13th Valley (28 page)

Egan's voice rose in an eerie whisper. “Maybe we'll get ta shoot some gooks today—shoot em right through the fuckin head. Would ya like that? DAMN! War is good. Really good. You love it, don'tcha? Don'tcha?” Egan leaned forward pressing Cherry for affirmation.

Cherry trembled imperceptibly. “War,” Egan said forming his lips into a trumpet and sensuously blowing the word at Cherry. “They send you to the far corners of the earth. You hear the blasts of artillery and bombs. You get weapons, helicopters. You can call all heaven down, all hell up, with your radio. War. It's wonderful. It don't make a gnat's ass difference who the enemy is. Every man, once in his life, should go to WAR.” Egan harshly flicked the butt of his cigarette across the ravine then spat into the earth between himself and Cherry.

Cherry hesitated, then muttered, “Yeah, but is it right?”

“Winning makes it right,” Egan snarled. “You can count your cherry ass on that.”

“What about the corruption?” Cherry asked more aggressively.

Egan snapped harsher, “Corruption?! What corruption? Thieu? Are you goina tell me if the gooks win, they won't be corrupt? Do you think they'll be better? Do you think their honchos won't rape and pillage? You can kiss my ass. You're missin the point. Fuck the honchos. It's us or them. WAR! May the best man win. WAR. Beautiful WAR. When yer kids ask ya, ‘Daddy, who'd the night belong to? Daddy, did you kill anybody?' tell em the night belonged to Egan—and he killed everybody.”

Egan stomped away. Cherry did not look at the men about him. He was sure everyone was staring at him. He breathed deeply trying to gain control. Things had been coming together slowly for him. At first everything seemed detached from every other thing; each incident, meeting, conversation seemed to be a separate entity. Then things began to blur; one incident became indistinguishable from another, the starting and stopping in time and physical arrangement became all screwed up in his mind. Egan's tirade had suddenly caused a connection, a clear slash of reality through the haze. It was the beginning of understanding, the beginning of Cherry's loss of innocence. Chelini was at war. “You are finally goina see it,” he mumbled to himself. “You're finally goina be a part of it.”

Off the landing strip at the beginning of a tiny divide between two ravines of Alpha Company troops, Lieutenant Brooks re-briefed his platoon leaders, forward observer and two platoon sergeants. In one hand he held a map of the operational area, in the other his M-16 rifle. “Birds will be here in one-three,” he said. “They'll land at thirty-second intervals. We're going up in platoon order, first, second and third. Have your men arranged in pick-up order. Where's Egan?”

“I think he went off to write a letter to his lady,” Lieutenant Thomaston said.

“Tell him to get moving. Okay, let's break it up. Have em get em on.”

Lieutenants Caldwell and De Barti walked off with their platoon sergeants. Lieutenant Thomaston strode over toward where Egan stood cussing.

Seven men approached Brooks from the center of the landing strip. They were dressed in smartly tailored, well-starched fatigue uniforms. Leading the group was the 3d Brigade commander. He wore a spotless helmet with a freshly starched cloth helmet cover. On the front of the cover were embroidered gold letters spelling out OLD FOX in a horseshoe wreath. Inside the wreath was the silver eagle insignia of his rank.

By the side of the Old Fox was Lt.Col. Henderson, the GreenMan. Both men wore web gear over their fatigues and both carried .45 caliber pistols in polished leather holsters. Their boots were so shined that somehow the dust of the strip had not dulled or coated them.

Behind Henderson was his aide and behind the Old Fox was his entourage of aides and advisers. The commanders approached Brooks together while the aides hung back a respectful three or four feet.

“Good morning, Sir,” Lieutenant Brooks saluted.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” the two senior officers saluted in unison.

“Lieutenant Brooks, I do not think I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance before but I've heard nothing but positive reports about you for the past week. I'd like to say it is an honor to have you in my command.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Brooks replied uneasily.

The Old Fox spoke perfectly, weighing each word for effect and calculating the response each received. “Brooks, I am the Colonel, The Man, The Old Man if you like. And what I say goes.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Lieutenant, if there is one thing life has taught me it is this: You have to pay for what you get. Don't you agree?”

“Yes Sir.”

“You have to pay for liberty, for freedom, for justice.”

Christ, Brooks thought. What am I in for now?

“I want to tell you something about war, about this war. I want to impart to you lessons I've learned that seem to be lost on our youth today. I'd be very pleased, Lieutenant, if you'd impart this lesson to your platoon leaders and NCOs. I'd' be very pleased if my words filtered down to your brave men. How old are you, Lieutenant?”

“Twenty-four, Sir.”

“Twenty-four,” the Old Fox repeated quietly, shaking his head. “Lieutenant,” he said louder, “this infiltration is like a cancer to this nation. It's like a tumor which we've attacked. We've halted its growth and possibly reversed its gnawing, rotting progress. When Marines first landed in I Corps back in '65 most of their contacts were made within five to eight kilometers of the cities. In '67 and '68, with the exception of the Tet Offensive and Counter-Offensive, the fighting had moved into the jungles and away from the populated lowlands. Now, Lieutenant, we are in the mountains thirty, forty, fifty kilometers from the cities we must defend. A lot of Americans have paid dearly for this protection and we have been paid back. We have checked this cancer. But until the victim is strong enough to combat this disease by himself, our aid is paramount to his survival.”

“Yes Sir.”

“One of our problems is public opinion, Brooks, and you and your men are part of the public. That's why I want to address you personally. The North has never publicly admitted either to infiltrating the South or to its ultimate objective of conquering the South. That lack of a clearly stated objective has tricked many Americans into questioning whether their objectives, so fully exposed by our intelligence network, are indeed real. Many Americans simply do not believe it or choose not to believe it yet we are about to tangle with a massive element of NVA regulars—infiltrators.

