Guns Up! (30 page)

“You’ll have to pull him in. This guy is really blasted.”

“Hey! Man! He puked all over my boot!”

“Here’s his rifle and pack.”

I was going up. So was my stomach.

“Man, you look green!” I opened my eyes. The door gunner was talking to me.

“I feel green. I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Here, hang out the hatch. I’ll hold your feet.”

I rolled toward the hatch, took my helmet off, and stuck my head out. The wind smashed against my ears. The ground swirled. I puked. And puked. And puked.

“Can you get off okay?” The young face covered with dark flight glasses seemed honestly concerned. “I sure hope you ain’t no boot.” My head stopped spinning, but I felt weak all the way down to the ankles. “Can you get off?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“There it is, bro.”

We dropped down faster than usual. My stomach came up. I wanted to throw up, but there was nothing left inside. This chopper was in too big a hurry. I knew what that meant. I wonder if God’s going to let me die drunk.

“Is it a hot LZ?” I asked.

“I think so. You better lock and load, bro.” He let loose a five-round burst at the ground below. My head pounded with each shot.

“What are you firing at?”

“Just making sure she doesn’t jam!” he shouted.

“We’re goin’ in!” a voice from the cockpit shouted. My stomach tightened. I didn’t feel drunk anymore. Just like, back in the world, I could always sober up when I saw those flashing red lights. The gunner started firing. We dropped like the dip on a rollercoaster, then steadied up, hovering ten feet above the ground. Small white puffs of smoke spit from a group of long-leafed banana trees. The door gunner fired back.

“Get out!”

I jumped through the hatch. The chopper started up before I hit the hard ground. My stomach rumbled. I belched up more whiskey and spit it out. Twenty-five meters to my front an M60 peppered the banana trees. Fifty meters to my rear another M60 opened up. Cracking AK rounds wailed overhead. Marines shouted back and forth behind me. I belched up another mouthful of whiskey and puke. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I flattened to the ground. I’ll never drink again, I swore. Oh, God, I hope you let me drink again.

“Find some cover, fool!” I looked around to see who was shouting. The gunny’s head peeked up from a foxhole twenty meters to my right.

“Gunny! It’s me! I’m back!”

“Chan’s over there!” He pointed to the gun straight ahead of me, then ducked back down as AK fire ripped across the open perimeter. Thank God, I thought. Chan’s okay.

“In the tree! There’s a gook in the tree!” a voice screamed at the top of his lungs behind me and to the left. I turned to look back in time to see five Marines on their knees firing up into a tall, thin-trunked tree with a cluster of branches at the top. A rifle fell from the top of the tree, followed by the limp body of a man, which bounced off two limbs and thudded to the dry earth in a splash of dust.

“Chan! It’s me! John! I’m comin’ over! Give me some fire!” I jumped to my feet and ran zigzagging toward the sputtering M60. Chan sent a spread of tracers up and down the line of banana trees. Tiny clouds of dust kicked up around me as the gooks spotted a moving target. Chan fired from behind a fallen banana tree. Five yards from Chan I dove the rest of the way. The landing sent another shock wave through my stomach. I belched up a couple more shots of whiskey.

“Nice timing! You got any ammo?” Chan spoke without looking at me. “The tree line’s full of gooks.”
Then he turned. “I don’t believe it. You’re finally getting a mustache.”

“Where’s your A-gunner?” I asked.

“Dead.”

“Who?”

“A boot. Arvis Hendry, remember? He’s back at the CP. We couldn’t get the body out.”

I remembered the scared boot.

“I don’t have any ammo,” I said.

“We’re almost out. Look!” He pointed at a uniformed NVA running from the cover of one tree to another one closer to us. “We’re about to get overrun!”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re surrounded!” Chan shouted. “Why did that chopper drop you in here?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t even know it was a hot LZ!”

“Look at this! We have one belt of ammo left!” Panic was beginning to creep into Chan’s voice. “Third Platoon’s already lost four men back there that I know of.”

“Third Platoon! Is the whole company here?”

“No. Just the Second and Third. We’re in real trouble, buddy.” Chan’s eyes sobered me with a serious stare.

“I’m going after some ammo. Somebody back there has some.”

“Wait.” Chan grabbed my arm. “Let the CP know you’re coming.”

