the Last Run (1987) (30 page)

The general nodded to his intelligence officer to answer. "Colonel, the VC usually stay in very small numbers. I would expect only a squad of men, at the largest, plus radiomen and leaders. They definitely won't have any air defense weapons. Mostly small arms. We propose that the Cav lead the attack with gunships shooting only their Gading guns, followed by small, light observation choppers flying at treetop level to spot the camp. The Slicks will follow behind and drop the Rangers. More gunships will be available to lay suppressing fire for the Rangers on the ground."

Ellis turned to Shane. "What do you think?"

Shane looked at his watch. "Sir, it's 1500 now. By the time we get the ropes and choppers rigged up, it'll be 1700 hours and weVe got to brief the teams and pilots. I'd say we'd better wait and plan this out and hit them at first light tomorrow."

General Larose looked at his G-2, who hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement.

Larose tapped the map. "Tomorrow morning it is. Let's gather around and work this thing out. Major Shane, we've got birds en route to fire base Mustang right now with the ropes. You'd better call your people and give them a warning order."

Shane picked up the telephone as he spoke to the general. "Sir, I'll need to keep the birds there so my men can practice rappel- _ _ _>>>

mg.

"No problem." The general nodded to the Aviation commander, who immediately picked up a second phone.

Ed Shane rubbed his eyes tiredly and looked at his watch. It was almost midnight. He'd been flown out to Mustang in the late afternoon and briefed the teams on the assault. The team conducted two rehearsals, rappeling~into vegetated terrain near the fire base. Based on the rehearsal, he selected Sergeant Zubeck's Team 2-1 and Wade's 3-1 Team to lead the assault,"with 2-4 and 1-3 as the second wave back-up, if they were needed. Lieutenant Avant would go in with Zubeck's team to control the operation and Lieutenant Foley would direct the air operation.

Shane sat down on his cot and looked over at Childs, who was writing in a notepad.

"Jerry, get some sleep. The RTO will wake us at four."

Childs finished making a note to himself and sighed. "You know, sir, I'm not worried about our people. It's them aviators I don't trust. Their assault has got to be timed down to a gnat's ass. Ya see them long-haired Cav pilots? Not one of them took notes during your briefing.''

Shane laid back and shut his eyes. "Get some sleep. They did all right during the rehearsal."

Childs frowned and stood up. "I wish they'd at least cut their damn hair and look military. Them prima donna hippies all try and look like Custer."

Shane turned over without responding. The grizzled sergeant shook his head and sat on his cot. Shane was right; they had looked good during the rehearsal, but their damn hair was . . . aw shit, screw it.

Gibson sat up in his bunk and looked over at Avant, who lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling.

"Can't sleep, huh?"

Avant raised up. "Naw: I was running the operation over in my head. I hope they're there. You know how the intell types can screw up this kind of thing."

"Brad, you just be careful and don't play John Wayne. I might need a good lawyer one day."

Avant smiled. "Don't worry none, cousin. 01' Brad ain't no he-ro."

Avant laid back and shut his eyes. "You know, J. D., I might not get out and finish law school after all. This Army is okay. On the outside it's hard to find what we've got. It may be just the war environment, but damn, it feels good to be with men who are totally committed to excellence in themselves and the unit. They have such pride and yet are willing to sacrifice for the good of the group. You just don't find that on the outside. It's . . . it's just such a good feeling being a part of them."

Gibson stretched out on his bunk. "The whole Army isn't like this. We're just lucky we have good leaders and good men."

"Yeah, but it's what you make it, my friend. I've been out there in the civilian world, and they care about money, not people. Profit is the bottom line. Their goals are what they can get for themselves. Here it's different. We all have to work together and be the best we can so we all survive. There's a big difference."

Gibson shut his eyes. "Well, hell, I guess I won't have a lawyer friend after all, just another officer to compete against for promotion."

Avant grinned as he shut his eyes. "You'd better believe it. This boy is gonna make a helluva general."

