Black Market (27 page)

Arnason left Youngbloode to talk to the colonel and started placing the remainder of the team around the area in a defensive
perimeter. The OCS captain was way ahead of everyone and had selected four excellent fire lanes for the men.

Woods turned and saw the pair of NVA trying to duck back in the jungle. He fired a short burst from his CAR-15 and took out
both of them. The NVA were closing in faster than they could move with the wounded men. Woods hadn’t realized it yet, but
all of his team had taken hits, mostly flesh wounds and fragments from their own grenades because they had been tossed so
close to their own positions.

Arnason heard the automatic weapon fire and could tell instantly that it was a CAR-15. He alerted his men to be ready for
Woods and his team to come through their lines.

The first two men in the clearing were Welburg’s flunkies. The taller soldier was carrying his buddy over his shoulder in
a fireman’s carry. They broke out in the clearing before the taller man even knew he was among Americans.

Arnason saw Woods and Sanchez before they cleared the jungle. “DAVID! OVER HERE!”

The sound of his team leader’s voice gave Woods the added strength he needed and he broke into a hobble, paused, and turned
to fire another burst at the tracking NVA soldiers.

The whole small perimeter broke out in a song of death. The NVA had been traveling in force only a few minutes behind Woods.
The heavy fighting lasted only for a couple of minutes before the NVA commander realized that he had run into a force larger
than a single recon team. He withdrew to regroup his men.

Woods fell back against a small boulder and let his head rest on the cool rock. “Holy fuck!”

“It’s good seeing you again, David … Enjoy your stroll through the jungle?” Arnason was happy that Woods and Sanchez had made
it.

“Oh! Fuck!” Woods couldn’t think of anything else to say. He looked over at Sanchez and Warner sitting together near a pile
of rocks. “Where’s Koski?”

“He’s all right … I think he’s holding down the whole southern flank by himself.”

Woods closed his eyes and enjoyed the simple pleasure while he listened to the sound of artillery rounds whistling in and
exploding all around their position. Captain Youngbloode was calling in artillery fire to get the NVA to withdraw. The huge
8-inch howitzers were extremely accurate but had a slow rate of fire. They were the only fire support the command could afford
at the time. The NVA antiaircraft fire was too intense to risk sending in helicopter gunships and low-flying jets.

The brigade commander sat in his command bunker and realized that he might have made a bad error in sending the recon company
so far away from the main body of troops. He had assumed they would maintain air superiority. The remnants of the recon company
was surrounded by a superior NVA force, and there was no way that he could support them, except with the battery of 8-inch
howitzers near Lang Vei and the twin 4.2-inch mortars that were part of the Special Forces camp defense system.

Arnason looked around the small clearing and counted the number of men left who could still fight. Woods had brought three
seriously wounded Marines in with him. He looked around again, trying to locate Sergeant Welburg, and couldn’t see him at
any of the two-man fighting positions.

“Sergeant Arnason!” Youngbloode drew Arnason’s attention back to the tasks at hand. “Let’s check our ammo … I need a count
on grenades too.”

Arnason nodded and started checking the troops nearest to his location.

The first signs of approaching evening were the flocks of birds coming in from the plateau to drink at the river. Woods looked
up from his weapon at a flock of bright green-and-blue parakeet-sized birds that had paused in the trees surrounding the remainder
of the recon company and the Marines. He finished wiping down his CAR-15 with the oily rag he carried for that purpose. It
seemed like a waste of time, and maybe he should do something more important, but in times of great stress it is sometimes
very calming to do a simple task.

Captain Youngbloode and the staff officer were talking with Arnason and one of the Marines a few feet away from where Woods
sat. He could catch snatches of what they were whispering, and for the most part didn’t like what they were saying. The OCS
captain wanted to try to sneak away during the night and attempt a linkup with one of the battalions to the east, or even
try to make it to Lang Vei. Captain Youngbloode wanted to secure the area they were in and try to hold out until a relief
force could reach them. Woods didn’t like either idea; staying would be almost suicidal because it was just a matter of time
before the NVA started mortaring them, and once night fell the NVA would attack for sure. Trying to walk out would be foolish
because of the three seriously wounded Marines, none of whom could walk.

Arnason said something sharp under his breath and left the group. He saw Woods sitting near the wounded men and veered toward
him, running in a low crouch.

“What was that all about?” Woods nodded toward the group.

“They’ve decided on walking out of here tonight, as soon as it gets dark.”

“What about those guys?” Woods nodded at the three wounded men.

Arnason paused and coughed before answering. “They’re going to be left back here…” He knew what Woods’s reaction was going
to be.

“Bullshit!” Woods started getting up off the ground and Arnason pushed him back down.

“Hold it! Now listen to me before you go off half-cocked!” Arnason looked around and lowered his voice. “There are twenty
men who can still fight and seven walking wounded who can probably make it to Lang Vei—”

“What about the
three
men who can’t move!” Woods ground his teeth.

“I’m going to stay back here with them, and when the captain gets back he’s going to send in a relief force to extract us.”
Arnason couldn’t look at Woods.

“Bullshit! That’s suicide!”

Anger flashed across Arnason’s face. “What other suggestions do you have?
Everyone
dies sitting here?”

Woods felt the tears coming from the frustration he was feeling. He shook his head. “There
has
to be another way!”

“There isn’t … and there’s no guarantee that those walking out are going to make it, but it’s better than waiting here.” Arnason
grinned. “Besides, I’m going to surround myself with a constant barrage of artillery.”

Woods nodded.

One of the wounded Marines moaned and motioned for Woods to come closer to him. The distraction was what Woods needed to get
his mind off what Arnason had said. “Yeah, buddy … how’ya feeling?”