“Hey, Gunny!” I screamed as loud as I could. The chaotic firing around the perimeter drowned me out. I turned to Chan. “He’ll never hear me over all this. I’m going for it. Gunny should know who has gun ammo.” I swallowed back a small belch.

“Be fast!”

“Like the wind!” I clutched my rifle, crawled around to face the CP, trying to stay below the level of the fallen tree. I lodged one foot against the tree to get a good push off, took another deep breath, and screamed, “Why am I doing this?” The first five steps felt like a man running
underwater with broken legs. I wished for tennis shoes and asked God to protect me. Then I realized my flak jacket was on Fire Base Alpha. The whine of a bullet zinged past my left ear. I dodged right, then left, then right again. I thought about what horrible marksmen the gooks normally were. Their only chance of hitting me was if I dodged into one of their misses. I stopped dodging and ran straight for the CP. I could hear the gunny shouting to get down. I dove into his shallow foxhole, landing on top of him. I tried to burrow down but my butt was sticking out in the open.

“I need ammo for the gun!”

“Welcome home!”

“Move over! My butt’s sticking out!” Gunny moved but there still wasn’t room. “I need gun ammo!”

“Third Platoon might have some!” Bullets thudded into the ground with frightening force, kicking dirt into my face.

“Okay!” I jumped to a crouch and ran for the Third Platoon. They looked to be spread into a half-moon shape covering the north and east. Halfway there I shouted ahead, “I need gun ammo!”

“Get down, you idiot!”

“Over here!” An arm waved from a shallow foxhole. I dove in beside the foxhole. My body strained to get under my helmet.

“M60 ammo!” I said as I tried to catch my breath without looking up.

“Here! Get out of here with it! You’re drawing fire!” He handed me two belts of ammo and ducked down.

I grabbed it and jumped up. My feet wouldn’t move fast enough.

“Comin’ by, Gunny!” I shouted ahead. The gunny waved. I veered by his foxhole.

The lieutenant peeked up from another hole. “Keep your head down up there! We got air strikes coming in!”
I kept running and weaving. “Show the Phantoms where the gooks are!” the lieutenant shouted. I didn’t look back.

“Comin’ in, Chan!” I dove in beside him. Pieces of fallen tree flew into the air from a barrage of AK fire. A small gray snake slithered from under the tree five feet to my right and wiggled away. I wanted to be that small. I wanted to follow him. “Chan, we got air strikes comin’. I got two belts.”

“When?”

“Sounded soon! Want to trade places? I just don’t feel right with this little peashooter.”

Chan looked at me seriously, then broke into a smile. “I wondered when you would want this thing back. Yes, might as well. You’re useless as an A-gunner anyway.” We changed positions, staying under cover of the tree. The gun felt good, like an old girlfriend. I fired a ten-round burst at a muzzle flash in the tree line thirty meters away. Three Phantoms roared overhead at treetop level. Flames shot from the tail of the camouflaged Phantoms as they hit their afterburners and climbed straight up, rolled over, and banked gracefully back around. I opened up on the tree line, spraying tracers back and forth to mark the bomb run.

“He rocked his wings!” Chan shouted.

“Burn, suckers, burn!”

Like lightning, a sleek Phantom dropped from the blue sky over the banana trees low enough for me to see the pilot’s face. Two long cylindrical bombs floated softly away from the screaming jet, tumbling lazily end over end until they crashed to the earth. The napalm spread like a violent wave coming ashore, engulfing everything in fire. Clouds of orange and red flame swallowed the line of trees. My face burned. I jerked my head down behind the tree. My eyebrows and mustache were smoking. “Chan!”

“Good grief! It singed the hair off your face!”

“How bad is it?” I was scared to touch my skin. The
acrid stench of the singed mustache hair brought up another mouthful of whiskey.

“Looks like a sunburn.” Chan peeked over the tree. “Look!” A man screaming in agony ran from the flaming banana trees on fire from head to toe. I took aim, but I didn’t fire.

“Put him out of his misery!”

“I don’t want to waste the ammo!” I barked angrily.

A few seconds later he collapsed. I could feel Chan staring at me. I hesitated to look him in the eye. I knew he would be shocked. It shocked me, too. I turned to see Chan’s face. He was looking at the fire.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. You were right.”

A single Phantom swept over the tree line. At least three AKs opened up on the low-flying jet.

“How could anybody live through that?” I asked.