Chapter 14

24 September

The shrill whining of helicopters cranking their engines broke through the early morning quiet.

Matt Wade's stomach knotted into a ball as he reinspected the Swiss seat rappel harness he'd tied round his waist and legs, and checked the metal snap-link's open and closing gate. His men were similarly dressed and were armed to the teeth. Each man wore two eight-magazine bandoliers crisscrossed over his chest and a third tied around his waist. They carried no packs and had their grenades and smoke canisters strapped to their fighting harness. No one wore a hat, but instead wore a red bandana tied around his head for easy identification. In the smoke and confusion, immediate identification was tantamount to survival.

Wade inspected each of his men one more time and looked over at Sergeant Zubeck, who waved and held his thumb up. Wade returned the gesture and led his men to their chopper.

Lieutenant Avant gave Gibson his usual silly smile as J. D. helped him slip the rappeling rope into the snap-link. The assault teams sat on die floor of the choppers with legs extending over the sides. Their ropes were tied to the floor and coiled around dirt-filled sandbags. The sandbags would be placed on their laps and dropped over the target. The weight of the bag would uncoil the rope and ensure that it didn't get snagged in the trees. J. D. placed the heavy bag in Avant's lap and yelled over the engine's roar, "Take care. I'll be monitoring the radio from the other bird dog!"

Avant yelled out, "No sweat, see you later!"

Wade patted his friend's leg and lifted the other bags to the rest of the team members.

After placing the sandbags on the team members' laps, Childs backed up from Wade's bird and raised his hand to Major Shane to signal they were ready. Shane waited until Lieutenant Gibson gave a similar signal, then brought the radio handset to his mouth.

"Eagle flight lead, you're clear for takeoff. Over."

The lead Cav pilot, flying die light observation chopper, gave a quick "Roger" and called the other helicopters behind him.

"Eagle flight, this is lead. I'm lifting in five seconds. Four. . . three . . ."

Childs walked up beside Shane as the four choppers lifted off and shot forward to join the circling gunship above. Shane turned to his sergeant with the look of all commanders who send their men to batde: the look of anguish and pride.

Childs winked confidently. "They're damn good men, sir."

Shane, speaking softly, never took his eyes off the choppers. "Yeah, Jerry, they are."

Signalman Second Class Phu Tan Bic rose from his hammock when he heard the old rooster sing a greeting to the new day. The rooster had much to crow about. The two squads of liberation fighters that had arrived the day before had brought nine hens and a pig for the camp. Bic only hoped the twelve men would hu and leave after the political classes that afternoon. He was a signalman but also a cook. Cooking for the seven permanent headquarters cadremen was difficult enough, let alone for visitors who would deplete their already meager stocks of rice. Bic put on his sandals and looked toward the stream. Perhaps the traps would be blessed and catch many fish. He yelled toward the first hut, "Tan Phoc, rise lazy brother and check the traps!"

The visitors stirred at his loud words and began sitting up.

Bic walked past their hammocks and entered the radio hut built under the sayo trees. The hut was one of three hidden under the thirty-feet-tall protective trees near the stream's fork. Bic tapped the radioman to get his attention. Phum By took off the headset and smiled. "It is time to eat?"

"No, of course not. Not until the fighters gather wood will there be food."

The radioman grunted. "I am hungry. Hurry the lazy liberators, but before you go . . ."He motioned toward the large radio sitting on the table before him. "The firing device blocks the frequency dial."

Bic stepped closer to the radio to inspect the cylindrical Yankee fuse starter taped to the radio. The orange fuse cord ran only a foot to a block of explosives attached to the side of the radio and a box Of code books. Bic pulled off the tape and moved the firing device over an inch.

"You could have done this as well as me."

The radioman frowned. "I do not like touching things that could blow my radio to Buddha's paradise."

Bic shook his head in disgust. "You must pull the ring of the Yankee device if the time comes. You should know such things as well as you know your radio. It is your duty."

The radioman sighed and spoke sarcastically as he put on the headset, "And your job is to feed me. Go do your duty."

