Another Place Episode 12

Another Place Another Time

Book One

Jake and Whispers

Episode Twelve

The seventeen hour flight had taken a greater toll on me than I realized. The last thing I remember after making my bed was falling onto it. Riley woke me, five hours later. “Get up, Sarge, the CO and the First Sergeant want to meet you and give you a quick briefing on the mission.”

As I entered the orderly room, I saw the First Sergeant, sitting behind a bare desk. He stood and came toward me with his hand outstretched. Towering at least 6’5”, he was as black as any man I’d ever seen. Somehow he’d managed to get his fatigues starched. The starched uniform and his lean ramrod-straight bearing made him an ideal candidate for a U.S. Army recruiting poster. He smiled, shook my hand, and said, “Jake, it’s good to have you on the team.” Before I could say anything, he called over his shoulder in the general direction of the only office, “Sir, Jake is here.”

At the announcement, I heard rustling in the office and in seconds Captain Steve Petty, who appeared to be all of sixteen years old, joined us. Captain Petty was maybe an inch taller than Riley whom I had pegged at 5’6” or 5’7”. He was pale like someone who was seldom in the sun, and he wore wire rim glasses, which reminded me of a photo I’d seen of a prairie school teacher around the turn of the century.

Out of habit, I came to attention as soon as he walked into the room. He raised his hand and said, “That’s not necessary here, Jake. We’re a line unit. It’s performance that matters here; frankly, we don’t much care about appearance.”

“That’ll take some getting used to,” I said.

They all laughed, especially Riley who was typing a report and listening to us at the same time.

The First Sergeant suggested, “Let’s go around to the mess hall and have a cup of coffee, and we’ll brief you. Sergeant Lands will meet us there.” As we left the orderly room, Riley said, “First Sergeant, would you bring me a cup of coffee when you come back?”

I looked at Riley. He was a bit rumpled, which I suspected was the way he always looked. He leaned toward the heavy side – solid - with thick, black-rimmed glasses. It occurred to me ‘the Company Commander looked like a 16-year-old, the First Sergeant was Army all the way, and the Company Clerk looked like he belongs on a farm. They were as unalike in appearance as three men could be, yet at the same time, in little things, like Riley asking the First Sergeant to bring him a cup of coffee, and the way they didn’t defer to rank but rather to knowledge when telling a story, led me to know that these three were a competent team. They were men who got the job done without wasted effort, fanfare, or second thought. Time confirmed that assessment.

When we got to the mess hall, we found Lands sitting at a table, reading a paperback, and sipping a cup of coffee. We got our coffee and joined him. We were the only ones in the mess hall.

The First Sergeant began, “Jake, since we work 24 hours a day, the mess hall is always open. There are fewer than a hundred of us in the company when we are at full strength, which isn’t often, by the way. So, we have only one mess hall rather than separate officer, NCO, and enlisted mess halls. While I’m on that subject, have you seen the rest of the company area?”

“Yes. Riley gave me the tour, and I feel at home already. I guess you know this is my first permanent duty station. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever been out of the state of Georgia so, my head is swimming a bit.”

Captain Petty laughed and said, “Jake, trust me, in a week you’ll think you’ve been here forever. And, speaking of time, it’s going to be a factor soon, and it will take you longer today than normal to get ready. Let’s jump into the briefing.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said. And my work in Vietnam began.

The First Sergeant said. “Captain Petty and I weren’t here when you signed in because we were with the 9th Division Pathfinders, checking the Landing Zone that will be the site of a major insertion forty-eight hours from now. The LZ is secure and the Pathfinders left a squad there to make sure it stays that way. In a little over an hour Riley will take you and Lands and your dogs to the staging area where you’ll meet the LURP team you’ll be working with.”

The First Sergeant looked at the Company Commander, who picked up the briefing. “Jake, we won’t say the mission is going to be routine because nothing is ever routine in Vietnam. From the time that you, Lands, and your dog’s get on the choppers with the LURPS, you have to act as if you are in enemy territory because you are. Your first and most important lesson in Vietnam is, pay attention. You don’t have the luxury of daydreaming, not even here on Bearcat when you’re walking to the PX, or when you’re in the shower or sitting in this mess hall.”

The First Sergeant pointed to a diagonal hole through the north wall and then pointed at an identical hole in the south wall.

“Last week a 9th Division Huey was running at a flight idle while parked on a helipad over fifty yards from here. For no reason that anyone can figure, his tail rotor broke in two. Half of it came through the mess hall; we don’t know where it stopped, because we haven’t found it yet. When it happened, there were a dozen guys in here. They said it sounded like a fifty caliber round, so they all hit the floor as it passed through. Always pay attention. Save your daydreams for the plane ride back to the States. Lands, give Jake an idea of how the patrol will work.”

