head inside the bunker. “We got movement. Stand by.” By the time we crawl out into the dark, mortars are impacting all along this stretch of the wall. The first three rounds are off to the right but the next barrage is right on the mark, landing with vicious cracks right at the base of the tower and driving us back into the bunkers. That’s followed by a shower of Chicom grenades and RPGs from the top level of the tower. Somehow, we either missed a bunch of gooks up there or they managed to sneak back in during the night. It’s becoming apparent the NVA are making a move to reclaim this position, and there’s no way we can hold against a determined assault. Dog’s blooper man pumps some rounds to the north and we pull back from the Dong Ba Tower dragging two wounded men with us.

From their night positions below the eastern wall, a Delta Company platoon surges into action and charges at the disputed tower. The fight blows back and forth until dawn when the Marines flush the gooks out of the tower, inspect it carefully for stay-behinds, and then set up to hold.

Steve is at the Company CP when I wander back with a re-supply party that’s been sent to bring up chow and ammo for the unit holding at the Dong Ba Gate. He’s got a copy of a diagram distributed at a briefing on The Big Plan. The Vietnamese Marines have arrived and are mustering to the south of us for a drive toward the Imperial Palace. Elements of 1/5 will push along to cover their flanks. Steve has been talking to a dude he knows from Alpha Company and says we ought to go over and see about it. My plan had been to check in at the BAS to have someone look at my hand. The left thumb is swollen painfully and every time I wipe the snot from my nose, it smells putrid. That plan goes on hold.

Luck Ain’t No Lady

The ARVN Rangers and Vietnamese Marines are engaged in a slow move south toward the Big Enchilada, the palace compound that nestles up against the Citadel’s southern wall. When they finally get their shit together and enough press assembled to mark their contributions to what has so far been an all American Marine show, they’ll make the big push on the seat of their ancestral emperors. Meanwhile, 1/5 licks its wounds and continues to send small unit patrols on clearing operations to the east and west of the prime target.

Replacements are filtering in and there’s a fairly steady flow of supplies coming across the Perfume River and up to us from the LCU Ramp outside the Citadel walls. Both men and gear are badly needed. Grunts are beginning to look more like Coxey’s Army than an infantry battalion. Hue City has been hard on everything and everyone. There are cocky little bastards running around everywhere out of sight of the CP wearing weird bits of gear they’ve looted from the houses they clear day by day. There’s a dude with a gaudy, hand-painted silk necktie wrapped around his helmet and another man wearing a kimono with embroidered dragons over his rain suit. Nobody seems to take much notice of the non-regulation get-ups, likely because the regulation stuff is so ratty and torn that make-do seems reasonable and if the grunts want to add a few little garish personal touches—well, maybe that’s a sign that morale hasn’t swirled completely down the shitter.

We are with the shattered remnants of Alpha Company occupying a recently cleared block on the west side of the Citadel near what a map says is the Thuy Quan Canal. It looks like a muck-filled ditch that we’ll have to cross when the word is passed to push on south with some ARVN outfit on our left. Alpha has been hit hard during the northside fighting. While we slammed up against the eastern walls with Delta, these guys got chewed up in other fights all over the Citadel, losing most of their officer and NCO leadership. It looks like an outfit that can use a couple of extra rifles and a little experienced help.

As we wait, some fresh men are being interviewed by Moon Man, a lance corporal squad leader with a peace symbol on the front of his dented helmet and a knife that looks like a small sword hanging from a chain around his neck. It’s an odd counterpoint, but the irony is lost on Moon Man who is jotting in a rain-swollen notebook as he talks to a man wearing brand new combat gear and a shocked expression on his beardless face.

“What’s your deal, man?”

“I’m a baker. They policed me up at Phu Bai and just sent me up here. Next thing I know, some dude hands me a bunch of ammo and says report to Alpha Company. Here I am.”

“Yeah…times are hard ain’t they?” Moon Man licks the tip of his pen and turns a page. “So what’s your name, baker.”

“That's it.”

“That's what?”

“That's my name. Baker, Walter C. Guess I should have known. When I got out of boot camp, they take one look at my name and send me to cook and baker school.”

Moon Man snaps his notebook shut and nods at the rifle slung over the replacement’s shoulder. “You know how to use that fuckin’ thing?”

“I qualified on the range but I ain’t handled a rifle for a long time. I been makin’ chow and bakin’ shit ever since I got to The Nam.”

Moon Man just nods and grabs the new guy’s rifle. He strips the sling and pitches it into the muddy canal. “We don’t use no slings. Man’s got a sling on his rifle, he’s tempted to carry it on his shoulder. You carry a rifle on your shoulder up here and you wind up dead real fast. You carry it in your hands so it’s there when you need it in a hurry.” Moon Man motions toward the grinning grunts watching the interview. “These guys know the ropes. You stick close to us. Do what we tell you and you might make it back to bakin’ cookies.”

Staff Sergeant Hawk Nose sidles up looking more like a cadaver than a Marine. He’s seen some hard times and his eyes are so badly blood-shot in his pale bearded face that he looks like some B-movie vampire. Steve knows him from a previous op down near Go Noi Island.

“You seen this gaggle of new meat that just come in?” We did. “Well, I’m needin’ all the help I can get until they send us some new officers and a Company Gunny. You guys are sergeants with time in the bush, so I’m askin’ you to play linebackers here. If it gets heavy…if things freeze up, can I rely on you to step up?”

“Your guys gonna be OK with that?” Steve knows how cloistered things get in a grunt unit under pressure. “Lots of ’em don’t know us.”

“Don’t matter. They’ll follow if you lead. I’ll pass the word.”

Hawk Nose points a finger at us and winks one of his red eyes. Steve stretches and starts to hum. What’s the tune? “Luck, be a Lady tonight….you know, luck be polite; don’t leave me tonight.” He’s polishing his glasses with a dirty shirt-tail and grinning. Having a little trouble seeing the humor in anyone but a grunt but—there it is. When the unit comes up on line and starts to move, we fall in behind a shaky line of replacements being shepherded by veteran privates who have become fireteam leaders. Steve pops me a little salute as he moves toward the right flank, walking with AP Reporter who has decided to come along on the stroll. I’m over on the left just behind Moon Man and keeping a close eye on Baker, Walter C.

It’s all start, stop, bitch, and start again as Alpha shuttles like an accordion trying to keep abreast of the ARVN units that are supposedly moving parallel with us. No one has seen them but we get regular orders over the radio to halt or hurry as we plod through streets and alleys leading south. It’s mostly what passes for quiet on the northside of Hue and we can hear the driver of the deuce-and-a-half following behind us shifting gears. He’s got extra ammo and a buddy from battalion Motor T manning a .50 caliber machinegun in a ring-mount over the cab. Ma Deuce and a few mortars on call are all the support Alpha’s got.