Death Valley_ The Summer Offensive, I Corps, August 1969 - Keith Nolan [54]
Battalion SgtMaj Hoss Gutterez, a Mexican-American, was big, crass, boastful, and an all-around gutsy soldier.
Comments on these men came chiefly from the commanders above them and the company commanders below them. Most of the grunts in the 4th of the 31st Infantry didn’t really know who the staff members were and either routinely saluted them or routinely dismissed them as chicken shit lifers. Such feelings are not hard to understand. A young grunt living in the mud was bound to be less than charitable to those who saw the war mostly from helicopters. Such feelings are common in any war, but it is important to note that there were no fraggings during Henry’s command. Most of the grunts just reluctantly resigned themselves and kept humping. As far as Gayler was concerned, the men were lucky that under Henry and Lee, battalion headquarters was not as far removed from the bush as it was under some other officers.
9 August saw the second contact in two days.
The Polar Bear’s part in the screening operation was terminated and Lieutenant Colonel Henry and Sergeant Major Gutterez dropped into Charlie Company’s perimeter to supervise their airlift from Happy Valley to LZ Siberia. The men planned to go out with the last squad; that was all they had left on the ground when a higher priority mission arose elsewhere and division yanked their helicopter support. The stranded group decided to hump to LZ West, and they were on the trail below the camp when firing erupted. Everyone dropped in the bushes. Gutterez led several men around the flank and fired towards the NVA, who immediately broke contact and disappeared into the vegetation. The fight lasted perhaps five minutes, but the squad stayed put another thirty until a detachment from Bravo Company humped down from West.
It wasn’t until 2000 that the squad finally got to LZ Siberia. They were pissed off and shaken. One of them launched into a fabulous story for his comrades who’d missed the skirmish, which reflected the knee-jerk cynicism of the grunts.
… Our point man came face to face with three NVA. I’m telling you, he could see the dinks’ faces. They were twenty-five yards away. Our guy raised his gun and—click—nothing. The round didn’t chamber. So our second guy came up to support, and we were in a damn firefight. Bullets were flying everywhere. I don’t know how we missed each other. Most of us took cover behind stumps and trees. The colonel tried to dig himself a hole, he was so scared. But the sergeant major was a big dude, maybe six-three, two hundred and fifty pounds. Everybody’s sergeant—toughass, part Indian, World War II hero, and probably hadn’t been in one of these things for thirty years. He was so excited, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He pulled his handgun, a forty-five—a forty-five, mind you—and started hollering, ‘Come on, you guys, let’s go get those bastards. Fuckin’ gooks. This is what we’re here for. You on the right, when I say charge, you charge. On the left, when I say pin ’em down, you open fire.’ The son of a bitch almost got us killed. What’s worse, we missed dinner, so that’s two nights in a row without anything to eat.
On 9, 10, and 11 August, LZ Siberia was mortared.
When Alpha Company 4–31 was choppered to LZ West on the morning of 11 August, they had a collective case of the ass. The new colonel was stressing aggressive patrols and night ambushes, but the new captain didn’t seem to have the experience required. Among those pissed off grunts, Specialist Parsons was probably dragging the most. He’d been out of the bush for twenty days—extending his R and R by shamming with some buddies in the rear—and the last six days back in the field had been grueling. His load of M60 machine gun, ammunition, and rucksack had been kicking his ass like a new guy again. He was mighty glad this morning as Alpha Company replaced Bravo Company on the LZ West bunker line for their week of palace guard. The