“Jake, you and I won’t know the direction the patrol plans to take. In fact, only the Patrol Leader and his NCOIC (Noncommissioned Officer In Charge) will know which is fine by me. I still remember my first patrol, a five-day sweep. Two or three days into it, I wondered who knew where we were going, and then I wondered if someone had told me and I’d forgotten,” we laughed, then he continued. “Today you’ll be in the rear just to observe. After this one, more than likely you and Whispers will be alone on your next and all other patrols. Then you will be with the point man. Even then, you don’t have to know where you’re going. You and Whispers only have two jobs: first, you two have to make sure the patrol doesn’t walk into an ambush; and, second, that they don’t walk into booby traps or stumble over trip wires. Do you have any questions?”

I laughed. “I guess I don’t know enough to ask a question.”

“You’ll have plenty of questions in a few hours,” Captain Petty said. We finished our coffee and left the mess hall. Lands and I went back to our room. There Lands began laying out the equipment he would take, while helping me do the same. When we had our personal gear ready, we went to Supply, where Staff Sergeant Ferguson went through a forty-eight hour recon patrol checklist with us. After that, he issued us extra ammunition for our .45 automatics and a supply of c-rations.

With all the gear stacked on the counter, Ferguson grinned and said, “Well, boys, that’s all I can do for you; may the luck of the Irish be with you.”

We went to the kennel where Lieutenant Adams, the unit Veterinarian, gave us a report on the condition of our dogs. “Jake, I’ve just finished checking Whispers and, as I’m sure you know, he is in great shape.”

Then, he turned to Lands and said, “You should be in as good shape as Ringo.”

They laughed. “Doc, you know I’m in better shape than that old gray beard.”

“Lands, that dog wasn’t old until he started working with you. I think you’ve scared him.”

We laughed and went outside to get the dogs. I took one look at Whispers and knew that he knew this was the real deal, the moment we’d been training for.

At the staging area, Lands introduced me to the LURPS. There were twelve of them, all seasoned veterans from their appearance, led by two men. The first, Lieutenant Barzuto, was an intense, lean, handsome man. The second, Staff Sergeant Rice, was a tall, slow-talking Southerner who reminded me of many of the boys I’d known in Valdosta. There was one radioman and a medic, they, like Lands and I, wore .45 automatics. The rest of the LURPS had a .45 plus an M16 or M79 grenade launcher. The patrol did not have a machine gun, mortar, or heavier weapon.

The Greyhounds, a company of the 214th Combat Aviation Battalion, took us to the Landing Zone in three lightly armed Hueys called Slicks. The Slicks were escorted by two Gunships, Hueys with Gatling guns, rocket launchers, and M-60 machine guns suspended by bungee cords from the door frame on each side. The machine guns were for the Door Gunner and the Crew Chief.

The ten minute flight to the Landing Zone was as uneventful as a Fort Benning training exercise. In fact, the patrol could have been just another training exercise, at least for the first four hours.

An hour past full dark, we were crossing a large open field between the jungle and some rice paddies when I heard a sound that reminded me of the sound of a roman candle just after it’s lit, except the sound ended with an explosion about as loud as a cherry bomb or M50. I heard Corporal Williams, the LURP Medic, say, “Oh, shit.”

Immediately from the darkness someone shouted, “Medic.”

Williams said, “Stay with me, Jake. That explosion was a Bouncing Betty, which means we’ve got a man down, because Betties never miss.”

I’d learned about Bouncing Bettys in Ranger Training. Unlike a regular mine, their purpose wasn’t to kill, but to injure one man. That strategy insured that two, maybe three men would be out of action—the injured man and one or two to take care of him and guard him until the medevac chopper arrived.

We found the injured LURP by following the sound of people moving around in the darkness. It was Corporal Johnson, a Kansas farm boy. The Lieutenant and Sergeant Rice were already beside the wounded LURP. I heard Rice say, “You’re going to be fine, Johnson…you’ll be fine.”

Corporal Williams quickly examined the wound, a jagged gash on his upper thigh. In the moonlight, I could see the pain on Johnson’s face. Williams applied a pressure bandage.

“Johnson, in a few minutes I’m going to give you some morphine. It will take away the pain. You were lucky, my friend, normally Bettys tear out a guy’s guts. Be glad that you are a tall drink of water.”

With the bleeding stopped, Williams gave Johnson an injection of morphine and told the Lieutenant, “He’s lucky. The shrapnel missed the artery. I’ve stopped the bleeding, and he’ll be fine, but there is no way he can go any further.”

Without hesitation, Lieutenant Barzuto said, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Jake, I know you are new in country and you thought this was a training mission, and it was until a few minutes ago, then you graduated. I want you to stay with Johnson until we come back. We can’t call for a dust-off, because it would give away our position. Williams will give you some extra morphine, bandages, and water. No matter what happens, stay quiet. If you hear or see the VC do not make contact. Do not fire unless you are fired on. Do you understand?”

I was still marveling at how rapidly everything had changed, but somehow I managed to say, “Yes, Sir, I understand.”

Within seconds the LURPS along with Lands and Ringo, were gone, leaving Whispers and me alone with a drugged and unconscious Johnson. I looked around the area. The half-moon and light breeze worked together to create strange shadows over the landscape. The only noise was the continuous sound of crickets. It seemed as though the three of us had been alone in that place forever.

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