The Marine tried focusing his eyes but failed. “Are you a Catholic?”

“Sorry…”

“I need to talk to a Catholic.” The Marine spaced his words apart, using a tremendous amount of determination just to talk.

“You got it, buddy. Let me find one for you.” Woods looked over and couldn’t see Koski, who had slipped out in the jungle
to act as a forward outpost. Sanchez’s cape could barely be seen next to where one of Welburg’s flunkies sat. “I’ll be right
back.”

Sanchez squatted down next to the Marine and had to lean over his chest to hear what the man was trying to say. Woods watched
from a few feet away. Sanchez reached in his jacket pocket and removed a small silver case. Woods had had short glimpses of
the silver box when Sanchez would change uniforms, but he had no idea what its purpose was. Sanchez opened the case and rubbed
his thumb on one side. Then he reached over and made the sign of the cross on the wounded Marine’s forehead.

Woods knew then what was going on and blinked back the tears forming over his eyes.

Sanchez spoke in Latin and his voice carried across the battlefield to a number of the soldiers nearby. Woods could see more
than a few of their lips moving as they recited the Lord’s Prayer along with Sanchez in English. Woods caught himself joining
in near the end.

Sanchez pulled the light poncho up over the Marine’s face and slipped his silver box back into his chest pocket, over his
heart.

Youngbloode had gone from position to position and had briefed each of the men on what they were going to do as soon as it
got dark. The last fighting position held Warner and Koski, who had rejoined the perimeter as the light under the canopy began
to fade. They were all expecting an NVA assault at any time.

Youngbloode placed his hand on Warner’s shoulder. “I’m going to rely on you, Bobby, to lead us out of here in the dark.” The
captain stared at the young soldier, looking for any sign that would tell him Warner couldn’t handle the additional responsibility.

Warner nodded. He was scared, but he had confidence in his ability to find his way. He had noticed that the captain had called
him by his first name, and that made him feel good.

Koski looked at the captain and made a statement. “I’m walking point with him.” He didn’t ask, he told the captain.

“Fine.” Youngbloode understood that there was no way Koski would leave Warner by himself, and he admired the loyalty Arnason’s
men had for each other.

“What about the wounded Marines?” Koski was still physically in good shape. He had taken a flesh wound through one of his
lat muscles and a half-dozen cuts and frag wounds, but he knew that he still could carry one of the wounded men by himself.

Youngbloode paused. He didn’t want to tell the men what Arnason had planned, but he wasn’t going to lie to them either. “We’re
going to leave a small stay-behind force back here with them.” Youngbloode quickly added, “One of them has died, so there’s
only two seriously wounded men left.”

Koski thought for a second and looked over at Warner. He was torn between two loyalties. He wanted to stay with the detail
protecting the wounded, but he couldn’t leave Warner to fend for himself, especially if he was going to be breaking point
in the middle of the night. “Who’s staying with them?”

“Arnason.” Youngbloode tried whispering the sergeant’s name.

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“No—”

“Listen! He has the best chance. We can’t move those two guys or they’ll bleed to death, and if we all stay here…” Youngbloode
didn’t need to finish his sentence. “We’ll be moving out as soon as it gets dark, unless the NVA attack.”

Warner nodded his head.

The artillery fires had kept the NVA at bay throughout the afternoon, and the unit that had surrounded the remnants of the
recon teams had suffered heavy casualties trying to maintain a cordon around the trapped Americans. Late in the afternoon
the NVA regimental commander gave his commander permission to withdraw and regroup his men before assaulting the American
positions when it got dark. He was confident in his knowledge of American tactics and knew that the Americans would try to
air-assault a company of infantry or maybe even a battalion near the trapped men, and then he was going to commit his reserve
and render the Americans a crushing defeat. The surrounded Americans by the river were the perfect bait for his trap of antiaircraft
weapons placed along the Laotian side of the river and scattered throughout the Khe Sanh Plateau.

Arnason adjusted the artillery so that there was a gap in the circle of steel for the team to slip through. Woods and Welburg’s
two flunkies had built a rock wall around the two wounded men and had stacked a couple piles of rocks for Arnason to use as
fighting positions. He could call in the mortar round to within a few meters of his position if he had to and still be protected
from the shrapnel if he stayed prone.

Youngbloode scurried over to where Arnason sat next to the rock wall and whispered, “Good luck, Sergeant. I’ll be back as
soon as I can for you.”

Arnason grinned and nodded his head.

Woods slipped over the wall and took up a position in the extra fighting spot.

“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Arnason was angry.

“I’m staying with you.” The statement was nonnegotiable. “Spencer Barnett was enough for me, and I swore that would never
happen again. All of us are going or I stay.”

Arnason drew in a deep breath. He knew how much it had pained Woods when Spencer Barnett had been taken prisoner by the NVA
a couple of months earlier. Woods had blamed himself for leaving him behind during a firefight, and Arnason could understand
why he wasn’t going to do it again. “David, I’d feel a lot better if I knew—”

Woods cut him off. “
I’d
feel a lot better
if
!”

“Captain?” Arnason tried getting the captain involved.

“I’ve already talked to him.” Woods made himself comfortable against the rocks. He planned on staying awhile.

Youngbloode shrugged his shoulders. He had tried talking Woods out of staying back, but failed. He respected the team’s loyalty
to each other enough not to order Woods to go.

The shadow of the last man disappeared in the jungle. Woods felt very much alone, even though Arnason sat in the dark a few
feet away. One of the Marines moaned and he reached over to gently rub his cheek. It wasn’t a very manly thing to do, but
it was all the comfort he could give the badly wounded man, to let him know he wasn’t alone.