Death Valley_ The Summer Offensive, I Corps, August 1969 - Keith Nolan [117]
From his CP along the valley stream, Lieutenant Colonel Lugger had watched Golf Company’s aborted efforts to secure the knoll. He radioed regiment to have another company released from the LZ Ross AO; permission was received and, at 1300, 1stLt P. E. Vannoy, CO, H/2/7, was alerted to prepare for a helo lift. By no means was Lugger’s opinion unanimous, but he himself did not trust Vannoy; he thought him too unaggressive.
Hotel Company was spread out around LZ Ross in platoon observation posts when the Sea Knights began shuttling them into a bush LZ secured by F/2/7 in the Hiep Duc Valley. The air strikes were still pounding Nui Chom as Lugger quickly briefed Vannoy about recovering the casualties, then finally seizing and holding the knoll. Vannoy huddled with his platoon leaders and asked for a volunteer to get the bodies.
2dLt William T. Brennon, Hotel Three, spoke up.
By 1700, three hours after the first wave of Hotel had been airlifted in, they had humped north and linked up with Golf. Lieutenant Brennon—who was considered a good head by his grunts—asked for volunteers to go up with him.
LCpl Ralph Bruno Sirianni said he’d go.
What prompted him was a subtle sense of duty. Sirianni wasn’t a believer, but his street buddies had always trusted him to cover their backs when something went down. He’d grown up in the Italian section of Buffalo, New York, the son of immigrants. His father died when Ralph was two and his mother, who barely spoke English, worked three jobs to support him and his older brother. Sirianni grew up in the streets and, by the time he was fourteen, he ran with a gang that crossed paths with the police. He ended up in reform school for eighteen months; afterwards, he forced himself through high school. But he didn’t stay out of trouble and the judge finally gave him the choice of jail or the service. He checked with the Army, Navy, and Air Force but they all turned him down because of his juvenile record. The Marine Corps was much more amiable and he was glad; he wanted to be with the best.
In June 1969, Sirianni joined Hotel Company in their Dai La cantonment. It was a whole different Marine Corps out there. The first thing the guys in his squad told him was to forget boot camp, that they weren’t fighting to take some objective but to survive. In that larger sense, Sirianni thought, morale was a disaster. The people back home don’t want us here, he figured, we don’t want to be here, and the Vietnamese don’t care. To him, the grunts were just cannon fodder for the lifers to build their paper records and the arms manufacturers to build their fortunes. He couldn’t believe they were considered so expendable as to be sent through the rice paddies like bait. Sirianni regarded the NVA much like the cavalryman did the Apaches: ruthless and skilled, always watching, always waiting for the opportunity to hit and run. One rare occasion, Sirianni’s platoon captured a North Vietnamese regular, a lean, tough kid with modern gear and weapons. He wore a green rain jacket. Sirianni stood toe to toe with him, staring with hate and fear and satisfaction; and the NVA glared right back at him.
Sometimes, Sirianni’s squad would sandbag their patrols. They could find no reason to tread through booby-trapped paddies in the dead of night, looking for people who probably weren’t there. So they’d leave the perimeter, find a spot of cover, and radio in fake checkpoints. In the battalion compound,