Death Valley_ The Summer Offensive, I Corps, August 1969 - Keith Nolan [113]
He slept three hours. At 0700 on 21 August, Tam groggily awoke. He noticed the closest GI was thirty feet away. “Hey, where’s 2d Platoon!” A guy from another platoon said the CO had sent them back down the trail to see if they’d been followed. Tam noticed a GI from Charlie Company. The man sat in the grass, knees pulled up, head on them; he was mumbling to himself, “I can’t take this shit anymore, I just can’t take this shit anymore.”
It made Tam suddenly very grateful that he’d missed the ambush and, at the same time, uneasy with guilt that he hadn’t done his part.
The Bravo recon had not been out long; Tam was just getting his spoon into the C ration breakfast he’d heated up when there was a smattering of shots down the trail. It sounded about a hundred yards away; everyone scrambled for rifles and gear. Within minutes, the platoon ran back down the path, hollering, “Gooks, gooks, get out of here!” No one seemed to be giving orders, and they were swept up in the rush. Tam quickly shouldered his ruck and limped along with them, confused and still starving, wondering if this was how they were supposed to behave. It made sense to get away from such an overpowering enemy force, but this was some kind of mob scene. We’re just asking to get ambushed!
Around noon, rumors rippled down the column that they were heading back to Million Dollar Hill, where they would stop. At least they had an objective. Bravo Company was unfamiliar with the local nicknames, and a grunt near Tam mumbled, “Why do they call it Million Dollar Mountain?”
“It’s worth a million dollars when you get there,” someone ventured. “It’s like a safe place.”
By the time Tam limped up to the base of the hill, there were already knots of GIs sprawled in the shade of the trees. He thankfully plopped down under a patch of shade too, and noticed a grunt leaning-sitting on the hillside several yards away. He had glasses, lieutenant bars, a bandolier of M60 ammunition over his shoulder; he was gone, drenched in sweat and staring like a zombie. Tam finally forced himself to stand and started climbing the wide trail that wound up the gradual incline of Million Dollar Hill. He couldn’t make it. A buddy named Johnny Reno came by and put an arm around his shoulder. Tam was a small guy and Johnny wasn’t much taller, but he kept tugging him along. Tam, at the end of his physical and emotional strength, gritted his teeth and started crying, “Hey, thanks, John, thanks, man, I’ll pay ya back.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it.”
It took thirty minutes to struggle to the crest. The grunts were moving like zombies, rigging ponchos in the brush to escape the pounding sun, collapsing in catatonic sleep, mumbling desperate rumors that they were going to be choppered out. Tam noticed one GI at Captain King’s elbow saying he had to get back to LZ Professional to see the reenlistment NCO about getting out of the bush. Down in the valley, they could see Marine Phantoms coming in.
Tam sat down, staring off into space. He vaguely noticed Captain King and a medic standing in front of him. The medic was talking, “… Tam’s been limping all day and night. I think we better get him out of here.…” He suddenly realized they were talking about him. King said, “All right, let’s do it,” and continued on his business. The medic knelt beside Tam, filled out a medevac slip, tied it to his buttonhole, and told him to get aboard the medevac coming in. Tam was stunned, feeling almost like a deserter. The Huey dropped them off at an LZ and, an hour later, Tam was put on a ship for Chu Lai. He ended up in a large tent equipped with operating tables. Medics cut off his boot, took X rays, and much to his