Bic began to retort when he heard the chickens cluck excitedly. The damn fighters were planning to eat the gifts! He ran to the hut door.

Lieutenant Foley looked out the Plexiglas window of the bird dog to the earth three thousand feet below. The helicopters were circling a small hill at the head of a valley. Foley pushed back his thick glasses and checked his map. The VC headquarters was supposed to be located eight kilometers up the valley at the fork of the stream. Foley could see the stream glistening with the rays of the rising sun. He pushed the floor button. "Eagle Flight Gun, this is Sierra One, take up heading one-eight-zero."

A voice immediately replied, "Roger."

The two Huey gunships banked right and dropped, rapidly losing altitude, followed by the Cav Loches and two Slicks.

Wade's legs dangled over the lip of the passenger compartment into ninety-knot winds. His fatigue pants fluttered and popped as he opened his eyes after the Slick finally pulled out of its steep descent and leveled just forty feet above the stream. Wade knew it was almost time and yelled as he held up one finger, "One minute!"

Preacher finished his prayer and thought through his actions one final time. They would wait till the bird came over the yellow smoke canister that the Cav pilots had dropped and then he would toss out his sandbag. He'd spin around and place his feet on the skids, holding the rope behind his back in the brake position. Then he'd bound off the skid, throw his brake hand out, and rappel down the rope. He would be on the ground in four seconds and would have to cut the rope free. Oh, Great Father, give this warrior strength to overcome my fears. Guide my friends and me safely, and lead us to victory.

The hungry men gathering around the fire as he poured rice into the simmering water reminded Phu Bic of children. He placed the lid on the large pot and dumped the sliced slivers of fish and pao leaves into a pan of chicken fat. The sizzling sound brought sighs of gratitude from the assembled group of hungry men. Phu Bic couldn't help but smile. His work was appreciated. He poured tea into three cups for his leader and political officers. He picked up the wooden tray and hurried to the third hut.

Foley spotted the fork in the stream and looked at the position of the speeding gunships. They were only a kilometer away from the target.

"Eagle Gun, one klick out."

"Roger."

The lead Gun copilot flipped down the sight from above him and put his hand on the fire control. He placed his finger to the side of the red button that would fire the two Gatling guns at 1200 rounds a minute and spoke into his transmitter, "Guns up."

Foley hit his transmitter button. "Five degrees right ... on course. Five hundred meters to target." Foley knew the enemy couldn't hear the choppers traveling at their speed at treetop level until they were only a few hundred meters away, and then it would be too late. He had lined the up gunships to strike the south side of the stream fork where the camp was supposed to be. "Two hundred meters! . . . Ready. . . . Now!"

The gunships pulled up to one hundred feet and lowered their noses to fire. The copilot aligned the two red circles on his sight and pressed the trigger. The chopper jolted as the Gading guns began spinning. Bruuuuuup! Bruuuuuup!

Phu Bic dropped his tray in terror as the forest behind him erupted in chaos. He turned just as the ground around the cooking fire erupted in smoke and screams. Bullets raked a path beside him and he threw himself behind a tree. The whopping cracks of the helicopters' blades and engines' roar were thunderous and drowned out the wounded's screams. Suddenly there was another sound-a loud, mechanized buzzing as a small, round-nosed helicopter passed overhead and darted to his left. Through the tree branches he could cleariy see a Yankee wearing a huge helmet and shooting a machine gun. Another of the round-nosed giant bees came overhead and dropped an object that spewed out a yellow cloud and fell near the first hut. Several fighters ran past him yelling, but he couldn't move. His body was frozen in fear. A big Yankee flying machine hovered close to the first hut and men hanging from its sides began dropping from ropes through the tree branches.

Phu Bic screamed and jumped to his feet. The radio and codes had to be destroyed.

Wade spun around and kicked off the skid, followed by his team. He slid down the rope, throwing on the brake hand only five feet from the ground to slow his descent. He hit the ground and pulled his knife, cutting the rope free.