“The purpose of our being here is to defend South Vietnam, not to occupy or to dominate it. We are an army opposing an army. They are an army who has come to conquer. We may well try to capture or control the same objectives but our intent is not identical. We are defenders, not aggressors. As President Johnson once said, ‘Aggression unchallenged is aggression unleashed.' We are here to challenge the aggression from the North. Do you believe that, Lieutenant?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good, Lieutenant, because if you believe in what you are fighting for, if you support the cause, you are more apt to be willing to die for that cause. If you do not believe in what you are fighting for, you fight badly. If you fight badly, you are more apt to lose and more apt to die. It is a paradox of traditional warfare that if you believe in the cause for which you fight, you are more apt to risk your life, more apt to win, less apt to fight badly and less apt to die. More risk but less death. That, Lieutenant, is why you and your men must believe in what we are doing.

“We are the strongest, toughest, hardest fighting division in the Army. But by the news releases that I see every day, one would think we are a bunch of pansies. Lieutenant, I believe in our just cause and I want you to know you are backed by our every asset. Either we shall all pull together, fight together or we shall die together. That's the way it is. Lastly, Lieutenant, you would not be here, your men would not be here, if your country did not need you. Believe me, Lieutenant, your country will repay you many fold.”

The Old Fox saluted Lieutenant Brooks, awaited a return salute, executed an about-face and marched toward the commander of Charlie Company. Colonel Henderson waited until the brigade commander was a dozen paces off then said smiling, “Rufus, that man's on our side and I'm sure he likes you. You might get a personal letter of recommendation from him for your file. Now I've got several operational changes for you and clarification and delineation of objectives. May I see your map?”

In the corner of his vision Brooks watched the Old Fox and his entourage as they approached then encircled the commander of Charlie Company. He lifted his map for the GreenMan with detachment, momentarily concentrating on the Old Fox.

“Rufus, you'll CA to 848 as planned,” the GreenMan spoke excitedly. “You'll work west across the ridgeline and north down this finger and then onto the valley floor here and then work toward this knoll as best you see fit.” The GreenMan pointed to the center of the valley on the map where brown concentric circles indicated an elevation rise. He studied the map as if he were planning the operation for the first time, directing attention to topographic details with his stubby clean fingers. “This knoll is your ultimate objective. I see it taking ten to twelve days to clear this AO.

“There's a strong enemy force in this valley. We've added a reinforced company from 3d of the 187th to secure Firebase Barnett and this is going to give us two additional maneuver elements. As you know Bravo Company is going to assault here, northwest of you. They'll set up a blocking force on the northeastern end of the valley. Charlie Company will not secure the firebase. Instead they'll be inserted here to the west and secure that flank against any additional enemy units coming up the valley and block any units trying to escape. Delta Company will go in here and set up a blocking force on the north escarpment and check out the caves. Recon will be inserted directly behind you, here. They'll follow you by a day or two until they reach this point on the south ridge where they'll close off any NVA travel between this valley and the O'Reilly area. Each of the blocking forces will search their areas for bunker complexes and enemy concentrations. But you, Rufus. You're going to be the rover.

“I want you and your men to check out the valley floor and to work toward this knoll. Have you got that?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Rufus, I'm looking for a fight,” the GreenMan said exuding enthusiasm. He boasted, “We are hos-tile, a-gile, and air-mobile. I don't know how much of a cancer these NVA are. I don't pretend to know what the political picture is. But what I do know, Rufus, is how to fight. I know how to find and defeat the enemy and how to do it with the least casualties. I promise you the utmost support. I know what you've accomplished in these mountains and I know the sacrifices you and your men have made. You are a natural born soldier, Rufus. A real jungle man. Your sacrifice has bought time for the people of our area, from, Quang Tri to Hue and all the way south, and it has brought peace to this population. We can't fail them now. We don't allow failure.”

Brooks kept his face down to the map while Henderson spoke. He's like a chubby little kid, Brooks thought. Like a little kid playing with tin soldiers on a dirt mound in his backyard in the middle of Missouri or some place. He's having a good time now. That's cool. It's partly because he plays so well that we're good. Because we're good our opponents cut us some slack. It makes it easier.

“Rufus,” the GreenMan continued, “you are a thinking human being. Your men are intelligent and experienced. I'm not going to send in a lot of plays from the sidelines. You be your own quarterback. And Lieutenant, we are playing for keeps. I know you know that. This is the big game, Rufus.” The GreenMan checked his watch. “The Air Force has prepped ten landing zones. We'll use five; five are diversionary. You've got a good company, Rufus, a goddamned fine company. Best in the battalion, in my opinion. Maybe best in the whole goddamned division.”

“That's a real honor for a first lieutenant. If things work out well we'll see that you get that promotion to captain. Who knows, maybe we'll get you a Silver Star. That always looks good on a young officer's record.”

“We're ready. Sir,” the colonel's aide interrupted. “The birds are due here in zero-three.”

“Thank you.” The GreenMan paused and looked Brooks coldly in the eye. “Best get your men lined up,” he said, his chin tight and hard. Then he saluted Rufus Brooks and said, “For the Glory of the Infantry, Lieutenant.”

C
HAPTER
11

T
HE
CA

The sound of helicopters had pulsated in Cherry's ears all morning. Now the air became saturated with the roar of jet engines and the slap-thumping of rotors. Cherry saw eighteen slicks racing toward the landing strip from the south, Huey UH-lDs, small birds compared to the massive Chinooks, approaching low-level in a line looking like a flying race down the dragway, helicopters speeding bearing down on top of him. Behind the first heat. a second squadron of eighteen birds appeared. Behind those a third. High in the air to the west, waiting to rendezvous with the troop ships, were a dozen Cobras.