Another Phantom streaked across the tree line, strafing it with .20-millimeter cannons. Then a third Phantom swept low over the trees, releasing two more napalm bombs. The hungry flames rolled over the area, eating everything they touched. We ducked down from the blast of heat. Still, it made me gasp for air. Once the wave had passed, I peeked over our tree. Another burning man ran from the scorching tree line. I pulled the M60 butt to my shoulder and walked a quick stream of tracers into him. He dropped to the ground in a smoldering heap.

The Phantoms made strafing passes all around our scattered perimeter, then disappeared high into the blue sky. The right flank lit up with heavy small-arms fire, popping and cracking like a string of firecrackers. Suddenly it stopped. All was quiet now except for the crackling flames to our front.

“Choppers! We got choppers comin’ in! Give ’em cover!” someone shouted from the center of the perimeter.

Red smoke swirled like crimson fog from the CP. Two Huey gunships banked sharply around the perimeter. I
fired a short stream of tracers at the smoking tree line. The Hueys circled twice, firing M60s. A green and black CH-46 helicopter drifted down to the center of the perimeter. A large nylon net bulging with boxes of ammo and C-rations swung heavily suspended by a long, taut cable under the double-rotored chopper. Cracking AKs opened up from the surrounding bush. The CH-46 hovered over the red smoke, preparing to drop the sorely needed supplies. The chopper swung in an erratic circle. I could see the pilot bend over and the copilot leaning over him frantically struggling to right the craft.

An enemy machine gun opened up on our right flank. Green tracers flying high across the perimeter zeroed in on the spinning helicopter. At the same time another volley of AK fire opened up from the left flank.

“Guns up! Guns up! Guns up!” The calls came from the right flank. I grabbed the gun. Chan grabbed the ammo. We jumped to our feet and darted toward the right of the perimeter. A blooper gun opened up on the bush ahead. It was Sam. The entire perimeter was in the open. I could see prone Marines spread on line firing into the bush on the flank.

“Guns up!”

We ran toward the voice. I could see Swift Eagle, flat on his stomach, pointing at the flash of an enemy gun one hundred meters straight ahead. The engine of the crippled chopper began palpitating. I dove to the right of Swift Eagle; an instant later Chan belly-flopped to my right and began feeding the gun. I opened up on the enemy gun flash. Orange tracers glanced off a bump in the terrain. I stood up, firing the M60 from the shoulder like a rifle. “Get down!” someone shouted from the left. My orange tracers spiraled in on the enemy flash. The flash stopped as a pith helmet flew into the air, then floated to the ground like a Frisbee. I hit the ground. Sand and rocks kicked up around me from incoming AK fire.

An enemy rocket shot out of thick brush seventy-five meters to our front. It climbed slowly at first, spiraling toward the wounded chopper, then gaining speed like a shooting star. It sizzled overhead. I followed it with my eyes as it zeroed in on the sputtering helicopter. I held my breath and cringed, but the rocket sizzled just under the front landing wheel of the CH-46, arced two hundred meters past the opposite side of the perimeter, and exploded in a tree, breaking it in half. Another machine gun opened up on the helicopter from the other side of the perimeter. A Huey gunship, rockets firing, dove at the enemy gun. The Huey pulled up at the last possible moment. The enemy gun went silent.

The CH-46 started smoking. Flames shot from the back rotor. Then it fell, straight down, the updraft of wind shooting the flames high above it. It crashed to the ground, crumbling over the large net full of supplies. The flames spread quickly. The door gunner crawled from the burning wreckage, his back aflame and screaming in agony, his face red with blood. I could feel the heat of the burning helicopter on my already scorched face. Marines from the CP ran to the aid of the burning crewmen. One Marine shoveled dirt onto the burning door gunner with his bare hands. Another butt-stroked the already broken Plexiglas cockpit in a frantic effort to free the pilot and copilot.

“Get your eyes on the enemy! You’ve seen choppers go down before!” Corporal Swift Eagle stormed up and down the line of Marines, all of whom were still stunned and staring at the fallen chopper. It seemed a perfect time for the enemy to charge. Swift Eagle knew it. We were vulnerable. “I’ll kick butt on the next Marine that looks back! You better know I mean it!” A flight of three Phantoms ripped overhead at treetop level, blazing a barrage of .20-millimeter cannon fire. They climbed high, banked back around, and swept over the enemy line with three
more napalm bombs. I ducked from the wave of heat, trying to save what was left of my mustache.